May 30, 2011

-image-marital honesty

HE: You know, sometimes you are so brilliant and sometimes you are just a tard.

I laughed my ass off.

May 27, 2011

-image-personal engineering

(A “letter” I wrote to some boob-lookers at Maybe Church. I didn’t post it at the time because I wasn’t sure if the boob-lookers were also some of the blog-lookers. Now I just don’t care.)

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Well, this is awkward. I’m all alone in front of a computer, yet I can feel my face burning tomato red because I need to dash off a random note to a couple of anonymous fellows at Maybe Church.

All right.

Here goes:

Fellas, it’s really okay with me if you ignore the boobins on Sunday when I walk by.

Really. It’s okay. I swear.

Please let me share something I’ve discovered that sometimes bothers me but might prove useful to you: They’re still there even if you don’t look at them, so it’s okay if you don’t. What I’m trying to articulate is that they don’t seem to need anyone to validate their existence. They seem to exist just fine apart from any validation. I can give them nary a thought or a glance for days on end and yet, still, they exist. Flourish, even. It’s a real mystery, I tell you. Besides, they really do just sit there. Trust me. I know this stuff firsthand. I’m a bit ashamed to admit this, but over the years, I’ve learned they’re extremely lazy and unmotivated. I’ve known some shiftless lumps in my life, but these babies take the cake. They don’t do dishes or fold laundry or make me a morning cappuccino, so in most ways, they’re pretty unhelpful. Believe me, I’ve tried to motivate them. Once, I even sat down and did that whole “What Color is Your Parachute?” dealio with them, but they only gave smart-alecky answers and we had a big ugly fight. They laughed and laughed when I tried to put them in timeout and one of them swore at me like a sailor. I won’t repeat the epithet here because I’m a delicate flower and my face is already ketchup red. Let me simply say that we didn’t talk for days after that. Basically, they’re disrespectful loafers who really don’t know what they want out of life. Turns out, my chest is a youth hostel and these Betties are permanent residents. They’ve hung around here for so long now that I’m afraid squatter’s rights probably apply.

You know, I wonder if I need to call my lawyer.

Oh, and here’s the other thing. I know they wouldn’t want me to share this — it’s embarrassing to them, but too bad, ya moochers. They are completely agoraphobic. I’m not kidding. They don’t drive or ride a bike or know how to use public transportation. They never leave the house unless I’m with them, schlepping them wherever they want to go, so I never get a break. I’m not kidding. There is never any “me” time where these babies are concerned.

Honestly, fellas, these accessories weren’t my idea and in many ways, they cause me no end of trouble. The good news is that they’re not spilling out all over bloomin’ creation or wandering off anywhere unauthorized by the Orange Vested Parking Gang because I do endeavor to keep them on a pretty short leash. Yes, I know; they are decidedly present. Believe me, I know. Deciding how to cover these babies on a daily basis is a creative endeavor requiring the skills and imagination of a Christo. Corralling these puppies every morning takes a massive feat of personal engineering involving flying buttresses and cantilevers and I don’t even know what those things are, which makes my daily accomplishment all the more impressive.

Maybe you should just praise Jesus for his endless imagination and sense of humor and rejoice that you only know one use for a shoe horn.

That’s right. You heard me.

Now you’ve made me cry, okay?

May 25, 2011

-image-“baby i love your way”

By Mig Ayesa

About 5 years ago, MB and I religiously watched a reality TV show called Rock Star INXS. Basically, a bunch of wanna-be rock stars auditioned to be the next lead singer for INXS because, apparently, something had happened to their previous lead singer, you see. So the singers would sing, the screaming scantily clad groupies would be screaming and scantily clad, and the members of INXS would sit in the back of the “chamber” — oh, along with a scantily clad Dave Navarro — and pass judgment on the singers. Some of the contestants were really good, like Mig Ayesa from Sydney, a favorite of mine. He had a genuine sweetness and humility that some of the others didn’t have. He talked openly about being in love with his wife. There was just a realness that radiated from him, not a posturing posing energy that some of the other contestants were desperately working. I loved Mig because he just seemed comfortable in his own skin. (And that’s some pretty nice skin, if you ask me.) Just … no striving. No “working it.” I am who I am.

That realness comes across in his version of “Baby I Love Your Way.” I think it rivals the original. I really do. There were some great performances on that show, but this one, in my opinion, is the best. It just really gets me.

(The performance starts about 46 seconds in.)

May 21, 2011

-image-where’s the rapture?

Hm. Hm. Where’s the breaking news of the disappearance of millions?

MB’s brother lives in Australia — where it is currently, ahem, almost 5 a.m. tomorrow, the 22nd. MB said, “Yeah, I think (brother) would have texted me if there were suddenly a bunch of empty Speedos on Bondi Beach.”

Hmm.

I guess the world lives to debauch another day, eh, Harold?

Honestly, though, this man is doing damage in so many ways. Here’s an example. You know, I’d be okay, Harold, if you were taken to your final destination at 6 p.m. your time today.

Oh, no. Wait. That would rob me of the pleasure of hearing what the hell you have to say for yourself on Monday.

Also: Will you be reimbursing the people who gave their life savings to promote this “guaranteed” rapture? Since you claimed “The Bible guarantees it!” when it, in fact, does not and this was simply one man’s flawed guarantee, I think the least you could do is reimburse those who gave everything to you because of your retarded and duplicitous “guarantee.”

I smite thee in my head, Harold. And all your minions who duped gullible and vulnerable people.

May 20, 2011

-image-“will you be raptured?” flowchart

Thanks to the adorable Katie, who left this in the comments of my judgment day post below, we now have access to this super-duper helpful flowchart which will allow you to know, without question, what will happen to you tomorrow at 6 p.m. your time.

Brilliant. And helpful.

May 19, 2011

-image-3 days ’til “judgment day”

So this partially mummified old fart, Harold Camping, founder of “Family Radio,” is predicting on his radio show that the rapture of Christians will occur on May 21, 2011 at 6 p.m. your time and the end of the world entirely for all the heathens will be on October 21, 2011 without a specific o’clock stated, sorry, heathens. I know that makes it tough to plan your BBQs.

familyradiosmall.jpg

I’ve seen several of these billboards in SD, one just a couple of blocks away from our place. My favorite part is “The Bible Guarantees It!” I won’t even get into the myriad ways his theology is wrong, partly because it’s so convoluted and partly because I don’t wanna and mostly because I’m lazy, but suffice it to say his theology is wrong in myriad ways. As far as that moment — that, yes, I do believe in — the rapture, the Bible says no one knows the day or the hour. Except (asterisk) Harold Camping. And judgment day and the rapture are not synonymous events, wiener.

You know, if I were God up in my heaven and if I had penciled in the rapture for May 21, 2011, 6 p.m. your time, I’d definitely be erasing that NOW — just to mess with that dessicated old Harold Camping. Can you imagine how insufferable that dude would be in heaven if he’s right? For all eternity, he’d be prancing around and crowing, “Yeah, that rapture thing? I predicted it. I was right. Oh, hey! Did I mention I was right about that rapture thing? Here’s a sticker I made as a reminder. Let me just put it on your shirt there, okay, brother?”

Bear in mind, he previously predicted the rapture would occur on September 6, 1994, and when that didn’t happen, he claimed he’d “miscalculated.” Seventeen years later, now that he’s nearing 90, he’s claimed his calculations are better, more accurate, because as we all know, people’s mind do get sharper with age.

Still, as a favor to you, I did some research to find out what country gets each new day first. Since Camping says the rapture will occur at 6 p.m. your time — more like a progressive dinner than a sudden simultaneous disappearance of millions of people but look at me being all nitpicky — I thought this would be useful information for you to have for Saturday. Now the island nation of Kiribati greets each new day first, but the first “major” country to start the day is New Zealand. (Sorry, Kiribati. Please don’t leave me an offended comment. I’d just never heard of you until researching this, okay?) The US is really one of the last places to start the day, lazy butts, so you have plenty of time to monitor the news this Saturday for a slow and steady and increasingly anticlimactic disappearance of millions, maybe billions, of people around the world.

If you’re hearing of this on Saturday, pippa, do not panic, okay? You have plenty of time to hit your knees and make it right with the Lord before the rapture slowly and irritatingly sweeps your way.

Now, if you do get left behind, ya heathens, according to Camping, there’s no hope for you. You’re doomed. But the upside is you only have those 5 months until the end of the whole world on October 21 anyway, so you may as well enjoy your pre-doom life. Drink too much. Eat too much. Fornicate too much. Kill people too much. Whatever. You’re doomed. So get it all out of your system since you won’t have a system after October 21 out of which to get anything. (Hey, the world may be ending but that’s no reason to end a sentence with a preposition.)

Now, my dad, who is the “Strongly Worded Letter Champion of the World,” wrote to this Camping fellow. A few times. (Ahem, Dad. Thanks for the crankypants. Good Lord, am I my dad’s daughter or what?)

Here are my dad’s questions for Mr. Camping:

1. Do you know how much money is needed each day to keep Family Radio on the air?
2. If so, will you notify your listeners when you have enough money on hand to continue your programming only until 5-21-11?
3. If you do not notify your contributors of such time and accept more contributions than are needed, would this constitute a lack of faith or fraud?
4. Have you given the contractually required lease termination notices to all of your landlords that you plan to vacate the premises on 5-21-11? If not, why not?
5. Have you made plans for the disposition of Family Radio assets after 5-21-11? If so, to whom are you leaving those assets? If you haven’t made plans, does that evidence a lack of faith or a lack or caring?
6. I am a good person, but by your criteria I will be “Left Behind” so will you consider leaving said assets to me? I will use these assets wisely in the carrying out the “Great Commission.”

The first letter went unanswered. So Dad, undaunted, sent a followup letter:

1. If you truly believe May 21 is “Judgment Day” why are you spending precious air time with a program telling people how to lose weight?
2.Will the Rapture take only the physically fit?
3. On “Open Forum” why are you taking any questions other than those pertaining to how to get ready for “Judgment Day?”
4. If we cram in a little bit more Bible knowledge will that get us a better heavenly seat?

Dad is in NO MOOD right now for dumb ass Christians. (Although he would never use that phrase.) Neither am I.

But there you have it, Christians, heathens, et al.

I’ve selflessly given you everything you need to know regarding the progressive dinner/rapture taking place this Saturday, 6 p.m. your time.

Be good little Boy Scouts now.

BE PREPARED.

(You can monitor this all on Family Radio in your area, ‘kay? I’m looking forward to his May 22nd broadcast. I’m dead serious.)

May 16, 2011

-image-re: my “very hurtful” comments on swimskirts

Dontcha just love those new driveby commenters armed with a pressing need to randomly scold you and announce how offended they are by even the most minor thing you say? I especially love it when they are (or seem to be) Christians. Or I should say, a certain kind of Christian. The perpetual panties-in-a- twist-about-nothing kind of Christian.

First-time commenter “Jessica” was apparently wery wery upset about my opinions on swimskirts. And if you’re gonna pick your hills to die on, swimskirts should be at the top, right? Honestly, if you want to take offense over something minor that isn’t remotely personal to boot, at least make your case articulately and cohesively.

I’m putting this front and center because her driveby comment speaks to that rigid legalistic Christian mindset that I so rail against. This is a pretty good example of that thought process: it’s not coherent; it’s defensive; it’s scolding. And it takes something specific — my dislike of certain “swimskirts” — and turns it into some kind of holistic personal indictment that needs to be answered in kind. It wasn’t at all personal yet she took it personally and then made it personal. Buhzarre. I just don’t understand that mindset, don’t want to, and hope I never do.

While I generally prefer to let any commenters throw themselves under the bus, if they’re so inclined, with a ridiculous driveby like this, I’m willing to give a little shove. So … her comment and my response.

I just want to say that I spend hours every year trying to find a decent swimskirt that is appealing as well… I am 28 and no matter what your opinions may be I do wear a swim skirt it is my belief and I can still look hot doing it! The things you say are very hurtful, how would you like it if you believed in something and someone was constantly bashing it! this was wrong of you, maybe you should take a quick look in the mirror and see if there is anything about yourself you can make fun of, im sure you will find a flaw somewhere!

Comment by Jessica — May 16, 2011 @ 7:33 am

Jessica– Honestly, I don’t care what you wear at the beach. If you want to wear these, fine. But your comment is all over the map. What am I “constantly bashing”? Since this is your first comment, how can you label my post about these swimskirts as an example of my “constantly bashing” anything? And what is it that you “believe in” that people are “constantly bashing”? Modesty swimsuits?? I really hope your belief system encompasses something a little larger and more important than that. If not, you’re trapped in legalism over clothing, which is one of the things that bugs me about certain Christians. And I AM one.

The things I say here are my opinions. That you take such easy offense over the fact that a total stranger doesn’t like swimskirts, well, hon, that’s your issue, sorry to say.

And to say “this was wrong of you”? So it’s wrong of me to have an opinion? Boy, I’m sorry for you, hon. You do sound a bit like someone trapped in a patriarchal and/or legalistic system and that sucks for you, that kind of spiritual prison.

By the way, is this really something that’s personally offensive and/or hurtful to you? My dislike of swimskirts? Come on. You’re 28. Toughen up. The fact that you find this so wrong and hurtful suggests to me that your identity is somehow tied up in this “belief” in swim skirts. Beachwear does not a belief system make. And if it does, it’s a pretty flimsy system. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know you were a Swimskirtarian.

Jessica, you don’t know the context that caused me to write this post or the rigid legalistic church environments I’ve encountered lately that have made me wary of anything that smacks of the same, but, interestingly enough, you’re more than willing to jump in — outside of that larger context — and play the “I’m offended” card.

(And did you miss my comment above where I conceded that there was one swimskirt that I might actually wear?)

Good luck as we approach swimskirt season, Jessica.

And since my opinion as a total stranger seems to matter to you: I’m sure you’re hot, okay?

But, you know, I will do as you suggest and take a quick look in the mirror. One thing I know I won’t see, however, is a swim skirt.

Crackie can’t wear the swimskirt, you see, because her crankypants are too tight.

Sighhh.

May 11, 2011

-image-“rolling in the deep”~ adele

Holy crap. She’s fabulous. A powerhouse.

Right now, I’m obsessed with this song — and this video. I love every image in it. Especially the dancer, looking like an otherworldly Mongol warrior swirling in the snow. When you first see him (her? I love that you can’t really tell) about 5 seconds in, so still, so dark, it’s so frightening that it’s thrilling. Don’t underestimate the things that I will do. Then the water begins to pound and the warrior begins to move, slowly through the white, and you know this woman whose heart has been ransacked is on the brink of her revenge. And you can’t wait. You can’t look away. I love the story behind every image, but an implied story, a story you write yourself. My story of it may be very different from yours and that’s the beauty here. Maybe that’s one of the benefits of being a nonlinear thinker in a linear world: things like this make total sense to me. I’ve watched it repeatedly now, playing a little game with myself and pausing at 3-second intervals, 5-second intervals, and there’s not a wasted shot in this entire thing.

Every freeze frame is a perfect shot. Something I’d frame on my wall.

I talked to someone about this video who said, “Well, she just sits there.” “Just sits there”? Oh, no, she doesn’t, peaches. (I hate those kinds of conversations, really. Some people just do not get it. They don’t have the sensitivity to see anything past the surfaces of life and I can barely keep from punching them.) She actually acts the snot outta this song, above and beyond the crackle and soar of that voice. But, really, it’s her stillness at certain moments that is the most ominous thing to me about it. Her stillness at the beginning which comes full circle to her stillness at the end. Grief, but resolve too. A kind of steel is settling in her heart. This is a woman you should not have messed with. Watch the curl of her lip on baby, I’ve got no story to be told. Look at her dismissive wave of her fingers on reap just what you sow and the sigh — the broken sigh — that comes the very next second. Oh, no. She is not just sitting there.

Far from it.

The one who broke her heart should be very afraid.

May 8, 2011

-image-“for the childless woman on mother’s day”

I think this article is full of grace and wisdom.

I link to it in honor of any and all who read here who are not mothers and long to be.

May 7, 2011

-image-where i just sit and snap photos of human rights violations

In the background of this photo, please note the scattered remains of Original Banshee’s makeshift “fort village” which was demolished by the remorseless grinning despot we know as Baby Banshee. In the wake of this destruction, Original Banshee, now homeless and desperate, has fled in fear for her life and also because mom said she could have a Go-Gurt. In the foreground, BB is shaking down one of the hapless villagers who can’t flee because he can’t walk although he can roll over but not fast enough or repeatedly enough to escape his screeching fate at her hands.

Look at her glee in the face of his suffering!

bbanshees1.jpg

You may destroy his village, but shake him down that hard, Baby Banshee, and he will spit up on you, as his last defiant act against your tyranny.

Sure, I could intervene, but I am the impartial photojournalist.

Secretly rooting for the spit up.

The whole thing is an atrocity, really.

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