Hate is Not a Christian Value
A church not far from my house has posted a sign out front that reads:
Homosexuality is a sinful choice.
Repent.
I know this because Sean called me saying he wanted to "call the police or something" because it was a "hate crime".
Well, unfortunately, it's not really a crime. But I was, of course, terribly angry and offended. If you want to preach hate in your church, fine, you are all ignorant fucks. But don't pollute my community with your nasty messages. The thought of someone from elsewhere seeing that sign and silently noting This town is a close-minded town angers me unspeakably.
So, I called. No one was there (they were probably all dressed in white sheets burning crosses somewhere), so I left a message stating my name, that I was a member of the community, and that I was offended by their sign. I said that I thought their sign promoted hate, and that hate was not a Christian value at any church I am familar with. I asked them to take it down.
Sean will be doing the same.
Would anyone else like to join us?
New England Baptist Church
30 Salem Street, Medford, MA 02155
(781) 395-6116
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
A Story About Gas
This morning was not a good one. A graveyard of discarded skirts lay on my bed, and yet I still looked like crap. I didn't have time to put on any makeup beyond the requisite blush and concealer. I even forgot to slice up olives for my salad!
When I finally ran out the door, I remembered. Gustav the BeetleBugCar's gas alert beep had been beeping shrilly and insistently the entire way home last night.
Fuck, says I to that. Fuck.
So, off I went to the gas station, where I pulled up to the pump and breathlessly requested: "Fill it up! With Regular! Please!" The attendant smiled gamely and strode off to do my bidding, and I sat back in my seat and sighed contentedly, confident that all was at last well in the world.
Then, I reached into my wallet to pull out my trusty credit card, and found only a sad blank slot in its usual spot.
Fuck, once more. But a bigger Fuck this time.
I popped from the car like a jack-in-the-box on speed and ran to catch the attendant. "Wait! Can you make it ten dollars??? I forgot my credit card!"
He nodded and obliged, so I gave him my ten bucks and sped off.
But, I have to wonder--what would have happened if I HADN'T caught him? Or if I HADN'T had ten bucks in my wallet? Would they have held me prisoner until someone could come bail me out? Would they have hauled me across the street to the police station? Would they have made me give them my thumb?
This morning was not a good one. A graveyard of discarded skirts lay on my bed, and yet I still looked like crap. I didn't have time to put on any makeup beyond the requisite blush and concealer. I even forgot to slice up olives for my salad!
When I finally ran out the door, I remembered. Gustav the BeetleBugCar's gas alert beep had been beeping shrilly and insistently the entire way home last night.
Fuck, says I to that. Fuck.
So, off I went to the gas station, where I pulled up to the pump and breathlessly requested: "Fill it up! With Regular! Please!" The attendant smiled gamely and strode off to do my bidding, and I sat back in my seat and sighed contentedly, confident that all was at last well in the world.
Then, I reached into my wallet to pull out my trusty credit card, and found only a sad blank slot in its usual spot.
Fuck, once more. But a bigger Fuck this time.
I popped from the car like a jack-in-the-box on speed and ran to catch the attendant. "Wait! Can you make it ten dollars??? I forgot my credit card!"
He nodded and obliged, so I gave him my ten bucks and sped off.
But, I have to wonder--what would have happened if I HADN'T caught him? Or if I HADN'T had ten bucks in my wallet? Would they have held me prisoner until someone could come bail me out? Would they have hauled me across the street to the police station? Would they have made me give them my thumb?
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Here Today, Gone Tomorrow
We arrived back from Barbados to a message from my mother, saying to call "whenever I get in, no matter how late it is.". (This always means someone is Dead. People never say to call "no matter how late it is" unless someone is either Dead or Nearly Dead.) It was just a hair of trepidation that I called her back, to confirm that, indeed, Someone was Dead.
So, yes, my grandmother passed away the morning of the night we returned to the good ol' U.S. of A. I foresee your condolences and I thank you for them. I loved my grandmother very much and saw her nearly every day of my life growing up, and almost that often when I was actually grown up. She taught me so much, and was strong and gentle and lovely to me all of my life. She was 94.
But, by 94, she was only a shadow of herself. I'm happy to know that she is no longer suffering, is no longer fighting, is no longer afraid. I hurt mostly for my grandfather, who is inconsolable and sobs that he "misses his wife". He is 97. They were married longer than the average U.S. lifespan.
Now, I know it is the Beginning of the End. He will not last long, grieving for her. When he is gone, they will sell The Farm. The place I grew up will become tract mansions, surely as my tummy is sunburned. My family will fight bitterly amongst themselves, the aunts and uncles who used to go on vacations with us and come over for margarita parties will become mad with greed, their lips twisting like pipe cleaners.
But I don't have time to think of that. I have to repack the bags I just pulled tank tops and bikinis and shorts from with respectable enough clothing to wear to a funeral. I have to hop on a plane tomorrow morning. I have to try and tie up numerous loose ends before then.
Then, I will come back and regale all of you with stories about the lovely island country of Barbados.
I'll miss you, Grandma. I've missed you for years.
We arrived back from Barbados to a message from my mother, saying to call "whenever I get in, no matter how late it is.". (This always means someone is Dead. People never say to call "no matter how late it is" unless someone is either Dead or Nearly Dead.) It was just a hair of trepidation that I called her back, to confirm that, indeed, Someone was Dead.
So, yes, my grandmother passed away the morning of the night we returned to the good ol' U.S. of A. I foresee your condolences and I thank you for them. I loved my grandmother very much and saw her nearly every day of my life growing up, and almost that often when I was actually grown up. She taught me so much, and was strong and gentle and lovely to me all of my life. She was 94.
But, by 94, she was only a shadow of herself. I'm happy to know that she is no longer suffering, is no longer fighting, is no longer afraid. I hurt mostly for my grandfather, who is inconsolable and sobs that he "misses his wife". He is 97. They were married longer than the average U.S. lifespan.
Now, I know it is the Beginning of the End. He will not last long, grieving for her. When he is gone, they will sell The Farm. The place I grew up will become tract mansions, surely as my tummy is sunburned. My family will fight bitterly amongst themselves, the aunts and uncles who used to go on vacations with us and come over for margarita parties will become mad with greed, their lips twisting like pipe cleaners.
But I don't have time to think of that. I have to repack the bags I just pulled tank tops and bikinis and shorts from with respectable enough clothing to wear to a funeral. I have to hop on a plane tomorrow morning. I have to try and tie up numerous loose ends before then.
Then, I will come back and regale all of you with stories about the lovely island country of Barbados.
I'll miss you, Grandma. I've missed you for years.
Saturday, October 02, 2004
Why I'm Not Sure We Should Have Kids
Conversation:
"Mathilda is so cute and small. Look at her tiny head!"
"I don't think she's that small anymore, honey. She's kind of a medium-sized grown-up cat now."
"I know." Pause. "But her head still fits in my mouth."
"Er...what?"
"Her head. It fits in my mouth."
"How exactly do you know this?"
"Well, I was sitting there one day, and patting her head. And all the hair was flat and her head looked so tiny, so I wondered. Then I just went...(*Opens mouth widely*)"
"..."
"What?"
"..."
"What?"
Conversation:
"Mathilda is so cute and small. Look at her tiny head!"
"I don't think she's that small anymore, honey. She's kind of a medium-sized grown-up cat now."
"I know." Pause. "But her head still fits in my mouth."
"Er...what?"
"Her head. It fits in my mouth."
"How exactly do you know this?"
"Well, I was sitting there one day, and patting her head. And all the hair was flat and her head looked so tiny, so I wondered. Then I just went...(*Opens mouth widely*)"
"..."
"What?"
"..."
"What?"
Friday, October 01, 2004
Anyway
"There are so many things I'll never get to watch her experience, now." the mother said regretfully of her dead child. "So many things she'll never get to experience."
"Like what?" the pre-teen asked.
"Oh, lots of things. Like, her first kiss."
"Like she would really tell you about that." the pre-teen sniffed scornfully.
"She wouldn't." The mother smiled a strange kind of patient half-smile. "But you know. You know, anyway." She turned then, looking far, far out the window; as if the answer to some profound question lay somewhere beyond the darkening horizon, visible only to her.
"There are so many things I'll never get to watch her experience, now." the mother said regretfully of her dead child. "So many things she'll never get to experience."
"Like what?" the pre-teen asked.
"Oh, lots of things. Like, her first kiss."
"Like she would really tell you about that." the pre-teen sniffed scornfully.
"She wouldn't." The mother smiled a strange kind of patient half-smile. "But you know. You know, anyway." She turned then, looking far, far out the window; as if the answer to some profound question lay somewhere beyond the darkening horizon, visible only to her.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
In Which I Amble Along a Big, Circular Path Before Returning Back to My Original Topic - Authority
It was over 40 years ago, in 1961, that Stanley Milgram undertook his famous, or should I say infamous experiments in Obediance to authority. It's one of those things you learn about in Psych 101 -- the professor brings in the old, grainy, black and white video (or projector if your professor is super-duper old-school or if you go to a really shitty college) and you watch as unknowing subject upon unknowing subject administers painful electric shocks to a person they cannot see, just hear. The person whimpers in the distance, begging not to be shocked. But a "scientist" insists that the experiment goes on--that the subject keeps adminstering the shocks. Despite obvious discomfort, the subject generally keeps shocking until the shockee is rendered silent.
What they don't know? There is no real electric shock. The guy they think they are shocking is actually just an actor--albeit one who is excellent at whimpering pathetically.
Ethics would never allow such an experiment today, of course. (All the 'good' ones are that way--dammit!) But the implications of it were so far-reaching that, as I said, it's still the stuff of Psych 101 today.
Unquestioning obediance to authority figures (or perceived authority figures) is something I never really bought into, personally. Anyone who knew me as a child can reiterate this for you. I was always as I am now, raising my eyebrow disdainfully at the nuns and refusing to do what my parents asked of me unless they delivered a sensible explanation for why I should do said thing. Respect was, and still is in my eyes, something you earn by your actions, not something I would deliver to you unquestioningly.
I was a pain in the ass that way.
I see this strange "Obey the Authority Figures At All Costs" phenomenon quite often at work. It's crazy, really. How did physicians become an "authority figure"? Somehow, they are. I watch and listen as people's doctors make horrible suggestions, prescribe dangerous drugs, refuse to refer them to a specialist for something far beyond the doctor's personal realm of expertise. The consequences of some of these monumental fuck-ups are, well, monumental. Sometimes the patient is so embarrassed to return to a doctor who made him or her feel stupid that they don't go back. They don't call to ask if they should be having "that" reaction to their prescribed drugs. They sometimes die.
This crap pisses me off. People, your doctor is hired by you. To perform a service. If he or she is not performing up to par, freaking fire him/her already. It never ceases to amaze me that the same people who will pitch a ginormous fit right in a salon over what they perceive as a bad haircut will keep going back to the same crappy doctor who belittles them, doesn't have time for their questions, or makes bad decisions. (Note: telling your fat ass to lose weight already or your smelly ass to quit smoking does not qualify as belittling. Lose some weight, fat ass!)
Note to doctors: Don't do these things to people. When someone tells me you have done one of those things, I will send an ambassador to gently teach you the "right" way to be a doctor. If you don't change, I will fucking fire your ass. Hard to keep a steady patient base when an insurer won't cover you. And my clients deserve good doctors. So there.
All of this discussion about authority figures is kind of a roundabout way to share with you a hypothesis I was bouncing off of Sean this morning as I slurped coffee and he crunched corn flakes (Now with Bananas!). This is often how my hypotheses occur--before either one of us are really bright enough to hold our own in the ensuing discussion. It can get quite messy, really.
(That's the problem with keeping news radio on in the morning--they will mention something about Bush. And indubitably, it will piss me off and I will get all in a tither.)
Anyhow. So. My hypothesis. I was asking, audibly, "Who the FUCK in their RIGHT MIND would vote for Bush? This is NOT a rhetorical question. I REALLY DON'T understand! WHY would anyone DO THAT?"
Then, all of a sudden, I knew. Because he is the president. An authority figure. A major authority figure. And he is saying "Vote for me!". So, it stands to reason that one should. I mean, who is this John Kerry guy saying I should vote for him? He's not the boss of me. The president is the boss of me!
In essence, I believe that people will vote for him simply because he is the president.
There you have it. The power of Authority, as proved by Milgram and Redpanda.
It was over 40 years ago, in 1961, that Stanley Milgram undertook his famous, or should I say infamous experiments in Obediance to authority. It's one of those things you learn about in Psych 101 -- the professor brings in the old, grainy, black and white video (or projector if your professor is super-duper old-school or if you go to a really shitty college) and you watch as unknowing subject upon unknowing subject administers painful electric shocks to a person they cannot see, just hear. The person whimpers in the distance, begging not to be shocked. But a "scientist" insists that the experiment goes on--that the subject keeps adminstering the shocks. Despite obvious discomfort, the subject generally keeps shocking until the shockee is rendered silent.
What they don't know? There is no real electric shock. The guy they think they are shocking is actually just an actor--albeit one who is excellent at whimpering pathetically.
Ethics would never allow such an experiment today, of course. (All the 'good' ones are that way--dammit!) But the implications of it were so far-reaching that, as I said, it's still the stuff of Psych 101 today.
Unquestioning obediance to authority figures (or perceived authority figures) is something I never really bought into, personally. Anyone who knew me as a child can reiterate this for you. I was always as I am now, raising my eyebrow disdainfully at the nuns and refusing to do what my parents asked of me unless they delivered a sensible explanation for why I should do said thing. Respect was, and still is in my eyes, something you earn by your actions, not something I would deliver to you unquestioningly.
I was a pain in the ass that way.
I see this strange "Obey the Authority Figures At All Costs" phenomenon quite often at work. It's crazy, really. How did physicians become an "authority figure"? Somehow, they are. I watch and listen as people's doctors make horrible suggestions, prescribe dangerous drugs, refuse to refer them to a specialist for something far beyond the doctor's personal realm of expertise. The consequences of some of these monumental fuck-ups are, well, monumental. Sometimes the patient is so embarrassed to return to a doctor who made him or her feel stupid that they don't go back. They don't call to ask if they should be having "that" reaction to their prescribed drugs. They sometimes die.
This crap pisses me off. People, your doctor is hired by you. To perform a service. If he or she is not performing up to par, freaking fire him/her already. It never ceases to amaze me that the same people who will pitch a ginormous fit right in a salon over what they perceive as a bad haircut will keep going back to the same crappy doctor who belittles them, doesn't have time for their questions, or makes bad decisions. (Note: telling your fat ass to lose weight already or your smelly ass to quit smoking does not qualify as belittling. Lose some weight, fat ass!)
Note to doctors: Don't do these things to people. When someone tells me you have done one of those things, I will send an ambassador to gently teach you the "right" way to be a doctor. If you don't change, I will fucking fire your ass. Hard to keep a steady patient base when an insurer won't cover you. And my clients deserve good doctors. So there.
All of this discussion about authority figures is kind of a roundabout way to share with you a hypothesis I was bouncing off of Sean this morning as I slurped coffee and he crunched corn flakes (Now with Bananas!). This is often how my hypotheses occur--before either one of us are really bright enough to hold our own in the ensuing discussion. It can get quite messy, really.
(That's the problem with keeping news radio on in the morning--they will mention something about Bush. And indubitably, it will piss me off and I will get all in a tither.)
Anyhow. So. My hypothesis. I was asking, audibly, "Who the FUCK in their RIGHT MIND would vote for Bush? This is NOT a rhetorical question. I REALLY DON'T understand! WHY would anyone DO THAT?"
Then, all of a sudden, I knew. Because he is the president. An authority figure. A major authority figure. And he is saying "Vote for me!". So, it stands to reason that one should. I mean, who is this John Kerry guy saying I should vote for him? He's not the boss of me. The president is the boss of me!
In essence, I believe that people will vote for him simply because he is the president.
There you have it. The power of Authority, as proved by Milgram and Redpanda.
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