I don't think I will ever enjoy Christmas as much as I did when I was a child. Back then, seemingly, all I needed to do was wear a silver - as silver as Christmas tinsel - visiting dress:
Or kneel by the tree and play with the fire engine which was undoubtedly meant for my brother:
...in order to know that the very summit of the year had been reached, the time of the bright exhale.
Christmas was the decorated, fragrant tree and a house that was remarkably changed. I had nothing to do with this - I would just watch my parents bring the holiday inside to dazzle us.
Now, during the course of the years, there have come worries, disappointments, petty ugliness and cynicism: the detritus of adulthood, of living on your own. These bruises have hurt the innocence that dared to look forward to a day because it was...happy.
But there is one good thing. Now, every Christmas it is up to me to decorate some lucky tree waiting with evergreen hope beside its brethren in some orchard/hardware parking lot. It is up to me to transform my apartment with shiny things and swathe it with all the radiance of the season. And then on The Day, I will invite my parents over so I can dazzle them.
What the hell!?
Now, you just know I have some choice words to share about this. Please make yourself comfortable as I proceed to illuminate just how little these Conservapedia nitwits know about the real world. I’ve bashed them before, but their offense then was downright innocuous compared to this mess.
For those of you who can’t visit Conservapedia without donning a Haz-Mat suit, I’m happy to republish their silly content for you here because few things are more fun than cramming Fair Use straight up the collective asses of a bunch of idiot fascists.
Basically, what this self-appointed scripture Gestapo wants to do is alter the Bible so that Jesus doesn’t come off so cotton-picking liberal. Evidently, far-right extremists like Conservapedia founder Andy Schlafly* are made very uncomfortable by Jesus doing things like condemning the rich, turning the other cheek, and forgiving those who crucified him. Those things just don’t jive with their black-and-white, might-makes-right, fright-with-spite mentality. How are they supposed to subjugate the poor, amass enormous wealth and power, suppress all opposing viewpoints and still get though the Pearly Gates if the rulebook for their faith contains messages of love and compassion and warnings against the woes of material greed and unchecked hubris? Action must be taken!
Their solution is to go in and “fix” God’s word.
Thing is, just by suggesting this project, they’ve created a massive contradiction that reveals the inherent guile of their intentions while fully obliterating any cogency of their their so-called religious beliefs.
See, as ironic as it is, the Bible wasn’t always a book. It’s second half, for example, started out as oral recitations composed and continually repeated by Christ’s disciples. Generations later, those recitations were committed to paper by men who never actually met their Messiah. Then, over the span of a couple thousand years, these writings were translated a gajillion times by people of dramatically variant levels of intelligence, bias, and mastery of ancient Greek.
As a kid growing up in a Christian household, I often wondered how anything written in the Bible could convey an idea that was even remotely similar to its original meaning. Considering that the phrase “typically nasty weather” becomes “tickle your ass with a feather” by the time it’s reached its twelfth set of ears, the very idea the Bible had any validity seemed impossible to me.
Then my mother explained to me that the reason the Bible was not subject to the errors of men was because God was all-powerful and would not allow it. She told me that the Bible was “the eternal and unerring word of God” and that I ought to avoid doubting the Lord. That satisfied me for many years. I have since come to find it is the go-to response to the Bible translation question.
Until now, that is.
What is so beautiful about the Conservative Bible Project is that it is based on the assumption that God is a fuck-up – that he is incapable of keeping us silly humans from bastardizing his Word. The defining statement of their mission is that “Liberal bias has become the single biggest distortion in modern Bible translations.”
Another way they could have said this is: “The single biggest problem with the Bible is that God has been unable to keep man from distorting it.”
So right off the bat, they admit their God is a failure. He can’t even stop us from putting words in his mouth, for crying out loud!
Too easy? Fine. We can go deeper. Let’s assume that Satan was cleverer than God gave him credit for (a lesser offense on God’s part, if still indicative of imperfection). We’ll say for the sake of argument it’s the devil’s fault there are “liberal” translations of the Good Book and that some remarkable Christian needs to step up and defend the integrity of his Savior’s conservative intentions.
What qualifications, I wonder, does Mr. Schlafly have in translating ancient Greek texts and how many of the original scriptures has he personally studied at length? Does he have any renowned Bible scholars on his team? Can he readily see the glaring flaw in the logic employed by Thomas Aquinas to prove God? What is his IQ? (If that last question seems unfair, consider that he wants to call the Holy Spirit the “Holy Force”. o_O Bothered by this Yoda is… distresses him, it does!)
Hell, does he even know how long a cubit is and, if so, just how important does he consider that data to be? I have to ask because, from the standpoint of having to contain two of every single living thing for water transport, one would hope the Bible’s definition of a cubit would be a liberal one.
There’s no shortage of lunacy in Schlafly’s project to keep me going for a while. I could go off on how anti-intellectual it is to get rid of holy names like Yahweh and Jehovah or how revealing of their hypocrisy it is that they want to remove passages such as the one wherein Jesus tells a crowd to “let him who is without sin cast the first stone” at a suspected adulteress. I could tear apart the idea of hell as a direct contradiction to freewill or simply point out how Conservapedia denizens are so stupid and confused the notation “disfavored here” had to be added next to their link to their own Feminist Bible page.
But, the thing is I have a project of my own in the works I need to get back to. I’m currently in the process of fixing all the silly conservative rhetoric in Gray’s Anatomy. I personally think it’s time we gave things like tapeworms and corsets and lead makeup another chance.
*Andy Schlafly is the son of Phyllis Schlafly, a failed politician who did her hypocritical best in the 70s to stop the ERA even as she enjoyed a lofty career as an attorney.
O HIGH!
Chewie had her first spoonful of cereal at Thanksgiving dinner and followed it with the whole bowl. You know how they say start out with 1 tablespoon and go slow? No such thing with my girls. She did not gag once, she did not refuse once, she ate and ate and ate and finished a full serving. The next day she did refuse it at dinner because she was tired so it's not like she doesn't know how to say no. She's been doing good with it, except she started getting a little constipated and was up at night again (to put that in perspective, she was up at 10 and then again at 4/5. So really, who am I to complain?). I started oatmeal yesterday morning to try to help in that area. Last night was the worst in that she was crying quite a bit and then this morning during breakfast she was crying A LOT. She had poop when she woke up this morning and I don't think she's stopped since. I decided to skip the cereal this morning and give her a rest. I gave her oatmeal at lunch and might just stick with that today instead of doing the rice for dinner. She is at least smiling now and she was NOT doing that this morning. I think she really needed to get her poop out and now that's it coming all at once her little heiney is getting sore. And this sounds SO FAMILIAR does it not? I'm going to start fruits soon and hopefully she will balance out and get regular again.
Paris trembles under many lights. Looking down on the city, it meanders like a circle of galaxies.
During the Second Empire, in the mid-19th century, Paris was a delightful gamine, overdressed with crinolines and diamond sandals. She was a shocking, immoral child - but always held back with the soft ribbons of etiquette, always wearing an extravaganza of couture.
Paris was also an epicurean state, with a history of exotic tastes, extravagant meals and wasteful, profligate menus. There is one story of a dinner that was served during this time:
Waiters stood tall and handsome as they shouldered a lengthy, silver platter. It was covered, and heavy. They were en route from the kitchen to the dinner table, only this time the kitchen wasn't below stairs, but upstairs, in milady's boudoir.
Beneath the silver cover, the feast reclined in the edible darkness. She thought luxuriously of the corsets, taffetas, crinolines and sandals left behind in her 'kitchen'. But the black pearls - product of an oyster's imagination and passion - still rested around her neck, floating atop a milky sea.
Bouquets of lilies and violets tickled her shoulders and knees - staining her skin with a layer of perfume. Petals curled in her hair, and she tapped their glossy colors with her fingers, feeling their tints run through her hands. Her veins were now a delicate cartography of blue, lavender, bronze and mint.
It was well known throughout the city that the finest chef in the country was on this lady's staff. But for this one night only, she would be the one presenting the most delicious flesh in the Empire.
"What! That girl leaning forward? Oh, that is a distinguished member of the demi-monde. She is but just arrived from Paris, where her beauty, her wit, and her profligacy were the theme of every tongue. I have met her there frequently, so, if you want an introduction I will give it to you - her name is Cora Pearl."
...I would invite every one of my handsome, adorable, clever neighbors to my apartment for Thanksgiving dinner.
If I could, I would expand my list of invitees, like a sparkling balloon, to include parents, children and all manner of pets. How I would love to be introduced to them all.
If I could, I would alter the design of my dinner table into something Dr. Seuss or Lewis Carroll might design - curving into space, higher and higher - until it had lengthened sufficiently so that every one of you could find a place.
If I could, I would alter the space continuum so that my kitchen would be BIG ENOUGH to accommodate the positively epic, Edwardian dinner I would plan for you.
If I could, I would alter the time continuum so that my far-flung precious ones would be able to find their way to the Aubrey domicile with ease and economy. And yet still be able to travel first-class.
If I could, I would place a glass of flower-like, art nouveau proportions at each place setting. It would be full of champagne, and glittering at the bottom would be either a diamond bracelet, or a brace of diamond cufflinks. They are for you.
If I could, I would arrange the champagne toasts thusly: they would not be to your hostess, to your family, or to your loved ones. You would not toast this innocent North American holiday. You would, instead, toast yourselves.
Because words fail me.
Happy Thanksgiving, all.
It takes me for-freakin-ever to read nonfiction. Not sure why I can fly through fiction but nonfiction takes me at least three times as long to read. Am I paying more attention or something?
Anyway, right now I'm making my way through Moab Is My Washpot, which is Stephen Fry's autobiography. The
wonderful thing is that he did write it himself and it's completely in his "voice" so it's rather like sitting across from him as he tells you the silly tales of his childhood and school years. I always wonder how people can remember their earlier years with such detail. I certainly remember "scenes" but if pressed I doubt I could put them into an actual factual timeline. It's just as well since I doubt anyone would want to read my life story anyway. Although I did have a damn fun childhood.
I'm also plowing (slowly, slowly) my way through Bad Science by Ben Goldacre. I say "plowing" only because I read so dreadfully slow, not because the content is laborious. If anything, Goldacre makes what might be snore-worthy and makes it fun and interesting.
This is a book that has been known in the Skeptical community as a must-read... along with Phil Plait's Bad Astronomy, and Simon Singh's Trick Or Treatment. It reveals what commonly-held beliefs are misplaced and generally teaches you to question what often sounds too good to be true.
What makes reading both of these books even more fun is both of the authors are also on Twitter so I'm "getting to know" them both through their writing and through their day-to-day twitterings as well.
I'm still in a bit of a shock that's it's already Thanksgiving. When did that happen? Wasn't my birthday a couple weeks ago??? I plan to spend a couple days with my family and then a couple days at home. The perfect Thanksgiving in my mind.
Work: No change from September. Which means it's still chaotic and unorganized and no one knows what the hell going on. Add in the fact that there has been discussions of those of us at the capital to the other building (which is a good 30 mins away from the capital) and I'm frustrated and incredibly disappointed with certain people.
Home: No progress at all beyond cleaning out the craft room closet. And all of that stuff is still sitting in my hallway *eyeroll*
Crafts: I finished the holiday gifts last month. So I made this cute scarf for myself. I just need to finish up the green socks I started a while ago so I can start on some newer larger projects.
Flute!: I finally got around to contacting a flute instructor and had my first lesson last week. I've decided one hour biweekly lessons is the way to go. And it's coming back to me despite it being 2 years since my last lesson.
And Car: And I will keep it clean. Some idiot (who lives several doors down from me) decided he could not wait for me to turn left into my driveway and decided to go around me. On the left. Which means my car is now sporting a large dent above the driver's back wheel. Needless to say I was beyond pissed. That he got charged for following too closely is the only bright spot. I'm waiting to hear from the insurance to get the fixing details worked out.
I hope everyone has a marvelous Thanksgiving!
I did not get up this morning.
Sometimes I get a little boxed in by my routines. For the most part things work out really well and by sticking to my routines as much as possible I can keep control over my days. I had been "dream feeding" Chewie at 10--feeding her in her sleep so that she would make it until the morning (7:30) and not have her sleep interrupted. Lately she's been waking up at 10. Which is no longer a dream feed and pretty indicative of a habitual waking. The last couple of nights I fed her only one side, something that would have caused a 3 or 4 am waking a few weeks ago. She took it and slept until 7:30. Or well, 7:20, but we're not going to quibble. Last night I decided not to go up there at all. She woke when Vader took SkyWalker and the Princess to the bathroom. I grumbled but didn't go up. She wasn't screaming or crying but really just fussing. She went back to sleep after just a few minutes. I was truly shocked when my alarm went off at 5:30 and I realized I hadn't been up yet. I knew this had become a habit waking but part of me was afraid to not feed her. Not that she would wake me up later, but just because she seems so similar to SkyWalker--born early and small, not the easiest pooping, looks just like him--that in the back of my head I thought "I don't want another baby to stop gaining weight." But she is not SkyWalker and she is still gaining weight. She now has some chunky thighs like her big sister. And she is a week away from cereal anyway. I decided I didn't need to wait until EXACTLY 6 months, so I'm doing it just one week early--on Thanksgiving so my mom can be there. My mother was there for the other 2 and now she can be there for Chewie's first cereal tasting as well.
