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.

An Open Letter to the Kid Sitting Not Far Enough Away From Me

Dear Young Person Who Seems to Just Have Fallen Into a Pool of Axe And Most Probably Nearly Drowned So Has Not Yet Had The Time or Mind To Bathe- Or Not:

You may be forgiven for believing so much advertising that presents the great game of romance as little more than tit for tat and the smell of Axe Body Spray as a whole lot of tat. If your other senses are as dull as your olfactory and the amount of Axe you use is proportional to your desperation, I deeply sympathize and offer three bits of advice as constructive guidance:

First, you must find someone who loves you enough to tell you to not leave the house stinking like a gasoline-doused brothel.

Secondly, you need to know that the sudden turns of the head or twisted faces you encounter at every turn are not standard for everyone. Try using less spray and see if you notice that people's expressions have changed as you cross their path.

Thirdly, remove the base layer of Flaming Hot Cheetos residue and four weeks of dried football practice sweat before adding another scent to the mix. A simple rule to remember with deodorants and colognes: after shower, not instead of.

Of course I offer this advice knowing that I may be completely wrong; you should know that as well. As intensely repelled as I am by your smell, as wholly unappealing as you seem to me, that may be how attractive you are to the still-developing adolescent female brain. That said, the fact that you are still sitting here alone, frequently looking up at the girls who walk past your table but never stop suggests at least that Axe doesn't work the way it's advertised. My advice couldn't hurt.

For what it's worth-
skybalon

Where's Your Cowboy Now?

I've often wondered about this. I guess now I know.
Not a single horse at the Texas Villa... and only five cows.

Who would've guessed the Andover Cheerleader- I mean the Texas Cowboy- doesn't like horses?