I write to you today with a heavy heart. We are approaching my favorite holiday of the year, yet thoughts of family, friends, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie are of little comfort this season in light of my inner turmoil.

Over the years, I have enjoyed watching the annual presidential pardon of a turkey at the White House. That changed for me a few years ago, however, when I came to an unsettling realization: the turkeys pardoned at the White house every year  are all beautiful. And, well, I hesitate to mention this, Mr. President, because I don’t want to be accused of playing the race card here, but I also noticed that the U.S. government only pardons white turkeys. I am sure there is a logical explanation for that, but I am struggling to come up with one.

Now, the pardoning of beautiful, snow-white birds wouldn’t be a cause for concern were it an annual swan-pardoning ceremony, but turkeys, as a general rule, are more colorful. Not only that, but “pretty” isn’t a word that most would use to describe the average turkey. Let’s be honest; they’re some jacked-up-looking birds. The vast majority of them have been “hit with the ugly stick,” as my grandfather would say, and I imagine it takes a serious effort to locate one that looks like the ones that the White House manages to locate every November.  I am simply concerned, Mr. President, about the kind of message are we sending the young foul of America when only the turkey equivalent of a super model is ever honored in Washington.

Just imagine little Tom Turkey, excitedly watching a youtube video of you pardoning one of his kind. He dreams the dream of one day visiting the White House, being pardoned by the president, and living out the remainder of his days in the lap of luxury at Disney World. Then imagine those same dreams being hopelessly dashed as Tom glances in the mirror at his disheveled feathers and spotted complexion, and comes to the realization that his only fate is an oven. (That is, unless he can afford snood-reduction surgery, wattle implants, a personal trainer and regular feather-bleaching treatments.) Is this the ideal that we want to  Tom and other innocent gobblers like him living the remainder of their lives struggling to live up to–an unrealistic picture of perfection that only .001% of turkeys will ever attain?

I implore you, Mr. President, to take the real turkeys of the world into consideration. Ugly turkeys are worthy of a chance at happiness too! I hope you will find it in your heart to consider this matter, and this year pardon a true, homely representative of the Turkey community.

Respectfully yours,

Kelly Downing

Amy’s project and blood:water mission reminded me of how blessed I am to have access to clean, safe, delicious beverages whenever I want them, without having to walk for miles to get them. And when I found out that $1 = 1 year of clean drinking water for an African, I definitely started to think twice (or ten times) about popping in to Walgreens for a $1.49 diet root beer. Or paying $1.19 for 16 ounces of water in a plastic bottle, when it is perfectly safe for me to drink straight from the tap for free.

I wanted to do something to contribute to the cause, but since there are some minor, ahem, differences between my waist and the dainty waists of the ladies wearing the belt, I thought I’d go a different route. Instead of taking a turn with the belt, I decided to commit to one month (9/20 – 10/20) without buying a beverage, and give what I would have spent on drinks to blood:water mission instead.

So how much money do I spend on drinks, anyway? I don’t have a daily Starbucks habit. I tend to drink water most of the time when I eat out. I drink coffee every day, but I usually don’t pay for it. And yet when I combed through the last month of my online bank statement, I counted $68 that I spent on beverages alone. Now, that amount is a bit inflated thanks to a trip to Universal Studios, where drinks are sold at around a 7,000% mark-up, but still. Nearly $70 on drinks in one month?! If $1 can provide clean drinking water for one African for an entire year, then the money I spent last month on drinks could have provided clean water for someone for essentially their entire life.

Um, yikes.

It’s a little sad that I even consider this a “challenge,” but it felt like it when I started. The first day I gave up buying drinks, I had a meeting at Starbucks, of all places, where the vanilla rooibos latte sweetly called my name the whole 90 minutes I was there. I put in ear plugs. A few days after that, I was at my last Marlins game of the season, melting in the billion-degree heat, and actually stole a chug of red Gatorade from a five-year-old to keep me hydrated. (I am not proud of my actions. And I am very sorry, sweet Luke.) But while I “struggle” with the temptation to spend $4 on hot water and a tea bag, and turn up my nose at the water fountains in Sun Life Stadium, scores of people in Africa are struggling to walk for miles every day just to get access to dirty water.

That is craziness. And I want to do something, however small that something may be in the grand scheme of things.

So who wants to join me? Who wants to give up frivolous drinks for a month and support blood:water mission?

Chapter One – Someone Worth Losing Everything For

It’s interesting that I was introduced to this book when I was struggling in my own mind with some of the questions Radical raises. Over the last few years I’ve started to become uncomfortable with how self-absorbed I am. I’ve started to become uncomfortable with the fact that I can be apathetic to the needs of my neighbors because I’m too busy worrying about my personal happiness. Uncomfortable with the fact that I actually feel at times like my personal happiness is the point of life. I know that God has saved me for a greater purpose than that, and yet those two things tend to be at the top of my to-do list. Be comfortable. Be happy. Me, me, me.

Even in ministry, I’ve become uncomfortable with the fact that most of what we do can be done without a reliance on God. That we rely far more on marketing and business strategies than we rely on prayer and the Holy Spirit. That the attendance number on Sunday or the size of the offering determines a church’s idea of success. That some churches worry more about looking hip than following the great commission. That we’re so focused on ourselves that we actually alert the media when we do something for missions.

Basically, I summed up the first chapter of Radical with three words: “Wow, I suck.”

But then I decided to reflect a little further. I mean, I already knew I sucked. The Bible compares the height of my righteousness to filth when held up next to God’s. So I think that walking away from chapter one gleaning only feelings of guilt and inadequacy would be wrong. Conviction, yes. Self-loathing, not so much. Because no amount of “radical” living can make God love me more, and no amount of selfishness and sin can make him love me less. I am righteous before God because I have believed on Jesus and now He sees Christ when He looks at me. Not because I have sold my three valuable possessions and moved to a hut in a third-world country.

But.

I am convicted. So much. I have been given the greatest gift of all eternity, and I keep it to myself far too often. I don’t really live as I should, in light of what God has done for me. Do I really believe everything that Jesus said, and am I living in obedience to it? How then can I look at the needs of the poor and not feel compelled to do something? How can I not be compelled to share the gospel that has changed my life, with people who are lost and desperately need to hear?

I know that I want to live my life for Jesus, not for me. I want my life to reflect Him. But what does that really mean? I think David Platt summed it up in chapter one when he said, “Commit to believe whatever Jesus says… and commit to do what you have heard.”

It’s hard to read the first few chapters of Radical and not feel like I should move to Zimbabwe. But I’m pretty sure that’s not the point. God calls us all to go into all the world and preach the gospel. However, there’s a good chance He isn’t going to lead every single one of us to live in a foreign country. But being a follower of Christ means living in complete surrender to Him in every area of our lives, even if he does ask us to go.

Being “radical” means being obedient to Jesus. Even when it hurts. And most of the time, obedience to Jesus does hurt. I’m not talking about packing up and moving to Africa, either. I spent five years of my childhood in a third world country. I experienced the awful ache of selling all my “stuff,” saying goodbye to friends and family (long before the days of skype and facebook), and giving up the comforts of America the beautiful so that my parents could serve God where He had called them. Is that radical? I guess some would consider it to be.

Unfortunately, moving to a foreign country and missing my family like crazy was not anywhere near the hardest thing the Lord has ever asked me to do. Not even close. God didn’t look at that sacrifice and put a big check-mark next to the “radical” portion of my life and give me a free pass to heaven, or a free pass to feel more spiritual than others.

I think it’s dangerous to view living radically as only moving to a foreign land or selling all your possessions or never buying another frappuccino. Because if God doesn’t require those specific things of you, you’re not off the hook. Life without coffee and stuff, or even life in Indonesia has to be lived the same as it’s lived anywhere else. You wake up in the morning, brush your teeth, eat, work, take care of your family, and try to live a life that pleases the Lord. You just might do it with a caffeine headache or homesickness and culture shock in the mix, and without some of the comforts of your homeland. You will still struggle with sin. You will still struggle with bad attitudes. And as romantic as journeying to a foreign land sounds on paper, or seems when you experience a week of it, you will at some point, possibly daily, want to mangle the very people God has called you to love and share the gospel with (Try driving in Jakarta before you judge me).

I promise you won’t live in a constant state of uber spirituality just because you’re on a different continent. Or even because you’re depriving yourself of Starbucks. Slowly but surely, your caffeine-free life or the mission field will become comfort to you. It did for me; I cried as much when I left Indonesia as when I left the U.S. Coming home from the mission field was a sacrifice for my family, weird as that may sound. It was hard.

Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to belittle the sacrifice of people who give their lives to foreign missions. It’s very tough. But it seems we correlate obedience to God with moving to the jungle, and that isn’t His plan for every single person.

I guess my point is that we can just as easily make an idol out of sacrifices the same way we do comforts if we aren’t careful. We can use our sacrifices as a means to feel prideful about our spiritual lives and deny God’s grace, which tells us there is absolutely no sacrifice other than the one Jesus Christ already made that can earn us a spot in heaven. God doesn’t want our sacrifices. He wants obedience. If I can sacrifice money and possessions and move to a foreign land, but  I can’t love the person who just cut me off in traffic in Miami, am I living radically? If I’m the most frugal person on the planet, never waste a dime and support 12 orphans, but I can’t bite my tongue when the opportunity to gossip comes along, am I living radically?

The truth about believing what Jesus says and doing it, is that everything Jesus said was radical. He said stuff like, loving those who love you isn’t enough; you have to love those who hate you as well. Not murdering people isn’t enough; if you hate someone in your heart, it’s the same as murder. Being physically faithful to your spouse isn’t enough, because just thinking lustfully about someone is as much a sin as acting out the thought. If somebody slaps one of your cheeks, don’t retaliate. Let them slap the other one too. Oh, and by the way, you’re not allowed to be proud, either. Live in a constant state of humility. Regard everybody else as being better than you.

Moving to Nigeria is sounding easier all the time.

Radical is loving your neighbor as yourself–even if your neighbor is right here in the States and repulses you with his lack of intellect or political beliefs or blasting of disco music while you’re trying to sleep.
Radical is loving your enemies–even when your enemy is the controlling busy-body in the next cubicle, who gets your blood boiling more than any member of Al Quaeda ever could.
Radical is denying your flesh what it desperately wants out of obedience to Christ.
Radical is surrendering your life to Someone you have never seen.
Radical is trusting God with your future when you have absolutely no clue where He’s leading.
Radical is following God when where he’s leading you scares you to death.

Is Jesus worth all that? Is He worth losing everything for? Is He worth giving up the right to run my own life? Is He worth obeying even when it hurts? It’s a little scary to say yes to those questions when I don’t know everything that will mean for me personally for the rest of my life. But I do know based on who He is, and who He has been in my life to this point, that scary or not, nothing on this earth is worth living without Him.

I want to live like I believe that. As frightening as it sounds. I want to serve Him, not myself. I want to obey Him. I want to live sacrificially and give sacrificially. Not because I need to in order to earn God’s love, but because His love for me is so amazing that I can’t help but live that way in response to it.

Geez, this is only the first chapter.

I’d heard this rooster in the neighborhood before, but only when I was outside at daybreak. I even recognized its crow, because I had made fun of it once. It sounded like he was going through puberty, or that someone was strangling him as he crowed (which, incidentally, is exactly what I wanted to be doing). Never before had I heard the rooster from my bed, though, so I figured it must have found its way into my yard somehow. And from the sound of things, it was the patch of yard directly in front of my bedroom window.

The minutes went by and the crows continued, non-stop. I tried turning up the fan for more white noise. I covered my head with my blanket. Then with my pillow. I yelled “shut up!!!” a few times (I’m not very rational when sleep-deprived). Since going back to sleep wasn’t really an option, I began timing the rooster crows like a woman in labor would time contractions, until there was a crow every 3-7 seconds. Non. Stop.

Finally, I gave up and got out of bed. As I was getting ready for work, I walked into the laundry room beside my bedroom, and I heard the crowing even louder. I’d had enough. It was time to shoo this troublemaker off of my property. The only problem was that I couldn’t find him in my yard. There was no rooster anywhere, and worse, his crows were actually quieter outside than they had been inside.

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

I went back inside to the laundry room where the crowing had been loudest, and decided to open up the door to the garage, on the off-chance it might have sneaked in somehow. I turned on the light and peeked around the garage at the boxes and tools and lawn mower, and then chuckled at my silliness in thinking that there might actually be a live a rooster in there. I live in a bustling city, after all, not a trailer park in Kentucky (not that there’s anything wrong with trailer parks in Kentucky. Just sayin’).

Just as I was about to close the garage door, I caught a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye. And there it was. On top of a shelf that stood against the wall of the garage, perched atop my George Foreman Grill, was a rooster.

I guess it got in there when the garage door was open yesterday, and got trapped inside. So, naturally, I did what any good animal rights activist would, and had a little photo shoot rather than freeing it.

Relax, PETA. I freed it five minutes later, after it began hopping around in an agitated manner, as though it was about to attack me.

Do you think the rooster realized the symbolism of his perch of choice? Does he know how many of his kindred have sizzled away beneath the shiny metal lid of that Lean, Mean, Fat-Reducing Grilling Machine? Was the 2 hour crow-fest his way of mourning their loss? Of punishing me for their slaughter? I’ll worry about that later, because I’m exhausted.

By the way, I’ve decided to eat at KFC for lunch today. But only because I’m not exactly sure how to capture and feather a live rooster.

After buying my car last year, I silently suffered through months of radio and a temperamental 6-disc CD changer before I’d finally had enough. It was time to fix the iPod issue, and bring my 80 GB world of music into my car’s stereo system. And because I have always lived by the mantra “Why pay somebody else to do what you can do yourself?” (read: since I am impatient and impulsive), I decided to try and figure out a way to install the iPod myself. I mean, how hard could it be?

(Just between us, I ask myself that question often, and the answer is almost always “very, very hard/bordering impossible.”)

I did a little online research and discovered that nobody on earth had ever successfully installed an iPod in a 2003 Accord with Navi and had lived to tell about it. Or blog about it. But several handy people had installed them in 2003 Accords without navi, so I decided to follow those instructions. Um, how different could it be? (See above answer to “how hard could it be?” Replace words “hard” and “impossible” with “different” and “the complete oppostite.”)

I decided to give it a shot. And since it was frustrating when I couldn’t find the info that I needed online, I have decided to blog about my experience so that the same thing doesn’t happen to the next person who decides to attempt it. You’re welcome.

So here are my step-by-step instructions on installing an iPod in a 2003-2006 Honda Accord with navigation… And by “instructions” I simply mean the play-by-play of how I did it myself. I am in no way encouraging you to do anything even remotely similar to this. Seriously. You shouldn’t. Instead, please contact a professional. Call the Geek Squad. Give up iPods for Lent. Professional driver, closed course. DO NOT ATTEMPT.

(Dear Lawyers of my blog readers: That is what I–and 9 out of 10 judges–refer to as a disclaimer.)

Now let’s get started.

THINGS I USED:

- Blitzsafe HON/AUX DMX V.2X (I got it here)
- RCA to 1/8″ Phono adapter cable (I got mine at Best Buy, but you can find it here)
- Flat head screwdriver
- Phillips Head screwdriver
- These Instructions

The first step is to use these instructions, complete with helpful photos, on the proper dismantling of your center console. You could print the instructions, or you could do what I did and read through them once, then go to your car and try to do everything from memory. Your call.

Proceed to dismantle the console according to the instructions. That should look a little something like this:

And this:

The passenger side floor is a fabulous place to put all the removed items. And the screws you take out can be kept safe in one of your car’s cup-holders. Responsibility is my middle name.

Note: If you have read my disclaimer and are proceeding with the iPod install anyway, please take extra care when disconnecting your seat warmer switch connections from the gearshift cover (pictured below). Your bottom will thank you in December. And please disregard the flecks of dirt and grass you see on the carpet of my car. This picture was taken mere moments before my daily obsessive vacuuming out of my vehicle. I am all about keeping my car clean and dirt-free. Ask anybody. Neat-Freak is my middle name.

Once you have successfully removed the entire center console, it will look something like this:

And here is where things will start to get dicey.

Take a deep breath. I’m here for you. We’ll get through this together.

At this point, the online instructions you’re following will tell you that the back of the factory radio is now accessible to you. Except it won’t be. Instead, you’ll look closely and realize that the back of the factory radio would only be accessible to you if you were similar in size to one of the Who’s that Horton heard.  Or one of the ants that lived in the backyard of one of the Who’s that Horton heard.

The picture in the instructions  won’t match, because the picture in the instructions is of a CD player in an Accord without Navi, and your car has a completely different CD player. In short, your car’s navigation system is in the way, and there is NO WAY you are getting to the back of the factory radio unless you can find instructions online for removing your entire dashboard. I couldn’t, so save yourself the search time. And instead…

Go ahead and cry for a while:

This isn’t exactly a 100% necessary step in the iPod installation procedure, unless (like me)  you have just managed to hold in a legion of curse words while simultaneously resisting the animal instinct to axe your car into a pile of leather and metal scraps. Such mental and emotional restraint will result in tears. There is simply no way around it. Let them flow. Then ask a neighbor whom you’ve never spoken to before to take a break from his mowing to hold you. And then go do something else. You know, walk away from the project for a while to clear your head.

It took around three weeks for my head to clear. Your head may vary.

Note: While taking your break, if for any reason you have to take your car in to the dealership for service, you may want to put the center console back together first. If you don’t, the following may occur:

a) The dealer will yell at you.
b) The dealer will ask you out on a date.
c) The shop foreman will offer you a job.
d) The mechanic will reinstall the center console incorrectly, with various edges jutting out unattractively, and you’ll have to take it apart again to put it back in the right way.
e) All of the above.

Once you’ve mentally rested for a while, and you get that fiery feeling of determination back, return to your center console. If, like mine, your console has been re-installed incorrectly by a mechanic, remove it once again. You won’t need to use the instructions this time. It’s like riding a bike.

Get back to this point:

And now, take a deep, deep breath. We’re going to get very, very technical here. If you’re not an engineer of some sort, this part may overwhelm you a bit. But I’m here for you. You can do this. I believe in you.

First of all, you will need an additional tool. It is called your hand. Firmly shove your right hand (or left, if you’re extremely flexible) into the gaping hole where your center console used to be located. Reach up into the upper left-hand side of the navigation system, on the back side of the CD player. Feel around in that space for a second or two and your hand should come across a bunch of wires and connectors that feel like they’ve been duct-taped together.

Now pull.

Yes, pull. You will have no idea what you’re pulling on, but pull anyway (after going over my disclaimer a few more times, that is). You will feel like you are irreparably damaging the inner workings of your car, and you probably are, but pull anyway.

After a few firm tugs, or twenty, you should at last see a wire harness connector that is not connected to anything. (!) At this point, the windows of heaven will open, angels will rejoice, and you will weep great tears of joy and relief.

Open up your Blitzsafe converter and plug in the RCA connectors. Then, plug in the Blitzsafe converter’s connector to the connector that you just yanked out of your center console. The converter has a “Y” wire harness, but you will only need to use one end of it, and one of the 14-pin connecters will remain empty.

Next, place the Blitzsafe converter somewhere on the floor of your center console where it will not interfere with the pieces you are about to put back in. You can use electrical tape or cable ties to make everything neat and tidy, or you can just shove it in there somewhere like I did. Before you begin to reassemble the center console, run the wire of the RCA connector from the Blitzsafe converter through the hole in your center console’s storage bin (that is where you will hold the RCA adapter to plug in your iPod).

At this point, you should plug the RCA adapter into the headphone jack on your iPod to test it. Turn on your car, turn on the iPod, and press the CD/Aux button on your car’s stereo. The radio should display “CD-C” or something like that. And when you press “play” on your iPod, you should hear beautiful music begin to play. Unless the volume on your car stereo is turned all the way down, in which case you will hear nothing, unless you turn it up.

Troubleshooting is my middle name.

Once it is established that your iPod does in fact play through your car’s stereo system, it would probably be a good idea to turn your car completely off. Alternatively, you could leave the battery running and listen to your iPod while you put your center console back together, have your battery die completely, pee your pants from the fear that you’ve just blown up your engine trying to install your own iPod converter, then force yourself to calm down and think rationally enough to call your brother to come over and give you a jumpstart. Not that I speak from personal experience or anything. I’m just giving you options here.

Once you have successfully put your center console back together, there is only one thing left to do.

It looks a little something like this:

1. What is your favorite thing to snack on while you’re blogging?
Can’t remember the last time I snacked while blogging. If it’s in the morning, I do like to drink a cup of coffee while I blog, though. Like I’m doing now.

2. What is one thing you wouldn’t want to live without?
Am I supposed to say something noble like “family” or “love?” I hope not, because my answer is baseball. (Come on, it’s not “THE one thing” I wouldn’t want to live without, it’s just “one thing.”)

3. Beach, Mountains, or Farm? Where would you live if you had a choice?
Whatever happened to the good old fashioned city? I guess if I had to choose between the three, I’d go with farm. I love cows! And corn fields! And hot farmers!

4. What’s your least favorite chore/household duty?
Putting away clothes. UGH. I have no problem washing and drying them, but I absolutely despise hanging up or folding clean clothes. I would rather scrub toilets any day of the week.

5. Who do people say you remind them of?
My mom, my aunt Debbie, my brother Kirk, and my great-grandma Mary Jane (that last one is most definitely not a compliment).

6. Prefer parties and socializing or staying home with the fam?
I hate the term “home body,” but there’s no point in denying it. I love being at home with close friends and family. Or just myself. Heee.

7. What’s your all time favorite movie?
I don’t have one favorite. Some of my favorites are Hoosiers, Groundhog Day, While you Were Sleeping, About a Boy, For the Love of the Game and You’ve Got Mail. And some others.

8. Do you sleep in your make-up or remove it like a good little girl every night?
Um… I am generally a very naughty little girl. Make-up removal ranks right up there with putting away laundry on my list of tasks to avoid at all costs.

9. Do you have a hidden talent or a deep desire to learn something that you’ve never had a chance to learn? What is it? Yes, all of the talents I possess are very, VERY well hidden. I’d love to learn how to speak Spanish. I live in South Florida for goodness sake! And maybe learn more than 10 chords and three songs on my guitar. That would also be great.

10. What’s one strange thing you’re really good at?
Discreet diaper changes in cars or very public places. And taking apart/putting back together my Honda.

11. What first attracted you to your spouse?
I will let you know some day. Or I’ll buy a few cats and take up knitting.

12. What is something you love to smell?
Spicy fall and Christmas candles. My grandma and grandpa’s house.

13. Tell something about you that you know irritates people.
I talk too much. My bluntness, also referred to by various friends and family as meanness (but which I prefer to think of as… um… open, honest-ness). Controllingness. Baseball addictiveness. Oh wait—just one? I’ll stop now.

14. When you have extra money, what’s the first thing you think to do with it?
Spend it! Woohoo! Preferably on movies or books or anything from Target.

15. Are you a silent laugher or a loud laugher? What makes you laugh the hardest?
Definitely a loud laugher. I have a really, really loud and idiotic laugh. Funny people make me laugh the hardest.

16. Where is your favorite place to shop?
Target. Mmmm.

17. What’s one thing you’d do more often if you had more time?
Cook. Or maybe I just tell myself that to excuse the fact that I do so little of it now.

18. Are you a big spender or frugal?
You have to have lots of money to be a big spender. I try not to waste too much money, but I’m not afraid to spend it if I need to. I’m not stingy.

19. Who is your favorite character of all time?
Dwight Schrute.

20. Would you want to be famous?
Eh, not necessarily.

They are the “Crappy Candy Giver Outers.”

Now, maybe these folks were created without taste buds. Maybe they’re trying to save cash, and the gross candy is cheaper. Or maybe they really do believe that they can singlehandedly erase childhood obesity in two hours on October 31st. Whatever the reason, we hate coming across them when we trick-or-treat. The “treats” they pass out head straight to the crap pile, which is reserved for those occasions when mom and dad decide we need to share our Halloween loot with our annoying little cousins/brothers/neighbors (”Oh, for suuuure, mom! I’m happy to share this giant pile of totally awesome candy. Let’s start with the Brach’s cinnamon disks and peppermints. Hard candy is my favorite! I bet Timmy will love it as well. Golly, it’s tough to part with, but, well, I just love to make myself a better human being by sharing!“)

If you fear you may be a “Crappy Candy Giver Outer,” I’m here to help. The following is a list of treats that nobody wants you to toss in their bag on Halloween. Just avoid them, and you’ll be the hero of your neighborhood. You’re welcome.

1. Hard candy – this stuff is really only tasty on those occasions when you’re trapped somewhere that you don’t have access to any other form of sustenance. Somewhere like a really long church service, or a three-hour math class. Otherwise, nobody wants this junk. A good rule of thumb is that if it can be found at the bottom of your mother’s purse on any given day, it will not excite on Halloween. If this is all you have to offer, you might want to consider leaving your porch light off.

2. Dum Dums – A distant cousin of hard candy, I am about as excited by these as I am by saltine crackers. Or calculus exams (not that I ever bothered with classes like calculus). These .0003-ounce drops of hard candy on a stick are not cool. Why do you think banks and doctors offices are always trying to get rid of them? Not even the ones with the mysterious question marks on the wrapper will grab anyone’s attention, and giving these out on Halloween will not win any points with your neighbors.

3. Smarties – This mini stack of candy in cellophane was invented to appease pre-school children whose taste buds haven’t developed enough to realize these things actually blow. Yes, your toddler loves them. But he/she will also eat dirt. Don’t hand out Smarties to anyone over the age of four.

4. Candy corn – I’m convinced these candies were invented accidentally in some sort of candle factory meltdown. Granted, there are a few people in the world who love this stuff. But When a candy’s only three ingredients are wax, sugar, and food coloring, you definitely shouldn’t stick it in my trick-or-treat bag.

5. Gospel tracts – Sigh. Yes, Jesus loves you. And it’s always nice to be reminded. But unless said reminder is attached to a 1-lb. block of imported Swiss chocolate (or maybe an Xbox), your message will probably be rejected. Please, folks. Give Jesus a chance. Don’t turn people off with your piece of paper and a mint when what they crave is chocolate and nougat. WWJD? (Hint- He invented the cocoa bean. And he turned water into wine. Let’s step it up.)

6. Vanilla Tootsie Rolls – These are the “blondies” of the candy world. I have an idea! Let’s take the one delicious thing out of chocolate treats that makes them, well, delicious, and try to convince people it’s still cool. Ew.

7. Anything healthy – Apples? Raisins? Granola bars? You aren’t Jenny Craig, and this is not an episode of the Biggest Loser. It’s Halloween, the one day of the year where it is perfectly acceptable for us to gorge ourselves on junk. Embrace. Then toss out the fruit and give us fat and calories, you ruiners of fun.

8. Sweet Tarts – Just because you make them sour and slightly larger doesn’t mean we aren’t fully aware that these are Smarties in disguise.

9. Snack size anything – “fun size” is fine, since it really helps you pace yourself and provides a greater opportunity for variety (although more “fun” for most would be those king size bars). What is not fine is a candy bar the size of the nucleus of an atom. If more gets stuck in your teeth than you swallow, it is unacceptable. Bigger is better!

10. Baked goods – We appreciate your culinary skills, we really do. But we want CANDY!!! Because a) your cookies/cupcakes are just going to get smooshed in our trick-or-treat bags, and b) our moms won’t let us eat baked goods from a stranger without the aid of an x-ray machine to convince her it hasn’t been injected with razor blades or dirty heroine needles. Or cat hair.

Enjoy your Halloween!