This entry is a reaction to Mitt Romney's "Faith in America" speech, given earlier today. It can be found here: http://www.mittromney.com/News/Speeches/Faith_In_America
First off, if you haven't read the speech then I highly suggest you do so. It is very well-written and I hope to hear Romney's presentation of it soon. The man is an excellent orator. That being said, I have a few of problems with what he actually says in the speech. I think these problems reflect on larger issues and as such am talking about them here.
In the middle of the speech, Romney says, "There are some who would have a presidential candidate describe and explain his church's distinctive doctrines. To do so would enable the very religious test the founders prohibited in the Constitution. No candidate should become the spokesman for his faith. For if he becomes President he will need the prayers of the people of all faiths."
This, perhaps deliberately, misses the point.
Beyond being a cultural oddity, most Americans don't seem to really care about Mormonism that much. They don't care that the Mormon church used to be racist, but now is less so. They don't care that the Mormon church used to be sexist, but now is less so. They don't even really care that the Mormon church used to endorse polygamy, but now does so less vehemently. Nobody really cares about these things, beyond their just being interesting or wierd.
What people care about is what Mitt Romney thinks and believes. Americans want to know if Mitt Romney is a racist. They want to know if Mitt Romney is a sexist. They want to know if Mitt Romney will discriminate against blacks, women, or gays. They'd like to know if Mitt will discriminate economically. But Mitt's political positions have "evolved," and that inconsistency creates doubt. As such, people will look to the place where it is unusual to change one's mind lightly...religion.
Romney says, "I believe in my Mormon faith and I endeavor to live by it. My faith is the faith of my fathers – I will be true to them and to my beliefs."
One must wonder if he was being true to his faith when he supported Roe v. Wade in 1994. If so, is he being true to his faith now by rescinding his support? He says his views on this issue have evolved, but I'd like a good answer as to how and why. It has been 13 years, and I'd accept that he changed his mind if he'd tell me why. The same criticism can be brought to bear on his support of civil unions for homosexuals in 2005, and his lack of support in 2006. Why the change? I can accept a change of mind if there is a good reason, especially if one posits a sound religious reason for that change. But, no matter the reason I'd like to know what it is. Otherwise, I'm just left to assume that Romney holds whatever opinion will garner him political power.
I don't deny that Romney would probably be a capable president. He has been successful in business, and successful as Governor of Massachusetts. He strikes me as a shrewd and energetic man with a sound moral framework to guide his actions. I disagree with most of his positions, but I have no evidence to claim that his positions are not moral from his perspective. That is why I think it is vital that the public know what that moral framework is. Saying you "believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and the Savior of mankind" will simply not pass muster. Until you explain to me what your moral compass is in very precise language, I must assume that you have no moral compass.
Every politician must give me a good reason to assume that they want political power to do good, and that they can precisely define what that good is. Romney wants presidential power to cut taxes for they hyper-wealthy (such as himself), deny gays the right to have their marriages recognized by the state, rescind the right of women to have whatever medical procedure they wish and can afford, and continue occupying a foreign country despite the objections of most of his countrymen. How are these things good? How are these things informed by his faith? He hasn't answered these questions. For that matter, no GOP candidate has answered these questions all that well.
I know religion is a hot topic, and morality is a wooly topic. Moral issues are tough to talk about, and don't fit well into a 30 second debate response. That's fine, Mitt. We can handle it. If you want to have faith in America, perhaps you should have faith in Americans.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Monday, December 3, 2007
Sunday, November 4, 2007
A wolf amidst the sheep?
If flying is throwing yourself at the ground and missing, and luck is throwing yourself at a Ford LTD and missing, then God must be the result of throwing yourself at an explanation of the universe and missing.
I went to church this morning for the first time in many years. I was invited by my aunt, and normally I would decline this sort of invitation. This time, however, a cousin of mine was giving a revival sermon. I have a lot of respect for this man, and I didn't want to miss this opportunity to hear him speak. I love a good oration, and I was curious to see how good he was. The promise of post-church dinner also played a minor role in my acceptance of this invitation, but mostly it was the cousin.
It was a bit of a shock going back to Reevesville Baptist. When I got there it seemed so small, and I commented that I remembered everything being much bigger the last time I was there. This should give a clue to how long I'd gone without attending. The scale of everything was just wrong, and what had seemed such an enormous edifice to God's glory in my childhood now struck me as a rather timid, austere chapel. Barely a closet of Christ compared to the majestic cathedrals in other parts of the country (or even the state). The walls are bare white, and undecorated in a manner that only Protestants can get right. There are three stained-glass windows, each bearing a scene from the Gospels, on either side of the pews. They struck me as rather gaudy today, as though affronting a bare pretense to the beauty that Catholics have long since brought to bare on worship.
The service was odd for me. There were a few jaw-dropping moments that made it difficult for me to retain my composure. At one point all of the children were brought to the front of the room and given a mini-sermon by a Sunday school teacher. The theme of this sermon was, "All of you are special, as long as you love God." My stomach turned a bit as this woman held a bowl of candy and asked these kids, "Raise your hand if you love God," and then gave all the eager youngsters a piece of candy to reward them for their naive public pledge. The Chinese once used a very similar method of brainwashing on American POWs to sway them toward accepting Communism.
There were a few songs, all of which I found difficult to follow. Lots of talk about clean blood, lambs of God, and taking up a cross. It's odd how I had sung these hymns as a child, and never took the time to read the words. I just sang along with everyone else, and never bothered to think that these lyrics might actually mean something. As an adult I can safely say that most hymns are badly written bad music. Dull, nonsensical, poorly timed, irritating to the ear, and difficult to sing.
Eventually my cousin got up to give his sermon. I was surprised to find him a very sober speaker. I was expecting fiery passion and hellish admonishion. I was expecting sweating and shouting. I was expecting people to scream, "Amen" and fall unconsious. He calmly laid my suspicions aside in the first few seconds of his speech by saying simply that he isn't "that kind of speaker." He, as it turns out, is a very structured speaker. He lays out his points, and then sets out his supporting points. He uses repetive rhetorical devices to create a sense of calm rhythm. He instills in his audience a confidence that he knows what he's talking about, and a feeling that he is compassionatly delivering a message that he thinks is important.
The message, on the other hand, was rather difficult for me to follow. It was something to the effect of, "We need revival because those who are full of God's love will be prosperous in life." It sounded good, I guess, but then he started referencing the book of Joshua. Now, I'm not fond of most of the bible. That said, I'm least fond of the Old Testament. How anyone can twist the stories of the Old Testament around to make a morally instructive lesson for a modern person without breaking his own spine is beyond me. The story of Joshua is no exception. It is a continuation of the lovely story of the Jewish invasion of "The Promised Land." This sounds very sweet as long as you keep glossing over the fact that other people were living on this promised land before the Jews got there, and these Jews butchered most of these people like cattle. These people committed no real crime save living on the wrong stretch of dirt, and for that crime these Isrealites slaughtered, robbed, raped, and enslaved them (and that was if they were in a good mood). The pinnacle of morality, these people were not.
After the sermon we were invited to the front to get saved, I can only assume from bands of marauding Isrealites that might lop our heads off and take our land at any second. I politely declined the offer, though those near me may have mistaken my shaking for some attack of zealous fervor. I was merely aghast at having been encouraged to act like Bronze-Age land-snatching hoodlums in such an even-toned manner. I saw numerous people that I hadn't seen in years, which was nice, and adjourned to my aunt's for a delicious chicken dinner.
In closing, I'd simply like to comment that if you're trying to teach people how to be successful and moral and you have to resort to using the story of Moses and Joshua to do that, then you've missed the mark by a wide margin. If you're trying to teach children to be moral and successful, and have to resort to brainwashing techniques that would turn most people's stomachs in any other setting you've missed the mark by an extremely wide margin. This experience has gone far to revive my atheistic fervor, however. Because if brainwashing and barbarism is the best Christianity has to offer then I want none of it.
I went to church this morning for the first time in many years. I was invited by my aunt, and normally I would decline this sort of invitation. This time, however, a cousin of mine was giving a revival sermon. I have a lot of respect for this man, and I didn't want to miss this opportunity to hear him speak. I love a good oration, and I was curious to see how good he was. The promise of post-church dinner also played a minor role in my acceptance of this invitation, but mostly it was the cousin.
It was a bit of a shock going back to Reevesville Baptist. When I got there it seemed so small, and I commented that I remembered everything being much bigger the last time I was there. This should give a clue to how long I'd gone without attending. The scale of everything was just wrong, and what had seemed such an enormous edifice to God's glory in my childhood now struck me as a rather timid, austere chapel. Barely a closet of Christ compared to the majestic cathedrals in other parts of the country (or even the state). The walls are bare white, and undecorated in a manner that only Protestants can get right. There are three stained-glass windows, each bearing a scene from the Gospels, on either side of the pews. They struck me as rather gaudy today, as though affronting a bare pretense to the beauty that Catholics have long since brought to bare on worship.
The service was odd for me. There were a few jaw-dropping moments that made it difficult for me to retain my composure. At one point all of the children were brought to the front of the room and given a mini-sermon by a Sunday school teacher. The theme of this sermon was, "All of you are special, as long as you love God." My stomach turned a bit as this woman held a bowl of candy and asked these kids, "Raise your hand if you love God," and then gave all the eager youngsters a piece of candy to reward them for their naive public pledge. The Chinese once used a very similar method of brainwashing on American POWs to sway them toward accepting Communism.
There were a few songs, all of which I found difficult to follow. Lots of talk about clean blood, lambs of God, and taking up a cross. It's odd how I had sung these hymns as a child, and never took the time to read the words. I just sang along with everyone else, and never bothered to think that these lyrics might actually mean something. As an adult I can safely say that most hymns are badly written bad music. Dull, nonsensical, poorly timed, irritating to the ear, and difficult to sing.
Eventually my cousin got up to give his sermon. I was surprised to find him a very sober speaker. I was expecting fiery passion and hellish admonishion. I was expecting sweating and shouting. I was expecting people to scream, "Amen" and fall unconsious. He calmly laid my suspicions aside in the first few seconds of his speech by saying simply that he isn't "that kind of speaker." He, as it turns out, is a very structured speaker. He lays out his points, and then sets out his supporting points. He uses repetive rhetorical devices to create a sense of calm rhythm. He instills in his audience a confidence that he knows what he's talking about, and a feeling that he is compassionatly delivering a message that he thinks is important.
The message, on the other hand, was rather difficult for me to follow. It was something to the effect of, "We need revival because those who are full of God's love will be prosperous in life." It sounded good, I guess, but then he started referencing the book of Joshua. Now, I'm not fond of most of the bible. That said, I'm least fond of the Old Testament. How anyone can twist the stories of the Old Testament around to make a morally instructive lesson for a modern person without breaking his own spine is beyond me. The story of Joshua is no exception. It is a continuation of the lovely story of the Jewish invasion of "The Promised Land." This sounds very sweet as long as you keep glossing over the fact that other people were living on this promised land before the Jews got there, and these Jews butchered most of these people like cattle. These people committed no real crime save living on the wrong stretch of dirt, and for that crime these Isrealites slaughtered, robbed, raped, and enslaved them (and that was if they were in a good mood). The pinnacle of morality, these people were not.
After the sermon we were invited to the front to get saved, I can only assume from bands of marauding Isrealites that might lop our heads off and take our land at any second. I politely declined the offer, though those near me may have mistaken my shaking for some attack of zealous fervor. I was merely aghast at having been encouraged to act like Bronze-Age land-snatching hoodlums in such an even-toned manner. I saw numerous people that I hadn't seen in years, which was nice, and adjourned to my aunt's for a delicious chicken dinner.
In closing, I'd simply like to comment that if you're trying to teach people how to be successful and moral and you have to resort to using the story of Moses and Joshua to do that, then you've missed the mark by a wide margin. If you're trying to teach children to be moral and successful, and have to resort to brainwashing techniques that would turn most people's stomachs in any other setting you've missed the mark by an extremely wide margin. This experience has gone far to revive my atheistic fervor, however. Because if brainwashing and barbarism is the best Christianity has to offer then I want none of it.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
It's Rainin' Men!
Got in my first collision on my motorcycle yesterday. I'm driving home from the library, and this kid in a light-blue Ford LTD turns in front of me while pulling into the Dollar General. I screamed, and slammed on the brakes. Luckily I wasn't going very fast, so I hit him at a rather low speed. I smacked into his passenger fender and flopped over the handlebars onto his hood. I think he was as freaked out about it as I was.
There he was, minding his own business. Just driving into town for some chips or whatever. All of a sudden some motorcyclist drops out of the sky onto the hood of his car. Has to be pretty disconcerting. Certainly rattled me up. He was asking me if I was okay, and I wasn't sure what planet I was on. Why do people have the need to ask that question? Are you okay? Of course I'm not okay! I've just been in an accident!
So, the cops show up. I was kind of hoping to avoid this, as at that moment I remembered that both my insurance and motorcycle permit had expired. I could tell the cop wasn't thrilled with having to write the guy that just nearly got killed a bunch of tickets. A bit like rubbing salt in the wound. But, as he was writing out the tickets that would have revoked my priveledge of driving anything more substantial than a golf-cart (and even that had better not be on a state thoroughfare) the kid's mother shows up and starts screaming for my blood.
She was royally pissed that I didn't have insurance, and was adamant about me going to jail. This pissed the cop off even more, and he politely told the lady, "If you want to go by the book then we can. I'll write your son a ticket for failure to yield right-of-way, and everyone will be treated fairly." She instantly changed her tune. She starts asking me if I'd be willing to pretend the whole thing never happened. I have to admit that I was fervently hoping for this eventuality, and assured her that I was very good at minding my own business. This made everyone there very happy.
Except me, whom it merely made not unhappy. I still had a maimed bike and wrenched shoulder to contend with. The last thing I wanted was a bunch of hassle from cops and insurance companies. I had bigger fish, so to speak. As it happened, my aunt and uncle were driving by at the time of the accident and stopped to help. They called their son, who showed up within minutes with a trailer to haul the thing back home. After we got there my cousin helped me fix it up a bit. It was really cool of him because at no point did I ask for his help. He just saw that I needed it, and did it without being asked. That's rare treatment, in my experience.
So, I'm bumming rides from relatives until Monday. I get paid then, and I'll be able to buy some insurance. I'll be back on the proverbial "Straight and Narrow" in that respect. It was odd having my life flash before my eyes, because not a whole lot happened. If it was a movie I'd have fallen asleep in the middle. I'll have to work on that, I guess. Insurance first. I was spared The Man's wrath yesterday. I don't want to push my luck.
There he was, minding his own business. Just driving into town for some chips or whatever. All of a sudden some motorcyclist drops out of the sky onto the hood of his car. Has to be pretty disconcerting. Certainly rattled me up. He was asking me if I was okay, and I wasn't sure what planet I was on. Why do people have the need to ask that question? Are you okay? Of course I'm not okay! I've just been in an accident!
So, the cops show up. I was kind of hoping to avoid this, as at that moment I remembered that both my insurance and motorcycle permit had expired. I could tell the cop wasn't thrilled with having to write the guy that just nearly got killed a bunch of tickets. A bit like rubbing salt in the wound. But, as he was writing out the tickets that would have revoked my priveledge of driving anything more substantial than a golf-cart (and even that had better not be on a state thoroughfare) the kid's mother shows up and starts screaming for my blood.
She was royally pissed that I didn't have insurance, and was adamant about me going to jail. This pissed the cop off even more, and he politely told the lady, "If you want to go by the book then we can. I'll write your son a ticket for failure to yield right-of-way, and everyone will be treated fairly." She instantly changed her tune. She starts asking me if I'd be willing to pretend the whole thing never happened. I have to admit that I was fervently hoping for this eventuality, and assured her that I was very good at minding my own business. This made everyone there very happy.
Except me, whom it merely made not unhappy. I still had a maimed bike and wrenched shoulder to contend with. The last thing I wanted was a bunch of hassle from cops and insurance companies. I had bigger fish, so to speak. As it happened, my aunt and uncle were driving by at the time of the accident and stopped to help. They called their son, who showed up within minutes with a trailer to haul the thing back home. After we got there my cousin helped me fix it up a bit. It was really cool of him because at no point did I ask for his help. He just saw that I needed it, and did it without being asked. That's rare treatment, in my experience.
So, I'm bumming rides from relatives until Monday. I get paid then, and I'll be able to buy some insurance. I'll be back on the proverbial "Straight and Narrow" in that respect. It was odd having my life flash before my eyes, because not a whole lot happened. If it was a movie I'd have fallen asleep in the middle. I'll have to work on that, I guess. Insurance first. I was spared The Man's wrath yesterday. I don't want to push my luck.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Customer made my day...
So I'm working the counter at the hotel, and this guy walks in. He starts talking, and I learn from his ID that he's Italian. Named Salvatore'. Thick accent, but very funny. So I just start making banal chit-chat and say, "Man, I've always wanted to go to Italy."
So, the guy just looks dead at me and asks, "So, why you don't go?"
He just floored me with that and I just laughed my ass off for a few seconds, and could hardly complete the sale.
Really good question, though. Why I don't go?
So, the guy just looks dead at me and asks, "So, why you don't go?"
He just floored me with that and I just laughed my ass off for a few seconds, and could hardly complete the sale.
Really good question, though. Why I don't go?
Friday, October 12, 2007
Interesting lecture...
Spurred on by my Creation seminar reaction from my last blog entry, I clicked over to RichardDawkins.net and found a link to a very interesting lecture on the psychological nature of suicide bombing. In the second part of the lecture the speaker touches on how religion tends to fracture kin loyalties and subvert family bonds in order to use them to other ends. I found this tidbit somewhat personally relevant, though I dislike the tendency to grant "religion," as opposed to religious people, with any moral responsibility for anything. Religions may serve a number of ends, but in the end people make the decision to use religious thought to further personal goals. Let us not confuse the sword and the hand the wields it. In any case, if you like lectures I would recommend this one. It is in 3 parts, the third part being a Q&A which is rather dull.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
I'm Out...
I'm in the KFC today getting my prework din-din, and out of the corner of my eye I catch a sight of a word that I have an odd sensitivity for. Creationism. It hits me like a bolt from the blue because I understand that I'm in a KFC attached to a gas station in St. George, SC. This word isn't supposed to be here. So, I turn to check it out and see this...
A seminar? A SEMINAR?!?! My town, that can't bother to have a movie theater or a decent library, that doesn't have an Applebee's or anywhere else to buy a decent steak, that doesn't even have a damned record store, is hosting a fucking Creationism Seminar?!?!? With Brad Fucking Harrub, the young-earther apologist dressed in a Ph. D.! What.The.Fuck.
I suddenly felt very tired. Exhausted, even. I had a brief glimpse of this pageant of idiocy that is to occur less than a month from today. This Pee-Hache-Dee feller is going to get up at his podium and tell us rubes that the world is 6,000 years old, and science backs it up! He's gonna tell us that all the damn Commie-Athiest-Liberal-Hippies are trying to hit our children because they know us grown folks are too sharp to be taken in by all that Maoist bunk. He's gonna tell us that we didn't come from no damn monkeys, and there ain't nothing that's gonna prove we did. Hell, he'll say, this theory of evolution is nothing more than a guess anyway. Well, he'll add with a pause to build tension, I don't need no guess. I've got my answer right there in the book of Genesis. I realize that he'll use a lot of fifty cent words, and proper grammar. He'll talk about scientific findings and fossils a bit, and toss in some shaky "evidence" that would point to a young earth. Evidence that actual scientists have been guffawing over for two decades or more.
He'll come here and do his song and dance (What kind of ism? Creationism!) and at least one budding mind that was almost ready to actually question the bullshit Christian mythology that's been pulled over their eyes to make them feel safe will slink safely back into their Cave of Happy Thoughts and Shadow Puppets. The rest of the room will applaud and be happy that someone finally said what they'd been thinking all along, and remind themselves to bring some of this stuff up at the next PTA or School Board meeting. Ain't no Commie-Atheists molesting my kid's young mind.
Part of me wants to think that maybe the people that will show up to this "Seminar" will be people that are savvy enough to know that this guy is peddling bullshit. Maybe they'll be smart enough to recognize a shill when they see one, and perhaps ask him a difficult question he can't answer without tap-dancing. But that part of me is the same part that really wants to believe in Santa Clause. That part of me is the part Mr. Harrub wants to sell a 6,000 year old universe to, complete with an army of world-building angelic engineers. I wonder if they had to wear hard-hats when they were sinking those dinosaur bones into the earth, below any trace of where human remains would be found. I wonder if God knew, or if it was Lucifer's last practical joke. Maybe he snickered as he thought about how we'd find these props and completely reinvent the myths that explain our own origins.
No, Mr. Harrub will be long gone by the time the fallout of his speech is revealed. He'll be counting his twenties on a bus or train while some random St. George parent is screaming blue in the face to get evolutionary theory taken out of biology class. With any luck, I'll be long gone too. As I glanced at this poster and thought about all that probably will or won't happen in this seminar's aftermath I realized that I don't like living here. I don't like the fact that Mr. Harrub can get on a podium and peddle his horse-pucky science-like explanations about why the Bible is the inerrant Truth, but I have to feel embarrased at every family meeting when I'm asked why I don't go to church. I don't like people telling me my father is living in a mansion in heaven when I'm quite sure he's still firmly underground where we buried him.
So, that said...I'm out. I hope that Mr. Harrub's seminar (and yes, I know he's got a Ph.D. and should be called "Doctor." I've never seen any evidence of his Ph.D. so I'm going to operate as though it doesn't exist.) is the last thing I do in this shit-stain of a town before I pack up my suitcases and head toward anywhere I can buy a decent steak and visit a movie theater and safely say out loud in the street, "I don't go to church because I think Christianity is the biggest bullshit con-job ever pulled on this unfortunate planet, and I don't wish to be anymore complicit in it than I already am" without so much as a raised eyebrow. I'll probably end up in Charleston, which at least has 2 out of 3.
As an aside, my favorite form of proof that the Universe is older than 6,000 years is this. Some of the stars in the sky are so far away that it takes millions of years for their light to reach us. If they were only 6,000 years old then we wouldn't be able to see them. But we can.
A seminar? A SEMINAR?!?! My town, that can't bother to have a movie theater or a decent library, that doesn't have an Applebee's or anywhere else to buy a decent steak, that doesn't even have a damned record store, is hosting a fucking Creationism Seminar?!?!? With Brad Fucking Harrub, the young-earther apologist dressed in a Ph. D.! What.The.Fuck.
I suddenly felt very tired. Exhausted, even. I had a brief glimpse of this pageant of idiocy that is to occur less than a month from today. This Pee-Hache-Dee feller is going to get up at his podium and tell us rubes that the world is 6,000 years old, and science backs it up! He's gonna tell us that all the damn Commie-Athiest-Liberal-Hippies are trying to hit our children because they know us grown folks are too sharp to be taken in by all that Maoist bunk. He's gonna tell us that we didn't come from no damn monkeys, and there ain't nothing that's gonna prove we did. Hell, he'll say, this theory of evolution is nothing more than a guess anyway. Well, he'll add with a pause to build tension, I don't need no guess. I've got my answer right there in the book of Genesis. I realize that he'll use a lot of fifty cent words, and proper grammar. He'll talk about scientific findings and fossils a bit, and toss in some shaky "evidence" that would point to a young earth. Evidence that actual scientists have been guffawing over for two decades or more.
He'll come here and do his song and dance (What kind of ism? Creationism!) and at least one budding mind that was almost ready to actually question the bullshit Christian mythology that's been pulled over their eyes to make them feel safe will slink safely back into their Cave of Happy Thoughts and Shadow Puppets. The rest of the room will applaud and be happy that someone finally said what they'd been thinking all along, and remind themselves to bring some of this stuff up at the next PTA or School Board meeting. Ain't no Commie-Atheists molesting my kid's young mind.
Part of me wants to think that maybe the people that will show up to this "Seminar" will be people that are savvy enough to know that this guy is peddling bullshit. Maybe they'll be smart enough to recognize a shill when they see one, and perhaps ask him a difficult question he can't answer without tap-dancing. But that part of me is the same part that really wants to believe in Santa Clause. That part of me is the part Mr. Harrub wants to sell a 6,000 year old universe to, complete with an army of world-building angelic engineers. I wonder if they had to wear hard-hats when they were sinking those dinosaur bones into the earth, below any trace of where human remains would be found. I wonder if God knew, or if it was Lucifer's last practical joke. Maybe he snickered as he thought about how we'd find these props and completely reinvent the myths that explain our own origins.
No, Mr. Harrub will be long gone by the time the fallout of his speech is revealed. He'll be counting his twenties on a bus or train while some random St. George parent is screaming blue in the face to get evolutionary theory taken out of biology class. With any luck, I'll be long gone too. As I glanced at this poster and thought about all that probably will or won't happen in this seminar's aftermath I realized that I don't like living here. I don't like the fact that Mr. Harrub can get on a podium and peddle his horse-pucky science-like explanations about why the Bible is the inerrant Truth, but I have to feel embarrased at every family meeting when I'm asked why I don't go to church. I don't like people telling me my father is living in a mansion in heaven when I'm quite sure he's still firmly underground where we buried him.
So, that said...I'm out. I hope that Mr. Harrub's seminar (and yes, I know he's got a Ph.D. and should be called "Doctor." I've never seen any evidence of his Ph.D. so I'm going to operate as though it doesn't exist.) is the last thing I do in this shit-stain of a town before I pack up my suitcases and head toward anywhere I can buy a decent steak and visit a movie theater and safely say out loud in the street, "I don't go to church because I think Christianity is the biggest bullshit con-job ever pulled on this unfortunate planet, and I don't wish to be anymore complicit in it than I already am" without so much as a raised eyebrow. I'll probably end up in Charleston, which at least has 2 out of 3.
As an aside, my favorite form of proof that the Universe is older than 6,000 years is this. Some of the stars in the sky are so far away that it takes millions of years for their light to reach us. If they were only 6,000 years old then we wouldn't be able to see them. But we can.
Friday, October 5, 2007
1408
I watched the film "1408" last night. I live way out in the sticks, and it was 2 AM. These two factors contributed to me getting zero sleep last night. I will keep this short. 1) This film scared the hell out of me, mostly because I was alone in the woods at 4 AM (by the time it ended). 2) The Carpenters now cause me to pee in my pants. If you've seen the movie then you get it.
I used to like this song, and now it creeps me out. Thanks Mr. King.
I used to like this song, and now it creeps me out. Thanks Mr. King.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
If it weren't for bad luck...
Those of you who follow this blog might have wondered where I've been. The answer is...nowhere special. My bike has been acting up lately, so I'm stranded close to home until the parts come in. Apparently the bearings need to be replaced every 20,000 miles, and when they wear out the bike starts driving really crazy. If you go too long without replacing them the rear end will sieze up and cause an uncomfortable accident. The good news is that the parts are pretty cheap, and fairly easy to replace. That said, there won't be much in the way of news until I get this junk heap fixed and roadworthy again. I might find something to bitch about, but probably no events.
Later
Later
Monday, August 27, 2007
Punch Drunk Birthday!
That guy in the straw hat makes the best party punch! It was Lee-Ann's birthday this past weekend, and we all ventured out to Matt's house on the Salkehatchie River for a celebration. It was incredible because nearly all my friends showed up. I didn't get pictures of most of them because, while Matt's punch tasted like harmless Kool-Aid, the sweet taste was concealing a high-test combination of alcohol and enlightenment!
As you may be able to tell from the goofy grins on everyone's faces, and the white cups in everyone's hands, we all were snookered in by that kid-friendly taste. I can honestly say that good times were had by nearly all, even the ones that were too drunk to have their picture taken. I'd like to thank Stacy in particular for having the presence of mind to capture photographic evidence of the evening...
I was a little distracted by that. It was her birthday, so I'm sure someone got around to administering the birthday spanking.Happy Birthday Lee-Ann
From The Happiest Guy at Your Party!
Me!
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Finally got my two favorite books from my younger years. The first is from the donate shelf at a Christian Day-Care where my friend's wife works. It cost me 25 cents, if memory serves. The second was on the donate shelf at my local library, and cost me one dollar. For less than a frap at Starbucks, I've reclaimed a bunch of sweet childhood memories. All-in-all, quite an awesome find.
"PRAYER OF THE SELFISH CHILD
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
And if I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my toys to break,
So none of the other kids can use 'em...
Amen."
-Shel Silversteen
"A Light in the Attic" 1981
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Running on Empty
I think I've discovered the absolute worst place to run out of gas, and I had the good sense to take a picture! I could have sworn that I had just filled up, but then I remembered that I'd been to Charleston AND Walterboro on that same tank. Oops. Lucky for me, Matt and LeeAnn were close enough to come to my rescue with some extra gas. Thanks guys! You really helped me out of a jam.
Take me to the River...
Drop my cig in the water while trying to smile for a picture :(
I admit it. I cried a little. What?!
Other than that little calamity, I had a lot of fun hanging with Matt, Lee-Ann, and the kids at the Edisto. We just wallowed in the shallow river for a while and BSed for a while. It was pretty nice. Oh, yeah. Lee-Ann in a bikini was a good bonus. Yeah, she's married, but I still have eyes. Besides, if Matt reminds me that he hit the Wife-Lotto one more time I think I might slug him. We know, Matt. We know.
After the river wallow we went back to Matt's place and had some Chinese food that couldn't be beat, went to sleep, and didn't get up till late the next morning. It turned out to be a really cool weekend spent with friends. Who could ask for more?
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Back in Time!
I'm getting dressed this morning, and I realise that I've forgotten to do laundry again. I have no clean pants. No need to panic, though. I just dig through my emergency supply of pants I haven't thrown away yet. This is a mound of clothes that are either ugly, ripped, or just don't fit anymore. They need to go to GoodWill, but who has the time for that?
I grab a random pair, dreading the nut-pinching, gut-cinching discomfort that I'm going to have to bear today. When I wear emergency pants I normally end up unbuttoning them at some point just to let my intestines breathe a little, and end up looking like a complete dork for it. So, I step into them, pull them up, button them closed and...THEY FIT! I'm a 32 waist again!
A little backstory might be in order. I was a 32 waist in highschool, and stayed there until a few years ago. That's when I got majorly hooked on video games. I plumped up to around a 36, which sounds deceptively light until you realise that I carry all my weight in my gut. I had a nice, pregnant little gullet hanging on my skinny body. I looked kinda like Gollum. It was pretty sad.
But no more! I've shuttled back in the time, baby! Who needs a Delorian? I've got highschool jeans!
I grab a random pair, dreading the nut-pinching, gut-cinching discomfort that I'm going to have to bear today. When I wear emergency pants I normally end up unbuttoning them at some point just to let my intestines breathe a little, and end up looking like a complete dork for it. So, I step into them, pull them up, button them closed and...THEY FIT! I'm a 32 waist again!
A little backstory might be in order. I was a 32 waist in highschool, and stayed there until a few years ago. That's when I got majorly hooked on video games. I plumped up to around a 36, which sounds deceptively light until you realise that I carry all my weight in my gut. I had a nice, pregnant little gullet hanging on my skinny body. I looked kinda like Gollum. It was pretty sad.
But no more! I've shuttled back in the time, baby! Who needs a Delorian? I've got highschool jeans!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I'm re-tired!
Went down to Charleston for a couple of days and replaced the tire on my bike. It wasn't too exciting, but I got to catch up with Beowulf, which is always fun. I crashed at his place Monday night so I could skip the Tuesday heat, and we stayed up until about 4AM just shooting the breeze. Beowulf and I have known each other for about 10+ years, but it's only recently that we've actually spoken enough to become friends.
The next day I went to Cycle World, on Rivers Ave. Ronnie is the owner, and he's always treated me fairly. I had the rear tire replaced at Velocity Motorsports in Summerville. They overcharged me on labor, and tried to overcharge me for the tire. I'm never going back to them, but Ronnie has made me into a loyal customer by simply being fair and prompt. I'd recommend Cycle World to anyone in the Charleston area that has motorcycle repair needs.
After the tire deal, I hung out at the Green Dragon for a while and chatted with a few people. Then I headed home. It wasn't exciting, but not everything fun has to be exciting.
The next day I went to Cycle World, on Rivers Ave. Ronnie is the owner, and he's always treated me fairly. I had the rear tire replaced at Velocity Motorsports in Summerville. They overcharged me on labor, and tried to overcharge me for the tire. I'm never going back to them, but Ronnie has made me into a loyal customer by simply being fair and prompt. I'd recommend Cycle World to anyone in the Charleston area that has motorcycle repair needs.
After the tire deal, I hung out at the Green Dragon for a while and chatted with a few people. Then I headed home. It wasn't exciting, but not everything fun has to be exciting.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Fun Friday Night
Last night started out as a pretty cool Friday night. I went up to Matt's house to go with him to this sushi/hibachi place called Miyabi's, in Charleston. I get there pretty early and jam on his electric guitar for a while. It's a Gibson, if memory serves, and has a sweet fretboard. Anyway, I chilled out for a while there until he got home from work and we all got packed in the van and headed down to Charleston.
This was my first time meeting Matt's friend, Sarah, and she turned out to be pretty cool. She's a gamer, pretty well-educated, and an unashamed history dork, so we had a pretty good time BSing on the ride up there. Apparently, according to her, 1848 was the most revolutionary year in European history, and there are a bunch of really kick-ass stories that go along with that. I'll have to read up on that sometime. Anyway, we all make it to the restaurant by around 7:30 and meet up with a few more friends.
Dinner was awesome. I love the Japanese hibachi thing, and with so many friends there it was an even bigger blast. I think the roster ended up being: Me, Matt, LeeAnn (Matt's wife), Sarah, Matt2 (Sarah's friend), Joe, Brian, and Terance. One thing I've always loved about hanging out with these people is that it usually ends up rubbing the squares at the next table the wrong way. What we consider funny, straight-edged tend to find offensive. I'm not sure why, but just seeing the uncomfortable looks on their faces just makes my heart warm a bit.
So, after we were all filled with fried rice and meat we decided that it'd be nice to see the ocean and have a couple of drinks to cap off the night. Folly Beach was right down the road, and the weather was perfect for it. We grabbed a couple of six-packs on the way and wound up right next to the pier at Folly. The breeze was spectacular, and I always have this odd feeling of tranquility when I'm looking at the ocean. I guess it's the vastness of it all. We were down there for maybe fifteen minutes or so, judging by how much of my Mojito Smirnof I had finished when I suddenly went blind.
At least I thought I might have gone blind because some asshole was shining a 500 watt Mag light in my face. That's right, it was the fuzz. Apparently they can smell fun from a mile off, and it just drives them into a frenzy. From beyond this light echoed a voice that was trying very hard to sound masculine despite being far too young to actually intimidate anyone. The voice said, "Excuse me folks, but there are no glass or metal containers allowed on the beach. Pour out your drinks now and take this stuff away." Now, I hadn't been to Folly in years but I didn't remember that little rule. Anyway, we started to pour our stuff out. It was then that I noticed that the breeze had picked up.
I thought to myself, "If I pour this drink out in this wind it's gonna blow all over that cop and he's gonna be pissed off." Thinking this, I took a couple of steps away and absently took one last sip. It seemed a fitting way to say goodbye to the evening's fun, short-lived though it was. I began pouring the rest of my drink out when this guy says, "Hey, I said pour it not drink it," and claps his handcuffs on me. This was the first time I've ever had hand-cuffs put on me, and the cop had my full attention. Having been blinded by his light I hadn't noticed that he had them in his hand already and was waiting to make an example out of someone. Apparently I had "disrespected" him somehow. My opinion is that men who are so easily offended shouldn't become cops. As my friends each got their own version of a "What a Dick" face, this guy walks me up the beach to his patrol car and takes off my cuffs.
He tells me that I have a few choices. I love it when cops do this. It makes them feel magnanimous after having been the biggest douche bag on the planet. He tells me that I can choose to pay $50 tonight before I leave Folly, I can pay $150 at my court date, or I can go to jail for 30 days. He also did the other thing that cops do all the time. "I could charge you with three offenses that each have a $1,000 fine. What do you think of that?" What do I think of that? Is that a question? I think it's idiotic to have laws on the books that could charge someone three grand for drinking a beer 100 yards away from a bar. Oh, well. I'm not stupid enough to tell this cop that. I just pretend like he did me the biggest favor of my life, shake his hand, and return to my friends.
After the ordeal we split the $50 fine and, with a couple of nasty words about Obie on the side, go off to Joe's apartment. There we have a couple of drinks and go for a swim in his complex's pool. It has been so hot lately that the water had to be about 80 degrees, and it was so relaxing. We messed around there for a couple of hours, and headed home. All in all, it was a really nice end to a (mostly) fun day. While getting hassled by The Man was kind of a let down, at least it's a memory. In addition, the rest of the evening more than made up for it. Yay for friends!
This was my first time meeting Matt's friend, Sarah, and she turned out to be pretty cool. She's a gamer, pretty well-educated, and an unashamed history dork, so we had a pretty good time BSing on the ride up there. Apparently, according to her, 1848 was the most revolutionary year in European history, and there are a bunch of really kick-ass stories that go along with that. I'll have to read up on that sometime. Anyway, we all make it to the restaurant by around 7:30 and meet up with a few more friends.
Dinner was awesome. I love the Japanese hibachi thing, and with so many friends there it was an even bigger blast. I think the roster ended up being: Me, Matt, LeeAnn (Matt's wife), Sarah, Matt2 (Sarah's friend), Joe, Brian, and Terance. One thing I've always loved about hanging out with these people is that it usually ends up rubbing the squares at the next table the wrong way. What we consider funny, straight-edged tend to find offensive. I'm not sure why, but just seeing the uncomfortable looks on their faces just makes my heart warm a bit.
So, after we were all filled with fried rice and meat we decided that it'd be nice to see the ocean and have a couple of drinks to cap off the night. Folly Beach was right down the road, and the weather was perfect for it. We grabbed a couple of six-packs on the way and wound up right next to the pier at Folly. The breeze was spectacular, and I always have this odd feeling of tranquility when I'm looking at the ocean. I guess it's the vastness of it all. We were down there for maybe fifteen minutes or so, judging by how much of my Mojito Smirnof I had finished when I suddenly went blind.
At least I thought I might have gone blind because some asshole was shining a 500 watt Mag light in my face. That's right, it was the fuzz. Apparently they can smell fun from a mile off, and it just drives them into a frenzy. From beyond this light echoed a voice that was trying very hard to sound masculine despite being far too young to actually intimidate anyone. The voice said, "Excuse me folks, but there are no glass or metal containers allowed on the beach. Pour out your drinks now and take this stuff away." Now, I hadn't been to Folly in years but I didn't remember that little rule. Anyway, we started to pour our stuff out. It was then that I noticed that the breeze had picked up.
I thought to myself, "If I pour this drink out in this wind it's gonna blow all over that cop and he's gonna be pissed off." Thinking this, I took a couple of steps away and absently took one last sip. It seemed a fitting way to say goodbye to the evening's fun, short-lived though it was. I began pouring the rest of my drink out when this guy says, "Hey, I said pour it not drink it," and claps his handcuffs on me. This was the first time I've ever had hand-cuffs put on me, and the cop had my full attention. Having been blinded by his light I hadn't noticed that he had them in his hand already and was waiting to make an example out of someone. Apparently I had "disrespected" him somehow. My opinion is that men who are so easily offended shouldn't become cops. As my friends each got their own version of a "What a Dick" face, this guy walks me up the beach to his patrol car and takes off my cuffs.
He tells me that I have a few choices. I love it when cops do this. It makes them feel magnanimous after having been the biggest douche bag on the planet. He tells me that I can choose to pay $50 tonight before I leave Folly, I can pay $150 at my court date, or I can go to jail for 30 days. He also did the other thing that cops do all the time. "I could charge you with three offenses that each have a $1,000 fine. What do you think of that?" What do I think of that? Is that a question? I think it's idiotic to have laws on the books that could charge someone three grand for drinking a beer 100 yards away from a bar. Oh, well. I'm not stupid enough to tell this cop that. I just pretend like he did me the biggest favor of my life, shake his hand, and return to my friends.
After the ordeal we split the $50 fine and, with a couple of nasty words about Obie on the side, go off to Joe's apartment. There we have a couple of drinks and go for a swim in his complex's pool. It has been so hot lately that the water had to be about 80 degrees, and it was so relaxing. We messed around there for a couple of hours, and headed home. All in all, it was a really nice end to a (mostly) fun day. While getting hassled by The Man was kind of a let down, at least it's a memory. In addition, the rest of the evening more than made up for it. Yay for friends!
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Birthday For T!
We celebrated Terance's 29th birthday this weekend. It was a pretty laid-back evening that started out at Wild-Wings, downtown, for a few drinks, and ended at Kaminski's for cake and iced cream. Fun was had by all, and I got a slice of strawberry-custard cake that was to die for. Happy Birthday Terance!
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Grab life by the (Gutter) Ball!
Well, I went bowling last night. I hadn't been in a decade or more, and Noah was nice enough to invite me out with him, his cousin, and some work friends. It was pretty fun. The guys were hilarious, and Cliff (the cousin) was nice enough to buy everyone shots and beer. Bowling's not really my game, but they made it fun. Thanks Noah.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Waterpark Bonanza!!
I can't believe that I waited until the age of 28 to go to my first waterpark. I had so much fun. At the birthday party the night before my buddy, Matt, invited me & Brian to tag along when he took his kids to the park the next day. I initially turned him down but, mystery of mysteries, I actually woke up in time to go.
It's difficult to put into words why this was so awesome, but I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that it's difficult to not have fun when you're around a bunch of kids that are. Charity and Corbin splashed and laughed, and it was a real treat to just watch them go. Here's Corbin pimpin' his fly Body Glove float-suit...
Talk about too cool for school. Anyway, between the water slides, lazy circular stream thing, and all the mushroom fountains I couldn't shake the feeling that I was trapped in a Super Mario Brothers game. Nothing like good, clean fun and some sunshine to lift one's spirits.
Too bad my phone ate all the good pics of LeeAnn in her bikini. I'm going to have to get better at using this thing.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Birthday Party Fun Times!
My friend, Stacy, celebrated her birthday last weekend. I managed to get a few photos of the occasion, but I spent most of the night drinking and BSing. I met a few of Stacy's work friends, which was fun. Here are just a couple...
This is Brent. He loves beer. Loves it. He brews, drinks, breathes, and dreams beer. He also gets really mushy when he's drunk. It was pretty awesome. He could tell we were all wonderful people. It rocked!
This is Dana. Besides being incredibly cute, she just got back from Costa Rica. There was a pretty funny story involving airplane delays and oxcarts. Good stuff, and I wish I could have gotten it on tape.
Here's Dana sitting with the Birthday Girl (Stacy). Though she might not look it in this pic, I don't think I've ever seen her happier than at this get-together.
I spent most of my time out on the balcony with the rest of the smokers. I don't know what it is about the smoking circle, but you always meet such interesting people there. In this shot Matt and his wife LeeAnn are cooling it with me.
Speaking of Matt & LeeAnn...aren't they cute. Kinda makes me queasy :P.
There were a bunch of other people there too, but I didn't take that many pictures so I missed Brian, Brian, Crystal, Nicole, Debbie (and husband), Joe, and Terance. Someone got a pic of Jeff, but he didn't like it so I'm not posting it. Anyway, pretty awesome weekend.
This is Brent. He loves beer. Loves it. He brews, drinks, breathes, and dreams beer. He also gets really mushy when he's drunk. It was pretty awesome. He could tell we were all wonderful people. It rocked!
This is Dana. Besides being incredibly cute, she just got back from Costa Rica. There was a pretty funny story involving airplane delays and oxcarts. Good stuff, and I wish I could have gotten it on tape.
Here's Dana sitting with the Birthday Girl (Stacy). Though she might not look it in this pic, I don't think I've ever seen her happier than at this get-together.
I spent most of my time out on the balcony with the rest of the smokers. I don't know what it is about the smoking circle, but you always meet such interesting people there. In this shot Matt and his wife LeeAnn are cooling it with me.
Speaking of Matt & LeeAnn...aren't they cute. Kinda makes me queasy :P.There were a bunch of other people there too, but I didn't take that many pictures so I missed Brian, Brian, Crystal, Nicole, Debbie (and husband), Joe, and Terance. Someone got a pic of Jeff, but he didn't like it so I'm not posting it. Anyway, pretty awesome weekend.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Interesting Evo-Psych tidbits.
Psychology Today ran a neat article where they dropped a couple of interesting Social/Evolutionary Psychology tidbits. My favorites are...
"Most suicide bombers are Muslim
Suicide missions are not always religiously motivated, but according to Oxford University sociologist Diego Gambetta, editor of Making Sense of Suicide Missions, when religion is involved, the attackers are always Muslim. Why? The surprising answer is that Muslim suicide bombing has nothing to do with Islam or the Quran (except for two lines). It has a lot to do with sex, or, in this case, the absence of sex.
"What distinguishes Islam from other major religions is that it tolerates polygyny. By allowing some men to monopolize all women and altogether excluding many men from reproductive opportunities, polygyny creates shortages of available women. If 50 percent of men have two wives each, then the other 50 percent don't get any wives at all.
"So polygyny increases competitive pressure on men, especially young men of low status. It therefore increases the likelihood that young men resort to violent means to gain access to mates. By doing so, they have little to lose and much to gain compared with men who already have wives. Across all societies, polygyny makes men violent, increasing crimes such as murder and rape, even after controlling for such obvious factors as economic development, economic inequality, population density, the level of democracy, and political factors in the region.
However, polygyny itself is not a sufficient cause of suicide bombing. Societies in sub-Saharan Africa and the Caribbean are much more polygynous than the Muslim nations in the Middle East and North Africa. And they do have very high levels of violence. Sub-Saharan Africa suffers from a long history of continuous civil wars—but not suicide bombings.
"The other key ingredient is the promise of 72 virgins waiting in heaven for any martyr in Islam. The prospect of exclusive access to virgins may not be so appealing to anyone who has even one mate on earth, which strict monogamy virtually guarantees. However, the prospect is quite appealing to anyone who faces the bleak reality on earth of being a complete reproductive loser.
"It is the combination of polygyny and the promise of a large harem of virgins in heaven that motivates many young Muslim men to commit suicide bombings. Consistent with this explanation, all studies of suicide bombers indicate that they are significantly younger than not only the Muslim population in general but other (nonsuicidal) members of their own extreme political organizations like Hamas and Hezbollah. And nearly all suicide bombers are single."
"The midlife crisis is a myth—sort of
Many believe that men go through a midlife crisis when they are in middle age. Not quite. Many middle-aged men do go through midlife crises, but it's not because they are middle-aged. It's because their wives are. From the evolutionary psychological perspective, a man's midlife crisis is precipitated by his wife's imminent menopause and end of her reproductive career, and thus his renewed need to attract younger women. Accordingly, a 50-year-old man married to a 25-year-old woman would not go through a midlife crisis, while a 25-year-old man married to a 50-year-old woman would, just like a more typical 50-year-old man married to a 50-year-old woman. It's not his midlife that matters; it's hers. When he buys a shiny-red sports car, he's not trying to regain his youth; he's trying to attract young women to replace his menopausal wife by trumpeting his flash and cash."
The man-haters out there ought to get a lot of satisfying use out of this brand of thinking, and there are a few more tidbits in the article. The notion that monogamy is more of a social contract than a natural preference fits my observations quite well. While the most powerful, older men in our society would probably benefit incredibly from institutionalized polygamy, the least powerful men would probably band together and blow up those few, powerful, older guys that were hogging all the young chicks. I'm looking at you Dennis Kucinich, Salman Rushdie, Tom Cruise, Fred Thompson, Rudy Giuliani, and many more. Donald Trump and Hugh Hefner are almost not worth mentioning. John McCain took a different track and married a model in '65, before trashbinning her 15 years later for a millionaire-heiress.
"Most suicide bombers are Muslim
Suicide missions are not always religiously motivated, but according to Oxford University sociologist Diego Gambetta, editor of Making Sense of Suicide Missions, when religion is involved, the attackers are always Muslim. Why? The surprising answer is that Muslim suicide bombing has nothing to do with Islam or the Quran (except for two lines). It has a lot to do with sex, or, in this case, the absence of sex.
"What distinguishes Islam from other major religions is that it tolerates polygyny. By allowing some men to monopolize all women and altogether excluding many men from reproductive opportunities, polygyny creates shortages of available women. If 50 percent of men have two wives each, then the other 50 percent don't get any wives at all.
"So polygyny increases competitive pressure on men, especially young men of low status. It therefore increases the likelihood that young men resort to violent means to gain access to mates. By doing so, they have little to lose and much to gain compared with men who already have wives. Across all societies, polygyny makes men violent, increasing crimes such as murder and rape, even after controlling for such obvious factors as economic development, economic inequality, population density, the level of democracy, and political factors in the region.
However, polygyny itself is not a sufficient cause of suicide bombing. Societies in sub-Saharan Africa and the Caribbean are much more polygynous than the Muslim nations in the Middle East and North Africa. And they do have very high levels of violence. Sub-Saharan Africa suffers from a long history of continuous civil wars—but not suicide bombings.
"The other key ingredient is the promise of 72 virgins waiting in heaven for any martyr in Islam. The prospect of exclusive access to virgins may not be so appealing to anyone who has even one mate on earth, which strict monogamy virtually guarantees. However, the prospect is quite appealing to anyone who faces the bleak reality on earth of being a complete reproductive loser.
"It is the combination of polygyny and the promise of a large harem of virgins in heaven that motivates many young Muslim men to commit suicide bombings. Consistent with this explanation, all studies of suicide bombers indicate that they are significantly younger than not only the Muslim population in general but other (nonsuicidal) members of their own extreme political organizations like Hamas and Hezbollah. And nearly all suicide bombers are single."
"The midlife crisis is a myth—sort of
Many believe that men go through a midlife crisis when they are in middle age. Not quite. Many middle-aged men do go through midlife crises, but it's not because they are middle-aged. It's because their wives are. From the evolutionary psychological perspective, a man's midlife crisis is precipitated by his wife's imminent menopause and end of her reproductive career, and thus his renewed need to attract younger women. Accordingly, a 50-year-old man married to a 25-year-old woman would not go through a midlife crisis, while a 25-year-old man married to a 50-year-old woman would, just like a more typical 50-year-old man married to a 50-year-old woman. It's not his midlife that matters; it's hers. When he buys a shiny-red sports car, he's not trying to regain his youth; he's trying to attract young women to replace his menopausal wife by trumpeting his flash and cash."
The man-haters out there ought to get a lot of satisfying use out of this brand of thinking, and there are a few more tidbits in the article. The notion that monogamy is more of a social contract than a natural preference fits my observations quite well. While the most powerful, older men in our society would probably benefit incredibly from institutionalized polygamy, the least powerful men would probably band together and blow up those few, powerful, older guys that were hogging all the young chicks. I'm looking at you Dennis Kucinich, Salman Rushdie, Tom Cruise, Fred Thompson, Rudy Giuliani, and many more. Donald Trump and Hugh Hefner are almost not worth mentioning. John McCain took a different track and married a model in '65, before trashbinning her 15 years later for a millionaire-heiress.
Ah, sweet Romance!
Friday, June 29, 2007
Once upon a time...
Once upon a time an old man was sitting on a park bench, and he saw a little boy sitting next to him. The little boy was eating a bag of candy, and the man noticed how the caramel, chocolate, and taffy was sticking to the boy's teeth.
He leaned over and said, "Little boy, I'm a dentist. I think you should know that if you eat that much candy it will not only rot your teeth out. It will be bad for your health and make you die sooner. Candy just isn't good for you."
The boy, not bothering to swallow his current mouthful of sweets first, replied, "I know that isn't true, old man. My Grandfather ate a pound of chocolate every day of his life, and he lived a long life. He didn't even lose his teeth before he died. Do you know what his secret was?"
The dentist, surprised at such contrarian wisdom from so small a child, asked, "What was his secret?"
The boy smiled and said, "He knew how to mind his own fucking business."
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With the preceding story in mind, please read this article on Bush's notions of spreading democracy to Cuba after Castro's demise.
He leaned over and said, "Little boy, I'm a dentist. I think you should know that if you eat that much candy it will not only rot your teeth out. It will be bad for your health and make you die sooner. Candy just isn't good for you."
The boy, not bothering to swallow his current mouthful of sweets first, replied, "I know that isn't true, old man. My Grandfather ate a pound of chocolate every day of his life, and he lived a long life. He didn't even lose his teeth before he died. Do you know what his secret was?"
The dentist, surprised at such contrarian wisdom from so small a child, asked, "What was his secret?"
The boy smiled and said, "He knew how to mind his own fucking business."
---------------------------------------
With the preceding story in mind, please read this article on Bush's notions of spreading democracy to Cuba after Castro's demise.
Possible next step toward an HIV cure.
http://www.sciam.com/article.cfm?chanID=sa003&articleID=737AB56E-E7F2-99DF-382B756D1860EACA
Some interesting info on the great plague of our time...
"Scientists have constructed a custom enzyme that reverses the process by which the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) inserts its genetic material into host DNA, suggesting that treatment with similar enzymes could potentially rid infected cells of the virus. In tests on cultured human tissue, the mutated enzyme, Tre recombinase, snipped HIV DNA out of chromosomes."
Some interesting info on the great plague of our time...
"Scientists have constructed a custom enzyme that reverses the process by which the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) inserts its genetic material into host DNA, suggesting that treatment with similar enzymes could potentially rid infected cells of the virus. In tests on cultured human tissue, the mutated enzyme, Tre recombinase, snipped HIV DNA out of chromosomes."
I remember Texas as being not so bad...
I have a lot of family in Texas, so this story struck me as funny in a sad kind of way. Here's a snippet:
"If you haven't been paying attention, or your head has been stuck in the sand for the last 6 years, or you've been too busy working making ends meet and keeping your kids in school, then you probably haven't notice that Texas is now the worst place to live in the United States."
Makes me sad :(
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Bloganoia
I've spoken to more than a few people that are a little paranoid about blogging. It's a familiar story, and one that I've thought about myself on an occasion or two. The scenario is simple. You blog about how your boss is a moron, your boss Google's you and reads your blog, you get fired. It's an understandable fear. It doesn't even have to be that direct.
Let's say you love pot. You mention in a blog that you and a buddy were smoking a joint. Boss+Google=You get drug tested and fired.
Or, let's say you're an atheist/Satanist/Buddhist/Anything that isn't Southern Baptist. Your Dad/Uncle/Mom/whoever is crazy religious. You blog about how you can't stand Jerry Falwell, and how he's why you aren't Christian. Relative+Google=You written out of somebody's will.
Or, let's say your girl/boyfriend is being a bitch. You, in a moment of frustration, blog about how they are being a bitch. They read your blog and then dump you.
Or, let's say you're gay. Your family doesn't know. Your MySpace page says "Homosexual." Badabing, badaboom, family shitstorm.
Something just doesn't seem right about all of this. We're afraid that the world will find out who we are and will disapprove. We're determined to tell the world what we think it wants to hear. Does that actually get anyone ahead? Most of the successful people I've met have been anything but bootlickers. They speak their mind. They offer ideas. They are opinionated assholes, for the most part. They don't snivel and slink in the shadows and hope nobody disapproves of them.
Bloganoia is a symptom of a far greater fear. That fear is that if the world learns who we really are then we'll be cut from the herd. If certain people learn that we don't like/agree with them then they will be mad. I'd imagine it goes back to a childhood fear resembling, "If Mommy/Daddy learn that I think they are a Bitch/Asshole they won't love me anymore." It is so much bullshit.
Anyone so fickle as to dissolve a relationship based on something they read in a blog deserves to be surrounded by all the sycophantic yes-men they can find. Mature adults somehow learn to cope with unpleasant truths all the time. A good manager knows that his employees usually think he's an asshole, and yet somehow that knowledge doesn't cause him to fire everyone on the spot. Most grownups know that there are gay people, and people of other religions in the world. The mature, sane ones learn to deal with it. Only a nutjob expects everyone they meet to kowtow to their tastes.
There's a website called Twitter.com where people post little blurbs about what they're doing. The first one I read was by a guy named Travis, and went, "Home, watching news, smoking a bowl." GASP! What if (random asshole here) sees that?! They might get mad!
Yeah. They might.
Let's say you love pot. You mention in a blog that you and a buddy were smoking a joint. Boss+Google=You get drug tested and fired.
Or, let's say you're an atheist/Satanist/Buddhist/Anything that isn't Southern Baptist. Your Dad/Uncle/Mom/whoever is crazy religious. You blog about how you can't stand Jerry Falwell, and how he's why you aren't Christian. Relative+Google=You written out of somebody's will.
Or, let's say your girl/boyfriend is being a bitch. You, in a moment of frustration, blog about how they are being a bitch. They read your blog and then dump you.
Or, let's say you're gay. Your family doesn't know. Your MySpace page says "Homosexual." Badabing, badaboom, family shitstorm.
Something just doesn't seem right about all of this. We're afraid that the world will find out who we are and will disapprove. We're determined to tell the world what we think it wants to hear. Does that actually get anyone ahead? Most of the successful people I've met have been anything but bootlickers. They speak their mind. They offer ideas. They are opinionated assholes, for the most part. They don't snivel and slink in the shadows and hope nobody disapproves of them.
Bloganoia is a symptom of a far greater fear. That fear is that if the world learns who we really are then we'll be cut from the herd. If certain people learn that we don't like/agree with them then they will be mad. I'd imagine it goes back to a childhood fear resembling, "If Mommy/Daddy learn that I think they are a Bitch/Asshole they won't love me anymore." It is so much bullshit.
Anyone so fickle as to dissolve a relationship based on something they read in a blog deserves to be surrounded by all the sycophantic yes-men they can find. Mature adults somehow learn to cope with unpleasant truths all the time. A good manager knows that his employees usually think he's an asshole, and yet somehow that knowledge doesn't cause him to fire everyone on the spot. Most grownups know that there are gay people, and people of other religions in the world. The mature, sane ones learn to deal with it. Only a nutjob expects everyone they meet to kowtow to their tastes.
There's a website called Twitter.com where people post little blurbs about what they're doing. The first one I read was by a guy named Travis, and went, "Home, watching news, smoking a bowl." GASP! What if (random asshole here)
Yeah. They might.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
"Perfect" isn't necessarily a good thing.
I was asked to be in a play by my cousin today. The last time he asked me was months ago, and the character was a slender (read: skinny), geeky, social retard. He said I was perfect for the part. He said I made the character breathe. I think it was because I wear glasses and am an unashamed geek. At any rate, I did the play. It was a pain in the ass, but when it was over I felt some minor twinge of accomplishment.
So, I visited him today upon his invitation. He's doing a play called "Sordid Lives." This is, much like the last one, about a bunch of small-town rubes doing idiotic things to make the audience laugh. Keep in mind that I live in a small town. I think these plays are my cousin's idea of an enormous practical joke. He's screaming to all of St. George, "I think you're morons, and to prove the point I'm mocking you for your own entertainment!" I'm not sure what's sadder, that no one is offended or that scarcely anyone noticed.
The part he wants me to play is that of a handsome, effeminate, gay man who, at the end of the play, comes out of the closet to his mother (at their grandmother's funeral). The character has few lines, and most of them are some version of "Mom, I'm gay." My cousin says I'm perfect for the part. I read a few lines, and he said I make the character breathe. I think it's because I can pronounce the word "effeminate" (not "effim'net"). Also, truth be told, I am a bit effeminate. I move my hands around a bunch when I talk and all that jazz. Even so, I really have no interest in doing this play.
I've lived in this town my entire life, and I have no intention of getting on a stage and claiming to be gay for no real reason. Is this sexual insecurity? You're damned right it is! He tells me, "It's just a character." Sure, but it's my mouth those words are coming out of. That wouldn't be bad enough to keep me from doing the part, but the play isn't very funny. I watched a DVD version of it and found it pretty silly. The character he wants me to play could safely be edited out of the entire play if the writer hadn't been trying to make his play "About Something."
In the original play this character has numerous scenes where he's talking to his therapist about how fucked up he is and how stupid his small town life and family are. It's really whiny. Nonetheless, it provides a sober counterpoint to all the zany hijinks that are happening back home. My cousin, in the name of sparing the audience from all this frightfully dull whining, chopped those scenes out, but allowed the character's resolution (Mom, I'm gay) in the play. The end result is a slew of over the top redneck jokes capped off with some guy being gay for no reason. Strunk & White must be rolling around in their respective graves.
Lastly, the parts that I'm "perfect for" make me wonder about my cousin's view of me. Slender, handsome, well-spoken. Okay, those things are good. Geeky, effeminate, socially retarded, whiny. Okay, those things aren't so good. Do I really want to be perfect for this stuff?
So, I visited him today upon his invitation. He's doing a play called "Sordid Lives." This is, much like the last one, about a bunch of small-town rubes doing idiotic things to make the audience laugh. Keep in mind that I live in a small town. I think these plays are my cousin's idea of an enormous practical joke. He's screaming to all of St. George, "I think you're morons, and to prove the point I'm mocking you for your own entertainment!" I'm not sure what's sadder, that no one is offended or that scarcely anyone noticed.
The part he wants me to play is that of a handsome, effeminate, gay man who, at the end of the play, comes out of the closet to his mother (at their grandmother's funeral). The character has few lines, and most of them are some version of "Mom, I'm gay." My cousin says I'm perfect for the part. I read a few lines, and he said I make the character breathe. I think it's because I can pronounce the word "effeminate" (not "effim'net"). Also, truth be told, I am a bit effeminate. I move my hands around a bunch when I talk and all that jazz. Even so, I really have no interest in doing this play.
I've lived in this town my entire life, and I have no intention of getting on a stage and claiming to be gay for no real reason. Is this sexual insecurity? You're damned right it is! He tells me, "It's just a character." Sure, but it's my mouth those words are coming out of. That wouldn't be bad enough to keep me from doing the part, but the play isn't very funny. I watched a DVD version of it and found it pretty silly. The character he wants me to play could safely be edited out of the entire play if the writer hadn't been trying to make his play "About Something."
In the original play this character has numerous scenes where he's talking to his therapist about how fucked up he is and how stupid his small town life and family are. It's really whiny. Nonetheless, it provides a sober counterpoint to all the zany hijinks that are happening back home. My cousin, in the name of sparing the audience from all this frightfully dull whining, chopped those scenes out, but allowed the character's resolution (Mom, I'm gay) in the play. The end result is a slew of over the top redneck jokes capped off with some guy being gay for no reason. Strunk & White must be rolling around in their respective graves.
Lastly, the parts that I'm "perfect for" make me wonder about my cousin's view of me. Slender, handsome, well-spoken. Okay, those things are good. Geeky, effeminate, socially retarded, whiny. Okay, those things aren't so good. Do I really want to be perfect for this stuff?
Monday, June 18, 2007
Buh bye MySpace. Hello Blogger.
This is post #1 on the new blog. I don't actually have anything to say, but I like being prepared.
Hrm...as a first post this one is rather anticlimactic.
Well, this blog is a continuation of my old MySpace blog located at http://blog.myspace.com/witzelsucht
I'm sure I'll find some stuff to bitch about sooner or later.
Hrm...as a first post this one is rather anticlimactic.
Well, this blog is a continuation of my old MySpace blog located at http://blog.myspace.com/witzelsucht
I'm sure I'll find some stuff to bitch about sooner or later.
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