Below is a really interesting video I found linked in the comments of a blog I read regularly now — about a certain “family of churches” and its corruption and abuses and subtle use of group think to produce compliance.

Conformity is huge within this “family of churches.” My personal experience was that one person was much like another. Apart from physical differences — and even with that, there was conformity in clothing — one person’s personality and conversation was much like the next. They spouted what sounded like sales pitches. The words may have differed, but the attitudes were identical. Even in our first weeks there, I could sense ….. something. The tip of an iceberg of rigidity under all the smooth pleasant surfaces. I’m still reeling a bit from how bizarre the whole thing was and I’m still surprised and a little embarrassed at how much the ordeal with Outing Person has hurt me.

I knew Outing Person years ago, as I’ve said, and it pains me — literally pains me — to see that his personality seems to have done a complete 180, from the joyful, alive, warm person I once knew to the dour, listless, cold man he seems to be today. How has he changed so much in front of his loved ones without comment from them? Unless they, too, are changing simultaneously? If My Beloved had done a complete 180 in his behavior and personality I would say something, for God’s sake, unless I’d somehow lost the ability to notice. Does Outing Person’s family say nothing because they’re also changing, because they’ve also lost discernment? If I can see it, why can’t they? The implications here are actually terrifying to me.

From what I’ve learned of this “family of churches” over the last several months, I can’t help but lay some — probably most — of the blame for his transformation at its feet. He has conformed to the group. Says the same things others say. Forfeited his personality in order to be “obedient” to man-made rules. His individuality, which once shone so brightly, has been assimilated into the Borg of this church. In my brief and bizarre interactions with him at Maybe Church — and my heart is sick to say this — I saw a man in bondage to rules and legalism. He was once SO free. SO loving. It was all I could do not to shake him or smack him and cry, “What’s happened? What’s HAPPENED TO YOU??” Literally, pippa, I grieve over this. Grieve. Over the months since then, I have found myself randomly weeping over the alteration in this man. I’m not talking about the physical changes that people go through as they get older. Who cares about that? It’s not substantive. I’m talking about the fact that his personality and his demeanor were completely unrecognizable, completely OTHER to me. I actually found it frightening.

I’ll tell you my theory: The Antichrist? That whole thing? It will start with the church itself smoothing the way for that, sloooowy morphing truth into truthiness until the people in the pews end up believing something entirely different from what they started with. It’s happening even now, within this organization, but it’s so subtle, SO subtle, that unless you stubbornly and obnoxiously cling to your independent thinking skills — your GOD-GIVEN ability to reason and analyze — you will succumb.

The man I knew years ago would not have succumbed.

So, yes, it grieves me. I weep over it. I wish I didn’t, but I do.

And it starts with conformity, with the subtle pressure of group think.

Watch this video on an experiment in conformity and see what I mean.

~ The ceremony starts off with something like the Olympic Parade of Nations where all the stars nominated for Best Actor and Actress march out onstage while a voiceover announces their names. Weird. And the voice is cheesy, as if it should be announcing Wayne Newtonnnn, Mr. Las Veggggggas instead of Oscar nominees.

~ Doogie Howser is here now. In a sparkly tux. You know, in case you didn’t yet know he’s gay. He’s doing the bit that used to be Billy Crystal’s: Singing about the nominated movies. Only ….. he’s supposed to be able to really sing — I mean, he’s done Broadway — and, well …… he sounds off. And the bit is not funny. At least with Billy, you didn’t expect great singing and you GOT good funny.

~ Hurrah! The hosts, Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin are here. They instantly start picking on Meryl Streep. Steve: “The woman with the most nominations ever ……. or as I like to think of it, the most number of losses.”

Cut to Streep. She’s dying.

Later, they pick on her again. Steve: “You know, everybody always says the same thing when they work with Meryl: Wow. Can that woman act! But what’s with all the Hitler memorabilia???”

Cut to Streep. She’s howling again. So funny. I love Steve and Alec together. And Meryl just seems so down to earth and good humored and I want to eat pie with her. (I also love how I call them all by their first names as if we’re all old school chums, you know? What a wiener.)

~ Steve: There’s that damn Helen Mirren. Alec: Steve, that’s dame Helen Mirren.

~ Penelope Cruz presenting Best Supporting Actor. She looks beautiful, but yamahama, Crackie, that chick seriously no habla. I have no clue who will win this one. Okay. It’s Christoff Waltz from “Inglourious Basterds.” (I actually did see this and the man is scary — and I mean SCARY — good. Nightmares.)

~ Speaking of nightmares: Before the ceremony starts, Whoopie Goldberg — Oscar award-winning actress — is in a commercial for Poise pee pads. She’s playing different women through the ages, like Joan of Arc, and showing …… I’m not suure …… how things could have been different if only they’d been wearing a Poise pad? Like, if only Joan of Arc had been wearing a Poise when they burned her at the stake, it would have made the peeing her pants part bearable???? “Poor Joan. How awful she wasn’t sportin’ a Poise.” Like, wha???

~ Up wins Best Animated Feature. I cannot even speak of that movie. Parts of it — yes, an animated feature — hit WAY too close to home.

~ Mylie Cyrus (KAPOW!!) and Amanda Seyfried wearing prom dresses. Is it me or is Mylie Cyrus (KAPOW!!) becoming a strumpet? She’s, what, 16 and has a weird whiskey voice that I kind of think comes from actually guzzling whiskey. Disney Schmisney. I’m telling you. Wait a few years. She’s gonna go all strumpet on us.

~ Tina Fey and Robert Downey Jr. presenting Best Original Screenplay. I can’t even explain their presentation — a whole writer vs actor thing that they play with deadpan perfection. Funniest presentation of the night so far. Hurt Locker is the winner.

~ Oh, they dust off Molly Ringwald to do a John Hughes tribute/montage with Matthew Broderick. Help her, baby Jesus! She’s a deer in the headlights. The first montage of the night! I can’t believe we’re 45 minutes in and only one montage — played to what sounds like tepid applause to me.

~ Oh, sheesh. The Olympic Parade of Actors again. Hughesian actors, all dusted off and whatnot, take the stage to talk about John Hughes. Look! There’s a 53-year-old Macauley Culkin! There’s an anorexic Ally Sheedy! Crinnnnge.

~ Steve Martin: “Now let’s introduce two beautiful actresses because we’re sick and tired of introducing all these ugly actresses.” I love you.

~ So far, pippa, there’s a weird vibe to the evening. A subdued vibe, like a post 9-11 vibe. I can’t explain it. It’s almost disturbing. Did something catastrophic happen while I was in the snowy mountains eating black bean and ham soup???

~ Okay. Dude giving the acceptance speech now? If you’re out of breath walking up the three stairs to receive your Oscar, it’s time to work some serious cardio into your strenuous but boring speech-giving schedule. Or start slacking off at work so you won’t have to climb stairs and accept awards anymore.

~ Ben Stiller, dressed up as a blue thing from Avatar with a blue tail, speaking Avatar-ese. Award for Best Makeup. “It’s weird because …… Avatar isn’t even nominated. I should have worn my Spock ears because Star Trek is nominated …… but ……. no …. this is much cooler …… totally …..” He’s doing this whole embarrassed shtick. “After I announce the winner, I will stand as far away from them as possible, so as not to demean their moment of triumph.” Hahaha. Stupid, but it’s working for me somehow.

~ Adapted Screenplay, presented by Jake Jill’n'Hall (I never know how to spell that guy’s name) and a slouching Rachel McAdams. Stand up, Rachel McAdams! Come on! You’re too pretty to slouch! (What are you, Trace — her mother??) Precious just won. The winner stumbles through his speech, apologizing left and right, clearly overcome. It’s sweet, in a bumbling, I-can’t-watch kind of way.

~ Steve Martin comes back onstage: “You know …. I wrote that speech for him.”

~ This whole show needs MORE Steve and Alec. (My old school chums, don’t you know.)

~ Roger Corman and Lauren Bacall struggle up from their seats for some reason. The audience applauds this effort. I have no idea what’s going on.

~ Ugh. Robin Williams. Stand back. Make room. He’s so VERY hairy, something could spring forth and suffocate you. But he’s presenting Best Supporting Actress. And …. Mo’Nique wins. I thought her speech would be a bigger, more spontaneous, cut-loose moment — a la Cuba Gooding, Jr. — but it was more purposeful and calculated and ….. political. Despite proclaiming that this proves “it’s not about the politics.” Eh. Okay.

~ More Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin, I beg of you. Or bring back more “Whoopie has Poise” commercials. “I was wearing one of these when I won MY Oscar. SUCH a relief, honey.” I need more of these commercials so people can share in my horror. When I’m old, I just plan on wettin’ my pants. No Poise or poise for me. I shall just surrender to the indignity of it all. Seriously, pippa, if I’m a gammie and I start peeing on your couch, you have my permission to shoot me.

~ Sarah Jessica Parker now. MB weighs in on her hairdo: “It’s like a marble rye from Schnitzer’s!”

~ Oh, this is Costume Design. The winner says, “Wow. I already have two of these.” Okay. Wow. Reeeerrrrr. I do believe she’s wearing a black-sequined Poise on her head.

~ Charlize I made myself gross to win one of these and haven’t worked since Theron, showing a clip of Precious, which I thought would seem much more precious and a lot less depressing. I hate false advertising.

~ Steve and Alec do a sendup of that freaky movie “Paranormal Activity.” It’s night. They’re in bed, being videotaped with a running time stamp ticking off their night together. (If you haven’t seen this movie, that’s basically the entire movie: a couple sleeping while a video camera, set up by the guy, records what happens while they’re sleeping. Sounds lame, but it’s a really effective and creepy movie.) Steve and Alec’s video shows them in various bizarre sleep positions throughout the night until Steve gets up, walks over to Alec’s side of the bed, and sleep-smacks Baldwin, who then sloooowly, as time elapses, falls out of bed. I don’t know why this is striking me as so funny. Maybe it’s because nothing else IS.

~ John Travolta here to present the clip of Inglourious Basterds. So sad to see him. His hairline is not by Sharpie this year, though.

~ Ooh, here’s Sandra Bullock, my BFF. She looks fabulous. Well, mostly fabulous, except her lipstick is too dark, in my opinion. She’s presenting Best Cinematography. Winner: Schmavatar.

~ I don’t know why I have such an attitude about Schmavatar. I haven’t even seen it — okay, basically because I find James Cameron detestable. After his whole “I’m the king of the world” thing, I just turned cold towards him. Not that I was ever hot or even warm towards him. Okay. Look. I don’t know what I’m saying because I’m bleary and full of beany ham and I have not understood the last 48 hours of my life and the Poise commercial really ain’t helping things. Mainly, James Cameron seems like an ass and I don’t like feeling as if I’m expected to think highly of him, so I do the opposite out of protest. Because, YEAH, that’ll show ‘em.

~ Eh. James Taylor singing “In My Life” whilst the In Memoriam montage plays. Not a huge James Taylor fan, but at least he’s not the king of the world. Also: Is it my imagination or has Karl Malden died the last 5 years in a row?

~ And now ….. the dancing to the Oscar-nominated songs begins. Or as I like to call it: The best that winners of So You Think You Can Dance can hope for. Go, winners whose careers are just like the losers’! You GO!!

~ “Up” wins for Score. All I can say is if you haven’t seen it, you must.

~ Oops, I stopped writing. My hands have fallen into a stupor. What did I miss? Where are we? I think it’s Best Documentary now. They’re showing that one with the Hayden Panetierre dolphins. ‘Member how that girl tried to save the dolphins or did save the dolphins or maybe only stood there and bawled while the cameras rolled? Yeah. So it’s all about dolphins right now. Go Dolphins! (And I mean the football team. Come on. They haven’t been worth a tiny rat’s bottom since the 70s.) Oh, the winner is …….. told ya. Dophin movie wins.

~ I’m done with this whole dealio until Best Actor/Actress. But if there’s another Whoopie wears Poise commercial or Steve Martin cavorts in his jammies again, I will certainly alert you. The entire show is lackluster to me. Especially when I know I’m just sitting here waiting for the king of the world to reclaim his kingdom.

~ Okay. Various actors/actresses who’ve worked with the Best Actor nominees come onstage to talk about each of them. Michele Pfeiffer talks about Jeff Bridges. When she talks about his daughters, his marriage — his successful real life, basically — Jeff Bridges tears up. He’s got these amazing crinkly-cornered eyes, but you can still see them through the crinkle, those tears. Oh my heart. These are real moments, warmhearted tributes, actor to actor. The nicest touch of the night, I think.

~ Kate Winslet announcing Best Actor. Ohhhhhhhh …… I don’t know what to think … yep ……. it’s Jeff Bridges. Finally. But then again, I feel ambivalent. He’s getting a standing ovation, though, and it IS wonderful to see just how much his peers really respect him. The actor’s actor. He’s talking about his mom and dad, how this honors them as much as it honors him. Sweet. He’s such a classy guy. A gentleman. He’s thanking his wife of 33 years. She’s gorgeous and crying and still gorgeous while she cries. His whole speech is so mellow. He’s relaxed and confident, not frantically trying to thank everyone and everybody. So nice to see a man comfortable in his own skin. He owns himself, you know? Well, now I’m choked up. Congratulations to the best actor out there.

~ Now various actors/actresses come to talk about the Best Actress nominees. I really like this whole bit. You can feel the admiration, the mutual respect from actor to actor. A little inside glimpse. Lovely. Stanley Tucci’s tribute to Meryl Streep is hilarious.

~ Sean Penn presenting Best Actress. And the winner is …… my BFF, Sandra Bullock!! Hurrah! Love her. Always have. “Did I really earn this or did I just wear y’all down?” Hahaha. She’s just adorable, you know? Awesome speech, can’t even encapsulate it. Great tearjerking speech. Funny and thoughtful, too. Congratulations, Sandra Bullock.

~ Barbra Streisand presenting Best Director. The winner is ……… the first woman, Kathryn Bigelow for The Hurt Locker.

~ Tom Hanks for Best Picture ….. (ten nominees, oh brother). And the winner is …… The Hurt Locker. Wow. No Schmavatar.

Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin come back and Steve says, “Okay. The show has been so long that Avatar now takes place in the past.”

Hahahaha. Again, I love you, Steve Martin.

Okay. Phew. 3 1/2 hours by my count.

Lordy!!

We’re done here.

So I usually live-blog the Oscars, but this will be interesting. I just got back into town after a very strange 48 hours up in the snowy mountains doing …… I still don’t know what, actually. I’m bleary and grumpy and bloaty because, frankly, I have eaten way too much black bean and ham soup in the last day or so. So guess I should modify that previous statement: I DO know one thing I did and that is — I ate way too much black bean soup in the last day or so. So, yes, I am cognizant of that. I mean, I didn’t eat in my sleep nor was it imaginary soup. But I’m a little around the bleary bloaty bend is what I’m trying to say here.

One could say that something must be a tad off if one goes up to the snowy mountains and only remembers eating black bean and ham soup — soup that one made oneself. And one could ask why did one have to go up to the snowy mountains simply to eat black bean and ham soup. And one could say that using “one” is really cumbersome and snooty and makes one sound like more than a little bit of an ass.

But one won’t say that, will one?

Let’s just repeat that I’m completely ill-prepared to blog this year’s Oscars. I’ve seen almost none of these movies and I really only care about Sandra Bullock and Jeff Bridges. Sandra Bullock because I kind of have a longstanding girl crush on her and will see anything she does no matter how stupid and Jeff Bridges because he’s my favorite actor ever and has been since the 80s and, because, frankly, it’s his time. Despite the fact that, uhm, I haven’t actually SEEN Crazy Heart – because I can’t find it anywhere — still, from what I HEAR, it’s his moment, his time. I’m almost ambivalent about the possibility that he could win. To me, he is so singular, so beyond what most actors out there do or are even capable of doing that giving him an Oscar feels a tiny bit like it lowers him to their level. He’s beyond an Oscar to me. So while I root for him because I’m compelled to — it’s Jeff Bridges, for God’s sake – if he doesn’t win, I will almost feel a sense of rightness about that. The man, to me, is simply outside of Oscar.

I understand it makes no sense to say I want him both to win and not win, but that’s what I want.

It’s the black bean soup talking.

So again. Let’s review: I am bleary, grumpy, and bloaty, but not DRUNK.

Yet.

This year Oscar’s blog has DEE-saster written all over it.

Woo hoo, pippa.

We previously discussed “The Happy Day” here, including photos of my mushroom cloud hair and the obvious — and now deeply embarrassing to me — Ren Faire overtones of the happy day.

But this photo ….. this one gets me.

This is dear dad standing poolside, watching as the professional photographer, aka Lugbutt, snaps pictures of me and my bridesmaids on the other side of the pool. (Pardon me, but it cannot be overstated: Hubba hubba, Dad.)

This photo was taken by our dear friend C who took all our black-and-white candids, which are the only photos of our wedding I actually like. Having someone who knows you and knows the players and knows what means something and what … uhm, doesn’t — hey, Lugbutt! A photo of me standing at the altar all twisted like a pretzel gazing over my shoulder at my seedy past? Guess what? Means NOTHING. I look like a tard — makes all the difference in the world in the quality and emotion of the photos. That look on dad’s face chokes me up. And the juxtaposition of dad with C’s son little baby B here sucking his thumb — IN HIS REN FAIRE CAP THAT MATCHES HIS SISTERS’ REN FAIRE CAPS, OH HELP ME BABY JESUS — is just too much. Baby B is watching the proceedings but impassively, objectively. “Yeah, whatevs. I see something is happening over here, but all my devotion and love is reserved for my yummy thumb, okay? Oh, and my bitchen’ cap.”

So Marie Osmond’s son committed suicide. Jumped from his apartment building in LA. Very sad. Tragic.

But …. then, last night, I’m flipping the channel. I land on “Inside Edition.” I NEVER watch these shows. I just don’t. I don’t know who half the people they talk about even are anymore, and I’m just not that interested in the lives of most celebrities. But for some reason, I stop and listen for a couple of minutes. They’re talking to this friend of Marie’s son who got his last text message. She’s crying, distraught obviously, and says, “Well, no one uses good grammar when they text, so when he used good grammar, I knew something was wrong.”

Now I don’t mean to make light of Marie’s loss — I don’t — but the comment strikes me as funny. Take away the absolutely hideous context and it’s funny without making you feel icky for thinking it’s funny.

Because it struck me ….. uhm ……. sooo ……. good grammar is now a harbinger of doom?

Maybe it is the end times.

Although good grammar is a rarity, so then again, probably not.

Please, no more good grammar on this blog. I don’t want to be in a constant state of freakout, okay?

Also: I’m sorry I’m a terrible person.

There’s a blog out there that I cannot look away from and I really need to. It’s basically a trainwreck and the trainwreck of it all is like crack to me. I keep whipping my head back and forth to get one last look — which, let’s face it, doesn’t exactly make me the poster child for mental health. I’m not going to put a direct link here — because I’m a coward, duh — but I’ll give you the URL like this: newine(dot)wordpress(dot)com.

The blogger is a Bostonian and a Christian who calls himself ultraguy. He seems smart, yet simultaneously insane because he is all about how everything that’s happening now proves we are in the end times. You know, frankly, I’m tired, and I would be okay if these ARE the end times, but when someone constantly barrages their readers with suppositions and never comes to any logical conclusions, it’s exhausting and incomprehensible and a gyp. Now I’m pretty sure the end times are gonna be a gyp for many people in many ways, but if you’re going to write about them, come to some damn conclusions, so I can either agree or disagree. Basically, he’s an apocalypse tease and I am very frustrated. I’m like a guy here. Don’t get me all worked up fer nothin’, okay?

I need release.

I don’t know WHY I’m reading. Maybe I’m looking for something that finally strikes me and makes me say, “Yes! End times! I’m outta here!” Because, again, I’m tired. And lazy.

Why I am relying on ultraguy for this definitive proof, I do not know. I have issues. Issues far beyond the tired and the lazy.

The other day he had a post that drew parallels — follow me if you can — between the location of some boulder that commemorates Jonathan Edwards’ sermon “Sinner in the Hands of an Angry God” and the locations of both the Haitian and Chilean earthquakes. There was an official-looking map involved, with a red line running south from this stone in CT through Haiti to Chile. That was basically it. “Follow the line of sinners” I think is the thought here. Although, again, I never know. I’m never sure with ultraguy.

It’s all ultra something, that’s for sure.

So you draw a red line from CT through Haiti to Chile.

Uhm, so?

So?

SO FREAKIN’ WHAT????

This is what it’s like to read this stuff. Every day it’s some byzantine post that meanders around but never arrives anywhere. (So much for faith being something even a little child can grasp.) It’s always, “Hey! This might be something!” It frustrates me. It makes me angry because it’s cheap and easy to throw out dangerous (and stupid) suppositions when you don’t have to prove them or even logically support them. If the only goal is to work people into a froth, you don’t NEED to be reasonable.

I don’t know why I’m going off on this (ultra)guy. I guess because I think it’s irresponsible — getting susceptible readers to chase their tails and obsess about whether this means it’s the end times or that means it’s the end times. If every thought in your head or everything that happens to you points to the end times, how do you sleep at night?

It’s crazy. Doing that will make you crazy. During the time I’ve read this blog, he’s progressively made less and less sense. I think that’s what obsessing about the unknowable will do to a person: make you nutso.

Obsess about it if you must, but obsess in private. Don’t drag others down with you. Like your formerly sane fellow Christians.

That’s where I have the problem.

Go crazy-ass insane on your own time.

Oh, this makes me so happy. Roger Ebert has a “voice” again.

(He’s got his own version of Bruno, basically.)

Go, Roger!

Had to take my last post away. There were ….. issues.

Probably my favorite Dan Fogelberg song.

This video is utterly ridiculous, just so you know. I don’t post this for the video, but for the song itself. I mean, every time the lyrics say “crowned” — guess what? There’s a crown! I’ve talked about this before: these amateur YouTube “filmmakers” and their literal interpretations of every little thing — it’s all quite painful. So, please, just listen, because you’ll laugh if you watch. There are faeries and random torsos and crowns and trees stark against an unforgiving sky, blahdie blah blah. And, as we all know, trees stark against an unforgiving sky say, “I am 15 and I am very deep.” Oh, and it’s mostly in black and white, so it’s super duper deep.

Dan Fogelberg is turning in his too-early grave on this one. Fair warning. It is ridiculous.

So whatever yourself. Just listen. I love the lyrics.

Seldom seen
A scarecrow’s dream
I hang in the hopes of replacement
Castles tall
I built them all
But I dream that I’m trapped in
the basement.

And if you ever hear me calling out
And if you’ve been by paupers crowned
Between the worlds of men and make-believe
I can be found.