(The Predictable) Fast food Firestorm: Chick-fil-A'd

Yesterday the fast food chain Chick-fil-A was the site of counter protests to the protests that erupted in the wake of remarks made recently by company president Dan Cathy regarding his strict views on traditional marriage, which was leapt upon by activists and then by politicians claiming the chain would be unwelcome, and then that leapt upon by opposing pundits who made Wednesday "Chick-fil-A Appreciation Day."

So, in short, it's the standard backlash-and-then-backlash-to-the-backlash sequence for just about anything these days where anyone could have a strong opinion one way or the other, with the typical surfeit of media outlets turning it into a kerfuffle because that's what they do.

We're never happier than when we're up in arms about something.

Bring on the next Rapture

Remember this, crackpots: If you have an absurd apocalyptic prediction and can afford some billboards, you too can garner massive attention for yourself. And you won't care that most of it will be mockery, because, as noted, you're crackpots.

I look forward to the seeing who will emerge as the next one of you who captures our lust for irony while tapping into our unconscious fears that Armageddon could be real. Clearly the media and the internet will not be able to get enough of you.

We live in a time of fascinating symbiosis between the crackpots and the media (including the blogosphere/Twittersphere, etc.), where both seem to only reinforce the other even more. If one were to go away it would spell a serious blow and possibly be a figurative end of the world for the other.

A few brief thoughts on this Judgment Day stuff

Tomorrow, Saturday, May 21, has been claimed to be the date of the Biblical Day of Judgment by one Harold Camping, president of a shortwave radio station. Refuting Camping's claims is far too easy, and many have already done a better job of that than I could even hope to do--such as my friend Ray on this post on his X-Blog--so I won't bother with that.

I will say this: Conceding for the sake of argument that Camping did get the date correct, what's to stop God from changing His mind? Conceivably the Almighty could undo it, even if it were literally etched in stone.

Jesus was way cool

Jesus is so humble that when it comes to the two biggest holidays in His honor He can sit back and say, "No, let the rabbit and the guy with the reindeer get the spotlight." He doesn't need it to be all about Him.

Now that's the sort of quality that is worth basing a whole religion on.

A bad joke for Good Friday

Do you suppose Jesus ever thinks, "If that's what they call a 'good' Friday I'd really hate to see what they consider a 'bad' one"?

Ba. Dum. Chik.

~

Remember: God gave us humor for a reason.

Get Jesus... or else!

From the train I spotted a van parked on the street where on the back doors appeared a message suggesting that the period of 2010 – 2017 was the Tribulation, and asking in the now hackneyed take on the milk commercials if the reader "Got Jesus?" The inference I drew was the message suggested we were bearing down on the end times and thus it was a veiled threat to the readers who had not accepted the Christian savior; they'd better hurry up and at least go through the motions of baptism and attending weekly services or else face some true misery over the next six years.

However, conceivably those who aren't churchgoers may not grasp what the Tribulation is supposed to entail, and by specifying the range of years it did seem to imply there wasn't a terrible urgency yet, as we weren't even out of the first year yet, and thus the power of the message seemed undercut.

Of course, I'm probably deconstructing this more than those who came up with the message were expecting would be done; presumably the idea was that this would be viewed by speeding motorists on the highway, and as such they needed to keep it succinct and appealing to the spiritually insecure. Or I should say, the undecided spiritually insecure. In short, they figure they might be able to scare some butts into the seats, and at least ostensibly save some souls.

Ah, the classics.

Time out for Real Time

I'd watched Bill Maher for years, going back to when Politically Incorrect was on Comedy Central. When I've had HBO I've usually caught episodes of his current show, Real Time. For me it's nowhere near the neighborhood of cleverness that The Daily Show and The Colbert Report display four nights a week, but generally it still holds my interest to watch to the end of the show.

Unlike Maher, I would not consider myself an atheist. I don't have ties to a specific religion, but I do think it's unlikely the universe got to have this order by random chance. I don't attend church because my spirituality is something unique to me, not a general viewpoint that I imagine a room full of people share. However, I absolutely support that churches should exist, as there are many people who clearly do get something out of attending them.

That said, I am a strong proponent of the separation of church and state. One's religious views should dictate only how one lives one's life, not be the basis for political policy. Period.

So that brings me to last week's episode of Real Time, when again Bill went off how deluded are people who believe in God, or even have any view other than atheism, and indicate that all war and violence was done in the name of religion. Okay, the man is entitled to his opinion. However, when guest Cory Booker, mayor of Newark, tried to politely disagree—particularly about religion being the cause or justification for war—Bill would have none of it. Booker astutely called Maher on this, comparing his fervor with it to having the "zeal of a Baptist preacher about your atheism."

Coming back

The concept of reincarnation, with one's essence/energy/soul carried from one corporeal state to the next, does seem to imply some level of administration (if nothing else) to be performed by (what would easily be identified in our mode of envisioning the universe) a deity. It seems a bit too complex a system to operate without some bit of oversight.

One might wonder: Why would this deity set up a system whereby beings keep running the same race (so to speak) over and over? However, the more confounding query, it seems to me, would be: Why would this deity only give us one chance to run this race? The only way to grow, to advance, to develop is through repetition, through practice; a single lifetime only allows so many opportunities for growing as a being.

Obviously the tricky bit about the concept is that we seem to come into the world with the proverbial tabula rasa; what was the point of gaining the experience from previous lifetimes if we just forget it when we start over? And there I think the knowledge comes back to us slowly, in gradual ways, and often not in ways we consciously grasp.

Yes, that is a convenient explanation, but it's no more convenient than any other philosophy, is it?

Ten

Might the Ten Commandments be better if rather than being phrased "Thou shalt not..." they started off "Come on, you know you really shouldn't..."?  So, yes, then they'd be the Ten Rather Obvious Recommendations.

Whatcha think?

God and dog have the same letters

Each morning on my walk to the train station I pass a Methodist church.  Running around it, between the sidewalk and the building, is a strip of green grass, maybe four feet wide.  On more than one occasion I have spotted (not because I was seeking it out but because it was obvious at a glance) a pile of dog excrement that had been deposited on that grass.  (At least, I presume its origin is canine; that's about the only species that I prefer to believe would do this.)

While it very well could be stray dogs perpetrating this, I suspect the dogs in question did have human companions.  As such, I do sometimes wonder whether the act of allowing one's dog to crap on the small lawn is mere inconsideration or some form of protest.  Might it be one person in particular who has a beef with the church and is encouraging his animal to do its business at that location intentionally?

Clearly the perpetrator is unconcerned with any ramifications from the One whose house it is.  Of course, from a WWJD standpoint, it seems like He might say:  "If thine neighbor's dog defiles your lawn, allow the animal to raise the other cheek."

(Oh yeah.  I went there.  Jesus would find that amusing.  That's my belief.)

Pulped it

Something to which I should have devoted more attention during the tail end of a recent ride home (but only vaguely followed a little while still having my headphones on):

A young man, probably in his 20's, came walking down the aisle of the train, saying aloud how it's good to have a relationship with God. No one seated in the car gave any acknowledgment of his statement. He wandered back away for a while but eventually re-appeared, and began reciting his message again.

An older gentleman in an orange sweatshirt and blue Denver Broncos cap started to speak back to the young man. The two stayed at least 10 feet apart, as the young man stood in the front area of the car and the gentleman remained in his seat, so they spoke loud enough to hear.

The gentleman did not accost him or tell him to shut up; at no point was there any yelling, nor any confrontational tone. The gentleman even quoted the Bible a couple of times. And what he did, ultimately, was to point out that the young man was merely spouting dogma rather than describing a genuine relationship with God. However, he did it without belittling the young man (well, without overtly belittling him); he posed some questions, such as asking if the young man knew the difference between a pastor and a minister. (I didn't hear whether the young man answered that well or not, but I do recall that he did appear to struggle a bit when having to go "off book," as it were.) The gentleman's tone was not condescending; he sought only to get the young man to really think about the words he was espousing.

The gentleman did eventually go into a bit of detail about his issues with the situation. He had no disagreement with the message about having a personal relationship with God, but he did note having a problem with religion; religions were about rules to be followed blindly, and if others did not follow those rules it was declared that they were going to Hell. What about that was establishing a personal relationship with God?

This he used to explain why no one was listening to the young man. He even offered advice of a sort: He recommended that the young man work on his personal relationship with God, and get that ironed out before going out and talking about it with others.

When the young man's stop came, he couldn't get off the train fast enough. I don't think he even offered the cursory "God bless you" to the gentleman.

Not only did I more or less agree with the gentleman's thesis, I was delighted to see what amounted to the victory of intelligence over… well, I don't want to call it ignorance—that's not accurate. (Over the indoctrination?) It didn't get reduced to name-calling (at no point was "douche bag" uttered) or either side saying the other was "wrong"; it relied entirely on discourse rather than yelling.

I said nothing to the gentleman when I departed the train, because I didn't feel as though I'd participated enough to say anything, but I like to think that thinking about him here counts for something.

~

A personal relationship with God cannot be forced on others.

Lesser

I heard something once that went something like, "If you want to make God laugh, make a plan." The gist was that nothing amuses whatever you believe the power in the universe to be like us mortals aspiring to something; we delude ourselves with notions that we have control over events in our lives, despite all evidence to the contrary.

We are remarkable in our ability to overlook that evidence. I'll give us that.

Here's the thing: When our aspirations are thwarted, it's more comforting to believe that the universe is conspiring against us, either out of spite or vindictiveness or to spare us from making what would otherwise be mistakes on our part than it is to think that we're simply recurrently unlucky for absolutely no reason.

Better a petty deity who messes with us for amusement than no deity at all to blame.

~

Yeah, that's not the only way to interpret when plans don't go as hoped. But that whole "God doesn't close a door without opening a window" optimism angle has been done to death (and some of the time that's what I believe).

What? Must every post be upbeat? Really?

Surely your religious beliefs can withstand this nonsense...

Pressed

This evening, on a friend's recommendation (as a possible better way to photoblog), I checked out Wordpress. I get to the home page and see it has "news" sections. I see the "headline" under "In Science" is "Burn Hollywood Burn," which I presume has something to do with the wildfires in Southern California.

Which it did. It claimed that God was angry at California and in His wrath was punishing us.

Okay. This is the internet, and every wackjob is entitled to spout off whatever fucked up world view allows him to feel better about his sad, little life.

How that falls under the category of "science" I'm not entirely sure.

The thing is: He cites Cleveland and Toledo as places where such "catastrophes" don't occur, and by inference as being more virtuous.

Seriously. Cleveland and Toledo.

Eh, I suppose those are cities that definitely need to keep the Big Guy on their side.

~

It seems that in writer's faith one of the commandments must be "Thou shall not spell check." ("Judgement"--what are we, in England?) Also forbidden: Being able to distinguish the contraction of "it is" from the possessive of it. ("Maybe its not terrorism...")

But spelling and grammar surely dwell in Beelzebub's domain...

~

I think I may have to pass on Wordpress. I mean, I should be happy that Blogger here (as well as Aminus3) allow me some place to post photos. And, of course, this opportunity to spout off these glib reactions to the world that allow me to feel better about my sad, little life.

Who watches the Watchtower?

I should have identified them the second I got on the train. Three well-dressed white-haired older women sitting at one end of the car is something of an unusual thing during the morning commute. However, it still caught me a bit off-guard when one of them stopped next to me as I sat and started to put the headphones in my ears. It had been a while since ones such as them had been on a train with me.

She asked if I would like something to read and offered me a copy of the Watchtower. I politely declined, and she replied, "Not today then," and wished me a good day.

The funny thing about this incident: Had the item offered simply been left on the seat next to me when I sat down, with no one around, I may very well have picked it up. It's not so much that I'm that intrigued by what the Jehovah's Witnesses have published for its spiritual value; I have over the years collected a number of pieces of religious propaganda (although mostly small leaflets or pamphlets, not magazine-sized items), and this could certainly be considered for inclusion in my collection. While this has been done in a very detached, ironic context (it is fascinating what some have done in what is ostensibly an effort to promote their beliefs), I couldn't bring myself to take something from someone's earnest hand knowing that my reaction was the opposite.

Especially when I was about to press play on the player and hear Peter Murphy sing about Bela Legosi.

It is not my intent to disparage anyone's genuine beliefs, but the way they go about trying to convince those who non-believers (we'll call the audience that) sometimes seems like it was not thought through all that thoroughly.

Perhaps with sufficient faith one doesn't require marketing savvy.

Getting out the getting it on

From a block north of Hollywood Blvd.:

I thought I was taking an artsy shot through the posts of this fence. However, upon review, I got one of the myriad Scientology buildings (lower middle).

And the former Erotic Museum (lower left) that used to be open across the street.


Go ahead and click on this one.


For some reason I saw some delightful contrast in that, even though given that the Scientologists own a serious chunk of real estate in Hollywood, there's probably nothing about their beliefs that is inherently opposed to such displays.

Of course, now that I think about it, I'm not entirely sure why the Erotic Museum closed...

Blame it on hunger

Monday I drove in to the office, rather than taking the train. The reasons why are unimportant. What was noteworthy was how light traffic was for a Monday morning. Later in the day I realized it was Yom Kippur.

In the evening I passed by the desk of a co-worker who, being Muslim, was observing Ramadan. I knew it was Ramadan, having heard it on the news before I went on vacation. Also, I remembered it being around this time last year, when I made a point of alerting said co-worker when the sun had set each day. Not that he needed to be alerted, of course, but it made me feel like I was helping. He's an affable fellow, and I figure he was probably a bit peckish each day by sunset.

He mentioned how it had been many years since Yom Kippur fell during Ramadan (and hence the Jews and Muslims would be fasting together). He noted hearing something on NPR where the commentator mentioned how when it occurred 30 years ago the Mideast Peace Accords happened, and all seemed rife for peace; then the next time it happened was when Sadat was assassinated.

(We could be wrong about these things; he was just trying to remember what he'd heard, and I'm just trying to remember what he said.)

I quipped, "That means this time we're due for peace, right?" He laughed, because he has a good sense of humor (which is not implying that Muslims ordinarily don't).

Eventually, the conversation turned somehow to how light traffic had been, and I exclaimed in an exaggerated tone, "The Jews should take every day off! It must be their fault that traffic is bad the other days! Maybe Mel Gibson was right!" He laughed again, because he appreciated the absurdity of the quip, not because of anti-Semitism. (I'm sure it was just coincidental that traffic was unusually light that day. What do I know anyway? I take public transportation most of the time.)

I followed with, "If there were a Muslim or agnostic hell, we would certainly be going there for that joke." He chuckled at that as well. I was on a freakin' roll.

(Eh, you had to be there.)

Should I force myself to not eat for a day to repent, just to be on the safe side?


[Yes, technically, Islam does have a hell-like concept, but not in the same context of what I meant by the joke. Yeesh. You haters really gotta break my flow, don'tcha?]

Fun with blasphemy

F tried to muster the will to do what he knew he should. He didn’t try that hard, really, but such was to be expected; the difference between wanting to do something and feeling obligated to do something is action. Were he genuinely inspired to do what he should, it would move into the other category, and cease to be what he should do and become what he did (with the implication of want). Ultimately, it boiled down to the disparity between what he wanted to do and what others wanted him to do, and their reasons tended to be less than inspiring.

The easiest thing in the world is to expect someone else to do something; it requires virtually no effort.

F had not thanked God for the day, as someone he passed on the street suggested (to no one specifically, as best F could tell). He figured, being God and achieving all of creation in basically a week, that this particular day wasn’t such a big accomplishment for God. F didn’t mean to be sacrilegious; he just thought God wasn’t so needy that He required constant reassurance that He was doing a good job. F didn’t get thanked for doing what he’d done every day. That was merely expected of him. So, if keeping the universe going was strenuous for God, he would throw some specific gratitude to the Big Man Upstairs, but otherwise he was just going to take it for granted.

To thine own self be true, if it workest for thou

 [another Doug-ression kinda thing composed 9 February 2003]

I have something of a confession to make: I don't wish for anything when blowing out candles on a birthday cake. Oh sure, I pause momentarily whilst the flames burn to allow something to come to mind, but nothing does. It's not that I have no wishes, it's just that I know better than to actually wish for them; Fate and I don't have that kind of relationship, where She would respond to a direct conscious plea. Besides, we know that my raw desires tend to be impractical, imprudent, and/or impudent, and are best served to me in a refined state.

Whether "Fate" refers to the Western world's sense of God or the Eastern world's sense of destiny or merely my unconscious mind exerting its influence over the universe is something I cannot say definitively (and presumably I never will). Does it matter? Must the exact nature of reality be clarified and quantified and narrowed to one particular paradigm? I figure as long as the arrangement more or less works out for my ultimate benefit it matters little whether the "true" nature of the situation is any, all, or none of the above; the labor pains we can ignore if the baby turns out okay.

Deconstructing the act, I must admit I don't believe there is anything more special about a wish made at that moment when the candles sit lit atop a cake than a wish made at another time. It's somewhat daunting to think that I get only one good wish each year on or around the anniversary of my birth. Such stipulations put a great deal of pressure on the decision of precisely what to wish for, and certainly cause it to warrant more than a moment's consideration. Even ignoring my trepidation regarding Fate's whims, a careful analysis of the magnitude of the act would surely result in me being stymied in trying to narrow the field to just one wish. If I fail to blow out all the candles in a single breath, the whole deal's off--the pressure only builds.

And of course, while this would be going on, everyone gathered around who just sang "Happy Birthday" to me would be waiting impatiently, the candles would be melting wax all over the frosting, and the general festive mood would be dampened. (I grasp that the party guests wish me well only to the extent that I keep my neuroses in check and don't allow them to delay the slicing and distribution of the cake, and I respect that.) This obviously serves to reinforce the notion of feigning the wish, keeping up appearances, giving the people what they want, and just blowing out the candles. This also increases the likelihood that there will be a party the next year.

Besides (if I may be allowed a bit of sentimentality), the fact that anybody cares enough to throw me a party is more wish fulfillment than I need. It's not that I have hideous self-esteem and cannot believe people like me--of course, they do; I'm pretty hot stuff--but I never lose sight of how wonderful that is. And hey, wishes or no wishes, there's cake.

I know wishes come true every day. Usually I don't realize it until much later, and most of the time I didn't even actively wish for them; I've learned to live with that. It's not blind faith. It's acknowledging that there's a time to struggle against the tide and a time to float downstream. It's based on years of analyzing what has and hasn't worked to get me what is best for me, and to that extent it is a logical and pragmatic method of dealing with the chaotic shared experience we call life. Maybe this is a stupid, lazy outlook and completely impossible to justify. Of course, is it any more idiotic than expecting the mere act of extinguishing flames with one's breath to change the course of events in the universe?

Happy birthday to you. Whenever it is.

*******

"Who said that every wish
would be heard and answered
when wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought of it,
and someone believed it;
look what it's done so far."
- from "The Rainbow Connection", written by Paul Williams, sung by a frog

*******

Remember: In the context of Hamlet, "To thine own self be true" did not mean one should always adhere to one's principles; rather, Polonius meant one should always look out for numero uno, first and foremost. (Thanks to Michael Macrone's Brush Up Your Shakespeare! for clarifying that for me.)

*******

My friend Mandy's dutiful research has revealed this week, February 10 - 16, 2003, is apparently Random Acts of Kindness Week, as decreed by whomever it is that determines these things. Make up your own joke about the impending war regarding this.

*******

Indicia of sorts, for the uninitiated: The Doug-ression (besides being a hideous play on words) is a rambling diatribe/confession/pseudo-personal essay that Doug inexplicably feels inspired to compose occasionally, and then to inflict upon those with e-mail. (To protect the recipients' e-mail addresses, he sends them out BCC.) The ideas are 100% Doug's (to the extent that any idea can be "original" in this post-post-modern age), for better or for worse. Apologies if you were expecting another forwarded joke about how awful Mondays are.

If you'd rather not receive these things from him in the future, just wait for your next birthday and wish for Doug to lose your e-mail address when everybody finishes singing. Make sure you blow you really hard.

Forwarding this to 10 of your friends won't bring you good luck. Unless you believe it will.

Where's Your Messiah Now?

 [email composed 13 June 2002]


"Please allow me to introduce my myself / I'm a man of wealth and taste." The wealth is insignificant, however, and the taste is questionable. As you'll see.

There is a line in the Rolling Stones song quoted above that goes: "Made damn sure that Pilate washed his hands and sealed His fate"--referring to the Roman governor of Judaea who was in power when Jesus was crucified. When I was younger--my early years of university, not childhood--I thought the line was: "Made damn sure the pilot washed his hands and sealed his fate." For some reason I thought it referred to the man who flew the Enola Gay, the plane that dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima in World War II. Considering that the line in the song that precedes the misheard one alludes to Jesus by name, my interpretation does seem somewhat disjointed (to say the least). Eventually I figured out the error of my thoughts--or at least, of that one in particular--and realized Mick and Keith and company were talking about the how Prince of Darkness played a part when Pontius Pilate gave into the mob's demands for the death of Jesus, washing his hands both literally and figuratively of responsibility for the act. (Yes, I did have to review texts to remind me not only of the details of the event but also how to spell Pilate's name. Eh, that's an American public school education for you.)

I do find some solace in the fact that the misinterpretation my mind concocted was that was historically accurate and could be construed as something awful that could have been influenced by Lucifer. Some people would undoubtedly analyze the "the pilot" interpretation and be offended that I would equate the U.S. bombing of Hiroshima--what many historians view as the decisive event that ultimately convinced the Japanese to surrender and end the war--with the nefarious acts of the Fallen Angel; was I suggesting that this element of the American war effort was spurred by the Lord of the Underworld?

Not consciously, not at the time I don't think, no. If anything it indicates my studies of World War II were deeper than any investigation of Christian history. Even with the justification that the bombing brought about a resolution to the conflict, unleashing the most devastating weapon in the history of mankind doesn't strike me as something to be proud of. I'm not some ban-the-bomb radical, nor am I some America-can-do-no-wrong pseudo-patriot; I'm not much for fanaticism, one way or the other.

And clearly I'm no Christian. (I hold no religious affiliations whatsoever, for the record.) I have no problem with Christianity, as a faith, as a concept; I do have a problem with arrogant hypocrites, but one need not have any particular belief system to be one of those. Still, the fact remains: I was not raised in any modicum of a Christian household. Sometimes I feel cheated, deprived of a religion against which I could rebel, on which I could turn my back some day. There is, admittedly, a Judeo-Christian slant in much of our society--our money does claim "In God We Trust," for Chrissakes--but it wasn't enough to teach me much of the story of their savior, or of who played a role in His death. (It did pass along enough that I learned to capitalize pronouns that refer to the alleged offspring of God--no other belief system enjoys such perks in English of which I'm aware.) No, to learn about Jesus I had to watch movies made from musicals with the word "Superstar" in the title. (Cinema is the true educator of the masses.)

While I have not accepted anyone who met with a terribly unpleasant demise as a "savior" (I can't quite wrap my mind around the concept that somehow I did something horribly wrong by merely being born, and thus am not convinced of a need for salvation), I do not consider myself bereft of spirituality. I admit I'm not sure from where I would draw such feelings, such a need. It would be logical to adopt atheism, but excluding the possibility of any higher powers or other planes of existence seems so... limiting. From a creative standpoint, the more possibilities, the better; what's the fun in pondering the meaning of life if reality is one way and one way only? This strikes me as a delightful conundrum to muddle over, to pursue but never catch.

On top of all that, I'm not convinced that mankind has enough on the ball, generally speaking, as a species, to warrant me having faith in it, so perhaps there's comfort in believing there might be something else out there protecting us from ourselves.

My spirituality lacks a name, is of my own concoction, is intended to apply only to me, and is subject to change without notice whenever a better idea occurs to me. This may sound terribly convenient, but really it's more work than it's probably worth. Sometimes I wish I could bring myself to accept the tenets of one of the organized religions: not only would I have a pithy term for my faith, I wouldn't have to think about what I believed. I'd have recognized holidays. I could be tax-exempt. And best of all, others could hate me for the mere affiliation with the faith without knowing anything about me as an individual! How efficient is that? As it stands now, others need to become acquainted with me before they can hate me.

My spirituality is tolerant of the beliefs of others--it has to be: otherwise it would be hypocritical and then I'd have a problem with it--so long as their beliefs are genuine. Christians, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, Wiccans, atheists, (I suppose in theory even) Scientologists, Satan worshippers, and the rest: as long as their beliefs are profoundly held--not just some crutch when times are bad, not just going along with what's popular, not paying lip service to what they were spoon-fed as children--and as long as they aren't sacrificing animals I know personally, I say live and let live.

By no means do I think my belief system--inasmuch as it's a "system"--is the best and that everyone should believe as I do. Frankly, nothing frightens me more than the thought of that happening. My spirituality may not be much, but it's mine. I'm not looking for converts. Go make up your own.

If you're wondering what would prompt me to compose this and send it to a bunch of people, where I lack any specific knowledge of the religious inclinations of many of them, rife with the potential to offend (touching on the taboo topic of religion as it does, somewhat), I could claim that my spirituality grants me the strength to spread these words without fear. I could tell you that I have faith in my audience and trust them implicitly. However, when we get right down to it, there's only one logical explanation.

The Devil made me do it.



"They told us of a Second Coming / so we look to the sky
It's not a savior that we want / just somebody else to crucify"
- from "Waiting" by New Model Army, 1981

(For those who didn't know, the Rolling Stones song is "Sympathy For the Devil." You really should have known that, however.)

-------


Since I'll be in Vancouver next week on the Summer Solstice (next Friday, the 21st), allow me to send appropriate greetings about that now (just in case I don't get out another general message between now and then). It's the most daylight we'll get in the northern hemisphere this year, folks: enjoy it. Or don't. It's your life. (I don't celebrate it, per se: still, something drives me to acknowledge it, but let's not get into that now.)

Doug

-------



This message was sent to and probably ignored by approximately 150 recipients, from as far away as Australia and Great Britain, and as close as three blocks from Doug's apartment in southern California, including relatives, co-workers, and even people he has never met in person. Thanks to the wonder of BCC, none of them would ever realize that if he didn't point it out here.

While recipients are under no obligation to reply, and while Doug is perfectly comfortable with not receiving responses--it won't dissuade him from writing more in the future--he certainly enjoys hearing from his victims--err, audience. Especially those whom he hasn't spoken to in a while, even if it's a very brief note proving nothing more that the recipient is still breathing; recipients who have kicked the oxygen habit are not expected to reply. All responses will be kept confidential, unless they're really funny. Doug does keep copies of all of these essay/rant/rambling messages, in case you're wondering. He has no website at this time, mostly because he's too lazy and unmotivated.

If anyone receiving this message wishes Doug would just leave him/her the hell alone, he/she should make that known, either by writing back and requesting it or by summoning demons and sicking them on the writer.

Yes, Doug considers approximately 1,150 words "brief."

not really copyright 2002, because, let's face it: who would want to steal this?

it's that time again

[email sent 20 March 2002]

Hello readers,

Happy Vernal Equinox (or Happy Autumnal Equinox to my relatives in Australia)! I hope this message finds you well and not down a well (unless that's where you enjoy being).

As you may recall, I last sent out a general message on the Winter Solstice. And now I send out one on the first day of spring (from my quick research on the 'net, I believe it officially occurs at 11:19 a.m., Pacific Standard Time), which undoubtedly leads some of you to believe I'm on some quarterly schedule for these messages. However, longtime readers (technically, I've been sending out these ramblings for a few years now--I know, I can't believe it either) know that I'm also motivated to compose when I need to vent about something. (This past weekend, in fact, I saw a former dragonboating buddy, and he said something about how he couldn't wait for something to annoy me so he'd get another e-mail diatribe from me.) Now, I wish to get one thing clear: This cat Shaft is a bad mutha--[shut yo' mouth!] But I'm clarifying about Shaft. [Then we can dig it.] Also, there are other events besides the passing of the seasons and something pissing me off that inspire me. (Believe me: if annoyance and frustration were all it took, with much of what's been going on at work lately, you all would be receiving messages from me almost daily.)

Just to thwart the expectations you may have developed since before the last paragraph, I'm not going to prattle on about the scientific ramifications of the sun crossing the ecliptic, or about the Wiccan Sabbat of Ostara (Eostre) that occurs on (or at least around) the equinox, or the concept of rebirth inherent in the pagan and Christian celebrations that happen around this time, for three main reasons:

- I am neither Wiccan, other pagan, or Christian, and anything I said about that topic would be summarizing what information I gleaned from checking out webpages on the topic, not from my own knowledge or experience, and heck, if you're really that interested you could do a search as easily as I could. (Must I do everything for you?) If you don't understand why bunnies are so prevalent now, I urge you to look into it.

- I don't feel the need to pretend to seem smart. Either you like me already or you don't.

- Nobody reads anything longer than about a paragraph or two. I was recently informed of that, and so I figure, why bother?

I will note that I remember from the astronomy class I took my freshman year of college, all those many years ago, that "equinox" is Latin for "equal night". If that impressed you in the slightest, you are obviously not considering that for as much as I spent putting myself through university, I really should remember a lot more, otherwise that tidbit was extraordinarily costly. Especially in light of the fact that I walked into a book store the other day, flipped through a book on Presidential facts that was in the discount section that I did not purchase (on which I spent no money) and can now tell you the following I do remember: if you thought the first names of Presidents Coolidge and Eisenhower were, respectively, Calvin and Dwight, you would be completely wrong. (Both adopted their middle names; their actual first names: John and David.) From something I saw on the History Channel, I could tell you that the name for the popular font Trebuchet comes from a catapult device from the Middle Ages. I could also tell you that the Ramones had two separate songs whose titles began with "Now I Wanna"--"Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue", from their first album in 1976, and "Now I Wanna Be A Good Boy" from their second album in 1977. And for none of this did college play any part.

Yes, I could go off on what a tragedy it is that a song by those punk pioneers was used in a Nissan commercial--the one where the SUV is cutting through the hedges in the middle of a steeple chase--but we're well past the second paragraph now. Besides, anyone who hasn't figured out that those who formerly considered themselves part of the "counter-culture" are now a target demographic for advertisers need not hear it from me. Far be it for me to burst anyone's bubble. Really. Happiness is nothing more than a matter of proper maintenance of your delusions.

And what has this to do with anything? Nothing whatsoever. However, if you choose to believe it does, then it does. See how easy that was?

The other thing that some people have apparently determined about my messages is I usually have some self-deprecating twist at the end, but predictability is the death of art, and I don't particularly have some twist in mind, so you will have to be appeased by...
Talk to you in July!

doug

p.s. Swahili gumbo plaza nook vehement slithy tothes. (You're not reading this far anyway.)