Esteemed White House reporter Helen Thomas has written this spectacular op-ed piece about religion in the Oval Office.
Faith Should Be Personal, Not Presidential
As someone who covered every President since Kennedy, Thomas is in the unique position of having witnessed how both parties' presidents handled the issues of faith, worship and the separation of Church and State.
Fascinating....
~C~
Friday, October 28, 2005
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
The Politics of Knitting
Ever have a loose thread on your sweater that you just couldn't resist pulling? Ever watched what happens as that sweater comes unraveled, row after row after row after row, until all you have left is a useless pile of unknit yarn that's too damaged to reknit into anything useful?
Yeah… you know… like that….
~C~
Yeah… you know… like that….
~C~
Thursday, October 20, 2005
God-Fearing
Richard Thompson has been talking a lot lately, mostly at the "intelligent design" trial in Harrisburg, PA. Actually, talking a lot is what most Christian leaders, particularly proponents of intelligent design, have been doing lately. And they're speaking a similar message, namely, that people who are not afraid of a higher deity have no moral or ethical foundation and cannot possibly ascertain right from wrong. "There are two Americas today, one that's still very religiously based, and another that has no foundation, where everything is relative, where everything goes," Thompson told reporters.
I'm dumbfounded by this. Some of the most heinous acts of cruelty and evil have been perpetrated in the name of the Lord. By the same token, much good has been performed by people who don't necessarily subscribe to a monotheistic belief system. Only an evangelical, steeped in dogma and terrified of eternal damnation, could conjure the notion that all non-Christians are misguided and immoral. Even Christ didn't believe this, or He never would have told the parable of the Good Samaritan -- supposedly noble, Godly people refusing to go out of their way to do good, while a supposed "infidel" performs a great act of charity and love for a complete stranger.
So, basically, according to Richard Thompson, there are two Americas. Only two. No more. All the people in America can be sifted into two camps. His camp, and the other camp. That's it. Game over. You're either "in" or you're "out." Every time I think its safe to embrace my faith again, someone like Thompson comes along and makes it impossible. My fear is that if I lie down with these dogs, I'll be getting up with worse than fleas.
My dilemma, I suppose, is finding a way to believe without associating with people I honestly perceive to be evil -- not intentionally evil, but accidentally evil, because they are small and blind and afraid.
(sigh)
It's almost enough to make a girl turn pagan, isn't it?
~CA~
I'm dumbfounded by this. Some of the most heinous acts of cruelty and evil have been perpetrated in the name of the Lord. By the same token, much good has been performed by people who don't necessarily subscribe to a monotheistic belief system. Only an evangelical, steeped in dogma and terrified of eternal damnation, could conjure the notion that all non-Christians are misguided and immoral. Even Christ didn't believe this, or He never would have told the parable of the Good Samaritan -- supposedly noble, Godly people refusing to go out of their way to do good, while a supposed "infidel" performs a great act of charity and love for a complete stranger.
So, basically, according to Richard Thompson, there are two Americas. Only two. No more. All the people in America can be sifted into two camps. His camp, and the other camp. That's it. Game over. You're either "in" or you're "out." Every time I think its safe to embrace my faith again, someone like Thompson comes along and makes it impossible. My fear is that if I lie down with these dogs, I'll be getting up with worse than fleas.
My dilemma, I suppose, is finding a way to believe without associating with people I honestly perceive to be evil -- not intentionally evil, but accidentally evil, because they are small and blind and afraid.
(sigh)
It's almost enough to make a girl turn pagan, isn't it?
~CA~
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Bad News, Good News, Really Bad News
I have had a pretty crazy week. I finally made the decision to turn my two year old car back to the dealership because the payments are killing me. It may be the smartest thing to do, but right now, it feels like a defeat. I know I'll feel better in a month when there's no car payment due, but right now... yuck. I'm fortunate enough that I think I can use my dad's old car until I can pull together a few thousand for a used car of my own.
I found out yesterday that my application to the MFA/Creative Writing program was accepted. I'm thrilled -- and scared -- and thrilled. I'm pulling together the little odds and ends they need in order to enroll me.
And I found out today that someone I care about is HIV-positive. It's someone I've known for years. Though we don't tend to go to each other's houses or out to dinner, and we've only attended a handful of social gatherings at the home of mutual friends, we have a long-standing friendship that involves standing around talking about things on a pretty deep level. We trust each other -- to listen, to be compassionate, to keep secrets. I've told him a couple of mine, he's told me a couple of his. Today, he shared a doozy. We were talking about exes and such, and he revealed that someone he'd dated a couple of years ago is positive. I prodded him about when he was getting tested. He shrugged me off, which I took to mean, "Yeah, yeah... soon... I promise." I implored a bit more, then said, "I don't mean to nag, but I care about you." I hugged him, and he held the hug and said in my ear, "I already have, and the answer is 'yes.'" Then, I was the one who held the hug, circulating the meaning of those words in my head. For a moment, I thought I might kind of panic, but the feeling passed.
"We all gotta die sometime," he said.
"But not today," I replied.
"No. Not today."
"And not tomorrow."
"Not for many tomorrows."
True enough. He is in good health, asymptomatic, taking his meds and vitamins, eating his veggies and seeing his doctor often. If anyone can manage this virus, he can. But my magical thinking brain had pretty much written off the possibility of yet another friend being positive. I'm an opera singer. The crew I sang with in the early 80's... well... let's just say, we're short a couple of tenors and at least one baritone today. My ex-brother-in-law died of the disease. My ex-sister-in-law (from a different branch of the family) also died of it.
I think somewhere inside, I figured everyone left in my circle is safe. You know that old joke about how "one in three people suffer from mental illness -- look to your left and your right -- if they're okay, you could be in trouble." Well, I guess I thought of HIV like that. When you weed out the "one in three" or the "two in five" or the "one in two thousand," you get this idea that somehow, your clan has gone through all it can. That's the "magical thinking" part of all this. It was childish. I know that now.
So, this has been a helluva week. From defeat, to victory, to "not so fast, cookie". I have much to process. I have to go finish reading The Odyssey.
That ought to take my mind off my troubles.
~CA~
I found out yesterday that my application to the MFA/Creative Writing program was accepted. I'm thrilled -- and scared -- and thrilled. I'm pulling together the little odds and ends they need in order to enroll me.
And I found out today that someone I care about is HIV-positive. It's someone I've known for years. Though we don't tend to go to each other's houses or out to dinner, and we've only attended a handful of social gatherings at the home of mutual friends, we have a long-standing friendship that involves standing around talking about things on a pretty deep level. We trust each other -- to listen, to be compassionate, to keep secrets. I've told him a couple of mine, he's told me a couple of his. Today, he shared a doozy. We were talking about exes and such, and he revealed that someone he'd dated a couple of years ago is positive. I prodded him about when he was getting tested. He shrugged me off, which I took to mean, "Yeah, yeah... soon... I promise." I implored a bit more, then said, "I don't mean to nag, but I care about you." I hugged him, and he held the hug and said in my ear, "I already have, and the answer is 'yes.'" Then, I was the one who held the hug, circulating the meaning of those words in my head. For a moment, I thought I might kind of panic, but the feeling passed.
"We all gotta die sometime," he said.
"But not today," I replied.
"No. Not today."
"And not tomorrow."
"Not for many tomorrows."
True enough. He is in good health, asymptomatic, taking his meds and vitamins, eating his veggies and seeing his doctor often. If anyone can manage this virus, he can. But my magical thinking brain had pretty much written off the possibility of yet another friend being positive. I'm an opera singer. The crew I sang with in the early 80's... well... let's just say, we're short a couple of tenors and at least one baritone today. My ex-brother-in-law died of the disease. My ex-sister-in-law (from a different branch of the family) also died of it.
I think somewhere inside, I figured everyone left in my circle is safe. You know that old joke about how "one in three people suffer from mental illness -- look to your left and your right -- if they're okay, you could be in trouble." Well, I guess I thought of HIV like that. When you weed out the "one in three" or the "two in five" or the "one in two thousand," you get this idea that somehow, your clan has gone through all it can. That's the "magical thinking" part of all this. It was childish. I know that now.
So, this has been a helluva week. From defeat, to victory, to "not so fast, cookie". I have much to process. I have to go finish reading The Odyssey.
That ought to take my mind off my troubles.
~CA~
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Men Who Feel
I stumbled across two very interesting posts today in blogs I read regularly. Both are written by men, and both concern themselves with the conditions of love and/or a lack thereof. The first comes from Not30Yet, who has just (within days) ended a short-term relationship. The post he wrote immediately after the break-up was a bit contrite, and somewhat pining at the loss. A quick read of today's post will tell you that he's starting to get a bit... well... Irritated at the whole process. Maybe even disillusioned.
But disillusionment in love is a luxury only the very young can afford, as evidenced by yesterday's post over at WaiterRant, where our intrepid hero is still a bit wounded from a long-ended love affair, and waxes philosophical (and biblical) about the condition of solitude, loneliness, those nagging inner voices (a professor of mine calls them "chattering monkeys"), and resolve. Waiter is (I believe) in his very late thirties, early forties, and knows some things that Not30Yet hasn't had the chance to figure out.
First and foremost -- time is fleeting. At 27, you think you have all of it in the entire world. You can't imagine being forty, much less facing it alone. One day, you're 38, and you look up... on some Tuesday or other... and it occurs to you that all that time you had is gone -- along with you flat stomach and lineless forehead.
If you're a woman, and you have no children, every article about infertility catches your eye, and you are surfing the internet praying for that combination of amino acids and vitamins that going to preserve your eggs just a few more years until Mr. Right comes along.
If you're a man -- or at least, if you're Waiter -- you're going to think in terms of how your life reflects your level of success. Your "Legion" is going to let you know what a cock-up you are, and unless you're prepared to tell them to take a hike, you'll have to listen.
I guess what struck me more than anything is that I still don't really believe deep down that men take love all that seriously. I know, I know... it's wicked and unfair. I learned how men love from my father, who cannot or will not love. He has made it clear that he would prefer to be alone rather than have a loved one touching his stuff, because the stuff is more important than the love. It's something I have to get over, I realize. I'm working on it. But I have my own legion, my own band of chattering monkeys to overcome.
Give me a little time.
~CA~
But disillusionment in love is a luxury only the very young can afford, as evidenced by yesterday's post over at WaiterRant, where our intrepid hero is still a bit wounded from a long-ended love affair, and waxes philosophical (and biblical) about the condition of solitude, loneliness, those nagging inner voices (a professor of mine calls them "chattering monkeys"), and resolve. Waiter is (I believe) in his very late thirties, early forties, and knows some things that Not30Yet hasn't had the chance to figure out.
First and foremost -- time is fleeting. At 27, you think you have all of it in the entire world. You can't imagine being forty, much less facing it alone. One day, you're 38, and you look up... on some Tuesday or other... and it occurs to you that all that time you had is gone -- along with you flat stomach and lineless forehead.
If you're a woman, and you have no children, every article about infertility catches your eye, and you are surfing the internet praying for that combination of amino acids and vitamins that going to preserve your eggs just a few more years until Mr. Right comes along.
If you're a man -- or at least, if you're Waiter -- you're going to think in terms of how your life reflects your level of success. Your "Legion" is going to let you know what a cock-up you are, and unless you're prepared to tell them to take a hike, you'll have to listen.
I guess what struck me more than anything is that I still don't really believe deep down that men take love all that seriously. I know, I know... it's wicked and unfair. I learned how men love from my father, who cannot or will not love. He has made it clear that he would prefer to be alone rather than have a loved one touching his stuff, because the stuff is more important than the love. It's something I have to get over, I realize. I'm working on it. But I have my own legion, my own band of chattering monkeys to overcome.
Give me a little time.
~CA~
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Getting Down with the Posse
Trolling through CNN.com today, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but this nifty little piece about President Bush trying to get Congress to let him use the United States military for law enforcement purposes in case avian flu reaches pandemic proportions. It is at times like these when I wonder what the HELL George W. Bush actually learned at Yale, anyway, besides Beer Guzzling 101A.
I haven't yet finished with my bachelor's degree -- not from a prestigious Ivy League university, mind you, but from humble liberal arts Antioch University -- and even I know that's a no-go. Why? Because of a little something we ex-history majors like to call the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878 (because, well, that's its name). It's official name is actually Section 1385 of Title 18. It expressly forbids the use of the military in the capacity of law enforcement, except under very specific conditions spelled out under the Constitution (National Guard units, for example) or by an Act of Congress. Once Congress gives the go-ahead, the President has a fairly wide latitude in using Army, Navy and Marine units to aid in an emergency situation (like… oh… I don't know… say… a Category 5 hurricane, for instance), or in cases of civil war and insurrection or an attempted overthrow of the government. Since we have scheduled overthrowings of the government every four years or so, those have been fairly rare in our history. The last big one took place in the middle of the nineteenth century. The little ones have broken out here and there (two of them in Los Angeles, in fact… Coincidence?) In any case, Congress is pretty reluctant to allow the use of U.S. troops against it's own citizens, since it's demoralizing for both military personnel and citizenry. What the President wants to do is by-pass the Act of Congress part, and just send those troops in when he senses (with his profoundly acute gifts of empathy and human compassion) that trouble's a-brewin'.
The part I love is that President Bush, who couldn't be bothered to get off his fat, white ass in Crawford when tens of thousands were trying to stay above water in New Orleans, wants Congress to allow him free reign to use the military against us in anticipation of… a flu pandemic. Hmmm. Yes. Because deadly flu pandemics are so frequently accompanied by widespread anarchy and civil unrest.
Hong Kong flu in 1968. 34,000 Americans dead. I myself was stricken with 104 degree fever. I was ten at the time, so that's not as near-fatal as it sounds. I was semi-delirious for a day or two, admittedly, but I don't seem to recall the angry mobs of flu sufferers, marching through the streets, demanding… what?... Nyquil? Okay, maybe that's not fair. After all, though it was a pandemic, the Hong Kong flu turned out to be a fairly mild-mannered one, in contrast with other past flu disasters. The Asian flu of 1957, for instance, took 74,000 American lives. And yet, I can't find a single historical reference to the attempted overthrow of the Eisenhower administration during that time.
Just what is he going to use the Army for in the case of a flu pandemic? Perhaps he’ll mobilize them, gather the infected together and shoot them, to prevent the spread of the disease. This could be particularly useful in poor, minority neighborhoods, where I'm sure most of the flu insurgents will be holed up, planning their coughing and sneezing assaults on upper-middle class white people. I don't know what to think. I go back and forth between thinking he's either incredibly evil, or incredibly stupid. After Katrina, I was sure it was evil. Now, I'm leaning back towards stupid. Can we survive this kind of nitwiticism for another two-and-something years?
All I know for sure is this: if there really is going to be an avian flu pandemic, I just hope and pray there's a chicken out there with the President's name on it.
~C~
I haven't yet finished with my bachelor's degree -- not from a prestigious Ivy League university, mind you, but from humble liberal arts Antioch University -- and even I know that's a no-go. Why? Because of a little something we ex-history majors like to call the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878 (because, well, that's its name). It's official name is actually Section 1385 of Title 18. It expressly forbids the use of the military in the capacity of law enforcement, except under very specific conditions spelled out under the Constitution (National Guard units, for example) or by an Act of Congress. Once Congress gives the go-ahead, the President has a fairly wide latitude in using Army, Navy and Marine units to aid in an emergency situation (like… oh… I don't know… say… a Category 5 hurricane, for instance), or in cases of civil war and insurrection or an attempted overthrow of the government. Since we have scheduled overthrowings of the government every four years or so, those have been fairly rare in our history. The last big one took place in the middle of the nineteenth century. The little ones have broken out here and there (two of them in Los Angeles, in fact… Coincidence?) In any case, Congress is pretty reluctant to allow the use of U.S. troops against it's own citizens, since it's demoralizing for both military personnel and citizenry. What the President wants to do is by-pass the Act of Congress part, and just send those troops in when he senses (with his profoundly acute gifts of empathy and human compassion) that trouble's a-brewin'.
The part I love is that President Bush, who couldn't be bothered to get off his fat, white ass in Crawford when tens of thousands were trying to stay above water in New Orleans, wants Congress to allow him free reign to use the military against us in anticipation of… a flu pandemic. Hmmm. Yes. Because deadly flu pandemics are so frequently accompanied by widespread anarchy and civil unrest.
Hong Kong flu in 1968. 34,000 Americans dead. I myself was stricken with 104 degree fever. I was ten at the time, so that's not as near-fatal as it sounds. I was semi-delirious for a day or two, admittedly, but I don't seem to recall the angry mobs of flu sufferers, marching through the streets, demanding… what?... Nyquil? Okay, maybe that's not fair. After all, though it was a pandemic, the Hong Kong flu turned out to be a fairly mild-mannered one, in contrast with other past flu disasters. The Asian flu of 1957, for instance, took 74,000 American lives. And yet, I can't find a single historical reference to the attempted overthrow of the Eisenhower administration during that time.
Just what is he going to use the Army for in the case of a flu pandemic? Perhaps he’ll mobilize them, gather the infected together and shoot them, to prevent the spread of the disease. This could be particularly useful in poor, minority neighborhoods, where I'm sure most of the flu insurgents will be holed up, planning their coughing and sneezing assaults on upper-middle class white people. I don't know what to think. I go back and forth between thinking he's either incredibly evil, or incredibly stupid. After Katrina, I was sure it was evil. Now, I'm leaning back towards stupid. Can we survive this kind of nitwiticism for another two-and-something years?
All I know for sure is this: if there really is going to be an avian flu pandemic, I just hope and pray there's a chicken out there with the President's name on it.
~C~
Monday, October 03, 2005
"A Hill of Beans"
That's what Humphrey Bogart says the problems of two people don't amount to in this world, right before he puts Ingrid Bergman on that plane beside Paul Heinreid in Casablanca. See, Bogie knew that, though he and Ingrid were in love, there were other things, bigger things, things of more consequence, and therefore, he was prepared to ignore his own petty-by-comparison problems in order to focus on the Big Picture. After all, what is one little love affair when contrasted against the future of the French Resistance during WWII.
All of which is a very roundabout way of saying that I was going to put up one of my usually deliciously whiny posts about some-such-thing-or-other, when in my blog-hopping, I hit on one of my favorites, The Lucidity and Lunacy of Millicent Frastley. Those of you who have frequented Mil's blog and mine know that we have much in common. We're L.A. women, in our forties, back at school, trying to better our lives. In fact, for a brief, dizzying moment, as I commented on one of her posts, I thought I might actually be Millicent Frastley.
Well, I'm not, as it turns out. I met Ms. Frastley this weekend when she was courageous enough to attend a musical revue I was singing in on Saturday. I mean, Deirdre Cooley (of Best Available) came, too, but she's been to the Hollywood Bowl with me, and has at least heard me sing the National Anthem. She knew more or less what she was getting. Millicent Frastley had never even heard me speak before Saturday. Yet, she and her sweet beau, Manpants (as we have come to know and love him), were there, and were very kind and gracious afterward. It was very good of them to come, especially since she's going through a kind of a rough time right now. Her post, When Lives Collide with Sharp Objects, is a very well-written piece about time and family and complex relationships and what's really important when it comes right down to it.
In light of that, I think I'll save the deliciously whiny post for later. Because, when it comes right down to it, when you look at the Big Picture, it doesn't matter a hill of beans.
Best of luck to Mil and her sister over the next several weeks.
~C~
All of which is a very roundabout way of saying that I was going to put up one of my usually deliciously whiny posts about some-such-thing-or-other, when in my blog-hopping, I hit on one of my favorites, The Lucidity and Lunacy of Millicent Frastley. Those of you who have frequented Mil's blog and mine know that we have much in common. We're L.A. women, in our forties, back at school, trying to better our lives. In fact, for a brief, dizzying moment, as I commented on one of her posts, I thought I might actually be Millicent Frastley.
Well, I'm not, as it turns out. I met Ms. Frastley this weekend when she was courageous enough to attend a musical revue I was singing in on Saturday. I mean, Deirdre Cooley (of Best Available) came, too, but she's been to the Hollywood Bowl with me, and has at least heard me sing the National Anthem. She knew more or less what she was getting. Millicent Frastley had never even heard me speak before Saturday. Yet, she and her sweet beau, Manpants (as we have come to know and love him), were there, and were very kind and gracious afterward. It was very good of them to come, especially since she's going through a kind of a rough time right now. Her post, When Lives Collide with Sharp Objects, is a very well-written piece about time and family and complex relationships and what's really important when it comes right down to it.
In light of that, I think I'll save the deliciously whiny post for later. Because, when it comes right down to it, when you look at the Big Picture, it doesn't matter a hill of beans.
Best of luck to Mil and her sister over the next several weeks.
~C~
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