40 Days of Lent - Day Twenty-Two

Ten Plagues of Egypt Finger Puppets
Available at Bed, Bath & Beyond




Nope, I did not make this up, although I wish I had thought of it. I don't think I can express how much I love these. Looks like this weekend's task will be to build a little display case for the puppets. Or theater. I haven't made up my mind.

If your local Bed, Bath & Beyond doesn't carry them, check out the company's website. There is a warning on the back of the package that states "packing materials are a choking hazard for children." Safety first while your child plays with puppets based on lice, boils or a deceased first born.

Today's reading from the Faithful Words Promise Box:
Let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.
- Gal. 6:9

40 Days of Lent - Day Twenty-One

My Favorite Heretic

When I was in Rome, I made a point of visiting Campo dei Fiori. It's a charming plaza known for its flower markets and cafes. However, I was interested in seeing the statue that dominates the square. It is of one of my favorite heretics, Giordano Bruno.

Born in Nola, Italy in 1548, Bruno became a priest in the Dominican order, but seems to have been both blessed and cursed with a restless mind. He was interested in ideas for their own sake (rather than serving God or the church) and in how our brains work. He pioneered a mnemonic technique for memorizing large amounts of material. He would create an image for each piece of information, eventually building an imaginary house or village populated by these images. In doing so, he translated verbal information into images, thus forging links between different sections of his brain. This ability was considered "natural magic" and brought Bruno great reknown.

A restless mind often inspires the body to follow. Or perhaps it was the combination of Bruno's inquisitiveness and the Inquisition that lead him to Europe. He traveled to Paris and London, was influenced by new ideas both occult and scientific which he then incorporated into his writings. He seemed to possess a natural talent for pissing people off and getting into arguments. In "...France, in 1585, he got into a violent quarrel about a scientific instrument." (I find the preceding sentence, from this site hilarious). He joined the Calvinists, then was excommunicated. He joined the Lutherans, then was excommunicated. The Catholic Church said they would take him back on the condition that he return to his order. He refused.

What were his ideas? According to the Catholic Encyclopedia :
[Bruno's] system of thought is an incoherent materialistic pantheism. God and the world are one; matter and spirit, body and soul, are two phases of the same substance; the universe is infinite; beyond the visible world there is an infinity of other worlds, each of which is inhabited; this terrestrial globe has a soul; in fact, each and every part of it, mineral as well as plant and animal, is animated; all matter is made up of the same elements (no distinction between terrestrial and celestial matter); all souls are akin (transmigration is, therefore, not impossible).

Eventually the Inquisition did catch up with him. He spent six years in jail before being condemned. It wasn't his scientific views that did him in but his theological errors, including the Holy Ghost is the "soul" of the world, the Devil will be saved, and (my favorite) Christ was not God but merely an unusually skilful magician. To the Church's credit, they gave him two grace periods of 40 days each to consider his dilemma and, if he chose, recant. He never did. He was burned at the stake in Campo dei Fiori in 1600.

Bruno's theories mix the scientific, the speculative and the mystic. The cliche "ahead of his time" is entirely appropriate. The idea that this world has a soul fits in with current Gaia view of the Earth. The belief in the interconnectedness of all things is echoed in Buddhism. The infinite universe fits in with current scientific theories about the big bang.

I read the following in one of my travel books: appearantly in the 19th century the pope demanded the statue of Giordano Bruno be taken down, arguing that it was not proper to have a statue of an unredeemed heretic so close to Vatican City. People protested and demonstrated and the statue remained. Bruno still stands surrounded by food and flowers, cafes, bars and bookstores, tourists and locals and children who play "Volare" on the violin for spare change.

40 Days of Lent - Day Twenty

Where's Jesus?
John's Apartment Edition









The votive candle and statue were gifts from Mr. and Mrs. Collins. The address book was a gift from Ms. Stambaugh. The Last Supper rug was bought at Mammalicious in Lancaster PA; the auto league plaque at a bazaar in Louisville KY; the nightlight at a dollar store in the Outer Banks NC; and the tall candle at a bodega in Brooklyn NY. Proof that Jesus really is everywhere.

40 Days of Lent - Day Nineteen

I Heard It Through The Grapevine

I received a pleasant surprise Friday. My friend Carol Speranza (nee Sulcoski) sent me a gift: the book The Trouble With Islam by Irshad Manji. The book is Ms. Manji's attempt to reconcile her faith (Islam) with her social/political beliefs (liberal humanist). Needless to say, she has trouble with a religion that condemns her because she is a woman, a lesbian and a free-thinker. Actually, she finds just being a thinker a source of conflict in the Muslim world. Her essays accomplish what I had hoped to do by reading the Koran, except she knows what she's talking about.

I haven't finished the book and will post more thoughts when I do; however, there's one passage I wanted to share now. Manji is describing the possibility of mistranslations and ancient transcription errors being in the Koran. This isn't something that is often discussed. There are entire books about how the Bible and its meanings have changed as it moved from one language to another (the most famous example: "Virgin" Mary may actually have been "Young Girl" Mary), but the Koran is usually not subjected to the same linguistic investigation.

Manji is discussing the famous "seventy virgins" waiting in paradise for male martyrs to Islam:
But we have reason to believe that there's trouble in paradise, a human error that's made its way into the Koran. According to new research, what martyrs can anticipate for their sacrifices aren't virgins but raisins! The word that Koranic scholars have for centuries read as "dark-eyed virgins" - hur - might be more accurately understood as "white raisins." (Don't laugh. Not excessively, anyway. Raisins would have been pricey enough delicacies in seventh-century Arabia to be considered a heavenly treat.) Still, raisins instead of virgins?

I have many words for suicidal terrorist martyrs, most of which I can't use because I've given up cursing for Lent. But now I can add one more.

Suckers.

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Fun with Spellcheck: it suggests Carol's maiden name shouldn't be "Sulcoski" but should be "Salacious" and, more interestingly, "mistranslation" should be "masterminding." Hmmm....

40 Days of Lent - Day Eighteen

These Are A Few Of My Deadliest Sins

Several years ago, I was playing the "What's Your Deadly Sin?" game in which you decide which of the Seven Deadly Sins is your greatest weakness and guess the deadly sins of the others in the room, or better yet, those who aren't around. It's not really a game per se, but an interesting source of discussion. I'd much rather talk to people than play some lame game anyway. I'm not competitive by nature and I have little use for "rules."

Then as now, I see myself ruled by two deadly sins: a tie between sloth and gluttony. Though I sometimes exhibit the other deadly sins, I think I have them under control and don't consider them fundamental parts of my personality. Sloth and gluttony on the other hand are definitely part of who I am.

Sloth in this case refers to my inability to complete a project on my own without some deadline imposed from outside. I am simply not a self-starter. I've been wanting to paint two of the rooms in my apartment for a couple of months now. Have I done so? Of course not. I had an excuse a month ago when I was working; however, I'm not working now but always seem to find something else to do. I know the pattern: I will think about it for a while, then decide I want the job completed by a certain date (say, a weekend when someone is coming to visit) and frantically get it done the day before the deadline. I've mentioned trying to write a book inspired by my travels in Europe -- guess how much I've gotten done? I printed out that section of this journal for easier editing, and the pages sit on the table in my (ironically named) work room. The reason I'm posting every day for Lent is to force myself to work and get some writing done each day.

But it is gluttony that seems to truly define me. Not just gluttony for food, though anyone who knows me knows my love of eating. But gluttony for things: books, cds, dvds, artwork, etc. I'm lucky the objects of my desire are fairly inexpensive. I still have unopened cds that I got for free when I worked at Columbia House eight years ago, yet still buy new cds. When I discovered free movies online at archive.org, I gorged myself, downloading educational films, Betty Boop cartoons, and old television commercials with the plan of burning them to disc. However, I haven't found time to watch them, let alone make dvds. I have piles of unread books that I'll get to "eventually," yet if I don't stop in a bookstore or library at least once a week, I feel funny (this is not hyperbole). I ususally don't leave empty-handed, either.

My trip to Europe was inspired in part by a gluttony, but a gluttony for experience. My office job had left me bored, my sloth prevented me from looking for work I enjoyed. Plus the job paid well. A hunger for new experiences, new images and sounds, drove me on. It was an impulsive drive, acted act in slow motion over several months. I indulged and wallowed in this aspect of gluttony and I'd do it again in heartbeat.

See you all in Hell!

40 Days of Lent - Day Seventeen

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Guess what? Catholics in the New York Metropolitan area have gotten special dispensation to eat meat today, even though it's Friday. The New York Post didn't mention if there was special dispensation to indulge in whatever you gave up for Lent, so it's looks like it will be a curse-free St. Patty's Day. I will probably celebrate by going to see V for Vendetta, about a vigillante inspired by Guy Fawkes, the Catholic who tried to blow up the British Parliament in 1605.

St. Patrick is famous for introducing Christianity to Ireland, using a clover to explain the Holy Trinity and driving the snakes from the island. Had St. Patrick been luckier he would have picked a four-leaf clover and forever altered Christian theology. It seems doubtful that there were ever any snakes in Ireland. The story may actually be a reference to Christianity's triumph over paganism on the Emerald Isle, the snake being a symbol of many druid cults.

Something interesting I found online:
Now it's not just out of a whim that St. Patricks Day is on the 17th of March. The festival was designed to coincide, and it was hoped to replace, the pagan holiday known as Ostara (pagan holidays are called sabbats). This is the 2nd spring festival for pagans and occurs each year at the Spring Equinox. This year, that's March 20th. Ostara is a celebration of the rebirth of nature, the balance of the universe when the day and night are equal in length. For pagans, it is the time to honor the God who comes to join the Goddess in her Maiden form and bring new life and fertility to the growing season. Pagans then and now, use this day for not only spiritual preparation by balancing the energies of the self, family and home for the coming season, but also to prepare for the working of the divine in their daily lives. Reconsecrating tools used in planting, blessing seeds and garden areas are common practices today.

"Join the Goddess in her Maiden form" made me think of the Goddess in a bra.

_________________________________
Mormons and the Salamander
Thought I would post an email I received from Heather Hunter to illuminate yesterday's salamander discussion.

John,

I did a little blog-skimming today. I didn't have time search for the comment about Mormonism and a salamander... but having been raised Mormon, and faithfully practiced until I was 22, I gotta say, I never heard such a thing!

I can answer your question about Mormonism in other countries -- yes, they've been doin' alright (like, fastest growing world religion I read recently). They do best in Latin American countries where people already dig religion and place high priorities on family, etc.

Anyway, just thought I'd offer up some info,

Heather

Thanks, Heather. Much appreciated.

_________________________________________
Today's reading from the Faithful Words Promise Box:

But they constrained him, saying, Abide with us...And he went in to tarry with them.
- Luke 24:29

I have no idea what this means. I know what the words mean individually, but together as a significant piece of scripture, they mean nothing to me. It reminds me of the Alan Bennett skit about a minister who spins an entire meaningless sermon from the quote "but my brother Esau is an hairy man, but I am a smooth man."

40 Days of Lent - Day Sixteen

More-monism

Most of what I know of Mormonism is based on heresay (as opposed to heresy) and, sad to say, South Park. There was an episode that explained the story of Joseph Smith and some of the core beliefs of the Church of Latter Day Saints. The words "Mormons actually believe this!" would be superimposed on the screen while depicting some of the odder articles of faith. For those who missed it, below is a nice site that compares the episode with what Mormons really believe. I was going to do a little re-write and post, but I can't improve upon the original site.

South Park Mormons

I certainly can't assume an air of superiority to any system of belief*, given that I was raised in the Catholic church (which has its own crazy ideas) and I named my online journal after a tarot card.


In the comment section for Day Fifteen, Carol asks about the talking salamander, a notion the Church of Latter Day Saints is currently challenging. I don't know anything about it, but it did start me thinking about the fundamentally American quality of the religion. Has the Church of Latter Day Saints had success converting those in other countries? A quick internet search didn't reveal much of an answer. The talking salamander also makes me think about the impact that landscape has on indigenous religious beliefs. Julie's comparing the burning bush to the talking salamander points out an idea that prophets find God talking to them through whatever vessel happens to be around. Not too many salamanders outside of Egypt, so a bush it has to be. There's plenty of greenery in America, but a talking fish is special. Could Islam have flourished in a jungle? Could Buddhism ever have originated in a tundra? When the landscape is bare, is it necessary to teach non-attachment to things of this world?

Believe me, this isn't Trash Mormonism Week. I had planned to post more about the Koran, but when it comes time to read it, I always seem to find something else to do. I watched The Testament of Dr. Mabuse last night. Great movie. The night before it was the first episode of Elizabeth R, the BBC series from the early 70's. God, Glenda Jackson rules. Well, she does by the end of the episode, anyway. Tonight I'm going iceskating in Central Park. God is wherever you want to find It.

Unintentional Spellcheck Humor: Suggested replacement for "Tarot" was "tardy." As in "re-tardy," I can only assume.

*Although, let's face it, I still do.

40 Days of Lent - Day Fifteen

Pam Whitelsea(sp?)
No, that's not Pam, my former roommate who smoked so much that whenever I quote her, I feel it necessary to drop my voice an octave and growl. This is a different Pam.

Bill's comment from Day Twelve "I feel duty-bound to defend Mormons, who I worked with and hung out with whilst in grad school. Sweet, decent folk, and no more weird than, say, my suburban neighbors" has made me reminisce about my friend Pam, who I knew while in college. Pam was one of those people you knew first by reputation. The fierceness of her mind, the sharpness of her tongue and her intolerance for other people's nonsense made her a little intimidating. One of her roommates, Mary, was feuding with Pam at the time, and would stop in my dorm room to kvetch aplenty.* "You just don't want to get on her bad side" was what I usually heard, but I decided to keep enough distance so as not to get on any side at all.

This worked about as well as most of my plans. Pam and I had a friend in common, Jane-The-Tuba-Player. By the algebra of college friendships (in which people hang out not in twos or threes but actual packs)** there was no avoiding the formidable Pam. It didn't take me long to discover, however, that Pam was delightful. Not as tough as everyone said, but as sharp, funny and direct as they had hinted. She was a little guarded (which fits because she was on color guard) but one of those friends who, if she liked you, would lay waste to half the earth on your behalf. She and her friend Lisa closed out most every party, and if you were lucky*** enough to still be around, they would usually perform their dance to AC\DC's "Big Balls," in which they would pose and move like 18th century fops. Those parties were some of the happiest times of my life.

But happiness isn't contagious. Like many caustic people, Pam was deeply unhappy with her life. My first inkling of this was while at, no surprise, a party. There are those who, while at a party, always make a point of looking in their hosts' bathroom cabinet. Medicine cabinets don't interest me that much, despite having peeked in a few. But I always inspect what books are on their bookshelves and what records they have in their collection. It was while flipping through stacks of records in the bedroom that Pam came in and asked if she could ask me something. "Uh-oh" I thought, because I liked Pam, but I didn't like Pam, all our flirting aside. However, Pam liked someone else who didn't like Pam either. This guy liked pot, and that was about it. It didn't take long for her frustration over a boy to turn into "what's wrong with me?" I talked to her as best I could, agreeing that he wasn't worth it (he really wasn't) and before long Lisa came in and helped calm Pam's tears.****

Not too long after that, Pam converted to Mormonism. The news was such a surprise that all her friends shared a common look of blank shock whenever the subject came up. Pam's joining the Church of Latter Day Saints entailed major changes, the biggest being no more drinking. Back in college, nobody quit drinking. There were those who never drank and then there were the rest of us. Pam's friends tried to be supportive while negotiating the new rules regarding her change of life but the results were not always graceful. No-one was ever cruel, just confused. Pam had added something new - a serious belief in religion - and none of us were interested. In the end it was easier for Pam to simply remove herself from the algebra equation that made up "our group."

Like all organisms, a clique has a life cycle.***** Pam becoming a Mormon introduced a gravitas we weren't ready for. Her absence was felt even when we stopped talking about it. We didn't really hang out as a pack anymore, but in groups of twos and threes. When I talked to Pam about Mormonism (even then I was curious about religion) she would say what attracted her was the faith's strong emphasis on family.****** It wasn't long before she was dating someone from the church. None of her friends ever met him. We wondered how a woman as independent as Pam would manage in a religion that states the husband is head of the family. But she seemed happy, or if not "happy" then more at peace.


__________________________________________
*What were the feuds about? Mary had a habit of eating her roommate's food and lying about it.

**One of the things I miss most about college is the sense of the campus as a large village where everyone's job is to take classes and then hang out with each other. I miss having a large pool of people to hang out with in the immediate vicinity.

***"Luck" being a relative term, because if you closed out the party, that means you hadn't picked anyone up. However, Pam and Lisa dancing to AC/DC made a nice consolation prize.

****Lisa was studying to be a nurse. No surprise there.

*****This was something I realized with my group of friends in grad school. I witnessed a clique form, become strong then fragment and break apart within the space of two semesters. The high point of the friendship came, appropriately enough, exactly at the middle point between the two semesters at a party. I was saddened to discover that some people prefer bickering to getting along.

******This conversation with Pam is linked in my mind to one that I had years later with my friend Mick. I had to buy a suit for a wedding and while out on a Sunday morning, I saw large numbers of black people leaving church dressed beautifully. The men wore tailored suits and the women had a style that you associate with people from the 1940's that we have since shrugged off. But it wasn't just the clothes. As I commented to Mick later "I wish I had a community. I wish I was part of some group." Mick said "You know what I wish I had? A family." One of her parents had died and she wasn't really in touch with the other or her brother. At that point I stopped crying over my shoelessness.

40 Days of Lent - Day Fourteen

Fun Facts About Martyrs



The word "martyr" comes from the Greek word for "witness."

The first Christian martyr was St. Stephen. He was stoned to death. He was also the only martyr the Grateful Dead wrote a song about.

The first Islamic martyr was Sumayyah bint Khabbab. She was the seventh person to convert to Islam and died when she was speared in the groin by Amr ibn Hishām, a Meccan leader who sought to repress the new religion.

The term "matryr" does not appear in the Koran, but some passages have been interpreted by later muslims as being about martyrdom.

In Judaism, the concept of martyrdom is referred to as Kiddush Hashem: "sanctification of God's name." This means not doing anything that might bring disgrace to God, including renouncing his word for convenience sake or to save your life.

My favorite title for book about martyrs: The Bloody Theater or Martyrs Mirror of the Defenseless Christians who baptized only upon confession of faith, and who suffered and died for the testimony of Jesus, their Saviour, from the time of Christ to the year A.D. 1660

Book about martyrs that sounds like it was written by Beatrix Potter: Foxe's Book of Martyrs

Relics of martyrs I got close to in Italy, but didn't actually see: pieces of St. Peter and St. Mark.

40 Days of Lent - Day Thirteen

Lottie Schutlz

Kate's remembrances about her snotty Church of Latter Day Saints neighbors telling her red was the color of the Devil (see the comment section for Day Twelve) made me think about some of our neighbors when I was growing up. Apart from the fact that it was all white (not by design but by the times), our street was fairly mixed with regards to ancestory, class and religion. We had working class families, hippies, college professors, and lawyers all living on the same street. There were Protestants, Catholics and Jews on the block. Everyone got along, or rather, when they didn't get along, it was because of personality conflicts rather than religion or class.

One of the families that lived on the street was the Schultz family. In general they didn't mingle with the rest of the neighborhood, having moved onto a street where families had lived for years and had gone through the common experience of a flood (Old Testament sounding as that may be). They were working class and seemed to have the innate "toughness" that implies. As a child I steered clear of their sons who I imagined would do me harm "just because" if given half the chance. I would pedal past their house just a little faster and feel relief when I got to the end of the street.

To be honest, the Schultz boys never even talked to, let alone bothered, me. The talker of the family was their teenage daughter Lottie. I can remember being spellbound one summer night at Lottie's monologue about "the demons coming to get you." People had been sleeping when suddenly their mattress would flip over and throw them to the floor. The victim would get up, groggy, wondering what had happened. It was demons, Lottie explained. Coming to get you. Her talk kept the group of younger children around her enthralled. She obviously knew much more about the subject than any of us. In addition to their reserve and their toughness, the Schultzes had something else that added to their aura of mystery. They were Jehovah's Witnesses.

I didn't know much about Jehovah's Witnesses and my mother wasn't too much help. "They believe in the end of the world. They believe the world is going to end soon and they'll be the only ones saved. If they want to talk to you about religion, don't. They always want to convert people." Had my mother mentioned that Jehovah's Witnesses don't celebrate holidays - which means no Christmas or birthday presents - then she wouldn't have had to worry about any possibility of my converting.

Lottie's belief in a crazy religion only added to her appeal as an authority on demons. But those were the times. The occult and strange beliefs were big in pop culture in the early seventies. The success of "The Exorcist" had inspired lots of tv movies and books about demons and occult happenings. It seemed everyone believed in something crazy. It was fertile ground that inspired the imagination of a child like myself, brought up in a religion that fascinated and terrified him.

As it turns out, the snotty Church of Latter Day Saints kids were right. Red is the color of the Devil. Everybody knows that.

40 Days of Lent - Day Twelve

Jesus Sports Statues
Okay, I know ballet isn't a sport, but you get the idea...

A couple of years ago, everyone was forwarding pictures of religious statues of Jesus playing sports around the internet. Out of curiousity, I checked to see if you could still buy the "Jesus playing soccer" and discovered that not only is it still available, but they have added new sports to the collection.







Today's reading from the Faithful Words Promise Box:
Ye shall be witnesses unto me.
- Acts 1:8

40 Days of Lent - Day Eleven

Quicksand

Contrary cat that I am, I decided to read The Koran for Lent. Actually, I've been thinking of reading it for a while - it's one of the many books I've acquired with the thought that I will get to it "eventually." But my interest has been renewed after my trip to Morocco and the recent riots over the political cartoon of Mohammed published in a Danish newspaper. The perverse little punk rock snot in me enjoyed the fact that all this havoc was being caused over a cartoon. People died: 15 in Nigeria, 10 in Libya, 4 in Afghanistan. I had a dark fantasy of this escalating into a holy war, nuclear weapons being used, life on Earth exterminated...all due to a cartoon. It somehow seems an appropriate statement for how stupid the human race is.

I was bemused each day to see "Cartoon Riot" headlines. It conjured images of people running off of cliffs but staying in mid-air for a beat or two before falling. Anyone hit on the head would see stars (perhaps three stars and a quarter moon?) and when surprised, their eyes would ZING out of their heads. Sadly the truth was just more unfunny craziness and useless destruction. There's not enough Tex Avery in the world.

So I began to read The Koran. I read because I believed our notion of Islam is deliberately distorted in the west by our media and government. I wanted to see for myself, by going to the source, what the religion had to say. I respect several of the Five Pillars of Islam:
1. Belief in one God, Allah and Mohammed as his profit
2. Pray 5 times daily
3. Give alms to the poor
4. Purify the self by fasting
5. Try to visit Mecca once in your life

Any religion that includes helping the poor as one of its core beliefs wins a certain respect from me. I've fasted and think it's a good idea, and I also like a religion that values travel. Praying 5 times a day...mmmm...well, contemplation of the infinite daily, not a bad idea. Having to drop whatever your doing and pray to a God? Not too hot on. The first belief, Mohammed as profit, well, that's why I was reading the book, to see if I could justify it.

I should point out that I have no interest in converting to Islam or any other religion. I will always be a lapsed Catholic. However: no matter what set of beliefs may interest me, I will never call or label myself according to any religion ever again. Against this background, I began the Koran. "Let's see what Islam is really about." I was looking for more evidence that governments lie to people to keep them separate and themselves in power.

I wasn't too far into the book when I started getting that sinking feeling. "Oh...some of this is a little messed up." I reminded myself that the book has a historical context, but historical context couldn't shake the growing sense that parts of the Koran are as bad as "they" say. Let me put it this way: any holy book that proscribes rules for menstruation before it declares that murder is forbidden isn't a holy book to me. As well as being a religious guide, it was also a legal guide, in which all financial matters (according to Allah) can be simplified as: men always entitled to twice as much money as women. The Koran gives specific instructions for the inheriting of wealth, said instructions always favoring the men. What surprises me is not that this is in the book, but that it is so blatantly spelled out. I got tired of reading the adjective "unclean" applied to women.

I'm continuing on with it, but I feel more like a lawyer conducting due diligence. I'm looking now for further evidence of ugly attitudes in the book, and overreacting to messages of compassion and love. "Whew! The Koran says we should take care of orphans! That's so GREAT!"

I'll post more thoughts as I get further into the book.

40 Days of Lent - Day Ten

Devil Doll!

Fifteen years ago, I lived in the Italian market district in downtown Philadelphia. My apartment was on a side street. Our building was one of the few rentals -- most of our neighbors had lived on the block for a number of years. This familiarity lead to old ladies sitting on the sidewalk in folding chairs on summer evenings, watching and chatting about everyone who walked by. It also lead to feuds with origins so long ago that the initial cause was forgotten but the anger remained.

One Sunday morning I heard a ruckus outside. I went to the window and was surprised to see the police talking to my neighbors and the couple across the street. Appearantly, my next door neighbors had found on their doorstep a little devil doll...with a steakknife sticking through it. When the police were summoned, their immediate suspect was my downstairs neighbor, Jody. Jody was the Zen Artist and resident freak on the block. He also invented the "new wave" haircut, but that's another story. Although one rarely dealt with Jody without entertaining thoughts of strangulation, the look of fear on his face when he suspected he was in trouble with unsympathetic Philly police for something he didn't do won him much sympathy.

"Not him" the neighbors intervened. "They did it," pointing to the house across the street. The couple across the street admitted to it, and went into a litany of grievances against my neighbors, finishing with "Look at this threatening letter you wrote us!" (I think the letter contained a threat to burn down their house, but I can't be sure).

"I didn't write that!" my neighbor yelled.

"Yes you did - you signed it!" Which indeed they had.

Oh Philadelphia. I'm not sure what today's lesson is. Perhaps if you want to threaten someone with a felony anonymously, don't sign the letter. Or, if you really want to freak someone out, leave an impaled devil doll on their doorstep.

I'm not sure if the people across the street ever got their steakknife back.

40 Days of Lent - Day Nine

Blast From The Past

I've mentioned before that this is the second time I've celebrated Lent by posting on the internet each day. Below is the logo from my first series of posting.

sniff I'm getting all nostalgic just looking at it...



Today's reading from the Faithful Words Promise Box:
I know a Friend who sticketh fast,
Keeps His love from first to last,
And JESUS is His name.

Today's reading reminds me of the old "And Bingo was his name-o" song we used to sing in grade school.

40 Days of Lent - Day Eight

Religious Hypocrite Of The Month

No, it's not George Bush. He was last month's, and the month's before, and before that...

It's Thomas Kincaide, bad painter, bad person.

from the LA Times:

Dark Portrait of a 'Painter of Light'
Christian-themed artist Thomas Kinkade is accused of ruthless tactics and seamy personal conduct. He disputes the allegations.
By Kim Christensen, Times Staff Writer
March 5, 2006

Thomas Kinkade is famous for his luminous landscapes and street scenes, those dreamy, deliberately inspirational images he says have brought "God's light" into people's lives, even as they have made him one of America's most collected artists.

A devout Christian who calls himself the "Painter of Light," Kinkade trades heavily on his beliefs and says God has guided his brush — and his life — for the last 20 years.

"When I got saved, God became my art agent," he said in a 2004 video biography, genteel in tone and rich in the themes of faith and family values that have helped win him legions of fans, albeit few among art critics.

But some former Kinkade employees, gallery operators and others contend that the Painter of Light has a decidedly dark side.

In litigation and interviews with the Los Angeles Times, some former gallery owners depict Kinkade, 48, as a ruthless businessman who drove them to financial ruin at the same time he was fattening his business associates' bank accounts and feathering his nest with tens of millions of dollars.

Kinkade — whose solely owned Thomas Kinkade Co. is based in Morgan Hill, Calif. — denies these allegations.

Last month, however, a three-member panel of the American Arbitration Assn. ordered his company to pay $860,000 for defrauding the former owners of two failed Virginia galleries. That decision marks the first major legal setback for Kinkade, who won three previous arbitration claims. Five more are pending.

It's not just Kinkade's business practices that have been called into question. Former gallery owners, ex-employees and others say his personal behavior also belies the wholesome image on which he's built his empire.

In sworn testimony and interviews, they recount incidents in which an allegedly drunken Kinkade heckled illusionists Siegfried & Roy in Las Vegas, cursed a former employee's wife who came to his aid when he fell off a barstool, and palmed a startled woman's breasts at a signing party in South Bend, Ind.

And then there is Kinkade's proclivity for "ritual territory marking," as he called it, which allegedly manifested itself in the late 1990s outside the Disneyland Hotel in Anaheim.

"This one's for you, Walt," the artist quipped late one night as he urinated on a Winnie the Pooh figure, said Terry Sheppard, a former vice president for Kinkade's company, in an interview.

(article continues here)

40 Days of Lent - Day Seven

Hanging With The Unbelievers

Two weeks ago I was having dinner with a friend of mine who doesn't believe in God. Perhaps I should narrow this down, because I don't think any of my friends are believers. My friend Bob once said "I read a poll that shows most Americans believe in God. That just shows how out of mainstream culture I am, because I don't know anyone who does." I sheepishly (and not in the "The Lord Is My Shepard" sense) raised my hand and explained that my belief pretty much depends on what day it is. If there is a God, I think it supersedes our puny earthling attempts to comprehend It, and I don't think It is actively involved in our affairs at all. But that's all for another posting, another day.

Back at dinner, my friend, who is not just an unbeliever but an angry unbeliever, commented that he thinks the world would be much better off if people never came up with the idea of "God." No-one knows better than I the abuses that have been inflicted by organized religion...well, except for those tortured in the Inquisition, burned at the stake during the Salem witch trials, victims of Fatwas and the Palestinians...okay, lots of people know the abuses of organized religion better than I do. But the point is this: without the concept of God, things would have been much worse. I don't see how civilization could have advanced to where it has without the idea of an Ultimate Accountability for your actions. Religion teaches us to make peace (as opposed to war) with fate when things don't go the way we want. It also teaches us to act for the good of others in the community even when it is not in our best interest. This "acting for others" may have been easy when humans lived in small tribes, but as communities expanded and grew, it became more difficult. Sacrificing your best interests and your instinctive drive for the good of the community is one of the cornerstones of religion and necessary for civilization.

This brings up another point: I don't know of any civilization that doesn't have a concept of a "God" or "gods." I imagine it is hardwired into us, dating from when our ancestors looked at the sun, the moon, the ocean or fire and realized it was more powerful than they. This doesn't constitute proof that God exists, just that humans seem to have a need to believe.

All this is important to keep in mind when reading upcoming entries and it appears I'm trashing religion or the Almighty.

Today's reading from the Faithful Words Promise Box:
"Great Advocate, Almighty Friend!
On thee do all our hopes depend:
Our cause can never, never fail;
Thou dost plead, and must prevail."

(sounds like dialogue from an old Superman comic)

40 Days of Lent - Day Six

We Don't Really Die, but Live Again! Reincarnation Finally Proven!
with assistance from ebay

Proof that reincarnation -- the idea that after death your soul returns to Earth and you are born as another person -- exists has finally been discovered. All it took was a quick search on ebay.

As with many discoveries, however, this one creates as many questions as it answers. First of all, why don't I remember my previous existences as a milkman, footballer, circus performer or Australian hippie? Secondly, why do I keep getting the same name? I suppose naysayers would claim that it's all coincidence, but the evidence is just too compelling. The name is spelled the same and everything.







Today's reading from the Faithful Words Promise Box:
Work! -- work for Him is blest;
Work as a favoured son;
Work till He gives thee heavenly rest,
And His own sweet "Well done."

(let me just point out the irony of today's reading, given that my job ended on Friday. I think my Promise Box is broken)

40 Days of Lent - Day Five

Just When You Think You've Gotten Away...

I knew it was coming eventually, but it looks like the time has finally arrived: I have to start going to church again. I am my nephew Eric's godfather, which apart from being an honorary thing, means I have to act as his "spiritual advisor" ie. if anything happens to his parents, I'm in charge of making sure that he continues to live as a Catholic. This is a pretty easy gig, seeing as his parents are still alive. The only time it gets tricky is when any of the seven sacraments come up, and Eric will be confirmed in another year or two. This means his godfather has to be a Catholic in good standing, ie goes to church. So I have two years of going to church consistently enough to establish my Catholic credibility so that a priest will write a letter on my behalf so that I can "stand" for my nephew at the service.

Incidentally, this is the same nephew who tells everyone that his Uncle John is "really the real Devil."

I'm not kvetching about going to church again, although perhaps if I'm to be a good Catholic perhaps I should stop speaking Yiddish. There's a church across the street from me, but they don't have English masses: Lithuanian and Spanish only. A church in midtown Manhattan has Latin mass in one of their halls every Sunday, and I would certainly go just for the pleasure of hearing the language every week. I assume it would really impress my nephew's parish priest if the letter on my behalf was written in Latin. St. Cecilia's is a great church in my old neighborhood of Spanish Harlem. There's a great warm spirit and a sense of community there. I remember one time when the priest began his sermon by mentioning that it was the 20 year anniversary of the AIDS epidemic and how many people still needed help. "Would never hear a sermon begin that way in Wilkes-Barre" I thought. However, St. Cecilia's is a 45 minute subway ride away.

The last time I faced this dilemma was when my nephew was baptized. I did what any real Devil would do: I went to my local priest and lied. When he said that he didn't recognize me from the parish, I assured him that I had been going to Mass there. He wrote the letter, to which I am eternally thankful. At the time, I even promised myself I would start going to Mass there. Of course I never went back.

I suppose I could try the same thing at St. Pat's, a church so large and so famous as a tourist attraction that I could go every day and still be lost in the shuffle. However, when I was there Wednesday getting ashes, I noticed that they have security cameras around the cathedral as well has monitors so that people in the back could feel closer to the service. I just have a feeling that if I tried to convince the pastor that I attended mass there regularly, he would check the security tapes and discover I was lying.

So it looks like the path of least resistance entails just being honest and going to church. I guess I'll start shopping around in the next few weeks, hoping to find one nearby where I can make an appearance and stand out without having to actually get involved.

Oy gevalt.

40 Days of Lent - Day Four

Faithful Words Promise Box

Today's reading from the Faithful Words Promise Box:

We pray...that the name of our Lord Jesus Christ may be glorified in you.
- 2 Thess. 1:11, 12

I have no idea what a Faithful Words Promise Box is. It was a gift from my friend Coleslaw Lynn. It's a small plastic box, 2" x 3" and contains a number of small pieces of thick paper, about the size of fortune cookie fortunes, but with quotes from the Bible on one side and inspirational verse on the other. I guess you're supposed to pick one at random, and contemplate it during the day. Or perhaps when you need guidance or have a question that needs answering, you turn to the Faithful Words Promise Box. It's kinda like tarot cards, except tarot cards work (ha ha).

All an online search for "faithful words promise box" revealed was that it was once one of the objects in a treasure hunt, along with a Kids Pooh Bear Notepad, 2 books ("The Tale of Peter Rabbit" and "101 Ghost Jokes"), a Rugrats watch, a Temperature Guage and Keychain, a Kids Noise-Maker Keychain, 2 Soap Samples, Matches, and 1 Can of Grapefruit Juice.

There is, however, an electronic version for those who find pulling pieces of paper out of a plastic box too tiring:
www.promisebox.com

40 Days of Lent - Day Three

A Drawing a Day For Lent

My friend Andrea is doing a drawing a day for Lent. She had done this several years ago; in fact, it was the inspiration for my posting something every day during this holy season.

Her drawings are available at:
http://www.50bcproductions.com/Lent/

There is no archive or way to see previous days' drawings. Each picture is there for one day then replaced, not to be seen again. Unless you're like me and you save them. Posted below, with Andrea's kind permission, are several of the pictures from her last Lenten project.

Enjoy.







Today's reading from the Faithful Words Promise Box
And Moses cried unto the Lord, saying What shall I do...And the Lord said unto Moses, GO ON!...and Moses did so.
--Exodus 17:4-6

40 Days of Lent - Day two

What I Gave Up For Lent

Cursing.

We'll see how well this goes. I've already messed up a couple of times. But through my conscious effort not to swear, I'm beginning to see how often I do curse. Appearantly I'm quite the little foulmouth. Who knew?

It felt odd to substitute "jerk" for "a**hole" in conversation last night. "Jerk" just doesn't convey what "a**holes" some people can be. I also referred to something as "M.F.-ing" (as opposed to the Oedipal curse it stand for) which got a laugh from my friend Gretchen, who decided she likes the initials better and will use those instead of the actual curse. Gretchen is an actress, and it reminded me of when I was a child, I asked my mother that if an actor curses in a play or movie, does it count as their sin? Wise theologian that she was, she said no, that God would understand that that was part of their job and would not count it as a sin against their soul.

Today's Reading from the Faithful Words Promise Box:
"Touchiness" is a most undesirable complaint; let us be quick to judge it in ourselves and very tolerant of it in others.

40 Days of Lent - Day One

Ash Wednesday!

Ash Wednesday is the day of one of my favorite religious rituals. There's something about getting to wear dirt on your forehead in the name of the Lord that's always appealed to me. It's also the day the Catholics are out of the closet. As I kid I would walk around amazed -- "Oh my God, he's a Catholic! And that lady is too!" However, now I realize that it makes us easy targets for anti-papist snipers.

I got my ashes at St. Pat's Cathedral (possible t-shirt slogan? God knows they sell everything else at St. Pat's) this morning and the priest really schmootzed me. On some people the ash looks like a thumbprint but on me it's a cross big enough to burn on somebody's front lawn. Perhaps he figured I needed a little more of the sacred ash than the other people in line.

The mark is right over where Hindus say your third eye resides. Is this a way the Catholic Church blocks and neutralizes the third eye? There's another possibility. In the Bible, Jesus makes a paste of mud and spit, rubs it in the eyes of a blind man and makes him see. Can the ash be seen as a reenactment of that healing, performed on our normally blind third eye?

I don't have my camera with me at work, so below is a fairly accurate artist's depiction of what I look like today.

Pancake Tuesday!

In Ireland, today is Pancake Tuesday, similar to New Orleans' Mardi Gras. Pancake-loving kids look forward to this day because they know what they'll be getting their fave for breakfast. No, I'm not making this up. This all comes from an Irish co-worker. She suspects that the tradition began because eggs weren't eaten during Lent, so they made pancakes the day before to finish as many eggs as possible. It could just as easily be "Omelet Tuesday" or "Throw Eggs at the Neighbor You're Feuding With Tuesday."

Lent begins tomorrow with Ash Wednesday.

40 Days of Lent Are Coming!

I've decided to post a new entry on my blog every day of Lent this year, which begins on March 1st and runs until April 8th. I know that's only 39 days rather than 40, but numbers have always been a little fudge-able in Catholicism -- consider the loaves and fishes for example. Five loaves, seven fishes, but hey, Jesus says "Everybody eats when they come to My house." Or was that Cab Calloway?

Speaking of callow ways, this won't be an exercise in taking cheap shots at religion but a way to force myself to post every day about one of my favorite topics. Some may remember that I did this several years ago on my friend Troy's website, inspired by the example of Mrs. Collins who did a drawing every day of Lent. I've been very lax lately about posting, so at least for a month it will be a new entry each day. For those of you who don't care about or actively dislike religion, sorry. For Michele, who's been patiently waiting months to hear my take on Paris, I am really sorry. But being penitant (and hopefully being forgiven) is what Lent is all about...actually, Lent is all about gearing up to crucify the Lord, but you get the idea.

In any case, see you in a week for The 40 Days of Lent.

Where I'm From (part II)

One of my favorite stories about my hometown comes from my friend BrianTurner. BrianTurner is one of those people who is invariably known by his first and last name, pronounced as if it is one word. He says that even when he was a child, adults would refer to him this way: "ask BrianTurner if he would like to stay for dinner." BrianTurner now has a radio show on WFMU, a station known for playing esoteric items such as a live recording of an opera singer having a stroke while performing an aria.

Years ago, when he still lived in Wilkes-Barre, BrianTurner was hit by a car. He was trying to cross the highway between two strip malls, and misjudged how quickly the oncoming traffic was moving. He made his way over to the sidewalk, where a prostitute told him "Son, I saw that whole thing. There was nothing you could do. That man was driving crazy and if you moved out of his way, that other car woulda hit you. Now, I called the police and told them to send an ambulance, but I can't stick around...you understand."

In the ambulance, the paramedics were asking BrianTurner the standard questions to make sure he did not have a concussion. "What's your name?" "BrianTurner." "Where do you work?" "Joe Nardone's Gallery of Sound (a local record chain)." "Oh," said the paramedic, suddenly excited. "Is the new Meatloaf record out yet?" "Yeah, it is. We got it in stock yesterday."

So that's what my hometown is like. It's a magical land where the hookers will call an ambulance for you when you need it and the paramedics test for brain injuries by asking about classic rock records.

My Walk with Gary

Last Sunday was another of those unseasonably warm and beautiful days that New York has been afflicted with all this winter. I decided to go on one of my favorite walks: over the Williamsburg Bridge and into the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Comfy shoes and iPod in place, I began walking on the bridge.

I was about halfway over when I saw the gentleman in front of me turning around and looking behind him. As I caught up with him, he began talking to me. As a side note: I always assumed that wearing earphones would prevent people talking to you. In my experience, it seems to do the opposite. When I wear my iPod, I am consistently stopped by people asking for directions, wanting information, needing to chat, etc. Appearantly they think that anyone with earphones is either bored or wanting human contact. I guess it never occurs to them that perhaps I want to listen to music.

Anyway...the man in front of me, Gary, oblivious to the fact that I was listening to music, began explaining that was turning around so much because he recognised one of his neighbors riding by on a bike. He didn't like the neighbor, who made a habit of walking into people's apartments if they left their doors open. "Oh," I commented, and thus began my Walk with Gary. Gary was a short, older black man, but despite our height difference he managed to stay in pace with me, and I got to hear this ongoing monologue.

Bridge Security
Gary once counted the 25 security cameras on the Williamsburg Bridge. "And you don't think the cops are watching but they are." Gary has seen the police arrest people drinking and smoking weed (he favors "weed" rather than "pot") on the bridge. "That's why I'm careful when I drink. I sneak it in little bottles. It's a pain in the ass, but I don't get caught. Do you drink?" "Uh, yeah, but not on the bridge." "Hahahahaha. I like how you put things!"

Finders Keepers
Gary walks over the Williamsburg Bridge every day. Every day. He also walks over the Brooklyn Bridge. [I find this hard to believe. For those of you who don't know Big Apple geography, the Brooklyn Bridge is a l-o-n-g and not particularly easy walk from Greenpoint, where Gary says he lives. However I didn't feel the need to challenge him on this or any other point.] Last year he found 10 cellphones, 55 packs of cigarettes, 3 bags of weed, and a total of $10,000.
"How much do you think I've found this year? Just this year?"
"You mean, from the beginning of this month? Uhm..."
"Well no, I was counting from the beginning of December."
"Oh. Uh, 200, 300 dollars?"
"$450"

Gary Gets Drunk
The previous night, Gary drank a bottle of vodka and two 40 ouncers - one of Bud, one of Miller - "'cause I like to mix it up."
"You're lucky you weren't sick."
"Oh no. I ate last night. Where did I eat at? Oh yeah. I ate at a restaurant, and I had some coldcuts at my AA meeting."

Gary is Gay
While walking over the bridge, Gary turned around to check out a girl walking the other way. He liked her big ass and said he'd like to fuck her, then added "but I'm gay." He then proceeded to tell me about his girlfriend of ten years who stayed with him all that time even thought she knew he was gay.

At this point we were over the bridge. Gary mentioned that he was going to walk up one street, and I said I was going to take a different one. "That street's too noisy. Hmm...well, it doesn't seem too bad today. I'll walk with you." Of course he would.

Gary Carries A Rock
While walking up the street, Gary began telling me about one time several years ago when a limo was "driving down the street, hitting all the gay people. So I threw the rock I always carry at the car. It hit the windshield and the limo then crashed into some parked cars."

The Importance of Punctuality
Gary is annoyed with his boyfriend because he is never on time. They arrange to meet somewhere but the boyfried is always late. The excuse? "I was high."
"I get high too" says Gary, indignantly, "but at least I get places on time." Gary complains that his boyfriend thinks this is funny and I don't have the heart to tell him that I think it's pretty funny, too.

Something We Agree On
The small crowded sidewalks of the Lower East Side prompt Gary to begin discussing how he hates slow people who block the sidewalk. He once bumped into a group of women with baby carriages. The ladies told him he was rude, and Gary answered that no, they were rude because "[to me] No offense you understand, but I told them 'You're white people. You should know better.'"
I thought for a split second of saying that I was offended and using that as an excuse to storm off in a huff, because by this point I had really had enough of Gary. I thought of lying to him just to get away.
But it's wrong to treat people that way.

European Graffiti Murals

One of the things I like to do is photograph the graffiti murals in my neighborhood, and this continued while I was traveling in Europe.

Below are some murals from (in order) Rome, Lisbon, Barcelona, Amsterdam and Sevilla.

More Pictures

Last week I finally had prints made of some of the pictures I took while in Europe. I was very pleased with the results. Of the 40+ pics I sent for developing, all resembled the original computer files save one. In honor of that little triumph, I'm posting some of them here. They're not the usual tourist shots and they all prominently feature stylized heads. Other than that I'm not sure what to say about them.

Where I'm From

Copied from my hometown newspaper, the Wilkes-Barre Times Leader.

‘Jazzbo’ sentenced to 6 months probation

WILKES-BARRE – James Jude McCarthy, 44, of East Northampton Street in Wilkes-Barre, pleaded guilty and was sentenced Monday to six months probation on five counts of driving under the influence.

Luzerne County Court of Common Pleas Judge Joseph Augello also imposed $25 fines on summary offenses of harassment and criminal mischief. Additional charges of burglary and reckless endangerment were dropped. A charge of simple assault was previously thrown out at a preliminary hearing.

Wilkes-Barre police said McCarthy threw his ex-girlfriend, Jennifer Spagnola, out of a moving vehicle and then beat her at her residence May 13. Police said McCarthy, who is known professionally as Jazzbo the Clown, had been drinking and using cocaine before the incident.

Police said cocaine was found in McCarthy’s system and his blood-alcohol level was 0.095 percent. An adult driver in Pennsylvania is considered intoxicated with a level of 0.08.

McCarthy, the son of Councilman Jim McCarthy, also threatened to use political influence to harm the woman.

________________________________

Councilman's son, who works as a clown, threw a woman out of his car because he was high on coke. It reads like a Mad-Lib, but that's Wilkes-Barre for you.

Merry Christmas

No cards this year. Just didn't get around to it. I've only been back for a month and a week, and it seemed like something has been going on since I've been back. No the best excuse, I know, but an accurate one.

When I got home from work the other day, a package from Amazon.com was waiting for me. It was a book I wanted, so I figured it was a gift. However, there was no gift card, and the "bill to" address contained my name and address. "Oh God, did I go online while drunk and order this and now have no memory of it?" I know someone who that happened to. A box of books arrived from amazon one day, he had no memory of having ordered them. When he went to "my account" online, he saw that he had ordered them in the early hours of the morning after he had been on a binge.

Had I done the same thing? It was possible. I've been known to send drunk mass emails, especially after someone famous has died. But I have not been that drunk (ie to the point of not remembering the events of the night before) in a long long time.

I went online to see if I had indeed ordered them, only to discover an email from my sister Erin. The book was a gift from her and my sister Julie (whew!). For a moment I thought I might actually have to change my lifestyle. That was close.

Hope everyone enjoys the holiday season and here's wishing 2006 is an improvement on 2005.

T-shirts in Rome

While walking down a street in Rome, I passed a tourist shop with t-shirts hanging outside. One in particular caught my eye: in silver sparkly letters, written in a pretty cursive, were the words "Germany Jews." "Germany Jews?" I thought. "That's a pretty ballsy t-shirt to wear. Not the sort of thing I expected to see in Italy. Maybe the East Village or Williamsburg in Brooklyn, but Italy? Maybe it's the name of a punk band. I haven't heard of them before..."

I looked again, only to discover that what the shirt really said was "Armani Jeans."

The Same But Different

For those who don't read the comments section, this is from the "Images of Morocco" feedback:

"Julie said...
Sad to think that American style clothing is replacing ethnic diversity. Someday we'll all look the same, eat the same foods, etc. How boring!"

It seems Julie is a little uncomfortable being assimilated into the Borg. We can help her with that...

Okay, maybe not a good idea to start this with Star Trek references. I'm not the first one to point out that religious fundamentalism and global capitalism both have the same ultimate goal: worldwide conformity. Everyone joined under one system. A marketing success is something bought by the largest number of people possible. A fundamentalist is convinced that their belief system is the One True Way and isn't happy till other belief systems are eradicated. This isn't hyperbole, but history. Neither capitalism nor fundamentalism has much use for peaceful coexistence. As far as I'm concerned, the worst case scenario would be a leader who is both a former business executive and a religious fundamentalist.

One of the reasons I went to Europe was I wanted to be the "other" for a while. I like being around people and places that are different from me. Alien. Foreign. But they weren't foreign. I was. There are tourists who want to travel but want things to be as similar to home as possible. I heard them in Europe complaining about the food, the prices, the laundry service, etc. I want the basics to be the same (ie I don't want to hunt and kill my own food, but go to a market or cafe) but I want said basics to be different enough so that common everyday tasks become interesting again. Familiar dish, but new spices.

It's not just that the lack of diversity is boring, although it is. It's also a system of control. If you aren't aware of differences, you accept the status quo and soon lose the ability to conceive of something better. One of the horrifying aspects of Orwell's 1984 that's usually forgotten is the way Big Brother is eliminating words from their language, eliminating diversity of expression. Language is connected to thought and if words don't exist to express an idea, than the idea itself doesn't exist.

If kids in the Atlas mountains want to wear Yankees caps and Chicago Bulls shirts, that's fine. For them, that's diversity. It may be as much a kick for them to wear US-themed clothes as it is for me to dodge mules in a millennia-old medina. Perhaps the shirts in some small way give them a different way of thinking, hopefully opening their minds to something beyond acquisitiveness. I still dig the differences, such as how odd the Mickey Mouse slippers looked. Sometimes it's more interesting when people get it wrong. If we are moving towards a Monolithic Culture, we're not there yet. In fact, it seems like there are more subcults and strange strains in world culture than ever before. It's the opposite of the Dark Ages: there's such variety that there's no way of keeping track of it. Who knows if it will last? History doesn't travel in a straight line. It moves like a drunk finding his way home from the bar on payday. But to end on a happy note, here's a picture of Jeff Koons' topiary dog standing guard in front of the Guggenheim Bilboa.

Images of Morocco

"So, how could Morocco not be your favorite place?" a girl asked me at a Christmas party on Saturday. This was after I had raided the mixed nut bowl of its cashews but before I had gone down the fire escape and climbed the fence in the backyard to crash (almost literally) another party*. The people at this other party were standing around a bonfire wearing the ugliest Christmas sweaters you can imagine: one had blinking lights on it and another had a stocking, complete with gifts, sewn on the front. I had taken it upon myself to discover if these sweaters were on purpose. They were. They were having an ugly sweater contest and even asked for my opinion. Gimmicks like blinking lights and stockings were impressive, but they couldn't match the horror of the winning sweater. Even so, while expaining why I chose that sweater, I still felt the need to be as polite as possible to those in deliberately awful clothing.

Similarly, I wanted to warn Giselle about the disappointments of Morocco (diarhea, getting treated like a walking ATM by the locals) without squashing her interest in going. God knows I would go back if the opportunity arrived. I think one of my greatest disappointments is that I did not take more pictures. A fascinating land completely unlike our's, but I only got a few shots and a little video. Being sick in bed for a day or so will do that to you.

*Reading this sentence, I've just realized for the first time that I am not someone who should be invited to social events.

Images from the Sevilla Cathedral

Built in the 15th century on the site of an old mosque, the Sevilla Cathedral was created in a spirit of showing off, a celebration of Christianity's victory over Islam and the region's growing economic power. It is the largest gothic cathedral in the world, and in my opinion its beauty gives St. Peter's a run for its manna. The cathedral also contains Christopher Columbus' tomb, although there is some controversy as to whether he is actually buried there.