Catholic education is the topic tonight. Catholics. Catholicism. The Church.
I don't want to send my kids to Catholic school because I don't want them to be indoctrinated into the Catholic faith.
I've grown up thinking that the Catholic church is a sham that turns its back on people in their time of need.
I think that because I was told, I think, that when my Dad's Dad died, when my dad was 14 and his youngest sister was 9 months old and there were 5 kids in between the two of them and suddenly Mamaw found herself alone with 7 kids, she went to the Church to ask for some help, because JFC she probably legit needed some help. I heard she didn't get it. That my dad left the Church because of that.
Cool. Not cool, but okay. I get it.
Tonight, discussing Geneva's kindergarten school placement - she didn't get into our first choice, but got into our second choice which was only our second choice because it was the best ranked school in our cluster at a 5 out of 10 - the other 5 schools we could've chosen were 2s and 3s out of 10. This is the education system in America, folks. If you don't live in the rich neighborhood, you can choose between mediocre, okay, or absolute shit when it comes to your kids' public school options. W00t.
We've thrown out there for discussion the topic of private school because, well, we can't home school and because our public school options were collectively not great. But we don't have private school money, truth be told. We're already stretched paying more than our mortgage each month for daycare for 2 kids - daycare plus private school tuition is more than daycare for two kids and we spent 13K on daycare in 2017. Still, education. It's important. A big damned deal.
I asked my Dad tonight for his opinion on Catholic Schools. He shocked me when he said, "If you can afford it, I think it's the best choice. I don't think they could get a better education."
WTF, Dad? I'm confused.
He went further, "It's a deep topic and we should talk about it alone another time." The girls were both on his lap, as he sat in his recliner. "I think it's the one true Church. But the Church and the people, those are different..."
Mind. Blown.
I'm so confused.
This will definitely have to be continued. I wish I could call him now and be like, so, um, talk to me yo. Not tonight, though. Soon.
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Thursday, February 8, 2018
Monday, December 5, 2011
And then we came to the end...
I put on a good drunk Saturday night, could you tell?
I had gone to the Mexican joint up the road with Angie for margaritas and cheese dip (it was her birthday, it's not like I could pass up the opportunity), and when we got home, Jimi had picked up a case of cheap beer, and I was all PARTY ON!
I sat here at my laptop after Angie left, wearing earbuds and jamming out to Ben Harper and The Beatles and Allison Kruass. Jimi said the house was completely silent, except every now and then I'd blast out some lyrics, or do a drum solo on the coffee table. It was fun.
I was feeling all nostalgic and shit, the way I do when I've got a good buzz and too much brain time. I was thinking about how many awesome people I have in my life, and how lucky I am for that. I posted to Facebook:
I had gone to the Mexican joint up the road with Angie for margaritas and cheese dip (it was her birthday, it's not like I could pass up the opportunity), and when we got home, Jimi had picked up a case of cheap beer, and I was all PARTY ON!
I sat here at my laptop after Angie left, wearing earbuds and jamming out to Ben Harper and The Beatles and Allison Kruass. Jimi said the house was completely silent, except every now and then I'd blast out some lyrics, or do a drum solo on the coffee table. It was fun.
I was feeling all nostalgic and shit, the way I do when I've got a good buzz and too much brain time. I was thinking about how many awesome people I have in my life, and how lucky I am for that. I posted to Facebook:
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
*sigh*
I'm not going to talk about religion or politics or Mormons or Christians or Occupy Wall Street or the Tea Party or stupid people.
I think we're all basically good people. I think we just want to live our small little lives with as much happiness as possible. We want to be able to eat when we're hungry, drink when we're thirsty, sleep when we're tired, laugh when we're happy, cry when we're sad, hug when we love, be spoken to with respect, be heard when we speak. We want this for ourselves, for those we love, and for the stranger down the street.
Right? We want the same for others that we want for ourselves, don't we?
This can't be some shit I made up in my head.
I think we're all basically good people. I think we just want to live our small little lives with as much happiness as possible. We want to be able to eat when we're hungry, drink when we're thirsty, sleep when we're tired, laugh when we're happy, cry when we're sad, hug when we love, be spoken to with respect, be heard when we speak. We want this for ourselves, for those we love, and for the stranger down the street.
Right? We want the same for others that we want for ourselves, don't we?
This can't be some shit I made up in my head.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
God is Guilt?
If there were no God, there would be no guilt. If we were truly the random and accidental result of natural processes, there would be no moral authority on our life, there would be no right and wrong. You could murder and pillage to your hearts content and nothing would condemn you. This is evolutionary principle, and while many endorse it in theory, no one can live with it in practice. It is an absurdity. Human beings are not mere animals, we are not amoral beings. We know this from God's Word, and we know this from the internal gnawing of our own soul. (Part of this article, which I found after I read this article, which was linked from this blog I read. There's a good chance I've got a pretty strong opinion about those two articles.)
I don't know how I feel about God, I'm still coming to grips with it.
So, God is Guilt. That's what that says, right?
I don't know if I believe in God.
I believe that murdering and pillaging would not make my heart content, but I don't think that has anything to do with God or my fear of feeling guilty or being judged and punished by Him. I think I don't want to murder and pillage. I don't want to steal. I don't want to lie or cheat or do anything else hurtful to another person.
..not because I'm afraid of God's reaction, but because I don't want those things done to me. I don't get enjoyment from the pain of others. I think that I am in the majority when I say this. I think most people, with or without the threat of everlasting damnation, will not kill or rape or hit or steal or lie.
Am I naive? Is the institution of religion the only thing holding the masses at bay? If Joel Osteen wasn't aiming for a spot a Jesus's right hand, would he be stabbing people who cut in front of him at Starbucks, and then encouraging others to follow suit? Are most Christians blood-thirsty soul-suckers who would lie, cheat, and steal you blind in a New York minute if only that God fella wasn't watchin'...?
85% of the Senate is Christian (compared with 79.8% of the population) and 13% of the Senate is Jewish (compared with 1.7% of the population). ... no Senator falls under the category "No Religion/Atheist/Agnostic"—a category embodied by 16.1% of the U.S. population —although two are under the description "unspecified". (source)
I don't know how I feel about God, I'm still coming to grips with it.
So, God is Guilt. That's what that says, right?
I don't know if I believe in God.
I believe that murdering and pillaging would not make my heart content, but I don't think that has anything to do with God or my fear of feeling guilty or being judged and punished by Him. I think I don't want to murder and pillage. I don't want to steal. I don't want to lie or cheat or do anything else hurtful to another person.
..not because I'm afraid of God's reaction, but because I don't want those things done to me. I don't get enjoyment from the pain of others. I think that I am in the majority when I say this. I think most people, with or without the threat of everlasting damnation, will not kill or rape or hit or steal or lie.
Am I naive? Is the institution of religion the only thing holding the masses at bay? If Joel Osteen wasn't aiming for a spot a Jesus's right hand, would he be stabbing people who cut in front of him at Starbucks, and then encouraging others to follow suit? Are most Christians blood-thirsty soul-suckers who would lie, cheat, and steal you blind in a New York minute if only that God fella wasn't watchin'...?
85% of the Senate is Christian (compared with 79.8% of the population) and 13% of the Senate is Jewish (compared with 1.7% of the population). ... no Senator falls under the category "No Religion/Atheist/Agnostic"—a category embodied by 16.1% of the U.S. population —although two are under the description "unspecified". (source)
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
My fingers threw up. All over the place. Sorry.
I got a new phone. I haven't even gotten to play with it much yet, I've been so busy tonight. Well. Busy is a relative term, I guess. I went to Melinda's to decorate our reception Crocs (more on that later), and then I came home for my hot date with Sookie and Eric and Bill and Niall. I've finished book 9...now I wait until Rick's finished with 10 so I can put the entire series to rest. And the raccoon is back in the attic. No, we never did anything about it this summer, and now he's back. Oh fucking boy.
I feel bad when I blog about religion - like I'm destined to offend someone. It's like how I want to blog about how I feel about some personal shit, but I can't because maybe those people will read my blog and then they'll know what I'm too chickenshit to say to them and they'll be mad at me so I don't blog it at all. Do I have to be that way with religion too? Even though I'm trying to work it out for myself?
There's a lot I don't say; mostly because it'd be too many words and I'm lazy as all get out. I get tired of trying to explain myself three paragraphs in...
I don't know where else to say the things I think sometimes.
My pee stinks. I haven't had asparagus lately; I wonder if it was the wine?
Oh, and that personal shit I don't blog about? It's not about you, Kim. Swear. Promise. It's not about Jimi, either. Or work. It's just stuff I want to blog about desperately but can't because I'm afraid I'll hurt someone's feelings...
I fucking hate it when bloggers do that shit, don't you? Gosh! Alright, here's the thing - not in my household, but there's a baby on the way and there's no money and there's a lack of a lob involved and maybe not a lot of job hunting? and I'm just really frustrated and worried. I can help some, but not enough, and I have reservations about some gestures... (Do you offer to pay the electric bill, or do you just invite them over extra for dinner to spare them that expense?)
I work in an industrial park near a college campus. There are street walkers, prostitutes, hookers (pick your moniker) that populate the area - lately I've come to notice a couple in particular. One was a lady I saw last week, and today, for the first time, I saw the hooker with the walker - the one my boss refers to every time I mention the hookers on 4th street. The hookers on 4th street are not attractive ladies; no no, rather, they're the picture in the dictionary next to "rode hard and put up wet". Everything about their face looks tired, and it's heartbreaking. They carry themselves with a certain manner - head down, eyes up, shoulders forced back, but you can tell they're faking the "I'm awesome" vibe they're trying to send. Their faces are weathered and worn and craggy with lines that tell stories that would give us nightmares. I can't see them without picturing, only for a moment, what they will be doing in an hour or two, what they've chosen as their craft, what they've been reduced to doing to make enough for a meal or two, or maybe the rent.
The woman with the walker, she's maybe 27 or 29, but she looks 50 from a distance. Her coat is blue, U of K blue, and it hangs, too big for her, down to her knees, the sleeves past her hands. Her pants are too big for her emaciated waist. Her face is full of those lines of which I spoke earlier - her eyes have a sort of vacant far-off look to them, but then, I've only seen her as I've driven past, and that was just a moment, even though I turned my eyes from the road to watch her as I passed. She doesn't use the walker in the traditional manner you've seen your grandpa use his; she shoves it ahead of her with her left hand, her right hand held out to her side to balance, and then pulls her feet forward, one at a time, slowly, very unsteadily, as if she's going to topple over at any moment. I wonder when I watch "why doesn't she use it as it's intended?" and then I know that if she did, it would block "the view".
I don't know how we know they're hookers - the neighborhood, they way they carry themselves, stories that've made their way into the office from the workers in the plant; they all paint the picture and once you lay eyes on these women, you can see it as clearly as if they were wearing signs advertising blow jobs for five dollars and straight sex for twenty-five. (I have no idea what their pricing structure is like; this is pure conjecture on my part. Insulting, I know. But maybe not. If you saw them, you'd know what I mean.)
My heart breaks for them. How did they end up there, on the corner of 4th and Central, stumbling along, willing to suck off any random dude with a stiff cock and a wrinkled bill? What in the fuck must've happened in their lives to land them here, abandoned to the men who find their love on street corners and in dark alleys? I almost hope it's drugs - if it's drugs, maybe they're still finding some joy at the end of their day. It's almost too awful to imagine it any other way.
I didn't mean to go off on a tangent about the hookers, I just can't seem to stop thinking about them today. One of my biggest fears in the world is being raped. I can't even watch rape scenes in movies - if I've ever come close to knowing what my friends who suffer from severe anxiety feel during a panic attack, it's how I felt when I watched that movie where those kids break into those rich peoples' house and make the mom take off her clothes in front of her husband and her kid and they're about to rape her...I had to leave the room. My heart felt like it'd blow up. My whole body was tense, and I was shaking with the fear and awfulness of the idea of that happening in reality, knowing it happens all too often, though obviously not quite like that. So yeah - what're the odds that those women have come to the point where they are without having suffered sexual trauma and abuse? That's what I think of every time I see them. And then my heart breaks all over again.
The Yellow Tail Riesling is really much better after you've had half a bottle. That first sip is a little sharp, but the 25th or so goes down quite nicely.
It's so late. It's getting easier to stay up later and harder to get up earlier - it has to be the season change. Right? Must force myself to get up early and walk the god. Dog. I know I fucked that up, but it made me lol, so I'm leafing it. That one too.
Maybe it's time for bed. OH! And plan on seeing much more of me, because as I said, I totally got a new phone and it's got a badass camera on it so I can take like real pictures and stuff and I can totally get on the internet and like twitter and shit. It's my first Android; I'm super excited.
Oh, and Dan, are you reading this? If you are, say "I love blueberry muffins".
I feel bad when I blog about religion - like I'm destined to offend someone. It's like how I want to blog about how I feel about some personal shit, but I can't because maybe those people will read my blog and then they'll know what I'm too chickenshit to say to them and they'll be mad at me so I don't blog it at all. Do I have to be that way with religion too? Even though I'm trying to work it out for myself?
There's a lot I don't say; mostly because it'd be too many words and I'm lazy as all get out. I get tired of trying to explain myself three paragraphs in...
I don't know where else to say the things I think sometimes.
My pee stinks. I haven't had asparagus lately; I wonder if it was the wine?
Oh, and that personal shit I don't blog about? It's not about you, Kim. Swear. Promise. It's not about Jimi, either. Or work. It's just stuff I want to blog about desperately but can't because I'm afraid I'll hurt someone's feelings...
I fucking hate it when bloggers do that shit, don't you? Gosh! Alright, here's the thing - not in my household, but there's a baby on the way and there's no money and there's a lack of a lob involved and maybe not a lot of job hunting? and I'm just really frustrated and worried. I can help some, but not enough, and I have reservations about some gestures... (Do you offer to pay the electric bill, or do you just invite them over extra for dinner to spare them that expense?)
I work in an industrial park near a college campus. There are street walkers, prostitutes, hookers (pick your moniker) that populate the area - lately I've come to notice a couple in particular. One was a lady I saw last week, and today, for the first time, I saw the hooker with the walker - the one my boss refers to every time I mention the hookers on 4th street. The hookers on 4th street are not attractive ladies; no no, rather, they're the picture in the dictionary next to "rode hard and put up wet". Everything about their face looks tired, and it's heartbreaking. They carry themselves with a certain manner - head down, eyes up, shoulders forced back, but you can tell they're faking the "I'm awesome" vibe they're trying to send. Their faces are weathered and worn and craggy with lines that tell stories that would give us nightmares. I can't see them without picturing, only for a moment, what they will be doing in an hour or two, what they've chosen as their craft, what they've been reduced to doing to make enough for a meal or two, or maybe the rent.
The woman with the walker, she's maybe 27 or 29, but she looks 50 from a distance. Her coat is blue, U of K blue, and it hangs, too big for her, down to her knees, the sleeves past her hands. Her pants are too big for her emaciated waist. Her face is full of those lines of which I spoke earlier - her eyes have a sort of vacant far-off look to them, but then, I've only seen her as I've driven past, and that was just a moment, even though I turned my eyes from the road to watch her as I passed. She doesn't use the walker in the traditional manner you've seen your grandpa use his; she shoves it ahead of her with her left hand, her right hand held out to her side to balance, and then pulls her feet forward, one at a time, slowly, very unsteadily, as if she's going to topple over at any moment. I wonder when I watch "why doesn't she use it as it's intended?" and then I know that if she did, it would block "the view".
I don't know how we know they're hookers - the neighborhood, they way they carry themselves, stories that've made their way into the office from the workers in the plant; they all paint the picture and once you lay eyes on these women, you can see it as clearly as if they were wearing signs advertising blow jobs for five dollars and straight sex for twenty-five. (I have no idea what their pricing structure is like; this is pure conjecture on my part. Insulting, I know. But maybe not. If you saw them, you'd know what I mean.)
My heart breaks for them. How did they end up there, on the corner of 4th and Central, stumbling along, willing to suck off any random dude with a stiff cock and a wrinkled bill? What in the fuck must've happened in their lives to land them here, abandoned to the men who find their love on street corners and in dark alleys? I almost hope it's drugs - if it's drugs, maybe they're still finding some joy at the end of their day. It's almost too awful to imagine it any other way.
I didn't mean to go off on a tangent about the hookers, I just can't seem to stop thinking about them today. One of my biggest fears in the world is being raped. I can't even watch rape scenes in movies - if I've ever come close to knowing what my friends who suffer from severe anxiety feel during a panic attack, it's how I felt when I watched that movie where those kids break into those rich peoples' house and make the mom take off her clothes in front of her husband and her kid and they're about to rape her...I had to leave the room. My heart felt like it'd blow up. My whole body was tense, and I was shaking with the fear and awfulness of the idea of that happening in reality, knowing it happens all too often, though obviously not quite like that. So yeah - what're the odds that those women have come to the point where they are without having suffered sexual trauma and abuse? That's what I think of every time I see them. And then my heart breaks all over again.
The Yellow Tail Riesling is really much better after you've had half a bottle. That first sip is a little sharp, but the 25th or so goes down quite nicely.
It's so late. It's getting easier to stay up later and harder to get up earlier - it has to be the season change. Right? Must force myself to get up early and walk the god. Dog. I know I fucked that up, but it made me lol, so I'm leafing it. That one too.
Maybe it's time for bed. OH! And plan on seeing much more of me, because as I said, I totally got a new phone and it's got a badass camera on it so I can take like real pictures and stuff and I can totally get on the internet and like twitter and shit. It's my first Android; I'm super excited.
Oh, and Dan, are you reading this? If you are, say "I love blueberry muffins".
Friday, July 8, 2011
Unless Jesus was bi-polar...
I like it when famous people say the things I think:
I came to a realization a while back - I love Jesus. I do. If He was real and the tales of the Bible are even a little bit close to being right, He was an amazing man and the world would be a better place if we all tried to be a little more like Him. It hurts my heart that the ones who claim to love Him the most...they don't seem to be reading the same book. Their Jesus encourages them to shun those who are different - their Jesus doesn't say go and live among them and be their friends and help them, no, their Jesus says keep to yourself and don't expose your children to them and shun any who don't believe as you do.
My Jesus, the one I love, he's all "Hey guys! We're having a party! Bob, bring your boyfriend and the beer! Susie, if you must smoke the meth this time, you're going to have to do it outside, and when you pick your scabs, put them in this bowl here and I'll throw them out - no need to flick them across the room. Johnny, I haven't seen you in years, how the heck have you been? Still trying to decide if I'm real? Tammy, I heard about your abortion - I'm so sorry for your loss. I'll be over tomorrow with a casserole and some cleaning supplies; I imagine you've probably been a little down lately and could use some help."
My Jesus, when he sees homeless bums on the street corner or standing in front of the gas station - He rolls down his window and fishes out the last couple of ones He's got on him to give to the guy. He certainly doesn't avoid eye contact and turn up the stereo.
My Jesus wants gay people to get married because marriage is a celebration of love and the world needs as much love as it can get. My Jesus loves love.
My Jesus doesn't care if you wear flip flops and jeans to church - He rejoices that you showed up. And my Jesus isn't so much concerned with how often you do show up - He worries more that you're remembering His examples every day.
I'm not a Christian. I don't claim any religion. I know what my Granny taught me about Jesus. I know what the Bible says. I know what feels right in my heart.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Wait, is that a soapbox I'm standing on? My bad.
I like to think that if I'd been alive in the 1860s, I would've done something to get involved in the abolitionist movement. I most definitely wouldn't have "owned" slaves...right? I say now, from a 21st century perspective, that I never would've participated in such a ghastly practice, but would I have? If all my friends did? Or maybe I would've just sat back and made noises about how slavery is wrong the way they do it in the DEEP south but had at my disposal a dozen excuses for why it was okay for me because I was kinder and more humane. Or maybe I would've not held any slaves due to my location or position, but would've thought it was perfectly normal and acceptable. Or maybe I would've been anti-slavery, but in talking points at parties only - you know, the sort that agrees that slavery is a bad thing, but wouldn't dream of actually doing anything about it because of the risks associated with such a movement.
I tell myself that if I'd come of age during the Civil Rights Movement, I would've sat at lunch counters with black friends in protest of laws that said they were equal but not. I would've marched on Washington...surely I would've. Right? Or would I have been too into free love and drugs and rock'n'roll to notice that I didn't have any black friends because we were kept apart in all ways?
There are some things going down right now in this great nation of ours that strike me as being nearly as turning-point, monumental, huge as those two things were. It feels like we're standing on an edge, and I'm scared to see which way we're going to fall.
Here are some things I was taught to believe about why America is the greatest nation in the world:
1. Freedom. Just in general, freedom. Here, everyone is free to do as they please, provided they're not hurting someone else in the process. This lesson was taught with a hint that, anywhere else in the world, you'd get arrested for small infractions like talking without raising your hand.
2. Prosperity. Here, everyone has enough and there is plenty for everyone. We're the richest nation in the world! There are hungry people out there, but they're not here.
3. Freedom of religion - believe whatever you want! It's why the Pilgrims came here, after all.
4. Opportunity - you can be whomever or whatever you wish, if you're willing to work hard enough.
5. Separation of Church and State, Separation of Government Powers, Checks and Balances, Justice is Blind.
Part of me, the child who loved fireworks and singing The Star Spangled Banner and saying the Pledge of Allegiance each morning and raising the school's stars and stripes, part of me still can feel the pride swell up the way it did when I used to believe in those things. Once upon a time, I knew those things to be truths the way I knew my name was Natalie. That childhood/adolescent patriotism has been replaced by cynicism and doubt and mistrust in a system I thought was designed to protect the least of those among us. What happened to the American Dream? Is it just growing up that takes away all the shiny and replaces it with stark reality? Or have things really gotten that bad?
Our elected officials lie to us about pictures they send on the internet, and we think they're going to tell us the truth about where our tax dollars are going? The corporations that threw the world's economy into a tailspin get billions in government bailouts, but we're told pensions for firefighters and policemen and teachers are bankrupting us? Our politicians are fucking us six ways to Sunday while they whisper sweet nothings in our ears, like how Planned Parenthood is the devil because they provide abortions and pap smears and condoms to women without medical insurance. Oh my God, and whatever you do, don't let gay people get married because it'll be the end of the world as we know it - there will be donkey shows on Main Street at 3:00 and 4:30 every afternoon, your husband will suddenly need 2 more wives, and little Johnny will start humping the family dog.
What the fuck, America? Are we that lazy and dumb that we're just going to sit here and watch while stupid takes over our nation?
I've got to do something. I don't know what, but I'm going to figure something out. I'll write a letter or hold a sign or get sprayed by a firehose or something - I just can't take sitting here and watching this country I grew up loving go all to shit.
Why is the American public suffering while Wall Street laughs all the way to the bank? Why are we allowing our elected officials to attack the ones who are supposed to educate and protect us? Why are we trying to strip medical access from the poor? Why are we treating people like they're second class citizens because of who they want to fuck? (Hello, Congress, I'm talking to you, you scandalous cretins - you should be the first ones on the "don't judge me for my sexual behaviors" bandwagon.)
I just can't take the hypocrisy. I can't stand the dumb. How do I fix it? Where do I start?
I tell myself that if I'd come of age during the Civil Rights Movement, I would've sat at lunch counters with black friends in protest of laws that said they were equal but not. I would've marched on Washington...surely I would've. Right? Or would I have been too into free love and drugs and rock'n'roll to notice that I didn't have any black friends because we were kept apart in all ways?
There are some things going down right now in this great nation of ours that strike me as being nearly as turning-point, monumental, huge as those two things were. It feels like we're standing on an edge, and I'm scared to see which way we're going to fall.
Here are some things I was taught to believe about why America is the greatest nation in the world:
1. Freedom. Just in general, freedom. Here, everyone is free to do as they please, provided they're not hurting someone else in the process. This lesson was taught with a hint that, anywhere else in the world, you'd get arrested for small infractions like talking without raising your hand.
2. Prosperity. Here, everyone has enough and there is plenty for everyone. We're the richest nation in the world! There are hungry people out there, but they're not here.
3. Freedom of religion - believe whatever you want! It's why the Pilgrims came here, after all.
4. Opportunity - you can be whomever or whatever you wish, if you're willing to work hard enough.
5. Separation of Church and State, Separation of Government Powers, Checks and Balances, Justice is Blind.
Part of me, the child who loved fireworks and singing The Star Spangled Banner and saying the Pledge of Allegiance each morning and raising the school's stars and stripes, part of me still can feel the pride swell up the way it did when I used to believe in those things. Once upon a time, I knew those things to be truths the way I knew my name was Natalie. That childhood/adolescent patriotism has been replaced by cynicism and doubt and mistrust in a system I thought was designed to protect the least of those among us. What happened to the American Dream? Is it just growing up that takes away all the shiny and replaces it with stark reality? Or have things really gotten that bad?
Our elected officials lie to us about pictures they send on the internet, and we think they're going to tell us the truth about where our tax dollars are going? The corporations that threw the world's economy into a tailspin get billions in government bailouts, but we're told pensions for firefighters and policemen and teachers are bankrupting us? Our politicians are fucking us six ways to Sunday while they whisper sweet nothings in our ears, like how Planned Parenthood is the devil because they provide abortions and pap smears and condoms to women without medical insurance. Oh my God, and whatever you do, don't let gay people get married because it'll be the end of the world as we know it - there will be donkey shows on Main Street at 3:00 and 4:30 every afternoon, your husband will suddenly need 2 more wives, and little Johnny will start humping the family dog.
What the fuck, America? Are we that lazy and dumb that we're just going to sit here and watch while stupid takes over our nation?
I've got to do something. I don't know what, but I'm going to figure something out. I'll write a letter or hold a sign or get sprayed by a firehose or something - I just can't take sitting here and watching this country I grew up loving go all to shit.
Why is the American public suffering while Wall Street laughs all the way to the bank? Why are we allowing our elected officials to attack the ones who are supposed to educate and protect us? Why are we trying to strip medical access from the poor? Why are we treating people like they're second class citizens because of who they want to fuck? (Hello, Congress, I'm talking to you, you scandalous cretins - you should be the first ones on the "don't judge me for my sexual behaviors" bandwagon.)
I just can't take the hypocrisy. I can't stand the dumb. How do I fix it? Where do I start?
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Wanna hear what my HR Director said to me the other day?
Of course you do - it's a great story.
Background: I don't like our HR Director. He's (in my humble opinion) an idiot who should be declared mentally incompetent by the State and supported via Medicaid and Social Security for the rest of his days. And then they can give me his job.
Okay. Now that you know where I'm coming from, I'll commence with the story:
I called him because I needed the pay rate for our employee who'd filed for unemployment so I could respond to said unemployment claim. Our conversation turned to the sad state of American Work Ethics - he told me he'd been at our facility a few years back, promoting our 401k program (which offers a badass match, by the way) and enrolling interested employees, when he got to talking to a couple of lifers - guys who've been working here for years and who will work here until they die or are able to somehow miraculously retire. They told him they couldn't afford to put into a 401k, and he was confused; these guys have seniority, with first dibs on OT and such.
"I can't afford to work Overtime," the man told the HR Director, "If I work over 40 hours I'll lose my benefits."
"What benefits?" says Mr. HR.
"Food Stamps, Medicaid, Section 8," came the answers.
It says something that a man can work 40 hours a week for 20 years and still make a wage so low that allows him to qualify for public assistance, but that point is for another day, another post.
Our conversation turned from this blatant abuse of the system (though I'm not certain Mr. HR and I were talking about the same system) to the cost of healthcare, and how most of our employees don't opt into the best plans that are offered due to the cost. Then we progressed to the cost of catastrophic events, or unplanned medical situations that can present unexpected costs if you're not adequately insured.
I told him about my miscarriage. I told him about the cost of my RhoGam shot if I'd not been insured.
He made all the appropriate noises; the I'm so sorries and I've experienced that toos - told me about his wife losing twins at around 9 weeks.
And then he said this:
"I believe in God-given visions that come through dreams. I read a book written by a very Godly woman, (insert her name here - I can't remember it), and she was given a vision from God, and in her vision, she saw Heaven, and she saw Hell. And in Heaven, there is a room where all the aborted and miscarried fetuses are. And there are Angels there, sewing together the torn apart and misformed and broken pieces of those children, and the Angels are weeping as they're sewing together those babies. And those babies will go on to inhabit Christ's Millennial Kingdom, and they will get to grow and become adults. And if you live a good life, and if you are right with the Lord, you will see your child one day. You can know your child. Isn't that wonderful?"
Lesson One, Mr. HR Man: Know Your Audience.
His intention were good; I realize that, I do.
But dude.
Background: I don't like our HR Director. He's (in my humble opinion) an idiot who should be declared mentally incompetent by the State and supported via Medicaid and Social Security for the rest of his days. And then they can give me his job.
Okay. Now that you know where I'm coming from, I'll commence with the story:
I called him because I needed the pay rate for our employee who'd filed for unemployment so I could respond to said unemployment claim. Our conversation turned to the sad state of American Work Ethics - he told me he'd been at our facility a few years back, promoting our 401k program (which offers a badass match, by the way) and enrolling interested employees, when he got to talking to a couple of lifers - guys who've been working here for years and who will work here until they die or are able to somehow miraculously retire. They told him they couldn't afford to put into a 401k, and he was confused; these guys have seniority, with first dibs on OT and such.
"I can't afford to work Overtime," the man told the HR Director, "If I work over 40 hours I'll lose my benefits."
"What benefits?" says Mr. HR.
"Food Stamps, Medicaid, Section 8," came the answers.
It says something that a man can work 40 hours a week for 20 years and still make a wage so low that allows him to qualify for public assistance, but that point is for another day, another post.
Our conversation turned from this blatant abuse of the system (though I'm not certain Mr. HR and I were talking about the same system) to the cost of healthcare, and how most of our employees don't opt into the best plans that are offered due to the cost. Then we progressed to the cost of catastrophic events, or unplanned medical situations that can present unexpected costs if you're not adequately insured.
I told him about my miscarriage. I told him about the cost of my RhoGam shot if I'd not been insured.
He made all the appropriate noises; the I'm so sorries and I've experienced that toos - told me about his wife losing twins at around 9 weeks.
And then he said this:
"I believe in God-given visions that come through dreams. I read a book written by a very Godly woman, (insert her name here - I can't remember it), and she was given a vision from God, and in her vision, she saw Heaven, and she saw Hell. And in Heaven, there is a room where all the aborted and miscarried fetuses are. And there are Angels there, sewing together the torn apart and misformed and broken pieces of those children, and the Angels are weeping as they're sewing together those babies. And those babies will go on to inhabit Christ's Millennial Kingdom, and they will get to grow and become adults. And if you live a good life, and if you are right with the Lord, you will see your child one day. You can know your child. Isn't that wonderful?"
Lesson One, Mr. HR Man: Know Your Audience.
His intention were good; I realize that, I do.
But dude.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
What do you call that voice if you don't call it God?
Allison O over at O My Family wrote a post yesterday called second chances, and it got my brain going. Go read her post - I'll wait.
Finished? Okay. If you didn't really go read it, she's talking about seeing an older lady walking along the snowy street pushing a cart full of groceries, and hearing a voice telling her to stop and pull over and help the lady, to offer her a ride. When she ignored the voice the first time, she felt disobedient; she likened the voice she heard to the voice of God, telling her to help her fellow man.
I hear that voice too, all the time. I hear it when I see a stray dog running down the street, when I see a homeless person sitting on the corner bundled up and surrounded by all their possessions. I heard it that day the guy in the wheelchair was waiting outside the bank, asking everyone who passed if they had a dollar to spare so he could buy some food. I hear it every time I see a man standing at the end of a highway exit ramp, holding a sign declaring that he's a hungry veteran, or when the smelly drunk guy standing in front of the liquor store asks if he can borrow my change so he can get gas for his car that's broken down up the block. When the lady at the grocery in line in front of me is $2 short of her total, that voice is there.
The voice I hear tells me to reach out, help my fellow man, be compassionate. I don't call it God; I've always called it my conscience.
I mentioned this to Jimi. "Of course," he says, "For the faithful, all good comes from God."
"But how am I ever supposed to find God or have faith if I already label that voice something else?" I asked. "I don't have to have religion to tell me to be a good person, to tell me to do good deeds for others; how can that voice be God for me if I already hear it and I don't believe in Him?"
I've seen so much ugliness in the name of God that when I see good things done in his name I hold the do-gooders up as the exception, rather than the rule - as if they were somehow more able than others to wade through the mud and muck and the hateful and the shortsighted that surely they must've been taught, to come up clean and good and loving and Christ-like on the other side. I know this is an offensive and probably mostly-incorrect assumption on my part, but the loudest Christians seem to be the ones who are the least Christ-like. I shouldn't be surprised when I encounter people who truly value and cherish and love other humans in the name of a Creator that formed us in His image, but I am, and it confuses me.
I guess just because I don't believe doesn't mean it isn't true. I suppose all grace I experience could still be because Jesus loves me and God is my Heavenly Father. But wouldn't that be contrary to all that religion teaches? As an agnostic, a doubter, a self-described I-don't-know-what-I-believ-er, a girl who lives in sin with a man who loves her but probably will never marry her, a woman who conceived a child out of wedlock, a divorced woman - shouldn't I be struck down? Shouldn't my life be dreary and miserable and full of disappointment? Or maybe that only comes from drinking and drugs and over-indulgence...wait; I really should be fucked, not blessed. But I am blessed; I don't know how else to call it. I suppose it could be luck, and I guess I honestly believe that much of life is the luck of the draw, but to call all the fortune in my life a simple, random, lucky stroke seems flippant. But maybe it is just luck, because there are so many people in the world who are so much better than I who have so much less or have been given so many more difficult challenges, and to imply that I'm somehow more divinely smiled-upon is arrogant.
Religion is so hard. Life is hard. I don't know what I believe and I guess that's why I've decided that I'll figure it out later, or I won't, but for now I'll just live my life every day, trying to be the best Natalie that I can be, spreading as much loving kindness as I can, remembering to see in every face I meet the divinity in them with the divinity in me. I'll give my spare change, I'll offer a ride in bad weather, I'll buy a meal if I cross paths with someone who's hungry. I'll do it because that voice in my head, whether it's God or the divinity within me, won't let me NOT.
I've tried many times to imagine my own personal Utopia. Early versions centered around stores where everything was free and towns where you could get into any car on the street and drive wherever you wanted. In my grown-up fantasy worlds, everyone has enough food, and everyone uses kind words all the time, and no one's heat gets turned off in January; the school where the black kids go has just as many computers and music programs as the school 3 blocks away where the white kids go; there are enough jobs to go around and if you're sick you can afford to go to the doctor without worrying you'll lose your house. I'm pretty sure this makes me a hippie and a socialist.
Another fantasy, a more realistic one, involves winning the lottery and buying a big piece of land in the middle of Nowhere, Montana and turning it into a commune full of my favorite friends and family, all of us working together to form a Utopian society of smart, happy, self-sufficient non-assholes. The trickling mountain stream nearby would provide lots of untainted drinking water. We would grow our own vegetables and fruits, raise cows and goats for milk and cheese, pigs for companionship and bacon and pork loins. We'd use geothermal and solar technology to live off the grid - except I still want internet access, we'll need it to keep current on stuff and as a research tool for homeschooling the commune's children-geniuses.
I've gotten way off track here. What was I talking about? Oh, yes, the voice.
I don't know what it is. I don't know if it's God, or if it's a lifetime of lessons teaching me to be a good person, or if it's simply human instinct to react with compassion when we see another human in need. Elephants do it, apes do it - it's logical to assume that we, those of us at the height of the food chain, would also have an instinct telling us to help others of the species. Have we conditioned ourselves to be so selfish, so far removed from our nature, that the ones who follow that instinct need to explain it as being instructed by a Creator to do so? And is it so normal to turn to religion as the reason for good-doing that the ones who aren't religious and simply follow that instinct spend an hour on a lazy Saturday afternoon trying to figure out what in the hell it's called and why she does it? Can I write any more awkwardly-worded questions that don't exactly ask what I'm trying to ask because I can't find the right words for all the big thoughts in my small little mind?
Too much thinking for a Saturday afternoon.
Finished? Okay. If you didn't really go read it, she's talking about seeing an older lady walking along the snowy street pushing a cart full of groceries, and hearing a voice telling her to stop and pull over and help the lady, to offer her a ride. When she ignored the voice the first time, she felt disobedient; she likened the voice she heard to the voice of God, telling her to help her fellow man.
I hear that voice too, all the time. I hear it when I see a stray dog running down the street, when I see a homeless person sitting on the corner bundled up and surrounded by all their possessions. I heard it that day the guy in the wheelchair was waiting outside the bank, asking everyone who passed if they had a dollar to spare so he could buy some food. I hear it every time I see a man standing at the end of a highway exit ramp, holding a sign declaring that he's a hungry veteran, or when the smelly drunk guy standing in front of the liquor store asks if he can borrow my change so he can get gas for his car that's broken down up the block. When the lady at the grocery in line in front of me is $2 short of her total, that voice is there.
The voice I hear tells me to reach out, help my fellow man, be compassionate. I don't call it God; I've always called it my conscience.
I mentioned this to Jimi. "Of course," he says, "For the faithful, all good comes from God."
"But how am I ever supposed to find God or have faith if I already label that voice something else?" I asked. "I don't have to have religion to tell me to be a good person, to tell me to do good deeds for others; how can that voice be God for me if I already hear it and I don't believe in Him?"
I've seen so much ugliness in the name of God that when I see good things done in his name I hold the do-gooders up as the exception, rather than the rule - as if they were somehow more able than others to wade through the mud and muck and the hateful and the shortsighted that surely they must've been taught, to come up clean and good and loving and Christ-like on the other side. I know this is an offensive and probably mostly-incorrect assumption on my part, but the loudest Christians seem to be the ones who are the least Christ-like. I shouldn't be surprised when I encounter people who truly value and cherish and love other humans in the name of a Creator that formed us in His image, but I am, and it confuses me.
I guess just because I don't believe doesn't mean it isn't true. I suppose all grace I experience could still be because Jesus loves me and God is my Heavenly Father. But wouldn't that be contrary to all that religion teaches? As an agnostic, a doubter, a self-described I-don't-know-what-I-believ-er, a girl who lives in sin with a man who loves her but probably will never marry her, a woman who conceived a child out of wedlock, a divorced woman - shouldn't I be struck down? Shouldn't my life be dreary and miserable and full of disappointment? Or maybe that only comes from drinking and drugs and over-indulgence...wait; I really should be fucked, not blessed. But I am blessed; I don't know how else to call it. I suppose it could be luck, and I guess I honestly believe that much of life is the luck of the draw, but to call all the fortune in my life a simple, random, lucky stroke seems flippant. But maybe it is just luck, because there are so many people in the world who are so much better than I who have so much less or have been given so many more difficult challenges, and to imply that I'm somehow more divinely smiled-upon is arrogant.
Religion is so hard. Life is hard. I don't know what I believe and I guess that's why I've decided that I'll figure it out later, or I won't, but for now I'll just live my life every day, trying to be the best Natalie that I can be, spreading as much loving kindness as I can, remembering to see in every face I meet the divinity in them with the divinity in me. I'll give my spare change, I'll offer a ride in bad weather, I'll buy a meal if I cross paths with someone who's hungry. I'll do it because that voice in my head, whether it's God or the divinity within me, won't let me NOT.
I've tried many times to imagine my own personal Utopia. Early versions centered around stores where everything was free and towns where you could get into any car on the street and drive wherever you wanted. In my grown-up fantasy worlds, everyone has enough food, and everyone uses kind words all the time, and no one's heat gets turned off in January; the school where the black kids go has just as many computers and music programs as the school 3 blocks away where the white kids go; there are enough jobs to go around and if you're sick you can afford to go to the doctor without worrying you'll lose your house. I'm pretty sure this makes me a hippie and a socialist.
Another fantasy, a more realistic one, involves winning the lottery and buying a big piece of land in the middle of Nowhere, Montana and turning it into a commune full of my favorite friends and family, all of us working together to form a Utopian society of smart, happy, self-sufficient non-assholes. The trickling mountain stream nearby would provide lots of untainted drinking water. We would grow our own vegetables and fruits, raise cows and goats for milk and cheese, pigs for companionship and bacon and pork loins. We'd use geothermal and solar technology to live off the grid - except I still want internet access, we'll need it to keep current on stuff and as a research tool for homeschooling the commune's children-geniuses.
I've gotten way off track here. What was I talking about? Oh, yes, the voice.
I don't know what it is. I don't know if it's God, or if it's a lifetime of lessons teaching me to be a good person, or if it's simply human instinct to react with compassion when we see another human in need. Elephants do it, apes do it - it's logical to assume that we, those of us at the height of the food chain, would also have an instinct telling us to help others of the species. Have we conditioned ourselves to be so selfish, so far removed from our nature, that the ones who follow that instinct need to explain it as being instructed by a Creator to do so? And is it so normal to turn to religion as the reason for good-doing that the ones who aren't religious and simply follow that instinct spend an hour on a lazy Saturday afternoon trying to figure out what in the hell it's called and why she does it? Can I write any more awkwardly-worded questions that don't exactly ask what I'm trying to ask because I can't find the right words for all the big thoughts in my small little mind?
Too much thinking for a Saturday afternoon.
Friday, January 28, 2011
More Chick-fil-A, More Boycotting (and now a protest, too!)
I skipped writing yesterday. Some days, even I run out of things to say. I'm back now, though.
I started a protest event against Chick-fil-A on Facebook today. National Gay Up Chick-fil-A Day was born when Kim sent me this link, which basically reasserts the fact that the bigotry I talked about here was not as isolated as I was lead to believe when I posted this. I posted this on my Facebook page:
I want to gay up Chick-fil-A so hard. I need more friends who like to dress in drag - I want to get 50 of my closest cross-dressing friends together and love-bomb the Jesus Chicken Stores. I want to get my favorite gay couples together to have a big fat party in the middle of the Chick-fil-A dining rooms. And I want us to all order only water, because I'll never give those bigots another dime of my money.
"They're a business run based on Christian values, what do you expect?" A more Christ-like example, perhaps? Christ loved everyone. He turned to the lepers and the poor to help them; he didn't turn away from them or try to marginalize them. You want to be a true Christian to your fellow man? Invite the gay couple across the street over for dinner; yes, even when your kids are home. Invite them into your home and get to know them as human beings, not as lesbians or faggots. Realize that they have the same worries and fears about money and crime and what the future will be like for their children. Realize that their homosexuality is something God ingrained in them, and that no amount or prayer or therapy or shame is going to change that fact. Love them because Christ loved them, and because they too are your brothers and sisters. Love them because they are just like you; they are you. Want for them the things you want for your children and your friends and your family. That's what Jesus would do, and I'm pretty sure his part in the Bible came after that old book that banned homosexuality, shellfish, and women speaking in public.
I honestly, deep in my soul, feel that their donations to organizations whose mission statements center around denying equal rights to people based on their sexual orientation is exactly the same as if they were donating to the Ku Klux Klan in an effort to limit the rights of Non-White Americans. I can't understand why every American isn't standing up and shouting "Separation of Church and State, Bitches!" If marriage was governed by religious organizations, I could see the objections to same-sex marriage being sustained, but last I checked, you've got to go through the State to get a marriage license, and discrimination against American citizens on the basis of religious objections seems contrary to the First Amendment.
Of course, like everything else I do, this event was put together hastily and without any forethought or organization or plan, and of course, as is always the case, people are picking it apart. Of course, this makes me feel like that's some sort of statement against me personally, against my views, my opinions, my beliefs, my general standing as a person. Because it's all about me, right? Even this, which really isn't about me in any way, shape, or form, I can turn around to be about me. Sarcasm and haughty laughter stings, but when you get down to the nitty gritty of what I'm feeling when I read that crap, it's just flat-out disappointment that so many people can just stand by and watch as the rights of their fellow Americans are denied or revoked. It makes me sad.
I started a protest event against Chick-fil-A on Facebook today. National Gay Up Chick-fil-A Day was born when Kim sent me this link, which basically reasserts the fact that the bigotry I talked about here was not as isolated as I was lead to believe when I posted this. I posted this on my Facebook page:
I want to gay up Chick-fil-A so hard. I need more friends who like to dress in drag - I want to get 50 of my closest cross-dressing friends together and love-bomb the Jesus Chicken Stores. I want to get my favorite gay couples together to have a big fat party in the middle of the Chick-fil-A dining rooms. And I want us to all order only water, because I'll never give those bigots another dime of my money.
"They're a business run based on Christian values, what do you expect?" A more Christ-like example, perhaps? Christ loved everyone. He turned to the lepers and the poor to help them; he didn't turn away from them or try to marginalize them. You want to be a true Christian to your fellow man? Invite the gay couple across the street over for dinner; yes, even when your kids are home. Invite them into your home and get to know them as human beings, not as lesbians or faggots. Realize that they have the same worries and fears about money and crime and what the future will be like for their children. Realize that their homosexuality is something God ingrained in them, and that no amount or prayer or therapy or shame is going to change that fact. Love them because Christ loved them, and because they too are your brothers and sisters. Love them because they are just like you; they are you. Want for them the things you want for your children and your friends and your family. That's what Jesus would do, and I'm pretty sure his part in the Bible came after that old book that banned homosexuality, shellfish, and women speaking in public.
I honestly, deep in my soul, feel that their donations to organizations whose mission statements center around denying equal rights to people based on their sexual orientation is exactly the same as if they were donating to the Ku Klux Klan in an effort to limit the rights of Non-White Americans. I can't understand why every American isn't standing up and shouting "Separation of Church and State, Bitches!" If marriage was governed by religious organizations, I could see the objections to same-sex marriage being sustained, but last I checked, you've got to go through the State to get a marriage license, and discrimination against American citizens on the basis of religious objections seems contrary to the First Amendment.
Of course, like everything else I do, this event was put together hastily and without any forethought or organization or plan, and of course, as is always the case, people are picking it apart. Of course, this makes me feel like that's some sort of statement against me personally, against my views, my opinions, my beliefs, my general standing as a person. Because it's all about me, right? Even this, which really isn't about me in any way, shape, or form, I can turn around to be about me. Sarcasm and haughty laughter stings, but when you get down to the nitty gritty of what I'm feeling when I read that crap, it's just flat-out disappointment that so many people can just stand by and watch as the rights of their fellow Americans are denied or revoked. It makes me sad.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
On Death and Religion; or, The Two Scariest Things EVAR
I'm afraid of a lot of things, but death is at the top of the list, without a doubt, without competition. I'm a little afraid of dying personally, insomuch as I don't want to die without ever having experienced certain things: giving birth, parenthood, Europe, the Pacific Ocean, Autumn in Maine, a lifetime of happy with Jimi experiencing each day by my side. But mostly, more strongly than I collectively fear just about anything else in the world, I'm afraid of losing the people I hold dear to life's inevitable end. I don't want the people around me, the people I love, to die. It freaks me out to even consider the idea for very long; I know it'll happen one day, but it's too scary to think about.
I get why people find solace, comfort, in religion. Especially the Latter-Day Saints; I mean, the promise of joining up with your Mom and Dad and brothers and sisters and grandparents and your husband and your babies too!, to live happily ever after with a loving Heavenly Father? Heck yeah! I want that!
I wanted so desperately to believe the Church was true, to have that promise of Salvation, to know that no matter what, I'd see those people I love most even after they were lost from me in this world. I wanted to bask in that warm glowy feeling I had when I prayed with the missionaries. I wanted that security, that promise.
The problem is, I don't believe Joseph Smith was a Prophet. I don't believe his first vision story, either version. I don't believe an angel stood over him with a sword of fire and threatened to kill him if he didn't take a second wife, just as I don't believe he was acting in accordance with God's Will when he later married a 14 year old girl, just like I don't believe God told him to marry women who were already married to other men.
If I can't believe in Joseph Smith, the Church, for me, can't be true. And the Celestial Kingdom, where I could live for time and all eternity with Heavenly Father and my family...well, it can't be true, either, can it?
But there's got to be something more. The Christianity thing, as a whole, doesn't really jive for me. So much killing and horribleness and nastiness, all in the name of a loving God? Nope. Not really my cup of tea.
Buddhism is more my speed. Treat others kindly because that's the right thing to do. Don't hurt anyone, anything, any place. Give generously of yourself and the things you are blessed to have at your disposal. Try to live without attachment; to things, to memories, to expectations. Live for today, and do the best you can to be the best person you can be and try to do right by everyone you touch every day.
Plus, when was the last time a Buddhist got snooty over some chick wearing pants to church?
I like the idea of an eternal spirit, too; one that grows and learns with each incarnation, each new plane of existence. I wish there was some promise, some way I could know for sure that I'll get to meet up with the spirits I love most in this incarnation...I console myself with the fact that whatever will be, will be. I'll live my every day as best I can; I'll love my hardest, I'll give what I'm able, I'll help where I can. I'll cherish every day I've got here, and I'll not worry about what comes next.
And then, when I'm 98 years old, nearly blind, mostly deaf, without much of an appetite, with a brood of much-loved great-grandbabies and BFFs surrounding me, I'll start to get nervous about the end and I'll convert. Just to be safe.
I get why people find solace, comfort, in religion. Especially the Latter-Day Saints; I mean, the promise of joining up with your Mom and Dad and brothers and sisters and grandparents and your husband and your babies too!, to live happily ever after with a loving Heavenly Father? Heck yeah! I want that!
I wanted so desperately to believe the Church was true, to have that promise of Salvation, to know that no matter what, I'd see those people I love most even after they were lost from me in this world. I wanted to bask in that warm glowy feeling I had when I prayed with the missionaries. I wanted that security, that promise.
The problem is, I don't believe Joseph Smith was a Prophet. I don't believe his first vision story, either version. I don't believe an angel stood over him with a sword of fire and threatened to kill him if he didn't take a second wife, just as I don't believe he was acting in accordance with God's Will when he later married a 14 year old girl, just like I don't believe God told him to marry women who were already married to other men.
If I can't believe in Joseph Smith, the Church, for me, can't be true. And the Celestial Kingdom, where I could live for time and all eternity with Heavenly Father and my family...well, it can't be true, either, can it?
But there's got to be something more. The Christianity thing, as a whole, doesn't really jive for me. So much killing and horribleness and nastiness, all in the name of a loving God? Nope. Not really my cup of tea.
Buddhism is more my speed. Treat others kindly because that's the right thing to do. Don't hurt anyone, anything, any place. Give generously of yourself and the things you are blessed to have at your disposal. Try to live without attachment; to things, to memories, to expectations. Live for today, and do the best you can to be the best person you can be and try to do right by everyone you touch every day.
Plus, when was the last time a Buddhist got snooty over some chick wearing pants to church?
I like the idea of an eternal spirit, too; one that grows and learns with each incarnation, each new plane of existence. I wish there was some promise, some way I could know for sure that I'll get to meet up with the spirits I love most in this incarnation...I console myself with the fact that whatever will be, will be. I'll live my every day as best I can; I'll love my hardest, I'll give what I'm able, I'll help where I can. I'll cherish every day I've got here, and I'll not worry about what comes next.
And then, when I'm 98 years old, nearly blind, mostly deaf, without much of an appetite, with a brood of much-loved great-grandbabies and BFFs surrounding me, I'll start to get nervous about the end and I'll convert. Just to be safe.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Yes, Grammar is important.
Anne Rice posted a link to this story on her facebook page a little bit ago:
http://content.usatoday.com/communities/ondeadline/post/2010/10/school-board-member-who-posted-anti-gay-comments-on-facebook-will-resign/1
It's about an Arkansas School Board member who is resigning in the wake of an uproar caused by the following comments he made on his personal facebook page:
What a cockbag.
I can see why there was an uproar demanding his resignation. Even if his words weren't hateful and mean and wrong - I'd sure be pissed if I'd elected a man to sit on the local schoolboard and later learned he communicates using nonwords such as "thereselves".
REALLY PEOPLE.
http://content.usatoday.com/communities/ondeadline/post/2010/10/school-board-member-who-posted-anti-gay-comments-on-facebook-will-resign/1
It's about an Arkansas School Board member who is resigning in the wake of an uproar caused by the following comments he made on his personal facebook page:
Seriously they want me to wear purple because five queers killed themselves. The only way im wearin it for them is if they all commit suicide. I cant believe the people of this world have gotten this stupid. We are honoring the face that they sinned and killed thereselves because of their sin. REALLY PEOPLE.
What a cockbag.
I can see why there was an uproar demanding his resignation. Even if his words weren't hateful and mean and wrong - I'd sure be pissed if I'd elected a man to sit on the local schoolboard and later learned he communicates using nonwords such as "thereselves".
REALLY PEOPLE.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
There are a few things I need to record for posterity.
I went to the bank today to get some petty cash for work. When I pulled up, I noticed an older black man in a wheelchair, sitting in the handicapped loading zone in the parking lot, near the sidewalk. As I got out of my car and started toward the door, he spoke:
"Miss, I was wondering if you had anything you could spare? I'm trying to get some food from the store over here, and you could even purchase the items yourself, but I'm hungry. Do you have anything you could help me with?"
My first instinct was to brush him off. I was in a hurry; it was late in the afternoon and there was a ton of work backing up on my desk back at the office. But I can't brush past a person asking for money; I sure as hell can't walk past a person asking for a meal. But I didn't have any money. I told him as much, as I looked helplessly down at the wallet I carried that had only my debit card, my insurance card, my license - no cash. No change in my pockets even. The check I carried was for work. I was debating how long it would take to run over to the little convenience store and buy him some food, when I suddenly remembered the cash I'd been stuffing into the hidey-hole in my car. Cash that was there for when I needed money for a parking meter or a garage or a quick bite to eat at some lame fast-food joint. I told the man to wait, and I dashed back to my car and opened the hidey-hole. A wad of bills that came to $7, and another wad of four ones. I grabbed the $7 and left the rest; I gave the bills to the man and told him to enjoy his lunch.
I wonder if that's the only meal he'll eat today?
I should've given him all the bills.
Sometimes all the pain in the world just seems like too much and it takes my breath away. Jimi told me not to feel guilty for not giving him more; that I gave him what he asked for, that he could buy a loaf of bread and a package of bologna and eat for a few days on less than $7.
I don't feel guilty for not giving him more, necessarily; I feel guilty for having so much. I've never had to stand in a parking lot or at the entrance to a store and ask strangers for money so I could eat. I can't imagine what that life would be like; it's tragic and it's unfair and it's wrong. There is no reason any man, woman, or child should go hungry in this country, in the 21st century. We all have so much; how can we justify walking past a person hungry or cold on the side of the road without offering up something, some little token or gift or change or even just a smile and a have a nice day? Those are human beings, real people with real feelings and emotions. And no matter what circumstances landed them on that street corner or in front of that grocery store or gas station, they are still human beings. We're all nothing more than a few ill-timed tragedies away from being in their shoes; I sure hope if I ever find myself there, walking that particularly hellish path, I hope I manage to cross some kind souls who would give me their stash of parking garage/fast food mad money. I hope someone would offer to buy me a meal. I hope someone would give me a ride, or at the very least that I'd be able to get together enough bus fare to go somewhere where someone loves me and will take me in until I can get back on my feet.
i think about that shit. All the time. And sometimes the amount of pain in this world takes my breath away.
"Miss, I was wondering if you had anything you could spare? I'm trying to get some food from the store over here, and you could even purchase the items yourself, but I'm hungry. Do you have anything you could help me with?"
My first instinct was to brush him off. I was in a hurry; it was late in the afternoon and there was a ton of work backing up on my desk back at the office. But I can't brush past a person asking for money; I sure as hell can't walk past a person asking for a meal. But I didn't have any money. I told him as much, as I looked helplessly down at the wallet I carried that had only my debit card, my insurance card, my license - no cash. No change in my pockets even. The check I carried was for work. I was debating how long it would take to run over to the little convenience store and buy him some food, when I suddenly remembered the cash I'd been stuffing into the hidey-hole in my car. Cash that was there for when I needed money for a parking meter or a garage or a quick bite to eat at some lame fast-food joint. I told the man to wait, and I dashed back to my car and opened the hidey-hole. A wad of bills that came to $7, and another wad of four ones. I grabbed the $7 and left the rest; I gave the bills to the man and told him to enjoy his lunch.
I wonder if that's the only meal he'll eat today?
I should've given him all the bills.
Sometimes all the pain in the world just seems like too much and it takes my breath away. Jimi told me not to feel guilty for not giving him more; that I gave him what he asked for, that he could buy a loaf of bread and a package of bologna and eat for a few days on less than $7.
I don't feel guilty for not giving him more, necessarily; I feel guilty for having so much. I've never had to stand in a parking lot or at the entrance to a store and ask strangers for money so I could eat. I can't imagine what that life would be like; it's tragic and it's unfair and it's wrong. There is no reason any man, woman, or child should go hungry in this country, in the 21st century. We all have so much; how can we justify walking past a person hungry or cold on the side of the road without offering up something, some little token or gift or change or even just a smile and a have a nice day? Those are human beings, real people with real feelings and emotions. And no matter what circumstances landed them on that street corner or in front of that grocery store or gas station, they are still human beings. We're all nothing more than a few ill-timed tragedies away from being in their shoes; I sure hope if I ever find myself there, walking that particularly hellish path, I hope I manage to cross some kind souls who would give me their stash of parking garage/fast food mad money. I hope someone would offer to buy me a meal. I hope someone would give me a ride, or at the very least that I'd be able to get together enough bus fare to go somewhere where someone loves me and will take me in until I can get back on my feet.
i think about that shit. All the time. And sometimes the amount of pain in this world takes my breath away.
****************************
I don't know what political party I technically fall into; I hate a little bit about all of them, I think. I just want people to do the right thing, for fuck's sake. I hate the Republicans, not for all of their ideologies, but for their social policies that are nothing more than a hateful rhetoric built upon the fear that someone other than a white-bread Christian Good-Ole' Boy may actually gain a little bit of fucking power in this country. OH, and heaven fucking forbid our Separation of Church and State-touting Land be marred by the blasphemous idea of giving GAYS the ability to partake in a state-sanctioned union on the basis of religious objections. Because gay people aren't really people, right? They're the same as inanimate objects:
I fucking hate the Republican stance on almost all social issues. I'm ashamed that our country, which has for so long stood as a beacon of freedom in the world, is even having a debate about denying a group of people their fundamental human rights on the basis of ANYTHING. Haven't we moved past this? Are you motherfuckers going to keep finding people to hate forever? Your time is up; hate is out, love is in. And really, you assholes know most of you would be a fuck of a lot happier if homosexuality was openly accepted and you could quit picking up strange men in airport bathrooms and then having to lie to the world and your poor wife about it.
*******************************
That's where I'm at right now. Those are my rants. Jimi's been working on his mask for hours and it is beginning to take shape. According to UPS, my costume should be here tomorrow. This may turn out yet. But it's 12:30 a.m., and we're supposed to be up at 6. G'night, Interwebz.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
The fight.
There are things I want to talk about, to write about, to record for posterity.
I want to tell about how I went through the discussions with the missionaries. About how I had a baptism date set.
I didn't get baptized.
I want to talk about the way I felt the Spirit move me, and how I still feel it, without the baptism.
I want to tell about how a good friend was baptized, but later left the church after a bishop told her she would have more luck finding a husband if she lost weight.
I want to talk about how for years I thought that I knew the church was true, and how I was convinced that eventually, one day, I'd get baptized, and I'd be a member of the fold.
I want to tell how I came to realize that would never happen.
I want to share how I still adore reading about those who do live that life, who believe. I still imagine my life and how it would be had I been born into that world.
Does it all really need to be said, though? Or is it too many words?
This is my battle.
I want to tell about how I went through the discussions with the missionaries. About how I had a baptism date set.
I didn't get baptized.
I want to talk about the way I felt the Spirit move me, and how I still feel it, without the baptism.
I want to tell about how a good friend was baptized, but later left the church after a bishop told her she would have more luck finding a husband if she lost weight.
I want to talk about how for years I thought that I knew the church was true, and how I was convinced that eventually, one day, I'd get baptized, and I'd be a member of the fold.
I want to tell how I came to realize that would never happen.
I want to share how I still adore reading about those who do live that life, who believe. I still imagine my life and how it would be had I been born into that world.
Does it all really need to be said, though? Or is it too many words?
This is my battle.
The beginnings of my Mormon roots...
I got up around 9:30 this morning, and Jimi had already been up for a few hours. I made coffee, which is rare for us (if we drink a hot beverage, it's usually tea, though we always have coffee on hand), and he made breakfast, which isn't so unusual. Ham and eggs and toast. A good start to the day, even if it was 11 a.m. by the time we were eating. :) No sense in rushing on a lazy Sunday morning, right?
David's been on my mind lately. A lot. You don't know David, probably. I've been planning on writing about him for a long time, but I've not been sure when or how I'd get to it. I'm still not sure if this will end up posted. Depends on where I end up when I'm done rambling, i suppose.
David was my best friend in high school. I generally refer to Kat as my BFF in high school, and if we're talking about same-sex friends, then yeah, she was. But David was my best friend. When I look back over those years, it was David who was my cohort in all of my tales. It was David's support and friendship that kept me moving forward, it was David who comforted me when I was down. David was my BFF.
David was Mormon. David is the spring from which my fascination/obsession with the LDS faith originates. David's dad was the Bishop of the local Ward. He had 7 brothers and sisters, I think; 5 sisters, 2 brothers. His brothers were older, and I think there were 3 girls behind him. All of them were good Mormon boys and girls - honors students, following the faith, returned missionaries, married in the temple - except one. One had experienced drugs and premarital sex and had even had a child out of wedlock. David told me once he was scared of that sister, or had been, in the midst of rebellion.
I met David in science class. He was tall and blonde and lanky and blue-eyed and nice and smart and a complete geek. He had an awesome sense of humor. And was so incredibly kind and good-natured. That first year, I think I mostly snapped rubberbands on the back of his neck and teased him. I didn't notice him much.
We were in JROTC together, on the drill team. And he adored me. I've always been all about surrounding myself with people who think I'm awesome, and as I mentioned, David had an awesome sense of humor and was sweet and good and kind. Why wouldn't I want to hang out with him? We spend every available evening together - driving his parents' car all over Louisville, sometimes putting 200 miles on the vehicle in a single night. We talked on the phone until 3 in the morning, despite him having to get up at 5 a.m. to attend seminary. He never complained; he was always happy to talk to me, to hang out with me, to be my friend.
We talked about his church as much as I'd allow him to. Sometimes we argued, because some things about his beliefs offended me. Later, I looked back at this and was ashamed; he was so willing to accept me, for all my shortcomings, yet I criticized what he believed, often. The idea of 3 levels of Heaven offended me, I told him; realistically, it scared me. Because I felt like I was being left out.
He was my first introduction to the LDS faith; he got me fresh, before I'd heard any rumors or jokes about their beliefs, and so he managed to cut off at the pass any bigotry or lies or exaggerations about what they believe. When it came to polygamy, he told me that the men had taken multiple wives when they'd been moving out west, because so many men died and left women behind with families and no income. The men did it to help the general population, not because they WANTED to. And he believed that. Completely. I did too, after he told me so. I used it for years to defend the LDS church.
About the middle of our sophomore year, I realized he wanted to be more than friends, and was pretty serious about it. I had a boyfriend who lived out of town. He told me he'd talked to his mom about his feelings for me, and in so confessing, he'd told her that I'd already had sex. I was furious with him. How dare he tell my intimate personal details to his mother...what business was it of hers?! And when he told me she'd urged him away from me, told him not to pursue me, because "while hand-holding may be enough for you, David, eventually, she's going to want more". I was shamed, and the way for me to deal with that shame, embarrassment, was to lash out at him.
But I get it now, and I hope that when I eventually have children, I'll have done a good enough job raising them that they'll feel comfortable coming to me about the potential loves they're falling for, and be willing to talk with me about the pros and cons of pursuing relationships.
Eventually, David and I were able to find a happy middle ground; basically, we acted as if we were boyfriend and girlfriend, by going out and being together and talking on the phone all night every night, but without the physical aspects of a relationship. We held hands sometimes, and we hugged, but there was no kissing. We loved each other, but we told ourselves it was the love of siblings, even though we both knew he felt more, and looking back, I know for sure I was in love with him, even if I didn't admit it for years.
Our senior year, he started dating Kat. I was lost without him by my side constantly, and I did everything in my power to try to steal him away from her, including one afternoon where I tried to seduce him. I managed to get him to kiss me, but when I tried to rub his special place, he pushed me away and shook his head no and the moment was gone. After that, things were cool between us, needless to say. I was embarrassed, he was in love with Kat.
David was accepted into all of the military academies after high school, as we knew he would be, and chose to attend the Naval Academy. Two years after graduation, he took a hiatus from school and went to Russia for two years to serve his mission. He and Kat had been on again when he left; I was convinced they'd end up married after he returned and graduated.
While he was in Russia, he sent me a hardbound Book of Mormon. He included in the front cover a personal message to me, which I still hold close to my heart, and when I read it I feel I've let him down, as he encouraged me to find the Spirit and join his faith.
David's been on my mind lately. A lot. You don't know David, probably. I've been planning on writing about him for a long time, but I've not been sure when or how I'd get to it. I'm still not sure if this will end up posted. Depends on where I end up when I'm done rambling, i suppose.
David was my best friend in high school. I generally refer to Kat as my BFF in high school, and if we're talking about same-sex friends, then yeah, she was. But David was my best friend. When I look back over those years, it was David who was my cohort in all of my tales. It was David's support and friendship that kept me moving forward, it was David who comforted me when I was down. David was my BFF.
David was Mormon. David is the spring from which my fascination/obsession with the LDS faith originates. David's dad was the Bishop of the local Ward. He had 7 brothers and sisters, I think; 5 sisters, 2 brothers. His brothers were older, and I think there were 3 girls behind him. All of them were good Mormon boys and girls - honors students, following the faith, returned missionaries, married in the temple - except one. One had experienced drugs and premarital sex and had even had a child out of wedlock. David told me once he was scared of that sister, or had been, in the midst of rebellion.
I met David in science class. He was tall and blonde and lanky and blue-eyed and nice and smart and a complete geek. He had an awesome sense of humor. And was so incredibly kind and good-natured. That first year, I think I mostly snapped rubberbands on the back of his neck and teased him. I didn't notice him much.
We were in JROTC together, on the drill team. And he adored me. I've always been all about surrounding myself with people who think I'm awesome, and as I mentioned, David had an awesome sense of humor and was sweet and good and kind. Why wouldn't I want to hang out with him? We spend every available evening together - driving his parents' car all over Louisville, sometimes putting 200 miles on the vehicle in a single night. We talked on the phone until 3 in the morning, despite him having to get up at 5 a.m. to attend seminary. He never complained; he was always happy to talk to me, to hang out with me, to be my friend.
We talked about his church as much as I'd allow him to. Sometimes we argued, because some things about his beliefs offended me. Later, I looked back at this and was ashamed; he was so willing to accept me, for all my shortcomings, yet I criticized what he believed, often. The idea of 3 levels of Heaven offended me, I told him; realistically, it scared me. Because I felt like I was being left out.
He was my first introduction to the LDS faith; he got me fresh, before I'd heard any rumors or jokes about their beliefs, and so he managed to cut off at the pass any bigotry or lies or exaggerations about what they believe. When it came to polygamy, he told me that the men had taken multiple wives when they'd been moving out west, because so many men died and left women behind with families and no income. The men did it to help the general population, not because they WANTED to. And he believed that. Completely. I did too, after he told me so. I used it for years to defend the LDS church.
About the middle of our sophomore year, I realized he wanted to be more than friends, and was pretty serious about it. I had a boyfriend who lived out of town. He told me he'd talked to his mom about his feelings for me, and in so confessing, he'd told her that I'd already had sex. I was furious with him. How dare he tell my intimate personal details to his mother...what business was it of hers?! And when he told me she'd urged him away from me, told him not to pursue me, because "while hand-holding may be enough for you, David, eventually, she's going to want more". I was shamed, and the way for me to deal with that shame, embarrassment, was to lash out at him.
But I get it now, and I hope that when I eventually have children, I'll have done a good enough job raising them that they'll feel comfortable coming to me about the potential loves they're falling for, and be willing to talk with me about the pros and cons of pursuing relationships.
Eventually, David and I were able to find a happy middle ground; basically, we acted as if we were boyfriend and girlfriend, by going out and being together and talking on the phone all night every night, but without the physical aspects of a relationship. We held hands sometimes, and we hugged, but there was no kissing. We loved each other, but we told ourselves it was the love of siblings, even though we both knew he felt more, and looking back, I know for sure I was in love with him, even if I didn't admit it for years.
Our senior year, he started dating Kat. I was lost without him by my side constantly, and I did everything in my power to try to steal him away from her, including one afternoon where I tried to seduce him. I managed to get him to kiss me, but when I tried to rub his special place, he pushed me away and shook his head no and the moment was gone. After that, things were cool between us, needless to say. I was embarrassed, he was in love with Kat.
David was accepted into all of the military academies after high school, as we knew he would be, and chose to attend the Naval Academy. Two years after graduation, he took a hiatus from school and went to Russia for two years to serve his mission. He and Kat had been on again when he left; I was convinced they'd end up married after he returned and graduated.
While he was in Russia, he sent me a hardbound Book of Mormon. He included in the front cover a personal message to me, which I still hold close to my heart, and when I read it I feel I've let him down, as he encouraged me to find the Spirit and join his faith.
_________________________________________________
There's a story there in the middle, but I've run out of words. Later, I promise.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Can we just be fair with each other?
I went looking for a link to Elder Packer's Conference speech from this past weekend. I'll find one in a minute. I got distracted by this: http://www.lds-mormon.com/hardy.shtml. An excerpt: (their links, not mine)
Your doctrine of "choice" and "curability" is also at the core of why the Church and its members in reality view my son and those like him as latter-day lepers. If homosexuality (1) is not inborn, (2) has an element of choice, and (3) can be cured - then it must be able to be taught or suggested. Others must also be susceptible to being enticed or recruited. Our children are capable of being infected by these people and not becoming mothers and fathers. It is, therefore, a frontal assault on the family. The "hate the sin but love the sinner" platitude cannot disguise the fact that in reality the members of the Church are taught to loathe and fear our son and those like him. This qualified and synthetic "love" is nothing more than the few alms hurriedly and begrudgingly parted with to salve the Christian conscience, while never once entertaining the idea of actually descending into the leper pit. We would never expose our children to this for it might infect them. If sexual orientation is a matter of choice, when exactly did you choose to be heterosexual? When and how often did you reaffirm your choice to stay that way? Why aren't my other children, who idolize their brother, even the slightest bit interested in adopting a homosexual "lifestyle" or in homosexual experimentation? Why would anyone choose to be an abomination and an outcast? It defies reason.
Exactly.
Here's the article I was looking for:
http://latterdaymainstreet.com/2010/10/03/will-this-hateful-rhetoric-continue-once-boyd-k-packer-has-passed-on/
It includes the transcript of Packer's speech. Nasty hateful old fool.
What happened to "treat others as you wish to be treated"? "Love thy neighbor"? "Do unto others..."? When did we stop loving each other in the name of a loving God?
It just makes me sad.
Your doctrine of "choice" and "curability" is also at the core of why the Church and its members in reality view my son and those like him as latter-day lepers. If homosexuality (1) is not inborn, (2) has an element of choice, and (3) can be cured - then it must be able to be taught or suggested. Others must also be susceptible to being enticed or recruited. Our children are capable of being infected by these people and not becoming mothers and fathers. It is, therefore, a frontal assault on the family. The "hate the sin but love the sinner" platitude cannot disguise the fact that in reality the members of the Church are taught to loathe and fear our son and those like him. This qualified and synthetic "love" is nothing more than the few alms hurriedly and begrudgingly parted with to salve the Christian conscience, while never once entertaining the idea of actually descending into the leper pit. We would never expose our children to this for it might infect them. If sexual orientation is a matter of choice, when exactly did you choose to be heterosexual? When and how often did you reaffirm your choice to stay that way? Why aren't my other children, who idolize their brother, even the slightest bit interested in adopting a homosexual "lifestyle" or in homosexual experimentation? Why would anyone choose to be an abomination and an outcast? It defies reason.
Exactly.
Here's the article I was looking for:
http://latterdaymainstreet.com/2010/10/03/will-this-hateful-rhetoric-continue-once-boyd-k-packer-has-passed-on/
It includes the transcript of Packer's speech. Nasty hateful old fool.
What happened to "treat others as you wish to be treated"? "Love thy neighbor"? "Do unto others..."? When did we stop loving each other in the name of a loving God?
It just makes me sad.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The "Mosque" at Ground Zero
I posted this on my Facebook page last night:
It's 12 minutes long, but any good American would take the time to watch it.
My boss and I were having our usual morning chat session this morning, and I asked if he'd had a chance to watch it. He told me he hadn't been on Facebook in days, so I gave him a brief synopsis.
Now, my boss and i get along remarkably well, and have a lot in common. Our brains work in much the same ways, but please don't take that to mean we have similar opinions on most things, because we don't. I'm about as liberal as they come, and he's staunchly conservative. When I finished telling him of the video, the jovial mood that had been flowing through the room suddenly became serious and rather muted.
"I wouldn't watch that," he said, deadpan.
He's one of THOSE.
He's one of the guys saying that building this community center is insulting to the memory of the victims of NINE ELEVEN. He's concerned that if this community center gets built, millions of terrorists will be all "YAY!!! We got into their backyard!!! YAY!!!" He doesn't care that there's already a Mosque a few blocks from the site where the twin towers stood, nor that it's been there since before the twin towers were built. He doesn't even want to watch this video, not even for information purposes, not even to possibly gain another foothold on refuting those fucking liberal assholes that think this is okay.
I don't get it. I don't understand that level of close-mindedness. In the words of Andy Dufresne, "How can you be so obtuse?" I just don't get it. The backlash against the building of this community center is incendiary and cruel and unAmerican. It's fear mongering. It's classless. It's hateful. And I don't want to live in a country where people like that are in charge and make the rules; especially not when that country claims to be "Land of the Free" and touts its "Freedom of Religion" rights as one reason it's better than the rest of the world.
And it really shakes me that someone I admire so much is a part of the population which I view as the cruel, fear mongering, hateful, bad Americans. It makes me sad. It makes me think less of him, and I hate that.
Watch the video. And if you feel the same as my boss afterward, please don't tell me about it. I can't stand to have my bubble busted any more today.
It's 12 minutes long, but any good American would take the time to watch it.
My boss and I were having our usual morning chat session this morning, and I asked if he'd had a chance to watch it. He told me he hadn't been on Facebook in days, so I gave him a brief synopsis.
Now, my boss and i get along remarkably well, and have a lot in common. Our brains work in much the same ways, but please don't take that to mean we have similar opinions on most things, because we don't. I'm about as liberal as they come, and he's staunchly conservative. When I finished telling him of the video, the jovial mood that had been flowing through the room suddenly became serious and rather muted.
"I wouldn't watch that," he said, deadpan.
He's one of THOSE.
He's one of the guys saying that building this community center is insulting to the memory of the victims of NINE ELEVEN. He's concerned that if this community center gets built, millions of terrorists will be all "YAY!!! We got into their backyard!!! YAY!!!" He doesn't care that there's already a Mosque a few blocks from the site where the twin towers stood, nor that it's been there since before the twin towers were built. He doesn't even want to watch this video, not even for information purposes, not even to possibly gain another foothold on refuting those fucking liberal assholes that think this is okay.
I don't get it. I don't understand that level of close-mindedness. In the words of Andy Dufresne, "How can you be so obtuse?" I just don't get it. The backlash against the building of this community center is incendiary and cruel and unAmerican. It's fear mongering. It's classless. It's hateful. And I don't want to live in a country where people like that are in charge and make the rules; especially not when that country claims to be "Land of the Free" and touts its "Freedom of Religion" rights as one reason it's better than the rest of the world.
And it really shakes me that someone I admire so much is a part of the population which I view as the cruel, fear mongering, hateful, bad Americans. It makes me sad. It makes me think less of him, and I hate that.
Watch the video. And if you feel the same as my boss afterward, please don't tell me about it. I can't stand to have my bubble busted any more today.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
For my 100th boring blog entry...
I was going to tell you about how I got a nickel-sized rug burn on my big toe last night.
But then I had the most incredibly shitty day at work. Like, a classic soul-sucking whore sort of workday. It commenced in my complete breakdown behind my boss's closed door, wherein I told him that I feel incapable of doing the job to which I've been assigned and that I'm seriously considering seeking other employment, and by the way, did I mention that I'm a horrible manager and I totally suck at my job? And he, of course, talked me down from my ledge, but I was emotionally drained and my eyes were red and swollen from where I'd cried shamelessly for 45 minutes. And then, as if that weren't bad enough, I had a second emotional breakdown in front of one of my employees while trying to convey to him that it is NOT okay for him to ignore my phone calls and refuse to return my messages and that when he does that it makes me sad.
Fuck. I should've stayed home today.
But then I got home. And took a shower. And Jimi got home. And a neighbor came over and shared a bowl. And our new roommate showed up to discuss our new living arrangement. And there was leftover pizza. And more beer. And chocolate. And this:
So I'm feeling better now. And really, you didn't want the story about the nickel-sized rug burn on my big toe, anyhow. I promise.
But then I had the most incredibly shitty day at work. Like, a classic soul-sucking whore sort of workday. It commenced in my complete breakdown behind my boss's closed door, wherein I told him that I feel incapable of doing the job to which I've been assigned and that I'm seriously considering seeking other employment, and by the way, did I mention that I'm a horrible manager and I totally suck at my job? And he, of course, talked me down from my ledge, but I was emotionally drained and my eyes were red and swollen from where I'd cried shamelessly for 45 minutes. And then, as if that weren't bad enough, I had a second emotional breakdown in front of one of my employees while trying to convey to him that it is NOT okay for him to ignore my phone calls and refuse to return my messages and that when he does that it makes me sad.
Fuck. I should've stayed home today.
But then I got home. And took a shower. And Jimi got home. And a neighbor came over and shared a bowl. And our new roommate showed up to discuss our new living arrangement. And there was leftover pizza. And more beer. And chocolate. And this:
So I'm feeling better now. And really, you didn't want the story about the nickel-sized rug burn on my big toe, anyhow. I promise.
Friday, August 6, 2010
I'm not trying to be mean.
I'm just being glib. I swear. I used a winking smiley and everything!
Sweet Nice Guy who doesn't deserve any hatefulness says: Jesus could come back any day or any time! Are you Ready?
This Video is so Awesome, if you don't watch anything else I post, PLease Watch This! Sam Samford
Length:2:06
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