Ted's Haggard

On one hand I feel sorry for poor Ted. Not only is his image indelibly soiled, his family will be shaken if not shattered. His career aspirations are derailed. The corner office at the right hand of Jesus is now out of reach. He'll certainly never be promoted to "God" now that he's been outed. Perhaps if he hides in rehab for a long-enough period and donates some of his millions to humanitarian efforts he'll be less despised.
Probably not.
On the gripping hand (to quote my long-lost friend, Russell), Ted's soap opera parallels the plight of the billionaire business-mogul who declares bankruptcy. Most of his assets are protected in a legal loophole so that he can climb back on top, using the masses as stepping stones along the way.
Masses. Get it?
He'll be behind the pulpit again in no time, regardless of this whole affair.
Sodomy. Everybody's doing it!
Could it be... SATAN???
Was Teddy tempted by the Dev-il?
My inner cynic screams for justice, while the treacherous tip the scales.
I've done some things in my past about which I am not proud. None of my transgressions were on the scale of Haggard's lies and lack of integrity. Plus, I sent money to the department store from which I stole that bra. I have attempted to take personal responsibility for my past choices, and for my present reality.
I did not stand before crowds and preach the opposite of my practices.
Most of us don't.
Most of us don't speak publicly.
Most of them shouldn't.
This is just another example of human hubris.
What makes someone need that degree of affirmation?
What makes others need to believe the proselytising of criminals?
Dobson, Haggard, Swaggert, Baker - Manson, Gacy, Dahmer, Hitler
Humans.
Ack.

Horrible Haggard Haiku

Preaching pretty hate
Stand and deliver "good news"
Fingers crossed behind

Satan lures the weak
Waiting, lurking, patiently
If you so believe

Blame it on your God
Free-will was too much to bear
Powerlessness reigns

That which you deny
Puppet, you are made to dance
By your own design

Will your bearing turn?
Or will power and applause
Steer again your bow?

Future lies unknown
Unseen possibilities
All assume the worst

Love was not enough
You sought gratification
Beyond biblical

Soaring t'wards the glare
Flames ignited your descent
Your light shines no more

There once was a liar named Ted
Who couldn't live all that he said
He snorted some meth
And then got undressed
With him for whom Ted had great dread

There once was a preacher named Haggard
Who ranted and raved just like Swaggert
He judged all the gay boys
And lambasted lesbos
But turned out to be a big faggert.

Compart mentalize ation

Or the mathematical management of mood

Fourteen.

Black coffee, no cream, saccharine – zero.

Apple – eighty.

Gum times three – fifteen.

Walking twenty minutes.

Was it only fifteen?

Fifteen.

Underestimate effort.

Overestimate indulgence.

Tipping the scales in favor of failure.

Lettuce, vinegar, no croutons, celery, less than zero, according to her, and she is winning.

Black coffee, no cream, saccharine – zero.

Ruinous donuts times two lead to pastry and candy topped off with a bubbling soda to stir     the     mix.

I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can’t tell.

It leaves violently the way it came.

I escape. I am saved. I am gone.

How many remain? How many remain? How many remain?

Two hundred? Three hundred? Better say three.

Better safe than what lies     in     wait.

Too tired now to worry I wander unnoticed through classes.

Sleep on the bus ride to home.

Languish. Rinse. Repeat.

Twenty-four.

An extra this triggers more of that.

Addition, subtraction, obsessification no longer appeals. No longer controls.

It all blends together, churning, taunting, peeling away my resolve in long     dying     strips.

I can no longer hold it all in.

I can no longer keep it all out.

I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can’t tell.

I return to the source of escape. Am I saved? I’m still here.

No longer a fix.

Nothing adds up.

Nothing subtracts     quite    right.

Nothing can balance this dizzying gluttony.

Then, out of nowhere a new cure arrives and I ride this wave over my own drowning glares into     new     now.

Numbers irrelevant, minimal, managed, and I am winning.

I am saved. I am calm. I am gone.

Inhuman victory smothering weaknesses, cravings – primal     need.

Running and cleaning and chatting and chattering.

Crumbling to sleep before waking home.

Gun it! Rinse. Repeat.

Forty-four

Math doesn't matter though it’s always with me in case I may need it to manage my moods.

Breathe in.     Breathe out.

Sky blue.     Red soil.     Dog smiles.

Loving hands tethering keep me from flying away while I flail until wind     dies     down.

I have spoken my truth but sometimes I forget.

I have told all my secrets. No use for them here.

I have walked away knowing one look and I’d never be free.

Some moments my heart beats too fast too loud.

Breathe in.     Breathe out.

I am no longer under attack from my Self I remind my Self.

Flash-flooding memories sweep me off     my     ground.

I am buoyant, resilient, a swimmer.

Floating     flying    gliding home.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.

Descartes

I think therefore I am some days confused
I think it's best I tell you what I think
I think my former silence caused such pain
I think I won't keep quiet once again
I think it bothers those who dare not think
I think, and from this thinking rises grief
I think such pain requires that I pause
I think to sift through pain will cause relief
I think some things I dare not tell to most
I think avoiding offense serves me best
I think the sifting sometimes wastes such hours
I think the better choice is let it rest
I think therefore I am some days so tired
I think these thoughts so heavy thus I sleep
I think I sleep to dream a life surreal
I think my epic dreams hold secrets deep
I think my waking days are often gray
I think illusions sleeping sweeps away
I think day life is better filled with love
I think love is distracting from ennui
I think I think too many things to know
I think I'll never know enough of truth
I think the truth sends many running scared
I think not knowing truth arouses fear
I think creating truth offers some hope
I think to hope is similar to dream
I think we only know things as they seem
I think some things beyond what we can know
I think reality an iceberg forms
I think we comprehend a bit a speck
I think therefore my words are so much dreck

Blogvival

This is a post. This is only a post. This is a post in a previously-deactivated, newly-activated collection of very old blog posts. The older entries here were considered amusing by some (me). Perhaps the newer posts will entertain readers or at least myself. I am generally easily amused, which, I know is ironic considering my general pessimistic cynicism about life the universe and everything. But enough about me. This is about my new (old) blog... and me. This is a post. This is the first post of 2012. There will be more as we approach the apocalypse. 

Oh - we'll have our new president-elect by tomorrow. I'm hoping Martin Sheen wins this time.

X-Mas in July? Why?

I cannot believe I am still having this same conversation about Christmas, even though it's July. Here's the conversation as I remember it.

Bob: Are you doing any theater or anything?
Megan: No. I wanted to do Hamletmachine with Tom and Lisa McElroy, but I think Tom doesn't want to work with me anymore.
Bob: You mean after the Christmas fiasco?
Megan: Well, yes. But that wasn't really my fault.
Bob: I still can't believe you didn't write some sort of Anti-Christmas show....
Megan: Well - I would have liked that. I thought it was going to be some sort of spoof on Christmas. But Tom and Lisa really like Christmas. Which surprised me. I thought people who didn't really like much of anything about American culture certainly wouldn't like the whole Christmas thing.
Bob: No, Christmas is wonderful. A magical elf, coming to bring you things.... It's so much fun! You're missing out!
Megan: But, Bob, it's a Christian holiday. I'm not Christian.
Bob: You're missing the point. We don't celebrate it as a Christmas holiday. We're not Christians. In fact, none of the people I know who celebrate Christmas are Christians!
Megan: Well, they're not Muslims. Or Jews.
Bob: What?
Megan: Well, you don't see a bunch of Muslims celebrating Christmas, or Jews, if they're actually members of those religions. It's an exclusively Christian holiday. It's about Christ. Christ's name is even in the "title".
Bob: Well they're not Christians either. I don't think I even know anyone Christian.
Megan: I'm sure you do.
Bob: I can't imagine who, really.
Megan: All of the people I know who celebrate Christmas at least grew up in a Christian oriented household. It's a Christian-based holiday.
Bob: But you're missing the point. You're not listening. No one celebrates Christmas as a religious holiday...
Megan: What's the nativity scene about...?
Bob: You're not hearing what I'm saying...
Megan: No, you're not hearing what I'm saying. I'm telling you that only people who did NOT grow up in other religions like Judaism or Buddhism, or Hinduism, celebrate Christmas. In other words, Christians.
Bob: But it's not religious... You're projecting this because you've never felt the magic of...
Megan: Bob, I have to go. Honestly, my break is over. I just called to give you shit about the $100 piano.
Bob: Really, I'm not religious, my mother was Jewish.
Megan: Did she practice Judaism?
Bob: No
Megan: Did she celebrate Christmas?
Bob: Yes, of course...
Megan: Well, that's my point. If she'd practiced Judaism and not given in to Christian traditions you probably wouldn't have celebrated Christmas.
Bob: You're not listening to what I'm really saying. Anyone can celebrate Christmas.
Megan: Right, anyone who is Christian, atheist or agnostic. Anyone who identifies with another actual religion won't celebrate Christmas, usually.
Bob: You just don't understand - it's not about Christ - it's about the magical elf in Moore's poem.
Megan: What "Moore" are you referring to? Thomas?
Bob: What? I don't know his first name. The guy who wrote, "Night before Christmas". The magical elf, and sugarplums and presents. That's what modern day Christmas is all about.
Megan: It's still a Christian holiday, Bob. It's based on Christian ideals, including the baby Jesus thing, and other religions don't celebrate it. I really have to go back to work. I'm done. I can't believe we're talking about this again.
Bob: Ok, bye. (hangs up).
Megan: Bye.

It's a Christian holiday. It's called CHRISTmas for Jesus' sake, literally.

Things I hate

My friend Eddie Lopez used to tell me, in his slightly Texan accent, "Megan, you hate everything!" He was cute. Probably still is. Haven't seen him in years, but we chat online occasionally. He was just trying to make me see how negative I am. Was. Still am. Probably he wasn't trying to do anything but got sick of me telling him how much I hated this or that....

My ex-boyfriend hated a lot of things:
Tight shirt collars - bothered his neck.
Scratchy fabric - bothered his body.
Crayon wrappers - the paper around each crayon - he had to remove that before using the crayons.
Coral Reefs. There we were, sitting with other friends at a coffee shop and this peripheral acquaintance of one friend came over to tell us about his deep sea diving photography. He metioned various ocean creatures and fish, and coral reefs. He left. My ex said, with a shiver, "oooargh!!! Achchch! I hate coral reefs!" We all stared at him for a moment because he looked like he had bugs all over him or was going to vomit, and then we all laughed.
I asked, "How could you hate coral reefs? You've never been diving. Plus, how can you hate something like coral reefs?"
"They're just so scratchy!" he exclaimed, looking disgusted again.
There's no response for this. There's no convincing him to like coral reefs, or to want to touch an actual coral reef. I think he's responding to the scratchiness of those little dead pieces of coral that come with the touristy shell collections you can buy at beachside bodegas. Yes, those are scratchy.
My ex is a lot like Monk, the OCD detective on television. I hope he's gotten some help for this, because he was constantly tortured by his tics and dislikes and anxieties when we were together. Perhaps it was in response to me. How egocentric, Megan.

Things I hate....
Pretty, thin women who use their looks to get ahead
The men and others who fall for the shit of pretty, thin women
Cultural pressure to be a pretty, thin woman
Liver
Scratchy hotel sheets
Polyester hotel bedspreads
Hot, sunny, summer days
Not being a bazillionaire
My own laziness and lack of motivation
My OCD tendencies, which I'm not willing to explain here.
The dog poop in my backyard
The fact that dogs poop
The fact that I have to clean up after them
I dunno - there's more. I say that I 'hate' things, but I probably need to find a better word. Things make me feel stuff.
That's deep.
I hate not being closer to perfect.
I hate being hot (I'm referring to temperature). It's Summer. It's hot. I have yardwork to do. It's stinky and poopy in my backyard and I now have to get up and brave the sun and heat (with a lot of sunscreen) and start cleaning.

Woo hoo

I hate not having one of those mini bulldozer things to use to clean the yard.

Whatever, Megan. You hate everything!

Love ya, Eddie.

Little Megan Big World

The Roloff family are the stars of Little People Big World on TLC. Mom, Dad and one of the children are little people, and the other three children are average sized. They're always having to adjust to the average world in ways that I understand, though at 4'11'' I am not technically considered a dwarf.

I had to have an ergonomic evaluation because my chair wasn't high enough or my desk wasn't low enough, and this cheap-ass plastic footstool sucks. I'm never comfortable at work. I'm either sitting with one leg up on the chair, or both feet on the computer console, ankles crossed. Half of my butt falls asleep, or my bent knee begins to hurt. When I stand up from the chair I stagger like an arthritic, elderly person, which totally foils my effort to be a young and hip member of my tech-team.

I finally asked for a different chair or a different footstool or both. Though I'd prefer a soft, velvety, wingback chair and an ottoman, I'm sure that setup would promote napping more than efficiency.

The chair I have been using is made of a grey-black, scratchy fabric, with tech-looking design details on the plastic back. The back doesn't move at all, because the tension is so high, my weight doesn't budge it. So I constantly feel pushed forward, out of the seat. I can adjust the height to make it more comfortable with the stationary desk area, but only days later the seat has mysteriously sunk back down to its lowest height. Though I worry about my weight, I'm fairly sure that's not the cause of the sinking seat.

Anyway - these two HR Ladies came down to my windowless basement cube to look at my footrest and told me that was the only type we have here. I had it backwards, though, which they say may have been why it doesn't seem comfortable. As for the chair, most of the chairs here are broken, stained, bent or otherwise ruined, and the company does not deem this an important expense. None of the chairs in this area would work, so the HR ladies brought me a chair from somewhere else in the building - the secret stockpile of working chairs.

Exchanging my bad chair for the good chair was not so simple. The good chair had bad, wobbly armrests attached to it that would not adjust up or down. The HR ladies struggled to unbolt the armrests with wrenches, delicately attempting to avoid breaking a painted nail. The bolts required a different wrench, which Rodney, an average-Samoan-sized colleague retrieved from his truck. He was able to help them disconnect the armrests so that I could sit in my ergonomically adjustable chair and work.

These people were in my cube for about 20 minutes, but it seemed like an hour. This is not the type of attention I want. One of the HR Ladies seemed quite pleasant in that HR way. She's clearly nice to everyone, at least to their face. The other one barely looked at me, and I began to suspect she resented me for making her crawl around on the floor with a tool. The nice HR Lady just smiled passively and mumbled something about this being "the law" when I thanked her profusely for the great effort they were making to help me. That did not convince me of her innate pleasantness, and in fact made her smile seem more false.

I've never been self-conscious about my height - my stature. Weight - yes. Height - no. Today I'm feeling like an ugly, older dwarf who's just now realized I'm different and small. Really - I never think of myself as short, unless I'm looking at someone who's my height. Then, when I realize I'm as short as that person, I see myself as small.

The chair issue makes me feel small, and not in an interesting or attractive or cute way. Just small.

Day 3

On the third day of the new year my new love gave to me...

AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!! I've been brainwashed!

After months of listening to holiday muzak I can't get it out of my head. Yesterday - chestnuts, today - partridges. I'm so glad the holidaze are over. I feel like I'm still recovering from too many gatherings and too much group activity.

And after all that I'm STILL not convinced to convert to Christianity. Hmmm.
ddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd

Enough about religion.
It's the new year. I need a new attitude, a new outlook, a renewed level of energy with which to pursue life.

Can I buy that on Ebay?
None of the really really important stuff is available on Ebay.
Sure, I can get diet pills, diamond rings, Beanie Babies, Doc Martens and even a time-share.

Spiritual fulfillment
Physical wellness
Motivation for excellence
Creative exuberance
None of this is available for purchase on the site that has IT all.

There should be a kit available for each of these things.
I suppose a church membership, a Bowflex, a life-coach and knitting needles might work for some people.

I think I must mine my own resources for contentment, joy, serenity, productivity, fulfillment, etc.

Today my tank is running low, which gives me that repeated inner mantra of "I WANT, I WANT, I WANT..." in an effort to fill up on something that will soothe.

Perhaps I just need more sleep.

OR A SHOPPING EXCURSION!

(No!)

Or some quiet time after all of the holiday chaos.

That could be IT. Yet another thing unavailable on Ebay.

Another New Year

New Year

New possibilities?

I dunno. Is there really any more possibility today than there was a couple of days ago? I'd like to believe that each moment is truly new and separate from the many previous moments of my life, and that any influence they may have is imaginary. I'd like to believe that in this new moment, which is separate from the last one, I can generate some new existence which may be more acceptable and enjoyable than many of my accumulated past moments were.

I think the past moments somehow form threads that singly have little strength, but become unbreakable when wound around me over and over again. Tiny filaments twist and tangle, crocheted into nets. These knotted webs entrap, sometimes strengthening as one struggles to break free.

The entrapment is imaginary, as are the long ago moments. There is no substance to these ties, no collectible evidence. Why then can I not escape the past completely and move beyond the limitations I continue to construct? All life is a trap ending in death. What you do before leaving behind this Earth depends on the weight of the imaginary webs in one's life, perhaps.

Of what are these filaments made?
Memories
Regrets
Wishes
Drowned dreams
Unrequited love
Failings
Lackings
Inadequacies
Perception
Self-esteem
Self-loathing
Unanswered questions
Unsolved mysteries
Introspection

all this and more.
Tune in next time when we explore the pointlessness of philosophical psycho-rambling - next episode: The ROI of Taking Action.

XMas & Nicotine

I had no idea.

I truly had no idea the depth of issues I have with the holiday season.
I am in a Christmas play. I'm the token Jew in the Avantguardians' "DaDa XMas". I was fine with the idea of singing altered XMas carols, and telling classic XMas stories in some DaDa/AvantGuard/Abstract way. Tom and Lisa have great ideas and I love the creative process of developing a show with them. I assumed the content would be irrelevant and that the process would be the point.

The trigger was our conversation about whether or not Christmas is a religious holiday. My opinion is that since it's based on a Christian construct about the fake birthday of Christ and some stolen Pagan rites and symbolism, it's a religiously-based holiday. It's a Christian holiday. Jews don't celebrate Christmas unless they have someone Christian in their family or unless they've developed some elaborate explanation of why celebrating Christmas is allowed even though they're really still Jews. Really. Muslims don't celebrate Christmas either (see above). Christmas is intrinsically Christian. It's about Christ. The name of the holiday even contains the dear Baby Jesus' last name, or whatever that is. Ok - not his last name, but the name by which Baby Jesus is alternatively known.

Tom and Lisa vehemently deny that Christmas is a Christian holiday, citing the examples of Pagan symbols and the inescapable conspicuous consumption of modern-day American XMas. Though I attempted to explain why Christmas is nonetheless a Christian holiday, they could not understand, or refused to agree with my reasoning. During the whole discussion I was surprised by my emotional reaction. I became rather upset and frustrated.

What the hell is frustrating about a difference of opinion among friends? I think I felt betrayed in a way. My friends and art-colleagues don't share my point of view and suddenly I was alone at the table arguing a point about which I was so clearly right, in my mind. My friends and art-colleagues are not religious, so their position is not founded upon any scriptural theory or some covert, open-armed-personal-saviour effort at converting me. Not only was I surprised at my own reaction, I was surprised that Tom and Lisa didn't immediately agree with me. The conversation then involved whether or not this was a "Jew thing" and I was being oversensitive or even paranoid.

"You're not paranoid if they really are after you, " I said to them.

"Exactly," Tom nodded.

Added to the mix is the fact that I quit smoking a few days ago and have cycling homicidal and suicidal ideations. Quitting closet smoking seems to have magnified these issues as well as my obsessions with everything else in life that could possibly be a source of depression. Who knew that two or three cigarettes a day could be so addictive? Who knew that removing such a small amount of some brain-altering chemical would have such a dramatic effect on my affect?


If smoking wasn't stinky and carcinogenic I probably wouldn't bother quitting. I've thought about continuing to smoke through the holidays, just out of spite. The question is - out of spite for whom? Plus, it will be just as difficult to quit in 2007 as it has been this horrid week of 2006. Maybe I could ask my shrink to add some nicotine to the daily dose of happy pills I ingest. Can you add tobacco to brownies?

Quitting smoking feels remarkably like going through a bad PMS day. Everything seems more irritating, and more urgent than usual. By January I will have forgotten all about the descriminatory practices of the Christmas revellers. During PMS days it's not that my issues are made up, it's just that they seem so IMPORTANT and overwhelming. So if I'm short on money, it seems like I'm BROKE and I'm NEVER going to have ANYTHING and might have to go on food stamps or welfare soon, and I'll never get to go on a vacation again, and my bills will never be paid....

Currently, my withdrawal symptoms are causing me to hate Christmas because I'm sure I'm permanently inadequate for my inability to buy the right presents. The nicotine-deprived voices in my head are also telling me that our Fundamentalist Christian culture is against me and it will only get worse. I'll probably end up in prison for not conforming. I'll have to become a handmaiden and have some rich Christian wife's children. No, actually, I'm too old. They'll just hang me as an example for the others. In fact, I'm too old to really make much of myself in this life, with or without the Fundamentalist Christian Handmaiden dilemma. It's too late. Oh, woe is me.... Alas... blah, blah, blah.

So that's the path my withdrawing neurons walk today. On the up-side, I have almost completed my first crocheted scarf. Red. A little bumpy and uneven. I'll say I meant it to look that way. Right now, though, I'm insanely craving just a little, itsy, bitsy, teenie, weeny, bitty, baby puff of a cigarette. Just one more. Just one more time.

"Jane says... Gonna kick tomorrow...." to quote Perry Farrell.

Quivering Quiverfull

Ok - I just learned about a new movement called the Quiverfull Movement. These are Christian people who've decided to try to have six or more children in order to contribute to the Evangelical Christian movement. Does bearing children and indoctrinating them equal evangelizing and converting non-Christians?

Here's a paragraph from the ToiletPaper blog that got me thinking about possibilities of countering this Quiverful movement:

Jeff Sharlet sent us this link to a Nation story about the "Quiverfull" movement among fundie Christian women who consider their vaginas God's house and having babies as a way of populating God's army. All kinds of terrifying quotes like these: "Tracie Moore, a 39-year-old midwife who lives in southern Kentucky, is mother to fourteen. Wendy Dufkin in Coxsackie has her thirteen." http://www.toiletpaperonline.com/index.php.

I'm thinking we should start a similar movement to forward the "Gay Agenda" and counter this growth of Christian soldier-babies. All I need is some gay sperm, and some willing, fertile lesbians. We'll breed and create armies of gay babies to fight with their Christian babies. This project is still in the primordial ooze stage, but I think I'm on to something with potential here. We could take out full-page ads, recruit people at the mall, convert adolescents with rock music, fog and lasers... speaking of which, did anyone see the live brodcast from New Life last week?

If any of my three or four readers have suggestions, let me know. Plus, if you want to be a part of this movement forward my blog address to everyone. We also have to come up with a name - like Quiverfull - but gay.

Babies

Everyone I know is having babies.

Well, not everyone. Not the men, obviously. When their wives or girlfriends are having babies men like to boast about their masculine involvements and martyr-like tolerance of the hormonal swings and cravings. Who's doing all the real work, though?

In the past year, here are the babies who've come into my life:
1: My neighbor to the East had a baby - Kieran.
2: My neighbor to the West had a baby girl - Sylvie
3: My neighbor to the West is pregnant again - ? They thought, before Sylvie, that she couldn't get pregnant.
4: One coworker at Cedar Springs had a beautiful baby boy. Somehow she kept him safe inside her inspite of the agressive, violent children we worked with.
5, 6, 7, 8, 9: Four women I know well from a particular local group had bunches of babies in the past two years - Oliver, Ruby, Kennedy and a couple of others whose names I can't recall at the moment.
10. My brother's wife had a baby girl in July - Abigail.
11. My brother-in-not-law's (because the bigots in Colorado voted to define marriage as one man and one woman legally and will not allow me to recieve civil union benefits from my spouse) wife had a baby girl in August - Shayla.
12. My cousin by illegal marriage had a baby boy in October - Gavin.

Babies - similar to parasites while in the womb. It's not even a mutually beneficial situation, unless you consider the expectant joy and all that glowing. Well, and the loose, comfortable clothes. Okay, and the weight. I'd have an excuse for several months for gaining weight. Considering the constant drain on a woman's internal resources, the growth of a living organism inside her, feeding, bound by blood. Sounds like a horror film, really.

Babies - if I'm still fertile I should be able to sell my babies on Ebay.

Babies - I'm thinking of going out and getting really drunk so that Heidi and I can have a baby of our own. It seems to work for so many others.

Babies - why aren't they more like Octopi? What? Well - an octopus can exhale a lot of its water, make itself very thin, and get through tiny holes in coral reefs and such. Why didn't God or Allah or Yaweh or whatever higher power may exist make babies' heads more like Octopi so that they could become really narrow to make childbirth less painful? Yes, I've read about the Garden of Eden and the snake and all that.

Babies - I'm also thinking that if I get pregnant for some reason, somehow, someday that I should chain smoke so that the baby is really small and doesn't hurt so much coming out. I mean so that I don't hurt while it comes out.

Babies. So much to consider.

I'm kidding about the chain-smoking, in case you don't know me and are reading this. Sometimes I imagine that I'd like to have a child. Then I think about how messy my house is, and how much of an obligation dogs have been. I really love other people's children, though. We'll see.

Strange Ideas?

I was sitting in the bathroom yesterday... yes, on the toilet, at work. I suddenly imagined how horrible it would be if we didn't have bathrooms. Someone a couple of stalls down from me was peeing, really loudly, and it made me want to giggle. I always think it's funny when you can hear people doing their thing in the bathroom. I always think it's embarassing if someone else can hear me, so I guess it's silly that I want to laugh at the loudly-peeing woman in the other stall. Anyway, it occurred to me that it would be truly horrible if we had no public bathrooms in office buildings.

There would be an elaborate pulley & bucket system attached to the outside of skyscrapers. Waste would dump into tubes and then the buckets would hopefully be rinsed out before returning to the offices to be used again. Something like that. Can you say dysentery? Where would all the goo go? Where does the goo go now? To the spinach farms.

Blow-By-Blow Service at New Life Church

Heheheheh - blow-by-blow - get it?

New Life Church has blessed us this morning with a live-feed of their service. My wife and I are watching their mesmerizing, horrifying indoctrination of the children present at the service, and the idiots who believe this crap. Basically, in my not so humble opinion, the New Life congregation is made up of people who either can't or don't want to think for themselves. Being a member of NewLife and the other mega-churches absolves one of all responsibility for self-determination.

The main pastor on stage today reminds me of the gay men I went to college with - in the theater department at NYU. Not everyone can make it on Broadway or in Hollywood. Jesus, we just thank you today for the musical and theatrical opportunities you have provided for the actors in our fold.

OK - one of the pastors on stage just said, during his introduction and explanation of why he's in Colorado Springs today, "I was jerked off a treadmill...". They just can't help it. Satan lures them and puts dicks in their mouths... oops, I mean, words in their mouths and treachery in their hearts. Jerked off. Ooops. Freudian slip.

There are thousands of people watching this service either to support the church in its time of need, or to watch in horror the cult-like followers, swaying, hands in the air. What's the difference between this and the Moonies? What's the difference between the New Life congregation and the followers of Hitler, or Jim Jones, or David Koresh?

The guy just called New Life a "non-denominational" church. I need a dictionary. I thought non-denominational meant that it would be inclusive of all religions. I don't see them welcoming Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus or Satanists in to worship the energies that rule the universe.

From www.dictionary.com:
American Heritage Dictionary
non·de·nom·i·na·tion·al (nnd-nm-nsh-nl) adj.
Not restricted to or associated with a religious denomination.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth EditionCopyright © 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company.Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.WordNet

non-denominational
nondenominational adj : not restricted to a particular religious denomination; "a nondenominational church"
WordNet ® 2.0, © 2003 Princeton University

Denomination
1. a religious group, usually including many local churches, often larger than a sect: the Lutheran denomination.
2. one of the grades or degrees in a series of designations of quantity, value, measure, weight, etc.: He paid $500 in bills of small denomination.
3. a name or designation, esp. one for a class of things.
4. a class or kind of persons or things distinguished by a specific name.
5. the act of naming or designating a person or thing.
[Origin: 1350–1400; ME denominacioun <>denominate) + -iōn- -ion]
Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.0.1)Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2006.

Basically, the letter Haggard wrote in apology to his congregation states that he's been struggling against the horrible, evil part of himself all his life. He says he needs to be lovingly counselled, disciplined and corrected. LIKE ALL GOD-FORSAKEN HOMOS (my interpretation of what his letter really means). He says that by his example we can all learn how the sick and disheartened may be healed. WE CAN FIX THOSE SINNING HOMOS - AND I'LL SHOW YOU HOW!!! Ugh. He's horrible.

Haggard's wife wrote a letter too, to state and reinforce her love for Ted. I wonder if Ted's as good in bed with Gail as he was with his gay masseur. A lot of housewives do meth to lose weight and stay on top of all their wifely duties. Hmmm. She's a busy woman. Maybe she just needs a little extra impetus some mornings. Plus it's supposed to be great for your sex life. Or somethin'.

Enough for now. I have to do real life things, like get dressed, buy groceries, pay some bills. Too bad I'm not a better actress. I coulda made a fortune singing Christian songs and fooling my followers. Maybe it's not too late.

Happy Happy Childhood

I had a happy childhood. Didn't I?
I had food and clothing and shelter and love.
I had a brother, a mother, a father and a dog.
I had hamsters and hermit crabs and fish now and then.
I was allergic to the cat so it was sent away.

We collected frogs.
We listened to Elvis.
We slid down the stairs on a pillow.
We pretended to be adults.
We swam in the ocean.
We played in the snow.
We fought over bubble wrap.

We took car trips in the yellow station wagon with "wood" siding. We fought and played in the back seat. My parents put the back seats down, so that we had a flat area to lay on, stretched out, to nap or read.

There were no restricting, binding car seats then. Or maybe there were. Parents were just not as concerned about children's safety.

No helmets, no child-car-seats, no baby monitors.
We lived through it anyway.
A lot of us.
Enough of us.

Maybe subconsciously I believed my parents were trying to kill me and that scarred my soul.
I doubt it.

Maybe my mother's chain smoking affected me as a fetus, and the withdrawal symptoms, followed by constant second hand smoke, caused my brain and CNS to develop into the system of an addict, which I am.
Maybe she has nothing to do with it.
I doubt it.

Chain-smokers should teach their infants to smoke so that the poor creatures won't go through withdrawal!
Ok, not really.

I've considered chain smoking through pregnancy - I mean, if I were pregnant - so that the baby would be really small and not hurt as much during delivery.
I also think that if I am still fertile, I should be able to have babies and sell them on Ebay.
Right now the only limitation is a lack of sperm.

Plus, after nine months I might develop some affection for the parasite creature inside me and not want to sell it after all. And there I'd be, with no alternate financial plan, trying to support a child.

Ugh. Life.
Is bigger.
Bigger than you and you are not me.... la, la, la, la, la, la--------------

I had a happy childhood until I started therapy and realized how much angst I had collected about which to complain.
I had a happy childhood until I was encouraged to be angry about my parents' imperfections.
I had a happy childhood until it ended and I had to go out into the world unprepared.
At that point, in spite of all the schooling and therapy and achievements, I regretted leaving my happy childhood behind.

Triskadekaphobic Dreams

I dreamt I had inherited pet monkey-creatures. They resembled ferrets, but with long arms and legs. Really, they were like those stuffed animal monkeys with velcro on the hands and feet that can hang around your neck. They had long claws so that I had to be very still in order to let them climb on me. Otherwise they'd get nervous and cause scratches.

I dreamt also that I was with my Aunt Phyllis and my brother, Dan, and we stopped by Cedar Springs. My father was there as well. My brother was in some sort of depression and after chatting with my father, decided to stay at Cedar Springs for a while. In the dream he was a teenageer, not an adult. He talked for a long time with Rodney, an artist friend. Rodney, in the dream, was some sort of therapist. I knew that he could help my brother while Dan was in the psych hospital. The check-in process took a long, long time. Phyllis was annoyed and restless. I went down to the library on the hospital campus and looked at CD's. I talked to someone about a particular Jazz artist, and how Jazz had sort of fallen out of fashion recently. After long time I went to speak with Rodney about my brother. He was very sensitive and reassuring about the situation and my brother's mental health. That was comforting. Because Phyllis was so annoyed, but only expressing that non-verbally, which was just making me angry, I told her to go ahead and leave. I assumed she wanted to go shopping or to a movie and was irritated that we'd wasted all day waiting around for my brother. She left. I knew I could get a ride from Rodney or someone else at the hospital.

In another dream last night I was in the military, as was Heidi. We had gotten in trouble for drug possession and were just waiting for them to process the evidence for drug residue. We didn't want to go to prison or ComCor, so we snuck into the investigation lab, stole the evidence and threw the containers into the incinerator outside the lab. We were seen by officers. We ran to our Subaru Outback and tried to get away. The tv inside the car was playing my friend Ruth's comedy hour. We came upon a very steep, icy hill and could not get all the way up it because the car didn't have 4-wheel drive. We slid back down, got out and tried to run. Heidi was caught, but I got away. They arrested her and she again awaited prosecution and punishment. 5 years in prison.... I felt so guilty that I returned to the base and turned myself in. Heidi, by that time, was living with another woman, her new best friend, a pretty, petite Latina woman, with a convincing, loathing glare. I tried to apologize and they let me stay in the room with them, but neither one was friendly. During this part of the dream we made t-shirts with hand-painted tattoo designs on them.

That's all I remember.

My vivid dreams are far more intriguing sometimes than real life.

Evolution

Do not discuss evolution at work.
Do not discuss evolution at work.
Do not discuss evolution at work.
Do not discuss evolution with a religious fanatic.
I think he has Aspberger's syndrome. He's a complete nut about history and languages - knows a ridiculous and impressive amount of American Presidential trivia. Plus he has that odd inability to judge when his peers are kidding.
But that's besides the point.
My chest begins to feel tight as I realize that this person who is so well-read in other areas, has read all the pro-Creationism and Intelligent Design crap and does not believe in Evolution. We start to bicker about it and his arguments have no form, no logic. AND HE SMILES.
What angers me about this topic?
Maybe it's that I live in a city full of religious fundamentalists who believe that every word of the Bible is true because God wrote the Bible and said, in the Bible, that the Bible is true. I'm sick of hearing stupid, baseless arguments about the value of religious theory in education. This trend is all about enforcing mindlessness so that the masses will follow those who simply say they're right based on the Biblical theories used to brainwash the masses.
The most unfortunate part of all this is the level of complicity by us - the masses. Our culture is more and more focused on superficial, external aquisition and accomplishments. We value beauty, fashion, wealth, possession and participation in the currently agreed-upon cultural norms. Education is WAY down on the list.
That's great, because the less educated the masses are, the less they will involve themselves in government and politics. The more we'll all be sheep, herded along cultural pathways regardless of consequence. The people retaining power in all this will remain in power, as they planned. The gap between rich and poor will continue to widen.
Do not discuss politics and religion at work.
Do not discuss politics and religion at work.
Do not discuss politics and religion at work.
But if someone doesn't speak out, what will become of us?

Mean People

People are just mean.
Just plain mean.
They're mean for no reason.
They're mean because they're frustrated with a situation beyond their control, beyond my control.
They're mean because I can't help them the second that they call.
They're mean because they're powerless in a world of difficulty and chaos.
They're mean because they're bored.
They're mean because they're unfulfilled.
They're mean because they're doing a job they dislike.
They're mean because mom and dad were mean.
They're mean because the Xanax doesn't work anymore.
They're mean because they've had to quit Xanax and join a stupid-ass 12-step group.
They're mean because they wanna be the boss of the world, and the world doesn't work that way.
They're mean because of global warming.
They're mean because the Republicans are in office.
They're mean because the Republicans in office are perpetuating global warming.
They're mean because it's raining.
They're mean because it's too hot.
They're mean because they're just plain mean.
You know what I mean?

Lies

Finding lies
left lying
around found
behind corners
on ledges
allegedly unexpected
but truly no surprise
Compartmentalize
Hide beneath piles
Slip through the cracks
Ration the truth
Leave bits and pieces
Hoarding perception
Creating deception
Driving wedges
Between us
And "could have been".
Evasion
Elusion
Illusion
Lies