Where's Summer B.?

I forgot how great the original, self titled Ben Folds Five disc was, until I listened to it again a couple of days ago. It's really unbelievable.

Summer's getting to be here these days. We're having more touristy types come into Adam's and ask for a diet coke and question me about the lack of "meat" on the menu. Then they put down a dollar and get up and leave while I'm in the kitchen prepping dishes. At least they leave the dollar.

So, my mention of a cave-dwelling boy a few weeks back sparked many comments. Not about the cave part, just that I had mentioned a boy. Eric has pretty much went the way of the wild goose. Other "boy" anecdotes could include the really cute guy I met at the pool, a couple of years older than me, who had been a lit major like myself. Then I came home and my roommate informed me he was married. What is it with me and married men? My enthusiasm toward the Manitou pool has dimmed somewhat, but I will return.

Until next time....

church vs. state tonight in the global arena, cage match!

hmmm. Friend/mentor/pastor John Hay Jr. sent me the image displayed above several months ago, and it's one of my faves.
I've been thinking about the current political climate much lately- it's gotten very churchy/statey let's be buddies. Judicial nominees, Hillary Rodham Clinton, Iraq, Jimmy Dobson, Spongebob Squarepants and "God Bless America" all kind of swirl around together in my head like some sort of grody, yet powerful, soup of politics. I'm more and more convinced that the church shouldn't have anything to do with our government. Remember! the Spanish Inquisition. Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, but it always starts happening when the government and church start street dancing, jiving to the hip hop on a culture spiraling out of control.

Like it or not, buddies, the grand 'ole US of A was not founded as a Christian. The founding fathers saw the importance early on of keeping these two ladies (deedlie dee dee dee) from getting together. Our first president, besides chopping trees and wearing wooden teeth (imagine the splinters!) was an avid freemason. Others, such as Thomas Jefferson, who wrote much of our early documentation, were deists. Look at our money! It may have that God lingo on it, but how about those pyramids with the creepy eyes? No, no. No Christianity there.
What we have here, buddies, is a sort of hybrid pseudo-Christianity, imputing our American values and views into the soul of a pure religion, defiled by our decidedly anti-Christian cultural stances. These include, but are not limited to, a materialistic, capitalistic mindset, where you see just as many Bentleys and face lifts at the church as you do at the country club. Wait, which is which anyway? The fact that we are the most prominent, powerful nation in the world further compounds this problem- we advertise that we are a "God-fearing nation", via our mouthpiece who has chosen to be very public about his particular breed of Christianity, George W. Bush. We declare Democrats to be against "persons of faith" when they block said Bush's judicial nominees. What if they're just bad nominees? What makes this a faith issue? The fact that our President wants his way, so will resort to religious muckraking, if necessary, to get it? There becomes no line any more, no "wall of separation" as Roger Williams, founder of Rhode Island and model for religious freedom, desired. We become a false church, buddies. We become the great beast on which the whore of Babylon will make her triumphal entry.

So, now that I've probably alienated a great many folks out there, let me say that it matters to me little if I've offended. We need to examine what we're doing. We need to be right in Biblical truth, and leave our "American values" in the gutter, if need be. There is nothing more important than the church toeing the line with the doctrines of the Bible, and nothing else- any time we bend our mouth to accept the bit of the government, we become false. We are warned- there is no way around it.

12Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, 13for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose. -Philippians 2

When was the last time we trembled? This is serious. There is nothing more serious. We don't treat our Christianity like it matters- it's just one more thing we "do," that we've got all sorted away, like our files for next year's taxes. The only problem is, the Father judges the heart, not files, and he himself warns us. Don't you think it's time for a closer look? Let's keep the flags out of the Churches, and the doctrine off the Senate floor. It's our only prayer, so to speak, at this point.

velociraptors will find me in the closet

Dreams are an odd thing. It seems that no matter how old we are, we never stop running away from a monster that is chasing us. I talked to my mom a few days ago and she told me about a dream she had the night before that was basically Jurassic Park going on in my parents' house. My brother and I were both there, and both my mom and dad, and there were velociraptors trying to get us and we kept hiding. She woke up alone on the couch at 2 am (my dad was out of town at the time), pulse racing and unable to fall back asleep.
The same night I had a dream that I was in Michigan; or not quite, I knew I was along the shoreline in Michigan City, Indiana. I could recognize the lighthouse and the area where pickup trucks were putting small motorboats into the water. The roads were really terrible (more like Michigan, actually- thanks again for the decade of disaster with Gov. John Engler), and driving was nearly impossible. There was a great, green monster in the road, making shadow puppets against the pavement by the light of the sun.

My grandparents in Michigan sent me this picture of what the lake winds did recently in their neighborhood. Between the dream and the memory of the sound of the water on days like this, I actually, genuinely missed the midwest today. Ok, maybe just the lake and maybe only for about 10 minutes, but the nostalgia was there. Michigan, you're always in my heart.

School Mistakes Huge Burrito for a Weapon

The following is an actual Associated Press article that I just read. I haven't laughed this hard in a long time. Personally, my favorite parts of this release are the ingredients list, and the boy's "ohmigosh" moment. I hope somebody ate it once it was all over.


CLOVIS, N.M. - A call about a possible weapon at a middle school prompted police to put armed officers on rooftops, close nearby streets and lock down the school. All over a giant burrito.

Someone called authorities Thursday after seeing a boy carrying something long and wrapped into Marshall Junior High.

The drama ended two hours later when the suspicious item was identified as a 30-inch burrito filled with steak, guacamole, lettuce, salsa and jalapenos and wrapped inside tin foil and a white T-shirt.

"I didn't know whether to laugh or cry," school Principal Diana Russell said.

State police, Clovis police and the Curry County Sheriff's Department arrived at the school shortly after 8:30 a.m. They searched the premises and determined there was no immediate danger.

In the meantime, more than 30 parents, alerted by a radio report, descended on the school. Visibly shaken, they gathered around in a semi-circle, straining their necks, awaiting news.

"There needs to be security before the kids walk through the door," said Heather Black, whose son attends the school.

After the lockdown was lifted but before the burrito was identified as the culprit, parents pulled 75 students out of school, Russell said.

Russell said the mystery was solved after she brought everyone in the school together in the auditorium to explain what was going on.

"The kid was sitting there as I'm describing this (report of a student with a suspicious package) and he's thinking, 'Oh, my gosh, they're talking about my burrito.'"

Afterward, eighth-grader Michael Morrissey approached her.

"He said, 'I think I'm the person they saw,'" Russell said.

The burrito was part of Morrissey's extra-credit assignment to create commercial advertising for a product.

"We had to make up a product and it could have been anything. I made up a restaurant that specialized in oddly large burritos," Morrissey said.

After students heard the description of what police were looking for, he and his friends began to make the connection. He then took the burrito to the office.

"The police saw it and everyone just started laughing. It was a laughter of relief," Morrissey said.

"Oh, and I have a new nickname now. It's Burrito Boy."

the name game

There are two women in my class, each with a better name than the other.

a. Debbie Head
b. Tina Bopp

There's this guy who lives in Michigan that I know, his name is Dick Hedman. All of these names are fun to say and fun to think about. I can't decide which one I like more. My landlord in Ft. Wayne was named Virgyle Hougendobler. He might win the prize.

no, thank you

The jury has returned from deliberations, and I'll have to say, I really enjoy working at Adam's. After a full week of training, I feel capable, appreciated, and empowered. It's good to feel this way; I haven't in a long time at work. If ever.

This thing happened today though that really bothered me. There was a family of six, an older couple, a younger couple, and the younger couple's kids- 3 generations, 3 boys, 3 girls, very symmetrical. They were total Fips, very snobby and acting somewhat irritated with me the entire time, like my presence was nothing more than a zit on the lovely face of their life. And then when I brought the bill, they were trying to separate it out; the older couple put down cash and then the younger woman, the mom of the family, was trying to figure out how much should come off of her credit card, and the husband just barked at her. "Just take the cash, give her [sort of a sideways sneer at me inserted here] the card!" and the woman obeyed him like a humbled dog would obey its master.

If it were me, if I was married and I was spoken to like an animal in front of my children, parents, and strangers, it would happen once. Only once, and then it would never happen again. He would get divorce papers, counseling requests, or a slap across the face, but it would be the only time it ever happened. I do not have any problem with allowing the husband to assume some measure of authority in the relationship, but the marriage is a partnership. There is discussion, there is argument, there is resolve. But there is no humiliation in public, or being fippy to each other. ughugh. My current desire to remain unmarried is renewed with vigor.

Sorry to all you male friends out there who are caring and supportive and wonderful. This is a comment made in a general and not specific sense. And women are not innocent in this matter. Every time we lay down and take it, we prove ourselves to be the dogs they think we are. Assertiveness and self-confidence are required, as well as a desire to be treated with respect. Just because the idiot has money and your children can play with color game boys and drink expensive organic milk does not make it worth it. I'm not jumping on the bra-burning wagon here. I like bras, don't get me wrong. I just like women, too; being one and being friends with many, I see all we are capable of- raising children, owning businesses, teaching, earning doctorates (despite what the president of Harvard may say to the contrary), creating art and music and expressing the beautiful souls we were given by a God who loves and values us just as much as our male counterparts. We can do more than just roar, but to let a good one echo across the plains now and again sure is gratifying.

And then to completely undercut everything, I will add that I met a cute boy tonight down at the Maté Factor. Also one who understood everything I was trying to say without talking, and told me almost immediately that he a) lived in a cave b) loved talking about spirituality c) would like me to visit his cave and d) is celibate and believes in keeping the body pure. We'll see what develops.

you must be girls

Tuesday night equaled Tori Amos and Matt Nathanson. He is just as good as I remember. She is mind boggling.

Straddling a bench while playing both a Bosendorfer and a dual-manual organ and singing, Tori looked from time to time like a giant red-haired praying mantis. Though I'm not a die-hard Tori fan, I'm immensely glad I went. She is in a category all of her own, with a flair for pagentry and spectacle that I was grateful for. Other thoughts include the fact that the Paramount in Denver is a fabulous venue, and I should go to more shows there. Also, always hope that the dudes sitting in front of you fail to show up so that you can throw your long legs over the backs of their chairs. And that it is always a good time to wager if your concert buddy can throw you over the balcony if you go completely to dead weight. There's no way he could do it. He wouldn't even be able to get me out of the chair. It's all how you use your body, and I am aware of my capabilities.

Free concerts, parking, and places to stay are good. I was born to love, I'm going to learn to love without fear.

fax machine anthems, get your damn hands up

one more night at the bux. golly, am I excited.

I hiked the incline again Monday, it was stellar. I have found this is a particularly good time to think about things, especially on the jog/run/scramble down the Barr Trail. I started thinking about people, and specifically this one dude in my Capstone class at HC. He was blabbing on about how he had never let one drop of alcohol touch his lips. I don't know why I started thinking about this, but it really started to bother me- this was how he measured his purity, by what he didn't do. Others measure their character by what they do do. Resuming talks with Joe Osha has strengthened my resolve. I don't want people to say I am prudish, or tolerant, or straight-laced, or even funny. I don't want that to be what stands out. If I sing off pitch, tell me to my face, I can take it. Don't like that I left the light on in the hallway? Give me a push, I won't fall down. I want my character to be who I am. I don't even want to think about my actions. I want to be workin' my legs. My beat is correct.

I'm washing just about everything to get all the animal hair out. If I had enough money, I'd let everyone live with me for free. Especially dogs. I forgot how good it feels to twirl a leash around in your hand to get the kinks out. Or have a dog's body curl up on you and twitch with the tail wag. Cats are cool enough, but dogs are where it's at.

I think I'm going to start taking martial arts from a kid I work with. I'm also declaring May national vegan month for all Liza Swarts. Shelly is going to help me get the right food, and I'm going to try it out. Animals, ya know I love ya, but just for a little while, I won't eat you any more. Then, quick as a wink, I'll be once again chewing on the breasts of flightless birds. I want to experience it. Shelly tells me that your energy goes through the roof, and food revitalizes you instead of making you sleepy. I'm down with giving it a chance.

Randem tandem, sorry for the bumpy ride, but I've a lot on my mind.

Roy

It started today with a phone call from Kim Gray, a former manager from Don Hall's Tavern at Coventry with whom Roy and I used to work. She just left a message, telling me to call her.
Unexpected phone calls like these almost always mean bad news.

Roy Nerzig, friend and co-worker during my sojourn in Ft. Wayne, IN was killed in a car accident almost two weeks ago. It seems odd- I was just thinking of him yesterday.
I didn't cry when I found out- I would almost feel fake to do so, we weren't that close. He did however encourage me to go to massage school, which is what I am now doing. His quick smile and small pieces of food thrown across the galley at me are memories I will always have, and are tempered with that aura that only occurs after someone has passed away.

I tried to take time today to tell friends and others that I ran in to that they are appreciated. Please do the same- we never know how long we'll have.

Below are the lyrics to the only song I wanted to listen to today, Latter Days, written by Linford Detweiler of Over The Rhine. They inspired me to be totally honest with myself. I gave my two weeks to Starbucks tonight. The siren stared impassively at me and sang on.


What a beautiful piece of heartache this has all turned out to be.
Lord knows we've learned the hard way all about healthy apathy.
And I use these words pretty loosely.
There's so much more to life than words.

There is a me you would not recognize, dear.
Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there dance without me.
You dance so gracefully.
I really think I'll be o.k.
They've taken their toll these latter days.

Nothin' like sleepin' on a bed of nails.
Nothin' much here but our broken dreams.
Ah, but baby if all else fails,
nothin' is ever quite what it seems.
And I'm dyin' inside to leave you
with more than just cliches.

There is a me you would not recognize, dear.
Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there dance without me.
You dance so gracefully.
I really think I'll be o.k.
They've taken their toll these latter days.

But tell them it's real.
Tell them it's really real.
I just don't have much left to say.
They've taken their toll these latter days.
They've taken their toll these latter days.

Constantine's dream

In 312 Constantine had a vision and a dream. Overnight, Christianity became accepted and expected, condoned by the authorities and governmental powers. What had been an underground, cultish group who feared for and lost their lives regularly became suddenly elevated.

Up until this time, the Church had a history of living in small pockets, meeting together and sharing communion, keeping one another strong in fellowship and grace. They were pacifist, going to the lions, the cross, or the executioner for their beliefs, never protesting but laying down their lives for the truth that changed them. Constantine would change all this, and time has done very little to alter what he chose to do.

Looking at an article from NorthPark University in Chicago, I found the following statements on Christianity's first governmental champion:

His conversion helped Christianity in many ways. Followers were safe from persecution, and Christian leaders were given many gifts by the Emperor. Constantine's adherence to Christianity ensured exposure of all his subjects to the religion, and he had no small domain. He also made Sunday an official Roman holiday so that more people could attend church, and made churches tax-exempt. However, many of the same things that helped Christianity spread subtracted from its personal significance and promoted corruption and hypocrisy. Many people were attracted to the Church because of the money and favored positions available to them from Constantine rather than from piety. The growth of the Church and its new-found public aspect prompted the building of specialized places of worship where leaders were architecturally separated from the common attendees, which stood in sharp contrast to the earlier house churches which were small and informal.

Constantine believed that the Church and the State should be as close as possible. From 312-320 Constantine was tolerant of paganism, keeping pagan gods on coins and retaining his pagan high priest title "Pontifex Maximus" in order to maintain popularity with his subjects, possibly indicating that he never understood the theology of Christianity. From 320-330 he began to attack paganism through the government but in many cases persuaded people to follow the laws by combining pagan worship with Christianity. He made December 25th, the birthday of the pagan Unconquered Sun god, the official holiday it is now--the birthday of Jesus. It is likely that he also instituted celebrating Easter and Lent based on pagan holidays. From 330-337 Constantine stepped up his destruction of paganism, and during this time his mother, Helen, made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and began excavations to recover artifacts in the city. This popularized the tradition of pilgrimages in Christianity.

He funded Christian leaders and the construction of churches, some of which he dedicated to his mother. Most Christian leaders greatly admired Constantine for the works he did for the church and Christian cause.

*****

Does this sound familiar to anyone? Constantine's dream ended up being little more than a nightmare, one that the Church is still unwilling to wake up from. As Keith Green put so succinctly, we're asleep in the light- having been exposed to the truth, but slumbering on in the stupor of pseudo-Christian Americanism, unwilling to crack our eyes even slightly. What does the life of the Biblical, authentic Disciple look like? We had better find it. Each should work out his salvation with fear and trembling- all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Not every one who cries Lord, Lord is going to walk into the kingdom. We must be conformed to the image of Christ, not patriotism, or evangelicalism, or flags sitting off to one side on the church platform, sneakily edging into the agenda.

"Whoever has my commands and obeys them, he is the one who loves me. He who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love him and show myself to him.”

John 14:21

blizzard wizards

hello friends.

as most of my readers are in fact from the midwest, I give you the permission to now gloat at me as our roles have reversed and you bask in 70 degree sunshine. Come on, gloat a litte.

Manitou is currently in the process of getting 3ish feet of show- we're probably about at the one foot range as it stands. Everything closed today- my church, my work, my roommate's bedroom door. We're chillin' in the winter wonderland, with travel nearly forbidden and large parts of both 1-25 and 1-70 closed for miles. Travel in the foothills and mountainous areas has been strongly discouraged by local television. Too bad that's where I live. Oh well, I can still walk down to the Maté Factor. It's always open. Maybe I can remind them to forget some muffins again while I pretend to study.

Keep your wool on and your eyes low, little children.

*** as a sidenote, I found the bird. Sort of. It did not survive the perilous netherworld of the kitchen floor. For all of those who were wondering... it has finally found its rest.

one of the weirdest pictures I've ever seen

This morning, when I got to work, I found this picture staring out at me from the cover of the New York Times.

I don't really have anything worthwhile to say about the death of Pope John Paul II, and as I am not a Roman Catholic, I don't feel that it is particularly appropriate for me to speak on the subject anyway. As a world leader known for being fairly progressive, he has my respect. As a man who sought to unite rather than divide, he has my admiration. His desire to consider all devotees of the Roman Catholic religion as equal regardless of continent or station is a model the United States should adopt within our own context.

My only other thought is, this has to be the weirdest picture of the weirdest group of people that I've ever seen.

bird

When I opened my bedroom door this morning, Draco was sitting just outside the door with a bird in his mouth. I closed the door and called for Joanne, who was poaching eggs in the kitchen. She got the bird away from Draco and shut the cat into her bedroom. The bird remains alive and under our stove, hiding from our cat-friendly eyes.

Its times like this that I know I totally made the right decision with giving up a cat. The little cheeps coming from the kitchen and the feathers scattered all over the floor merely serve as confirmation.

discs, crackers, cats

DISCS.



Last week I got my preordered, signed copy of Over The Rhine's newest release, "Drunkard's Prayer," in the mail. It was like coming home to an album I'd already cried and laughed over. The insides are peppered with photographs of the recording sessions, held at Karin and Linford's home in Cincinatti. In a way, the album almost feels like a farewell of sorts. I'd still probably say that Ohio is their best work, but this disc is intensely personal, and it leaves you feeling like you were invited in to their house for the whole process. Karin and Linford are incredibly transparent about their lives and their marriage, and the album reflects this in every phrase and melodic line. It has quickly found its way onto my top ten of all time list.



I also acquired Beck's "Guero" last week, purchased on the day it was released at Starbucks, courtesy of my 30% discount. It is a great compliment to the above-mentioned CD, partially because OtR is so mellow, and Beck so isn't. I described it most acurately last week as a mix between The Beta Band and Jurassic 5, with a little bit of Cake thrown in for good measure. The insert itself reminds me of Bjork meets Yoshitomo Nara. It put me into a decidedly Joe Urschel vibe. Who wouldn't want lots of sampling, lyrics about abuelitas, and unidentifiable noises popping in and out unexpectedly? Not me. I'm on the Guero train.

CRACKERS.

I'm hanging out uncontrollably at the Maté Factor, pretending to be studying but actually blogging. Ben just tried to eat seven saltine crackers without water, in a minute's time. He got through five, and then had to leave the booth to go puke them up in the bathroom after gagging himself with copious amounts of crumbs. I took a picture midway through, but alas, I have no digital camera, so y'all will have to wait till I devlop the whole thing before you get in on the action. Physically, it's impossible to acheive this cracker eating feat- but it sure is fun to watch people try.

CATS.

I adopted a black shorthair male last week, named Gizmo. I was excited to own a pet. After a series of unfortunate events, I took him back today. He was very high maintenance and ill mannered, and I am unable able to cope with either at this point in my life. Plus, Draco and Jonathan/Orion (Kate's new cat) both tried to kill him. I figured he would be a lot better off in a different home. Nonetheless, I did cry when I took him back to the shelter today. A lesson learned- don't try to be a cat person when all you really want is an affectionate beagle named Lucy. And a fenced yard.

Well, off to bed. 5 am Starbucks calls my name. The good news- I start my training this Thursday at Adam's Mountain Cafe here in Manitou. I'm geeked. I can walk to work, make more money, get free food and organic products at wholesaler cost.

13 days, 15 years

It is interesting to note that Terri Schiavo starved to death, after her vegetative condition was brought on by a heart attack caused by an eating disorder. May she finally know peace that passes all understanding.

I'll say goodbye to Al

So, Al is totaled. Evidently, the brake system is in total hydraulic failure. So, I'll sweep my voice up in to my best Karen Carpenter... "and say goodbye to Al, all the roadtrips we've had have come and gone - all the memories of driving in the noonday sun, and now there's something to believe in and move on to- something to belong to..."

....an ISUZU TROOPER! it's huge, white, and a year newer than Al. I'm moving up in the world.



I'm going to try not to become someone I hate, driving an SUV around while casually sipping a grande soy chai no water. This troops was cheep cheep cheep like a baby chicken and has low miles to boot. It was an easy choice really.
People keep apologizing to me and asking me if I'm stressed out. Honestly, I'm not. It's just a car, it's just money. Nobody is sick or dying or hovering on the brink of accepting Christ. It's not a life issue. All I can say is, Support our Troops!

the triumphal entry

Yesterday morning I was in Denver, so I went to church with a friend. I was excited. For the first time in a while, I was excited about church. I wanted some palm branches, some kids in robes with towels tied to their heads. Some "Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord." A little "Hosanna to the Son of David!" I wanted to be caught up in the momentary majesty of the King of Kings, for a few days. Until it all unravels on Thursday and the scourging begins.

Every time there is something magical about Holy Week. How it could have been. The anticipation, the promise, and then the heartbreak all over again, resounding with the "I am who you say I am." The rebuke of Peter, the healing of the guard's ear. The not-so-holy greeting of a kiss that sealed it all. The precedent of pacifism and nonviolence, even to the point of wrongful death. I wanted the beginning of this yesterday. I craved it, like the beginning of a favorite movie, when what is about to happen washes over you with its reverberating intensity, even before it has gotten there.

What I got instead was disappointment. I have been aware for some time that many churches completely ignore the liturgical calendar. I thought Palm Sunday would some how be exempt from this sort of gross American personalization of everything. I was wrong. Never once in the hour long service was the triumphal entry mentioned. The only thing reminiscent of palm branches were the potted ferns sitting in the lobby. I wasn't asking for a live donkey, as is often present at my parents' megachurch, though the touch would have been nice. There were no Hosannas. The little kids were in a different part of the church, tearing up plastic furniture and playing with felt boards, no doubt. The sermon was on "Only 100 years to live," and was basically about making the most out of your life time. Jesus was mentioned in passing, as perhaps the key to this room full of lifetime goodies, not really all that important once the door was opened.

I sat there through the service and felt bitterness rising in myself like bile. The problem is, I don't want to be a cynical person. I don't want to be someone who is always down on everything that is going on in the church. But somebody has got to stand up and say this isn't what it's all about! My savior wasn't scourged so you could wear an N'sync style headset mic over your flouncy hair and bounce around on stage, shouting, "I love to rock out!.... for Jesus!!!" Or so that you could become a stand-up comedian instead of a pastor. I want radical redemption here, not entertainment. Paul certainly wasn't about entertainment. A kid once fell out of a window and died because of Paul's lack of keeping the customer satisfied. That's probably because Paul realized, however, that the Church is not customers. Something that the American Evangelical church trusts and believes in. And we have more empty people sitting in our pews, that will be sorely disappointed when the few of us jump up and cry "Hosanna!" on the last day. The church is missing its mark. When will we wake up and realize that if we fail to cry out, the stones will do it for us?

the precedent

see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.



The Terry Schiavo case has kept my attention, I'll give it that. The pictures of the slack-jawed woman, looking up into her mother's eyes, tell me life is present there. How much, I have no idea. I have not sat down next to her bedside and looked her in the face. I don't know if her eyes are dull or bright. I don't know if she would even know that I am there.

What I do know is that our President signed a bill today. Our entire legislative body, Congress, has decided something lawfully needed to be done. I wasn't aware a bill could be originated for a single person. This is the part I begin to find bone-chilling, not the fact that someone removed an incapacitated woman's feeding tube.

Looking at the big picture here, all I can see is that we have set a precedent. Not about life, but about the extensionary power that the entire government can have into one life, one family. Whether or not Michael Schiavo is attempting to kill his alert, cognisant wife or allow his friend and companion to slip away as she would have wished, I am unaware. I do know that these situations can get incredibly complicated. Now, this complication is compounded beyond belief in the direct involvement of our federal government. What I wonder is, what does this mean for society down the road? What if laws change, but this precedent remains? Vague ideas of slipping away begin to loom in the back of my mind. And it's an altogether different type than Mrs. Schiavo is expereincing.

Back to this actual case. I've got several different angles of thought on the matter, but I don't think I have any conclusive answers on anything. I have also watched with a detached amusement (as is my favorite form of observation with this group of people) the involvement of the religious right. I leave you all with the following quote from an Associated Press article I found on Yahoo! News, by AP writer Vickie Chachere.

"...A crowd of about 50 people prayed and sang outside the hospice on Sunday. One man played "Amazing Grace" on a trumpet, as a pickup truck pulled a trailer bearing 10-foot-high replicas of the stone Ten Commandments tablets and a huge working version of the Liberty Bell. "

Way to go, guys. Way to go. Let's take it to Congress and turn it into a parade.

gaps, cataclysms, and forgotten muffins

There will be times, there will be terrible times in the last days.

Another night down at the Maté Factor. I get so frustrated when I can't remember something like the term "cataclysmic (a.k.a. gap) theory" at nearly 2 am. Or what the pre-flood canopy was called. I am, however, called to thankfulness for the fact that I was taught about these items. And that I've considered the destiny of the unevangelised, so that I'm not caught off guard. I'm thankful for 24-hour types that work with you when you just snap your fingers and shake your head and go "neph, neph... something about demon babies and female humans. dang it." Elohov just puts trays of unbaked bread around the countertop that I scour the internet on. The dough proofs around me slowly and silently, reminding me of my own brain cells.

Forgotten muffins in the steam oven are actually found to taste better- they get a slightly crusty exterior, and the butter seeps all the way through. I'm going to have to remind them to forget more often.

Somewhere in the background, Shelly and Yakkar discuss the difference between the destinies of the righteous and the holy in the coming age, and 2 Timothy 3 is read aloud. All is right and at peace in Manitou, including myself.

no tears for caesar

Beware the Ides of March. Beware Greeks bearing Gifts.

Beware people who don't have any idea why the Ides of March is significant. Down with the burgeoise. Up with the Plebs. Let's find jobs that don't belittle, that are concerned about something beyond the bottom line. Sounds incredulous? Maybe. I however, am optomistic that it can be done. I will twist the knife into the back of the evil empire, and watch it slowly sink to its knees. Not even the whispered "Et tu, Brutae?" will win me over.

I am resolute.

Today, Caesar, you die.