WHAT!

I was so wrapped up in making Valentine's Day special for the Qweenbeen I totally forgot to do anything for you- I'm so sorry I took you for granted. I hope you accept a belated Happy Valentine's Day wish from me. Here, an oldie but... well it's an oldie where I come from:

Going To Jupiter

I hope, in the same way I hope televangelists will some day come out as ironic performance artists, that the Enzyte commercial creators are actually mocking the idea of masculinity that they are ostensibly targeting.

It's possible, though very unlikely.

What I hope is since the commercial is offering a product for male enhancement what they mean is Enzyte enhances what it means to be male (an adjective) thus making male characteristics more prominent in the same way someone might enhance what it means to be ugly, or dumb, or malodorous. This is how one makes sense of "Bob's" vacant eyes and wide-mouthed grin. His maleness is enhanced to the point that he is made a vapid, dumb-struck, shell.

I like that.

I don't mean to say that "male" is idiotic so enhanced male is more so. Rather, that the sense of male to which Enzyte appeals and demonstrates is idiotic and so one who practices it is an idiot.

So then Enzyte is intentionally an aposematic marker for idiocy and to that end it actually does deliver on its promise of enhancing maleness.

What do you know?

What I know is now that I've knocked Enzyte out of the way, next to go are Billy Mays and international calling cards. Thanks for the work FSC.

It's In The Bible, People

KANSAS CITY, Mo. (AP) -- Kansas activities officials are investigating a religious school's refusal to let a female referee call a boys' high school basketball game.

The Kansas State High School Activities Association said referees reported that Michelle Campbell was preparing to officiate at St. Mary's Academy near Topeka on Feb. 2 when a school official insisted that Campbell could not call the game.

The reason given, according to the referees: Campbell, as a woman, could not be put in a position of authority over boys because of the academy's beliefs.

SI.com

So what's the problem?

Forward Thrust Is Proportional to Airstream Mass Times The Velocity of the Airstream!

Let this be a lesson to the rest of you!

This is what happens when you don't believe in physics.

Unless You Turn and Become Like Children...

Watch this clip and note how the dialogue of Casablanca is especially wooden and hacky.

I don't mean to say, "Hey, did you ever notice Casablanca isn't so great? It's actually a poorly written and acted pile of crap. Who are the jerks that like this?"
It is wooden dialogue isn't it? And isn't the interaction stiff and awkward? But that's a good thing. The stiffness depends on the scene, they're actors acting like people who are acting like they aren't in an awkward situation. So that's good. I mean the stiffness performed in the scene is especially revealed by the voiceover.

And isn't the humor in Singin' in the Rain more humorous. It's not that the added voices are the joke- or the only joke. They seem to reveal more humor in the scene itself.

The scenes are fictions and so the supposedly unnatural layer returns us to the product of the fiction. It puts us into a critical mood so we might see the material as an object. I don't mean we see it objectively. Pfffttt. you should know how I feel about that. I mean we can see it a bit more as the part of a machine that it is.

How might I do that elsewhere?

Ugh- Now you have to go here

And All for Ten Bucks

...

Barber: So do you think people still believe in spiritual magic and shit like that?
Skybalon: Maybe, it depends on what kind of spirits or magic we're talking about. I think we still believe in types of magic.
Barber: Like astrology and lighting candles?
Skybalon: Eh, no. I mean like turning the sweat and blood of poor people into dollars.
Barber: Yeah, that's a pretty good trick.
...

Then the conversation turned to zoophilia

H to He

I would guess most people would say they couldn't affirm the idea that might makes right, but what we might say aside, that's how we live. I don't mean "might" simply in the sense of who has the sticks and guns. I mean might in the sense of whatever has power. Certain things have power and those things make up how we see right and wrong.

Again, I think we probably don't want to say that's what we do, but it is what we do. For example, let's say, for the sake of argument, everyone everywhere says stealing is wrong.

Fine.

Stealing, boo!

But, what we say counts as stealing having some kind of sense depends on who we are. Finding a dollar on the sidewalk? Not stealing. Slipping a candy bar into your pocket at 7-11 and leaving without handing over some money? Stealing. Walking out of the supermarket with the pen you used to write a check? (Who writes checks, grandma?) Not stealing. Giving someone eight dollars an hour for their work? Not stealing.

Whatever, you get the point. What we say is wrong as we live it depends on some sense of us. I know that doesn't seem like it should be so. I know we want to say there is some objective certainty we'd like to have about right and wrong. It can't be so dependent on the vagaries of history, culture, life, and actual existence; that would mean anything goes wouldn't it? (And if history shows us anything, it's certainly not that anything goes~*)

C'mon. Quit being a baby, and confront how you actually live. Or quit being a Calvinist and live in the reality of the Word. Either way, are you really going to try to get away with saying that truth and questions of morality are facts or objective things?

I know the answer to that. We do try to get away with saying that is so. Even as we are busy creating our moral sense of the world, we do so with a wink. We cover the scaffolding surrounding our world with a tarp of "objectivity." Done and done.

Silly us.

But who cares? I mean if you want to pretend that X can be known to be wrong as certainly as the earth spins on an axis, that's great. Barring any mitigating circumstances, you'll likely live as if X is wrong. If I'm going to pretend that I only can know X is wrong because of some complex network or web of layered meaning, commitments, conditions, and narrative, then fine. Barring any mitigating circumstances, I'll probably live as if X is wrong.

Of course if we don't realize we are busy creating the boundaries of understanding we might not realize we are busy creating the boundaries of understanding. Something like this might fly under the radar. This being:

"The White House said Wednesday that the widely condemned interrogation technique known as waterboarding is legal and that President Bush could authorize the CIA to resume using the simulated-drowning method under extraordinary circumstances."

Hmm... maybe what MY PRESIDENT means by history being the judge is that, if we work hard enough now, well create a world wherein it is impossible to say, "Tying someone up and drowning them is wrong."

Worse... maybe not worse... Bad right along with everything else, if we don't realize we are busy creating the boundaries of understanding maybe we'll start to be so sure of ourselves and the world we've made we become the people who say stuff like, "God I thank you that I am not like other men..."

But who cares?

Oh and that time I don't mean it rhetorically. Really, who cares? Anyone? Please, help me out here.

* From now until some point in the future when I won't, I will use this symbol "~" to denote irony.

That Sounds About Right

I know it must be tough right now for REAL CONSERVATIVES who don't have a clear ersatz Jesus as a candidate, but I am not a REAL CONSERVATIVE, so I watch with a bit of schadenfreude the fight to be the discipline daddy. I am plussed by the sheer inanity of the Republicans. That bodes well for thoughtful voters, though I wouldn't call Clinton or Obama "president elect" just yet (I'm sure something scary can happen or we'll invade Iran and the horses-in-midstreamiots will rule again).

Who's going to chase Bin Laden to the gates of hell? Who's going to double Guantanamo? (I say more asbestos, more asbestos!) Who hates THE GAYS the most? What a silly pissing contest. I think most people have had their fill of urine. Still, I've often lacked the imagination to see how low we can go.

But whatever the future holds, I am especially glad, and it's something I can happily affirm, so many are saying that the Republican candidates, if not perfect, are at least a part of Reagan's stool.

That I like.

We've Much to Be thankful For

I know sometimes I may seem a bit pessimistic or appear given to cynical suspicions and assumptions. If it ever seems that way it is only because I have a sense of transcendent hope; I believe in an an other-than-worldly potential. On what grounds could I possibly level a critique against narrow, self-interested, death-mongering or a deadly acquiescence to subjugating powers were it not for some sense of awareness of that which transcends our subjective existence?

Seriously, I mean on what grounds could I do it? Someone else might do it another way, but what else could I do? I despair only because I know there is a reason to hope.

So when I see examples of realized potential I am thankful and feel compelled to share those examples with you.

You've seen the new presidential dollar coins, yes? I, for one, love them. I wish we had five and ten dollar coins as well. I don't know if it's their cosmopolitan appeal or that there's something irresistibly power-uppy about them, but I often go out of my way to get change in these wonderfully alien bits of Americana. I'm also a fan of the unique state quarters but that's more a matter of seeing what each state imagines to be emblematic of itself. You're so lame, Michigan. But maybe there's something in the art work on these dollar coins too. Maybe I love the modern flare and pomposity of a 3/4 view portrait over the staid classical profile of all our other coins. Whatever it is- they're good.

I was aware, though, that some had a problem with these coins. Specifically, the problem was these coins had "In God We Trust" printed on the edge instead of on either face. To some, this seemed like a move to eliminate God from America or something like that. As at least one moron asked, "Has [sic] the ACLU and the militant atheists infiltrated the U.S. Mint?" It also didn't help that one run of the coins was mis-died and "In God We Trust" and "E Pluribus Unum" were left off entirely.

But like I said, this is supposed to be a happy time- and so it is. Thankfully, some very concerned Christians- deeply concerned Christians- concerned with the condition of our souls- concerned with how well we represent Jesus Christ- concerned with actually living out the good news of the Word, the Word that confronts us to change our history from death to life, from oppression to freedom- decided this is exactly the kind of thing the Gospel challenges. And challenge it, it has. Thanks to legislation sponsored by Sen. Sam Brownback, in the future, God will be right where God should be- eternally fixed next to a dead rich white person's face.

Wow.

Aren't you inspired? Aren't you filled with the hope of God's spirit? Especially when you consider how small this group of concerned Christians must be, aren't you filled with the hope of possibility? If this small vocal group can change the very structures of government- literally- doesn't it give you confidence and a blessed assurance in the kind of faith that can move mountains?

Hooray.

And aren't you further blessed by the knowledge that we truly do have a responsive and representative government?

For such a time as this and all that..., dummies.

This Post Has Nothing to Say About Ayn Rand Disciples But My Next One Might

It's difficult to ask people to make sacrifices. It's difficult but it seems something good leaders are able to do.

I don't mean just taking something from someone because you can- wether it's time, money, lives.

That's not leadership. That's being a bully. But convincing us that we're responsible to each other, that we're in something together, that we have a reason to overcome our differences, and work towards something bigger and more important than our individual interests. That's what a good leader does.

It's difficult, but that's why it's the purview of good leaders.

But I suppose not being able to lead might also be a result of being a people who don't need leaders. That is, perhaps we are such that we know it's inappropriate to ever have someone tell us to make those choices if it's not something we want to do for ourselves. I think, these days, we call that an ownership society. Later, we'll call it hell.

Last night I only watched a bit of the State of the Union. I thought I would watch the whole thing, but had a meeting to be at later and it was putting me in too foul a mood to handle much more than a few smirks and the affected cheering of the government we deserve.

MY PRESIDENT made it pretty clear that he's coming from a place that has no need for leaders because there is no need for us to come together for anything bigger than some sense of "me." We've no responsibility to anyone other than ourselves. Free market this, private that; take care of yourself and that takes care of enough.

I like that he made that very clear, especially in his pledge to use his mighty but rare veto on any bill that raised taxes. And then to make clear where he's coming from, he joked about the idea of being willing to sacrifice for each other: "Others have said they'd be happier to pay higher taxes. I welcome their enthusiasm. The IRS accepts both checks and money orders."

Usually when he mentions those faceless others, he's talking about people that don't actually exist. Strangely, in this case, he might actually be ridiculing the majority of Americans who say they would be willing to pay more in taxes for health care, or providing relief for those in need, or that the tax cut he wants to make permanent are not worth "it." But instead of leadership, he offers derision. Instead of inspiring us to something greater, he mocks the very idea of inspiration. What an ass.

Later, at said meeting, we were confronted with the idea of how difficult it is in our erstwhile Yearly Meeting to get people to sacrifice the time to come together for anything. Everyone's got their own things to worry about. That's true. We do. And broadly, we're not a people looking for leadership, we're looking for a way to take care of ourselves in such a way that it might take care of everything else. That's true broadly, but particularly- particularly as our Ministry and Counsel- we were struck by how odd and unfortunate that is.

I want to be careful to not make this a "pat ourselves on the back moment" but we're pretty great. So great that pretty great doesn't seem to say it. We're pretty [expletive] great. So great, in fact, that we undermine that sense of how great we might be and are able to be confronted by how great we really aren't so we might be even greater.

We recently had a small winter retreat. We had about half our congregation there. Larger, more successful, no use for a leader congregations in our Yearly Meeting have noted that not only could they not get that rate of people to show for something like that, they could not even get the same numbers from their mega-congregations to show.

I wonder if it's any coincidence that the die-hard 3 out of 10 that approve of MY PRESIDENT would be found in these very same congregations that don't need leaders, that only need to be affirmed in what they want to do to be a part of anything called the Body of Christ.

There was a bit of a realization last night that we're a weird bunch in the larger group. And who wants to listen to weirdos?

M'eh
The Past and Pending- The Shins
I Wanna Be Your Lover- Prince
Nessun Dorma- LP
Not Ready Yet- The Eels
Shrink- Dead Kennedys
Abstract Plain- Frank Black
Penthouse Serenade- Sarah Vaughan
I'm Lonely- The White Stripes
Darn that Dream- Mile Davis
Moonlight Becomes You- Chet Baker

ed.- And in case you can't tell, I wrote this yesterday but didn't post it right away.

This is all you're getting out of me today. I say that like it's a bad thing, but really, this is better than anything I would have written, or anything else you will read, today.

In case you are link weary, here's an excerpt- and inducer:
State of the Union Drinking Game
by Will Durst*

"What you need to play:

4 taxpayers: 1 rich white guy wearing a suit, tie loosened. 2 folks (any sex) wearing jeans, 1 in a blue work shirt, the other in a flannel shirt, and 1 person wearing clothes that look like they were dragged through the sluice chute of the Three Gorges Dam. Belt and shoelaces secured in a safe place.

1 shot glass per person. Everybody furnishes their own, placing it on a coffee table in front of the television. Suit gets to choose first among the assembled shot glasses for use during game. Blue shirt picks next, then Flannel shirt. Suit takes last shot glass as well, and Rags must arrange to rent it from him for the evening or drink out of own cupped hands.

Everybody antes 10 bucks. Cash. Except Suit, who tosses in an I.O.U.

1 pot of Texas Chili, and a bowl of guacamole in middle of coffee table with Kettle Brand Salt & Fresh Ground Pepper Krinkle Cut™ chips nearby. If any players are women, they have to prepare and serve the chili and guacamole. Otherwise, buy some pre- made stuff at Costco.

...
Rules of the Game
1. Whenever George W uses the phrase "economic stimulus package," the last person to slap his/ her hand to their own forehead, has to drink 2 shot glasses of beer. Every time the President says "make tax cuts permanent," everybody must drink a whole beer then throw the empties at the television. If can hits President's face, everyone else must drink 1 shot of beer.

4. Every time Senators John McCain, Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama are shown in the audience, you have 30 seconds to throw a chip of guacamole at the television and if anyone makes a chip beard on one of the candidates, everyone else has to drink 5 shots of beer.

11. The 1st time George W mentions the tragic events of 9/11, the last person to eat 1 dollop of guacamole off a tortilla chip must drink 3 shots of beer. The 2nd time he mentions the tragic events of 9/11, the last person to eat 1 dollop of chili off a tortilla chip must drink 3 shots of beer. Continue to alternate. If you mischip, drink 2 extra shots of beer.

13. Whenever George W smirks during a standing ovation, take turns drinking shots of beer until the audience sits down. Do it double time if his shoulders shake with silent laughter. If George W winks and points to someone in the audience, Suit has to drink out of beer filled hands of Rags who gets to dry his hands on Suit's jacket."

*Interesting that Fred Durst's twin brother would be the exact opposite of him in terms of talent.

Warhellride: Sublating The Onion

There are those moments in life when words fail to communicate precisely or truly the depth, severity, or intensity of a thing. We could call those moments sublime. The thing is just the thing, but our response to it, or lack of in that moment, is beneath articulation. It is, by it's nature inexplicable. Once it is described, the purity of the moment is lost.

Those pure moments may be followed by laughter, anger, an awareness of some need, devotion, piety, silence, frustration, eloquent or stilted expression. Whatever it might be, trying to rest in that preceding moment is difficult. God has given us drugs, but even better, this:

You must go to this site. I cannot say in strong enough terms, how good it will be for you to go here and know this exists.

It is pure purity.

Would You Want Others to Achieve the Knowledge You Now Have?

If you haven't had the opportunity to be turned off to Little Handsome Man, here's a chance.

He doesn't say anywhere that he believes the galactic ruler Xenu transported his victims to Earth in interstellar space planes that looked exactly like Douglas DC-8s. Rather he talks about wanting to share with other people what he knows because life will be better for them. He has something that he knows is missing from other people's lives. He has something that can bring people together, bring peace, create a better world, blah blah blah.
Specifically he says, "We have that resposnsibility to say, 'Hey, this is the way it should be done because we do it this way and people are actually getting better...' There is nothing better than going out there and fighting the fight."

That's cool?

I believe a guy came back to life after he was killed and then flew into space like a rocket. But that's totally true- not like the junk Tom Cruise believes. We temporarily go to Venus when we die?

That's stupid. Right? Am I right? High five- don't leave me hanging.

People of Earth
Adult Books- X
Fazer Eyes- Frank Black
My Ship- Miles Davis

Not The Noel Coward Post

I was camping this past weekend. For all the work I put into it, it's a bit sad that people still know it's me in my Carmen Miranda get up.

But seriously, folks.

We got back home at about 7PM on Monday. And to be clear, when I write camping, I mean I was at a place called "Camp." It wasn't what most of us call camping- what I generally consider camping. No tent. No packing in my own food and cooking it on a little stove. No burying my poop. None of that. I slept soundly in a heated building, took hot showers, ate 3 meals a day and had a place to dry my wet clothes... and I dressed up as Rita Hayworth.

Anyway, I was tired and only now feel fully recovered and rested from the weekend. I enjoyed the weekend. I don't think I could say more than that without sounding cheesy.

I feel I want to say it was something like "great" or "wonderful" but I'm not sure I should. Don't adjectives like great or wonderful sound trite? Maybe they only sound trite in reference to something that really is great or wonderful but for me suggesting that it was great or wonderful seems a bit pretentious since I helped plan the great and wonderful experience. Or maybe I don't want to say it was great or wonderful because I did help plan it and if everybody else thinks it was less than great or wonderful, here I'll be with egg on my face.

Well... no, it's not really either of those things. I really did enjoy myself but am reluctant to describe it beyond that. I don't mean it was so over the top that words fail to describe the experience. Only that the words that I might use to describe it wouldn't mean much if I don't explain it more fully and to explain it more fully would, to my mind, diminish some of its significance for me.

Or maybe explaining it more would give it a sense of completion that I don't think is appropriate yet. I mean there are certain things that I think I must do in response to what I experienced or learned and unless or until those things are done it's not something to describe.

Maybe that's silly, but I think to perhaps best give a sense of what I took from it I simply have to do what I think will best give a sense of what I took from it.

You And Your Team

A lot of my family is from Mexico. A lot of my family is also from France and Spain. The French folks came to the US, and after a couple of winters and many meals in Indiana, moved to Mexico, and from there to Oxnard, California where my great grandfather was born. My grandmother was born in Redondo Beach. That's my father's side. On my mother's side, my oldest white ancestors were in the New World in the 16th c. And the brown in me was here even before that, but I know that doesn't count.

Despite geography, history, birth, and my own general skepticism towards issues of identity, the way YOU PEOPLE do things, I'm Mexican. Well, a kind of Mexican- the kind that has no place in Mexico.

So sometimes I do embrace the idea of Mexico, which is about as Mexican as what any of the other idealized ethnicities people in the US pretend to be. But there are times when I will act the part of a Mexican though I don't always know the role.

Soccer is one of those "times." I mean I often support the Mexican National Team and vaguely follow some Mexican players. So that means I'm glad for Mexican players that make it to better teams and I like it when they do well, or the Mexican team as a whole does well. Unless, of course, they're playing the US.

Then I hate them with a burning hate I generally save for MySpace, Christmas Shoes, and hell. Funny how that works, isn't it? I may hope that Nery will have a chance to score a lot in the EPL; come February though, I hope he breaks both of his legs or chokes himself with his jersey.

Metaphorically of course.

It seems difficult for things to not work that way. I mean as fluid as identity might be, we easily fall into more rigid clannish categories when push comes to shove, or when push comes to putsch. Maybe that is so because identity is so fluid rather than in spite of it.

This past summer I proposed a pantomime fight with a Columbus Crew fan sometime after I yelled "Chivas Suck!" at some schlub on the sidewalk. I like to think that was a bit of confession and camp on my part. I mean, I caught myself really acting like an idiot, so I decided to pretend to be an over the top idiot to show how idiotic it is to be an idiot.

You may know, if you have half a brain, the half necessary for reading and comprehension, that I'm not a big fan of MY PRESIDENT. Yet reading the news about his trip to Israel and Palestine puts me into that strange position of wanting to defend him. Sure he's a vampire war criminal, but that's for me to say. I'll burn his effigy, you find your own leader to burn. After all, he's MY PRESIDENT.
Well... it's more than that. As much as he and I are not from or on the same plane[t], I feel a subtle pinch when I see these pictures, as if Bush is some new signing I have to support.

True story- I was sitting in a United section of a "pub" for the Arsenal-Man U match earlier this season and I called Rooney a fat load. A woman behind me said something to the effect that if he were on my team I would love him. I said that might be true, but he would still be a hefty blob of pale flesh under whatever colors he wore.

I think many of the claims much of the world can make against the US right now are legitimate... depending on how they're made... But for a brief moment this morning, I wanted to buy a Chinese-made yellow vinyl magnet and PRAY FOR THE TROOPS. I guess that's supposed to happen. The reptile in me wants to narrow who THEY are and what I can do. I guess this is a confession of sorts.

Nationally, many of us still seem to suffer from a lack of imagination when it comes to dealing with people we insist are no more than enemies. Or rather, any energy we put into imagining goes to creating unreal scenarios of how we will deal with our caricatures. Seriously, follow Bin Laden to the gates of hell and shoot him with a Smith and Wesson; get Jack Bauer to hunt and kill our enemies?

I don't write this because it's necessarily news to me. I'm not surprised that I can be parochial. But as we've made it a habit lately, and if others are as susceptible as any, what will we make of the most recent events in the Gulf of Tonkin... I mean the Strait of Hormuz?

We're moving that ball right along while others do the same. We're all so busy creating caricatures to hate, valorizing some sense of us and demonizing them to make it easier and more palatable to kill each other. And there seems to be a sort of velocity building. It's more work at first; then it gets easier. Then it's moving along so freely it's hard to imagine it's not a natural thing after all.

Oh well, Jesus will come back soon and then everything will be great.

Wow That Really Does Work- I Feel So Off the Hook
Gimme the Car- Violent Femmes
Revolution Rock- The Clash
Welcome- The Who
America The Beautiful- Neil Young
Myxomatosis- Radiohead
Once- Pearl Jam
Give the People What they Want- Jimmy Cliff
Helter Skelter- The Beatles
Stomp Box- They Might Be Giants
Just Like a Woman- Bob Dylan
That Old Black Magic-Louis Prima
DMSO- Dead Kennedys
I Die- THe Magnetic Fields
Innervision- System of a Down

Hey, Foreigner

I haven't mentioned yet that I got laser vision over the Christmas break. My hatred for glasses finally overcame my fear of going blind from lasers or long term complications.

Though many of you are uglier than I ever could have known before, all in all, I am very pleased with my fixed eyes, though that's not the point of this.

During my recovery I had to put various drops in my eyes- antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, moisturizing drops. Most every time I did, I thought of my laser vision, and I couldn't think laser vision without thinking of my previous double vision, and then that awesome Foreigner song, Double Vision. So at least five times a day I was saying to myself, "That laser vision gets the best of me..." and at least a few times I would sing it out loud. But each time I was clearly making the link from my eyes, through laser surgery, to laser vision, and finally to the song Double Vision.

That was then.

The past few times I have put anything in my eyes (dog water, gravel, etc...), which I have to do much less frequently now, I go to the melody of the song in my head without thinking anything else. There is no conscious path from the eye drop to the song. This morning, when I put the artificial tears in my eyes, I thought right away of Double Vision, and not being a fan of the song, or having actually heard it in some time, for a split second I wondered, why "Ba da da dada da da duh duh duh" was in my brain.

Laser surgery is why. They don't tell you about that possible side effect.

I suppose we are relatively quickly and easily conditioned to do any number of things. Things that are deliberate little acts soon become rote patterns.

Completely unrelated I'm sure...

If you're a concerned citizen you probably already received this email alert:
"Evangelical Leaders Pledge Common Cause With Islam"
The content of this alert goes on to tell you, concerned citizen, that some eggheads are selling out Christianity in an attempt to dialogue with Muslims. Thankfully, the sellout points are itemized in the alert:
-apologizing for the sins of the Crusades "without mentioning Muslim atrocities" (Whenever I am truly sorry for something, I mention what the other person did to make me do the wrong I would have never done otherwise)
-opening the deity of Christ to discussion (I make sure to only talk about the deity of Jesus with people who already believe in the deity of Jesus)
-putting Christian communities in the Muslim world at risk by admitting any guilt (Nothing makes the isolated Christian communities in the Muslim world stick out like confessions out of Yale. Those Assyrian Christians in Iraq who live under a constitution declaring Islam as the official religion, having their stores and churches blown up, family members crucified and raped really aren't looking forward to word getting out that Muslims might have reason to resent them.)

Keeping It Real

Classic Grandpa- How come you didn't preach while Bruce was gone?
Skybalon- I dunno. No one asked me to.
Classic Grandpa- Why not?
...
Skybalon- They've been reading my blog.

Zinng!

Hail The Conquering Hero

Robin M wins my latest interblog contest.
She wins a copy of His Glorious Reappearing by James White, an 1895 text telling us how we know that Jesus is returning about 100 years ago. I'm a big lame and collect stuff like this. It has some minor water/mold damage on the cover and some pencil marks on the endpages and notes throughout.
I hope, Robin M., you find this text as fascinating as I do.
To the rest of you, I hope you remember the stinging shame of your defeat so that you try harder the next contest.

Eat It Like This

Before January 1st I only had a passing awareness of how awful Rachel Ray is. Through commercials, channel surfing, and standing in supermarket checkout lines I figured I gleaned enough to know that I did not like what she did for the world of food.

On the 1st though, I was literally stuck- and by literally, I mean literally- watching her CBS talk/food show. Before I knew only in part, now I understand fully. Now I've seen more than enough.

If there is a bright shining center to the world of TV cooking food learnery, let's say America's Test Kitchen, then Rachel Ray is the point furthest from it.

The food she makes is horrible and she's a dud.

The Queenbeen would try to get me to cut her some slack by telling me she was a cook and not a chef.

So.

I don't see why that matters. Well, I see why that could matter. If she were trying to make things simpler, maybe changing things for the regular home cook by making things accessible, explaining or reducing some complex cooking processes so others could try and enjoy them, altering things for the sake of health, ease, or efficiency. Doing something like that. But that's not what she does. She makes high sodium, high fat, pre-packaged, over-processed, bland, lumpy, awful garbage.

If you are ever going to have me over to share a Rachel Ray meal, do us both a favor and throw my portion straight into the toilet. Thank you.

So I watched her show and the food was horrible looking. Then there were the interviews. Good grief.

One of the actors from one of the CSIs was on talking about how great it was to be one of the actors on one of the CSIs. Then some lady showed us how easy it is to multitask with a waffle maker; quesadillas, hamburgers, and sandwiches can all be cooked in a waffle maker. Brilliant right? Not necessarily more easily, better, or in a more healthy way, but still, why not throw a quarter pound of ground beef into one of the more expensive to buy and use cooking appliances?

Sure.

And all this was done with the grace and conversational flair of Paula Abdul interviewing Kim Jong Il. It would have been more entertaining to have the guests talk to a jar of mayonnaise and then invite some passersby to read and demonstrate the recipe found on the side of said jar.

Of course as I write this I know I'm wrong. Rachel Ray is at the top of some mega-food media... not quite an empire... territory? Okay. Rachel Ray is at the top of some mega-food media territory, so she's right. Right? She must know food and I just know that in the world she rules, I'm some dumb jerk.

If, years ago, she were to ask me if she should pursue becoming some cooking mogul, I would gently tell her, "No." I would suggest that's not where her particular gifts are and that she would be wasting time and other resources chasing that dream. I would be the nay sayer, the small-town mind that had no way of seeing her vision in the made for TV movie of her life. I would be the memory that would keep her going through the hard times- she would overcome the obstacles laid by people like me until she realized her dream of sharing ground turkey and crouton meat blob with the masses. Then I'd see.

And I do see, but still I'm here, like an idiot, arguing with the results. 'Cos really, when it comes down to it, we're all about the results aren't we? It takes quite a dummy to argue with that.

There's a monster church pastor I know who, despite how untalented, dangerous, ungifted for the role, out and out wrong, and ultimately opposed to the Gospel I think he is, rules over a very large congregation. He was one of two churchy speakers that have ever made me so angry I shook. When we used to have reason to speak to each other, I would take off my shirt, cup my hands on my buttocks and hop around on, first my right, then my left foot, and sqwuak. He would stare at me with the focused but far away look of a man trying to remember the lyrics to a toothpaste jingle he'd known as a child.

Like Rachel Ray, I would say he is not suited for what he's doing. If I was some elder, at some point in his past, I would have said, "This is not for you." Then years later, or after a montage set to a David Crowder song, he would be the pastor of a giant church, selling CD's, hosting prophecy seminars, calling Jesus "immortable," and he'd feel more than right. He'd know that he had discerned God's call for his life. He'd see that it had come to be, and like some Gamaliel, I'd be there with my hat in my hand saying, "You can't argue with results."

He's right. When he taught that America is God's anointed power for good in the world and got me a'shakin, he was right. When he told his daughter to screw school because a.) Jesus would be back very soon so high school and college don't really matter or b.) she just needed to marry someone who could take care of her he was right. When he focuses his entire November-December sermon series on the need to defend Christmas, he's right. He's got a mega-church empire to prove it. Well, not an empire. I guess in the Calvary Chapel way of doing things, it's a fiefdom.

I'm not so big a dummy that I argue with that. Not because there's not something to argue with there, but there's there and here's here. It's when there shows up here that it requires some arguing. And when there seems to be what everyone's after, it's hard to not believe that here should be more like there.

And then what?

As Far as Pretty Cooking Ladies That Look Like Natalie Portman With a Big Forehead Go, I Really Like That Giada De Laurentiis
Aquarius- The 5th Dimension
C for Conscription- The Almanac Singers
Message From the Underworld- The Weirdos
What Do I Get- The Buzzcocks
Frontier Psychiatrist- The Avalanches
Level- The Raconteurs
Why Can't I Touch It- The Buzzcocks
God Only Knows- The Beach Boys
Gimmie Some Salt- Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Panic In Detroit- David Bowie
Moonage Daydream- David Bowie
Los Angeles- X
The Guns of Brixton
Luz Azul- Aterciopelados
White Riot- The Clash
We Americans- The Briefs
Kiss Me On the Bus- The Replacements
The Last of the Famous International Playboys- Morrissey

ed- I was not going to embed the Madness Colgate ad, but even just alluding to it in my brain forced me to search the internets for the commercial. I'm amazed that this commercial matters to the 14 year old shut-ins that curate the YouTube. Oh, and if you dispute me that this jingle is not clearly a Madness song I will cook a Rachel Ray recipe for you.

Merry Christmas, Fag

Back in the day- "the day" being the era it was necessary to watch The Holy Grail in large groups after finding the one or two acquaintances who hadn't seen it and telling them "they had to," and ruining it for them by speaking, in awful English accents, along with the film and then being one of fifteen people telling them the next upcoming scene was hilarious - I watched The Holy Grail with some friends who were fine with everything in the film except the suggestion of sex at the Castle Anthrax. They were fine with all the comic violence to people and animals, the fingers in the eyes of religion and political authorities, all the death and disease, and everything else that was funny because it was unexpected and "wrong." That was all good, though I don't think we knew to say that back then. Point is, all that was okay, but comically referring to sex was right out, as one might say.

One dude- it was college, I probably called him dude- was particularly adamant that we fast forward (hey kids, back then we couldn't skip chapters) through the scene. This scene:

So we did. I didn't win by calling anyone babies or calling BS on their "sex bad: violence funny" nonsense. (After that and other complaints from Sex Baby, I knew I could make him uncomfortable by forcing him to hug when we greeted. I could also make him cry by sticking my tongue in his ear as we hugged when we greeted. So who wins that?)

Okay. I get that we're different, so we're sensitive to different things.
The thing is, the things about which we choose to be babies say a bit about the thing we think we are, or put another way, the things we pick are the things we pick.

So the MPAA says movie posters depicting fantasy torture are appropriate for all ages, but movie posters alluding to actual torture are not. Okay, that's who they are. They're corporate statist shills- at least that's one way of reading the claim they've staked.

So the preamble to the Iraqi Constitution is full of rhetorical language portraying the majority Shia population as a holy victimized minority now taking their divinely appointed place as protectors and saints. Sure they had a rough go of things for a while... a long while, point being, they pick and claim things now because of how "they" see themselves now and where they want to be in the future. Shiism is preserved and protected in their constitution as if there were presently an alternative. That's who they want to be so it makes sense to say those things.

Some "we" seems to see Christmas like that. It seems like we imagine it is threatened from some external source so we have to pretend we're defending something. Bill O'Lielly says some someones called secular humanists are waging a war on Christmas but I hopefully pretend that doesn't inform most of "us." I get emails telling me whom to boycott because they don't say "Merry Christmas" when you buy stuff. That's probably closer to home. We put up lights so we can see where the Jews and atheists live so they are more easily grabbed when the time comes. That's probably just me.

As for us...

Right now, our church sign reads Eat Christmas, Jerks!. Actually it reads, "Merry Christmas! Don't be Ashamed to Say It.

It probably is just me, but I find it hard to imagine that the "W '04," ""Pray for the Troops," and "CCV" bestickered SUVs rolling up and down Lone Hill are full of Secular Humanists on their way to Skeptics Society meetings.

No.

They're actually on the way to gay weddings- on their way from abortions.

No again, but I think you get my point.

It seems unlikely that the challenge we need or the bit of prophecy that may be good news to our lives is: Celebrate Christmas.

If the good news that is ostensibly embedded in Christmas is threatened, it is not by outsiders but us- those of us who practice it coercively or pretend we are actually defending anything or sticking it to the world by saying "Merry Christmas" like dogs protecting our fenced in yards from the mailman.

I hope that we feel something about Christmas is threatened because of what we do. I hope we can see that we're generally not ashamed to say, "Merry Christmas" and there is nothing world-sticking in saying it. I hope we can find anything in it that challenges the world (and our Christian practices are absolutely a part of the world). I hope there is some us that is different and sensitive to those things that might be more indicative of a God that loves humanity and has come to teach us, dwell among us, and change history because of that.

Or at least, if that's not possible, can we be a people that never has to hear "Christmas Shoes" again?

This Is a Title

Oh so much on my mind and no outlet but words to a wife who is not particularly interested.

But Friday- then I'll have some time. Until then, who said this:
"Only when Christ comes again will the little white children of Alabama walk hand in hand with little black children."

It's not a contest- I'm still waiting for more entries to the last. I'll still send Robin M. her prize even if no one else comes along to beat "bleepin'," but "bleepin'" just doesn't seem that strong to me. (No offense, Robin M., but how I feel about schmaltzy Christmas artists seems to need a much stronger word).
Plus, it's not that difficult to find out. You can Google it.

It was a response to MLK's "I Have a Dream" speech.

I guess if I wanted to make it interactive, I could use it as a racism Rorschach.
Whether you think the quote is a problem or not reveals how much of a claim the anti-Christ has on your soul.
Okay. It could be that. Are you a white devil or aren't you? Respond to the quote and find out.

Evil Aikido

What do you get when you cross the sappy clichés of maudlin Christmas commercials with the sensuality of Sexy Christmas?

I'm warning you now, if you haven't seen this ad yet, you may want to think twice about watching it. Once you see it, the images will leave a scar tissue in your mind distorting every future thought, hope, or dream.

A creature head in a box? Baby seduction? Half-naked Christmas card writing? What happened to the baby- is he in the drink? Was he that cookie? What kind of Christmas is this?

I can't hope it's a campy, ironic commercial, in the same vein as Old Navy commercials from year's past. It's a taunt. I fear I have dared the world too far- or underestimated its guile- and this is its response.

Fur fringed bras and shiny rhinestone panties on super models writhing to Christmas music. Is that the best you can do evil world? Try boobies with Christmas Star pasties. I dare you. How about Mary stripping off her tunic and veil to sell lingerie. I'd like to see you try that- but you won't 'cos you're evil and you're too afraid.

At some level, I hope, we know to be concerned with Sexy Christmas. At least we might offer some token scorrn to Victoria's Secretesque Christmas hoopla, and maybe if it went further, we would have some sense of "Now that's too far."

But instead of hitting us on the head, it's drawn us in for a hug.

Sexy Christmas and heart-warrming Christmas have been combined into some scary mix of syrup and body fluids set to jangly guitars and bells. Wistful, heartwarming and sexy- this Old Navy commercial disturbingly brings them all together to horrifying effect.

It hits the good buttons: diversity, youth, togetherness, giving, beauty, family, holiday warmth, childhood, and the suggestion of sex (group sex?) set to folky pop- all the while suggesting pagan baby-drinking/baking horrors. All these images turn on themselves to turn on us. It's everything we celebrate and think we want given to us as destruction.

If I were smarter, or ambitious enough to be smarter, I would know how to take this video and put it to more appropriate music- and then upload it to the YouTubes, of course. As it is, I'm not. I can tell you though, turning off the sound and syncing this with This Is The New Shit by Marilyn Manson, reveals this commercial for what it is. If you have the means, try it yourself.

There it is. In our faces. Taunting us.

One more thing, this is the only thing it could be; if you don't see it this way, it's because you are blinded by the power of the anti-Christ.

New Contest

I know my contests go no where, but you should try to this one. It's a wonderful creative exercise, and I have a great prize to award (suitable for giving as a Christmas gift).

Come up with a word that can accurately communicate just the right sense I was looking for in that last post and leave it in the comments.

The winner, as judged by me, will recieve... no I'm not saying this time. You must play for love of the game and the hope of being the most clever word-smith.

It's pretty great though.

For Three Songs and For Four, I Will Not Revoke The Punishment

There is a power and magic to Christmas. It is an upending and devastating power that can make the repulsive beautiful and bring the outcast and overlooked to the fore. It is the magic in the transcendent God becoming human- bringing a beauty to that strange creature that comes forth somewhere between urine and feces to be creation's glory.

But c'mon why can't we keep Clay Aiken, Toby Keith, Jessica Simpson, The Chipmunks, and every other [there isn't an expletive I know that can properly modify this word] artist on the trash heap of musical history and off the air at Christmastime?

When I have to hear schmaltz in public, it's generally just an irritating drone. It doesn't distract me from the task at hand- finding a hammer, pumping gas, buying eggs, dismembering a drifter. When I hear Clay Aiken singing "Mary Did You Know," my vision clouds. I'm overcome. I stumble about, knocking over pyramids of Chinese made Executive Desk Sets, and Snow Man-Shaped Decanters. I trip over a cube of Shower Clock Radios and as I lie on the ground with security on the way, all I can do is choke and make deep gurgling grunts.

I can feel these songs on my skin like a filmy greasy web. They have an oppressive mass and body to them. They're a heavy sweet-putrid choking stink that searches out the back of my throat and presses down my tongue to force its viscous sticky oil down my gullet.

Please, please, please!?

And that's Christmas magic.

I've Got The Golden Compass

You should know how to read that.

I gave in to the lure of armored polar bears or my rebellious spirit.

I picked up The Golden Compass yesterday. If it's true that this book is atheist propaganda and The Chronicles of Narnia are Christian propaganda, then atheists are so much cooler than Christians.

Though Classic Grandpa says we should cut C.S. Lewis some slack because when he was writing it was harder to think of anything cooler than talking beavers. Okay. I'll give that to him. But I probably don't have to.

Unless you're trying really hard to find it, you're not going to get an atheist's apology in The Golden Compass. To be clear though, I don't think you get Christian allegory in Lord of The Rings and though this may be too close to blasphemy for some, I think the symbolism in The Chronicles of Narnia is a bit wooden.

So...

Don't be a baby?

I don't know if that advice will help though. If you are a baby, you're not likely to not be a baby because of what I just wrote. In fact, you'd probably be a baby about what you've just read as well as The Golden Compass that you won't read- or see. So what to do?

Should I not finish reading it out of regard for my weaker brothers and sisters? Should I read it so that when weaker brothers and sisters say something weak I can help them become stronger? Should I read it and be concerned about myself for appreciating its anti-authoritarian message? A pope character named John Calvin and the head of the church in Geneva- I love that it's so despicable.

Maybe I'm the weaker brother. I was, after all, so eager to give into the polar bears. Maybe I need your help.

Okay- dig this- I think that for many reasons, religion is often an oppressive authority and handy source for justifying the unjust, so apart from the taut writing, well-imagined world and characters, and engaging story, it has an important message and presents the kind of questions those on the "doing" end of oppression ought to be confronted with, especially as those on the doing end can be so... correct. But then, I am someone who could not say there is some "pure thing" called THE CHURCH that is innocent of such abuses. That is, I wouldn't say, "Oh sure, individuals have done horrible things in the name of God or under the color of church authority, but they aren't THE CHURCH, they were pretenders and THE CHURCH remains undefiled and full of... I dunno... the Elect?" I tend to see one boat, though I do see people who actively want to be something church-y in an interesting place on that boat. Maybe.

So that's me- clearly in need of some help from someone who knows that there is such a thing as The Church Invisible, knows that any authority is good authority, and is willing to straighten my soul's bones.

I Need Someone, A Person to Talk to, Could It Be You?
1979- Smashing Pumpkins
Spanish Bombs- The Clash
Original of the Species- U2
Dirt- Phish
Let It Be- The Beatles
Out of the Window- Violent Femmes
Mrs. O'Leary's Cow- Brian Wilson
Blind Barnabus-- The Golden Gate Quartet
2000 Miles- The Pretenders
Gigantic- The Pixies

The Stain Lifter

I know it seems like something that shouldn't be true. I grant that people don't want to believe that we torture as a matter of course or that we are a people who confess by our actions that the lives we enjoy depend upon the deaths and torture of others, but at some point, people who do not, or did not, otherwise want to confront that reality, will have to.

The crap faucet has been dripping for a while now, and while many were able to ignore the early droplets, the mess is getting harder and harder to ignore.

There are various ways of confronting that. We are currently at a point where you can rationalize it by saying, "Well the Democrats were involved, too." And that will probably make things okay for you- if you're a butt. But if you're not a butt, or trying to recover from being a butt, you may want to try something else. You could try not saying the F-word or drinking beer.

That doesn't do anything for me, but I'm sure for many it's a surrogate for making a difference. And as far as surrogates go, it's better than buying a Hummer or cheating on your spouse.

But for others of you, you may want to-
Stop everything! I've got it

Maybe I'm not being fair or honest with myself. Maybe the life I live really is worth someone's death and torture.

I mean, I am a Christian and we're all into that business aren't we? The idea of someone being brutalized for our benefit is mother's milk, right?

Oh here comes how I'm sleeping at night...

Ready?

Here it is: Not only are we are helping others to be more Christ-like, torture and murder are our communion.

I can believe that. What's more literally flesh and blood than actual flesh and blood?

It's so perfect and simple. It's perfectly simple. I'm going to sleep like a baby tonight.

_______________________________________________
No, this is the line. What I've written clearly has not crossed it.
I Will Crap My Pants and Wake Up Crying
Maggie's Farm- Bob Dylan
My Funny Valentine- Chet Baker
Spaceboy- Smashing Pumpkins

In a Way, You're All Winners But In Another, More Accurate Way...

Hey internetter using Road Runner with IP address 76.79.255.-blank-, you were my 10,000th visitor back on the 22nd. That's cool.

I should give you something.

The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get

Everything that I'm learning about The Golden Compass makes me want to see the movie or read the books. What I'm learning is that it looks awesome and that it is feared by some religious types. Perhaps my wanting to see or read it says I have a rebellious spirit or I'm a sucker for polar bears in armor.

Oh... right- There's no spoiler alert needed 'cos I'm not saying anything about the movie that is not already in the ether.

So, I hear it's supposed to somehow be atheist propaganda- or at least it impugns organized religion and a particular conception of God. I don't find that particularly troublesome, not least of all because there are many things about organized religion and particular conceptions of God that need impugning. Still, I see why that might bother some people, just like I can see why ham-fisted cartoons of Mohammed might bother some people too. What can I say? I can really empathize.

It seems like it could easily offend some people's religious sensibilities. If that's the case, then I don't see why someone shouldn't avoid it. I couldn't read the Left Behind series for largely that reason.

But atheist propaganda? From what I know, that seems a stretch. It's not a stretch insofar as religious babies misunderstand atheism- or believe too much in their own boogiemen. That is, it makes sense to see this as a type of atheistic threat if you're into the hype in much the same way it makes sense to believe that Iraqi Islamo-fascists will get into their boats and airplanes to follow us home.

From what I can tell, The Golden Compass does not seem like atheist polemic. It may be anti-theist, or theist of a stripe you're not comfortable with, or anti-religion, but not atheist. It's a lot like the Bible in that sense.

I should confess though, I might be an atheist. If I need to believe in God as some Santaesque bearded old man hanging out somewhere beyond the boundaries of the sky to be a theist, well, then, that's not me. And if I need to believe that there is one thing that is Christianity- that there is possibly some pasteurized thing that is pure Christian beyond any of the myriad forms that have ever been expressed so that I might be... whatever it is that would make me, then I guess that's not me either. So someone somewhere might think I'm an atheist. I guess that's fine. But I think an atheist is something else.

For good or bad, an atheist seems someone who couldn't care less about a god or many gods. It wouldn't make sense to say they don't believe in god as it suggests that there may be some type of alternative to do so or not do so. God just doesn't enter into the picture for them. Just as you likely do not consider the existence of luragrafs a matter of belief or not, an atheist would give no more thought to a deity. There is no thing in which they might believe, so why bother with the position? I suppose there are those who view the concept of god as something others might believe in and regard such belief as a harmless matter of personal superstition or a dangerous delusion and act accordingly. But here, as I speak out my rear on the matter, things in The Golden Compass seem anti-Christian or anti-religion and smart enough to not be anti-god. (I don't mean to say that the author may not be anti-god, but it makes no sense to be so or write an allegory that makes a case for that position- as it makes no sense to be pro-god and allegorically justify that position- maybe he realizes this. I don't know.)

Perhaps I should know better, but I don't find that wholly problematic. There is, after all, a lot in religion generally and the many expressions of Christianity specifically to be "anti." This may not be any fault of religion or Christianity. They are just things made by people, and, as the Blonde Buddha said, there are a lot of Christians who are easy to not like. It makes sense that they would craft a religion appropriate to their unlikeability.

I suppose if that's all there were or if I thought the church were some thing that needed to be kept safe in a garden I would be troubled. But I don't so I'm not.

It may be that Philip Pullman really is describing and advocating some metaphysical position and hoping someone, somewhere will say, "Hey, wait a minute- that group I keep giving my money to every Sunday is a crock." But I don't think that would be the fault of the movie. Though worse, I may be missing the Chick-reality behind it all, and with every copy of the book and every screening of the film there is an imp assigned to destroy the faith of the reader/viewer.

Tell you what, if that turns out to be the case, I'll buy you a soda.

In My Absence I Missed a Watershed Event in The Life of My Blog
Helter Skelter- The Beatles
Search And Destroy- The Stooges
My Iron Lung- Radiohead
La La- The Polyphonic Spree
Necromancer- Gnarls Barkley
Supermassive Black Hole- Muse
Power of Love- Jimi Hendrix
Turn A Square- The Shins
Who Are You- The Who
Coffee Mug- Descendents
Las Abajenas- MMF
Blitzkrieg Bop- The Ramones
She Watch Channel Zero- Public Enemy

You Can't Get There From Here

I am on the train, returning home from AAR. Previously I mentioned that I would perhaps do some sort of liveblogesque posting from the conference but I was not going to pay the outrageous $13 per day they were asking for internetsitivity.

There are things I will pay too much for- booze... um... I guess that's it. Oh- a house in California- The Bean (shortened) and I will probably end up paying too much for that. So, there are things I will pay too much for- booze and real estate- but not the internets.

Though now that I write that I realize we are all paying too much for internets. I mean, it's the same internets we're all paying to have poured into our homes individually. We could just as easily have a big pile of internets in the middle of the street and share the cost with our neighbors but the prince of the power of the air has such a hold on us we mostly think that's stealing. So I guess I do pay too much for the internets. And from that, it looks like I/we will sell our souls for too little. But that's not as bad as it sounds. After all, we only really use our souls at Christmas. So... whatever.

Anyway, no internets this weekend and hence no experiment in online-diarying, but I can still share with you the highlights from this weekend. I stalked academic celebrities. I dazzled Emilie Townes with my wit. At various points, I felt what I imagine other people must be feeling when they raise their hands at church. I made some excellent connection$ for my dissertation work. The most important thing, though, was my trip to the Institute for Creation Research in Santee.

The Institute for Creation Research is exactly what the name suggests. It's an institute where they do creation research. Duh.

It's interesting to me that the title suggests creation concretely or abstractly and that the research that is performed and produced concerns the act of creation or that which results from a creative act. That struck me as particularly honest. They're not like those liars at the Discovery Institute who want to call creationism some type of science or give it some fancy name that makes people think they're doing something like science. These folks at the ICR make it clear from the get go that they are not doing science, rather they are doing creation research.

So, like I said, it struck me as particularly honest. Then I learned that they will award you an advanced degree in science.

An advanced degree in something called science.
Really.
Not so honest and a little silly.

Whatever- as fufilling as my time at AAR was, I felt the trip would be incomplete without a trip to the relatively nearby ICR. Even though it meant I would miss at least one session, a discussion of cultural identity in shifting environments, I figured I might be able to take something valuable from a visit to The Institute.

The Institute is as far from the AAR conference you can get on the San Diego Metro System- it is literally at the end of the line. Well, literally about a mile and a half beyond the end of the line. I guess we'll say that means something. It's also probably something that of all the religious events AAR hosted beyond the seminars, panels and receptions themselves, not one included even a mention of the ICR. You could go on an AAR affiliated visit to see the Dead Sea Scrolls. You could tour historic religious sites in San Diego, including the many nearby missions. You could even go to the zoo with AAR. I was the only one going to ICR. Go figure.

So I made the journey from the relatively cosmopolitan and somewhat manufactured urbanity of the San Diego Convention Center region swarming with its Gaslamp hipsters, downtown anti-hipsters, moneyed hotel and waterfront condo dwellers, resident homeless folks, tourists, conference attendees, other drunks of all stripes, and the rest of the cacophonous mix of people, languages, stinks, and colors all the way out to the soft pink stucco and tile roofs of Every Other Suburban Development, Southern California.

At the Santee Transit Center, I was supposed to take Line 854 a brief way and then walk a bit to the ICR Museum. At least that's what all of the Metro Maps indicated. Instead, when I arrived at the transit center I found that Bus Line 854 no longer existed- No- Wait. I'm sorry. It still exists as Bus Line 854- only it went to none of the places that it went to in its previous incarnation. In fact, no bus goes by the creation museum, even though the Metro Maps say otherwise and it lies near the heart of pink stucco Santee.

Thanks, jerks.

Really. Thanks. Even if it is pretty jerky of YOU to not make sure YOUR maps reflect where I can actually go using YOUR busses (or buses- both are correct). YOU helped me realize something that I may not have known had I easily visited the museum and snarkily took pictures and conversed with employees.

This can't really be something that means anything to me. If I took them seriously, I likely would have walked another thirty or so minutes to the museum. Even if I took them seriously only as some type of academic investigation, I probably would have walked the rest of the way. I would have trekked with my suitcase and computer bag up the hill to the storefront graduate school and museum. I would have spent time pretending this means something to my faith. As I disagree with it, find it confused and shallow, and fret over its influence in THE CHURCH, I would pretend there was something worthwhile to engage there. I guess I really just don't care that much. At least I don't care enough to go that extra distance. Or the there there is not worth the effort to get there.

There are many much more important things to deal with.

I guess.

So I went back to the conference.

And now I get to return home with and to what really does matter to me.

Tell Me, What Do You Do With Witches?

There are certain things I tell myself to avoid if I don't want to spend more time shaking my fist at the sky yelling, "I try to believe in you and now this?!"
So when a friend told me Chuck Colson wrote a tossed-off apology for torture I thought I would avoid it. But the wind blows wherever it pleases and I was led right to it. Here it is:

Justified Under Some Circumstances
"Centuries of Christian ethical reflection would lead to the answer 'no.' Inflicting bodily or psychological harm on a helpless captive would be inconsistent with the Christian understanding of human dignity. But as with all moral obligations, there may be circumstances for exception.

It is well understood in Christian tradition that while we are supposed to obey the law, there may be times when there is a higher obligation (see Aquinas, Augustine, and Martin Luther King). To rescue a drowning person, a Christian would be justified in disobeying a 'no trespassing' sign.

So it is with torture; if a competent authority honestly believed that this was the only way to get information that might save the lives of thousands, I believe he would be justified. That is not moral relativism. It is making a difficult decision when human life and dignity will be affected either way. The Greeks called it prudence."

Tossed-off indeed.

This isn't the intro to it. This isn't a reference to a more thorough explanation elsewhere. This is it.

Centuries of reflection would lead one way. Four sentences later, we have something else. You have heard it said, "Blah blah blah," but I say to you, "Torturing someone is like rescuing a drowning person."

Accept for a moment that not torturing someone is based on some general Christian understanding of human dignity over anything else. Accept also that moral obligations can be understood like signposts we sometimes follow and other times disregard. Accept the premise that Christians are supposed to obey something called "the law." Get over any objection to the idea that someone who would torture someone is doing something akin to what Martin Luther King Jr. did. Accept too that a "competent" (let alone legitimate) authority could possibly believe that a tortured person would reveal anything useful. Never mind that this is a complete misunderstanding of the virtue of prudence. Disregard every deadly thing that is swimming in this stinking and dripping necrotic sore and just accept it as it is.

See that it is.

There was a time when some were saying that it could not possibly be true- that we would never torture anyone. (wink) Then some said, maybe some people were tortured, but if they were it was by a few bad apples, and it certainly is not likely to happen again. Later, we had to say that some harsh and ugly things are inevitable in harsh and ugly times, but we are not as bad as the worst and we certainly don't think what we do could be called torture. Then we find ourselves at a point where we say, "It looks like a duck, smells, tastes, acts, quacks, and everything else like a duck- but I would not call this duck torture." And before you knew it, we're saying, "Yes, we torture, and it is good."

You get that, don't you? That's what this is. This is a Christian, a Christian you may look up to- certainly a Christian that someone in your congregation looks up to- saying, however thoughtlessly, "Torture is good. It is noble. It is something that the truly prudent would do." He is not saying, "The world, in its worldliness, has people that will torture others." He is saying, "The truly wise and judicious Christian knows they do good by torturing."

-Sigh-

We suck our teeth at those backwards Dominicans who strung up every Jew and Muslim in sight. With every high school production of the Crucible, we wag our heads and thank God we live in better times now. We're happy knowing that we're not the kind of Christians who would try to sanctify slavery. We look at the Christians of fifty years ago and ask how they could have ever justified segregation with a straight face and how others could stand by and watch. Whatever the embarrassment, we say it was in the past and now we know better.

But here we are, choosing the wrong side of history. And fifty years from now others will look back at us and see that we chose sides. They'll laugh at how absurd we were and wonder how we could not see as plainly as anything else this was not where we should want to be.

It was bad enough when we simply held theologies that said this isn't something we needed to care about. Looking at boobies, lying, stealing- those rise to the level of worry. This? Torture? M'eh, it's not really something we need to worry about.

It looks like somebody's been worrying about it, and this is what they came up with.

We are the Body of Christ and this is not a problem. We are the Body of Christ and we're saying this is consistent with what that could mean.

Okay. I guess. Though I feel like I should be sitting in a fireplace right now.

This New Learning Amazes Me, Explain Again How Sheep's Bladders May Be Employed To Prevent Earthquakes
Low Light- Pearl Jam
Light and Day/Reach For The Sun- The Polyphonic Spree
Baby You're A Rich Man- The Beatles
Shoplifters of The World Unite- The Smiths
The Trial- Pink Floyd
Days Like This Keep Me Warm- The Polyphonic Spree
Master of Puppets- Metallica
Super Bad- James Brown
Ego Tripping At The Gates of Hell- The Flaming Lips
Shrink- Dead Kennedys
Happiness Is a Warm Gun- The Beatles
La Vie En Rose- Edith Piaf

I Palindrome I

I was raised Catholic but got out of practice in high school. I was dogged by skepticism that wouldn't allow me to believe bread and wine really turned into flesh and blood. I could pretend that happened. I could also believe that while we pretended it happened we were remembering or contemplating something more significant, but I was told that would not do. I had to believe that bread and wine turned into flesh and blood. After all, people had been waterboarded for less. We were living in the twentieth century and no one was likely to torture me over issues of Catholic dogma. Still, I couldn't be Catholic and not confess the reality of transubstantiation.

But I had been an alter boy, I saw first hand where the bread and wine came from. They were just bread and wine. I saw that bread and wine stayed bread and wine no matter how many spells were cast on them. I tasted bread and I tasted wine. I tasted flesh (in small quantities); I tasted blood. All different. I never in all the Masses I attended saw anyone ever grimace or react as if surprised because they tasted flesh or blood. I can say as plain as anything, I never knew- have never known- bread and wine to change into flesh and blood- in any circumstance. Perhaps if this were to happen to me today I could have a more sophisticated understanding of "believe," but as it was "two roads diverged" and all that.

So as much as it's possible, I was no longer Catholic.

Providentially, at that time there were pretty girls at the Friends church that were not too proud to date some schlub clearly beneath them. So that's where I was, but my recent encounter with the lies that undergird religious truth and the deep suspicion of Protestants my in some ways proper Catholic upbringing inspired suggested I should look into these people called Quakers. That's what I did, and I liked what I found. I first read Barclay's Apology and then George Fox's Journal. I looked over Quaker histories. I dated demonstratively affectionate girls. I found answers to questions I couldn't quite articulate and a hope for what something called "the church" could be. This was what Christianity was supposed to be. Things made sense to me. (And what's religion if not some system that simply affirms our sensibilities and fits well with our temperament?) Not the kind of sense that Intelligent Designers or Talbotesque Apologetics want religion to make- it made a kind of spiritual sense. It didn't put the known and unknown universe into some coherent order. I didn't suddenly believe things I couldn't believe. It seemed to just fit with how I had known God and myself. For what that's worth.

Time would show me there is always a gap between what a people could be at their best and what is- a gap between where we are and what is actually possible given desire and imagination. But for the most part I liked what I lived and I liked the potential.

So... this is to say: I am decidedly Quaker. What that means has grown but remains the source material for how I understand me and "its" relation to a community. Perhaps that puts me into some circle where my understanding of what is Quaker feeds my sense of who I am that depends on what it means to be Quaker to know who and how I am, but it's a circle that something I call Quaker is uniquely able to understand and it's not necessarily the proverbially vicious circle. This being Quaker is important and true, so I am concerned with our Annual Conference, erstwhile Yearly Meeting, and its desperate search for something that resembles life. Of course a desperate search for life can be a good thing, but in our case, perhaps for the sake of some type of growth- so we could build forty churches in five years- because big equals true- because bigger is more real- it seems we are building and embracing some dummy Christ- some generic Christianity stuffed with straw and rags. Perhaps it's because of something else, but it seems like window dressing all the same- a mannequin rather than a living body.

Maybe it is real. Maybe there's a life in it that I can't see. But I can't lie and say I see a life where I don't.

It certainly was easier when I could simply taste what wasn't real.

Speak Roughly to Your Little Boy
and Beat Him When He Sneezes
He Only Does It to Annoy
Because He Knows It Teases.

Alec Baldwin can call anyone "a rotten little pig" if this actually happens.

And though it's neither here nor there, to be fair, Alec Baldwin's daughter may be a pig.

But At Least We're Having the Conversation OR I May Not Agree With Your Decision to Be Horrible But I will Defend With My Life Your Right to Try to Be Horrible

Freedom is an odd thing. No...

More precisely, our sense of freedom is an odd thing.

Or maybe it's our sense of liberty that is odd- maybe I think of them as the same thing.

Maybe I'll slip back and forth here... That's what you can expect.

It seems that we think of freedom as some unconditioned will; in order to be free I have to be able to do whatever I want. There can be nothing that determines what I will do other than my will. Save except for those things that force us to exist as human, we are only free if we are Hercules at the Crossroads- free to choose good or bad.

If that were really the case, I would hate us for our freedom too. But I don't think anyone really lives that way- well no one that we wouldn't call crazy lives that way.

It's something else. It's more about saying "You're not the boss of me." Saying, "You're not the boss of me," corresponds to the way we seem to live our freedom, but saying that means, "I'm the boss of me," and meaning, "I am totally in control," might relate to something we like to say we have but it certainly assumes much more volition than any one can actually know.

It seems we are the boss of us, and knowing who we mean by we, the greater the group that is we, and the more whatever collective-singular-inflective pronoun that reflects the collection of components that constitute that sense of us fits here-awareness there is, the greater a sense of freedom there is.

Maybe I should just have written "self-awareness."

Of course that's just me...

Who else could it be?

Anyway, with that, there are things that just do not correspond to greater freedom.

God's favorite Senator, Russ Feingold, peace be upon him, has stated that he will vote against the nomination of Mukasey for AG. Questions about warrantless wire-tapping, executive power, and torture are foremost for him. He seems to think that it's not enough that Mukasey say waterboarding is despicable or that he hems and haws on the balance of power among the branches of government. (In case you forgot since high school: congress is not subordinate to the president).

These, especially the waterboarding, are not "agree to disagree" or "we'll hash it out later" things; they get right at that sense of who we are.

There is little value in the discussion itself. We shouldn't be happy that at least we're talking about these problems because a.) we're barely talking about them and b.) that's not freedom. Freedom is not in the possibility or ability to talk about or do these things and any sense of freedom that rested on the possibility to choose this or, worse, on its use, is a cheap freedom.

Certain things are beyond the pale. Knowing what those are and being clear about it is where we see who we are.

Hey, maybe in that sense, some people really do hate us for our freedom.
Some of them act badly because they've had a hard life, or have been mistreated... but, like people, some of them are just jerks
Love Minus Zero/No Limit- Bob Dylan
Ever Fallen In Love- The Buzzcocks
Hotwax- Beck
Pressed in a Book- The Shins
Strange Brew- Cream
Excuse Me Mr.- Ben Harper
Watch That Man- David Bowie
Harrowdown Hill- Thom Yorke
Surfwax America- Weezer
Gaite Parisienne- Offenbach
Solbury Hill- Peter Gabriel

Cosmic

Previously on Through A Glass Dimly I mentioned there was a hole in the internets because I didn't find what I expected to find when I did the Google at "Footprints Mugs crossed with Psalm 23 incubated in Thomas Kinkade's colon." I don't know what exactly I expected- only that there wasn't a there there.

Now the there there just refers back to this.

I guess I'm the expert on Footprints Mugs crossed with Psalm 23 incubated in Thomas Kinkade's colon.

If that's the case I guess I should get cracking at making this a better resource for that.

Ceci N'est Pas un Potiron

I participated in our annual church pumpkin carving contest this Halloween. Many years ago, at our first ever, my partner and I won with a very scary, monster-headed, jack-o-lantern. It wasn't the typical triangle eyes, circle nose, big grin jack-o-lantern; think a terrifying Minotaur with glowing orange features and flaming eyes.


From the beginning, participants pushed the limits of what a jack-o-lantern could be (should be?). It was great. But as time passed people realized there were certain strings you could pull to easily win. Soon, the winning pumpkins were maudlin Bible scenes, hearts and crosses, and Jesus. Lots and lots of Jesus. The judges were unnatural selection, causing our pumpkins to evolve into a sappy pile of Footprints Mugs crossed with Psalm 23 incubated in Thomas Kinkade's colon.

I just Googled that.

Nothing.

There's a hole in the internets.

I think this video gives you a sense of what I mean though:

They might as well have been unicorns soaring over rainbows.

Anyway, when I participated I would try to break the barriers of pumpkin carving. I was trying to blow minds, man. I transgressed the boundary between viewer and pumpkin. I made people acknowledge their role in creating the idea of jack-o-lantern. I forced us to question the very concept. I pushed the physical boundaries of pumpkin... ness?- blowing one up, shooting flames out of another, leaving one blank pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern pumpkin jack-o-lantern

Needless to say, I wouldn't win. I was doing it all for fun, but it's certainly more fun to win.

So to win, I did this:

Layers upon layers.

Were I truly an artist, I would have raised my pumpkin high over my head, yelled, "To create is to deny!" and thrown it to the ground smashing it to bits. Instead I brought home my first prize- a huge bucket of candy, pumpkin puree, and pumpkin frisbees.

I promise to enjoy it all ironically.

And though the rules of the road have been lodged
It's only people's games that you got to dodge
And it's alright, Ma, I can make it.

Did You Know There Is a GodTube? I Just Learned That
Narcolepsy- Ben Folds Five
Youth Culture Killed My Dog- TMBG
Radio Song- REM
Sunny Afternoon- The Kinks
Ran Can Can- Tito Puente
Circle- Miles Davis
Robochacha- Kid Koala
The Love Cats- The Cure
We- Descendents
Bone Machine- The Pixies
Bullet In Your Head- Rage Against The Machine
Strange Fruit- Billie Holiday
Yes 'em to Death- The Coup

Do I Even Have A Computer Anymore?

I have become so undisciplined- doing all manner of things besides keeping up with my interwebjournal- or rather, keeping you up with my internetwebjournal. Of course by you, I mean the internets.

There've been a number of things I could've written about. There was the anniversary of the Treaty of Westphalia. That's worth commemorating because it marked the end of religious conflict and perhaps the beginning of Modernity. No one has killed anyone since then so it's a good thing to remember. Still, I never got around to that. I also thought about writing about how hard it is to hate Man U when Tevez and Rooney are playing. I'm sure there was some sort of "love the sinner hate the sin" lesson in that. Complaints about FSC are on my mind. The silliness of our "Forty Churches in Five Years" mantra keeps interrupting happier thoughts. I've been impressed by my Tues/Thurs AM students. I've been wondering if something called THE CHURCH can exist. All kinds of stuff just this past week- yet no posts.

What's wrong with me?

Well if I can't post something on Halloween, I don't deserve all of the candy I will be eating. So here's some creepy for Halloween:


And...
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll
Woe oh oh oh oh oh

I also promise to write something about tonight's hoe-down and this weekend's Dia de Los Muertos festivities. Maybe I'll even do another live-blogging experiment from AAR.

That's All We Need

What's this? A blog posting. Hmmm... weird...

Just a few months ago, the Dominionist/Reconstructionist theology websites I read were all a twitter with the hope of Cialis user Fred Thompson making a run for the Republican Presidential nomination. Now that he has, and since he's been speaking more and more, his name doesn't come up so much. There is a lot of talk about MY PRESIDENT, though- about how he's lost his mind, how he's not a real convert, how he was never really a conservative. You know what they say about broken clocks. Add his position on the Armenian genocide resolution to the mix and there are a lot of panties in a bunch. Really.

All in all, there is a lot of panic and anger among the radical clerics on the right. I should be clear and differentiate between the panic of the Rushdoonian party and the chagrin of the Dobsonians. I should, but I won't. Broadly, all of a sudden, MY PRESIDENT isn't good enough for them. Suddenly, they can't carry his water. Now the last six years seem imperial and not eschatological. Now people want to know where the intersection of belief and action is (even if that action is rounding up the gays or jailing kids for having sex). Maybe, among Frederick of Hollywood, the Gay (well, Crossdressing and Lived with Gays) Divorcé, and the Mormon Frankenstein, it's hard to see any millennial or messianic continuity and there is some serious soul searching going on. Or maybe it's a bit more cynical; they just want to be asked to dance again. Whatever it is, there's now a lot of, "Well, we never liked him anyway," and "This party's not what it used to be" a la "Did we really say Jesus would return on that date? What we meant was..."

I see this as a good thing. I mean, that Thompson, and now no one, was their great hope rather than, say, Huckabee, makes the political cynicism of the militant Christianists a bit more transparent and may cause some serious and thoughtful reflection on everyone's part. Even their fear of women and black men can't bring them together, and don't be fooled, White Maoi, 9/11 in Drag, and Those Aren't My Grandchildren really want you to remember a women- a Clinton woman- could become president.

And this wholesale abandonment of the electoral process doesn't necessarily mean anything positive for the Democratic hopefuls. You cannot overstate how much most of America hates women, black people, and men who comb their hair.

But all of this was before today- before the Nobel Peace Prize announcement. If you're a lunatic afraid of persecution and the novus ordo seclorum, doesn't this prove there is some liberal global cabal? WE are alone in the world- an autocephalic light for Christ. And now with the General Secretary of the UN speaking of his faith and quoting scripture (gees, Anti-Christ, how about some subtlety) there may be enough motivation on their part to come together to save America.

This is their kairos. Maybe.

"a women"? Nothing for two weeks and "a women"? Nice.