The Crushing Ascendant

Light Reading Gone Dark

2007-12-27T22:09:00.000-05:00

So I’ve not yet seen The Da Vinci Code. I recently obtained the DVD, but have yet to watch it. Originally, I put off seeing it because I understood it to be a “work of art” that sought to slander the Church by reviving every heresy—Gnostic, Arian, what have you—and presenting them as the truth for the sake of an (admittedly) gripping story of conspiracy and intrigue. Based on documents and doctrines so irrational and inconsistent that they failed to fool even our most ancient forefathers, the novel and the movie had self-confessed “spiritualists” and secular free thinkers giving the time of day to garbage rightly rejected over 1,600 years ago. Not that anyone actually understood the scope of the heretical beliefs touched upon by author Dan Brown—he would have needed to use flow charts to convey all that, a little out of place in a novel—but they were nonetheless eager to believe that the beliefs held in common by Christians were not to be believed. Added to everything, Mr. Brown’s assertion that his fictional story contained wholly accurate historical and theological information undermined the line between fact and fiction and made clear his venom for the real world Christian faith.

Not to go on at too great length about The Da Vinci Code, there are other popular works of fiction that have made assaults on simple truths, some more indirectly than others. While I never read any of the Harry Potter series, not being a fan of the fantasy genre, I recall that in 2002 the Catholic Church disapproved it as being unsuitable for children. I don’t know how their argument ran, but I would agree that there is a danger here. It isn’t that the books promote satanic witchcraft. I give kids credit for recognizing these far-out elements as pure fantasy, and I don’t see the emergence of any subculture dabbling in the black arts. Rather, I find the danger to lie in devaluation. Today, America’s youth is having its wonder, its amazement funneled away to outlets with no profitable end. Children and teens, so intelligent and passionate, are squandering their faculties and energies on petty entertainments that do not glorify God or seek to apprehend divine realities.

A second danger—the constant danger—relates to the intrusion upon these novels of humanist thinking. This is presaged in Harry Potter by such post-publication announcements as a prominent character’s homosexuality, but more fully realized in the latest series of books-turned-big-screen, The Golden Compass series. Harry Potter is tame by comparison to this next attempt to discredit the Church. These books portray the Church as an organization given to brainwashing, and they define dogma, in the abstract, as necessarily evil. Rather than recognize in systematic theology the hard-won confession and oft assailed attestation that Christ is Lord, they adopt an ahistoric absurdity and suggest that any doctrine that seems too hard to understand must in fact be a fanciful invention of man designed to mislead and oppress.

The writers and producers of the cinematic version of the series have muted the anti-Christian overtones, but I haven’t a clue why. If Hollywood really isn’t interested in broadcasting atheistic tirades to young children, why make the movie at all? Why attempt to merely filter out the profane if the message of the source material is so unabashedly objectionable? Forget the film altogether and let these books rot on the shelves. Since any children’s film’s financial viability depends upon its perceived uprightness, I don’t see the point in to trying to scrub clean this petrified lump of dung.

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Christianity in the Media Recap 2: What would they have us believe?

Reintroducing condemned heresies and seeding impieties into popular children’s literature is fair game; all’s good so long as it’s entertaining.
The doctrines of the Church, developed over millennia to safeguard simple truths from attacks (such as these), are actually elaborate attempts to brainwash us all.

2% With a Wide Margin of Error

2007-12-16T17:12:00.000-05:00

From viewing the blurb on my Yahoo homepage today, I see that Will Smith's blockbuster I Am Legend is enjoying the largest December box office opening ever--until next December, I'm sure. In the run up to the premiere, Smith was the focus of several interviews, among them an especially memorable one conducted by Access Hollywood.

In it, Smith came off as a well-spoken, intelligent actor in no way reminiscent of his self-titled Fresh Prince character from his youth. Following the recap of his illustrious career, AH got around to asking him about his personal life, delving into such incidentals as his high school memories, his relationship with his father, and--of all things--his views on Tom Cruise's always-scandalous devotion to Scientology.

Smith defended Cruise, who is a good friend of Smith's and an overall "great spirit." How heartwarming. He went on to appeal to man's right to determine his own beliefs, which, according to him, are all the more valid for being the more insane. Here's the central quote:

"How can I condemn someone for what they believe and I believe that God was born from a pregnant virgin?"

According to Will Smith, then, the criterion for faith is not, say, the revealed word of God, but rather the sheer absurdity of the premises upon which beliefs are built. He attempts to demean the integrity of his own admitted Christian faith in order to buoy the outlandish assertions of a cult in direct opposition to that faith.

But then, what is the content of Smith's own "Christian" belief? He gives us a brief peek into his background:

"I was introduced [to Scientology] by Tom and I’m a student of world religion. I was raised in a Baptist household, I went to a Catholic school, but the ideas of the Bible are 98 percent the same ideas of Scientology, 98 percent the same ideas of Hinduism and Buddhism."

Why, he's some sort of religious cosmopolitan, isn't he? And so profound. Obviously, he must know what he's talking about. Just look at his credentials. Who else but a true humanitarian and champion of tolerance could possibly recite such beautiful platitudes?

I'm especially impressed by his specificity. He sheds quite a bit of insight onto those vast and obscure "ideas of the Bible", doesn't he? It can be so hard to keep track of them all, but let's see what we can pull up to forefront of our wearied minds. Here's an idea:

"All things are delivered unto me of my Father: and no man knoweth the Son, but the Father; neither knoweth any man the Father, save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son will reveal him." (Matthew 11:27)

Actually, wait, no, that's the wrong one. That's too specific, and it puts a crimp on Will's point. I guess the part of Christianity that has to do with Christ must fall under that 2%, huh?

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Christianity in the Media Recap 1: What would they have us believe?

All religions are one.
Men should believe whatever suits them them best.
Christianity is not significantly different from Scientology, Hinduism, or Buddhism.
To criticize a belief system in opposition to Christianity is ignorant.
Strange doctrines are valid since Christian beliefs are equally bizarre; or, conversely
Both the beliefs of cults and the beliefs are Christianity are unbelievable.

The Bitter Joke

2007-12-09T13:07:00.000-05:00

During the summer months, while watching the latest underwhelming attempt to find the Last Comic Standing, I witnessed a noteworthy stand-up routine. It wasn’t that it was particularly funny. (That hasn’t been the case since the reality show’s first season.) What caught my attention was that it attacked the Catholic Church, in particular, as well as Christian beliefs in general. I don’t use the word “attack” to designate some personal offense to my own over-sensitive ego. The comedic profession has always harvested material from widely recognizable figures, mundane observations, and current events that can then be half-heartedly teased and mulled over for humorous effect. The jabs are not especially judgmental or, if they are, they are delivered while the performer is in character, the intention being to point out the absurdity of such judgments. Acts that “attack” racial groups, for instance, must be heard in light of the fact that they (often) serve the purpose of exposing the ridiculousness of certain stereotypes.

It is sobering to realize that those that attack Christian—not religious in general, but purely Christian—subjects, do so with an altogether different motive. This brings me back to Last Comic on NBC. As the comic presented his Christian material, the audience laughed, as would be expected. But there was something venomous in the laughter. If it was too subtle to be recognized at first, it was confirmed by the cheering that followed after it. The assembled audience was validating the caricatured depiction of Christians, taking it as profound (rather than profane), and agreeing with the harsh words delivered against the faith.

If it can be granted that these funnymen professionals concoct their material to cater to the modern worldview of their audience, then it follows from that audience’s reaction that this comic had correctly gauged that the average individual harbors deep-rooted anti-Christian animosity. This in itself should come as a shock. At a sold-out, HBO-sponsored theater performance by Bill Mahr, one might come to expect such God-directed hate mongering and the wildly approving reaction of the throng. What is far more telling is that a similar reaction could be elicited from a randomly selected, diverse group of people come to witness an unknown comedian with no foreknowledge of the nature or the flavor of his comedy.

Popular conceptions of Christianity as an intolerant religion that has been made obsolete by modern science, and its adherents as uptight and irrelevant members of a dwindling sub-culture, have given today’s comedians license to treat them intolerantly in turn and to forego the implicit niceties afforded to the targeted groups of other “offensive” humor.

It is not my intent to make whining complaints on behalf of Christians treated unfashionably, but to draw attention to how the faith has been so easily and so widely misrepresented, and how something life-giving can be construed to be so contemptible, and how ready and eager the unbelievers are to agree with one another and to consort with every false assertion. It appears as though, even when overhearing some new slander against God not previously considered by them, they lend to it an immediate plausibly, if only because it is opposed to the faith that they mutually despise. And to that faith itself, they give not a moment’s consideration.

I’ve been vague with regard to the substance of the comedy that I’ve referred to here; I know that I have been short on examples. Watching this broadcast via television has given me occasion to take careful notes on future instances of how the media is endorsing the misrepresentation and degradation of Christian beliefs (I am not now concerned with the bandied-about term “values”, but specifically beliefs).

Lastly, I recall that I earlier referenced this comedian as launching his assault against Catholicism. While the routine began this way, it then went on to mock beliefs held sacred by all of orthodox Christendom. I feel that it is important, for we that may not be Catholics, not to dismiss criticisms of Catholicism as being somehow more deserved, since, as I strongly suspect, the ordinary unbeliever in dismissing Christian beliefs does not make denominational distinctions or, if he is aware of some doctrine peculiar to one denomination, when making his case he is apt to apply it to all of Christianity indiscriminately.

The Two Spheres

2006-03-09T13:01:00.000-05:00

I had a tough time conveying my beliefs regarding the relationship between creationism and evolution earlier today. I was arguing for an approach to the debate that respected both theology and biology as separate and distinct disciplines.

I hold a largely literal interpretation of Scripture. However, I acknowledge that science, as an area of study, concerns itself with those things that are falsifiable and can be proven with respect to the laws of the physical universe. Therefore, I do not expect teachers of biology in academic settings to promote creation on equal footing with evolution for the sake of appeasing Christian taxpayers. It is not science’s obligation to pander to matters of faith.

Having cleared that up, I can now go on to state my belief in the literal interpretation of man’s formation out of the dust as described in the book of Genesis. To elucidate on how I could still make such a claim in light of the above, I will make an analogy to an event from another area of Scripture. When the Israelites broke free from their bondage to Egypt and set out for the land promised them by God, they were sustained by him with manna from heaven. Bread which rains from the sky is quite uncommon, as those who live in this modern age well know. A meteorologist might describe how such an occurrence as a “bread storm” is impossible, perhaps with a smile, like those of the friendly weathermen on the news. Significantly, devout and literalist Christians would also admit that this sort of thing does not happen every day. However, a Christian will affirm that bread rained down for the Israelites all the same, just as we read. And what is the Christian’s explanation for this? Proper faith dictates that a believer takes it as true, even though it clashes starkly with our senses and common perceptions. Manna, far from being explainable in scientific terms, was a miracle nonetheless. A miracle—something not dependent on the physical laws which govern the universe. God performs miracles freely, as he is not constrained in his work by the rules of the creation which he himself created. This is our belief.

Why has there been no meteorological debate on a par with the evolutionary debate? Scientists and Christians would certainly hold contradictory views on the subject. This is because a Christian is content to believe a miracle to be the exception to the general rule, while he otherwise subjects his understanding to the practical workings of geological science, which describe what we see day by day. This does not present a problem, for faith allows us to hold as true also that which is unseen.

What does this have to do with evolution? I propose that in dealing with evolution we are dealing with a similar scenario. Man’s direct creation by God’s hand is a miracle, and this truth should be accepted unreservedly, no matter how buried it becomes under the heaps of Neanderthal bones that are drudged up out of the earth. Why has evolution become such a hot topic while discussions of manna are safely closeted to Sunday school lectures? The difference lies in the practicality of miracles. The miracle of man’s creation, before the rise of Darwinian thought, seemed practical in lieu of an alternate explanation. The miracle of the manna, on the other hand, was never practical, not even in the time in which it was manifest. The evolutionary debate has been spurred on, then, I believe, by Christians unwilling to let creationism skip into the category of the unpractical. We must realize, always, that because something seems unpractical, in light of physical evidence, it does not bar us from a recourse to faith in miracles that overcomes any obstacle, moves any mountain, without any overt exertion of our own. So do not struggle to argue for creationism’s practicality; do not attempt to say that it is scientifically feasible—this is not necessary. Christians must know when to divorce themselves from scientific thought and reasoning. (I write this not to argue that we should remain ignorant of learning, but rather we should not say that such-and-such is impossible merely because science precludes it. All is possible with God.)

This is my belief. There are two spheres, those of science and religion. I can yet uphold a literal belief in creationism without denying the physical evidence for evolution or making an assault on science.

The Rape

2006-03-03T12:07:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to forget about something lately, but I haven't been too successful at letting go. Perhaps sharing it here, in front of such a large audience [sic], will help me to move forward from my stagnant state of denial. This won't be easy. What I have to reveal brings me great shame. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, or alternatively in a puddle of piss, with this memory fresh in my mind. I was... I was...

Hell, let's start at the beginning. This'll be more interesting as a narrative, anyway. I was at church a couple of Sundays ago. That's usually where you'd find me on a Sunday, if you were looking for me. No one ever has, though. Anyway, I was in church listening to a wonderful sermon. It was about--well, I can't remember that, and it's not relevant here besides, so forget all that. The sermon had just ended, and so I was anxious to get out of there before anyone could start chatting me up. I exited the auditorium--New Life Church still holds its services in the auditorium of the Modern Languages Building, by the way--and I breezed by the refreshment table for my weekly post-service cookie. Having grabbed that, I was *pleasantly* surprised to see my great friend, Gar, approaching me. As he came closer, I froze in terror. Every footstep he took towards me exacerbated the trembling in my arm, and my cookie was shedding crumbs all over the floor. That's when he came up to me, face-to-face, his breath hot on the nape of my neck, his eyes piercing my soft, sultry flesh. That's when he... That's when I was...

That's when we decided to leave the auditorium for East Quad. Elated after the sermon, we rounded the corner of the auditorium to make our way to the exit. As we went further, less and less people crowded the way (they stayed behind to mingle), leaving us alone together. Or so we thought. As we continued to round the bend, we saw, upon the floor, a pair of gloves. I thought nothing of this at first; clumsy fools let slip a glove here and there around campus all the time. However, it was strange that someone would drop both gloves at once. I did not investigate the gloves further, deciding that it would not be sanitary to touch someone else's hand-apparel. We were continuing along our winding path when we noticed a handbag on the floor, not far from the gloves. The bag, which was not a purse, nonetheless appeared to belong to a human female, as it was overflowing with girly shit. What made me stop and think was that it seemed to be placed down and abandoned, rather than dropped, as it stood upright. I was about to further examine the bag, both to sate my curiosity and abscond with any money it might have contained, when something monstrous caught my attention from my periphery. That's when he... That's when I... I...

Gar saw it, too. In the crevice in the wall leading to the maintenance closet stood a large man. Brutish-looking, his back was to us and his hands all over another figure, a woman. The big man, who wore an orange shirt, was an older fellow, as his head was balding about the crown of his head. The woman, who was obscured by the big man's frame, looked to be a college-aged girl. She did not make a sound, and she was still as death. The man was anything but. He ground his hips up into the front of her body, in a motion all too familiar to me, all the while pinning her arms to the wall. She was... She was being raped.

Gar and myself, of course, kept going. We had to get back to East Quad, after all. Once we'd moved a couple of feet beyond the incident still in progress, we exchanged glances of bewilderment. Had we seen what we'd seen? I saw that Gar had seen what I had or had not seen, but had I indeed seen it? Was it what it was? Was she... Was she really being raped?

Forgetting the girl herself for a moment, you must keep in mind that it was essential for Gar and I, to legitimize having left, to deny the veracity of what had occurred. Consider the implications if we didn't. We were leaving church! Someone was in distress along our path! The parable of the Good Samaritan might have entailed that we acted a bit differently than we had. Therefore, it was priority number one to excuse our shoddy (in-)actions. I began to mull over the scene again in my head. The bag was placed on the ground, remember. A struggling woman, overtaken by an aggressor, would drop what she was carrying, not set it down carefully. This raised questions about the consensuality of the act. Also, the woman was not screaming while he was...thrusting. Perhaps she liked it, perhaps it was consensual. Then again, he could have just bashed her over the head and dragged the unconscious body out of sight for his purposes. That was another possibility. There was no blood, though. Of course, I didn't get a very good look. Why did we move on so quickly? The episode was slightly awkward. It was an intimate moment, at least for the large man it was, and we didn't want to butt in. He didn't notice us, but what if he had? We could have been placed in danger. Who's to say that the old man wouldn't have assaulted Gar and me? I am but a defenseless young man, and I certainly didn't want to be raped. Lastly, I was still eating my cookie. To have interfered in the rape would have necessitated that I discard it, which I was not prepared to do. It was my weekly cookie, I had to finish it. I wouldn't let go. And I couldn't have confronted the large man with one hand incapacitated. Gar suggested, as we crossed the street outside the MLB, that the man and the girl were probably just stretching together, out of sight, and against the wall. Of course they were. She wasn't... She wasn't raped.

Was she?

Guinness Book of Sexual Perversions

2006-01-22T15:26:00.000-05:00

So I've come to ponder the Guinness Book of World Records recently, and I've decided that it's utter crap. If you consider it, it can't possibly be comprehensive. I mean, what constitues a subject for a world record, anyway? If someone screwed a horse while reciting the alphabet backwards in under a minute, wouldn't that count? What if someone screwed a horse while juggling month-old candy canes? You see, I've done all that, but do I have my own blurb in Guinness? No.

The big wigs who print those books are exclusive and elitist. They refuse to open up the book to any number of death-defying sexual pervertions that, if allowed, would quadruple its thickness. Fetishes and some BDSM practises alone could constitute another volume. And if they'd include more pictures, why, that Guinness fellow would propel his product to every man's bookshelf in the continental United States.

I suppose a part of the reason why we don't find this is that the book aims to be family-friendly. I used to buy a copy every year at the book fair in elementary school. Comparing them, it seemed as though nothing ever changed from one edition to the next. That middle aged, unemployed guy with the bee beard was always in there, as well as the 1,000-pound man, or whatever obscene weight he's achieved since the last time I bought a copy.

Also, why does the GBoWR try to present itself as some sort of reference book? It's shaped like a pocket Webster's dictionary, and it has a similar layout that's printed on the same cheap-ass paper. Is there actually some brilliant scholar sitting in his study somewhere out there who, while writing a research paper with dictionary and encyclopedia at arm's reach, reasons, "I think I better include a reference to that bee beard guy. What was his name again?"

Commitments

2006-01-09T09:59:00.000-05:00

This being a promising new year (at least until I get tired of it), I've resolved to put into practice a couple of self-directed reforms aimed, for the most part, at convincing myself that I've "grown" in some meaningful way since the last time I tried this.

I'd resolved, at first, just to have shorter hair. I can maintain this easily enough, after all, and this would sidestep the deep reflection and involvement necessary to have a real resolution.

I've since reconsidered stopping with this single reform. Now, I think, I'll tack on another. From now until I forget, I pledge to be more accepting and understanding of certain of the minorities running about this campus and the world, namely, the blacks and the Jews. It's still open season on everyone else, to be clear, be they Chinamen or Injuns. Maybe I'll remove from the list one more group every year, but for now, this is a start.

I'd like to update this blasted blog more often, as well, but this isn't an official resolution. I mean, I have no accountability to write on this wall, seeing as how nobody even reads it to remind me. Right?

Movin' On Up

2005-11-11T18:14:00.000-05:00

I endured the second half of the linguistics experiment two days ago. Oh my, was it painful to get through. We repeated the same tests as the last time, even using the same six words. We finished about five minutes early, which I found merciful, and which put me at ease after the last session, when we ran over in terms of time. The administrator gave us each a twenty dollar bill at the end. The other participants, who hadn't uttered a word up until this point, each wished him luck in his study before leaving. I thought, "Hell, this was awful. He should be down on his knees, thanking me for putting up with two minutes of this monotonous nonsense." I had labored for my pay, almost burning my eyes out by staring at the computer screen in the process, and now I had gotten what was owed me. He didn't get a "thank you," nor a "good luck" on his damnable study. End of transaction.

Plans are apace to place me, for the next academic school year, in a deluxe apartment in the sky. Gar has been a workhorse with regard to the preparations, and now we're at the point at which we're ready to sign the lease tomorrow.

I visited the apartment complex yesterday with Gar, who will be my roommate, and Cam, who will be living there in a separate apartment. The apartments, to be honest, aren't that deluxe. And they're hardly in the sky, either. Ours will be next to a cemetary, actually. Not that I mind, though, as the alternative was to live on the side of the building facing the parking lot, and I hate blacktop.

An Asian woman gave us the tour of the place. It's a shady establishment, as the lighting throughout the halls is reminiscent of the inside of a bar. Our apartment itself is alright, I guess. It has all the essentials--flooring, ceilings, some walls--and it's even got a toilet for defecating. All in all, it's a find.

Currently, however, I remain in the dorms. Gar locked himself out of his room today when he went to take a shower, so I had to lend him a pair of shorts so that he could seek assistance in gaining entry to his room at the front desk without excessive embarrassment. He has yet to return the shorts, which are very high quality and fashionable, not to mention comfortable. I believe he covets them. There will be a reckoning.

Power Politics

2005-11-07T20:28:00.000-05:00

So today it was back to class, it being Monday again. Following that, I was off to the soon-to-be-demolished Frieze Building, to participate in a fascinating new study in linguistics. At least, I'm told it's to be fascinating. I'm only in it for the money--it pays twenty dollars for two one-hour meetings throughout this week.

I had missed the Frieze Building. My Turkish class was held there last year, during the first semester. Someone once told me the place used to be an old elementary school, which would explain all the low sinks and doorknobs. I used to find that interesting, but now that factoid has grown dull. Now I like to imagine that it used to be the world training headquarters for circus midgets. Based on the level of sexual obscenity of the scrawlings on the bathroom walls, it seems in a sense more likely that the place was once occupied by middle-aged little people with huge libidos. Then, as I imagine, with the rising tide of liberal sympathies in Ann Arbor, this midget bastion was dispersed by those short-sighted fools who would claim the term "midget" to be politically incorrect and who would rile them all up to seek "normal" jobs among the rest of society. These affirmative action nuts would like nothing more than to see these midgets pursuing occupations as lifeguards, shelvers at book stores, and basketball players. But they neglect long-established midget culture. These midgets have a natural habitat. They don't belong in society. They belong below the big tent. They ought to be on a fixed regimen of cotton candy and popcorn. Your average midget will have as his best friend an elephant. He will wed a bearded woman, during his youth stealing his first kiss from a stubbled face. You can't muck around with tradition. The midget lives for the flaming hoop.

Returning again to the linguistics experiment, I was told by the administrator to leave my belongings in one room and then enter a small, windowless booth that had computers set up. I was skeptical, wondering if this "research" was all just a big scam to steal my coat and sack. I almost backed out the whole thing then and there, but he reassured me that the other room would be locked during the experiment. I warned him that my anxiety at being parted from my belongings might affect my performance in giving my responses during the experiment, affecting the data.

We had to wait for two other participants, which was frustrating, because I'm always very prompt. An androgynous Jew in tattered clothes then showed up, to be followed by a timid girl a few moments later, and we were ready to begin. I placed a pair of headphones about my ears, as this would be a phonetic listening test. I worried whether the headphones were clean; I don't like putting foreign objects up against my ears. I was even more uncomfortable because these were that large type of headphones, the kind you'd use in a music booth, and I've never liked this kind, as the insulated part around the ear has always felt reminiscent of scrotal skin. I didn't make a fuss, though, and just put the damn things on.

I found out over the course of it that the experiment wasn't very interesting at all. I sat around listening to different pronunciations of six different words for an hour and ten minutes. There were several tests, and I'd have to pause after completing each one of them before moving on, as the timid girl always took longer to catch up with the rest of us, and we were all to begin each test together. I was going to tell the fellow administering the study that he ought to make note of the fact that females seem to be a bit slower in the head for these sorts of experiments, and that that might make a nice little side note in his report, but, again, I kept shut my mouth. I thought, "He knows what he's doing."

As I mentioned, we left after an hour and ten minutes working at this. Now, I had been told that my pay would be ten dollars for each of the two hour sessions. And here the first one already ran to an hour ten. I was tempted, moreso than at any other time when I kept quiet, to ask him for another fifteen cents or so, out of his own pocket, to compensate me for the spillover in time. I'm not money-hungry, though, so I decided to forgive him his debt and let it be.

On the way back to East Quad, I spotted Pablo, my Hispani Daddy, chatting up some guy in front of the Grad Library. I was about to go up to him but, reconsidering, I felt it best to let him have his moment alone with his guy friend, since I didn't know how close they were and I didn't want to butt in on an intimate moment. Also, on the Diag, was some female collecting donations for Motts. I had not been aware that that particular company was in danger of bankruptcy, and so I spared something for her. She made some comment about how kind and generous I was, and she really seemed to be coming onto me. She may have been in heat. I thought, if those are the methods they're using to extract money from people, she ought to try stripping naked and spreading out atop the M while wearing a collar and having all sex toys strewn about. Then you'd see alot more people making donations, and there'd be a noticeable rise in apple juice sales.

To round off the evening, I fled back to base, curled up in my five-dollar armchair to finish reading that novel for my Italian history class--The Path to the Spiders' Nests, not bad--and headed to the cafeteria for dinner with Pablo. While there, we were joined by Dimitris, the Russian fellow from our bible study. I've always thought it fascinating that, after three years of being alone here in my particular denomination, I was now part of a bible study with two other men of Orthodox backgrounds.

Even more interesting was to administer my own experiment, watching how he and Pablo interacted. They're both white Europeans with accents, after all, and I thought it might be fascinating to see if they produced, between the two of them, a microcosm of those European political rivalries that I always read about in the history texts. Unfortunately, though, they did not come to blows at the dinner table, and no wonder: Spain and Russia are at opposite ends of the continent, never really interacting. In fact, Spain hasn't done much of anything at all on the international scene in the past four or five hundred years. And Russia, *pssht*, don't get me started.

A Start, Then

2005-11-06T16:39:00.000-05:00

So I've decided it's time I started up with one of these, as they are becoming very fashionable. If I'm a little late in coming aboard, then you'll forgive me for being fashionably late to start.

This web address will also supply me with another link that I can use on some of my other web pages, where I've been busy forcing more crap out of my ass and smearing it all over the internet. So it's a win-win situation for me, although I pity the internet, which should become more and more reminiscent of a men's bathroom with each post from here on out.

I'll make this first post typical of those to come by droning on about my day thus far.

Today is Sunday, and so I attended New Life Church, a great place to unwind at 10:00 AM on a weekend morning, second only in relaxation to a few more hours' sleep. I heard a fine sermon, titled "the Real World," which sounds vaguely relevent, does it not? It focused on propaganda in the media, to some extent, pointing out how Satan has it up his sleeve to cause us great dissatisfaction with all that we have, leading us to push to the background what we've really got to get excited about, that is, worshipping God and loving our neighbor.

Putting that aside, what really got ME excited was, at the end of the session, winning the weekly New Life raffle. In the two and a half years that I've been a member of the Church, not once had I won, but not for the lack of filling out the raffle cards. Ever since a friend of mine, some bum from the dorms, managed to take away the prize on his very first (and only) time in attendance, I was desperate to score a win myself. Usually, after submitting the card, I'm pretty doubtful about my chances, and today was no exception. In the row in front of me were a cadre of Asians, likely giving New Life a try after being dissatisfied with Harvest, the Asian ministry that's also located on campus. Their numbers this moringing seemed proportionally representative of the Earth's Asian population and, since every one of them was intent on entering the drawing, I knew that my odds were slim.

In the past, when they were raffling such items as gasoline, I almost held my breath that I wouldn't win, seeing as how I have no car and how gasoline tends to upset my stomach. On other occasions still, when they'd raffle gift cards redeemable at the far-away Meijer (think Target), I would hope that I wouldn't win on those days either (again, for lack of a vehicle). I wanted to save my win for something special. Today, then, was the day. They were giving away a Borders gift card--Borders! That's local, that's doable. So I was wantin' it, I was sweatin,' droolin' even. I wanted to see those Asians dejected that they, for all their attempts to infiltrate the game, couldn't come up with anything.

And there you have it. That's just what happened. Although the Asians didn't cry, my gloating over the next week or so should more than compensate me for that small pleasure.