Ed Spivey Jr. was working as art director of the Chicago Sun-Times Sunday Magazine in 1972 when God called him to join the fledgling Sojourners community and work for its publication, then called the Post-American. The fact that Ed has not heard from God SINCE is not what's important here, because Ed figures God had other things to do, what with making the world a more peaceful place. Why the world is still NOT a more peaceful place is none of Ed's business and he would never think to criticize God for slacking off since, who knows, God could have been sick or something.
But, 36 years later, Ed is still with Sojourners, still the art director, still happy with his life-long dream of working hard for very little money. The only down side is that Ed is beginning to feel his childhood plans of being either a cowboy or an astronaut may not be realized in his lifetime. But such are the sacrifices one makes when one responds to the call of the Lord, even if immediately after that the Lord apparently changed His phone number.
Of a more biographic note, Ed holds an Associate in Arts degree from Vincennes University. He was denied a Bachelor's Degree from Indiana University because of a disagreement with his psychology professor who did not appreciate Ed's refusal to complete his rat experiment. Apparently, Ed's was the only laboratory rat that bit, so Ed insisted on wearing huge motorcycle gloves when handling the animal, which, the professor insisted, skewed the rat's response to stimuli. Ed told the professor what he could do with his stimuli, which unfortunately did not put the professor in the mood to accept Ed's alternative suggestion, which was to study the response of rats being loudly cursed at while simultaneously being flushed down university toilets.
Since his college days he has made a bit of a name for himself, and not just “You, There,” which is the name his mother calls him when she forgets. Ed has won numerous awards for his design of Sojourners Magazine, and his monthly humor column consistently garners top honors from both religious and secular media associations. His recent book, A Hamster is Missing in Washington, D.C. won the top prize in humor at the Independent Publisher Book Awards in New York City. (Due to scheduling conflicts, Ed was unable to attend the gala tribute and banquet, but had he gone he would have ordered the fish.) Now in its second printing, Ed’s book is available at store.sojo.net and at on-line booksellers near you.
Ed is married and has two daughters, all of whom refuse to walk in public with him, on account of the little whoop-whoop sound he makes when he sees a fire truck.
Posts By This Author
Do Superheroes Get the Flu?
At first, I thought I had the flu because I didn't get a flu shot this year and naturally had to be punished by the medical community.
Maybe the Big Bang Wasn’t So Big
The international scientific community is excited about the growing possibility of discovering the so-called “God particle,” the spark they believe is the origin of the universe.
Despite the fact the Newt Gingrich has for many years claimed this title, physicists working at the Large Hadron Collider outside Geneva, Switzerland, apparently stopped appearing in Dan Brown novels long enough to come close to identifying this illusive particle. (Coincidentally, my college roommate’s car was called the Small Hadron Collider, a rusty Corvair with a habit of resisting the driver’s directional input at crucial moments, such as intersections.)
By the way, perhaps you’re wondering why unlocking the fundamental mysteries of the universe—such as Rick Santorum’s political career—and creating an enormous wealth of knowledge in experimental physics is not being done in the United States. It’s because President Bill Clinton chose to strip funding from the proposed collider outside Houston and instead funded the International Space Station, a rusty construction of old Corvair parts that has cost us over $150 billion and has provided little scientific discovery, unless you count the surprising effectiveness of duct tape in low gravity situations. To be fair, someday the Space Station will look really cool streaking across the sky just before it crashes onto somebody’s backyard. But I digress.
Tarantulas are not insects. They're arachnids. Really big ones.
Nine Tips to Help You Survive Advent
Since Advent is often a time of welcoming relatives to the home, make an effort to include them in the family Christmas traditions they missed out on last year, such as loading the dishwasher, making their own beds, and picking up after themselves.
Decorating the outside of your house is a great way to show the neighbors how important Advent is to your family. And remember, it’s not a competition to see whose house is the best on your block, although if your lights are not bright enough to interfere with the navigation of passing jetliners then, frankly, you’re just not feeling the true Christmas spirit.
But We Don't Look a Day Over 38
Fortunately, 40 is the new 34, or in my case, 38.
Does the Emphysema Come in Menthol?
Starting in 2013, every pack of cigarettes sold in the U.S. will include graphic images portraying the physical effects of smoking, although looking really cool when you're a teenager won’t be one of them.
'Now that I've found you ...'
So now we know why over the past few years our Internet service would sometimes slow to a crawl: Osama bin Laden was tying up the circuits Googling himself. Repeatedly.
Judgment Day 2.0
Eventually, a Rapture prediction will come true, right?
We're Number 33 (We Rock!)
Speaking of my granddaughter, I was changing her diaper the other day, and in the contents I'm pretty sure I saw ...
Our nation expects bold and innovative leadership. (Kidding.)
The Church of No Lost Causes
A little Methodist church has a big heart for the left out and the lonley in the shadow of the nation's capital.
Interview with the Prince of Darkness
As the United States prepares for its inevitable takeover by special interests, Sojourners recently sat down with the godfather of them all, the National Rifle Association.
Grandfathers Are Our Future
It's official: WikiLeaks says she's the cutest.
Groping for Answers at the Airport
As one would predict, many humor writers are taking cheap shots at the new pat-down rules at airports. But at Sojourners we're different.
A Giant Flushing Sound...
Not to brag, but my new toilet was rated Best Flush for 2010. I don't know if this reflects its intrinsic design superiority or if the manufacturer was simply teaching to the test, but it does recall the original slogan of George W. Bush's education initiative: "No Child Left Behind; Check the Bathrooms." (It was supposed to be a reminder to school bus drivers, but Congress broadened it considerably.)
Regardless, my new toilet has three times the standard flush power, which means the user should not remain seated when the flushing process is initiated, unless that person's effects are in order and power of attorney established.
This is just one of the features of our new quarter-bath downstairs, the construction of which was my attempt to stimulate the weak economy while providing a place for me to use in the coming years when I become too frail to make it to my secret place in the back yard.
A quarter-bath, a home improvement concept of my own invention, is like a half-bath, only smaller, by half. There's space for a sink, a toilet, and a small person not wearing bulky clothing. Definitely a summer destination. There is room to sit, but not room to flail your arms emotionally after being denied use of the larger bathroom because family members, citing overcrowding, threatened to call the fire marshal.
Nothing to See Here...
Having successfully survived a mid-life crisis -- mainly by living past mid-life -- I felt it was finally time to sell my Harley, the vehicle I procured a few years back to counter the feelings of insecurity that come with aging.
Cover Your Ears, Thomas Jefferson...
After more than 200 years of constitutional democracy, it may be time to try something completely different.
Election Year Blues.
Who You Calling 'Alien'?!
First Among Equals
I never look forward to my trips to Dallas, a red-state city short on political tolerance but long on congenial in-laws, who welcome me to their comfortable little patch of sagebrush while trying t