Pandering persiflage

I'm dissecting this paragraph by paragraph. I'm so pissed off at this crap that is being disseminated as if it were Gospel!! This says it's from Ben Stein. It probably is. And that may be the last truthful statement in it.

Very insightful and very true....Take a second to read this: (not remotely true, and about as insightful as a 2nd grade book review.)

Apparently the White House referred to Christmas Trees as “Holiday Trees” for the first time this year (only if "this year" is 2008) which prompted CBS presenter, Ben Stein, to present this piece which I would like to share with you. I think it applies just as much to many countries as it does to America . . .

The following was written by Ben Stein and recited by him on CBS Sunday Morning Commentary.

My confession: (I don't think he needs to confess to being Jewish.)

I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejewelled trees, Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are, Christmas trees.

It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, “Merry Christmas” to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu. If people want a crib, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away. (And the point is that both are permitted; not one permitted while the other is derided  - which was true when I was a child.)

I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from, that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution and I don't like it being shoved down my throat. (You can't find it because it's NOT THERE. America - or as educated people call it, "the United States," since "America" is a pair of continents joined by an isthmus and is more properly called "the Americas" - the US is a country founded on the belief that religion is a private matter, not a political one, and that no religious belief shall be supported or promoted by the government. Not atheist at all; just not an Establishmentarian country like GB, where the clergy is paid by the Crown and the Church participates in governing.

Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship celebrities and we aren't allowed to worship God? (I don't know anyone who worships celebrities. Most of my friends are a little more savvy than that.) I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too. But there are a lot of us who are wondering where these celebrities came from and where the America we knew went to. (Interesting; Stein gets older but no wiser. Change is inevitable; grow up.)

In light of the many jokes we send to one another for a laugh, this is a little different: This is not intended to be a joke; it's not funny, it's intended to get you thinking. (It gets me heaving. And maybe frothing a little. Steaming, too.)

Billy Graham's daughter was interviewed on the Early Show and Jane Clayson asked her: “How could God let something like this happen?” (regarding Hurricane Katrina). (As we all know, God is in absolute control of the weather and spends his time creating favorable conditions for people he likes, and unfavorable conditions for his enemies. That's why Israel has such a fabulous climate.) Anne Graham gave an extremely profound and insightful response. She said: “I believe God is deeply saddened by this, just as we are, but for years we've been telling God to get out of our schools, to get out of our government and to get out of our lives. And being the gentleman He is, I believe He has calmly backed out. How can we expect God to give us His blessing and His protection if we demand He leave us alone?” (How can a child of a fairly well-respected [not by me, of course] national figure come up with such a patent load of horse shit? God is a gentleman? And being soooo polite, He abandoned His creation? I don't think this twat has the first inkling of any coherent theology. And even if we accept the assumption that God will leave us alone if we ask Him to, who has asked Him to? Who is God listening to? Nobody I know.) 

In light of recent events... terrorists attack, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found a few years ago) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK. (Well, no. Several entities sued to remove mandatory Christian-based prayer in school. I think they got embarrassed when they realized some people were Jewish.) Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school. (Actually, you can read the Bible in school, just like you can read "Mein Kampf" or Mao's "Little Red Book." You just can't compel other people to read it and accept it.) The Bible says thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbour as yourself. And we said OK.

Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave, because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). (That's pretty dang low. Many respected educators and authors were also espousing the idea of raising children without brutality. Dr. Spock was only one voice. And to suggest it was his child-rearing that prompted his son's suicide is hateful, improper and probably incorrect. Parenting doesn't usually cause mental illness.) We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said okay. (And millions of parents were helped through difficult times with his baby book.)

Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves. (My children have consciences, know right from wrong, and don't kill people. With one horrible exception, their friends are the same. The kids I work with, kids in my neighborhood, kids of friends? Every one a stone-cold not-a-killer.)

Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to do with 'WE REAP WHAT WE SOW.' (I think about essays like this, and come up with a different bromide: DIVIDE AND CONQUER. Or SOME PEOPLE WILL SWALLOW ANYTHING IF IT'S SAID ON TV.)

Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's going to hell. (I don't know anyone who trashes God.) Funny how we believe what the newspapers say (seriously?!?!), but question what the Bible says. (Because it's third-hand information transmitted orally, written down by people who weren't there and translated by people who didn't speak the language? Why would that cause any ambiguity in the message?) Funny how you can send 'jokes' through e-mail and they spread like wildfire, but when you start sending messages regarding the Lord, people think twice about sharing. (Because thoughtful people realize the religion is an intensely private matter. I also don't email about my sexual practices with my husband.) Funny how lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene articles pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of God is suppressed in the school and workplace. (Argh. This is so annoying. I talk about God at work. One of my friends talks about Buddhism. One talks about Friends Church. I don't discuss it with customers - I'd have to be a monumental fucking idiot to risk offending a customer.)

Are you laughing yet?

Funny how when you forward this message, you will not send it to many on your address list because you're not sure what they believe, or what they will think of you for sending it. (It was posted on Facebook by two or three folks I know, so clearly, they weren't worried.)

Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us than what God thinks of us. (Well, duh. I believe God loves me even if I do wrong. I'm not so sure about my friends!!)

Pass it on if you think it has merit.

If not, then just discard it.... no one will know you did. But if you discard this thought process, don't sit back and complain about what bad shape the world is in. (This isn't thought. This is facile pandering to the paranoia so common in conservative circles - the seeming eagerness to believe that "they're out to get us!!" Guess what? Not only are we not out to get you, most of the time we aren't really thinking about you. It's only when you start trampling on the rights of less powerful or less numerous citizens that we get up in arms.)

My Best Regards, Honestly and respectfully,

Ben Stein

(I still think he's a pompous ass. And isn't he one of those celebrities we're supposed to worship, or something? Thinking about it - I don't even know who this asshole is. Or how he made his money. Or what he really believe. Criminy.)

And there you are. My US$0.02 in response to his steaming pile of pandering persiflage.

Merry Christmas, God bless you, and may you be ever blessed. And turn off the fucking television and read a book, where you'll find real ideas that will provoke real thought.

Eulogy for a stranger

I had a cat euthanized last night. It wasn't my cat; I'd never seen this cat before in my life. Euthanasia was the absolute right thing to do, and saved the poor kitty from the terrible slow death of starvation. And yet, I'm grieved; so very grieved. It's as though a weight has been laid on my heart that no logic can lift.

I first saw the cat when my dog went berserk - she feels she is charged with keeping Other Cats, Not-Our-Cats, out of the house. It may be the only thing our cat likes about our dog.

So Kaylee started barking hysterically, I went to see what was going on, and there was the kitty, eating my cat's food. Apollo is a tidy, dainty eater; this cat was not. Cat food was everywhere, strewn in a 10-inch arc around the food dish. I was annoyed; this must be the thief that was running up my cat food bill! In my anger I tossed the cat's water on her. She jumped down, and I went to see where she went.

She went only a few feet away, jumping on a shelf out of reach of the outraged dog. As soon as I looked more closely, I realized she was in serious trouble. She was emaciated; so much so that when I reached for the nape of her neck there was not enough skin to pick her up by; so emaciated that the knobs of her spine were sharply visible, as were her ribs and the bones in her poor thin legs. She was drooling copiously, and I thought her jaw might be broken; food was caked on her chin. Her black fur was falling out in patches, and she was rank with disease. She purred when I touched her. It tore my heart.

I picked her up and stuffed her in the cat cage. Then I called my vet, who had a message directing me to a 24-hour emergency vet. Warning bells: this was going to get spendy fast. I called the emergency vet and brought her in to them.

A note: I hadn't handled her much for two reasons: one was that I was fearful of carrying her illness to my sweet Apollo. The other - and I'm a little ashamed of this - was that I didn't want to fall in love. (It was too late, of course - the purr had shredded my defenses.) So calling the kitty "she" is just a convenient label. Neither the vet nor I checked gender. And we called her Blackie; we had to call her something.

We had a long wait. I called the emergency vet at 6:20pm; I called my husband to tell him I was coming home at 9:35. In those three hours I had plenty of time to offer soothing words to the kitty, and I did. I tried to comfort her (without touching her). It was very hard. When we finally saw the vet, she was horrified at the cat's condition. Then she open Blackie's mouth, and gave a low moan of dismay. "Did you see her tongue?" she asked. I hadn't, so she opened Blackie's mouth again. Her tongue was huge, smooth, irregular, bloated with carcinoma and nearly immobile. It was awful, and suddenly very clear why the kitty was starving.

And it was suddenly very clear to me that this was not going to be a heroic rescue. This was going to be another sort of rescue, a saving from prolonged death by providing an quicker death. Blackie had suffered and struggled and tried, and now all I could do was allow her to rest.

The vet asked if I wanted to try to save her, that it would cost maybe a thousand, two thousand dollars. I couldn't. I wished, briefly, that I could; but even if I had the money, it would have been foolish. There was to be no happy ending for Blackie.

The vet persisted in acting as if I cared, as if I had bonded to this pathetic rag of a cat, as if I was attached. Suddenly I couldn't end the visit quickly enough. No, I didn't want to be with her "at the last." No, I didn't want to take her ashes home. No, I didn't want her tested for FeLV. No, no, no. I just needed to take my empty cat carrier and pay my bill (almost $300) and go home.

So I did. Steve scrubbed the counter top with bleach, and washed all the cat dishes with extra hot water. I stripped out of my clothes and washed them. I showered to get any trace of saliva off my hands and arms. And I cried for Blackie.

Three-thirty again

It's 3:30 in the morning
Again
And my husband is sleeping like
It's something anybody can do.

The planets are bright in the night
Venus close to the Earth, Jupiter
Halfway to the top of the sky.

At 3:30 one morning I woke
to see
The moon between them;
Jupiter with his 66 thunderbolts
And gentle Venus, moist, warm, seductive.

At 3:30 in the morning
the moon
Was the brightest thing in the room
Outshining my fancy alarm clock.

The dog sleeps; the man sleeps;
The cat,
Nocturnal, sleeps at 3:30 a.m.
But I haunt my house with quiet steps.

I flick the curtain back for one
last look;
The constant stars, the planets, all the night,
And old, tired gods turned into children's tales.

At 3:30 in the morning
I say
A prayer to the One True God, I trust,
And close my eyes and turn to warmth and safety.

All flesh must sleep, after all.
It's something anybody can do.

Nature of Nature

I fought a war with a rose bush.
I won't say the rose bush won
But I am bleeding from a dozen wounds
And the rose bush blooms in the sun.

I fought a war with a rose bush.
I won't admit I lost.
But still today faint scars show white
While the rose bush dreams under frost.

People are made
to take up spade
and change the shape of the Earth.
We dig and sow
and plow and hoe
from the hour of our birth.

I made a truce with a rose bush
I think our war is done.
The rose bush grows however it likes
while I bask in the summer sun.

New poem

Morning’s minion

In every house

I’ve ever inhabited,

In every bed, I’ve slept

Facing the rising sun.

I may not rise when

Her rays cross my face.

Her rays may not penetrate

Closed eyes, clouds or curtains.

But like a long time lover

I know when she is there.

My heart soars to her caress

Like little birds arcing in the sky.

When she settles in the west

I settle, too

Sighing into evening

And into bed to face

The rising sun.

Changes

In the world of technology, change is constant. You have to change your settings every month, it seems, to accommodate an "upgrade" that promises to improve your ability to complete tasks. Of course, there's that learning curve thing ... programmers seem to forget about that.

But really, all life is change. Some are huge: my sister's life from a year ago to today, or my cousin Sherry's for the same period. Some are very small: sparrows on the back porch yesterday morning, or the lushness of the grass after a frost.

We humans are built for flexibility, to be able to change course in midstream, to stop on a dime and do a 180 degree turn. It gets harder as you get older; you want the stream to be slower and warmer, the path to be smoother. We can still change, but it's more difficult and irksome; and in the last quarter of life is when we most need to.

We can take the lesson from the trees: the ones that can bend survive the storms.

Old companions can help. People who remember you as young can help keep you young. Maybe that's why we treasure time with those who knew us in the "good old days." Those memories warm old bones and remind us of the day we swam all the way out to the floating dock.

New friends help too. Being around young, vibrant people can be restoring and refreshing - right up until it's tiresome and annoying! :)

It's the curse of the "retirement community" or the "old folks home" - if you're only around the elderly and ill, you feel more elderly and ill.

Some people - I think I'm one, sometimes - welcome change, and greet a new experience as a joyful thing. I don't know if you can learn to do that; if I could, I'd teach it to everyone I love!

Charles Dickens said, "The important thing is this: to be ready at any moment to sacrifice what you are for what you could become."

Words to live by, I think. But I sure wish they'd quit changing Facebook!

Helmet hair

I read a comment somewhere - perhaps a satirical look at the Republican field - that mentioned that conservatives seem fond of "helmet hair" - the tightly controlled, immobile cap of locks that no breeze can ruffle, even if it's the exhaust from a commercial jet. Newt has it; Callista does too. Sarah had it, and What's-her-name, the nearly-Sarah. Ahhh, yes - Michelle. How quickly we forget the forgettable.

It has to do with control. There's really no mystery.

It's what raised so many hackles back in 1968, what shocked the housewives of 1868, what has ever been a sign of a rebellious youth, a careless man, a slatternly woman. All that hair! Loose, unbound, flying everywhere; the outward sign of an inward disorganization! It's why I consider cutting my own hair - do people think I'm out of control because my hair is? I think some do. (Oh, but I do enjoy keeping people off-balance!)

Of course, to some of us, "helmet hair" has a quite different meaning - it's the result to your hair of pulling a helmet off too fast!