What I Will Do For Music

Recently I remembered that I am a musician, and more specifically, a singer. I may not have the best or most powerful voice, but I can carry a tune. I prefer to sing with other people because of a vestigial childhood shyness that I haven't completely conquered yet. I've been in and out of choirs for the past 15 years or so searching for the right place, with little luck.

My main frustration with being in choirs is that you rehearse and rehearse and then you perform for maybe 20% of a religious service. The rest of the time is gobbled up by the ritual of the lesson, reading, and mundane announcements. These aren't bad things, really. I'm just not interested. I want more of that magic of producing music with others. That's what fills my cup. The lesson is nice, I guess, and the sermon could go either way. But the music did it for me, spiritually speaking.

And getting my family to go to church has been a lesson in futility. The kids don't want to go and Doc's schedule usually prevents him from going. Our hearts aren't in it. Plus, Sundays are made for looking inward and getting the house in order. And poker.

In the meantime, I started getting together regularly with people from work to play Rock Band, which is fun and a quick and easy way to get to that camaraderie. I get a lot of joy from this and I'm pretty sure that my colleagues do too. It's a good time and we have bonded over it. I know that it's helped us build bridges with each other and work is easier because of it.

I did join a choir of three at a UU church, which was a unique experience but didn't have the manpower to get off the ground. Also, I felt stifled by the PC approach to every. single. fucking. thing. It was so rigid for an organization that espoused tolerance. But we had some moments and I met some great people, to whom I am still connected. But it was still not enough.

Elizabeth knows me well. We met in 1989 and have been steady friends ever since. She knows this stuff about me already. Because of my need to produce music, she doggedly kept setting "Kirtan" in front of me. It's a kind of call and response chanting that originated in India. It seemed strange and foreign (it is) and surrounded by people who seem fanatically devoted to the practice. I was skeptical...

But I trust her, so I decided to join her for a regular monthly Kirtan session in the art gallery in downtown Canton. It was Elizabeth, the Cap'n, me and a very nice person named Brenda. We were led by Su, who played guitar and harmonium. She led us in some chants and a meditation. But the point is that 80% of this was singing. And I felt open afterwards. Like the bouncers around my heart finally uncrossed their arms and opened the ropes to let me in, out.

I was very sensitive for several days afterwards and my intuition was working overtime; I was making very certain predictions about the future that were coming true. Nothing major, but I knew where certain mundane things were headed and I trusted that intuition. It paid off for me. I had removed the obstacles between my instincts and my decision-making. After all, I am 40 years old; there should be some things that I should just know.

Since then I've been to two more kirtan things: Once more with Su and another at a local holistic center. I believe the little gathering with Su is something super special and nothing will be able to compete with the way that goes. The other one was supposed to be bigger and the more the merrier, I've been told. This one wasn't as big as they expected; the local blues festival was competing with it and won.

I'm not sure I got the most out of it because of exterior interference (my phone rang, my pants were uncomfortable, the leader was a dude who seemed at times to be very sexual, which made me uncomfortable). But still, when I left, I felt good...filled up...centered...open, the heart bouncers at rest again.

And I realized that I don't think I'll be able to live without it in my life. And that is good but it comes with some challenges. I figure that I'll have to hitch my wagon to some people who tend to approach the world with a hippier than though approach. The kind of people who refer to themselves as "enlightened" or "evolved." I may befriend these people who may be annoyed by my glib attitude to this sort of thing.

I will also have to keep fighting back the image of the hare krishnas in Airplane! and Hair with their glazed over eyes and aggressive cheerfulness, praying that that won't be me in six months. Especially since I personally feel that I could join a kirtan that lasted for days and not care a bit that days had gone by.

Despite what complications my staunch squareness verses their infuriating dudeness may cause, when the "Om's" start, we are all one in music anyway. So, what the hey...I'm coming out of the closet.

And if you see me in an airport someday, please don't punch me in the face.

Lucy the Mini Theologian

Doc usually says grace before meals. He's got a nice little prayer he says. We hold hands and close our eyes. Well...I usually keep one eye open and on the girls and give them the hairy eyeball if they're not behaving as they should.

Sometimes I'll tag something on to the end of a prayer. I think at one time I was particularly grateful for having clean underwear in my drawer and said as much. Ever since then, Lucy has tagged this on to Doc's prayer: "Thank God for Mommy's underwear!"

Last night at dinner time, Doc went through his short but thorough prayer and when we went to let go of each other's hands, Lucy held fast and said she'd like to add something. We all thought it was going to be about my underwear, but she said no and proceeded with this little number:

Take my advice

We think you're nice

We love your Jesus

We love your Christ

Amen

I asked her where she'd heard this and she said she just thought of it herself. And I said, "Good job," and planned to remember this prayer forever. I like that she started it off with "Take my advice." It has a little chutzpah. Plus the "We love your..." stuff is wonderfully distant and stand-offish. I think this little prayer is just right for me.

Lucky me that I have such a Lucy in my life.

Yesterday, God Busted My Ass...Twice!

I believe in the notion that hubris brings about a fall and I have the wounds to prove it. Sometimes I get pretty pleased with myself (no, really, I do), and yesterday was a banner day. I saw the results of two years of struggle culminate in a very satisfying way yesterday. Also, I've been pretty high on myself with regard to starting my new masters program.

My colleagues and I were walking over to the conference center yesterday to hear a big wig (or so we thought) motivational speaker. I was jabbering away about something when the heel of my shoe caught on the cuff of my pants, and, since I was walking at a good clip, not only did I begin to fall down, but I was also propelled forward spectacularly. I hit the ground with the percussive force of an old-timey oil drill.

"Let me help you up," said M as she reached down.

"Not just yet, I need to sit here for a moment," I replied.

It took me about a minute to recover from the force of the impact. In my moment of recovery, I reflected that this particular combination of shoes and slacks was dangerous and might be deadly and I ought to be more careful throughout the day.

And I was. But during the day, I began to feel pretty full of myself. I enjoyed the discovery that something we thought was very bad for us turned out to be very good instead. I was hit with the realization that, not only am I totally ready to take on this masters degree program, but I'll probably be able to do it without breaking a sweat. I was revelling in me. I had twinging sensations that I sounded a lot like the Hare in the Tortoise and the Hare fable, but I brushed them away.

As the ladies and I were leaving work, I was jabbering on about something else altogether. You may not know this about me, but when I get a good head of steam going, conversationally, I begin to forget about my surroundings and responsibilities. In fact, one time, when I worked as an assistant to a blind guy, I was leading him to my car in the parking lot, and was in full-on gab mode. I warned him that there was a step, but I think he was tuning me out and he went down. Boy, nothing in the world makes you feel much more like a humanitarian than dumping a blind guy down on his knees in the parking lot of Staples.

So, we were about 15 feet from my car, and wouldn't you know it? The same heel on the same shoe caught in the same cuff and I went down again, re-injuring my knee and now my ankle. I could barely walk. I hobbled, with assistance, to my car (with a manual transmission) and got in. I began to wonder if God was trying to tell me something. Or maybe it was karma. At any rate, I began to think back on why I might have deserved to have the same punishment twice, with cumulative pain, in one day. Then the light went on.

1. One time, Doc, Elizabeth and I were hanging out in our garage/lodge. He had just gotten out of the hot tub and was telling us a story about one thing or another. He turned his back towards us and began to walk toward the kitchen door. The next thing we know, he pitches over like a felled pine tree. There was a beat of silence.
   
   "Are you OK?" we asked him.
   
   "I'm fine," he winced.
   
   And then I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. I blame America's Funniest Home videos. I shouldn't have laughed, it was my fault he fell. I had left my purse on the floor and he stepped first into one loopy handle with his right foot, and then the other with his left. Both of his feet were caught in my purse handles. He later described the sensation he had as he fell as "Feeling like I was a horse trying to get into my own saddle." I can't help it. I'm laughing as I write this. It was funny. I think my first fall was punishment for laughing at Doc.
   
   
2. The second fall of the day was pure and simple. I was puffed up with pride and I was gloating. I quite literally was knocked down a peg.

So, what did I do with such a clear message from the universe? Well, first and foremost, as soon as I got into my garage, I took those pants off, handed them to Doc, and asked him to please burn those God damned devil pants. Second, I quite literally interpreted the message: keep close to the ground, humble. "Only the penitent [wo]man shall pass."

I'm still pleased with myself, my accomplishments, my future plans. But, I'm going to stop revelling in it. It really is unseemly, unkind, and it makes me look like an asshole.

Thanks, God. You're a true friend; next time, though, I'll remember to read the memo.

P.S. Doc laughed his ass off when he heard this story. I totally deserved it.

P2W Purity Watch: Imus + Girls Gone Wild

It seems to me lately that this country is taking a decided swing toward decorum and let me be the first to say I am happy as a lark. People are finally standing up against the insidious racism and misogyny that permeates pop culture. The chickens are coming home to roost for some people and it has been a long time coming.

For instance, there is Don Imus, the original "shock jock". I must confess I've never listened to his show for more than 4.5 seconds; his voice grates on my nerves and his content is painful to absorb. However, I have heard enough of what he says (mostly via the Howard Stern terrestrial radio show) to know that he is self-serving and nasty. Here is a man who bullied many in the press and in Washington to believe that they lacked credibility if they wouldn't face him as a target in his studio. This man said hateful things and accused people who spoke out against him as lacking a sense of humor.

Well, count me in the group that lacks a sense of humor. Frankly, I'm tired of the barrage of negative language toward African-Americans and women. I've witnessed racism and sexism and tried to let it pass through me. But I can't help absorbing some of it as if I were a filter feeder; hateful flecks of negativity have really built up in me against my will. I'm not going to put up with it anymore.

At first I was alarmed that Imus lost his job over something he said. I believed that it was much ado about nothing. I worried about our First Amendment Rights. I also thought the coach of the Rutgers team should have encouraged the girls to let it go and move on. Why direct any energy toward anything that man says? I discovered, after reading Newsweek, that that indeed was the coach's original advice, but the girls couldn't move past it. They kept wondering, "Why us?" Why them indeed. It was a random act of sexism and racism in the name of a quip. There was no reason to single out this team for punishment. But, when there are no consequences, there are no reasons not to pick off everyone who passess through the sights of your sniper rifle of humor, right?

And then there's the Girls Gone Wild guy, Joe Francis. I'll have you know that I felt a sense of glee when I heard he was in trouble. As a mother of two girls, I shudder at what effect this man's product would have on my daughters. There seemed to be no one crying out against him for a long time. I remember the first time I saw an ad for one of his videos. I felt my insides crumple as I saw girls who were either coaxed or who happily obliged to show their bodies off for a guy with a camera. But what can you do? These women were of age...or they seemed to be.
Now according to Yahoo!, Joe Francis has been sued for some 70 million dollars by girls who were filmed by him when they were underage. He claims they lied about their ages and threw a hissy fit when they were trying to settle matters, flinging obscenities at them. He was held in contempt and sentenced to 35 days in jail. According to the story:

"His attorney, Jan Handzlik, said being in jail had changed his client.

'He is a different man. Undoubtedly he is a different man,' he said."

Let's hope both these men are are different men as a result of the recent turn of events in their lives. Maybe, as is already underway in the Imus camp, these men will speak out against racism and mysogyny, under the "Only Nixon could go to China," school of thought. I think Imus will have a better chance of success. So far, he is the only one of the two not to act up after the tide turned against him. Also, he has influence over a large number of people who participate in backstage racism, or that kind of racism that can flourish when white people are hanging out with white people. I have hopes that Imus could be a voice for change, now that his nuts are in a ringer and he can take this opportunity to atone for his years of being nasty. The other guy? Not so much.

Only time will tell and I will keep my eyes on the matter; after all, this new wave of raving/misbehaving/apology/rehab/repentence was started by Mel Gibson and his anti-semetic rant. I told you it was all his fault.

God Has Blessed Sanjaya Malakar OR Sanjay Malakar's Wish Has Been Granted By A Malevolent Leprechaun

Let's weigh the evidence...

1. He's famous, a household name
2. He's found a winning gimmick (see photo above)
3. He's working very hard to keep his shit together
4. People hate him
5. People love him
6. People who hate American Idol love him
7. He has become a posterboy for something, perhaps schadenfreude
8. His singing talent has abandoned him
9. It no longer makes him ill that he is still on the show
10. He has embraced his freak status and is working it
11. He may no longer have exclusive rights to his own soul (I think this is not specific to Sanjaya; it seems to happen to everyone who makes it to the finals)
12. He will be tourning the country this summer as a pop star
13. He will make tons of money
14. He's a joke, but he's also laughing
15. His popularity squeezed out Chris Sligh (This is God's blessing to us all)

Is it a result of prayer? Or is this the doing of a trickster leprechaun? What do you think?

Incidentally, He has caused over 100 different people to visit my blog daily, so I now LOVE him and have completely forgiven him for singing "Waiting on the World to Change."

Guitar Hero And The Ties That Bind

Last night, I arrived home from work at about 7:00 p.m. to find my family sprawled on the couch, sleeping. Oh, dear, I thought, it's going to be a late night. I was very tired since I took a nap Sunday afternoon and didn't sleep well Sunday night. As I was taking my jacket off, Doc stirred to life and welcomed me home.

We chatted for a bit and wondered if we should just go ahead and put the kiddies to bed. We decided to give it a try and Doc lifted Riley up to take her to her room and lo and behold, she woke up. She didn't want to go to bed, she said and scrambled down from her Daddy's arms and onto my lap.

She was hungry so I fixed her some PB&J with a side of Cheetos (I know! Great dinner, right?) and settled in to do the dishes. Shortly after her second sandwich, Lucy woke up with the most spectacualr case of bedhead I've ever seen. She had rolled over onto her face on the couch and started to sweat a bit. So her hair was this colden corona sticking out from all angles around her face. I'd put a picture up, but alas my camera battery wasn't charged and I couldn't capture the moment. You'll just have to take my word for it; it was adorable.

Very soon after Lucy woke up, she was standing in the kitchen kind of lost. She ended up just peeing all over the floor. I knew she didn't mean to; she's been really good about going to the potty. I know she just wasn't awake enough to realize what was going on. This upset her very badly, so we cleaned her and the floor up. And I took her into my arms and we sat on the couch together until she felt better. She loves to sit on my lap facing me and resting her head on my shoulder. Very soon, she will not want to do this much anymore, so I soaked it up.

After everyone had had a bite to eat and it was about 8:30 p.m., the girls started to get wound up. I knew I wouldn't have the energy to fight their energy, so I tried to convince them that they should dance while I played Guitar Hero. Wonder of wonders: they agreed. So, I jammed while they danced and screamed and rocked out. They were jumping on me, hanging from my arms, dancing around and jumping from the couch to the ottoman to me to the floor. Even with all of that going on, I never earned less than four stars on the Medium level.

At one point, Riley grabbed a ball of red, nappy yarn and began to wind it around my legs. She kept winding and winding until both of my thighs were completely immobilized. I was still able to jam, however. When she was done, I asked her why she had done it.

"If you were all tied up and couldn't walk, then you couldn't go to work and then you'd never have to leave!" she explained.

My heart melted and broke at the same time. I told her that everyone has to work and if we didn't work, we wouldn't have this nice house and all of our fun toys.

"We could live somewhere else," she countered.

"I'm sorry, baby, that's just the way it is."

This seemed to satisfy her and we went on with our rock show. Incidentally, when you are playing the Quick Play version and finish the song, you have the opportunity to write your name on the bathroom wall when you achieve a high score, which I always do. When you enter your name and hit Start, the urinal makes a flushing noise. This cracks Lucy up. Everytime it happened, which was after every song I played, Lucy would throw her hands up in the air and yell, "Oh, my gosh!" and laugh and laugh.

After I closed the show with Free Bird (of course), it was time for bed. The girls went to bed reluctantly but without much fuss at 10:30 p.m. I was exhausted. I felt bad because, I'd barely spent any time with Doc. But before you start feeling sorry for him, know that he was wrapped up in a game of Roller Coaster Tycoon 2 on the laptop most of the eveining. He was just in the kitchen and could still appreciate my rock prowess, though. I even dedicated "Message in a Bottle" to him.

Doc, recognizing exhaustion on my face, sent me on my way to bed. I got into my jammies and turned on the DVD of All Creatures Great and Small, a BBC TV version of James Herriot's stories of being a country vet in the Yorkshire Dales. I highly recommend both the TV series and all of his books. As the episode started and I was stretched out in the bed, I was awash in a sense of gladness. The DVD's were fresh, unwatched (I got them for free from the library), I was snuggled up under a brand new down comfortor, it wasn't too cold in the house and I'd just spent a lovely evening romping around with the kids. I was struck by the magnitude of this event as I don't ever remember feeling it before in my life. I mean, I've known happiness before, but it's always been tinged with doubt or pregret. For the first time that I can recall I felt pure gladness with no worries. Believe me, I have plenty to worry about, but for the first time ever, the worries were totally absent from my thoughts.

There are many reasons for this gladness: a combination of therapy, anti-depressants, strong, supportive family, prayer. But I think they are all a gift from God. It was Grace I was experiencing, I'm sure of it. And I'm thankful, very thankful.

And you thought fasting for Lent was a waste of time. OK, so maybe giving up Gold'n Krisp chips did not award me this moment, but at least there were no chip crumbs in the bed to sully the experience.

It's Time To Start Thinking About Lent, People!

Mardi Gras, or Fat Tuesday, is creeping up on us; it's overindulgence looming. It is one last hurrah before the dark and thoughtful days that stretch across the gloomy, winter landscape consume us, punish us and make us really think about what it means to be a Siamese Cat, not a mouse, or a grouse. Not a rat or a bat. No...wait. Sorry I've been reading the wrong book. Lent is about...thinkin about...what it means...to be...Christian! That's it. It is forty days, approximately, in the Wilderness.

I am looking forward to wandering in the Wilderness for a while. I need to pray more. I am ready to deprive myself and forward the proceeds to the needy. Well, I'm willing to deprive myself. I'm not sure that I'll have time to forward the proceeds. I am going to donate a ton of clothes, though, so that might even the balance a bit.

What I am planning to deprive myself of is Golden Crisp Potato Chips. These are a local delicacy unavailable anywhere else in the world, including Google Image Search. They are made from potatos, salt, vegetable oil, and sometimes lard. That is truly how the ingredients are listed on the bag. And let me tell you, Lay's potato chips have nothing on these little treats direct from Satan's workshop. I will give you this advice regarding Golden Crisps: it is far better for the sake of for your inner thighs to walk on by a bowl of these babies than to have even the tiniest taste, because you won't be able to stop.

I know I'll be able to give this up because I have a secret to surviving the suffering of Lent. Here it is: Whenever you feel like you just can't survive without a quick bite of chocolate or a puff on a cigarette, or a slug of beer, just stop and think of being crucified. Nothing that you are giving up could be as painful as that. Edited to add: Except maybe watching it in gruesome detail, MEL GIBSON.

What's off your plate?

News For Spiritual Seekers: Zeus Is The New Black

According to Yahoo! News, Zeus and Company are making a comeback. Apparently, this new religion is gaining in numbers; like the Never Nudes, there are dozens of them, Dozens! They are mostly religious scholars and other nerds who plan to conduct a ceremony to honor the big 12 at an 1,800 year old temple to Zeus. They are, of course, being blocked by the Greek government who wish to protect ancient sites. But the Greek government is not full of anti-pagan nay-sayers; they actually recognized this religion as official last year. It's adherents are permitted to marry people and that sort of thing.

Sadly, though, this tiny tribe of followers of the Big 12 Greek gods have already broken into two opposing sects. And they can't even decide what to call themselves, either Ellinais, or Hellenic Religion. I'm not too sure which gods are the Big 12, according to these folks. However, thanks to Wikipedia, we can gather some idea. Here is a list of the usual suspects:

1. Zeus, the CEO, Ruler of Mt. Olympus, god of the sky
2. Hera, wife of Zeus, the goddess Queen of the heavens and stars, of marriage and fidelity
3. Poseidon, god of the sea, rivers, and springs, floods and earthquakes
4. Ares, god of offensive war and slaughter
5. Hermes, god of guidance, travelers, commerce, inventions, oratory, shepherds, consolation and reunions, athletics, patron of thieves, and messenger of the Gods.
6. Hephaestus, god of fire, workmanship, artisans and weaponry and the craftsman of the gods.
7. Aphrodite, goddess of love, sexuality, outer beauty and attraction.
8. Athena, goddess of wisdom, the crafts (especially weaving, pottery and carpentry), inner beauty, education and defensive war.
9. Apollo, god of prophesy, light, music, healing, disease and medicine and archery
10. Artemis, goddess of the hunt, animals, wilderness and the protector of young girls.

Those ten are for sure in the Top Twelve and here is a list of rotating alternates, for those of you keeping score at home:

1. Heracles, god protector of man from evil and of heroic endeavour (after his elevation to godhood).
2. Hebe, goddess of youth and brides
3. Helios, god of the sun, brother of the moon, Selene, and the dawn Eos.
4. Hestia, goddess of the home, family and the hearth.
5. Demeter, goddess of the fertile earth and agriculture. Her bounty sustains mankind.
6. Doinysus, youngest of the Olympians, and god of wine, vegetation, fertility and the theater. He alternates with Hestia in ancient lists of the twelve Olympians. Some scholars do not count Dionysus among the Olympian gods because though he is the son of Zeus, his mother was a mortal.
7. Hades, god king of the third portion of the universe, the dark gloomy underworld, home of the dead.
8. Persephone, goddess queen of the underworld, death, and spring renewal.

Apparently, 20 out of a total of 34 adherents of this old school religion were successful in holding their festival next to (not in) the Temple of Zeus with little fuss and ado. They are demanding world peace and education for everyone, noble goals to be sure. I wonder, though, if their pleas for world peace will piss off the likes of Ares. I'm not sure how they will reconcile that little detail. However, dogma has been squished and smeared and pressed into logical boxes to be filed away for years and years by many other religions, so I suppose it's possible here too. But, if I recall my Homer and Hesiod correctly, these particular gods are pretty touchy about being ignored or dishonored. I fear for these 34 people that they may be smote down by a revived god of offensive war and slaughter. Perhaps, they will get lucky and this new Ares will emerge as a more PC type and he will represent the god of offensive war on terror, drugs, and poverty as well as the god of the slaughter of racism. Let's keep our fingers crossed that Ares will just be so glad to be revived that he won't want to be the god of offensive war, in the traditional sense of the word.

If the threat of being punished by the god of offensive war is not enough to put the combined panties of these sincere followers of Zeus and company in a wad, what about the wrath of the Greek Orthodox Church? This is an organization that, for sure, has no interest in seeing the revival of the ancient pagan religion. They've already crushed it once, after all. So far, the Greek Orthodox Church's first move is to frown disapprovingly at them. But, I gather, they are slow to anger these days. I'll keep an eye on the matter and let you know when the stonings/burning at the stake/ostracizations occur.

My question for the followers of the big 12 is this: Why revive such a complicated system of beliefs? Rather than having one god in three parts watching everything you're doing, you've got up to 18 various gods on your ass at any given time. I mean, these gods almost outnumber your membership! Besides, what about all that sacrificing? It is time consuming, expensive and messy. If you're a lady, you have to worry about being a target of Zeus' wandering eye. The next thing you know, you're saddled with a child like Achilles, who was more than a handful, let me tell you. You always have to watch what you say, as these gods are touchy and vengeful. Instead of confessing your sins and getting absolution, they'd just as soon tie you to a rock out at see and let the gulls poke your eyes out. Or they may make you push a boulder up and down a hill over and over again in aeternum. It just doesn't seem like it's worth it, to me.

I think I might know what is behind the move to revive this old time religion. The followers are a group of scholars. They love their history. They love it so much, they want to relive it. They are the Greek equivalent of Civil War Reinactors and members of such institutions as the Society for the Creative Anachronism. That the state has recognized them as an authentic religion has added fuel to their passion to live what they've learned, regardless of how inappropriate, ill-fitting or inconvenient it might be. Don't get me wrong, I love that they are doing this. I myself was a member of the Society for the Creative Anachronism. I was almost engulfed by the Trekker sub-culture. I empathize greatly. As a student of ancient history, I admire their willingness to go for the gold, so to speak, and represent ancient religion.

However, having read many of the classics that had these gods as characters, I never not once had any inclination to live during these time, either Greek or Roman. I always found the gods to be petty, head-strong and selfish. They were cruel. They were the personification of all things not human. They treated people as playthings in a giant game of revenge against each other. I personally, am glad to have a more simplified faith with a forgiving god. I appreciate the judeo-christian god's laissez faire attitude toward humanity. I like have the opportunity to fuck up my life, ask forgiveness and be given a clean slate to try again. I've really got too much on my plate as it is to worry so much about offending this god or that. I probably couldn't keep up with the sacrifice schedule. And toga? No-ga.

So, while I wish these folks well on their quest to revive the inhabitants of Mt. Olympus, I also kind of hope they fail. After all, don't we have enough monsters in this world already?

Memo to Big Orange: I Believe...You Can Too!

Dear Big Orange:

This is my answer to any and all God Talks, past, present, and in perpetuity, amen.

Another Country Heard From

Doc, Elizabeth and I were trying to determine what our Funeral Mix would be and I jokingly played Centerfield, by John Fogerty. Put me in coach (God) I'm ready to play! Why wouldn't one be totally psyched to meet God and join the good fight when one dies. But the more I listened to the lyrics, the more I realized that this song could be the call to arms for young Christians everywhere. For those about to go to Africa as missionaries, this song would provide a very nice bon voyage. I've cracked the code; my comments are in italics...

Well, beat the drum and hold the phone - the sun came out today! I saw the light and accepted JC as my lord and savior
We're born again, there's new grass on the field. What's to add, here, really.
A-roundin' third, and headed for home, it's a brown-eyed handsome man; That brown-eyed handsome man? Jesus.
Anyone can understand the way I feel. Isn't this what all evangelicals believe?

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today; I'm ready to serve the Lord
Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

Well, I spent some time in the Mudville Nine, watchin' it from the bench; I hung out at the 7/11 drinking slurpies and wishing I was cool
You know I took some lumps when the Mighty Casey struck out. Not sure what this means, one of God's many mysteries.
So Say Hey Willie, tell Ty Cobb and Joe DiMaggio; Hey Thomas, tell John and Mark
Don't say "it ain't so", you know the time is now. Believe.

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

Yeah!
Yeah! I got it, I got it! Halleluia

Got a beat-up glove, a homemade bat, and brand-new pair of shoes; I've got a new Bible
You know I think it's time to give this game a ride. Onward Christian Soldiers!
Just to hit the ball and touch 'em all - a moment in the sun; Touch them all...spread the Word
(pop) It's gone and you can tell that one goodbye! Scored another soul!

Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be Centerfield.
Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be Centerfield.

Yeah! Yeah, indeed.