Wake me when it's over

I plan to spend most of today sleeping, since I maybe got three hours last night owing to a late night blood infusions and the less than relaxing accommodations, and reading. If I deign to turn on the telly, it will be to hover around the neutral cable channels so as to avoid all the squawking from the networks.

My mom's friend Sarah said her nightmare would be a repeat of the 2000 elections where it becomes too close to call, everyone goes ape shit, and the election results get smacked around the court systems for a couple of weeks while the rest of America rends their garments and gives up.

I am so weary of ads and junk mail and phone calls. Especially the phone calls. I don't know which were worse, the automated calls or the cold calls, one of which went down like this:

(I'm in the kitchen last week cooking dinner. The phone rings.)

ME: Hello

CALLER: Terry? TERRY? (I'm not exaggerating. The woman was hollering.)

ME: Excuse me?

CALLER: Is this TERRY?

ME: No, I think you have the wrong number.

CALLER: I have THE WRONG NUMBER?

ME: Yes.

CALLER: Terry...Terry...AMOS?

ME: Um,this is the Amos household.

CALLER: Well I'm calling on behalf of Barak Oba...

ME: *click* Guh.

Some people sould not be let near a phone.

I'm just not one to get all swooped up in a Presidential election. Maybe if we were a dictatorship and the person running the ship called all the shots, I'd be more passionate, but really if we were a dictatorship I think there'd probably be only one name on the ballot. And probably if you didn't vote for that name, you might disappear for a little while to be "re-educated". I'm more interested in local and state politics because decisions made at that level tend to have a more immediate and direct impact on my day-to-day living.

Cynicism is the word that best describes my attitude towards national politics. It's mostly business as usual up on Capitol Hill, no matter who's behind that big desk. Because once all the dust has cleared from the election and the fancy speeches and gilded promises faded, it's back to crabby, partisan squabbling and power plays and the well venerated game of finger pointing.

So as I've said after nearly every election, "Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss."

Totally unrelated note, is the new Vanity Fair out on magazine stands yet? The celebrity websites have been covering it, and Kate Winslet, my girlfriend, is on the cover looking smoking hot and not unlike a certain iconic French actress whom I also admire. I think I might support Vanity Fair in their choice of cover subject and pick up a copy

Listen Here

I write this blog to keep my friends and family, both here and around the globe, updated on my health status and keep them current on general Clan Amos news. Occasionally, I ruminate on some random topic, babbling like a brook overflowing with my own nutty o-PINE-yun.

This blog should not serve those who are neither friend nor family and are mining for information that could mess with my Clan.

So if you are one of those individuals lurking about my blog looking for some dirt, I don't want you here. Go away. Piss off.

I'm not your employee.

In case you wanted to know

I'm home. I wish I could say that I am thrilled to be home and feeling so well after five days of being pumped full of chemotherapy. But alas, I cannot.

I feel like poo. Actually, intermittently like poo. There are periods where I feel sort of okay. Then I feel like poo. Tired, woozy mostly. There are times when simply sitting taxes me. I've got lingering indigestion. My sinuses are flaring up and causing post-nasal drip. My muscles ache, to the touch even, making it hard to sleep well. Then there's my lingering menstrual issues that could become cataclysmic again once my blood counts drop.

My intention after this round of poison was to stay rested and hydrated and do my best to take care of myself and possibly avoid any other hospitalizations between now and my bone marrow transplant days.

Were I so lucky.

I've got a sick, snotty cat whose dried snot is all over the sofa. Plus a snotty toddler who threw up twice during dinner tonight. Yum. And here I am with a weakened immune system. Infections, even ones as small as upper respiratory, have the potential to create huge issues with my treatment.

Tomorrow, I get to spend the morning in Cancerville Clinic.

So excuse me if I'm a little crabby.

I had really hoped to do as good a job as Prisco did, hyping up our little wager, but I need my sleep. Especially if I am going to kick his ass with this book race thing we've got going on.

It's totally on. I have many things to live for in this world, namely my wonderful and beautiful family. Beating Prisco's bald, fat butt by reading 100 books first is just going to add a big old thermonuclear jump start to my getting through this cancer mess.

So I start with a few ghost stories.

Any other recommendations?

An Open Letter to Florida

Dear Florida:

We understand that recently your state has received an exceedingly large amount of rainfall. As moisture falling from the sky has become quite the rare phenomenon here in the Old Dominion, we were wondering if you'd be amenable to the notion of sharing some of your rain with us up here in the Midatlantic region.

Currently we are asking our citizens to hold off on washing their cars, watering their lawns, flushing their toilets, or running across the grass, lest the foliage ignite.

Any amount of rainfall that you would be willing to part with would be accepted with heartfelt gratitude and open but very dry and flaky arms.

Much Thanks,

Your Fellow State in the Union- Virginia

The Making of a Movie Buff

Today, we took Little A to see Kung Fu Panda, his first movie in a movie theater. This kid comes from a long line of movie lovers, so naturally he enjoys a good flick. He's already a big fan of Cars and The Incredibles, and even at his tender age will sit mesmerized through these rather long movies. But he's not yet had the complete movie theater experience, and this year we decided he would be old enough to have the patience for a full-length picture, to appreciate the big screen, and to not get freaked out at the dark or the volume.

By the way, how much does it bug me when parents bring age-inappropriate children to movies? Like an infant who invariably starts screaming or babbling in the middle of the film and whose parents seem to think the best approach is to try and calm the baby there rather than GET UP AND WALK OUT OF THE THEATER WITH YOUR SCREAMING CHILD. Or like the mother I saw with her two elementary-school-age sons at a showing of Jackie Brown because that's teaching them fabulous things about guns, sex, and profane language. Or like the mother we saw in line to buy tickets with her three-year-old daughter as we were leaving Iron Man at some time past 10 o'clock because that's an awesome time to see a movie with your toddler. Okay, sure I understand maybe not having the dough for a babysitter or maybe having a hard time finding a dependable one. But for crying out loud people, just suck it up and wait for it to come out on DVD.

Anyway, I digress.

We've been hyping this movie experience and Kung Fu Panda since I got out of the hospital after my first round of chemo. We've been watching the online trailers, reading the book, and we even got some Happy Meal toys. I've been pretty jazzed about this, my son's first movie-going experience. Once the doctors declared me no longer neutropenic, we got busy picking out a day and a showing. We packed snacks, put on a snazzy polo shirt with pandas embroidered in the corner, and set off to meet my mom at the theater.

Then due to a mix-up with the times, we ended up there an hour early. Snort. But it was good opportunity to grab a quick lunch.

Occasionally, there are moments when Little A does something that makes me wonder if he truly is the fruit of my loins. Today, for instance, he summarily rejected popcorn. My mom talked him into trying a piece which he promptly ejected from his mouth. Doesn't like popcorn. Huh.

We settled into our seats. Immediately, Little A seemed puzzled as to why we were being forced to watch commercials. I told him I wonder the same thing too some times. Once the movie started, Little A was mesmerized. The only time he talked out loud was to inquire about the usher who came into the theater to make his rounds ("What's that man doing?"). I loved seeing his big grin whenever he recognized a favorite line or scene from one of the trailers we watch.

But I think the whole event, coupled with the darkness and the fact that the sound was a little low, wore him down. By the last ten or fifteen minutes of the movie, he was starting to look drowsy, but I think the final battle scene roused him out of his stupor. All in all, he seemed to enjoy the experience. The scenes with the younger Tai Lung and Master Tigress being the most memorable so far.

Later, when talking about his experiences, Little A made sure to mention the "holes in the seats to put our drinks in." My kid remember the cupholders. Awesome.

The day's events have pretty well baked his noodle because it's taken me a good while to try and spin him down for sleepytime. Whew. I guess our big screen adventures will be few and far between, at least for now.

On one last note, I've got a bone marrow biopsy tomorrow. Just a reminder of my friends, the zombie leukemia cells. Let's hope and pray that the last scorched earth approach has kept them somewhat at bay. Otherwise, the Zombie Warrior's going to start investing in some nuclear goodies for her arsenal.

Does the Almighty Come in Hot Pink?

A few weeks ago, my husband and I were out driving in the Short Pump area-Ninth Circle of Hell-and we passed by one of the local McChurches. They were displaying the above graphic on banner in front of the building. The banner advertised the latest sermon series, complete with the iconic black-silhouetted, dancing figures. I could not have made this up. In fact, I wished I had. (I'd post a link to some of the sermons in the iGod series, but I've not listened to them and frankly I don't want to give this church's site any additional traffic. I am as insulted by this bullshit as I was with Velocity Church's obnoxious radio ads.)


Dare I ever attempt to know the heart and mind of God, Creator of the Universe, but despite the fact that the iPod is a rockin' little gadget and Apple has done a bang-up job marketing it, somehow I have serious doubts that God wants his followers stumping Him as the Walkman of the 21st century. Are we that sad of a nation that Christianity needs to be marketed with hip tie-ins? We can't have our religion without slapping it with a thick veneer of hipness? Or worse, does the modern American church think that it needs to peddle Christianity like a Superbowl ad? I am perplexed that churches think the teachings of Christ need to be all MySpaced out or nobody will listen.

I hear the penny wisdom from fellow Christians that the means justify the ends, that whatever it takes to fill pews, to "win souls for the Lord", is justifiable. But at some point, this interbreeding of consumerist American culture and Christianity is going to come back to bite us in the ass. Lost will be Jesus' essential core teaches about love, humility, and servanthood, replaced by a happy-slappy , Let's Make Sure Everyone Is Happy With Themselves mantra, come back next Sunday and we'll throw in a new iPod for every conversion. If you get people in the door by promising to be fun and hip, you better continue to fulfill on that promise, which means you run the risk of making entertainment the foundation of church services and sermons. More than likely, that would mean removing any elements of the Christian dogma that don't fit with Big Fun and the Feel Good Band.


I blame Joel Osteen.

Smells Like Holy Spirit?

You know how NASCAR fans can get Oh Oh See with the merchandising? There's everything under the sun emblazoned with a driver's number. You can even buy the discarded body panels off of your favorite car to, um, hang over your fireplace?

As bad as the racing folks are, Christians can be ten times worse when it comes to merchandising God. Just peruse the aisles of the local Christian bookstore and you'll find a myriad of decorative and knick-knacky crap, all with a religious sheen. (I would have posted some links to real wacky merchandise, but the first website I visited crashed my Firefox. Jerks.) But I do have to wonder at the intent of the manufacturers of all this religious kitsch. Are they really looking to serve and edify God or just make a tidy buck off of a bunch of ugly stuff made cheaply in some far-off sweatshop?

Accumulating religious doo-dads probably started way back in early churches of the late Roman Empire and Middle Ages when relics of all sorts became the rage. People went ape over a splinter from the One True Cross or a scrap of clothing rumored to have been worn by Christ or a bone from a long-dead saint. It's a unique form of idolatry, the longing for a physical, earthly link to the heavenly realms. Kind of like those scarves Elvis used to toss out during his concerts. Or like the pen you let the Cute Boy in homeroom borrow that you place worshipfully on your dresser because He touched it, maybe even chewed on it a little.

The other night, following a story from Yahoo!, I found Virtue, the world's first spiritual perfume. No joke. Eau de God. I couldn't have made this ridiculousness up. I must admit that I only skimmed the majority of the website; I had to stop reading because I feared I'd give myself a brain embolism.

But I'm a generous sort of gal, so I thought I'd share with you, dear readers, the story of Virtue in all its cerebellum-melting glory, using of course, text pulled straight from the website.

When we started Virtue® there was no IBI. We were just two individuals, who had a dream to make a difference in the world we served. How could we make a dream a reality and have it be truly Inspired? Truly in service to our intent to create a fragrance that would serve a Spiritual purpose. To truly serve the Spiritual side of humanity. The key... was the fragrance. And the key to the proper fragrance was Spirit, Itself.

What?!? You want "to serve the world and make a difference" so you create a PERFUME? There are dozens of ways to "serve the Spiritual side of humanity" and these wingnuts went for fragrance? Maybe I dozed off during this portion of Sunday School, but I am pretty sure Christ didn't mention anything in his teachings about helping the world smell nice.

A year later, while doing some research on the name, we became aware that Virtue was actually associate [sic] with fragrance the world over. In practically all religions and Spiritual practices, persons of high Spiritual attainment are known to give off a fragrance, attributed to their Virtue. Christ, many of the Saints, and numerous others with highly developed spirituality, are, historically, known to have given off such a fragrance.

Again, I think I missed the part in the Bible where it talked about Jesus smelling like flowers. More than likely, considering the hygiene practices of his time, Jesus stunk like sweat. And I don't think that made him any less of a Messiah.

I'm going to skip the overly drawn out section of the website that is dedicated to the perfume's rather banal logo. The earnestness with which the design is described is both hysterical and pathetic.

Onto the perfume itself. Here's how the World' First Spiritual Scent is described:

Let it’s [sic] contemporary notes of Apricot (the real forbidden fruit), Fig and Pomegranate transition into a gentle heart of Iris, warming to a golden base of rich exotic woods including Frankincense, Myrrh, and Spikenard, ever so lightly sprinkled with Cinnamon and Cassia. Your journey is complete. You are firmly placed in an ancient realm of the senses, enduring and timeless for over 3,000 years.

According to the Virtue folks, Eve munched on an apricot. (Here's where I crack open Genesis...) And what in the world is Spikenard? More importantly, why would I want to apply it to my body.

I really like the notion that somehow God's essence was more pure in the ancient world, so that in order to truly connect with God time traveling would be required. Also, this notion that the ancient world was brimming with all of these divine scents, like some sort of mystical Yankee Candle store, is ludicrous. More than likely, the "ancient realm of the senses" smelled like animal dung, B.O., and raw sewage.

The makers of Virtue point out that in order for their fragrance to work, you can't just mist it in the air and walk through a cloud of perfume on your way out the door. They outline specific steps one must take in order to receive the full blessing of the sacred odor.

Begin your spiritual practice (prayer, meditation, contemplation, etc.)
Establish your desired spiritual state.
Smell your wrist, maintaining awareness of your spiritual state.
Keep repeating this association.
In the course of your day, let it remind you of your spiritual state by smelling your wrist.
Maintaining contact with the Spiritual Self brings inspirations and insights, only available by spiritual awareness.

I have no words. This shit is beyond me.

And just when you thought it couldn't get better, there are testimonials!

"I found that an added bonus is that it mixes beautifully with the other two perfumes I wear regularly. I can spray on my other fragrance, then dab on some Virtue® and love the results."

Whoa , Stinkerella! This woman wears THREE different perfumes? I feel sorry for anyone who has to share the same 50 cubic feet with this woman.

"The concept is such a good idea, and I look forward to gradually associating that smell with my 'Spiritual State', so that each time I get a whiff of it during the day, I'll instantly feel that refreshment and reverence. "

I can't help but get this mental picture of Mary Catherine Gallagher jamming her hands in her pits, pulling them out, and taking a nice big whiff.

"The best use so far has been spraying it in my home, my children's room or on their pillow before they sleep. To all of my sisters in Christ I say: A mother's heart is like a deep well that bursts forth in tears when her children are in pain, who prays endlessly for love to guide them to a righteous path and blesses the broken road because their journey will end in strength, faith and a victorious life."

This poor woman's kids who reek of perfume. And I am not sure what she's getting at with her mish-mash of metaphors at the end there, but I try not to question any woman who sprays perfume all over her house. She might just be in the running for Vice-Mayor of Crazytown.

Best part about all this insanity is the asking price. For only $80 you can own your very own bottle of Biblical scent. Really, dear readers, is that too much to ask for "a reminder of the eternal I AM"?

Christmas Schishmas

Working at a large department store during the holiday season started souring me on Christmas. At least the modern American way of celebrating Christmas which is to say to buy an inordinate amount of shit. I would arrive at work when it was still dark and drive home in twilight. Several times a day, my fellow employees and I would empty out dressing rooms exploding with clothes and try to wrangle tables overflowing with piles of sweaters we had so carefully folded only a few hours before. I suffered through an unreasonable number of rude shoppers who complained about the long lines and argued with me over whether or not their "10% off FINE *FUCKING* JEWELRY" coupon should also apply to their velour track suit with snowflake appliqués. One lady I remember distinctly because she glared at me with her beady eyes as she slapped her sweater down on the counter and snarled, "Well she better like it," before shoving her credit card in my face.

Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too, bitch.

It's been ten years since I endured one of my worst employment experiences, but every year my sourness grows. The stores and advertisements are chocked full of crap that are supposed to make for good gifting. There are the unnecessary gadgets (novelty booze dispensers, shaving cream warmers, a creepy robotic horse from Target) and gifts sets (everything from picture frames to skin care to scarves) that will inevitably be gathering dust in a few months time and are destined for a trip to the trash or the yard sale table by summer. Then there are the perishable gifts like mixer sets that make cough-syrupy cocktails or the fancy bottles full of pickled, brightly colored vegetables (Who eats those?) that are soon banished to some far away corner of the pantry.

The Christmas shopping experience itself can vary from mildly exhausting to maddening. Living in the RVA, one has to only drive west down Broad Street until you hit the Ninth Level of Hell, otherwise known as Short Pump to see how unpleasant our rampant commercialism has become. The traffic alone on this corridor, beginning at Innsbrook, is enough to give me a mild nervous breakdown.

Don't misconstrue; I love Christmas, especially Christmas music, and love my son's growing excitement for the season. Which is why for the past few years I've been trying to slowly move myself and my family into celebrating Christmas in a more simplified, less consumption-based manner. It's not something I can do overnight, and I certainly don't want to give up on gift-giving all together. I just want to celebrate in a more mindful manner.

I seriously doubt Christ came into this world so we could get RC cars, and iPods, and FINE *FUCKING* JEWELRY.

Anyway, I've been doing some reading (Hundred Dollar Holiday, I highly recommend.) and surfing (I love the Mennonites; I think I should switch teams.) on the subject of a simplified Christmas and want to share some of what I've learned in a couple of posts over the next week. I'll be focusing on three ways to pare down on the Christmas insanity:

1. Buy local
2. Buy handmade
3. Get crafty

If you, my devoted readers, have artist or shop owner friends you'd like to promote or just know some great gift giving alternatives, send me info (URL, address, etc.) and I'll add it to a sidebar for the season. Also, got any crafty ideas or recipes to share, I'd love those as well.

Come, join my band of merry, if slightly sour, mischief makers and shake this season up a little.

Don't go to the mall. I dare you.

Persecution

Regard prisoners as if you were in prison with them. Look on victims of abuse as if what happened to them had happened to you. -Hebrews 13:3

Yesterday, in addition to being Veterans Day, was also International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church. Fittingly, it fell on a Sunday. As I sat in my church's morning service, singing hymns, praying, and receiving communion, I tried to focus on how precious my ability to openly worship and serve my faith is. An estimated 160, 000 Christians across the world will die at the hands of their oppressors and another 200 million are persecuted, arrested, tortured, beaten, or jailed for their beliefs. There are 48 nations where it is illegal to do one or all of the following things:

• own a bible
• discuss a personal belief in Christianity
• convert to Christianity
• allow children to attend a religious service not sanctioned by the government.

I hold my religious freedom very dear and am extremely blessed and fortunate to live in a country where I can choose my religion and publicly express my beliefs. But honestly, it is a freedom I take for granted. And that most American Christians take for granted as well.

Every time I hear someone mouth off about how "Christianity is under attack in this country", I wish I could ship them over to North Korea or China or Iran to see what "under attack" really means. All this grousing about prayer in schools or public nativity sets or Ten Commandments in courtrooms makes me wonder if a little bit of perspective has been lost. Christianity no longer has the same Most Favored Nation status in the public domain it used to. There was a time, say forty or fifty years ago, when it was assumed that the majority of the American populace was church going. Christian church going. Not any more. And this twerks some churchin' folks off who think that America should stay stuck in the Eisenhower Era.

Yet these same mouthy churchgoers are mum on the subject of the international church community. I don't hear a loud outcry for the Laotian and Indonesian ministers jailed with indefinite sentences or for the deaths of Christians in India or for the Nigerian Christians who worship secretly in fear of extreme persecution.

They blissfully go on about their lives. Christian bumper stickers slapped on their minivans, stereos tuned to a Christian radio station and blaring worship music, shopping at the local Christian store, sending their kids to a Christian school, wearing Christian sloganed t-shirts.

And then they bitch about "Happy Holidays" replacing "Merry Christmas".

God help us. Help us be grateful for the huge amount of religious freedom we have in this country.

Just as important as our right to practice openly and freely our religion of choice is the separation of church and state. And that the debate over this concept is still alive and continually renewing. Our founders thankfully learned from the religio-political rollercoaster England endured and saw fit to eliminate the state church. This separation, rather than quash religion in America, has kept it alive and thriving. Our public domain should never be sanitized of all mention of religion; that would be doing an enormous disservice to a vital element of American culture.

A theocracy, on the other hand, serves no man and serves no God.

Taliban anyone?

Never Been Kissed

Sometimes in the mornings when I turn on the television for our daily hit of Sesame Street, I catch a glimpse of some televangelist's program, of course only if the TV happens to be on Fox. These people amuse me with their plastic countenance and practiced rhetoric, and so for a good chuckle, I'll often watch a few minutes to see what kind of perversion of Christ's teachings they are peddling to the masses.

The other day, we happened to tune in at the end of a segment that was clearly aimed at the teen/young adult population. On the show that day was the host, two young women, and Lisa Bevere. According to my copious Google research, Lisa Bevere is a motivation speaker (or as her website proclaims, she and her husband have a "ministry".) and author who specializes in self-help books aimed at Christian women. Apparently, she was appearing on this show to stump for her latest book, Kiss the Girls and Made Them Cry. (More thoughts on the book further down.)

It didn't take long for me to figure out what the topic of discussion: sexuality and the Christian woman. When the words "Christian" and "sex" are put together, inevitably the word "abstinence" follows quickly behind. Lisa Bevere and her co-horts were extorting the notion of "purity" in young women of the Christian faith. The two younger guests were there to share their experiences and testimony about how wonderful being abstinent is, and as I listened to them talk, it became clear that one of the women was taking the concept of "waiting until marriage" to a very stringent level. She was waiting to have her very first kiss until she exchanged vows with her future husband.

Wait.

What?

Growing up in the non-denominational Christian church, I am very familiar with the whole True Love Waits bullshit. It was shoved down my throat as a teenager, but never had I ever heard of a girl or guy taking such extreme measures to ensure her/his purity. (And before anyone gets snarky, she was a reasonably attractive woman.)

Wow.

Herein lies my big beef with the way that the non-denom/evangelical Christian church deals with sexuality, namely the demonizing of non-marital sex and any activities (ooooh, heavy petting!) that could lead to non-marital sex.

I do believe in a holistic view of sex, that it exists not just in the physical realm but touches aspects of our emotional and spiritual selves. Read the Kama Sutra; it's not just about those wacky Indians and their gymnastic positions. Ascetics from a variety of faiths have eschewed the physical pleasures of the body in order to obtain spiritual enrichment. I certainly have respect for the people I've know who chose to remain virgins until their wedding nights; it's a level of commitment that I find commendable.

But I don't think it is a one-size-fits-all philosophy. Unfortunately, the majority of the Christian church thinks it should be, which is where I feel we are failing the kids who grow up in the faith. We are not teaching them a healthy view of sex and sexuality because no one wants to find the middle ground between a free love orgy and a chastity belt.

I was taught to believe that to engage in sex outside of marriage was impure and drove a wedge in my relationship with God. Waiting until marriage, as I told my youth minister once, seemed like utter nonsense because why should I wait for something that would never happen in the first place. (The joke's on my fifteen-year-old self. Ha ha ha.) Besides, sexual purity for God's sake didn't seem work very well in real life. I knew a lot of "good Christian" girls who ended up pregnant before they hit twenty. Then there were girls I knew who believed that as long as it wasn't vaginal sex, they were free to engage in everything else from the Bootie Time Playbook. This rationalization not only seemed hysterically absurd, but completely missed the whole point.

So back to Ms. Bevere and her book. According to some of the less flattering reviews I read on Amazon, she seems to regurgitate the antiquated notions of women as sexual victims and of the passive female sexuality (HA!). And that by remaining pure for God you will be granted, by divine intervention, a princely husband with whom you will have happy sexytime for the rest of your life. Okay. Whatever.

Still I am curious to read her book, especially in conjunction with Forbidden Fruit and The Abstinence Teacher (for a little fiction vibe) and to participate in a a discussion about these books with other adult women raised in the Christian church. I'd love to know the opinions of women with similar religious backgrounds, how they feel about the way we were raised to view sex, and whether or not we ultimately embraced or rejected those teachings. Sexuality is a subject that seems to be relegated to only the "Don'ts" within the walls of the church, and that's a shame.

Finally, Miss Never Been Kissed. If her sincere desire is to wait until God sends her Mr. Right, then she might be onto something. Because honestly, if she can find a man who, despite a deep affection for and attraction to her, can keep his lips off of her until the ordained moment in a wedding ceremony, he might just be her Mr. Right. Until then, I remain skeptical.

And, c'mon, kisses are fun! 412 Griffin Ave Kissing Booth, anyone?

Soliciting Souls

A while ago during one of the rare instances where I listen to the radio while driving, I came into the middle of an advertisement. At first I thought it was just another ad for a car dealership or furniture sale with its fast-talking, annoying, over-caffeinated voiceover. But it wasn't; it was an ad for Velocity, one of those "churches for people who don't like church". Velocity holds their services in a local multiplex and has several different flavors of worship, like rock or pop or country. Now while I am not their target market, I don't have anything against these types of churches. It was this particular radio ad that raised my ire.

First indication that this advertisement was out to get my goad was in the middle of discussing why Velocity meets in a movie theater, the narrator barks out, "And no making out in the back row!" Huh? Say what?

Remember, this is an ad for a "church".

But wait, it gets better.

The ad launches into a list of things that you'll experience when you attend a service at Velocity. Some of these items were spiritual, social, then ridiculous. I distinctly remember "You'll get a nickname, " followed by "You'll feel sexy."

HUH? SAY WHAT?

I do not consider myself a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but "feeling sexy" is at the absolute bottom of my list of things I expect to experience at a church service. Frankly, I was insulted that the marketing genius' behind this ad thought that "sexy" was right up there with "sacred" and that somehow this declaration would inspire people to show up in throngs to their multiplex sanctuary for a little singing and maybe a Victoria's Secret fashion show.

Come on, people; what the hell? I know there's a philosophy prevalent amongst Christians that says you shouldn't criticize the tactics of other denominations because "they are bringing people to Christ". That only sets you up to suffer a lot of fools and false prophets. Having seen enough of Benny Hinn and the rest of the jokers on TBN, I don't subscribe to that bullshit philosophy. There are wrong ways to win souls, fill pews, and boost your membership. Unfortunately, it seems that in today's modern Christian churches, if your congregation isn't boasting numbers in the thousands, meeting in a warehouse of a McChurch complete with a Starbucks and gym, you're doing something wrong. That's another philosophy I think is total bunk. Look at the Catholic Church; they were packing 'em into Mass during the Middle Ages, but I don't hear anyone calling for a renewal of the Inquisition as a way to win new converts.

There is nothing wrong with keeping the church relevant to the times, but Velocity seems to be taking the notion of modernizing the church a little too far. Frankly, a lot of these tactics smack of desperation. It's as if to say that the teaching of Christ and "Love your neighbor as yourself" aren't cutting the mustard, so we've got to sex it up a bit. Maybe they were being cheeky, but at some point, you've got to reign that shit in or it looks like you don't take Christianity very seriously.

What also concerns me is this notion of a "Get them in the door and then we'll give 'em God" method of evangelizing. Seems like you are putting the cart before the horse. Especially when you are resorting to gimmicky radio ads.

Admittedly, I am a crappy evangelizer. While I have no problems discussing my personal Christian faith, I don't solicit my friends and acquaintances with invitations to attend my church. However, I do think that is the most successful way to bring people into a relationship with God: personal contact with other believers. Not bringing out the jazz hands and shucking and jiving and coffee and donuts and dorky radio ads.

I think my bigger concern is that these marketing tactics used by large McChurches are slowly filtering down to the smaller and moderate-sized churches looking to boost membership. All under the guise of "making the church more approachable". My friend Marv called this being "seeker-friendly". I see the validity in wanting to appeal to a modern, un-churched population.

However, there is also the danger, in this zeal to modernize, of a body of Christian believers compromising the core values of the faith. That terrifies me. The day when I have to sit in church service and hear (what I've already heard once before) the pastor describe Communion as "This thing we do with juice and crackers, " is the day I am out the door. Permanently.

If there's anything that my years in Corporate Hell taught me, is that you don't want to spend so much time and effort on bringing in new customers that you neglect your loyal, existing customer base. Eventually, they'll jump ship.

I Am Lame

In his last two posts, my husband has written some compelling pieces on biofuel and issues with gun control and the FOIA. I write about pop culture, adventures in childrearing, and fashion. Yeah, my ass is shallow.

But to provide a brief commentary on his posts (Please read his posts as they are quite interesting.) in my typical mildly nutso fashion:

Looks like the miracle of biofuel is just a big ole' CF. So we're raping natural resources and destroying one of the Earth's most unique ecosystems to no longer be dependent on "foreign oil" and decrease our "carbon footprint" Look, this whole foreign oil B.S. is ridiculous (Except when it comes to any petroleum from Venezuela 'cause that Chavez dude is messed up.). Take a look at the clothes you're wearing, the various electronic products around the house, hell anything that doesn't move and I guarantee there's a label somewhere that reads MADE IN CHINA. And we're suddenly concerned about where our oil comes from?

I also wish that everyone would crawl out of Al Gore's ass and realize that harming the Earth isn't all about emissions and global warming. Crap, Indonesia (typical of a developing nation rushing into a money generating scheme without first heeding long term effects on their country and people) is destroying their rain forests so that they can grow corn to provide us silly reactionary Westerners with biofuel to assuage our gas hysterics. At this rate in twenty years there won't be a wild habitat for many species of animals. Not to mention the effect production of this biofuel crap will have on the world's food supply. Sigh. I know I'm no climatologist, but how did the Earth emerge from the Ice Age when there were no Yukon Denali's and Chevy Suburbans to heat things up?

Regarding the asshat who saw fit to post the name and address of every Virginia citizen with a concealed weapons permit (including a member of my family). It amuses me no end to tell people I own a handgun. Their reaction is sometimes very similar to one I might get if I told people that I killed children and then bathed in their blood to keep my skin looking youthful. See, I don't walk down the street with my gun tucked into the front of my pants just waiting to shoot someone in the face. Hell, I don't even take it out of its case on a regular basis. I own a gun for basically three reasons:

1. It's pretty.
2. I like to target shoot.
3. A handgun will be necessary protection from zombie hordes. At least until I can secure my very own AK-47.

So this notion that I as a gun owner am somehow a threat to society amuses me. Unless you are a reanimated corpse attempting to eat me or any member of my family or you are entering my home intending to harm me or my son, I will not shoot you. Should the day of the zombie apocalypse come and you unfortunately fall in with the flesh-eating mob, well then buddy, all bets are off. Until then, I'm safe as kittens! Whee!

Hey, Grindhouse opens this weekend. Tarantino AND zombies. I get the shivers just thinking about it.

Happy April everyone! Best month of the year!

If I were a carpenter

Yesterday, I had the priviledge of working on a Habitat for Humanity build. Despite the excessive temperatures and the amount of "hurry up and wait" while people figured out what was going on, it was good times. We were fortunate enough to be able to work along with the actual homeowner on building his house. The homeowner was quite a character. He was funny and full of crazy stories about his life. Not everyone gets to say they met the people who built their house, or as was the case yesterday, the people who hung insulation in their walls and installed vinyl siding.

I love what Habitat provides for people: an opportunity to own a home. They aren't just sticking people in sub-standard low-income housing but instead giving the chance to buy a brand-new house. Not only does this meet a basic need for safe, adequate shelter, but it also allows people to retain their dignity and give them a sense of accomplishment. Habitat requires their homeowners to go through an application process and once they are approved for a house, they spend time providing "sweat equity" by working on their own builds. Homeowners make payments towards a no-interest loan on their homes. Habitat also requires attendance at classes for money management and home care.

Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and eats for a lifetime.

What never ceases to amaze me is the amount of money that modern Christian churches pour into their own congregations. These massive McChurches with state-of-the-art A/V systems, modern facilities, and such Christian necessities as coffeehouses, bookstores, gyms. Sure these congrgations grow and grow HUGE. But is this the way Christ intended the church to flourish? Because of amneties or because of the Christian philosophy as it is displayed by the church members?

If you look at the history of the early, 1st century Christian church, there were multiple cultish offshoots of Christianity that grew in numbers and threatened the doctrine of the faith, like the Gnostics. These offshoots became popular because they preached a version gospel that was what people wanted to hear. Similiarly, is the modern church growing because we are living up to the ideal marked out by Christ or because we are giving people what they want like entertainment and a social circle?

Instead of recycling all that money back into ourselves, what great good could we accomplish in the name of Christianity? Would it not be a better witness for Christ if we provided someone living in poverty with a chance at a better life instead of "Come hang out with us at our massively expensive church. Have fun, be entertained, eat some food, work out at our gym." How many houses could Habitat build in the Richmond area with the money local churches have funneled into building programs that ultimately serve as a benefit to the existing congregation?

Does the modern America church serve Christ's creed or ourselves? Are we really loving our neighbor or loving ourselves?

My personal opinion is that most churches don't want to spend a large amount of their time or money as a congregation helping out those less fortunate (or as Christ called them "the least of these.") because these low-income individuals aren't the ideal members to recruit. They don't bring in the big bucks in terms of donations which ultimately goes back into providing more benefits to the congregation with fancy facilities and toys. The church wants the middle and upper-middle class members who'll write the fat checks. Plus, we all want to feel like we are part of the winning team. If you attend a McChurch, you must be part of a winning team right?

Sometimes I feel like my tithe could be better served by organizations such as Habitat for Humanity, Samaritan's Purse, or other individual missionaries around the world. These groups are living up to Christ's statement, "Whenever do you this for the least of these, you do this for me."

There have been so many times when I've looked at my own church and thought that we are slowly growing more and more self-involved. Our vision has turned more self-serving than outward-reaching. We once had a brief period where two and three mission trips were planned a year. Now I feel like, outside of VBS and a lone trip to Haiti, all of our events are just focused around "fellowship" (AKA the Christian euphamism for "stuffing our faces") with the thin veneer of "outreach". Even our recent fundraisers have been either for something that would benefit the congregation or at least a couple of members of the congregations.

My great fear is that we will become those churches Marv Westfall talked about a few years back, the ones that stopped increasing or even stopped providing funds to missions because they had sucked all their budget into "the building". Honestly, I don't know what I would do if that happened.

Yet another unwanted opinion on human veggies

Yes, this topic is being butchered and overblown in the media, but I've got one last bit of vitrol to spew concerning this whole Terri Schiavo case.

The other night at the gym, CNN was talking to some monk who's been part of the groups protesting the removal of her feeding tube. He was talking about how Terri's being abused and starved to death and how the government needs to intervene.

Yeah, so what I want to know is how long he's and the like-minded individuals with him have been protesting and talking to media groups about this case. In that time, how many children around the world haved starved to death because of lack of food or died because of lack of access to simple medicene? How many children have suffered abuses without anyone to stand up for them? What about the children conscripted into the armies of civil wars? Abandoned and helpless because they lost their parents to the AIDs virus or natural disater or war or famine?

Wouldn't you think that all this time and energy and money being spent to fight over a woman who's been a vegetable for fifteen years could have been put to better use saving the life of a child somewhere? Giving them a chance at a healthy, safe future?

Terri Schiavo has no future but to lie immobile as her brain turns to liquid, being propped up by machines. Life as we recognize it ended for this woman years ago, yet her family and these "pro-life" groups still cling to some notion that she is going to be okay and should continue to be plugged into machines to keep what's left of her grey matter functioning. Meanwhile, young lives senselessly end around the world by hour, and those deaths could have been prevented with perhaps a fraction of the costs involved in what has been swirling around one vegetative American woman.

Fucking hypocrites. Right-to-life advocates, my ass. Sheesh.

In other world news, Syria is pulling out of Lebanon. Wow. Why that isn't all over the news, I don't know.

My largest organ

I don’t get compliments all that often. Except now in the wake of Operation Skinny Bitch, I get quite a few comments about my size or lack of it. But generally, I’ve never been one to receive praise about my looks. Not that I am fugly, just average. There’s not much about my outward appearance that would cause people to spontaneously shower me with praise.

The one physical feature for which I seem to receive the most attention is my skin. I’ve heard time and time again people singing the praises of my derma. How pretty it is. How soft. So on and so forth.

So yeah, I hate my skin. Actually I have more of a love/hate thing going on with it. I agree that I do have clear, for the most part, soft skin. I try to take pretty good care of it. I wouldn’t say I spend tons of money on skin products. No LaMer or anything. But I don’t buy just any old cheap, generic brands.

But it’s funny how the one feature for which I seem to receive universal praise is the one that causes me the most strife.

First off, I’m pale, in a very pinky, Irish way. My face gets flushed when I’m upset or excited or been drinking too much. I also don’t tan. Seriously, I don’t tan. I burn like a naked chicken, blister, peel, and am right back at the same white shade as before. I get maybe a fraction of a shade darker in the summer. In high school when all my classmates came back after summer vacation as brown as coconuts, I still looked like Wednesday Addams.

I should point out that those years of teenage ostracization will pay off at fifty with a less wrinkly face than my sun-worshipping peers, but try telling that to a sullen fifteen-year-old who just wants to look like Malibu Barbie for at least one summer.

My skin is also hyper-sensitive. Shout out for that one goes to my paternal grandfather and his Irish ancestors. I have to use Cheer-free detergent and fragrance free dryer sheets. After a few years of trial and error, I discovered that the only skin-care products that I can use without causing a massive hysteria in on my face are Clinique and The Body Shop’s Vitamin E line.

This also meant that as I kid I couldn’t wear my Keds without socks or I’d break out in a rash all over my feet. I also could not wear Swatch watches without breaking into a ugly rash that crawled up my arm, a devastating reality for a pre-teen in 1986.

Even now, I am trying to recover from a reaction I had to, most likely, the lace on a cheap bra from Target. I’ve got little red bumps all on my chest which have inexplicably spread to my shoulders, back, and even up my neck. Bra’s going in the trash and no scented lotions for me for at least a few weeks until this thing cleans up.

One of my best friends in high school had this gorgeous mane of dark curls of which I was so envious,. She would always roll her eyes in this “Are you kidding me?” kind of way whenever I professed my jealousy.

I see her point. My eyes probably roll the same way whenever I hear the words “Your skin is so beautiful…”

Life is hard, Beavis.

BlogSpot is pissing me off

I wrote a long rant on this year's Oscars, and before I was able to save it in draft form, BlogSpot crashed. Everything I wrote went bye-bye. Grrr. Oscars Rant will have to wait until tomorrow. I can't take up any more of my daily labor in Corporate Hell or the Head Demons will come after me.

Dog Bite Update: The big wound has finally scabbed over. My bruises have significantly faded into what now looks like a smear of dirt across my calf. I can't wait to see what kind of scar this makes.

Yesterday, the Bobbleheaded Werewolf began the nail clipping at approximately 10:44 a.m. Monday has become Nail Clipping Day. It's no longer if he will start clipping his nails, but when he'll start. Today, he cooked some frozen food today at lunch that smelled like dog food. Seriously, I can't stand this man to the point where when he tries to talk to me, I am not able to look him in the eye.

Operation Skinny Bitch is back on track. I'm down three of the extra four pounds that so mercilessly hitched a ride on my body a few weeks ago. A chunk of Jojo's extra birthday cake in the frig and a weekend in the 'burg are looming over me, attempting to derail my progress. Dammit, I won't have it.

Oh, I am stuck on one of those time-sucking useless conference calls where I sit and listen to people argue and discuss processes that don't relate to me at all. My boss is on the call, so I can't drop out. Crack that whip Corporate Demons!

Topping off what has become a stellar day: My sinuses are whacking out. Pressures building in my face. I've got drainage. Head feels like it's floating on a string. Curse this season transitional weather.

Baby, it's cold outside.

Dear Mother Nature,

Maps and geographers refer to Virginia as "Mid-Atlantic"; newscasters use the generic terms "East Coast" or "Eastern Seaboard" and then lump in the Old Dominion with all the states that border the Atlantic Ocean.

We, the residents of this great Commonwealth, prefer to refer to our region as "The South" and ourselves as "Southerners". We take great pride in our cultural, if not geographic, affinity to the once and future area of these United States known as "Dixie".

While we may not have the constant sultry climes of Mississippi, Florida, or Louisiana, we do enjoy those hazy, hot, and humid months between June and late September. We are not the weather-hardened citizens of New England or the Midwestern states.

I beseech you, on behalf of my fellow Virginians, no more snow please. Richmonders in particular don't handle driving in any conditions where moisture falls from the sky. When said moisture is of a white and fluffy consistency, they become particularly erratic and unsafe behind the wheel. The accumulation can be a much as a foot or as little as an inch; the city responds with the same level of panic.

May I also request an end to those temperatures below 40 degrees Fahrenheit until October? My daffodils have now all pitifully wilted. I'd also like to be able to wear my new spring dress for Easter, and well, it's strapless.


Your Humble Servant,

Amanda

The good times are killing me.

This week’s shaping up nicely. Not only is this a four-day week, but three of those four days will be sans my co-worker, The Bobbleheaded Wolfman. Oh joy. I might actually be able to tolerate the sheer insanity of my daily workload.

Dog bite is clearing up nicely if not slowly. The swelling has diminished. My bruises are lovely little watercolor rainbows of purple, blue, yellow and green. Never having had puncture wounds before, I was a little dismayed when after three days the bite marks were not scabbing over. Attacking them with peroxide twice a day seems to have worked because the band-aids aren’t as juicy (Yum! Yum!) when removed.

I’ve been enjoying the shocked reactions I get upon telling people (and subsequently showing them my wound) I got bit by a dog. Suggestions for protection from future attacks when I run included carrying a stick, a collapsible baton, a taser, or my gun. It’s more likely that I would injure myself with said forms of protection while running than actually defend myself from any impending attack. For now, I’m taking my chances. Plus I’m skipping Dog Attack Street on my runs.

Sunday night, I engaged in an interesting discussion with my in-laws. As with most discussions we have, I learn that they have wildly different viewpoints on life and such from my own. They are definitely members of the Assign Blame Tribe. For example, my father-in-law decided that after watching a television program that his youngest brother, otherwise know as The Family Fuckup, is in fact a “high functioning autistic”. Apparently, according to my father-in-law his brother hadsall these symptoms and characteristics of a “high functioning autistic”, and therefore that must be why his life’s screwed up, his kid’s all screwed up, and why he sported a scary Hilter-esque mustache for a brief period of time.

Well, for one I’m always suspect of opinions formed after watching something on TV. It’s a highly deceitful and manipulative medium. Secondly, while I recognize that autism is a real and highly complex disease, I am beginning to think that it’s becoming the next ADHD. Any time someone, particularly a child, is behaving outside of the socially accepted norm or interacting in a manner different than the average person, the word “autism” is bandied about.

From what little I’ve read about autism, the talking heads who advocate its frequent diagnosis are now saying that such great minds like Einstein and Mozart were probably autistic. Man, that’s like the freaking Mormons trying to retro-baptize people like Anne Frank and Albert Schweitzer. Thank God Mozart or Einstein weren’t born in this day and age where at the first sign of an autistic-like mannerism in childhood and they would have been shipped off to some school or medicated or just flat out regarded as having some mental handicap. Would they have created such great works or developed their theories had they been treated as autistic by educators and family?

Anyway, what I found interesting about my father-in-law’s comment about his brother was the fact that he was looking for someone or something to blame for everything about his brother that doesn’t fit. As if attaching a disease to whatever his brother does wrong somehow magically excuses him of any wrongdoing. Instead of just saying that he’s a fuck up, by now saying he’s a “high functioning autistic” he’s somehow okay. He’s got a disease, he can’t help it, and it’s not his fault, whatever. My father-in-law can’t accept the fact that maybe his brother’s just not responsible or mature, but can accept that he has some mental handicap. That makes it okay for him to fuck up because he can’t help it. He’s autistic.

While I found my father-in-law’s revelation intriguing and mildly disturbing, his desire to assign to every anomaly in life a guilty party does not surprise me. His wife wanted me to admit that my perfectionism is attributed my being an only child. As if somehow I should blame my parents for making me a perfectionist because they didn’t have any more children. No, I am a perfectionist because that’s what I am. It’s my personality. Plus, why is perfectionism a negative attribute? I happen to like being a perfectionist. It’s maddening at times, but it’s who I am.

My mom and I have already decided that had my dad (and possibly myself) been a child in this modern age he would have been deemed ADHD and hopped up on pills. I am waiting for the near future when we are all attempting to eradicate the “weird” or “unacceptable” facets of our personalities with diagnoses of mental illness and the properly assigned drugs. What then will become “normal”? Will a constant state of mental numbness be preferred over learning to live with our quirks and tics?

Brave New World indeed. Let's all rush out for our prescription of Gleaminex.