One time. So far this year- one time. Just one time.
Just read between the lines on this one, that's all I'm saying.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Baseball
Lot of reminiscing about afternoon baseball games and how much better it is when the whole country is watching... those days are done. Baseball doesn't captivate the country anymore, and it isn't Bud Selig's fault or the fault of night games, it's because football is what captivates the country now. It's a different time. Kids aren't going to rush home to watch the game if it was on in the afternoon, kids have a lot more choices for afternoon activities these days. (Although they might watch the game on their phone or something. I know I listened to it on my Ipod as I drifted off to sleep.) And what school is going to let kids watch the game during school hours? Someone would likely face disciplinary charges.
You realize that one of the best games in history, game 6 of the 1975 World Series, was on at night, right? There have been great Monday Night Football games on at night. The Super Bowl starts in the early evening but that's in a different class altogether.
"It's all about the money." Of course, because without the money we don't have a team, we don't have players to stock the team, we don't have employees at the stadium to serve me my hot dog and peanuts. Even the much heralded Babe Ruth held out during the Great Depression, and when asked about asking for more money than the President merely said "I had a better year than he did!" None of our heroes did it for free.
The days of afternoon World Series games are over. We live in a different time now. I would love it if some things were still like they were when I was a kid, but they aren't. The DH isn't going away, the wild card isn't going away, you might as well find something to like about baseball or just quit watching it, because the experience isn't going to be like it was when we were kids.
You realize that one of the best games in history, game 6 of the 1975 World Series, was on at night, right? There have been great Monday Night Football games on at night. The Super Bowl starts in the early evening but that's in a different class altogether.
"It's all about the money." Of course, because without the money we don't have a team, we don't have players to stock the team, we don't have employees at the stadium to serve me my hot dog and peanuts. Even the much heralded Babe Ruth held out during the Great Depression, and when asked about asking for more money than the President merely said "I had a better year than he did!" None of our heroes did it for free.
The days of afternoon World Series games are over. We live in a different time now. I would love it if some things were still like they were when I was a kid, but they aren't. The DH isn't going away, the wild card isn't going away, you might as well find something to like about baseball or just quit watching it, because the experience isn't going to be like it was when we were kids.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Who are you/What have you sacrificed?
Every time I look at you I don't understand
Why you let the things you did get so out of hand?---“Superstar”, from the musical Jesus Christ Superstar
Do you think Jesus knew what he was starting? When he told Simon Peter that he was going to build his church, did he have his fingers crossed behind his back, saying to himself “oh God, please don’t let him screw it up”? When Pat Robertson opens his mouth does Jesus sit up in heaven and think “oh crap, he’s at it again”?
Of course he knew what would happen. He’s God, right? When God created Adam and Eve he obviously knew that they would eat the fruit, otherwise he wouldn’t be God. So when Jesus made his final instructions to his disciples, telling them to preach the gospel, start Christian rock bands, form political action committees and sing “Kumbayah” a lot, he knew that some of those future disciples would be real assholes. Unless he wasn’t God while on this earth, and I’m not even going down that road.
Christ you know I love you
Did you see I waved?---“Simon Zealotes”, Jesus Christ Superstar
So let’s imagine Jesus walking through the sands of time. The church starts, everything is cool, the Romans hate their guts but the believers give a collective middle finger to the Romans and meet anyway. The Romans throw them to lions and find many other ways to separate the believers from their lives, but it doesn’t matter. They have a fresh vision of Jesus. Jesus is all that matters to them. Some of them even saw the man face to face.
Then when we retire, we can write the Gospels
So they'll still talk about us when we've died.---“The Last Supper”, Jesus Christ Superstar
Gospels are floating around now. Everybody and their brother put pen to paper and churn out Gospels like network TV churns out reality shows. And even if someone didn’t know Jesus personally, they probably knew a friend of a friend who shared the Passover meal with an apostle’s cousin, and if they say Jesus would have done something this way, he probably would have.
And so it began.
When Jesus went into the region of Caesarea Philippi he asked his disciples, "Who do people say that the Son of Man is?" They replied, "Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”
He said to them, "But who do you say that I am?"
---Matthew 16:13-15
“And the people said, ‘Let us make Jesus in our own image, after our own likeness.’” Over the course of time people began to develop interpretations of who Jesus was based on what they wanted him to be. Jesus automatically approved of everything the Church did, because after all, he started the thing. The apostles ordained successors, and so on and so on, and Jesus smiled on the whole chain.
Pretty soon Martin Luther said “you know, screw this” and broke off, starting a revolution that revolved around the belief that Jesus wouldn’t make us do works, it’s all about grace. Jesus wouldn’t approve of this hierarchy stuff…Jesus would want us to read the Bible for ourselves…Jesus wouldn’t baptize infants- what do they know, anyway? And branches continued to fall from the tree.
Look at the artwork. Jesus Christ became a white man from the Middle Ages instead of the man of Middle Eastern descent that he actually was. In the 1700’s and 1800’s Jesus had no problems with people owning slaves because, well, that’s what the people wanted so they projected it onto Jesus. Marcus Garvey said that Jesus was a black man, because he wanted him to be one. To the emerging women’s movement Jesus was the first feminist. After all, Mary Magdalene was the first to see him after his resurrection, so to hell with all the tired old white guys running the show- Jesus obviously favored bra burning and reproductive freedom. To the hippies Jesus was the first hippie rebel. He stood up to the man, man! He fought the power! He had long hair and a lot of crazy ideas about love and freedom.
“Not so fast,” the fundamentalist movement intoned. Jesus didn’t have long hair- long hair was a shame to a man. To them Jesus was a short haired Bible thumper- just like them. Jack Hyles even wrote a book entitled “Jesus Had Short Hair.” Jesus was the original fightin’, feudin’ fundamentalist who spoke in King James English. 1611, straight from heaven baby!
Along about 1976 Jesus Christ took the form of a peanut farmer from Georgia. Oops, my bad- that was Jimmy Carter. Same initials, though. A born-again in the White House- who woulda thunk it? But he was a Democrat, so he was destined to disappoint the crowd who was quickly seeing Jesus as the first Republican. When the 1980 elections rolled around old J.C. found himself thrown out on his peanut shells. The world had a new savior- old Ronald Wilson Reagan himself, the great white hope.
(Just as an aside, you know that Reagan was the antichrist, right? Do the math- Ronald has six letters, Wilson has six letters, and Reagan has six letters. 6-6-6.)
In 1987 and 1988, when Bakker and Swaggart took a dive, it was no longer cool to say “Jesus Is Lord.” Smacked too much of pushy televangelists and an image Christians were trying to get away from. Jesus was your buddy, your friend. He’s not going to push anything on you, man! He just wants to share a Budweiser and some smokes with you, maybe shoot a round of pool or go club-hopping. He was straight-edge before Fugazi took their first breath. Jesus was a vegan- he wouldn’t have eaten poor, defenseless animals! Lamb of God? Oh , umm, well….
How about the pro-life crowd? “Jesus loves the little children…” they intoned while chaining themselves to abortion mills. Some of them got the idea that it might be kind of cool to kill a few doctors- after all, Jesus did say “the kingdom of heaven suffers violence and the violent take it by force.” Most of that same pro-life crowd are now pleased that we've killed a lot of Iraqis for Christ. After all, George W. Bush is a man of God, and Jesus told him to invade Iraq.
A few years ago a blogger challenged me to say who I believed Jesus is. I had every intention of making that an essay, but then I realized that it would be pointless. Nobody really cares who Jesus was. Everybody claims to follow the "real" Jesus, but they don't know him. They only care about the carefully crafted image they’ve made of Jesus. They have a Jesus that they’re comfortable with, and everyone else is wrong.
You want a statement of belief from me? OK. Jesus is Lord. The implications of that statement are still being determined.
Why you let the things you did get so out of hand?---“Superstar”, from the musical Jesus Christ Superstar
Do you think Jesus knew what he was starting? When he told Simon Peter that he was going to build his church, did he have his fingers crossed behind his back, saying to himself “oh God, please don’t let him screw it up”? When Pat Robertson opens his mouth does Jesus sit up in heaven and think “oh crap, he’s at it again”?
Of course he knew what would happen. He’s God, right? When God created Adam and Eve he obviously knew that they would eat the fruit, otherwise he wouldn’t be God. So when Jesus made his final instructions to his disciples, telling them to preach the gospel, start Christian rock bands, form political action committees and sing “Kumbayah” a lot, he knew that some of those future disciples would be real assholes. Unless he wasn’t God while on this earth, and I’m not even going down that road.
Christ you know I love you
Did you see I waved?---“Simon Zealotes”, Jesus Christ Superstar
So let’s imagine Jesus walking through the sands of time. The church starts, everything is cool, the Romans hate their guts but the believers give a collective middle finger to the Romans and meet anyway. The Romans throw them to lions and find many other ways to separate the believers from their lives, but it doesn’t matter. They have a fresh vision of Jesus. Jesus is all that matters to them. Some of them even saw the man face to face.
Then when we retire, we can write the Gospels
So they'll still talk about us when we've died.---“The Last Supper”, Jesus Christ Superstar
Gospels are floating around now. Everybody and their brother put pen to paper and churn out Gospels like network TV churns out reality shows. And even if someone didn’t know Jesus personally, they probably knew a friend of a friend who shared the Passover meal with an apostle’s cousin, and if they say Jesus would have done something this way, he probably would have.
And so it began.
When Jesus went into the region of Caesarea Philippi he asked his disciples, "Who do people say that the Son of Man is?" They replied, "Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”
He said to them, "But who do you say that I am?"
---Matthew 16:13-15
“And the people said, ‘Let us make Jesus in our own image, after our own likeness.’” Over the course of time people began to develop interpretations of who Jesus was based on what they wanted him to be. Jesus automatically approved of everything the Church did, because after all, he started the thing. The apostles ordained successors, and so on and so on, and Jesus smiled on the whole chain.
Pretty soon Martin Luther said “you know, screw this” and broke off, starting a revolution that revolved around the belief that Jesus wouldn’t make us do works, it’s all about grace. Jesus wouldn’t approve of this hierarchy stuff…Jesus would want us to read the Bible for ourselves…Jesus wouldn’t baptize infants- what do they know, anyway? And branches continued to fall from the tree.
Look at the artwork. Jesus Christ became a white man from the Middle Ages instead of the man of Middle Eastern descent that he actually was. In the 1700’s and 1800’s Jesus had no problems with people owning slaves because, well, that’s what the people wanted so they projected it onto Jesus. Marcus Garvey said that Jesus was a black man, because he wanted him to be one. To the emerging women’s movement Jesus was the first feminist. After all, Mary Magdalene was the first to see him after his resurrection, so to hell with all the tired old white guys running the show- Jesus obviously favored bra burning and reproductive freedom. To the hippies Jesus was the first hippie rebel. He stood up to the man, man! He fought the power! He had long hair and a lot of crazy ideas about love and freedom.
“Not so fast,” the fundamentalist movement intoned. Jesus didn’t have long hair- long hair was a shame to a man. To them Jesus was a short haired Bible thumper- just like them. Jack Hyles even wrote a book entitled “Jesus Had Short Hair.” Jesus was the original fightin’, feudin’ fundamentalist who spoke in King James English. 1611, straight from heaven baby!
Along about 1976 Jesus Christ took the form of a peanut farmer from Georgia. Oops, my bad- that was Jimmy Carter. Same initials, though. A born-again in the White House- who woulda thunk it? But he was a Democrat, so he was destined to disappoint the crowd who was quickly seeing Jesus as the first Republican. When the 1980 elections rolled around old J.C. found himself thrown out on his peanut shells. The world had a new savior- old Ronald Wilson Reagan himself, the great white hope.
(Just as an aside, you know that Reagan was the antichrist, right? Do the math- Ronald has six letters, Wilson has six letters, and Reagan has six letters. 6-6-6.)
In 1987 and 1988, when Bakker and Swaggart took a dive, it was no longer cool to say “Jesus Is Lord.” Smacked too much of pushy televangelists and an image Christians were trying to get away from. Jesus was your buddy, your friend. He’s not going to push anything on you, man! He just wants to share a Budweiser and some smokes with you, maybe shoot a round of pool or go club-hopping. He was straight-edge before Fugazi took their first breath. Jesus was a vegan- he wouldn’t have eaten poor, defenseless animals! Lamb of God? Oh , umm, well….
How about the pro-life crowd? “Jesus loves the little children…” they intoned while chaining themselves to abortion mills. Some of them got the idea that it might be kind of cool to kill a few doctors- after all, Jesus did say “the kingdom of heaven suffers violence and the violent take it by force.” Most of that same pro-life crowd are now pleased that we've killed a lot of Iraqis for Christ. After all, George W. Bush is a man of God, and Jesus told him to invade Iraq.
A few years ago a blogger challenged me to say who I believed Jesus is. I had every intention of making that an essay, but then I realized that it would be pointless. Nobody really cares who Jesus was. Everybody claims to follow the "real" Jesus, but they don't know him. They only care about the carefully crafted image they’ve made of Jesus. They have a Jesus that they’re comfortable with, and everyone else is wrong.
You want a statement of belief from me? OK. Jesus is Lord. The implications of that statement are still being determined.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Mee-maw and Paw-paw
My grandparents were a treasure that even now I still draw upon. They filmed a video of their life's memories with Evelyn and Mark about five years before Grandpa Mac died. But on a more personal level, in the last years of his life Grandpa Mac was having a hard time communicating and often didn't talk at all. I hadn't written the expected Christmas thank you notes that year, because it had been a hard year personally, and I wrote later to explain all the details. My grandfather called me and simply said that he loved me. And two months later he died.
I talk about my grandparents a lot because they had an enormous effect on me. My grandfather's stand as a CO during WWII gives me the courage even now to take unpopular stands. My grandmother's obsessive picture-taking has left us with a great gift of remembering our past as a family. So Grandma and Grandpa, look down on me and smile, your grandson needs you as much as ever.
I talk about my grandparents a lot because they had an enormous effect on me. My grandfather's stand as a CO during WWII gives me the courage even now to take unpopular stands. My grandmother's obsessive picture-taking has left us with a great gift of remembering our past as a family. So Grandma and Grandpa, look down on me and smile, your grandson needs you as much as ever.
Monday, October 24, 2011
I like sex
OK, I admit it- I like sex.
Waited a long time to experience it- I was 29 when I finally lost my virginity to some psycho woman I met through a personal ad. I refer to her as "psycho" because she was planning our marriage after having known me for two weeks. Oh yeah, she lied to me and said she was pregnant. Psycho enough for you?
I have been a born-again Christian since about 1981-1982, and so I was coming from that viewpoint, that you waited until you were married to have sex. Well, I did not. Should have, but didn't. I jumped on the first woman who would show me her boobs. Ironically, had I waited about seven more months, then I would have met the woman who eventually became my wife, and I would have enjoyed some good sex with a woman who loved me.
My mother-in-law would cringe upon reading this blog entry. She would cringe at most of the things that I write, but that's another conversation. She read somewhere that guys think about sex six times a minute, or some off-the-wall statistic like it. Her point being that guys are always thinking about sex. Well, what do you want me to do, apologize? Hell no!
Listen, God created sex and called it good. And the letter of Paul to the Philippians in the New Testament says that whatever is good, pure, etc.- we should think on these things. So tell me what the problem is here. You want me to be ashamed of having good sex with my wife? Think again.
And I love how Christian women try to take some sort of righteous stand here, like guys are perverts and women never think about such lowly matters. Are you kidding? I will guarantee you that Christian women are talking about these things as much as men. I've seen Christian women's Internet discussion sites. They're talking about shaving. They're talking about positions. They are mocking men for being concerned with penis size and in the same breath obsessing about their breasts. C'mon, you know I'm right.
And why shouldn't they? At the same time they are pretending to not talk about it they are attending Bible study classes imploring them to wait until marriage. So when the marriage day comes, how do they suddenly flip the switch? How do they go from sex being dirty to sex being permissible and even fun? How do they go from hiding their bodies to putting them on display?
I'm not saying that we should blather on about every detail of our sex lives. There are areas of a couple's life that are sacred, private, not for public discussion. But stop the pretending. Guys aren't perverts for liking it, and woman aren't whores for liking it.
"Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled." Paul to the Hebrews. Look it up.
Waited a long time to experience it- I was 29 when I finally lost my virginity to some psycho woman I met through a personal ad. I refer to her as "psycho" because she was planning our marriage after having known me for two weeks. Oh yeah, she lied to me and said she was pregnant. Psycho enough for you?
I have been a born-again Christian since about 1981-1982, and so I was coming from that viewpoint, that you waited until you were married to have sex. Well, I did not. Should have, but didn't. I jumped on the first woman who would show me her boobs. Ironically, had I waited about seven more months, then I would have met the woman who eventually became my wife, and I would have enjoyed some good sex with a woman who loved me.
My mother-in-law would cringe upon reading this blog entry. She would cringe at most of the things that I write, but that's another conversation. She read somewhere that guys think about sex six times a minute, or some off-the-wall statistic like it. Her point being that guys are always thinking about sex. Well, what do you want me to do, apologize? Hell no!
Listen, God created sex and called it good. And the letter of Paul to the Philippians in the New Testament says that whatever is good, pure, etc.- we should think on these things. So tell me what the problem is here. You want me to be ashamed of having good sex with my wife? Think again.
And I love how Christian women try to take some sort of righteous stand here, like guys are perverts and women never think about such lowly matters. Are you kidding? I will guarantee you that Christian women are talking about these things as much as men. I've seen Christian women's Internet discussion sites. They're talking about shaving. They're talking about positions. They are mocking men for being concerned with penis size and in the same breath obsessing about their breasts. C'mon, you know I'm right.
And why shouldn't they? At the same time they are pretending to not talk about it they are attending Bible study classes imploring them to wait until marriage. So when the marriage day comes, how do they suddenly flip the switch? How do they go from sex being dirty to sex being permissible and even fun? How do they go from hiding their bodies to putting them on display?
I'm not saying that we should blather on about every detail of our sex lives. There are areas of a couple's life that are sacred, private, not for public discussion. But stop the pretending. Guys aren't perverts for liking it, and woman aren't whores for liking it.
"Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled." Paul to the Hebrews. Look it up.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
If I could turn back time
There was a time when church was the highlight of my week. Now I'm not sure I care. And I don't know why.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Sincere gestures/stupid gestures
"We're talking about sincere gestures," Jenny said.
"We're talking about stupid gestures," Garp said.
You cannot go a day anymore without hearing about bullying. Every day someone waves the flag of some kid who was bullied and committed suicide. Teen suicide is a very sad thing. But the anti-bullying cause is always connected to some LGBTQMOUSE cause, as if the only kids being bullied are the gay ones. If you are fat, like the wrong rock band or like the same boy the head cheerleader likes, no one gives a damn. No one is doing a public service announcement for you. Lady Gaga isn't imploring the world that you are who you are because you were born that way. Your suffering apparently doesn't count.
And the solution? Wear a purple T-shirt on the appointed day, a day decided upon by gay people and not fat people, and that will show the world that bullying is bad. Or at least it will show the world how much YOU care.
Maybe you turned on the TV last night and immediately saw pink. No, you aren't catching an infectious disease. "Think pink!" "Save the ta-ta's!" "Bowling for boobies!" Any one of a number of slogans accompany the ever-present pink ribbon which states to the world that BREAST CANCER IS BAD! As if there is anyone out there who hears the words "breast cancer" and thinks "someone is going to die horribly? Hooray!" Really, is there anyone out there who thinks that breast cancer is a good thing? OK, then why this incessant insistence on awareness campaigns?
As I write this, I am thinking about some friends of mine. I've known the husband for some time, his wife not so much. His wife has breast cancer. It is in remission now, but they experienced hell on earth during treatment and some time after. And they wear pink. Often. They have dove into the Susan G. Komen movement big-time, and for good reason. If you were in their position, would you not just dye your whole frigging body pink and do all you could to raise money for research in order to cure this horrible disease? Of course you would. How would my wearing of pink affect the horrible statistics of cancer? Unless I was giving some money at the same time, not a damn thing.
But let me ask you a question, one no one has the balls to ask, but I'm pretty stupid so I'll ask it anyway. What do Peter Criss, Rod Roddy and Richard Roundtree all have in common? They all have had breast cancer (Rod Roddy died in 2003), and they are all men. Did you know that men can get breast cancer too? Of course not. All you see is pink everywhere. If a man gets breast cancer, they can just go sit in the corner and die, apparently. You don't see men in the commercials, you don't see brochures explaining to men how they can check themselves and how they would even know what they were feeling for, it's pink everywhere. Granted, it is rare, taking the lives of about 500 men every year, as opposed to 39,000 women every year. Not even close. But I'm sure the wives and children of these men would still think that their father/husband's life is none the less valuable.
"We support the troops!" We hear this mantra proclaimed everywhere, from churches to city halls, from newspapers to websites- but what does it mean? What does a sticker-laden bumper on my car actually do, besides making the sticker makers rich? How does retweeting a troops tweet or posting a particularly patriotic picture on our Facebook status do anything at all for Private Joe P. Dumfuque from BFE? Answer: NOTHING AT ALL.
We have fooled ourselves into thinking that these gestures actually mean something. But my wearing a purple shirt doesn't keep the gay kid from getting his ass kicked. My wearing a pink shirt doesn't keep a family from grieving. My wearing a flag shirt doesn't keep Corporal Josephine Dipsheit from getting her ass handed to her by Afghani fighters.
UNLESS...
...we actually DO something. Give $50 bucks to someone wanting to do the 3-Day Walk for the Cure. Change the oil on the car of a women waiting for her husband to return from Iraq. Buy dinner for a man waiting for his wife to return from Afghanistan. If you are a high school student and you see a kid getting bullied, no matter what the cost, step in between the bully and her victim.
Don't just wear the shirt, bear the hurt.
(and no, you can't have that one, it's mine)
"We're talking about stupid gestures," Garp said.
You cannot go a day anymore without hearing about bullying. Every day someone waves the flag of some kid who was bullied and committed suicide. Teen suicide is a very sad thing. But the anti-bullying cause is always connected to some LGBTQMOUSE cause, as if the only kids being bullied are the gay ones. If you are fat, like the wrong rock band or like the same boy the head cheerleader likes, no one gives a damn. No one is doing a public service announcement for you. Lady Gaga isn't imploring the world that you are who you are because you were born that way. Your suffering apparently doesn't count.
And the solution? Wear a purple T-shirt on the appointed day, a day decided upon by gay people and not fat people, and that will show the world that bullying is bad. Or at least it will show the world how much YOU care.
Maybe you turned on the TV last night and immediately saw pink. No, you aren't catching an infectious disease. "Think pink!" "Save the ta-ta's!" "Bowling for boobies!" Any one of a number of slogans accompany the ever-present pink ribbon which states to the world that BREAST CANCER IS BAD! As if there is anyone out there who hears the words "breast cancer" and thinks "someone is going to die horribly? Hooray!" Really, is there anyone out there who thinks that breast cancer is a good thing? OK, then why this incessant insistence on awareness campaigns?
As I write this, I am thinking about some friends of mine. I've known the husband for some time, his wife not so much. His wife has breast cancer. It is in remission now, but they experienced hell on earth during treatment and some time after. And they wear pink. Often. They have dove into the Susan G. Komen movement big-time, and for good reason. If you were in their position, would you not just dye your whole frigging body pink and do all you could to raise money for research in order to cure this horrible disease? Of course you would. How would my wearing of pink affect the horrible statistics of cancer? Unless I was giving some money at the same time, not a damn thing.
But let me ask you a question, one no one has the balls to ask, but I'm pretty stupid so I'll ask it anyway. What do Peter Criss, Rod Roddy and Richard Roundtree all have in common? They all have had breast cancer (Rod Roddy died in 2003), and they are all men. Did you know that men can get breast cancer too? Of course not. All you see is pink everywhere. If a man gets breast cancer, they can just go sit in the corner and die, apparently. You don't see men in the commercials, you don't see brochures explaining to men how they can check themselves and how they would even know what they were feeling for, it's pink everywhere. Granted, it is rare, taking the lives of about 500 men every year, as opposed to 39,000 women every year. Not even close. But I'm sure the wives and children of these men would still think that their father/husband's life is none the less valuable.
"We support the troops!" We hear this mantra proclaimed everywhere, from churches to city halls, from newspapers to websites- but what does it mean? What does a sticker-laden bumper on my car actually do, besides making the sticker makers rich? How does retweeting a troops tweet or posting a particularly patriotic picture on our Facebook status do anything at all for Private Joe P. Dumfuque from BFE? Answer: NOTHING AT ALL.
We have fooled ourselves into thinking that these gestures actually mean something. But my wearing a purple shirt doesn't keep the gay kid from getting his ass kicked. My wearing a pink shirt doesn't keep a family from grieving. My wearing a flag shirt doesn't keep Corporal Josephine Dipsheit from getting her ass handed to her by Afghani fighters.
UNLESS...
...we actually DO something. Give $50 bucks to someone wanting to do the 3-Day Walk for the Cure. Change the oil on the car of a women waiting for her husband to return from Iraq. Buy dinner for a man waiting for his wife to return from Afghanistan. If you are a high school student and you see a kid getting bullied, no matter what the cost, step in between the bully and her victim.
Don't just wear the shirt, bear the hurt.
(and no, you can't have that one, it's mine)
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Spirit Day
"Is there something the matter with that woman's tongue, Mom?" Garp whispered to Jenny. The superiority of the big woman's silence outraged him; Duncan was trying to talk with her, but the woman merely fixed the child with a quieting eye. Jenny quietly informed Garp that the woman wasn't talking because the woman was without a tongue. Literally.
"It was cut off," Jenny said.
"Jesus," Garp whispered. "How'd it happen?"
Jenny rolled her eyes; it was a habit she'd picked up from her son. "You really read nothing, don't you?" Jenny asked him. "You just never have bothered to keep up with what's going on." What was "going on," in Garp's opinion, was never as important as what he was making up--what he was working on. One of the things that upset him about his mother (since she'd been adopted by women's politics) was that she was always discussing the news.
"This is news, you mean?" Garp said. "It's such a famous tongue accident that I should have heard about it?"
"Oh, God," Jenny said wearily. "Not a famous accident. Very deliberate."
"Mother, did someone cut her tongue off?"
"Precisely." Jenny said.
"Jesus," Garp said.
"You haven't heard of Ellen James?" Jenny asked.
"No." Garp admitted.
"Well, there's a whole society of women now," Jenny informed him, "because of what happened to Ellen James."
"What happened to her?" Garp asked.
"Two men raped her when she was eleven years old," Jenny said. "Then they cut her tongue off so she couldn't tell anyone who they were or what they looked like. They were so stupid that they didn't know an eleven-year-old could write. Ellen James wrote a very careful description of the men, and they were caught, and they were tried and convicted. In jail, someone murdered them."
"Wow," Garp said. "So that's Ellen James?" he whispered, indicating the big quiet woman with new respect.
Jenny rolled her eyes again. "No," she said. "That is someone from the Ellen James Society. Ellen James is still a child, she's a wispy-looking little blond girl."
"You mean this Ellen James Society goes around not talking," Garp said, "as if they didn't have any tongues?"
"No, I mean they don't have any tongues," Jenny said. "People in the Ellen James Society have their tongues cut off. To protest what happened to Ellen James."
"Oh boy," Garp said, looking at the large woman with renewed dislike.
"They call themselves Ellen Jamesians," Jenny said.
"I don't want to hear any more of this shit, Mom," Garp said.
"Well, that woman there is an Ellen Jamesian," Jenny said. "You wanted to know."
"How old is Ellen James now?" Garp asked.
"She's twelve," Jenny said. "It happened only a year ago."
"And these Ellen Jamesians," Garp asked, "do they have meetings, and elect presidents and treasurers and stuff like that?"
"Why don't you ask her?" Jenny said, indicating the lunk by the door. "I thought you didn't want to hear any more about it."
"How can I ask her if she doesn't have a tongue to answer me?" Garp hissed.
"She writes," Jenny said. "All Ellen Jamesians carry little note pads around with them and they write you what they want to say. You know what writing is, don't you?"
Fortunately, Helen came home.
Garp would see more of the Ellen Jamesians. Although he felt deeply disturbed by what had happened to Ellen James, he felt only disgust at her grown-up, sour imitators whose habit was to present you with a card. The card said something like: Hello, I'm Martha. I'm an Ellen Jamesian. Do you know what an Ellen Jamesian is?
And if you didn't know, you were handed another card.
The Ellen Jamesians represented, for Garp, the kind of women who lionized his mother and sought to use her to help further their crude causes.
"I'll tell you something about those women, Mom," he said to Jenny once. They were probably all lousy at talking, anyway; they probably never had a worthwhile thing to say in their lives--so their tongues were no great sacrifice; in fact, it probably saves them considerable embarrassment. If you see what I mean."
"You're a little short on sympathy," Jenny told him.
"I have lots of sympathy--for Ellen James," Garp said.
"These women must have suffered, in other ways, themselves," Jenny said. "That's what makes them want to get closer to each other."
"And inflict more suffering on themselves, Mom?"
"Rape is every woman's problem," Jenny said. Garp hated his mother's "everyone" language most of all. A case, he thought, of carrying democracy to an idiotic extreme.
"It's every man's problem, too, Mom. The next time there's a rape, suppose I cut my prick off and wear it around my neck. Would you respect that, too?"
"We're talking about sincere gestures," Jenny said.
"We're talking about stupid gestures," Garp said.
"It was cut off," Jenny said.
"Jesus," Garp whispered. "How'd it happen?"
Jenny rolled her eyes; it was a habit she'd picked up from her son. "You really read nothing, don't you?" Jenny asked him. "You just never have bothered to keep up with what's going on." What was "going on," in Garp's opinion, was never as important as what he was making up--what he was working on. One of the things that upset him about his mother (since she'd been adopted by women's politics) was that she was always discussing the news.
"This is news, you mean?" Garp said. "It's such a famous tongue accident that I should have heard about it?"
"Oh, God," Jenny said wearily. "Not a famous accident. Very deliberate."
"Mother, did someone cut her tongue off?"
"Precisely." Jenny said.
"Jesus," Garp said.
"You haven't heard of Ellen James?" Jenny asked.
"No." Garp admitted.
"Well, there's a whole society of women now," Jenny informed him, "because of what happened to Ellen James."
"What happened to her?" Garp asked.
"Two men raped her when she was eleven years old," Jenny said. "Then they cut her tongue off so she couldn't tell anyone who they were or what they looked like. They were so stupid that they didn't know an eleven-year-old could write. Ellen James wrote a very careful description of the men, and they were caught, and they were tried and convicted. In jail, someone murdered them."
"Wow," Garp said. "So that's Ellen James?" he whispered, indicating the big quiet woman with new respect.
Jenny rolled her eyes again. "No," she said. "That is someone from the Ellen James Society. Ellen James is still a child, she's a wispy-looking little blond girl."
"You mean this Ellen James Society goes around not talking," Garp said, "as if they didn't have any tongues?"
"No, I mean they don't have any tongues," Jenny said. "People in the Ellen James Society have their tongues cut off. To protest what happened to Ellen James."
"Oh boy," Garp said, looking at the large woman with renewed dislike.
"They call themselves Ellen Jamesians," Jenny said.
"I don't want to hear any more of this shit, Mom," Garp said.
"Well, that woman there is an Ellen Jamesian," Jenny said. "You wanted to know."
"How old is Ellen James now?" Garp asked.
"She's twelve," Jenny said. "It happened only a year ago."
"And these Ellen Jamesians," Garp asked, "do they have meetings, and elect presidents and treasurers and stuff like that?"
"Why don't you ask her?" Jenny said, indicating the lunk by the door. "I thought you didn't want to hear any more about it."
"How can I ask her if she doesn't have a tongue to answer me?" Garp hissed.
"She writes," Jenny said. "All Ellen Jamesians carry little note pads around with them and they write you what they want to say. You know what writing is, don't you?"
Fortunately, Helen came home.
Garp would see more of the Ellen Jamesians. Although he felt deeply disturbed by what had happened to Ellen James, he felt only disgust at her grown-up, sour imitators whose habit was to present you with a card. The card said something like: Hello, I'm Martha. I'm an Ellen Jamesian. Do you know what an Ellen Jamesian is?
And if you didn't know, you were handed another card.
The Ellen Jamesians represented, for Garp, the kind of women who lionized his mother and sought to use her to help further their crude causes.
"I'll tell you something about those women, Mom," he said to Jenny once. They were probably all lousy at talking, anyway; they probably never had a worthwhile thing to say in their lives--so their tongues were no great sacrifice; in fact, it probably saves them considerable embarrassment. If you see what I mean."
"You're a little short on sympathy," Jenny told him.
"I have lots of sympathy--for Ellen James," Garp said.
"These women must have suffered, in other ways, themselves," Jenny said. "That's what makes them want to get closer to each other."
"And inflict more suffering on themselves, Mom?"
"Rape is every woman's problem," Jenny said. Garp hated his mother's "everyone" language most of all. A case, he thought, of carrying democracy to an idiotic extreme.
"It's every man's problem, too, Mom. The next time there's a rape, suppose I cut my prick off and wear it around my neck. Would you respect that, too?"
"We're talking about sincere gestures," Jenny said.
"We're talking about stupid gestures," Garp said.
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