Compostcompote

Rosie O'Donnell

2007-04-27T05:36:00.000-07:00

just might be the most obnoxious woman in the United States. I'm proud to say that I've never watched "The View" -- my ex used to quote Star Jones a lot, which is weird since he is (presumably) a straight man. He is also a misogynist, so perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised that he was watching a show that makes women appear inane.

Anyway, I don't make a habit of watching TV pundits because they rarely have anything useful to say and I don't enjoy eavesdropping on other people's temper fits. However, I can't seem to get away from Rosie O'Donnell's stupid, mean comments about everybody and anybody.

I care about a lot of people's opinions, but none of these people are on TV. So, Rosie, please shut up and go away. And take Ann Coulter with you (second most obnoxious woman in the U.S.). Talk about a match made in Hell!

On a brighter note, it rained yesterday in the ATL, and my newly planted garden looks very perky! Grow, you little tomatoes, grow! Mommy needs her lycopene.

A poem, if you please (or even if you don't)

2007-04-20T14:02:00.000-07:00

A jagged wall
mends the breach
between dreams and lightning,
blends into clouds
choked by grief.

I wish for calm water,
ripples kissing the shore
like your lips
on my shoulders,
your breath --
warm as rain.

Don Imus

2007-04-16T09:32:00.000-07:00

A guy who looks like the crypt-keeper has no business calling anybody else ugly. Those eyebrows would scare Brezhnev.

That's all I'm saying.

The 1980's are alive and well. Let's all drink a Tab!

2007-04-15T16:37:00.000-07:00

I'm listening to this online thingie (www.tropicalglen.com) that my dad sent. On the site are various years -- up to 1984, which is the end of all good music, apparently. George Orwell _was_ right. Go directly to Room 101 and await your greatest fear: seemingly endless episodes of "American Idol."

Now all of the Neocons will know how to torture me when George Bush declares himself President for Life and comes into his kingdom.

Anyway, the website is pretty cool. For each year listed, there are @30 songs that were super popular that year. This is good and bad (and ugly). For 1984, it's good that I can hear "Jump" (okay, everybody loved Van Halen in the early 80's -- it wasn't cheesy!), "Hold Me Now" (Thompson Twins, who were actually three people -- home-schooled, apparently, by the same type of evangelical parents as those in "Jesus Camp" who are teaching their kids that Global Warming doesn't exist), "The Reflex" (Duran Duran), and "When Doves Cry" (Prince, or Prounce, if you're using your special Cher accent), and "Head Over Heels" (the fabulous Go-Go's). The bad? Lionel Richie, who always had the worst hair and a stinkin' voice, has two songs on the list. Bleech! Ugly? Huey Lewis and the (bad) News has _three_ songs sucking the oxygen out of the list. I had a pack of high school friends who worshipped Huey Lewis back in the day; you couldn't ride anywhere with any of them without having to hear the suckage. I'm surprised I didn't go deaf in self-defense.

Thankfully, I didn't, which is why I'm totally groovin' on the Go-Go's right now.

Check it out, chick-a-dees and chick-a-don'ts.

Violetemily, this is for you

2006-05-23T10:34:00.000-07:00

The rules:- You must post with six weird facts or habits about yourself. These cannot be used against you later on :) - At the bottom name the six people you will tag next.

1) I make up my bed as soon as I get out of it each morning.
2) I have a couple of celebrity crushes on very ordinary-looking actors.
3) I like to eat chocolate while I drink (good) beer.
4) I compost on my fire escape (hope my landlord doesn't read this).
5) I can say "I love you" in Dutch, Spanish, French, and German. (Does that make me a hoochy-mama?)
6) I can stick my entire fist in my mouth (helps to have small hands and a big mouth).

So, Violetemily! How's that for an update? Congrats on graduation, you smarty-pants, you.

People who are on my last nerve

2006-03-15T15:38:00.000-08:00

Today, I would like to send a big raspberry to...

Franklin Graham and E. Annie Proulx.

Graham, in an interview, reiterated his view that Islam is an evil religion, saying, "If you think Islam is so great, go live in Saudi Arabia or Afghanistan." I'll say one thing for Graham (and it ain't a compliment) -- the S.O.B. won't back down. Sort of reminds me of George W. Bush. These are both people who have to win at all costs, which is not an attitude I would naturally associate with persons who claim to follow Jesus Christ. But that's the problem with Christianity: Jesus was a terrific person, but his followers tend to be jack-asses. Not all of them, of course, but more and more the horses' behinds seem to be representing mainstream Christianity.

As far as I'm concerned, Osama bin Laden and Pat Robertson have a hell of a lot in common...and that ain't a compliment, either. Extremists suck, regardless of the source of their extremism. Radical Islam and Radical Christianity...both support misogyny, homophobia, disregard for science and rational thought, disdain for the environment, etc. Again, they both suck.

Now, on to E. Annie Proulx. Let me first say that I enjoyed "The Shipping News" and thought it was a marvelous book. I also enjoyed "Brokeback Mountain" (the short story -- haven't seen the movie yet, though it's in my netflix queue. But E. Annie Proulx has got to be drinking from the same water glass as Pat Robertson, and by that I mean she is completely nuts.

Today, I read an excerpt from an opinion piece she had written in which she lambasted the movie, "Crash" and castigated the Oscars for neglecting to name "Brokeback" best film. I mean, gee whiz, the movie did win three major awards, including best director and best adapted screenplay (uh, E. Annie, that means they liked the writing). And here's ole E. Annie saying all manner of ugly things: she referred to the film "Crash" as "Trash", for example.

Everybody I know who has seen "Crash" says it is a great film -- definitely not "Trash." Now, I've heard "Brokeback" is mighty fine, too, but the thing is, not everybody can win the same award at the same time. E. Annie's suggestion that a film about a homosexual relationship is somehow more worthy of an Oscar than a film about race relations seems pretty darn bigoted to me. Both are worthy topics, and apparently both films were good.

But sometimes, E. Annie, you don't win. Hey, she's starting to sound a lot like Franklin Graham and George W. -- must win at all costs, and if we don't...we'll mock our competitors.

All three of these folks need a good, old-fashioned butt-whoopin'...which is not a euphemism for gay sex.

Could George Clooney be any more perfect?

2006-03-08T17:53:00.000-08:00

I think George Clooney might actually be the sexiest man alive...After watching him on the Oscars, I suspect even Bill O'Reilly wants to do him. Hey! Maybe that's why O'Reilly has been so pissed at Clooney. Because Clooney won't give him (O'Reilly) what he needs!

I can hear it now..."come on, George. Talk dirty to me, you hot, leftist, pseudo-patriot! Fill my ears with your immoral, Hollywood slang. Whisper disrespectful limericks featuring Dick Cheney and Condoleeza Rice and a bottle of baby oil! Tell that story about George Bush and the saddle and that young Congressman from Montana! Oh, please!" (an imaginary telephone answering machine message from Bill to George. Clooney, that is. Nobody fantasizes about George Bush -- unless it involves his impeachment).

Shoot. All George Clooney would have to do for me is show up. I'm sayin'! What a man!

You Call That Olympic Competition?

2006-02-28T05:20:00.000-08:00

Here's the quote for the day (actually, from yesterday):

"I'm comfortable with what I've accomplished, including at the Olympics."
--Bode Miller

Well, Bode (and by the way, you have a stupid name with an even more ridiculous spelling), I'm glad to hear that you're comfortable with sucking. Because you sucked royally in Italy. And just so you'll know, you can party your fat behind off just about anywhere in the U.S.; you don't have to go to the Olympics for that.

I feel sorry for the skiers who would have loved the opportunity to compete, but didn't get to because of your sorry presence.

Get a job, loser!

New Slogan for the Bush Administration

2006-02-23T10:16:00.000-08:00

Aim randomly, and be a big dick.

Itchy Fingers Cheney

2006-02-13T12:04:00.000-08:00

Conservatives, take note. Vice President Dick Cheney is going down shooting.

I've been saying all along that the guy is mean and crazy, and I believe the events of this weekend only bolster my assertions. Of all the people to shoot, Cheney practically blows the head off some rich old Republican donor!

Maybe Cheney was having a little blood-flow problem, which caused him to temporarily confuse Whittington with Michael Moore. Perhaps he thought Whittington was a pheasant. Or maybe Cheney really is as mean and crazy as I've been saying.

Lord knows, I love being right...and by that I mean correct, not right-wing. Yucky!

So conservatives, remember the events of this weekend. The Bush Administration really doesn't give a donkey's behind about you or anybody else, and they'd just as soon shoot you as look at you. Now aren't you glad you fixed all those voting machines to make sure Bush got re-elected?

Kingdom Relationships

2006-01-31T18:15:00.000-08:00

The more I think about it, the more I think Bishop Earl Paulk might be onto something with the whole "Kingdom Relationship" idea. I mean, if a "Kingdom Relationship" negates the whole, "Thou Shall Not Commit Adultery" thing, aren't we all pretty much free and clear?

I'm composing a list of men with whom I would like to have a Kingdom Relationship. This is what I have so far:

1) John Stewart
2) Stephen Colbert (not necessarily in that order, although it makes sense if you consider that John's TV show comes on _before_ Stephen's)
3) The really hot man I saw in a cafe last week (name not available, nor required)
4) George Clooney -- wait! He's not married! Does a "Kingdom Relationship" cover general fornication or would one of us have to be married?

That's enough for now. I don't need a whole stack of restraining orders.

Ministers Gone Wild!

2006-01-30T11:42:00.000-08:00

Bishop Earl Paulk of Atlanta's Chapel Hill Harvester Mega-Church is back in the news. Several female members of his congregation have accused him of coercing them into sexual relationships, many of which spanned years. Now, I’m not saying he raped them. Rather, he convinced them that it was God’s will for them to commit adultery with him.

According to an article in Sunday’s AJC, some of Paulk’s best pick-up lines include:

“You and I have a special gift of love outside holy matrimony.”

“You are a special handmaiden of the Lord who has been placed in (Paulk’s) life for a special cause – serving the kingdom of God.”

We’re going to have “special, Kingdom relationships not bound by earthly interpretations of morality.”

And it worked! Evidently, Earl (and his brother/fellow pastor Don and a couple of assorted Paulk nephews) scored big-time with the ladies at church.

If you are an ordinary person (i.e., not a member of a Charismatic Megachurch), you’re probably thinking, “what a bunch of stupid women. Who’d fall for lines like that?” Thing is, when you’ve been trained from birth – or at least from conversion – to obey male leadership without question, you can and probably will believe some shyster with a Bible and an erection.

Churches such as Chapel Hill Harvester, an independent Charismatic church, answer to no one – except the immediate church leadership (Bishop Paulk and Co.). Church members are taught to submit to the leadership of the church as a means of honoring – and submitting – to God. And if God wants you to bang the pastor, well you’d better start undressing.

Those of you who read my blog know I’m a sassy thing, but I’m not exaggerating the control that a minister has over a congregation, particularly if it’s one of those “the Bible is the absolute literal Word of God,” churches. These groups almost always push an agenda based upon submission. And what they mean by this is that women must submit to the men in their lives, whether it’s a father, husband, brother, or pastor.

Like extreme Muslims, Evangelical Christians don’t think much of women – unless they’re naked and submissive…and even then, these folks will turn around and blame the woman when the, ahem, “Kingdom relationship” becomes public, which is exactly what Paulk has done. He says those women initiated all the affairs and he, apparently, was powerless to say no. Sounds as if someone isn’t praying hard enough, Bishop.

At any rate, I have a solution to the larger problem. People should read the Bible for themselves and decide what they want to believe. Of course, that would require a certain amount of discipline (and reading ability), and God knows (really, God does!) how much Americans hate to read.

Also, we should leave submission where it belongs: in the S&M community. These people have chosen to be either Dominants or Submissives, and they know how to play the game. From what I hear, they also have special “safe” words that they use when the hi-jinks get to be too much. Those poor, deluded women (and men) at Chapel Hill Harvester didn’t even have that.

Homeland Security Protects Us From Evil Vegans

2006-01-29T07:20:00.000-08:00

That's right. The Bush Administration has identified "Environmental Terrorists" as the most serious terrorist threat in the U.S., and you know as well as I that where there are environmentalists there are vegans. These non-meat-eating extremists expect red-blooded Americans to eschew (as in, don't chew) meat and meat products, such as dairy (almost everything found at Dairy Queen, dang it!).

But the government is on to these vegans. A dear friend forwarded an article to me that described the government in action. In this case, it was the DeKalb County (GA) Division of Homeland Security; these brave, patriotic souls were casing a vegan protest against a HoneyBaked Ham store on Buford Highway in late 2003. When one dangerous, meat-despising liberal jotted down the license plate of an undercover DeKalb County Homeland Security detective's car, this stalwart representative of our government arrested her scrawny, tofu-loving self. First, he demanded that she turn over the piece of paper on which she'd written down his license number; when the radical refused, the detective took her to the Big House.

And now the ACLU of Georgia wants to sue the U.S. of A. because they think the government is engaged in unconstitutional surveillance! What is this country coming to, I ask! Why, if the vegans are allowed to take over, the fast food restaurants will go under! No more ice cream! No more cheese! No more frozen yogurt, for the love of God! Not to mention how difficult it would be to find a patty melt. We'll be left with thin, healthy people, which translates into less business for doctors, drug companies, and insurance plans. Not to mention a surplus of cows.

Any sane person could see how disastrous this would be. Thank God we've got a Christian president who sees these threats for what they are and isn't afraid to fight them. I feel sure Osama bin Laden sees, too, and I'll bet he's shaking in his sandals.

Spying -- Domestic or Otherwise

2006-01-26T19:13:00.000-08:00

I'm just going to lay it out for you -- I don't approve of the Bush Administration's Spy Games. Listening in on Americans' phone calls without getting that special court's permission (which, apparently, is pretty damn easy) up to _72 hours_ after the actual spying part is just plain lazy.

I hate most everything about the Bush Administration, from the cow-towing to religious nuts to the race bating to the sheer stupidity of our Commander in Chief (and God help me, I hate the fact that this moron is the President). I despise the fact that the Supreme Court is about to be taken over by a bunch of over-privileged little men who hate women (yet love fetuses -- fetusi?) and black people (yes, Clarence Thomas, I think you are consumed with self-loathing), and the environment. The supreme arrogance of the Bush Administration, as the whole Iraq debacle demonstrates more powerfully each day, will probably be cataloged in history books 100 years from now -- if the U.S.A. is still a viable country by then.

But having to listen to Alberto Gonzales explain that the Administration just doesn't have time to be through the hassle of applying for FISA permission, having to fill out the paperwork, explain why they needed to listen in on these phone calls -- hell, that's just insulting! It's also lazy, lazy, lazy.

I'm sick to death of the Bush Administration stomping all over the Constitution, acting as if there is no such thing as checks and balances and separation of powers. And I'm even more sick that Americans don't seem to be overly alarmed by the fact that their government is spying on them.

Well, I hope the Bush Administration is tracking me because right now I'm giving each and every one of them my middle finger.

Love,

Gardener (but they already know all about me, I'm sure)

Things that mix and things that don’t

2006-01-21T17:36:00.000-08:00

I’m not big on mixing food together. When I was growing up and attending four family reunions each year (big family, both sides), I grew fond of those Styrofoam, sectioned plates. You could put your green beans in one slot, your squash casserole in another, and your sweet potato casserole in yet another place and know that none of it would get mixed together before you ate it. I don’t dig green beans in my sweet potato casserole, so the “segregated” (as my goofy cousins called them) plates were ideal.

Now I do like some foods mixed together. For example, I love black-eyed peas and collard greens all in a pile. In fact, I just had a plate-full, and it was better than some of the sex I’ve had (I’m sorry to say!). I also like to mix scrambled eggs with grits…and those of you who are thinking, “Yuck! Grits!” haven’t had _my_ grits. My pal Kary, who is from one of those cold states in the Midwest, raves about my cheese grits so I know I’m not just kidding myself.

The point is, some things go well together – chocolate and peanut butter; black-eyed peas and collard greens; George Clooney and, well, yours truly! And some things should never, ever be combined. Things that are quite acceptable on their own, such as green beans and sweet potato casserole, are hideous together.

Religion and politics are two things that, in my opinion, call for the old “segregated” plate. Many people reading my blog probably assume I hate religion, and that’s not true. Like many good Southern girls, I was raised in the church and I know my Bible (and the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and lots of old hymns by heart). Even though organized religion gives me the heebie-jeebies these days, I can honestly say I still love Jesus. In fact, I probably love Jesus more than I’ve ever loved any man. But some of his followers scare the hell out of me.

I’m also a follower of politics, an avid voter, and a long-time Progressive Democrat. I believe that politics, justly applied, can do a lot to improve peoples’ lives. I am a staunch Democrat because I believe the Dems do a better job of applying politics justly to more people than do the Republicans. In a perfect world, however, I would vote Green Party and feel confident that my vote wouldn’t serve to elect the likes of George W.

What I don’t like or trust is this nasty mixing of religion and politics as practiced by the “New Evangelicals,” or as I prefer to call them, “Neo-Puritans.” These folks are great at lip-service, but as my buddy at Emilyviolet (a terrific blog – you should read it) describes, Evangelicals positively suck at serving people who are poor, sick, gay, mentally ill, or otherwise “different.” Evangelicals seem to be a lot more interested in tax cuts than they are in serving others, which flies in the face of everything Jesus taught. I have to wonder if these folks read the New Testament at all; I suspect the majority of them are content to attend their mega-churches and soak up everything the Rod Parsley’s, John Hagee’s, and Jerry Falwell’s of the world spew out of their mouths. I also suspect they spend a lot of time during the week listening to other “religious” leaders such as Neil Bortz, Rush Limbaugh, and Bill O’Reilly (even my very conservative father says O’Reilly is a “pompous ass.” This is one thing we agree on, thank goodness.).

Back to religion…I believe it is in the book of Matthew that Jesus says, “as you have done it unto the least of these, you have done it unto me...and as you have done it not to these, you have done it not to me.” If you are an Evangelical Christian who believes the Bible should be taken literally, it’s tough to get away from the meaning of these verses. If you believe what Jesus is saying, you can’t go around suggesting that the United States needs to kill Hugo Chavez (Pat Robertson). If you really believe what the Bible says, you have to love Hugo Chavez because Jesus does. And you have to be kind to the poor and sick and mentally ill because that’s what Jesus did. You also have to do what is just, not what is politically expedient (Tom Delay? Ralph Reid? I’m talking to you. Or, rather, Jesus is, via the New Testament.).

If Evangelicals were really practicing what the New Testament teaches, they wouldn’t all be voting Republican, railing against illegal immigrants, and bitching about the public schools. They would be actively engaged in service to others, and people would be falling all over themselves to join up. Seriously! If Christians were actually living what Jesus taught in the New Testament, there would be no gated communities, a lot fewer homeless people, adequate treatment centers for the mentally ill/substance abusers, better schools for all kids (not just the rich, white ones), etc.

The Christians who do strive to follow Jesus’ teachings stand out so vividly they practically shine. I know people like this: Renee, June, Wanda, Tim, Matt, Gayle, Abby, Barbara, Ron…and lots more I won’t name. I have so much respect and love for these folks, and I make a point to think of them every time some crazy-ass, so-called Christian mouths off about how all Gay people are going to hell unless they “turn straight.”

Christians ought to be involved in politics, but they shouldn’t be ruled by politics. The idea that all Christians must be Republicans (or Democrats, for that matter) is both offensive and ludicrous (not the rapper, Ludacris. I have no idea what his political affiliation is, though I do know he lives in Decaturrrrr! with the Indigo Girls. Talk about strange bed-fellows!).

In the same way, politics can – and probably should – be influenced by various people’s religious beliefs. However, politics shouldn’t be so closely linked to one religious group that you can’t tell the two apart.

So I guess I’m saying this: you can have religion and you can have politics, and the two can influence each other…but if you mix them together you wind up with a nasty mess that nobody can swallow.

Bird Flu (or what happens when you mouth-kiss animals)

2006-01-12T05:28:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I read an article entitled, "Girl Gets Bird Flu After Kissing Chicken." The little girl in question lives in, I believe, Turkey, and the bird in question was her "pet" chicken. Apparently, the chicken was dying and she kissed it goodbye. On the mouth. If a beak is actually considered a mouth.

Now, I love animals, too, and I've been known to kiss my kitty-cats on the tops of their heads, but I absolutely abhor mouth-kissing between humans and animals. My pal, D., actually lets his dog lick him on the face! I can't even watch that without channeling Lucy Van Pelt: "AAARRGGH!! I've been kissed by a dog! Get the disinfectant!" I like dogs, but I have no desire to French-kiss them.

So don't go kissing chickens (or any other animal) on the mouth. It is unsanitary, and you might get the Bird Flu. Also, it is creepy.

While we're at it, don't go kissing Ann Coulter or Sean Hannity on the mouth, either. I have a strong suspicion that they've spent a good bit of time sniffing around George Bush's nether-regions. You'd be better off letting a dog lick your face, and you already know how I feel about that.

It's getting too easy

2006-01-10T10:20:00.000-08:00

When Pat Robertson (a.k.a. Crazy Fool -- see my previous blog entries) announced last week that Ariel Sharon's massive stroke was God's punishment for Sharon's willingness to work with the Palestinians, I resisted my usual urge to mock him relentlessly in this blog. Not that I wasn't amused by C.F.'s latest pronouncement. It's just that mocking C.F. is too easy these days.

My parents, who are good people who nevertheless voted for our primate-in-Chief, had the best explanation I've heard for C.F.'s ridiculous charges. They suspect he has some form of dementia, and I'm thinking they might be right.

I realize those smart South Park boys wouldn't let a little thing like Alzheimer's deter them -- they regularly mock the mentally disabled, so I feel sure they have a Robertson-themed show in the works (and I am also sure it will be screamingly funny. I love those guys, even when they make me feel smarmy for laughing.). But I'm just not that cool. In truth, I'm not cool at all, which makes me cool in some quarters. You're not? Well, then you are! Very confusing.

So I suppose I'll back off on C.F. for a while. After all, there are tons of other people I could mock and not feel a twinge of guilt. Ann Coulter? You're on my list, and it ain't no gift list, missy!

Okay, one parting shot. Are Dick Cheney's many ailments God's punishment for a lifetime of being a dick? Or is Dick Cheney America's punishment for being stupid enough to elect (then reelect) a bunch of neocons (hey, that sort of rhymes with morons)?

The Elevator Dance

2006-01-05T10:29:00.000-08:00

When I was a young teenager, my cooler older cousin Jill explained about the elevator dance. See, whenever you get into an elevator alone (or with someone else who is in the know, such as a cooler, older cousin), you’re supposed to dance in a writhing, Soul Train sort of way, shimmying all around that little suspended cage from the time the doors close until right before they open. The trick is to stop dancing before anybody else gets on…and to look as if you were doing anything except busting a move barely seconds prior. If you get caught, the jig is up. You’ve got to be smooth, so smooth nobody knows about your secret, groovy dance moves. The elevator dance is the opposite of what Napoleon Dynamite demonstrated (so masterfully, I might add) in the movie of the same name.

In the years since, I have danced in many an elevator. I have also shared the elevator dance with those who need to know (and who will, I hope, share the dance with other enlightened souls). The elevator dance was intended as a lark – I think my cousin and her brother invented it during a family vacation. You know the kind: your family is staying in some Holiday Inn at some beach and you’re too young to go off by yourselves so you spend a lot of time riding the elevators and having ice fights in the stairwells. However, I found an actual purpose for the elevator dance several years ago when I was working as a temporary in Atlanta.

At the time, I was in my mid-twenties and intent upon nothing more than working just enough to pay my rent and subsidize my concert-going hobby. I saw some great shows during that period, and I also worked in lots of big buildings in town. One job required me to hand-deliver “important papers” to the big cheeses whose palatial offices took up the entire penthouse suite of a 55-floor building (that shall remain unnamed). I worked on the 6th floor, but when I made a delivery, I had to take the express elevator which was frighteningly like the one in Willy Wonka that flew through the roof. Of course, I thought about flying through the roof every time I got on the express elevator. I also thought about the possibility of getting stuck in that elevator, which skipped floors 10 through 50. How long would it take the elevator repairperson to rescue you from the express elevator if you got stuck between stops? Claustrophobic much?

But the cheeses had to have their vital documents, and I needed money for Ticketmaster, so deliver I did. What calmed my nerves and made it all possible was good, Irish whiskey…kidding!! It was the elevator dance, of course. Every time I made a delivery, I practiced what Jill taught me long ago: ever so demurely, I waited until the gleaming doors enclosed me into that potential death-trap, looking like the fine, young professional I most definitely was not. As soon as I was sealed in, I commenced shaking my money-maker all over that elevator. The trick is to use your whole body, not just your booty, like some idiot frat boy who never moves his feet and bites down on his lower lip because his pledgemaster told him chicks dig that. Think Soul Train – shake anything that will shake and even a few things that probably shouldn’t.

I did the elevator dance every time I had to ride the express elevator; miraculously, there was never anybody else on the elevator with me, although I suspect that somewhere on the Internet there are bootlegged security tapes of a crazy woman flailing around in an elevator. I am not ashamed. The elevator dance kept me from hyperventilating during the dizzying ascent, and I always got a little thrill when, as the elevator stopped and the doors opened into the CEO’s realm, I stepped out all composed and appropriately dressed to present my offering to the captains of industry (or, at least, their executive assistants).

I was thinking about the elevator dance today and wondering how all those folks who took money from Jack Abramoff (a guy I can only assume is not a very good Jew, Orthodox or no) are coping with _that_ stress. Are the high-rises in D.C. full of nervous politicos slam-dancing in elevators, or are they merely banging their heads on their office desks? Personally, I wouldn’t be sorry if an express elevator filled with the likes of Abramoff, Scanlon, Tom Delay, and Georgia’s own poster boy for hypocrisy, Ralph Reed, blasted through the top of the Peachtree Plaza and into the Stratosphere.

Let’s boogie!

In Praise of Krispy Kreme, Goddess of Doughnuts

2006-01-03T11:49:00.000-08:00

When I first drove by the Krispy Kreme on Ponce de Leon, I couldn’t help but notice the “Hot Doughnuts Now” sign was on. It took every ounce of willpower to keep driving toward my damn appointment. Since I had to take a physical, I figured I probably shouldn’t load up on sugar and caffeine (doughnuts and coffee) _before_ the exam, so I practiced the art of delayed gratification and waited. Of course, by the time I skidded into the parking lot for “Hot Doughnuts Now” the sign had been turned off and I had to settle for “cold doughnuts jetz.” Anybody who knows jack about Krispy Kreme knows how sublime a fresh, glazed doughnut is; however, even a cold Krispy Kreme is better than a lot of hot other things, so I settled in with a chocolate- glazed, custard-filled and a cup of strong coffee.

The doughnuts haven’t changed since I lived a couple of blocks from Ponce in the early 90’s. Back then, Midtown was still a little scruffy – white guys in nondescript cars would follow women out walking in the neighborhood and offer them cash for sex. Men looking for men cruised the streets behind what was then First Baptist of Atlanta, near the corner of 5th and Peachtree Streets. And the Ponce Krispy Kreme was a dingy, little establishment filled with homeless folks, musicians, and former Mayor Bill Campbell’s infamous Red Dog Squad (a supposedly elite group of Atlanta Police that acted more like a well-armed militia – nobody messed with those guys). From my tiny backyard four blocks away, I could smell the Krispy Kremes cooking, which led to more than a couple of midnight runs for deep-fried bread.

How to describe a Krispy Kreme? A hot K.K. is sugary, glazed Zen. It’s a poem on your tongue. The fact that it is also a coronary waiting to happen matters not (and that is only an issue if one over-indulges, which one should not do. End of sermon. I will now pass the collection plate.).

Visiting a Krispy Kreme store is also great fun, since you get to see the doughnuts on their little assembly line, inching their way toward the inevitable glazed sugar waterfall through which all doughnuts _should_ pass. The Ponce store has been expanded, revamped, cleaned-up, and de-homeless-ified, as has much of Atlanta. The entire city, like Midtown, is well-scrubbed condo-land now, though a few odes to scruffiness remain: The Eagle, a leather bar; Clark Music; and a couple of package stores still line Ponce. And, praise the Goddess of small things, the doughnuts are still as tempting as ever.

For the love of bad music

2006-01-02T12:57:00.000-08:00

My best friend’s boyfriend is a total music guy. Not only is he a fine musician in his own right, he is also someone with fine musical taste. Their house is music central – seriously, they are constantly educating me on musical trends, history, you name it, and I am thankful for the help. Just this past weekend, I was treated to Joe Cocker’s Mad Dogs and Englishmen concert DVD. I can now say with certainly that Joe Cocker always acted like he had Parkinson’s disease when he performed. Before I knew K & D (best friend and boyfriend – identities protected by my hyper-encrypted use of their initials rather than full first names), I thought Brian Jones was one of the Rev. Jim Jones’ illegitimate children. Now I know enough about the Brian Jonestown Massacre/Dandy Warhols epic tale to “get” those not-so-cloaked references on Gilmore Girls.

So, yes, I am learning and evolving (since I was “a surprise” – my parents’ term for unplanned pregnancy – I can’t claim any type of intelligent design) as a musical fan. However, unlike D, I still lay claim to some questionable music. Right now, for example, I am listening to the Psychedelic Furs’ “Love My Way,” which reminds me of being a teenager in the 1980’s and working at Kentucky Fried Chicken. And they say smell is the biggest memory jab! I would argue for sound any day.

Every time I hear Hall & Oates’ “Say it isn’t so” I think about riding around at night with my cousin Jill in her red Capri. Mention the B-52’s, and I have a raft of memories that span the gamut from riding the bus in 9th grade (“Private Idaho”) to the Laser Show at Stone Mountain, GA (“Song for a Future Generation”) to my first “real” job (the whole “Cosmic Thing” album fits here). R.E.M. symbolizes being out on my own for the first time, while Nirvana means getting in touch with my angry side (I’m calmer now, but I still love me some Nevermind).

While I also like a lot of music that the critics like – Alison Krause & Union Station, Lucinda Williams, Steve Earle when he’s not too preachy, and U2 sans that horrible “Pop” period – I find myself drawn to the cheesy, more-than-a-little embarrassing acts that most people don’t like to admit they like.

So I will. I like Cher. I don’t care if you don’t. Cher doesn’t care, either. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Cher will still be a goddess when Brittany Spears et al are dried up old thangs (which should be right about now, I’m thinking). “If I could turn back time” is fabulous. End of story. Also, “Dark Lady” and “Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves.” The thing I love about Cher – okay, I love almost everything about Cher, but I’m focusing on a few particulars – is her sheer resilience. She started out singing along with Sonny Bono, who was a master of marketing if not a great singer (or skier, God rest his Republican soul), then graduated to Variety Show land and proved that she could do comedy and even act. A combined movie and musical career followed. Even now, when Cher is well into her 50’s, I wouldn’t trade her for a container truck full of Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, Beyonce, Whitney “my pupils are permanently dilated” Houston, Brittany, Christina Gag-ulara, blah, blah, blah. Because that’s what all these so-called Divas are: a bunch of boring-ass blah, blah, blah. Emphasis on the blah.

Speaking of which, Elton John also bores me to tears these days. I love my mother, but when she starts talking about how much she loves all those Elton John songs in “The Lion King”, I realize exactly what has gone wrong with E.J.’s career. Some of you are probably thinking, “but don’t you like cheesy music?” Of course. “The Lion King” soundtrack isn’t cheesy; it’s just really, really sucky music. Cheesy, to my mind, implies some degree of cleverness, a little self-deprecation – that one line or musical rift that says, “I know this is bullshit. I meant it that way. I’m not a complete moron.” True cheese is postmodern in its too-cool-for-school, I’m-a-step-ahead-of-you wittiness. When Fred Schneider (B-52’s) sings, “I’m in shipping, if you’re receiving!” you know he gets the reference – probably because he has both “shipped” and “received” many times. But do you think Brittany Spears actually knows what chaotic means?

But back to E.J. He kicked butt in the 1970’s with a string of amazing albums (not CD’s, you young studs, actual vinyl). “Funeral for a Friend” still gives me chills, and “Love Lies Bleeding” rocks harder than a million 80’s hair bands competing on Star Search. Even so, a great musician such as E.J. has a cheesy side, and I love his fat, disagreeable self for it. I am speaking about “Rock of the Westies”, of course. This is E.J. at his cheesiest, touring with the ugliest band ever and gleefully belting out some of the most politically-incorrect tunes you’ll never hear on the radio again.

“Island Girl,” for example, is a paean to a Haitian hooker who, apparently, kills her johns when she’s done with them (you go, girl!). With lines like “Island Girl! Black Boy want you in his island world,” Elton isn’t doing anything to help the cause of race relations. Ditto with “Grow Some Funk of Your Own,” in which E.J. whines about not being able to hook up with Mexican hotties because their boyfriends are too protective. “Grow some funk of your own, amigo!” says the Mexican boyfriend in question. He continues: “We no like to with the gringo fight, but there might be a death in Mexico tonight if you don’t grow some funk of your own.” As a feminist, I’m not sure what to do with the whole “grow your own” metaphor, but as a lover of cheesy songs, I have to say (again), “go, girl!” (this time, directed at Elton John).

Gosh, all this talk about music is making me want to go spend that Borders’ gift card my brother and nephew gave me for Xmas. On the musical list? U2’s latest, The Killers, “Hot Fuss”, the best of Mother’s Finest (awesome Atlanta-based Funk Rock group from the late 70’s/early 80’s), and some sort of best-of-Disco compilation.

D, K: you can only do so much with my musical tastes! Just be glad I know that Robbie Robertson played with The Band (and that I know The Band has nothing whatsoever to do with reality show, “Making the Band”).

Men I Love and Men Who Get On My Nerves

2005-09-07T08:12:00.000-07:00

First of all, I love John Stewart, the host of Comedy Central's Today Show. Here are a few reasons why:

1) He's smart, but not arrogant. Fabulous combination.

2) He's funny, but not mean-spirited. Again, a mighty fine combination.

3) He knows when to poke fun and when to be serious. For example, consider last night's show, in which Stewart did a wrap-up of Hurricane Katrina news. He never once mocked or blamed any of the victims of the hurricane (as Bob Barr did in today's Marietta Daily Journal. Apparently, New Orleans brought all this on itself due to poor management and sinful living.). Stewart was respectful about the nightmare that is New Orleans' predicament; however, he was unsparing of the Bush Administration, FEMA, and even local government in The Big Easy. I especially loved the portion of the show in which Stewart, addressing certain members of the Bush Administration, etc., who were trying to shift blame on anybody but themselves. Stewart's response? "Okay, you? Shut up!"

I'm thinking that people such as Dubya, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Rove, and others of their ilk probably haven't heard the words, "Shut up!" nearly enough. Would that they might hear these words and actually heed them.

But enough about John Stewart (actually, it isn't enough, but I don't want him to think that I'm a stalker. Really, John, I respect your marriage, etc. But if you were to clone yourself someday, I would be very interested...)

Now let's talk about a man who is working my last nerve...

Lance Armstrong!

Dear God, if I have to hear about how courageous, honest, and impervious to drug use Lance Armstrong is much longer I might set fire to my own mountain bike. Lance Armstrong is a fine athlete, yes, but he is also arrogant and hyper-competitive (according to a recent interview, he said he can't even stand for Cheryl Crow to beat him in a race to the mailbox. What is _she_ thinking?).

Also according to a recent article, Armstrong is now making noise about returning to competition in order to "anger the French." Now, I get that Armstrong is angry about being accused of doping. I would be angry, too, and I'd do everything I could to prove the allegations wrong. But Armstrong seems to be engaging in an old-fashioned pissing contest, and nobody wants to watch that! Besides, I thought he was retiring to spend time with his three children. I guess being around for your kids just isn't as important as sticking it to the cycling world.

A big thumbs down to you, Lancie. I'm sick of hearing about you, and I hope Cheryl Crow dumps you for some hot French cyclist.

The Blame Game, etc.

2005-09-05T12:13:00.000-07:00

Regarding the Hurricane Katrina debacle, I'm of the opinion that there is plenty of blame to go around.

For example, if our President hadn't been so gung-ho to invade Iraq _and_ reduce the tax loads of the wealthy, we would have had enough money to mend the levees that failed in New Orleans. Apparently, New Orleans' officials knew the levees needed repair and asked for the money; they only received a pittance, however, since we are currently sending a whole lot of money to Iraq...and, hey, weren't we supposed to get more oil out of the whole Iraq deal? I distinctly remember Mr. Rumquist bellowing about how the war would pay for itself via increased oil delivery/resources. Yeah, yeah, yeah. The only people getting anything out of Iraq are the people who work for Halliburton (uh, Mr. Cheney?). Oh, and the terrorists who have raced into Iraq from surrounding countries since we invaded.

So, yes, the Bush Administration _does_ bear some of the blame. Also, the Feds were pretty damn slow about getting aid to New Orleans...and I'm pretty sure it would only take a military plane a couple of hours to fly there from, say, Virginia or Washington, D.C.

Of course, the people who actually _run_ New Orleans didn't exactly have a disaster plan in place, either. Piling thousands of people into a football stadium isn't a bad bet to ride out a brief storm, but keeping them there sure was. The same school busses that take kids to public school could have been used to truck people out of the city before the storm. I know, I know, hindsight is 20/20. Still, everybody knows that a good portion of New Orleans sits below sea level -- that's why they bury people in those fancy above-ground tombs (the so-called cities of the dead). Back a few hundred years ago when the city flooded periodically, it was common for coffins to work their way out of the ground and float around the city. So nobody should have been surprised.

But, hey, who am I to yack about it? Here I sit in my warm, dry house mouthing off. I sent my donation to the Red Cross, but there's probably a lot more I could do to help. I'm going to sign off now and think about that.

Please help.

2005-09-01T20:01:00.000-07:00

If you can, please give to the Red Cross, Salvation Army, Habitat, or America's Second Harvest to help the hurricane victims.

Singin' The Blues in New Orleans

2005-08-31T10:51:00.000-07:00

I felt like I should write about New Orleans (and Biloxi and Mobile and all those other little towns in-between) just to kind of honor these wonderful places.

I've heard people say "New Orleans is dirty and everything smells like urine." It's true, but the city is still so beautiful and wild and seductive everyone should visit. I was able to do so back in 2000. I stayed with a dear friend from grad school (and I dearly hope she and her loved ones got out before the storm hit) and literally ate my way across the city. The finest meal I had was at a little horse racing dive bar/restaurant called Mina's, which I believe was just off Canal Street at the edge of the French Quarter. I had a huge bowl of seafood gumbo which the crab claws hanging over the side of the bowl, a grilled cheese sandwich, and I Coca-Cola. Heavenly!

Another big highlight of my trip was The Voodoo Cemetery Tour, which featured a guided tour of the main cemetery (again, right off Canal Street) which I believe is called St. Louis 1. After we toured the cemetery, we visited a Voodoo Priestess (and her large, hungry snakes) at her own Voodoo church. Very interesting and definitely the best walking tour I've ever experienced anywhere.

Most of the time, I just wandered around the city listening to music -- there are amazing street musicians on every corner, eating, and checking out the varied architecture. New Orleans is a feast for the eyes, ears, and taste buds, if not for the nose, though I learned to ignore the pee smell. I think it's just inevitable in most large cities: Paris smelled a lot like New Orleans, and I really liked visiting Paris.

So basically, today's entry is just a love letter to a great place. New Orleans (and all those other wonderful coastal and bayou towns) has taken a hard hit, and my heart goes out to all the folks who are directly affected by the hurricane. I know all these places will be rebuilt and people will get some level of normalcy back eventually, but this has got to be a nightmare for everybody involved.

The good times _will_ roll again. Bless all of you.

P.S. If anybody feels moved to help, the Red Cross website would be a good place to get info, make donations, etc.

Passages from the Bible that should be read at weddings

2005-08-30T13:34:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sick of hearing the same old stuff read at Protestant weddings. If it's not Ecclesiastes' "to everything there is a season..." or Matthew's "love is patient, love is kind..." the passage pretty much doesn't get read. The Bible is a huge book that contains many interesting readings. I'm in a listing mood today, so here are a few of my suggestions for really interesting wedding memories:

1) Revelation 17:3, 5 "and I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet beast, full of blasphemous names, having seven heads and ten horns...and upon her forehead a name was written, a mystery, 'Babylon The Great, The Mother Of Harlots And Of The Abominations Of The Earth.'"

Don't mess with a women who has seven heads. She will catch you no matter what you're doing.

2) Amos 7:14 "Then Amos answered and said to Amaziah, "I am not a prophet, nor am I the son of a prophet; for I am a herdsman and a grower of sycamore figs."

I, too, am a grower of figs. I can identify. Rock on, Amos!

3) Isaiah 33:23 "Your tackle hangs slack; It cannot hold the base of its mast firmly, Nor spread out the sail."

I think a little Viagra is in order. No bride wants to deal with any slack on her wedding night.

4) Psalm 144:1 "Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle."

Marriage is hard work, from what I hear. Like the Whore of Babylon, I remain unwed.

5) Leviticus 20:10 "If there is a man who commits adultery with another man's wife, one who commits adultery with his friends's wife, the adulterer and the adulteress shall surely be put to death."

In other words, don't get drunk during the reception and mess around with the maid of honor. Now that's good advice.

6) Deuteronomy 9:24 "You have been rebellious against the lord from the day I knew you."

And you thought your parents weren't going to get to speak during your wedding!!

7) 2 Samuel 6:14 "And David was dancing before the lord with all his might, and David was wearing a linen ephod."

Get ready for a great reception! We've got a live band and enough linen ephods for everyone!

Weird Religious Stuff That Charismatics Do

2005-08-26T06:47:00.000-07:00

Being filled with the Holy Ghost: Having observed the effects of the “Holy Ghost” on more than a few people, I’m constantly amazed that people invite this particular haunting. Those who are overcome by the power of the third person of the trinity speak in tongues (see below), run around the church sanctuary with their hands up in the air, scream uncontrollably, and even faint (see being “slain in the spirit”). It is exceedingly frightening to watch, and I can’t imagine for a second wanting it to happen. Yet, many people do and report that it was a fantastic experience. They probably wouldn’t think so much of it if they had a video recording of the event.

Speaking in tongues: A direct result of being “filled with the Holy Ghost,” speaking in tongues involves a person suddenly speaking a completely different language. The person who receives this “gift of tongues” won’t be able to control it; he/she will utter these new words ecstatically in front of the entire congregation. Now, before you begin imagining a United Nations event, please be aware that these utterances sound suspiciously like “lama, slamma, olabama, lie” repeated over and over. We’re not talking about French, German, Spanish, or Zulu here; these tongues are always of the “unknown” variety. Nobody has any flippin’ idea what “lama, slamma, olabama, lie” means, though some other person in the congregation will usually jump up when the “lama, slamma” portion ends and “interpret” the language. Again, don’t get excited. I have never yet heard any interpretation that was revelatory. Apparently, “lama, slamma” means “oh, we praise you Jesus/God/Holy Spirit.” Still, it is more fun than listening to Baptists argue over who is more backslidden: Bill Clinton or Janet Jackson?

Being slain in the spirit: People who are “slain in the spirit” are so overcome by the mysterious third person of the trinity that they faint. The slayage happens during or after other visitations of the Holy Spirit, i.e., after a couple of people have spoken in tongues, run around the sanctuary, and generally acted like a hippie on acid. For many people being “slain in the spirit” isn’t a one-time thing; really prepared folks make sure they have friends on hand to catch them when the Holy Spirit gets frisky. Less experienced people have to conk their heads a few times before they wise up and get a spotter.

Note: If you can’t get into any of the above and want to fake it, try standing up and screaming uncontrollably…but only in a Charismatic denomination. Baptists, Methodists, and Mormons will throw your butt right out of the sanctuary.

There is no end to Pat Robertson's craziness

2005-08-25T06:20:00.000-07:00

That Crazy Fool is at it again. Now he's claiming he was "misinterpreted." Yes, apparently, when one says "we should take him out" that doesn't necessarily mean "kill the guy." Pat Robertson says "taking someone out" can mean merely "kidnapping" them. So was Pat Robertson suggesting that the U.S. government should kidnap Hugo Chavez? And hold him for ransom, maybe?

Here is my list of other possible meanings for the term "taking someone out" :

1) To brunch. A nice long meal between political enemies is one of my favorite things.

2) On a date. Is Pat Robertson a closet case? Maybe he's secretly attracted to Hugo Chavez (and who wouldn't be?) and this is the only way he can let his feelings be known.

3) On a stretcher. Technically, the person wouldn't have to be dead. Merely wounded would do.

4) To a club. The youngsters like hiphop and such, but I prefer a Blues joint. Perhaps Chavez and Robertson will salsa 'til dawn.

5) To the Dollar Store. It's ridiculous to pay full price for shampoo when you can get the same stuff at Dollar General for $1.00. Snooty people may avoid D.G., but I'm betting a good leftist like Mr. Chavez would appreciate the good buys. Pat Robertson, however, seems like a bit of a spendthrift to me.

6) To swim with the fishes...actually, I think this _is_ what "taking someone out" means.

Any other suggestions? Pat? Anybody?

P.S. I promise, I promise. More weird religious stuff tomorrow. It's worth the wait!!

Partyin' Down With Jesus

2005-08-24T07:51:00.000-07:00

Charismatics (and boy do they have charisma!)

The most well-known Charismatic denomination is probably the Church of God, so we’ll start there. Church of God-style Christians are usually nice folks who enjoy life: they wear make-up (the women anyway) and nice clothes, they rarely take vows of poverty, and I’ve never yet heard one apologize for having or making a lot of money. On the contrary, Church of God folk believe that God wants to bless everybody with money, health, a nice car, good teeth, even good sex (within one’s own marriage, of course).

Charismatic is a good word for them, since they have charisma in spades. They are also suckers for anything flashy, be it a bright red electric guitar, a $1,000 suit, or an evangelist who is part Amway salesperson and part self-styled prophet. Not surprisingly, given their charisma, nice appearances, and money, charismatics are prone to backsliding (see Southern Baptists). It is not at all uncommon for a charismatic to have an affair, embezzle money, get a DUI, etc., which brings to mind another wonderful quality of charismatics: forgiveness. They are probably the most forgiving denomination around. Charismatics believe in second, third, and thirty-fourth chances – probably because they realize they will soon be needing that same forgiveness in return.

Southern Baptists, Methodists, Presbyterians (and other, more pedestrian denominational representatives) were aghast by Jimmy Swaggart’s tearful “I have sinned” confession in which he acknowledged hiring ladies of the evening for non-church services. Yes, Jimmy Swaggart is a married man and a minister of the gospel; he is also Church of God, which means he is allowed to screw up. Church of God folk, although disappointed in Mr. Swaggart, nevertheless forgave him, welcomed him back to the pulpit, and vowed to at least cut back on their own sinning. Charismatics love an evangelist/teacher/preacher who formerly – or even occasionally – lived/lives a dissolute life, since this provides an inordinately forgiving bunch of people more opportunities to forgive. It’s like offering chocolate to a fat kid.

What they believe:
Charismatics believe in the literal interpretation of the Bible, but as I have mentioned, they throw in a huge helping of forgiveness which makes the tough stuff easier to swallow. While they often preach that women should submit to men, Church of God-style Charismatics don’t frown on female ministers, Bible teachers, etc. And if she used to front a rock band, sell Amway, or herself, why she’s even more effective as a minister of the gospel. Male ministers/evangelists are also encouraged to be interesting: former professional athletes, car salesmen, porn actors, and real estate developers are always welcome. Former insurance adjusters? There are other denominations for you, praise God.

Coming tomorrow: Weird religious stuff that nobody gets but everybody finds interesting!

A Fatwa on Pat Robertson

2005-08-23T07:42:00.000-07:00

Okay, I know I'm not technically allowed to call a Fatwa on Pat Robertson (or anyone else. I'm not Muslim, nor am I an Imam. They don't let women be Imam's do they?). But there must be some nice Muslim Imam out there who could.

In case you're wondering, Mr. Robertson (known as Crazy Fool in many circles), has called for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. According to Robertson (via an Associated Press article), President Chavez is in danger of creating "a launching pad for communist infiltration and Muslim extremism" in Venezuela, due in large part to Chavez' criticism of President Bush. The unspoken threat, too, is that Chavez may get so peeved at Georgie W. that he restricts the flow of Venezuelan oil to the U.S.; The Associated Press quotes CIA estimates that the U.S. sucks up about "59 percent of Venezuela's total oil exports."

Less oil would be a bad thing, of course. I don't relish paying $5.00 per gallon for "essence of dead dinosaurs" any more than others do. However, I'm also cognizant of the extreme human suffering and global ill will that occurred when the U.S. (under the guise of the CIA) helped overthrow the popularly elected Socialist president of Chile, Savador Allende. The extreme right military dictatorship that took control of Chile for a generation may have satisfied Richard Nixon's anti-Communist leanings, but it wrecked the hell out of Chile.

Plus, I think it's pretty hypocritical for the U.S. to be involved in overthrowing freely elected officials and replacing them with Fascists. Extreme left-wingers and extreme right-wingers have more in common than either care to admit, and there is no proof -- as there was none in the case of Allende -- that Chavez is extreme in his views. One thing is sure, though: if he is overthrown or assassinated, the people that fill the power vacuum will not have the best interests of the country's people in mind. They will rape and pillage the country until there is nothing of value left, and they will torture plenty of ordinary citizens in the process. This is the way dictators work. No exception.

Speaking of hypocrisy, does anybody else find it hypocritical that a Christian minister such as Robertson would call for someone's murder? That flies right in the face of "Thou Shalt Not Kill." The fact that Crazy Fool called for Chavez' murder on-air, during a "700 Club" segment just adds another layer of icing on the cake, doesn't it?

According to rumor, the IRS has been after Robertson for years and has suggested his monetary dealings are less than legal. Surely calling for the murder of a foreign president on a supposedly religious television show will get somebody's attention. IRS? Misuse of so-called religious contributions to fund political means? FBI? Threats against foreign nationals? FCC? Inflamatory speech?

If you want to give your money to religious people, for God's sake (literally), join a local church/temple/coven/etc. and keep your money in the community where it can do some good. Don't send it to unhinged television evangelists or muslim extremists or people that promise you you'll never have to pay taxes again. They are all liars.

Please, good Imams. Just one good Fatwa!

When the Latter Day Saints Come Marching In...

2005-08-19T09:37:00.000-07:00

Mormons (or The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or LDS)

Mormons are the nicest crazy people you will ever meet. They don’t drink, smoke, carouse, or even consume caffeine. They have thousands of children, whom they shower with attention, pray over, send on mandatory mission trips overseas before eventually sending them to Brigham Young University, the Mecca for all good college-bound Mormon kids. Mormons, in general, are so healthy and polite you think, “Wow! I need to check out their religion!” Well, before you do, you probably ought to check out what Mormons actually believe.

The LDS church was founded in the 1800’s by a fellow named Joseph Smith. Smith, who had a 6th grade education and parents who were into divining (searching for water, gold, etc. via a variety of extra-sensory means), was destined either for a career in politics or religion. Since no established church would have allowed a semiliterate diviner to rise to any echelon of church governance, Smith wisely started his own church.

According to Smith, God spoke to him through an angel named Moroni. Moroni revealed to Joseph Smith, then in his late teens, that God had hidden golden tablets on which were the Lost Gospels. Moroni then told Smith where to find the tablets and how to decode them, as they were written in Ancient Egyptian (as opposed to Aramaic or Hebrew, the historically established original languages of the New and Old Testament books). The method was singular: Smith was provided with special crystals, which he placed inside a hat. He then proceeded to place his face into the hat and stare at the crystals, after which he was able to decode the Ancient Egyptian on the golden tablets. Smith dictated his interpretations to his wife (his first wife, that is), who wrote them down. Remember, Smith only had a 6th grade education and was a notoriously bad speller. The golden tablets have been lost (big surprise), though Smith, Wife Number 1, and a couple of close acquaintances/early adherents to the faith swore to their existence.

The messages that Smith dictated to his wife eventually became the Book of Mormon. Throughout his lifetime, Smith received various direct messages from God regarding additions to Mormon beliefs/doctrine. Like the Southern Baptists, the Mormons at first believed that God could and did speak directly to individual Mormons, nullifying the need for church elders, Popes, etc. However, Smith, like the Southern Baptist Convention so many years later, realized how dangerous this precedent was: if every Tom, Jane or Job could communicate directly with God, church hierarchy and church leaders would become irrelevant. Smith, therefore, announced that God had revised the original message and would furthermore just be speaking through him; apparently, Smith’s fellow Mormons/Saints believed him, which brings us to what is still a sticking point for present-day Mormons.

Plural Marriage
Joseph Smith, whom respected researcher/writer Jon Krakauer describes as a “sex addict”, desired sex with women other than his wife. Since most Christians consider sex outside marriage a sin, Smith found a solution in the Old Testament: multiple marriages. Smith’s original wife had serious issues with this, as did both men and women in the church, but since Smith was the only one allowed to receive messages directly from God by then, Smith won. When Wife #1 suggested that women might take additional husbands, Smith over-ruled her again, announcing that plural marriage was only for men. He then proceeded to take a multitude of young “wives” – and some were as young as 14 – and call it God’s plan. Unlike the Old Testament version, the taking of plural wives by Mormons was not contingent upon being able to afford multiple wives; rather, Mormon men were supposed to take more than one wife because God wanted them to do so. Not surprisingly, Smith also received messages from God that explained how important it was for Mormons to have as many children as possible; the ability to have multiple children was purportedly the purpose for having multiple wives.

The Mormons hail originally from New York state, but they, in their sojourn to find a place where they could practice their faith – and have their many wives – in peace, settled in Ohio, Missouri and Illinois before high-tailing it out west to what is now Utah. Joseph Smith was killed in Illinois before the group could make its exit, and another fellow, Brigham Young, took over and led the wandering faithful to the promised land, so-determined because nobody else wanted it. The Mormons prospered and reproduced in this western territory, building their own cities, governments, and growing in considerable political clout. However, since the majority of the rest of the country was appalled by (or jealous of) plural marriage, the Mormons were forced to relinquish the practice in order to be granted statehood in 1896. Though mainstream Mormons today will swear to you that they disapprove of plural marriage and that nobody practices it anymore, they (and anyone else who is paying attention) know that lots of Mormons still keep an extra wife or three stashed in various hamlets/backwaters in the western states.

To this day, Mormons are encouraged to have big families (The Osmonds, for example), although they are not all required to be musical.

Mormons are overwhelmingly white and Republican, since Republicans support the kinds of “values” (no abortion, no homosexuality, no women getting uppity and trying to run things) that Mormons support. They are almost always white because the Mormon religion is at its core extremely racist. Most Christian denominations have their fair share of racists and racist ideas (the Southern Baptist Church, for example, formed in large part to affirm slavery and repudiate Yankee Baptists who weren’t wild about it); however, the Mormons base their theology on racism. According to the Mormons, Noah’s son, Ham (whom we only hope was not a vegetarian), married a non-white woman and produced a race of mixed-breed children who were less intelligent and less moral than Noah’s other children. Of course, this premise is inherently faulty if you accept that Noah and his family were the only humans to survive the great flood that God sent to punish humankind. Where did these non-white women come from? Wasn’t everyone dead? But again, if you believe that Smith translated a language inscribed on golden tablets by staring at crystals in an upside-down hat, it’s not such a stretch.

Until the late 1970’s, black men were not allowed to become elders in the Mormon church (women, by the way, are never allowed to have such leadership positions, black or otherwise). Although blacks are now allowed to hold these positions, there hasn’t been a huge rush of blacks joining the Mormon church. Go figure.

Mormons, in short, believe in big families, traditional family structures (men in charge, women doing what the men say, children obeying their parents), the absolute authority of the Church over members’ private lives, no mingling of the races, and absolutely no Democrats. They also wear sacred underwear, which are designed to cover up all the “special parts” and discourage extramarital hanky-panky and masturbation. Sacred underwear, needless to say, does not affect one’s fertility.

Mormon catchphrases:

1) “The Bible is important, but the Book of Mormon explains what has happened since then.” Meaning: The Bible’s old news; the Book of Mormon is where it’s at!

2) “We believe in strong families.” Meaning: The man’s in charge, the woman is submissive, and the kids will absolutely behave or we will knock them silly – praise Moroni.

3) “We aren’t racists.” Meaning: If you ain’t white, stay the heck out of Utah.

4) “We don’t practice polygamy any more.” Meaning: We don’t need to practice; we’re good at it.

Religion tomorrow; today, politics

2005-08-18T11:34:00.000-07:00

I had two very interesting experiences yesterday, both of which I will now share with you, anonymous readers.

First of all, I was accused of being a George Bush-loving, war-mongering extremist based purely upon my current county of residence. The accuser in question, who calls in-town Atlanta home, informed moi that he would not consider venturing outside the Perimeter (that's I-285, for you non-Georgians) because "there is so much about [the county in question] that is diametrically opposed to my own values."

Apparently, the very act of crossing the county line causes one to apply "W" stickers to one's car, though I have developed no urges to strip my car of its Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker. I've been here about three weeks now, and I don't feel inclined towards privatizing social security nor am I jumping for joy that The Patriot Act is still in place. For the time being, I remain a "latte-drinking, Subaru-driving liberal." But who knows? Perhaps four weeks is the turning point. Ya'll keep an eye on this blog -- if I wake up conservative one morning next week, these entries are apt to change quite a bit.

For the time being, I'm walking the walk. I attended a wonderful peace vigil in honor of Cindy Sheehan last night (in very conservative Marietta, no less), and I was thrilled to be one of maybe 150 folks holding signs that called for an end to this useless war in Iraq, a return of all our troops, and a return to sanity in the way this country is being governed. It's a tall order, but I've always been a believer in asking for the moon in order to get your paws on a few stars. If any of you are interested in speaking out against the war, I recommend you get involved with moveon.org or any of the other great online sources for progressive government.

Who says you can't change the world?

And as for my accuser...where were you last night? Raging against the suburbs in some Midtown bar? Way to stand up for progressive causes! ;)

Coming tomorrow: More religion. I promise!

There's a Methodist to our Madness

2005-08-17T08:03:00.000-07:00

United Methodists
The founder of the Methodist Church, John Wesley (who remained, ironically, a member of the Church of England), had a life-changing experience while in church. During the service, he says he felt “his heart strangely warmed” by the spirit of God and knew forever after that he was “saved.”

Methodists the world over are still having their hearts warmed during church services, family night suppers, church-sponsored exercise classes, and youth meetings. Being social animals above all else, Methodists have never met a spaghetti dinner they didn’t love – or attend. While Baptists are all about getting you in church to “save” you, Methodists are mostly about getting you in church. Once there, you can join 8,000 different Sunday school classes, volunteer with “ministries” as diverse as Pre-School Choir, Visiting the Shut-Ins (church members who, due to either illness or old age or both, are no longer able to attend church regularly), Coaching Youth Softball (aka, paying penance for previous wild living), and even Sanctuary upkeep (changing the flowers on a weekly basis so that they don’t clash with the ministers’ robes). Baptists may make every attempt to save your soul directly, but Methodists prefer to monopolize every second of your free time. I suspect this is an attempt to drive Satan out by giving him not one minute in which to work.

Unlike Baptists, Methodists do not often abstain from cultural activities such as dancing, playing cards, going to movies, etc. Some churches even sponsor dances for their own young people. In response, other denominations in the area frequently sponsor prayer meetings in which to pray for Methodists. The one thing an Evangelical loves even more than converting a heathen is co-opting someone from another Christian denomination. Such activities earn Evangelicals “jewels for their crowns.” In this metaphorical turn of phrase, the “jewels” refer to the souls of those former non-Christians that you have “led to the Lord.” The “crowns” are of the kingly sort; i.e., the ones you wear on your head.

Many years ago, a Sunday school teacher of mine was lecturing a 20-something young man in the Sunday School class. She disapproved of this young man, who was rumored to have had more than a few romantic rendezvous with young ladies in his Ford F-150 after church services. I can’t swear to the rendezvous, since I, not being blonde, was never asked to participate. The Sunday School teacher, though, had posed a question she knew he could not adequately answer:

Teacher: “Ralph (not his real name), what will you do with your heavenly crown once you’ve earned all your jewels?”
Ralph: “Wear it?”
Teacher: “No! You’ll lay it down at the foot of Jesus!”
To Ralph’s credit, I didn’t know the right answer, either, although there is a Biblical reference in the New Testament that mentions laying one’s crowns down at the foot of Christ’s throne. Maybe that sort of terminology goes over better in countries with Constitutional Monarchies.

Catch-phrases to help one identify United Methodists:

1) “Do you want to come to our church hayride? It’s a lot of fun!”

2) “Do you want to come to the dance in our church fellowship hall? It’s a lot of fun!”

3) “Do you want to come to our family-night supper? It’s a lot of fun!”

4) “Do you want to come to our church-sponsored AA meeting? There’s food afterward, and that’s a lot of fun!”

When I said Branding, I meant that in a marketing sense

2005-08-16T10:47:00.000-07:00

The Southern Baptist (and those who love them)

Many, if not most, Evangelicals are Protestant. There are a few “Charismatic Catholics” and “Evangelical Episcopalians” out there, but there aren’t really enough of these to worry about. Rather, we’ll focus on the Protestant variety, in all their variety.

Southern Baptists
As the name suggest, they are mostly a Southern religion, with large populations found below the Mason-Dixon Line. Paradoxically, the Southern Baptists began as a denomination that favored what is called “the priesthood of the believer,” a clerical-sounding expression that means “Baptists are allowed to interpret the Bible for themselves, sans priests, Popes, etc.” However, almost as soon as the Baptists opened their church doors, their own members began chipping away at this belief. The Southern Baptist Convention, for example, is currently bent on ridding the faith of any preacher, teacher, or rural mail carrier who does not believe that the entire Bible – even the wacky books such as Revelation – is literally and completely “the divinely inspired Word of God.” Even summer and short-term missionaries – young Baptists who eagerly wish to serve the Lord in Pagan-invested cesspools such as Hawaii and Panama City Beach, Florida – must now sign statements of faith in which they swear the Bible is literally true, while also swearing that they will either be submissive wives or marry a woman who promises to be duly submissive. Since the Bible is pretty clear about lying being a sin, more and more young people are having trouble signing on, even for the short term.

Baptists often abstain from activities such as dancing, playing cards, listening to secular (not specifically Christian) music, and even attending movies. While the extent of the abstinence depends on both the sect of Baptist as well as the individual Baptist, it isn’t unusual to run across a Baptist who avoids at least one of the aforementioned.

Catch-phrases to help one identify Southern Baptists:

1) “Are you saved?” Meaning: Have you had an emotional experience in which you have declared yourself utterly sinful and lost? And have you then asked Jesus Christ to take charge of your life, guide you in all things – and be your eternal scapegoat, as in “Jesus told me to break up with you, Becca” – for the rest of your life?

2) “But are you walking the walk?” Meaning: I know you’ve been saved (see above), but are you following the rules (not having sex outside marriage, not drinking, not smoking, not doing drugs, not listening to secular music, and not having any fun that doesn’t directly involve a church-sponsored activity)?

3) “Is he/she backsliding?” Meaning: Is he/she having sex outside marriage, drinking, smoking, doing drugs, listening to rock/rap/hiphop/pop (country music, although often raucous is still often patriotic – see Toby Keith – which makes up for any nastiness – again, see Toby Keith – that may be involved.), or generally having any fun not directly linked to a church-sponsored activity?

4) “Bless her/his heart…” Meaning: This catch-phrase is the required preface for Christianized gossip of all sorts. As in, “bless her heart, she’s become a complete alcoholic since her husband moved in with that young man.” Often used in the guise of requesting prayer, “bless her/his heart” actually means “Pay attention – I’m about to dish some serious dirt.”

5) “I prayed about it, and…” Meaning: much like “bless her/his heart,” this statement is a preface for all manner of information, from the prophetic to the almost-profane. For example, “I prayed about it, and God told me to fire you. But remember, when God closes a door, He opens a window!(to jump from?)”; “I prayed about it, and Jesus said I shouldn’t go to the prom with you, Bobby,”; “I prayed about it, and the Lord told me you needed to stop listening to those evil KISS albums (this one is recycled from my childhood. Sorry!).”

Fundamentalist oder Evangelical? Was ist das?

2005-08-15T12:29:00.000-07:00

After exhaustive research and zero soul-searching, I’ve come up with a basic guide to help you – the nominally religious, non-religious, or religious-but-not-all-bent-about-it – begin to understand the “New Evangelicals,” that amorphous group of religious folks who think George W. Bush is a good, Christian man and all Democrats are hell-bound.

In my not-so-humble opinion, these “New Evangelicals” closely resemble the “Old Puritans” of Thanksgiving and witch-burning fame.

The Puritans believed that if a person followed God’s laws and lived a pure life, he/she would prosper financially. Therefore, a person with money was also a good, decent person. The New Evangelicals have similar beliefs, mainly that taxes are straight from the Devil and poor people are bad people who clearly need to get their religious houses in order and stop living off welfare.

Evangelicals are basically evangelists, which means that they believe in trying to make as many converts as possible. This is why they show up at your apartment at 10 a.m. on Saturday morning – blatantly ignoring the no-soliciting signs – to invite you to their church. Like any graduate from a 12-step program, an Evangelical takes seriously the idea of helping others; unlike 12-step program grads, however, Evangelicals do not accept that people have the right to find their own peace. Rather, there is only one way out, and that way leads to the Pearly Gates. You may temporarily confound the stranger at your door by telling him/her that you are a Buddhist/Muslim/Jew/Pagan; however, the Evangelical will quickly rebound by attempting to convert you that much more. The only surefire way to get rid of the person is to lie. For example, you might try this: “Why, I was saved when I was 15, after losing my virginity at a Black Sabbath concert, which I would regret had it not drawn me closer to the Lord.”

Coming tomorrow: The Branding of Evangelicals.

Is this the end of the world as we know it?

2005-08-12T10:00:00.000-07:00

Much as I hate to agree with anything Tim LaHaye (Left Behind) says, I witnessed two events yesterday that made me think perhaps the end of the world is near. First, I saw a sign advertising a housing development called Paper Chase Trail (no lie) with prices starting “from the 900’s.” Second, I saw a flock of geese flying north, likely in search of reasonable housing prices.

The 900’s?! I looked two or three times to make sure I’d read the sign correctly, and there it was, staring my impoverished, Subaru-driving self in the face. The 900’s. Snarky thing that I am, I immediately started mocking the advertising campaign: “Yes, Cliff, our statistics show that people respond more robustly to ‘the 900’s’ rather than ‘a million.’” Really? Does somebody with that kind of cash need to quibble over $100,000? Or is this a ploy to attract homeseekers who actually fall into the $500,000 to $700,000 range but wish to move up in the pecking order? For those of us who would dearly love to find a treehouse in the $100,000 to $150,000 range, questions such as these are merely academic. For example, we don’t use a word like robust to describe the economy; while robust does mean “strong and healthy,” this term is more accurately applied to either people (that bodybuilder is certainly robust!) or coffee (enjoy the robust taste of our rich, Colombian brew.) The term, robust, used to describe the economy is the latest attempt by not-very-smart people to sound smarter than they are by misusing perfectly good words.

“Cliff, we need some new words. Do you know where we can find them?”

“Yes, Rich. I do. It’s called the dictionary.”

“What’s a dictionary?”

“It’s a big book full of words.”

“Aren’t all books full of words?”

“Yes, but this book has words we can actually use, so it’s not a waste of time like all those other books.”

People who can afford to buy homes in Paper Chase Trail don’t spend their time reading books, for God’s sake. They have people to do that for them. Hey, maybe I could do that for some obscenely rich person? Read books for them (or to them, if they want. I like to read aloud.). Perhaps I could even live in the guest house – I feel sure Paper Chase Trail boasts guesthouses or servants’ quarters or at least a room off the wine cellar for the help. A few years from now, when we do run out of gasoline and sprawling Metro areas dependent upon roads/Interstates become ghost towns, I might be able to afford a guest house in Paper Chase Trail. Shoot, by then I might assume squatter’s rights in the main house and use the furniture for firewood.

But the Apocalypse will have to happen first, I suspect. Of course, there are those who think it’s already begun. Last November, after the disastrous national election, a dear friend at work patted my sagging shoulder and announced, “Last Days are here, honey. Last Days are here. Bad times comin.’” A month before, a man in the Lowes Foods Parking Lot (NC store – ya’ll don’t have them here) noticed my Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker and explained to me that he believes George W. is the anti-Christ. “He quotes the Bible and says all these religious things, but he does the opposite. The Bible says the anti-Christ will fool everybody, that people will support him and think he’s good. At first.” I smiled and nodded, then told him my ice cream was melting so he’d leave me alone.

I don’t buy into all the creepy 666/barcodes-on-foreheads/four-riders-bearing-plagues schools of thought, but I’ve been wrong before (I thought Kerry would win.). It certainly would be damn ironic if all these Republi-Christians had actually elected the anti-Christ. At the same time, it would also suck for everybody, but that’s what happens when you turn your backs on people for whom ideology is God. Maybe somebody should check Georgie’s feet; if he’s sportin’ cloven hooves, we’re even more screwed than I thought.

Cindy Sheehan deserves an answer

2005-08-11T12:04:00.000-07:00

This morning in the AJC, a guy named Jimmy W. Hall had some ugly things to say about Cindy Sheehan, the woman who is camping outside our President’s vacation ranch, waiting to ask Bush why her son was killed in Iraq. Obviously, this is a rhetorical question, since anybody with any sense knows why the poor kid died: to find those weapons of mass destruction!

Anyway, Jimmy W. (is that W. for Wayne, the middle name of a ridiculous number of imprisoned men, and the fake last name of one John Wayne, whose real name was Marion?) goes on and on about how Cindy Sheehan is helping America’s enemies in Iraq by daring to question why her son had to die. What Jimmy doesn’t mention is whether or not he has ever served in the Armed forces of the U.S. I suspect this is because he has not – something else he has in common with John Wayne, who only portrayed a Green Beret? I'm not sure about ole Marion -- ya'll let me know if he was veteran, okay? Anyway, Jimmy allows that “thousands of other mothers have sons and daughters overseas,” and that by questioning the actions of her government (a Constitutionally protected act which will likely be overturned once George W. has his way with the Supreme Court) Cindy Sheehan is putting all these other soldiers overseas in danger.

Okay, how? Is Al Jazeera covering this protest in Crawford, Texas, and broadcasting it to Osama? Are the militants in Iraq really emboldened by the grief of a dead soldier’s mother? Furthermore, are the soldiers in Iraq all laying down their arms in sympathy? In a word, no. Jimmy W. says Cindy Sheehan is supporting the enemy by questioning this war, which is the same line of crap that the neocons trot out every time somebody disagrees with anything Bush supports. If you disagree with George W., you’re unpatriotic! You’re un-American! Blah, blah, blah. This idea was stupid the first time Ann Coulter, et al said it, and it’s even more stupid now.

I doubt Jimmy W. has a son or daughter serving in Iraq or Afghanistan. We all know that Bush, Cheney, Wolfowitz, Rumsfeld, and Mr. Loose-Lips himself, Rove, certainly aren’t making that sort of sacrifice with their children, grandchildren, cousins, etc. Lord, Bush couldn’t even show up for National Guard duty. Is it any wonder he can’t be bothered to walk down his driveway and actually talk to this poor woman whose life has been forever altered by his idiot war?

Jimmy W. – get a clue. People aren’t buying into blind, faux patriotism anymore. Cindy Sheehan deserves a straight answer about Iraq War II, and so does the rest of America. But I’m not holding my breath on that one. After all, Mr. Bush is on vacation.

Fun with Fake Meat

2005-08-10T07:26:00.000-07:00

My pal, Jake, doesn’t trust vegetarians. He always thinks they’re trying to get away with something, so he’s made up some rules. One of these is that vegetarians “shouldn’t want any meat substitutes.” No veggie burgers, no soy-protein breakfast links, no “mock” chicken or “not” dogs.

“If you want a meat substitute, you really want meat, so you should just eat meat,” he insists. “Vegetarians shouldn’t want anything that resembles meat.”

Okay, Jake’s a freak. I make no apologies for loving veggie "links" or veggie hot dogs. I’ll even go a step further and say these vegetarian alternatives are a huge improvement over the original meat versions.

Let’s start with the veggie links. Half the fat, no cholesterol, and no grease. And according to my father, the carnivore, they taste an awful lot like real sausage. I can eat a couple with a scrambled egg and feel as if I’ve had a genuine, big breakfast. In the process, I haven’t killed any pigs or mangled for life any meatpackers. By the way, if factory farming, with its brutal, unnatural treatment of animals doesn’t rouse any sympathy from you, perhaps you should research the average working conditions in the meatpacking industry. Mother Jones Magazine did a great expose' on this a few years ago. Things really haven’t changed much from the days of Upton Sinclair’s “The Jungle.”

But I digress. I really wanted to tell you about veggie hot dogs. The texture is a little different from meat hot dogs, but I find veggie dogs an extremely close alternative. With veggie hot dogs, the mix is consistent: no gristle, no grease, no little bits of things you can’t identify and wouldn’t if you could. Veggie dogs, or “not” dogs as they are also known, are made of textured soy protein and lots of other plant-based things such as garlic, onion, etc. One thing they don’t contain is nitrates, the really bad ingredient found in regular hot dogs. Nitrates, when consumed with abandon (for example, when a person goes on one of those horrible, high-protein diets) can really mess you up (see: How to Wreck Your Liver and Kidneys 101). “Not” dogs also don’t contain parts of an animal that one wouldn’t choose to eat if he/she were cognizant of them.

Sure, there’s always some redneck out there who doesn’t mind eating animal testicles. A Baptist church (God Bless those wacky Baptists) near my home used to sponsor a “Men’s Hunting Barbeque” every year. All the hunting men in the church were encouraged to bring some of their kill and cook it for a big, finger-licking meat-o-rama. The minister’s son, who was an acquaintance of mine, confessed to trying fried mystery-animal testicles. You’d think a group of people as homophobic as Southern Baptists wouldn’t go near a strange testicle! I guess that’s one of the great mysteries of the faith. However, I’m willing to bet that most people wouldn’t be so willing to chow down on ground-up internal and/or sex organs if they could just get a clear vision of what they are actually eating.

So Jake can bite me (metaphorically speaking). If the preacher’s son can eat some poor animal’s balls, I can order “mock” chicken in a Thai restaurant without feeling as if I’ve compromised myself.

Brownies for Breakfast

2005-08-09T14:05:00.000-07:00

August 9, 2005

For breakfast this morning I had hot tea (my usual) and brownies (very unusual). Not that I don’t love brownies of almost any variety, but I’m generally a little more careful about what I eat. However, my tasks for the day lent themselves well to junk food, so the choice was quite fitting.

After living in rural North Carolina for 8 years and fairly rural Washington state for two years, I find myself back in Metro Atlanta for the first time since 1994. When I moved away, you could still rent an apartment “in-town” for less than $700 per month, and by apartment I mean a one-bedroom with indoor plumbing and a kitchen. I nearly gave myself a heart attack by reading through the apartment listings in Creative Loafing: one-bedroom apartments in Midtown for $1,500…and that’s if you’re lucky. This means one of two things: either everybody in Atlanta is making at least $60,000 per year (and this includes barristas and those kids selling all manner of “goods” in L5P) or people are amassing outrageous credit card debt to put roofs over their heads. Or, perhaps 10 people are sharing one luxury loft.

But back to me! My tasks for the day were 1) go to the post office – I chose the one in Powder Springs rather than Marietta, since parking was better in P.S. and I was feeling a little nostalgic for my old high school hangouts, two of which are still there: Johnny’s Barbeque, which I can no longer enjoy since giving up meat in 1996, and the Dairy Queen, where I can still throw down a Blizzard.

Task number 2 was to find a Barnes & Noble and use one of the gift certificates kind friends in NC gave me when I announced I had had enough of teaching middle school and was moving back to the ATL to find some kind of office job (if you know anyone who is hiring, I have exceptional office-type skills. Oh, and I can strike fear into 25 7th graders just by changing the tone of my voice.). The B&N I located is on Dallas Highway in a pretentious development that reminds me of SouthPark (not the show) in Charlotte. I wandered through the faux cobblestone walks and water gardens looking for all the world like a barefoot mountain girl whose low-life fiance has pushed her out of the truck and left her in an upscale neighborhood. After 10 years of precious little choice in the way of shopping, it is nice to shop at a Target store without driving 45 minutes, and it was tres easy to locate a cingular store (if we’re not careful, I suspect we might wake up one morning to find cingular stores in many front yards, crowding out the swing sets and lawn furniture). Still I could compare the number of shopping choices at my disposal to the 80 channels on local cable: I only watch about 8 of them regularly, and the others are mostly a nuisance. Too much of a good thing? More like too much crap I don’t need, don’t want, and don’t even want to see.

Task number 3 was to go to the library, where those nice ladies had three English mysteries that I had ordered last week. If you enjoy mysteries and you’ve never read Josephine Tey, get thee to the library and check out her books. You won’t be disappointed…unless you’re stupid, and if so why would you be reading, anyway? Go shopping, already!

What can you do with a pile of crap?

2005-08-08T12:10:00.000-07:00

August 8, 2005

Anticipating people’s reactions is a favorite pastime of mine. I attribute this to a mix of neuroses, none of which I apologize for much anymore. I also refuse to apologize for the title of this blog: Compostcompote. (Okay, I wanted to call it Compost, but some joker already beat me to that simple, elegant title.) To clarify, compost – as opposed to compostcompote – is a mixture of rotting materials, amended by generous additions of dried manure. When allowed to achieve its ultimate state of decay, compost becomes the finest building block of any garden, infinitely superior to any and all human-engineered fertilizers and without the toxic pollutants.

Ignorant people love to poke fun at compost piles – “look at that big pile of crap!” – and at those who create them. Well, let these people pay ridiculous prices for mega-fertilizer and groundskeepers. I suspect that they live rather sterile lives, separated from growing things, from decay, from life itself, which is intrinsically dirty. If you’re afraid of a little crap, you’ll never know the bliss that is a warm, organically grown tomato, raised from seed and harvested from your own, compost-filled patch of earth.

There’s crap, and then there’s crap. What we do with the crap in our lives makes all the difference. We can combine it with other things to create something positive, or we can sit around and gripe about it. “That’s a bunch of crap!” Sure it is. Now what?

This blog will be my online compost pile. In it, I’ll put all the odds and ends of things that I’m obsessing over: writing ideas, stuff that really burns me, topics that pique my curiosity, and anything else that seems appropriate…or even inappropriate. No doubt, a portion of it will be crap. To quote one of my many writing instructors, “you’ll never be a successful writer if you’re afraid to suck.”

In that spirit, here goes…