February 10, 2010

hi, my name is john, and i'm always happy to take advance payment for work i will never do

I'm tempted to just put the YouTube link in here, but I really want you to see the whole After the Rapture Pet Care site. Seriously, guys, send me a job application. And when do we get paid?

Thanks to Katrina for the link.

posted by john at 10:42 AM  •  permalink

November 25, 2009

that word, it does not mean what i think you think it means.

Emphasis mine.

GAINESVILLE, Fla. (USATODAY.com) — The American Civil Liberties Union has sued a north Florida school district, claiming that the Alachua County School District violated students' rights by not allowing them to wear T-shirts with an anti-Islamic message.

The civil rights organization says that while it doesn't agree with the "Islam is of the Devil" message printed on T-shirts distributed by the Dove World Outreach Center, it does support the students' constitutional right to freedom of speech.

posted by john at 04:33 PM  •  permalink

September 18, 2009

yeah, well, you're probably sure of a lot of stupid things

We were grilling brats in Pittsburgh, and as is my wont, I sauteed about an order of magnitude more onions than necessary. Noticing that the middle-aged couple next to us also had brats on their grill, I offered them some onions. They gave us some truly lousy store-bought brownies in exchange.

Six hours later, they needed a favor. "Do you have jumper cables?" the man asked. And then Nelson and I dug out the cables and positioned the vehicle such that they could reach. While Nelson was performing a 17-point turn in his car, the man thanked me for helping.

"Thank you so much for doing this. Really. I'm very grateful. But I'm sure you're both Christians..."

What does that mean? That anyone exhibiting the slightest kindness must share the man's own spiritual beliefs? 'Cause that's what it sounded like. I resisted the impulse to pack up the cables and leave the couple stranded in the nearly empty parking lot. No. I would not do that. I was representing non-believers, and I would be a good witness.

"We are not," I said simply, leaving the man to his own ruminations. No more was said on the matter.

Using his bare, stadium-marinated hands, the man gave us two more truly lousy store-bought brownies for our troubles. As I hucked mine out the car window, I pointed out to Nelson that had he parked the way I'd told him to, the cars' batteries would have been right next to one another.

posted by john at 09:37 AM  •  permalink

June 24, 2008

dobson blight

Obama's stock has taken a dive with me in recent weeks, but leave it to Rev. James Dobson to reverse the trend. Per CNN, this is what Obama said about religion in governance:

"Which passages of scripture should guide our public policy?" Obama asks in the speech. "Should we go with Leviticus, which suggests slavery is OK and that eating shellfish is an abomination? Or we could go with Deuteronomy, which suggests stoning your child if he strays from the faith?"

Sounds reasonable. Meanwhile...

A top U.S. evangelical leader is accusing Sen. Barack Obama of deliberately distorting the Bible and taking a "fruitcake interpretation" of the U.S. Constitution...In the comments to be aired later Tuesday, Dobson said Obama should not be referencing antiquated dietary codes and passages from the Old Testament that are no longer relevant to the teachings of the New Testament.

Presumably Dobson means the part where the New Testament says:

Slaves, obey your masters here on earth. Respect them and honor them with a heart that is true. Obey them just as you would obey Christ. Don't obey them only to please them when they are watching. Do it because you are slaves of Christ. Be sure your heart does what God wants.

Serve your masters with all your heart. Work as if you were not serving people but the Lord. You know that the Lord will give you a reward. He will give to each of you in keeping with the good you do. It doesn't matter whether you are slaves or free. (Ephesians 6)

It almost reads like it was written like a free man, doesn't it? Specifically the same free man who also wrote "Wives, obey your husbands" in Dobson's beloved New Testament. (Ephesians 5)

posted by john at 11:42 AM  •  permalink

March 21, 2008

hail mary, full of herself

My sister is the only one of us five kids to have remained Catholic. And lord, is she ever Catholic. I can't believe the crap she knows about various Vatican dogma and rulings. It is no surprise, then, that she's asked me to testify as she petitions to have her defunct marriage annulled. My free time not being the Catholic Church's primary concern, they sent me a list of 18 essay questions, each with several sub-questions. About a guy I met once, on his wedding day. For a church that I think dispenses even more bullshit than average.

Groan.

Question #6 makes up for it, though. This, I can enjoy writing.

Please describe [your sister's] family background. Were there any special circumstances or problems (like divorce, tensions in the home, difficulty relating to parents, absence of parents, death, illness, alcohol or drug abuse, emotional difficulties, financial hardship, etc.)?

Can I respond "Yes?"

posted by john at 09:49 AM  •  permalink

April 23, 2007

she double-dog dares you to prove her wrong. so do i.

Never one to pass up a television camera, tireless media whore Fred Phelps is picketing the funerals of the Virginia Tech victims. Says his daughter:

“The evidence is they were not Christian. God does not do that to his servants.”

posted by john at 10:51 AM  •  permalink

April 06, 2007

atheistic help, 5¢

Near my campus office yesterday, a couple of atheists had set up a card table with the sign "Learn about atheism. All questions and comments welcome."

Taking them at their word, I asked "Why do you, of all people, care what I believe?"

They babbled about wanting people to divorce first-century superstitions and think rationally, like them.

"But that doesn't answer my question. What's the difference between a Muslim wanting me to embrace his beliefs, a Christian wanting me to embrace hers, and you very much wanting me to embrace yours? Isn't your card-table setup here just a different flavor of needy?"

Turns out all questions weren't welcome.

I'd set up a Church of Validation Theory card table, but the irony is just too rich.

posted by john at 08:33 AM  •  permalink

March 26, 2007

mailbag: jesus checks in

"No one wants to read all your tiresome Jesus-bashing," says a dully representative piece of reader mail from fundy types. He then proceeds to tell me what everyone does want to read.

Is there a more fascinating psychological phenomenon than the capacity of the religious weird to take enormous (and self-serving) leaps of causality? It's their superpower. If you don't want their religion taught in your kid's science class, you're intolerant. If you're uneasy about the war, you hate freedom or the troops. If you have nothing in particular against gay marriage, you want to destroy the family. And if you mock the attention-whoring excesses of fringe religious types, you're bashing Jesus.

Stop confusing yourselves with Jesus, please. He'll doubtless thank you for it. If you read carefully, or if you have a friend with two ganglia rubbing together who can read carefully to you, you'll see that I've never, in fact, bashed Jesus. Just you. And despite how loudly and misspelled you assert the contrary, there's a gaping chasm of difference between these two parties.

For that matter, you're hardly "everyone," either. On Jesus' and everyone's behalf, I ask you to kindly stop the impersonations. Don't make us get a restraining order.

• • •

Syrupy Stank troll Karen send in this comedic take on the Bible and religion. It's an odd combination of mocking and affectionate, and God looks and sounds disturbingly like George Lucas. The part where "Dad" hands Jesus a drawing of a crucifixion, and Jesus' stunned expression, was priceless.

posted by john at 07:07 AM  •  permalink

March 05, 2007

good wiki, bad wiki

Wikipedia allows everyone to contribute to its encyclopedia's articles, and that allows us to arrive at Truth—or if not Truth, some sort of triangulated approximation of it. Anyone in the world may edit its entries.

Clearly, Wikipedia has a liberal bias.

Fortunately, some enterprising right-doers have created a new wiki repository for Truth. You can tell it's unbiased because they call it "Conservapedia." And you can tell it's conservative because they don't mention supply-side economist Jude Wanniski or Congressmen J.C. Watts or Orrin Hatch.

As the site points out, Wikipedia is guilty of liberal bias on 29 documented occasions. For example:

• The entry for the Renaissance in Wikipedia refuses to give enough credit to Christianity.
• Wikipedia often uses foreign spelling of words
• Wikipedia removed and permanently blocked a page identifying its many biases
• Wikipedia's errors spill undetected into newspapers

And the crux of the matter:

• For example, even though most Americans reject the theory of evolution, Wikipedia editors commenting on the topic are nearly 100% pro-evolution. Edits to include facts against the theory of evolution are almost immediately censored.

Conservapedia's claim of "facts against" evolution includes a citation, and if you follow it, the citation leads straight to damning evidence: Conservapedia's own evolution article.

It's about time.

In fact, if you search for "evolution" on Conservapedia, you're immediately redirected to the "Theory of Evolution" article. A search for "intelligent design," on the other hand, leads straight to the article "Intelligent Design."

The "affirmative action" article is an unbiased masterpiece, dispensing with meely-mouthed critical thought and getting straight to what needs to be said. Its first sentence:

Affirmative action is an area in which government policy is contradictory.

Smiting bias at every turn, Conservapedia tells us that Islam has origins in Paganism, that "significant studies" show that homosexuals aren't born that way, and that the Spanish Inquisition was a method of torture. And finally, someone got the Crusades right. The fourth Crusade was tragic because it "never reached the Holy Land and ended with the crusaders’ sacking Constantinople—a Christian city."

"It seems that the Christian armies lost sight of our goals to bring and spread love and Christianity along the way, " the unbiased author continues. "The Crusades went against our Christian teachings."

posted by john at 07:59 AM  •  permalink

March 02, 2007

who would jesus shitcan?

Reluctant Stank troll Katrina sends in this gem.

You have to love when a pastor "guarantees" who Jesus would want fired. Because that Jesus guy, he hated on gender-switching public officials from way back.

posted by john at 10:37 AM  •  permalink

so very, very gay

From distinguished Stank troll Jean comes this ludicrously timely story about a young girl punished by her school for using "gay" the way I described.

What's striking to me about this tale isn't that "that's so gay" is considered offensive—isn't that fairly obvious, in the end?—it's the context here. The girl is Mormon. (Yes, them again. It's Theme Week.) And "that's so gay" was her response to her classmates' ridicule of her religion. I'm not defending the girl's choice of weapons, but I think you have got to call this self-defense. Where's that part of this story? What punishment was handed down to her tormentors? What's the difference between slandering someone's sexual orientation and slandering their religion, except for the fashion of the day?

posted by john at 06:40 AM  •  permalink

February 28, 2007

for every action

Whenever people first tell me they like this site, I caution them: read it long enough, and I will eventually get around to offending you. For it is on this page that I record my irritation with humanity, and "humanity" is a rather inclusive group. If I have sacred cows, I don't know what they would be. Skewering whites, blacks, Latinos, Asians, Native Americans? Check, check, check, check, check. Christians, Mormons, and Muslims? Oh my. Young, old, rich, poor, left, right, me, you—I've belittled 'em all.

When I'm posting, I sometimes wonder "Have I gone too far this time?" Almost invariably, though, reader reaction is supportive. I attribute this to the reactive nature of my posts. This is one of the things I learned from Bugs Bunny, in fact: the ethic of attack. If you only attack when provoked, no one can really accuse you of unfairness. You don't see me mock Jews, for instance. That isn't for a lack of material supplied by my Jewish brother-in-law. He's eminently mockable. Just ask him. But collectively, Jews have left me alone. They do not offend me. They do not demand my endorsement, they do not threaten to kill me, they do not attempt to ram their views into the curriculum of the schools for which I pay, and they have not damaged people I love. Thus far, Jews get a pass. I have no particular love for them; they've simply given me nothing to which I might react. They're Canada.

For the most part, I never hear from parties who might be offended. Or if I hear from 'em, they usually aren't critical. When I mock rich old white farts (ROWFs) and their overdeveloped sense of entitlement, I get supportive mail from that very demographic. When I mock young blacks for asserting that their blackness makes them better qualified than me to declare what white people are thinking, I get words of support from fed-up blacks. Ditto with parents, perhaps my most surprisingly supportive demographic. (How many shots do I have to take, people?) In the end, only one demographic consistently feels compelled to respond with hostility. Every time I post about religion, I know exactly what's coming.

And these people, dear reader, are why I disallow comments on this site. You don't want to read what I read.

You'd think God's chosen people, the heaven-bound elite (whatever religion they practice) would have loftier things to do than portray themselves as my victims. I'm a hideous, tiresome Mormon-basher, for instance. Just look at last week's posts. I'm just another in a long line of persecutors in their history of innocent and quiet self-reflection. I'm Pilate to their Jesus, they tell me as they busily nail their own limbs to a cross.

Better yet are the mails that declare that I'm a stupid, miserable person and it doesn't matter at all what I think. My opinion is so inconsequential, in fact, that they took the time to write. The logic is plainly evident.

Just once, I'd like to see a religion post elicit rebuttals that don't put words in my mouth or cherry-pick phrases out of context in order to imply a different context. Just once, I'd like to get feedback that argues with the actual content of the post, as opposed to claiming victimhood or vilifying me.

Are you people intellectually capable of this? And why does that feel like such a pointless question?

posted by john at 07:10 AM  •  permalink

February 22, 2007

mormons and me, part ii

Continued from yesterday

It was a special kind of heartbreak, something I'd not felt before. Or since. Someone had told me about a heinous stereotype with which I was utterly unfamiliar and had arrogantly predicted my friend's descent into it. I had defended my friend. "No, not Leanne! You don't know her at all!" And then I watched my friend descend ever lower, exactly as predicted. Not a little. Not partially. Exactly.

I was ashamed for her.

But the decision was made, and after the obvious conversation about the rashness of the engagement—"Actually, John, for people in my church this isn't fast at all!"—I was supportive. I decided to work on my relationship with Lump.

It did not go well.

Lump was dim, lazy. It was impossible to imagine him getting his degree, let alone getting a job. He slurred his words lazily and never let his utter lack of merit stop him from holding forth about himself, especially to women. Three of my girlfriends have met him: Fucking Amy, the Approval Whore, and Allie. A tomboy, a show pony, and a hippie. Three very different women with really only one thing in common: they despised Lump. Of him, Fucking Amy once sighed in exasperation, "It's kind of hard to respect a guy who has to close his eyes to finish every sentence."

Allie and the AW would later applaud that description.

He was thoughtless toward Leanne and clearly expected her to defer to him on every subject, whether it was where to eat or where to live. Men are on our best behavior when we're first dating, and his best was anyone else's worst.

A trivial example: one time the three of us were eating at a buffet. Lump and I sat down first. I took one of the two booth seats, and he took the other, leaving Leanne a chair. "Don't make me embarrass you by offering your fiance my seat," I growled, and he grudgingly moved. She returned and praised him for leaving her the booth seat, praise he gobbled. When he next left, Leanne whirled at me. "You told him to do leave me the booth, didn't you?"

I said nothing, instead imagining the paucity of consideration that must come her way in order for her to have arrived at this conclusion.

"You know," I said later as she washed his clothes in the dorm washing machine. "What you get when you're dating, you're gonna get in spades once you're married. This is him at his very best."

"When it's the right one, you know it," she replied, looking forward into space, descending lower.

They got married, and as Hilary foretold, I was not allowed to attend. Years passed. Lump avoided any kind of work for seven years, and for a time they subsisted on Costco tortillas. Toiling as a substitute teacher, Leanne was sick constantly. When I would visit, I would bring gifts of groceries. And when I would visit, Lump would clumsily hint that he too would like presents.

"Did you wee this cool [insert artist's name] book? I love it. Love it. But it's $200," he would lament forlornly.

"That's a damned shame."

"I really need it, but I can't afford it," he'd try, frustrated with my obtuseness.

"It's crazy what books cost, isn't it?"

My favorite hint of all time: "Leanne sure needs a faster modem for our computer."

Poverty be damned, they started procreating. To this day, I honestly have no idea how many kids they have. Every time I talk to her, she has the same "great news." Mind you, they still haven't paid the hospital bills for kid #1. Isn't that sort of like, um, stealing? When I point out this apparent ethical lapse, Leanne is oddly untroubled. "I just trust that God will somehow provide," she says, knowing, but not feeling, that I think she's an idiot.

Therein you have my dominant impression of Mormons. They're famously and conspicuously kind and happy, even during obviously miserable situations. But there's more. There's a highly compartmentalized intellectual stunting. I've met many really bright Mormons who converse expertly on science or politics or philosophy. And then you'll enter what I've come to know as a "Mormon blind spot," where church culture and dogma trump all else, and suddenly you're dealing with a reflexively, astoundingly unthinking person. Leanne, for example, would never imagine stiffing a hospital for the cost of repairing a broken leg. But baby bills? That's different. Creating more Mormons is a Mormon girl's highest possible calling, and the stealing is not only justified, it's somehow not even stealing.

As time has gone on, the blind spots have grown. Leanne's entire life is her litter of kids and the church. They're predictably atrocious parents. As she's descended further into stereotype, as my friend has been willingly usurped by this misogynistic culture, our friendship has strained and broken. We still give it lip service, but she's effectively out of my life. The wonderful woman who was my friend is gone now, dead by her own hand.

• • •

When she was nine months pregnant with her second child, I spent a weekend fending off Lump's hints for money and sadly regarding my friend's life of Lump servitude. He was without shame, putting his wife before his own selfishness not once. I attempted to embarrass him by insisting that I, not his ridiculously pregnant wife, do the cooking, dishes and housework, but my shot impacted harmlessly on Lump's surface. Depressed by this, I said nothing as I did the dishes.

Before I left, Leanne and I got our first opportunity in six years to be alone together. We went to lunch, and for a fleeting, miraculous moment, my friend came back to me. She was herself. There was no posed happiness, no rationalizations, no Lump. It was grand. I told her I missed her, and she cried. Oh my god. That's an honest emotion for the first time in years, I thought. Was there a flicker of self-awareness after all?

Then Leanne surprised me. Quietly, ashamed, avoiding eye contact, she spoke. "John, do you remember what you tried to tell me back in the dorms, when I was doing laundry?"

Of course I remembered. I'd thought of little else all weekend.

"Well," she said softly, almost inaudibly, "I get it now."

Oh god.

And with those four heartbreaking words, I went from wishing my friend would stop rationalizing happiness to wishing that she were even better at it. I don't need to be right. I don't want it. Not here. Not this time.

posted by john at 10:27 AM  •  permalink

February 21, 2007

mormons and me, part i

Before I left Ohio, what I knew about Mormons could be summed up in four words: "the Osmonds" and "Danny Ainge." Like with out-of-closet gays, I couldn't name a single Mormon I knew.

When Maddie and I simultaneously went to grad school, she in Indiana and me in Washington, I paid for her expenses by keeping mine very low. I took out a student loan, sent her the money, and myself lived in a dorm. My living in that dorm for a year led to my meeting Elizabeth, which is all well and good, but it also led to my meeting Fucking Amy and Mormonism.

The latter came in the most insidious form of all: an utterly charming, bright young redhead named Leanne. Hoping to just serve my time and move to proper accommodations, I hadn't wanted much to do with my fellow residents, but Leanne wore me down. She wouldn't take no for an answer, pounding on my locked door until I relented. There was no resisting her. We became friends.

Many a night we'd sit in my dorm, she sharing the excitement of her newfound love with the guy down the hall, me sharing the pain of what turned out to be the end times with Maddie. Leanne was becoming an English teacher, and I was teaching for the first time. We talked about teaching, life, love, plans, dreams. I got sucked into this fantastically warm, kind woman's orbit.

Religion didn't come up that much, but I knew hers was important to her. It was that Osmond thing I knew nothing about. Rather than admit ignorance, I went to the library. There was a surprisingly deep collection of books about Mormonism, both admiring and damning. I skipped past those and cracked open a more neutral, academic source, the Harvard Theological Review. An hour later, I shut the book and stared out the window.

This was the most moronic religion I'd ever heard of.

Some American teenage brat claims that he's talked to an angel and now leads the one true religion, and these morons actually, like, believe him? I thought. What the fucking fuck? For God's sake, the angel was even named "Moroni." And then there were these magical gold plates no one ever saw, instructions from God to revise the bible and, presumably, to marry as many teenage girls as possible before it became politically inexpedient.

It turns out I hadn't known any Mormons previously because Midwesterners ran 'em out of the Midwest in the 1800s. I too wasn't in danger of becoming a Mormon anytime soon, but I also didn't hold it against Leanne. I believed in her, if not her especially silly religion.

Meanwhile, I became friends with another young woman, Hilary. She hailed from Salt Lake City and had been raised Mormon, but she had walked away as a teenager and never looked back—except when the church came knocking on her door, which was apparently very, very often. Hil was mildly amused that I was becoming close to a Mormon and even more amused by my ignorance. She took it upon herself to get me up to speed. I learned about the Holy Mormon Underwear. I learned that wouldn't be allowed into the Temple when my friend got married. I learned about the vow of masturbation. I learned about in absentia baptisms of the dead. I learned about the baby heaven full of souls waiting to be birthed by good Mormon girls.

This religion just kept getting stupider and stupider.

Hil got personal. "Let me guess. She's the most upbeat, kind, cloying person you know."

Um.

"Let me tell you what's going to happen with your friend," she declared with jarring confidence. "She's going to marry the first Mormon guy she meets here, and she's going to marry him fast. He'll be just back from his mission and horny as hell. They'll start crapping out kids by the bushel, and she'll spend the rest of her life in total subjugation, dropping litters and doing chores for the church. Guaranteed."

"Not Leanne," I said. "You don't know her like I do. She loves teaching. Her whole world is teaching English to ESL kids. Yeah, she's dating the only other Mormon in our dorm, and yeah, he's just back from his mission, but she's even told me she won't get married for six years. Until her career is established."

"Mmm hmm," Hil replied.

"Besides, the guy is a thoughtless lump. She'd never marry him."

"Of course not."

After Christmas break, Leanne came back with an engagement ring on her finger. Lump had proposed exactly three months after they had met. Leanne had accepted. They were getting married in the summer and would celebrate their three-month wedding anniversary a year to the day after they met.

"What about waiting until you were 27?" I asked.

"Oh, forget that!" she squealed, delighted.

Oh.

Tomorrow: I become a follower of the latter-day Prophet Hilary.

posted by john at 07:53 AM  •  permalink

February 10, 2007

if you show me how, i’m totally on board with this

A half-scripture quoted on the sign outside the Kingston Christian Church:

"Do not fear those who kill the body."

posted by john at 03:59 PM  •  permalink

January 12, 2007

atheitards

Stank troll Elin, who could not possibly be as hot in real life as she is in my imagination (right), poses a challenge. She tells of an trend among young atheists. They record footage of themselves renouncing the Holy Spirit, encourage others to do the same, and post it on YouTube. How, Elin leadingly asks, does this gibe with my validation theory?

Answer: all too well.

I really don't see a difference between this monkey-see-monkey-do, "have you posted your renunciation yet?" movement and a monkey-see-monkey-do, "have you been baptized yet?" one. Although self-described opposites, all of these people are followers. They are not content to walk quietly with their beliefs; they must have their beliefs heard and echoed by others. And what's the difference between watching atheist YouTube clips and watching TV religious services? Between atheist meetings and Christian churches? To me, none. It's all so much mutual masturbation. Want to distinguish yourself intellectually? Seek out someone who doesn't already agree with you.

These folks doubtless see themselves as opposites, even mortal enemies, but to me they're all just different flavors of needy.

posted by john at 10:40 AM  •  permalink

January 01, 2007

happy new year!

In honor of the occasion, I updated the stupid church signs page.

posted by john at 09:27 AM  •  permalink

December 14, 2006

finally, something good comes from jim and tammy faye bakker having sex

I'm astonished I haven't seen more pieces like this.

posted by john at 12:06 PM  •  permalink

start the clock

Senator Tim Johnson suffered a brain hemorrhage this morning, and as he fights for his life, control of the Senate might be in the balance. If he were replaced with a Republican, the Senate would be split, and Cheney would cast the tie-breaking vote.

What's the over/under on when some fucktard will claim that God smited Johnson because He wants the Republicans in charge? I say within six hours.

C'mon, someone ask Pat Robertson for a statement.

posted by john at 08:01 AM  •  permalink

November 07, 2006

open-mindedness

Sign at the Kingston Christian Church this morning:

ONLY THING A CHRISTIAN NEEDS TO DO: BI

posted by john at 08:36 PM  •  permalink

October 23, 2006

jesus casts a stone

I saw this in someone's sig this morning:

"If it were beneficial, their father would produce children already circumcised" — Jesus, Gospel of Thomas

Jesus had a bunch of free time, apparently.

But really, should a god who gave us wisdom teeth and gallbladders and belly buttons and men's nipples really be calling anything useless?

posted by john at 08:36 AM  •  permalink

September 22, 2006

cumming first since 1832

It's not quite a stupid church sign, but check out this Georgia church's url: cummingfirst.com

posted by john at 09:27 AM  •  permalink

September 20, 2006

kettles and pots

Esteemed Stank troll Dug points to this Slate article, which neatly crystallizes the papal hypocrisy (papocricy?) I was talking about earlier.

posted by john at 02:19 PM  •  permalink

fundamentalist week in review

So to summarize Papalgate, here is the 14th Century writing that the Pope quoted:

“Show me just what Muhammad brought that was new, and then you shall find things only evil and inhuman, such as his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached.”

al Qaeda was quick with a rebuttal:

“You infidels and despots, we will continue our jihad and never stop until God avails us to chop your necks and raise the fluttering banner of monotheism, when God’s rule is established governing all people and nations."

Touché.

• • •

In all the apology hullabaloo, I haven't heard one person point out that it was a Pope who sanctioned the Crusades.

Pot, meet kettle.

Kettle, pot.

posted by john at 07:37 AM  •  permalink

August 04, 2006

revision

It turns out that I misquoted the God quote a few days ago. The sign does not read

I love you.-
I love you.-
I love you.-
- God

as I said. The actual punctuation is

I love you-
I love you-
I love you-.
- God

I thought I should set the record straight. Because my way would have been, you know, stupid.

posted by john at 09:18 PM  •  permalink

August 02, 2006

double your pleasure

Praise be. The Kingston Christian Church has taken to putting a different message on either side of their sign. Today, they're God's press agent.

I saw that.
- God

reads one side. Sayeth the other:

I love you.-
I love you.-
I love you.-
- God

Now I'm not the Kingston Christian Church, so I can't really speak for God, but if I were Him—and Me willing, someday I will be—I'd prefer to speak for myself. Or failing that, I'd at least choose to be "quoted" on a vessel a tad less, well, white-trashy than this roadside sign. This got me thinking. What would be the penalty for falsely attributing quotes to the Almighty? I'm no theologian, but I hope it's an everlasting fate with the words "toes" and "Cuisinart" in it.

posted by john at 06:36 PM  •  permalink

July 25, 2006

self-awareness is a beautiful thing

The sign at the Kingston Christian Church this morning:

FEAR KNOCKED.
FAITH ANSWERED.

posted by john at 07:17 AM  •  permalink

April 13, 2006

can’t nobody do me like jesus

An actual Hezekiah Walker lyric. Write your own joke.

posted by john at 11:22 AM  •  permalink

April 05, 2006

melon baller

By special reader request, here is the melon baller story. Once again, we mine the fertile, sanity-hanging-by-a-thread period of a decade ago.

I was standing in the glacial returns line at Target. Bored, irritated, I scanned my environment for a means of entertaining myself. The wedding/baby registry machine was to my right. "Hmmm," I thought. "Let's do the math. Fucking Amy broke off our engagement 29 months ago. Six months off for appearances, four months of searching for a man exactly like her father, 19 months of stalling to get to the magical, round we've known each other for two years mark....this is about the bare minimum time she'd need to get re-engaged. Let's see."

BOOP-BOOP-BEEP-BEEP-BOOP

"Ho-ly crap." The wedding was in a few months.

My mind reeled. My math was right, or at least it wasn't wrong. But who really expected a hit? And who registers at Target? I have no recollection of returning my item. I printed the registry and went home to reel some more.

For the next couple of months, I had an engrossing new hobby: fantasizing about crashing the wedding. It's not like I didn't know where it'd be: the very church we hadn't wanted to use for our wedding and that her parents had strenuously insisted upon. ("With all due respect, Ken, it's not your wedding. It's ours," I'd said. "No, John, you're wrong. It's ours," came the reply.) But what to do? Pipe up when the minister asks for objections? Perhaps I could sit in the congregation, let my cell phone ring about 20 times, answer it, stand up, and drolly announce "Amy, it's Jesus. He wants to know why you're wearing white." Or should I ask to dance with the bride? Catch the bouquet with a flourish? I had many discussions with fellow jiltee Elizabeth, who was game to help with the cell phone or parking lot fliers or whatever I decided to do. As satisfying as revenge would have been, though, there was one undeniable truth: seeing Amy and her family would punish me more than it would them. I just didn't want to get slimed again. Yet the serendipity of it all compelled me to use this info somehow, didn't it? And thus I decided to amp it down to a sterile little mindfuck that would constitute no burden on me whatsoever. Perhaps if I simply sent a gift. Yes. That was the right tone. But not months ahead of time—two weeks before the wedding would suffice, right during the highest-anxiety period. With any luck, that would be two weeks they spent dreading the thud of my other shoe. Another shoe that would never come. Perfect.

I perused the registry for something appropriate. "Maybe I can send the groom knives," I thought. And then I saw it. The I-can't-even-believe-this answer to my prayers: they actually registered for a four dollar mellon baller. (I pause to let the spectacular white-trashedness of it all sink in. Ready? Resume.) And thus did I etch "Happy Balling!" on its handle and ship it to the groom two weeks before the ceremony. There would no thank you note. Ingrates.

• • •

Three years later, I was waiting in line at the same Target. "Well, my math was right the first time, and according to Hoyle you start procreating at the two year mark, so..."

BOOP-BOOP-BEEP-BEEP-BOOP

"Ho-ly crap." The baby was due in a few months. But no, I didn't send them the First Christening doll for which they registered.

posted by john at 06:24 AM  •  permalink

February 17, 2006

thank you jesus, indeed

What took the world so long to invent the farting preacher?

If you're the type who lunches on bouillabaisse whilst perusing The New Yorker, this clip might not be for you.

posted by john at 07:18 AM  •  permalink

February 04, 2006

is this heathen?

DETROIT - Last night I attended arguably my best concert ever, a gospel revue that apparently Detroit hosts annually on Super Bowl weekend. What a high-energy, positivity-wallowing show. I defy anyone, believer or not, to not leave that room feeling like they could bend steel. Observations:

• Featured acts included Patti Labelle, the Winans, Mary Mary, the Clark Sisters, and my personal favorite, Hezekiah Walker and the LFC. All were great, but Walker's group stood out. Best use of voice as instrument I've ever seen. I got goosebumps.


• Labelle blew her voice out on "Somewhere over the Rainbow," and her choir had to finish it. Lame, but the woman is 61.


• Labelle ripped the NFL for relegating Detroit's considerable local talent to the pre-game stuff and having the Rolling Stones do halftime. Per Labelle, Aretha had to insist on singing the national anthem.


• Mack Strong was in the front row. I hope he stayed out late.


• If you ever want to feel pathetically underdressed, and you know you do, put on your best outfit and go to a gospel show in Detroit.


• At one point, I planned to write "the jesusing was minimal." But then it became maximal. If you're not into holdin' hands and telling strangers that Jesus does [I forget what], this is not your venue. To me, it's part of the cost of my ticket.


• Seeing Ray "unsolved murder" Lewis hop around and jesusfy made me decidedly queasy.


• Since Monique gave me her blessing to lust after cute black chicks (actually, I don't think she said "lust," but I am what I am), allow me to propose to the sparkly, inhumanly lovely LFC choir member in the brown skirt and sweater vest. I don't know you at all, but I know you're utterly without imperfection and I want, nay, need to give you half of everything. My name is John; here's your key. And don't worry about racial, geographical or cultural divides between us. Compared to the spiritual one, they're nothing.


• While I'm grateful for the music it inspires and respectful of their beliefs (funny how their respecting mine inspires that), I'm always uncomfortably aware of the imperialistic element to black Christianity. It's the elephant in the room. I've never fully understood why modern blacks so comfortably embrace the religion forced upon their slave ancestors. Yes, I know religious faith was all the hope slaves had. I understand. That doesn't explain its persistence across the centuries. Retaining something spiritual from something so awful seems...well, I just have complete disconnect. I don't get it. I'd think it would be tinged with negative associations. Viewpoints beyond "Because it's the one true faith!" are invited.

posted by john at 07:12 AM  •  permalink

January 21, 2006

chronic, what?

There are two types of people. There are those who can emotionally invest in a talking beaver who wears chain-mail armor, and there are those who cannot. Or if you prefer, there are people who think Santa Claus' giving children weapons with which to kill heretics is super-cool, and there are those who don't. In both cases, I am rather decidedly in the latter category.

I knew I was in for a steamin' pile of Christian allegory, but Narnia is rather like those World War II propaganda cartoons such as "Bugs Bunny Nips the Nips." It's decidedly creepy to watch entertainment intended to manipulate the thoughts of youth, and I couldn't help but imagine Christian parents everywhere using the movie to recruit impressionable kids far too young to be making spiritual choices. "Jesus is just like Aslan! You don't want to be like one of the ugly, dead people who didn't follow Aslan, do you?"

posted by john at 09:16 AM  •  permalink

January 04, 2006

contest!

When the original Star Wars was released, I was a little kid. The target audience, even. I begged my mother to take me to see it...until the day that the Catholic Times arrived in our mailbox, trumpeting on its cover what a great Catholic allegory Star Wars was. Cue the role reversal. Mom wanted to go, and I scored the earth with nail-marks as she dragged me to the theatre. Fortunately, in this as in all things, the Catholic church was utterly full of shit. But I do miss the Times and its wildly entertaining movie reviews, which deemed 2 out of 3 films "morally offensive." I, in turn, called those movies "must sees."

• • •

This morning I found an evangelical Christian web site that reviews movies for objectionableness. Hallelujah! Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, for instance, was dinged for its "evolutionary content." God doth hate static content so. At a glance, though, here was my single favorite statement, about the documentary March of the Penguins:

The narrator states penguins have been around for thousands of years, which is untrue because, according to Creation science findings, the Earth is actually younger than we thought (unless "thousands of years" meant anywhere from 5,000 to 8,000 years before Christ).

I'd rate that 8/10 on the slack-jawed stupidity scale, but I'm sure there's a 10 up there. Shall we make it a reader contest?

posted by john at 08:52 AM  •  permalink

December 23, 2005

wonder of wonders

Steeped in Catholic tradition as a kid, I thought I knew what a "miracle" was. It was turning water into wine, or walking on water, or God saving people from the killer hurricane He sent. Maybe it wasn't necessarily divine, but it should certainly have an element of the immortal about it, like the end of the Cal-Stanford game. Football fans don't need me to say which Cal-Stanford game. The miraculous one. If every game ended that way, it wouldn't be a miracle, now, would it?

Thrice. That's how many times I've heard ordinary childbirth referred to as a "miracle" in the last 24 hours. Most of my friends have been experiencing miracles, lately. Identical miracles. It's like Starbucks started selling mass-produced miracles along with the coffee mugs and dreadfully lousy CDs. Miracles are threatening to overpopulate and starve themselves out.

"When your dog did the exact same thing in your garage last year, was that a miracle?" I ask.

"You're so smug/self-righteous/pretentious," snorts the person claiming that cranking out one of the nearly quarter-million babies born every day is miraculous.

posted by john at 12:28 PM  •  permalink

December 15, 2005

pin the tail on the ’tard

Kids! Can you guess which is the satire?

posted by john at 05:56 PM  •  permalink

December 08, 2005

the romans had it right the first time

For lack of an alternative, yesterday I listened to talk radio, and I was horrified by what I learned: Christians are under a "relentless, genocidal assault" from the left. Oh, and the Democrats are funded "exclusively by leftist Hollywood kooks intent on destroying Christianity." Pass it on.

And count me in.

As for the raging "happy holidays" furor, to me it's all good. The terrorists have officially lost; we're back to getting our panties twisted up over the silliest, most pointless stuff imaginable.

posted by john at 09:24 AM  •  permalink

November 05, 2005

spiritual shell game

After much soul-searching, I've decided I can no longer abide living a deception. I have decided to come out. I'm out and proud. I do this not to be in-your-face about my sexual orientation, nor do I consider myself a hero. I'm just tired of living a lie. Yes, I am a heterosexual man.

Not news? No kidding. It irks me, however, that the opposite is still considered sensational. Why do we give a rat's ass about who Sheryl Swoopes bumps into when she rolls over at night? Seems to me that an "enlightened" approach would be to think of her orientation not at all. It is whatever it is. It's as interesting to me as her height. Alas. Her height isn't emblazoned on the ESPN The Mag cover.

Swoopes has come out. Great for her. She's good people, and I really hope things works out. But until it doesn't, it ain't news.

• • •

Also in that issue is Matthew Cole's article about an obsessive-compulsive indoor soccer player by the name of Adam Bruckner. (He supposedly helped to solve a murder, although the relevance of his contribution isn't really evident). His O-C disorder took a typically eccentric form. He counted objects obsessively, and he associated random things with future outcomes. The number of times he flicked a light switch when leaving a room, for instance, controlled his health and his Mom's safety. And so he lived his life, mystically controlling events by clearing sidewalks of pebbles, touching every tree and telephone pole with both hands and knees, counting cracks in the sidewalk, and so forth. One day,

...he found himself transfixed by a streetlight; if he didn't touch it, something bad would happen. "I'll get injured during practice," he worried. "Or I'll be hurt in a car accident and end my career." But something different happened that day. During his travels, Bruckner had found himself growing more spiritual as he sought to connect with the strangers around him. Though only vaguely Catholic—he hadn't read the Bible since Sunday school—he couldn't help thinking there was a common thread in his encounters: the woman on the train who talked to him about the power of God; the Christian who picked him up when he was hitchhiking; the pastor who stuck around for hours after Bruckner stopped by an Evangelical retreat looking to catch a ride. Now, as he stood there on that Baltimore street, staring at that light pole, he could hear a voice—his voice—rising above the noise in his head. Trust God and you'll be all right. So he walked right by that pole, didn't touch it. And much to his surprise, he felt better, not worse. He felt free. For the first time since he was a boy, Bruckner's obsessions abated.

I found this paragraph absolutely jarring. I'm sure there are those who read this and see the power of Christ healing a tortured soul, but me, I just see a man substituting one arbitrary, imaginary comfort for another. Touching a light pole brought needed balance and sense to his life. Then in one spectacular moment, he traded belief systems; now poof—believing in God brings his life needed balance and sense. Whoa. A better example of the emotional role of religion you will never find.

Still, you have to be impressed by his evidence: his chilling pattern of running into evangelical Christians who were actually willing to discuss their faith. What are the odds? I mean, what are the freaking odds?!? In the Small Blessings Department, let's be thankful he didn't run into three Amway salesmen willing to talk about pyramid schemes.

posted by john at 12:39 PM  •  permalink

October 31, 2005

perhaps in-baptismal interviews aren’t the sharpest idea ever

Now if you're the woman who was getting baptized, this is a real test of resolve.

posted by john at 12:03 AM  •  permalink

October 30, 2005

zero tolerance

I'm flattened by cold meds today. Thus incapacitated, I need to quote something so inept that no further derision is necessary. I need a layup. I leave you with a favorite piece of reader mail, which a little research shows was written by a student at Trinity Baptist College about the president of the Christian Law Association, several months after the Schiavo coroner's report. Enjoy.

Hey there John- sorry to bother you again, just wanted to drop a note. First I'll appologize for my spelling, I've discovered through reading a bit of you mind on your site here that you despire poor spelling! I was intrigued by your words on the Teri Schiavo case. I recently listened to Dr. David Gibbs III, who was the head of the defense team on the case. (He came through town.) I was actually quite suprised by what he expounded. He said that the problem with the Schiavo case was not a simple "pulling of the plug" but that, as we all are aware, it was a matter of removing her feeding tube. Teri could do everything for herself- she could walk around the room, breathe on her own, and even communicate with those present. She simply didn't have the ability to palce the food in her own mouth because her hands were unable to be used. If you placed food to her mouth she could eat it! They resorted to a feeding tube because it was at the request of her spouse. 9Who then requested they remove it and allow her to die of dehydration.) Infact, the day that she died, and the last time that Teri's mother visited her, she told her mom that she loved her. It was rough, and sounded like that of a handicapped child, but it was clear and unmistakeable. Dr. Gibbs was present to see and hear this. He had a three hour discussion with Larry King about this entire Schiavo drama that unfolded in front of the world. After learning the details of the case that the media didn't light upon too much, it really made me stop and think. Take care John, hope all is well!

posted by john at 11:47 AM  •  permalink

October 22, 2005

life, schmife.
choice, schmoice.
i’m now just plain ol’ pro-abortion.

Especially if it involves anyone involved in the production of this maudlin, ham-handed, steamin' pile of pathos. And forget this second trimester nonsense; I'll abort them well into their 60s. Listen to it. You'll understand. If you can hear this without thinking of 1) the Chipmunks, 2) South Park, 3) the Lollypop Kids, or 4) suicide, I salute you.

The backstory:

Lil' Markie (Volume 1)
There's no photos or credits anywhere on this album. Just the sickly drawing on the cover and a list of song titles. I bought it for 50 cents on a hunch after noticing the title: "Diary of an Unborn Child".

As far as bizarre Christian LPs, I gotta say, this is this most extreme thing I've ever heard. It's some full grown man with a munchkin voice, singing terrifying songs about drug use, abortion and being a fat kid and each fill me with a profound sense of dread, horror, and disgust.

At one point, he acts out the part of a baby fetus, telling how happy he is to have fully formed fingernails at 4 1/2 weeks, and a well functioning heart after 6 1/2 weeks, etc., etc.

And then ... You can guess what happens.

source

posted by john at 07:45 AM  •  permalink

September 30, 2005

insecure faith

Speaking of validation, the great Leonard Pitts writes today about one of the issues I touched on. Under his "Insecurity" subhead you'll find the Validation Theory in full bloom.

posted by john at 10:41 AM  •  permalink

the validation manifesto

Several women have already stopped reading. Several weary women.

I've referred to my "Validation Theory" many times on this page, but I've never spelled it out. Simply put, I believe that the primary social force in the world is the human need for validation. In the bulk of human interactions, we are either seeking or granting endorsements. Simple, no? This theory scales like a motherfucker. Once you start filtering human behavior for validation, you see nothing else.

And yes, I'm fully aware of the irony here. I'm waxing about my belief system on my web site. Self-indulgent and validation-seeking behavior if ever there were one. See how well it scales?

So say I'm right. So what? It's a harmless enough social force. Sadly, it is not, for the Validation Theory has a very ugly corollary: most people view validation as zero-sum. If I'm to feel good about myself, you cannot—unless you make the same choices I do. But if you don't, any happiness you feel invalidates my own and must be denigrated.

My favorite example of zero-sum-validation thinking will forever be the Christian bumper sticker

Know Jesus, know peace

No Jesus, no peace

If you want to drive a fundy positively insane, show them how happy you are without their religion. That so invalidates everything they believe, everything in which they've invested their self-image, they cannot even consider the possibility. Nope, you're Satan's intermediary.

All the new moms in my life have experienced a zero-sum crossfire lately. If they continue to work, stay-at-home moms revile them as bad parents. If they stay at home, their professional colleagues snort disdainfully about "breeders." The invective is harsh, unrelenting, and unsolicited, and it invariably comes from women whose own choices are being—cue the organ music—invalidated.

Let's view recent posts through the validation filter.

• Lionel, pretentiously suggesting that poetry be read at business meetings? Seeking validation.
• Courtney, thinking people in Seattle are mean? Obviously being invalidated. Me, posting about it? Being validated.
• Jim and Marceline, irrationally defending their product in the face of evidence? The validation they get from their work was threatened.
• Ed's failing health? No validation link—she's a dog.
• Jessica Alba, saying she really wants good roles? Please.
• I'll skip Bobby Brown's playlist. That's too easy.
• Percy? His "that kid already has everything" comment suggests my age and station make him feel much resentment.
• My friends, pouting when I didn't go with exactly their color choices? I suppose they feel as though I criticized their taste.

And on and on. The need for validation is why people dress up and wear make-up. It's why they buy expensive things. It's why people pair up. It's why lousy relationships persist well past the establishment of lousiness. It's why people have kids. It's why they pray instead of taking kids to doctors. It's why your family goes batshit if you don't come by and stare at the TV with them often enough. It's why managers create direct reports aliases (e.g., "Jim Jones' Direct Reports") that are of no conceivable use to anyone but them but that inconvenience many. It's why we insulate ourselves with people who affirm our belief systems. It's why seemingly good people can rationalize doing horrible things. It's why we want our friends—strangers, even—to couple/parent/buy something/change cities/etc. like we did, and it's why we feel curiously rejected when they don't. It's why we feel self-conscious about dining or going to movies alone. It's why people with no education disdain its necessity, and it's why I so value it. It's why people find a way to diminish your new house/car/S.O. It's why the top-10 non-fiction list is half books about how smart you are, half books about how stupid "they" are. It's why readers send me email arguing "I don't seek validation from other people." It's why people kill those who don't share their beliefs. It's why they want to introduce matters of faith into the science classroom. It's why I go weak-kneed every time I hear "Lover Lay Down" and remember that the sexiest woman I've ever known actually thought of me when she heard that song. It's why my brother and sister-in-law would rather lose me altogether than admit that the John mythology they've concocted is untrue. It. Is. Everywhere.

• • •

What, if anything, is to be learned from this? Like any point of view, it's subjective. It's a theory that happens to fit the facts. A helluva lot of facts. What began as a desperate attempt to explain one person's behavior became a plausible explanation for most of mankind's behavior. Does this make it right? Is it the only possible explanation for a given behavior? Of course not. But I've yet to come across an alternative explanation that scales so, so well across all of human behavior.

Although I found the theory life-changing, I didn't exactly find it life-affirming. Understanding validation, both your need for it and others', is not an A-ticket to bliss. The benefits are more subtle than that. I look at it more as something to keep an eye on within myself. When someone upsets me, I question why, filter for my validation needs, and very often am able to let it go. This is a good thing. I take great pains not to feel invalidated by others' beliefs or choices, and that eliminates much of life's unnecessary misery. And of course, the rhetorician in me benefits from appealing to others' validation needs. At this point, Allie and I are pretty overt about it.

(phone rings)

Allie: Hello?

Me: I need some unconditional validation.

Allie (bored): You're so smart.

Me: Thanks.

So there you have it, my world view, honed by years of wondering why so-and-so is acting that way. And if you don't agree with my Validation Theory, well, you're just stupid.

posted by john at 08:20 AM  •  permalink

September 08, 2005

what a friend we have in private katrina

There's an direct correlation, I've decided, between how full of shit your religion is and how much you claim hurricane Katrina affirms your religious beliefs.

Fundy Christians in this country point to the hurricane as empirical evidence of God's fury over our decadence and corruption. Apparently drunk, God killed scores of believers, yet left the decadent and corrupt French Quarter completely intact. Nice shot. To be fair, other Fundy Christians point to the hurricane's last second course change away from New Orleans as empirical evidence of God's grace. Uh, yeah. Clearly, God answered your prayers when he killed thousands and flooded only 90% of New Orleans. It's the Frequent Pray-er Discount: 10% off retail.

Not to be outdone, and still basking in triumph over the Battle of the Lone Downed Helicopter, Fundy Islamics hail the hurricane as empirical evidence of God's anger at America. They've even granted "Private Katrina" an honorary commission in their grand and mighty imaginary army. The Islamic God, who apparently had nothing to do with last week's tragic Iraqi bridge collapse or the Muslim-slaughtering tsunami, is powerful enough to send a hurricane to kill Americans, yet not powerful enough to make it a Category 5. Or to hit a city more populous than New Orleans. Or for that matter, to hit New Orleans squarely. Or to take out the city's cash cow, the French Quarter.

I think it's time for a fight-to-the-death cage match: born-again fucktards vs. jihadist goons. No matter who loses, the rest of us win.

• • •

Something I've been mulling over: I know that Americans and the rest of the Western world poured millions upon millions in donations into the Muslim countries devastated by the tsunami, and that legions of us remain there to help the victims cope, but I never heard about the surely intensive charitable efforts of that great self-appointed guardian of Islam, al Qaeda. Stupid biased media.

• • •

In related news, did you see this freakshow email yet? A veritable treasure trove of logic, it is.

The image of the hurricane above with its eye already ashore at 12:32 PM Monday, August 29 looks like a fetus (unborn human baby) facing to the left (west) in the womb, in the early weeks of gestation (approx. 6 weeks). Even the orange color of the image is reminiscent of a commonly used pro-life picture of early prenatal development. In this picture, and in another picture in today's on-line edition of USA Today, this hurricane looks like an unborn human child. Louisiana has 10 child-murder-by-abortion centers - FIVE are in New Orleans Baby-murder state # 1 - California (125 abortion centers) - land of earthquakes, forest fires, and mudslides Baby-murder state # 2 - New York (78 abortion centers) - 9-11 Ground Zero Baby-murder state # 3 - Florida (73 abortion centers) - Hurricanes Bonnie, Charley, Frances, Ivan, Jeanne in 2004; and now, Hurricane Katrina in 2005 God's message: REPENT AMERICA !

Clearly, hurricanes, terrorists, floods, quakes. et. al. started with Roe v. Wade.

• • •

I found this while confirming the above. The Resistible Link of the Millennium: "To View Helpless babies murdered by abortionists like Barnett Slepian click here." Oh boy, can I?

posted by john at 02:06 AM  •  permalink

August 24, 2005

pat robertson

Pat Robertson on Chavez, yesterday:

"If he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. We have the ability to take him out, and I think the time has come that we exercise that ability."

Pat Robertson to his viewers, today:

“I didn’t say 'assassination.' I said our special forces should 'take him out.' 'Take him out' could be a number of things, including kidnapping. There are a number of ways of taking out a dictator from power besides killing him. I was misinterpreted by the AP, but that happens all the time. So that I may better combat such media slanders, please send me large bundles of cash in nonsequential bills.”

(Okay, I so made up the last sentence, but no more than the rest was made up.)

posted by john at 02:48 PM  •  permalink

August 23, 2005

in defense of pat robertson

Some might think us strange bedfellows, especially after he prayed for the deaths of Supreme Court justices, but I have to throw my support behind televangelist Pat Robertson's call for the U.S. government to murder the Venezuelan dictator, Chavez. The liberal media is shrieking itself hoarse about illegalities and hypocrisies, but they should instead give Robertson credit for courageously sticking to the tenets of his faith. For doesn't the Bible tell us that:

"If a man lies with a male as with a women, both of them shall be put to death for their abominable deed; they have forfeited their lives." (Leviticus)

Oh. Wait. Wrong passage. I meant:

If...evidence of the girl's virginity is not found, they shall bring the girl to the entrance of her father's house and there her townsman shall stone her to death, because she committed a crime against Israel by her unchasteness in her father's house. Thus shall you purge the evil from your midst. (Deuteronomy)

Crap. I meant:

When a man sells his daughter as a slave, she will not be freed at the end of six years as the men are. If she does not please the man who bought her, he may allow her to be bought back again. (Exodus)

Hmmm. That's not even remotely relevant. But while we're digressing, here's my personal favorite, the justification for wives being subordinate to their husbands. Rarely do husbands asserting their biblical rights bother to quote the second part.

Wives, obey your husbands, as is proper in the Lord. Slaves, obey your human masters in everything, not only when being watched, as currying favor, but in simplicity of heart, fearing the Lord. (Colossians 3)

Okay, back on task. Which is to say, back to killing Chavez:

Anyone arrogant enough to reject the verdict of the priest who represents the LORD your God must be put to death. Such evil must be purged. (Deuteronomy)

Why, here's pretty much a blank check from God. Go to town, Pat!

Everyone who would not seek the Lord, the God of Israel, will be put to death, whether small or great, whether man or woman. (2 Chronicles)

I close with God's very welcome endorsement of male pattern baldness. Turns out He and I are of like mind on dealing with children, too.

While he was on his way, some small boys came out of the city and jeered at him. "Go up baldhead," they shouted, "go up baldhead!" The prophet turned and saw them, and he cursed them in the name of the Lord. Then two shebears came out of the woods and tore forty-two of the children to pieces. (2 Kings)

Can I get an "Amen?"

posted by john at 10:33 AM  •  permalink

July 12, 2005

who would jesus choke?

Oh god help me, I do love this stuff so.

posted by john at 10:45 AM  •  permalink

June 30, 2005

church signs

Credit for the new one goes to one Mr. Nick Potter, lurker.

I didn't have my camera for this one, unfortunately, but two weeks ago, at a Christian church somewhere between Anacortes and I-5, I saw the following on a sign:

GOD BLESS AMERICA JOHN 3:16

posted by john at 07:40 AM  •  permalink

June 18, 2005

speaking of never: signs you will never, ever see

posted by john at 05:28 PM  •  permalink

January 01, 1800

if you’ve ever wondered who voted for Bush twice, wonder no more

My sister-in-law Maria is a throwback to the turn of the century. The 3rd century. She married her high school boyfriend at the worldly age of 18, and, not much seeing the point of getting her Mrs. degree when she already had her Mr., she instead became a rollickin' fundamentalist and raised their three kids in a hermetically sealed environment where Harry Potter books are banned and Jesus controls such minutia as who wins the election for class treasurer. With no sense of irony whatsoever, she will talk about Jesus' love out of one side of her mouth and utter the vilest hate out of the other. Her utter lack of curiosity about the world—I've never known her to read, travel, or in any way educate herself beyond being told how righteous she is by fellow churchgoers—inhibits her not at all. No, she is a bona fide expert on matters she knows nothing about, and she makes sure you know it. To say she is a gossip is inadequate. Remember Gladys Kravitz on Bewitched? Breed her with Jimmy Swaggart and give their love child an 8-ball of cocaine, and you'd have Maria.

When I was 19 myself, my relationship was teetering, and I was in danger of flunking out of college, so I withdrew. I tried again the next quarter, but my mind was still on my relationship, so I withdrew again. I did not tell my family, whose first through 92nd instincts are to attack, about my withdrawing. I didn't really need the additional grief, what with their already perforating me about my relationship issues. So I told them I was still in school. Suspicious, Maria took it upon herself to call the registrar and prove this was a lie. She trumpeted the news of my failure and cover-up to the four corners of the world. Fortunately for me, her world is exceedingly small.

You might think it all youthful sound and fury, signifying nothing, but it proved to be the enduring, defining moment of our relationship. Lo these many years later, nearly two decades in which Maria's seen me for maybe 20 hours, she still basks in triumph. I am a proven liar. This is established. It is what defines me. It is all she knows of me, or cares to know. You know John? Oh, he's a pathological liar now. I'd feel sorry for him if he weren't such a liar all the time. School? Career? House? Probably all lies. Any money he has is probably from selling drugs, but I'm not sure about that one. He has nothing to do with me because I know what a liar he is.

This is now a joke amongst my friends. If I say I'm picking a family member up at the airport at 3:00, Allie will press my Maria button. She insists on using an elongated y for maximum effect.

"Are you really, or are you lyyyyyyy-ing again?"
"Fuck you also."

It's a reliable button.

These days, conversations with Maria are the toll I have to pay in order to talk to my brother. They invariably go down one path: my continued friendships with ex-girlfriends.

"So, are you still in touch with, um," she'll say, pretending she doesn't have the name handy in her phoneside RIMS (Rolodex of Intelligence info and Malicious Speculation), "Allie?"

"Yeah. She's one of my closest friends. She's family."
Maria doesn't pick up on what I thought was an unsubtle dig. In fact, judgment is swift and scornful.

"See, I don't get that. I don't get that at all. If your brother still hung out with his ex-girlfriend, it would drive me insane. Insane!"

My mind parses the Fellini movie that are my disjointed memories of the 70s, searching for anyone else my brother might have ever dated.

"You mean...Tina from the 10th grade?"

"Yeah! I would be sooooo jealous."

"Well, believe it or not, relationships change a bit after high school." Another unsubtle dig impacts harmlessly on her surface.

"And [insert some girl's name] didn't mind?"

"Not a bit. I'm upfront about it from the first date."

"Are you sure? I think it's probably what broke you up," she'll declare (and no, she has no more information than this post contains).

"I'm sure," I growl, realizing for the first time that this is the speculation in Ohio.

"And what about Allie's boyfriend?"

"He's my fishing buddy."

"That's just so weird."

"Compared to what? It's not that uncommon. If we loved and enjoyed one another when we were a couple, why can't that evolve? Why would it end just because we're not right for each other romantically? My life isn't that black and white."

Maria ponders, scouring her world for an apt analogy.

"So it's like Ross and Rachel."

The right lobe of my brain fires off a quick message of sympathy to the left lobe: Yeah. I heard it too. Jesus H. Christ. Just say yes and ask for your brother again.

"Um, I guess. Only we don't, you know, secretly want to get back together. And, um, we really exist."

"It's just so weird, John."

"Yeah. So is my brother back yet?"

posted by john at 12:00 AM  •  permalink

dear fucking amy

if i've learned anything at my job,
it's how to call a bug a feature

Originally published August 6, 2004

Dear Amy,

Certain though I am that this date in history holds no significance for you, I will never forget where we were ten years ago today. A recap:

You  You went from from deliriously happy that we'd decided to get married; to uncharacteristically quiet and uncommunicative as I defended us from your parents; to being quiet and uncommunicative from your grandparents' house in remotest Oklahoma, contrary to the promises you made to both me and your employer that you would be in Seattle. All in a three week span—three weeks in which we didn't see one another.

Me  Moving to our mutual choice of new cities, Seattle, I went from deliriously happy and lucratively employed to neither, coincidentally in that same time span, finally deciding that if, as I'd said, you had no business being in Oklahoma while your relationship foundered, I certainly had no business being here. So ten years and two days ago, I walked into my stunned boss's office and said "I'm very sorry to leave you in the lurch like this, but I need to quit. Right now. There's something I need to attend to, and I really don't know if I'll ever be back." I hopped in my little Subaru and drove 2000 miles straight to Oklahoma in order to figure out what had just happened to my relationship.

I arrived on August 6, 1994, and I pled with you to communicate. You flicked your hands futilely (in the international gesture for "I don't know what to say") and told me that your feelings had changed. What feelings? For me? How? You haven't even seen me! "They've changed," you kept saying, maddeningly in passive voice, and with that fucking clueless hand wave, every single time. Kicked in the stomach emotionally and exhausted from the ordeal of the drive, I had no chance of understanding. Not that you offered much for me to make sense of. As I finally managed to extricate myself from those repetitive, one-sentence conversations, we made our final requests of one another. You told me, "I need you to let me go." And I told you, "I'm not understanding what just happened. Please, I'm begging you, choose the right words and write them down." And then, out of the purest love for another human being, I forced myself to do the single most painful thing I've ever done: I let you go. A thoroughly broken man, I left Oklahoma and returned to a life in a new city with no friends, no family, no job, no home, no money, and oh yes, lest we forget, no you. I had bet big, and I had lost big.

One month of sheer bliss later, I got a half-page, handwritten note that said simply, "My feelings have changed. I don't know what else to say."

In other words, now it's ten years later, and I'm still waiting for you to keep your word.

Meanwhile, life has obviously gone on. Over this last month I've done what I seemingly do best—remember relationship anniversaries—and as I've ticked off ours, I've been surprised to realize that I have you to thank for much of who I am and what I believe today. You taught me that:

You must run your relationship in such a way that you have no regrets later.

In your case, this meant betting my entire life and losing, but I have no regrets. Which is kinda the point. Since you, I've made sure to do due diligence with every relationship, whatever its chances for success, because above all else in life, I don't want to be someone else's Amy.

We have a moral obligation to make a good faith effort at leaving people in as good a shape as we found them.

Friends reading this are nodding their heads with recognition. They've either heard this counsel from me regarding their own breakups, or they're your successors and, because of this maxim, are still my friends today.

We know we've done someone wrong when we need to purge our lives of witnesses.

Tell me. Other than your family, who in your present life ever met me? Or for that matter, who in your life as of August 7, 1994? Such restructuring makes inventing self-absolving mythology easier, I'm sure, but it's hurtful to those who care about you. But hey, thanks for Elizabeth. She's one of my favorite people on the planet.

The dominant social force is the human need for validation.

This one took me a long time to figure out, but what became a guiding philosophy of my life originated from my desperate attempts to deconstruct, in the absence of any honest information from you, not just what had happened to my life, but why. I saw how your parents (and in retrospect, even I) controlled you by granting and withdrawing approval, how you subtly changed yourself to please whomever you were with at the time, and before long, I was noticing similar dynamics everywhere I looked.

The easiest source of validation is religion.

Sure, there's always Rush Limbaugh and Michael Moore to tell people how smart they are and how stupid the other guy is, and people attracted to such cheap validation are utterly repulsive to me. But nothing can rival the professional validation-pushing machine that is religion.

It was an amazing spectacle, watching a family that purported to walk with Christ do dishonest, self-serving, hurtful things in Jesus' name. But through the pain I did notice the impenetrably circular and self-justifying nature of the dynamic, how these dubious Christians surround themselves with like thinkers in a great validation circle-jerk:

 

"I'll say you're a great person if you say I'm one!" "Great!" "Isn't Jesus great, too?" "Yes, and you're great for saying that." "Anyone who doesn't know Jesus doesn't know happiness." "Oh, I agree. That bumper sticker is, like, so wise. We're happy and they're totally not. So let's not talk to them." "Right. Or read their books. That's how Satan works, you know. Through intermediaries. He's tricky that way." "Yes, yes, it's better to insulate ourselves with people who already think exactly like we do." "Right. Like that woman who was legally separated from her husband and getting a divorce, the one who started going out on dates. We sure cast her sinning butt right out of the church, didn't we?" "With great force! That sinner didn't know what hit her." "I mean good gracious, the last place Jesus would want a sinner to be is in church!" "Hallelujah!" "Might I add that you're great for thinking that way?" "Right back at ya. Isn't fellowship great?" "Yes, yes." "You know, my daughter Amy is great." "Yes, I've met her. She's great indeed." "Let's call her at her dorm in Cheney. [call placed]  Oh, there's no answer. Just like there hasn't been for a whole year, no matter what day of the week I call—morning, noon or night. That's so funny! She must always be at church." "She must be, 'cause she's great. And you're great for raising her!" "It's great of you to say so. Now let's pray for Jesus to enter her boyfriend's heart and finally show him some truth." "He's a heathen? That's not so great." "I'm not at peace about it. Should I expunge him?" "What would Jesus do?" "Let me pray about it. [call placed]  Jesus told me to give my daughter a pop-psychology self-help book about what's wrong with her relationship." "It'd be not-so-great to disobey the Lord." "I am but the humble servant of His will." "Great!"

 

Yes, you taught me that to this sort of people, truth is always a distant second to perception. To these people, it isn't the actual presence or absence of sin that matters—only the appearance of sin. Truth is irrelevant. It doesn't matter how folks actually conduct themselves, so long as they look the right way and spout the right platitudes. They get a pass. You got a pass. You're so great.

Trust that in absentia, you and your family have been quite the witnesses. Whenever I meet some mental defect considering your family's hurtful brand of religion, I never pass up an opportunity to share my observations. I call the talk "What the Ritters Taught Me." It usually isn't hard to dissuade people. All I have to do is quote y'all.

Honor matters above all.

Having one's soul pureed because of someone's moral cowardice—and then having that someone's conduct rewarded by a bunch of unknowing, unthinking, goose-stepping Nazis—does tend to give one an appreciation for the value of honor. The greatest compliment I ever received was when, a few years after you, I repudiated the advances of a woman whom I loved dearly (I did so because her head wasn't yet right). After my honest explanation, she replied softly, "You have the strongest sense of honor of anyone I've ever known." As things turned out, that decision cost me any chance with her. I have no regrets, though, because I have my honor, and a cherished compliment, to remember her by. I have you to thank for that compliment, and for the fact that it meant so much that seven years later, I remember the date I first received it. At the time it was a much-needed salve on my Amy scars, you see. It wouldn't be the last time I would hear that, either. Thanks to your fine counter-example, my honor walks with me down every path I take, and when I turn my back to it, when I look at my reflection and recognize traces of you, I am devastated. And then I make good. Best of all, I don't need to tithe on Sunday in order to get my subsequent validation. It comes to me naturally. On merit.

Ten years ago today, in a bizarre scene in a Bartlesville movie theatre, I sat in awe of how you were able to enjoy the movie, and laugh just-a-little-too-much at its jokes, when sitting next to you were my torn and mangled remains. I remember tearfully whispering into your ear that you'd ruined my life. That wasn't bitter hyperbole; you had. You had unconscionably scraped off a human being whom you had purported to love—and who had bet everything on that assertion—and you left him to die. And die he did. But not quickly, not mercifully. That would require some sort of closure, some semblance of explanation, a modicum of empathy from you. No, he died g‑l‑a‑c‑i‑a‑l‑l‑y. Years seemed like centuries. It took him three full years before he could sustain a flicker of happiness for more than 10 minutes, before he could sleep through the night. Three excruciating, hollowed-out, second-guessing years. A new person emerged, of course, a more self-possessed, principled man with a lot of love in his life, a person who learned much from you. And on this historic anniversary, that person would like to thank you. Despite and because of our end, I'm a better human being for having known you. Whatever other virtues you might lack, you're certainly a memorable teacher. It's ten years later, and I still think of you daily. But it ain't because you're so great.

Still waiting,

john

posted by john at 12:00 AM  •  permalink

what would jesus steal?

Originally published March 3, 2005

Bill Watterson, the inspired creator of Calvin and Hobbes, who retired at the top of his game at the height of the strip's popularity, has always zealously defended his creation from being commercialized. "My strip is about private realities, the magic of imagination, and the specialness of certain friendships." he explains. "Who would believe in the innocence of a little kid and his tiger if they cashed in on their popularity to sell overpriced knickknacks that nobody needs?" So every stuffed Hobbes, every decal you've seen of Calvin urinating—those are brazen copyright theft. They're unlicensed, and Watterson is perpetually battling those who profit from stealing his work.

Which brings us to the instance that amuses me the most. Yes, nothing says "I walk with Jesus" quite so much as shameless theft. And nothing says you're secure in your faith quite like receiving validation from affixing an illegally used cartoon character to your pickup truck.

(And before some hysterical born-again fucktard with atrocious spelling points out that I too possess the very stolen good I deplore, the picture at right resides on the thief's server.)

posted by john at 12:00 AM  •  permalink

if i were terri, she never would have left her fate in the hands of idiots

Originally published March 23, 2005

If there's a lower form of life than people who make their kid carry signs in support of their cause, well, I can't think of it this morning.

But to answer the kid's parent's question, if I were Terri Schiavo—if I've had no brain waves for a decade, if my unfathomably selfish relatives are force-feeding my lifeless body because of some moronic delusion that I'm "laughing and crying with them," if I become the pedestal upon which sleazy, grandstanding politicians jockey for visibility—pretty please, with a cherry on top, pull the fucking plug.

Toward that end, I put my plug in the hands of an ex. I figure that'll ensure zero mercy. "Can I pull it now?" she asks.

posted by john at 12:00 AM  •  permalink

easter homily

Originally published March 26, 2005

On this sacred day, I ask my life-loving fundamentalist fans to please take a break from sending death threats to judges and instead celebrate the anniversary of their savior's murder and subsequent transmogrification into the Invisible Man in the Sky. Can I get an amen?

posted by john at 12:00 AM  •  permalink

Originally published February 6, 2005

tom delay

House Majority Leader Tom DeLay, inciting fundamentalist wrath on on the judges who allowed Terry Schiavo to die naturally:

"The time will come for the men responsible for this to pay for their behavior!"

Tom DeLay, on his paying his wife and daughter half a million bucks in election funds as "advisor salary:"

 "Politics is a tough business and it is difficult to trust people." 

Tom DeLay on Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy:

"He said in one session that he does research on the Internet? That is just incredibly outrageous!"

honorable mention

nah, these aren't desperately empty people searching anywhere, and i mean anywhere, for meaning

"(AP) A steady stream of the faithful and the curious, many carrying flowers and candles, have flocked to an expressway underpass for a view of a yellow and white stain on a concrete wall that some believe is an image of the Virgin Mary."

I know what they mean. I think I've seen the face of Satan in my guest bathroom toilet bowl.

posted by john at 12:00 AM  •  permalink

who would jesus hate?

Originally published January 12, 2005

The sign at the Kingston Christian church is a jaw-dropper, at least to me, and not just because everything is spelled correctly this time. Turns out you're hating the wrong people:

COMPASSION IN DEFENSE
OF SIN IS NO VIRTUE

It is, of course, echoing Barry Goldwater's "Extremism in defense of liberty is no vice. Moderation in defense of justice is no virtue." (Although I would bet my last 1998 stock option that they haven't the foggiest notion who it echoes.) But Goldwater, love him or hate him, was at least talking about himself. Are you like me? Do you read that church sign and see:

FREE VIRTUE EVALUATIONS
(NO GAYS, MINORITIES OR CAREER WOMEN, PLEASE)

or

ETHICAL HELP, 5¢

or

"KILLING HOMOS IS OKAY BY ME,"
SAYS GOD

posted by john at 12:00 AM  •  permalink

god squad

Originally published August 1, 2003

Finally, some enterprising soul posted Roger Ebert's brilliant editorial from the spring. Seldom has an article resonated with me as this one did and does.

Praying is fine, but Bush should make up his own mind March 13, 2003 BY ROGER EBERT   I keep returning to thoughts of Bush's face and voice during that extraordinary press conference. He said he was convinced he was doing the right thing, but I sensed no enthusiasm for the task. He was not trying to persuade us, excite us, convert us or lead us. He was simply telling us what he had to do. The pope sent a cardinal from the Vatican to have an hour's discussion with Bush--not about politics, but about theology. The cardinal told the president that the pope disagrees that God supports an invasion of Iraq. ''God does not intervene in the affairs of man,'' the papal emissary said. This is sound Catholic theology--going back to Aquinas, according to a friend of mine who is informed on such things. It proceeds from the belief that God granted man free will, so that man could choose for himself between good and evil, heaven and hell. If God were to intervene, that would deprive man of the freedom to choose for himself, and thus take back from man the opportunity of deserving grace and attaining heaven. Bush did not precisely tell the Vatican envoy that the pope was wrong. But he did think the pope was wrong, because Bush's theology depends upon partnership with a God who is directly involved in the affairs of man--a God who lets us know His will, who speaks to us, who takes sides. Bush has not an atom of doubt, I believe, that he knows God's will, that God wants regime change in Iraq, and that God approves of Bush's decision to bring that about, by war if necessary. Now it may be that invading Iraq is the right thing to do. Saddam Hussein is an evil man. Iraqis have suffered under Saddam, hate him, and will not grieve if he is fatally regime-changed. If there is to be a war, I hope it is short and swift, does not claim many lives, and leads to a free and democratic Iraq. I hope it does not lead to a tragic toll of American and Iraqi dead, Middle East chaos, posted by john at 12:00 AM  •  permalink who would jesus slander? Originally published June 11, 2005 My older sister's visit supplied a few more theories circulating about me back home. My born again Christian brother and sister-in-law, no doubt emulating Christ's well-documented malicious speculation about people he didn't know, have publicly declared the following: When I psuedo-married Elan in Vegas, I lied. I really got married. A decade ago when I took my friend Tammy to my sister's wedding, she wasn't really my friend. She was someone I hired from an escort service. (Although stunning runway models will secretly marry me, I apparently have no friends I can use as wedding dates.) The Approval Whore wasn't really my girlfriend. She was a friend who was lying for me for four years and is now suddenly gone. (I apparently now have friends and  no longer need to hire escorts, which I guess is progress. I haven't figured out where Elan went that a fake girlfriend became necessary, though. It's all so confusing.) My house is not really my house. It's a rental I use to fool Julie when she's here...because I'm a druggie, you see, and I couldn't afford both the house and the drugs...because I gotta be on drugs...because there's no other possible explanation for my disliking people as kind as them. They know me better than Julie, the only family member to see me in the last eight years, the only one to come to my home, and the only one who's spent more than a couple hours in my presence in 18 years. Because she's gullible, you see. As you can see, they are fantastically central to my universe. Like Annette observed: "They think they're so damn important that you'd bother to put on that dog and pony show for them? No matter how you swing it, it's a me, me, me thing." I can't help but see parallels between these intellectual giants' zealous, truth-be-damned beliefs about me and their equally zealous, equally spurious religious beliefs. It's all about being right, about being better, about telling everyone—damn the abundant evidence to the contrary. And you know they must be right, 'cause they agree with one another so fervently. Praise the lord and tighten my blinders, honey! • • • In trying to explain their zeal—why their John mythology is so obviously more important to them than John himself—Julie offers the following explanation: "They just don't understand why you don't want anything to do with them." Should I send it gift-wrapped? posted by john at 12:00 AM  •  permalink