Starting Over

I'm starting a new blog...much like the last but with a secret identity!

If you want to know the new web address just email me at mail_blog@yahoo.com

Hey Hetero!

In researching this afternoon's sermon, I discovered this great art installation from Australia.

"Hey Hetero" explores the nature of compulsory heterosexuality with humor.

Check it out, here.

A Song for Gorgons

Originally written as a feminist response to nuclear proliferation, this poem speaks across time and movements to me about our collective life in the Church. It is one of my favorite poems. I hope you like it too!

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A Song for Gorgons

Gorgons, unruly gorgons,
With eyes that start, with curls that hiss -

Once I listened to the father's lies,
Took their false advice:
I mustn't look at you, I'd turn to
Stone.

But now I meet your clear furious stare and
It is my natural self that I become.
Yes, as I dare to name your fury
Mine -
Long asleep,
Writhing awake.

Ssisters, ssisters - of course they dread us.
Theirs is the kingdom
But it is built upon lies and more lies.
The truth-hissing, wide-open rude
Glare of our faces-
If there were enough of us -
Could show their powers and their glories
To be what they merely are and
Bring their death-dealing kingdom
Down.

This is a song for gorgons -
Whose dreaded glances can in fact bless,
The men who would be gods we turn
Not to stone but to mortal flesh and blood and bone.
If we could stare them into accepting this,
The world could live at peace.

I sing this song for those with eyes that start,
With curls that hiss,
Our slandered wrath is our truth, and -
If we honor this -
Can deal not death but healing.

I sing: Our will be done!

I sing: Their kingdom wane!

-Barbara Deming

Nothing Like Good Ole Fashion Gospel Tunes...

...well, unless they are from the Westboro Baptist Church!

That's right, Fred Phelps and his hating hooligans have a new para-site where you can watch music videos and listen to tracks laid down by their very own hellfire and brimstone choir. It is perhaps one of the most surreal images I have seen in quite some time.

The melody of "We Are the World" softly plays underneath their revised lyrics crooning, "god hates the world and all her people." If not for the carefully laid captions, you might for a moment think you were watching a relief video much like the 80's hit on which they based their corrupted version. Reminiscent of a world hunger video, the choir of mostly clean cut teens stands gathered around a single microphone, singing and swaying with self-congratulating smiles and unrestrained joy. The contrast between image and lyrics is jarring to say the least.

The web design is interesting in and of itself. A collage of rally posters from different events, it showcases all the best Phelps slogans. My personal favorite is "Your Pastor is a Whore!" Do you think he might loan that one to me?

I suppose the release party is just in time for their next big church outing.

BEWARE: The para-site is not a pretty one!

Reaching Across the Table: King and Falwell Pass

Yesterday the news media was abuzz with reports of fundamentalist Jerry Falwell's death. Yet while the newshounds swarmed to cover the controversial life of Falwell, rehearsing all his most scandalous and hate-filled comments, a modern day saint passed.

This morning news of Yolanda King's death is slowing beginning to percolate under the frenzy that Falwell's death initiated. King passed yesterday evening at the age of 51.

I find it cosmically ironic that Falwell and King passed on the same day; two people whose lives could not be more diametrically opposed. While Falwell spent his life railing against all those deemed as threats to the gospel including the "pagans, abortionists, feminists, the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, [and the] People For the American Way," King dedicated her life to the movement for social justice. Just an infant when her home was firebombed and only 12 when her father was assassinated, King's life was forged in the crucible of the struggle for justice.

As I have been reading the obituaries for King, I am surprised at the sheer neglect of King's commitment to GLBT rights. She, like her mother, Coretta, vociferously supported the GLBT movement. In fact, in 2000 I had the privilege of being arrested with her at the United Methodist General Conference in Cleveland. That day, King rose to address the crowd of advocates gathered there. Facing Fred Phelps and his hate-filled signs, King said, "I am here to encourage tolerance and compassion." She told crowds that while she was there to foster change in the UMC, her hope was directed much wider, toward all denominations that they might become places of true welcome and authentic gospel love.

In 2006 speaking at the Out and Equal Workplace Summit, King said,

"In the 1950s and 60s, African-American men and women made some choices--often dangerous ones--and they were joined by men and women of goodwill, gay and straight, from all races and backgrounds, and together, tremendous progress was made toward the betterment of our nation.

The civil rights movement served as the inspiration and paved the way for all the movements for human rights which followed it--the women's movement, the peace movement, and, of course, the rights of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender Americans.

We have come a long way. And while the scars and stains of racism remain, the fact is, racial discrimination is no longer legal. However, discrimination under the rule of law still exists. If you are gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender, you do not have the same rights as other Americans. You cannot marry. And while there has been some progress, thanks to the work this organization [Out & Equal Workplace Advocates] in the workplace, you still face discrimination in the workplace, and in our armed forces. For a nation that prides itself on liberty, justice and equality for all, this it totally unacceptable."

King's life stands as a witness to the world of Christian love in spite of the hateful rhetoric we see so often publicized in the media. Just this year at the MLK commemoration, King said this, "We must keep reaching across the table and, in the tradition of Martin Luther King Jr. and Coretta Scott King, feed each other."

I'd like to imagine King now, sitting with her father and mother, reaching across that heavenly table and offering Falwell a taste of grace.

Wintermint?

So we found a car we love...okay, well, love is not quite right...

The features (including heated seats, cool mirror and AWD), condition, mileage, extras (including new sets of brakes and tires to install in a year) are exactly what we want. The problem is the color of the car is "wintermint;" this pastel-y faux green color that exudes passivity and fru-fruness. I suppose on the other hand I could think of it as a calming, non-anxious presence type of car. But who am I kidding? That's not me! I keep telling myself that the color of the car is not important, but I cannot yet envision me driving such a frilly car.

I want the car. I don't want the color.

There was a red car available which would have matched my wardobe much better...but alas it was not nearly the quality or value as the wintry green one.

The funny thing is that when I was looking at the car, I didn't mind the color. It was a non-issue. It was only after I got home and started thinking or some might say second-guessing, that I began to fixate on the silly color.

I have to call the dealer this morning...so, I'll keep you posted.

UPDATE: Okay, so the color is not called "wintermint," it's "wintergreen" and it is not really as pastel as I imagined. Plus, this color wears better than the darker primary colors, like the red I so lust after. So, we bought the car!! YEAH! No more vomit clean ups or stinky back seats!!

It turns out that we got a very good deal. The dealer paid just $700 less than what he charged us. The dealer is a "semi-retired" engineer who operates a dealership from his home. He loves Subarus (or Subies as the cool kids call them) and does this as a hobby. He threw in a dog gate and dog mate for free (retail value $250 +) and spruced up our old Mazda so we could get a better price for it!

YEAH!

UPDATE 2: We close on the car tomorrow morning. We should have closed today but our insurance agent was not on the ball. It took him nearly 24 hours to fax the form he said he would have done in a matter of minutes. Sigh.

We still have issues picking up and registering the car since I out straight for the next four days at a local training. It's all up to Josh now!

Happy Mother's Day

Few people realize that the original Mother's Day was far from the card companies' crass commercialization of domestic duty that we celebrate today. The first Mother's Day began with a proclamation written by Julia Ward Howe. Although most commonly remembered for penning the "Battle Hymn of the Republic," Ward Howe grew weary of the triumphalism of war and violence and in 1870 put out this rallying cry to women of the world:

Arise, then, women of this day!
Arise, all women who have breasts,
Whether our baptism be of water or of tears!

Say firmly:
"We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

From the bosom of the devastated Earth a voice goes up with our own.
It says: "Disarm! Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel.

Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace,
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God.

In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And at the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.

Today women around the globe were called to a similar manifesto by a small group of women in Ohio. Inspired by the book, The Great Silent Grandmother Gathering by Sharon Mehdi, they put a YouTube call out to the women of the world, inviting them to join together in their quest for peace and justice by standing together at 1 PM in parks and public squares. Although not quite as kick-ass or radical as Ward Howe's it still helps salvage an overly sentimentalized holiday.

A New Obsession

I have found a new obsession on craigslist. With the dishwasher in hand, I am now fixated on getting a station wagon. While I have yet to sell Josh on this brilliant idea, I think my argument is both logical and sound.

Our Mazda, while not a pretty sight, is in rather good mechanical condition. It will last us another five years even withstanding the beating I give it on a regular basis (and by beating I mean trashing...who cleans cars? I have enough with the house!). The problem is that while it works just fine, it is sadly inadequate for my doggy needs. Cletus, as you may remember from past posts, is well, shall we say, "special." He tends toward nervous, if not down right neurotic. At home, it is only slightly problematic: remembering to watch out for his full body slams when thunder approaches or keeping an open lap for minor excitable moments when he needs the comfort of his mother's lap...all 65 pounds of him.

The real problem comes in the car. He hates the car. Despite promises from our vet and trainer that he would grow out of this auto anxiety, he has not. His neurosis manifests itself in two primary ways. First, he slobbers and I mean slobbers. He routinely has two (if not four) faucets of spit that drool continuously forming large puddles of doggy goo all over the back seat and Norbert. Whenever we take the dogs somewhere in the car, people always comment how wet our dogs are. I used to explain what it was, but after watching the grossed out looks of people whose hands were covered in Cleto-spit, I decided to play dumb. "Huh, that's interesting. I have no idea why Norbert is dripping wet." Second, if we drive too long or too soon after he has eaten the poor pooch tosses his cookies all over the car. We have gone through three comforters, one heavy duty back seat dog hammock, several towels and a good number of sheets. Even with all of the seat protection, the mess is too much to handle.

The solution to my doggy woes of course is to get a car specially designed for easy clean up...a wagon! With the plastic back area, all I would have to do is hose out the cargo area. Plus, it is much bigger than a back seat, has a doggy bar for safe driving and can haul shit. Who doesn't need a car that can haul any reasonable purchase? And what's more no trunk to clean out!

We had planned on waiting to get a wagon until this car dies...but that means no trade in value. My brilliant idea is to sell it now and use the proceeds to go toward a car that will last us a little longer and be more serviceable.

I obsessed for two days straight, checking craigslist and edmunds compulsively. I had finally decided that while much needed, the obsession was becoming unhealthy. Just when I resolved myself to wait a year, I got an email reply from a guy with the subaru pictured above. It is priced $1500 under fair market value and seemed a deal I couldn't pass up. Josh and I will go look at the car tomorrow.

The obsession continues...

God Loves Me...

She certainly does!

This week our garbage disposal broke, which in theory shouldn't be so bad...except that when the disposal breaks the water refuses to drain. Every time we turn on the faucet for even the most miniscule moment, water backs up along with the remains of the last time we used the disposal.

YUCK!

Getting it fixed will take time since we have to go through the trustees of the church. At first I tried to use the least amount of dishes as possible. But, soon, after a few days it didn't seem to help. I still had a sink full of dirty dishes. So, yesterday, I finally caved and washed the dishes in the bathtub. Not a comfortable nor fun endeavor to say the least. Things were looking bad.

But, then in the midst of my kvetching to a friend she mentioned she had a portable dishwasher we could have...the same portable dishwasher I had been lusting after on craigslist for months! So, hopefully, tonight we will pick it up and I will be spared another bathroom dish episode!

To Clean or Not to Clean

Last week I gave in and called a cleaning company. Moving to a smaller apartment I naively believed cleaning would be less of a hassle. The problem is that even though the area of messiness is much smaller, there is no extra space to hide/throw/pile/stack all the crap we have in our home, making cleaning not just a weekly chore, but a daily necessity. By the time I manage the clutter I have to choose whether to really clean or to write.

Despite the fact that I have been programmed from an early age to think that people who hire cleaners are dirty, lazy, "bad," or a combination of them all, I knew it had to be done. It was a matter of valuing my own time and being able to confess that I could not both write my dissertation and keep a house like June Cleaver. So I chose.

I was already feeling quite bad about calling, still trying to shake off the nagging voices in my head that told me "you suck!" (This, by the way, is my all time favorite line from an Ani song!) I had cleaned the house...not extremely well, but well enough so that I wouldn't be embarrassed to have professional cleaners in. When the cleaners came for the estimate I was relieved to see how nice they were. They wouldn't shame me, right?

Wrong.

In English they were very polite inquiring about which type of cleaning products we use, what areas of the house we would like cleaned, whether or not we would like extra services like oven and refrigerator cleaning. But after a few questions to which I stared blankly at them (like "What do you use to clean the inside of your cabinets?" or "How often do you bleach your floor?" or "When was the last time you cleaned your window shades?"), they began to mutter amongst themselves in Portuguese.

Now, I am always one of the people that swears when people from different cultures speak in their native tongue it has nothing to do with the white folk hanging around. But this time it was in fact not true. While I am not fluent in Portuguese, I understand it. Both my Spanish and the fact that I worked with a Brazilian church for three years greatly help me decipher.

Peering into the bathroom, I heard them exclaim,

"This tub is disgusting! It will take a long time and need that super strength cleaner...what's the name?"

"Tile-ex."

"No, stronger."

Are we that dirty??? I couldn't imagine.

Coming out, she politely said to me in English, "Well, you know the first cleaning is going to take a long time. Okay?"

Everywhere they went in the house they ran their fingers along catching the dust I had somehow missed. Walking by the light switch they ran their hand over the wall and recoiled as if in horror at the dirtiness of it all.

Near the end of the estimate (which lasted over 30 minutes...and mind you we have a one room-ish apartment!), they negotiated the price in Portuguese in front of me. The younger girl suggested one price, explaining that it was quite dirty and would need a lot of time. Thankfully, the older woman, eager to retain my business and sure that with one of her super-cleanings the mess could be managed, suggested a lower price. All the while they talked I thought maybe I should clue them in to the fact that I understood everything they were saying, but I suppose I didn't have the heart or the courage to stop them.

In spite of feeling completely shamed, there was a small, secret part of me that was overjoyed by their nazi-like assessments and standards. So, they might think I am dirty, lazy and bad, but if their standards are this high it means my house will be uber-clean! What's a little shame compared to a spotless Cleaver-esque house, after all?

Love to Hate

I found this gem today...

The Truthtellers - promoting hate in the name of Christ!

Gotta love it!

Bad Writing Day

Only 2 pages today....and most of that was from earlier work I had done. I just couldn't get the flow right.

Instead of writing I organized my calendar, contacts, updated the church website and blog, and took the boys on a long walk.

All of this is thrilling to you, I'm sure. I promise to improve my postings...just not now.

Good Writing Day

8 pages in three hours! Yipee!

I'll be finished with this chapter by Friday!! It's my first "real" chapter outside of the introduction which feels good, damn good.

The Gospel Truth

Who says an agnostic can't sing gospel?

Last night Josh and I went to hear Susan Werner at the Lancaster Coffee House (that's for another post). He had heard her on WNCW and thought I'd like her too. I did!!

The Gospel Truth is her latest project that confronts the hypocrisy of the Church with a wonderfully rich bluegrass, gospel sound. Although she describes herself as a self-avowed "evangelical agnostic" her songs could (and probably ought to) be sung in churches all over. Werner blends just the right amount of honesty and camp to do the "christian right" right.

I particularly liked "Heaven So Small,"

well i know you'd damn me if you could
but my friend, that's simply not your call
if god is great and god is good
why is your heaven so small

Both Josh and I howled at "Probably Not,"

Is there a god above?
Is there eternal love?
Probably not
Probably not
Is there a home up in the sky?
Will we be there by and by?
Probably not
Probably not

Besides finding a new artist we like, we also discovered the fun of hearing local, live music. We just might have a new Friday night activity!

Who Knew I Was So Accomplished?

Who knew I already had a PhD? According to inside internet sources I already have a doctorate in developmental psychology. While I did co-write the article, I did so without even a bachelor's degree at the time. This was my senior thesis.

What am I doing writing this dissertation!?!?

NOTE: The page count is now up to 122 pages...

Paranoia

I recently installed Site Meter on my church blog. I mostly did it because I wanted to make sure that it was worth my effort of posting. I post so irregularly as it is. I thought that if I could see how much use it was getting it might motivate me to make better use of that space for the ministry.

There was, however, another reason to add Site Meter. As an "edgy" ministry we get a lot of trollers to our site who are just looking for something inflammatory to rant about on their own sites. (Google my name if you are interested in seeing some fine examples...) I like to keep a heads up to know what I may or may not have to deal with in the future. You know the old adage about keeping friends close and enemies closer, blah, blah, blah.

So, I installed it today and after checking it just twice have become incredibly paranoid. I am overwhelmed at the amount of information I am privy to through this site. Not only can I find out who has visited my site, but how they found out about it and how long they read. Who are these people and why are they reading my blog? I knew at once what it must feel like to suffer from paranoia.

Overwhelmed with the plethora of personal data I received I suddenly realized that that same information is out there about me....what sites I visit, how long I stay there, what I read...Scary!

In searching through the visits today I discovered a parishioner who links to me and was quite horrified to have access to their personal journal. This crosses all sorts of ethical boundaries! YIKES! Not to mention that they talk about me and the church....that's a pastor's worst nightmare...reading reports from the pews! I suppose I could consider it helpful to my ministry but I am just terrified I'll read something awful...like "Gee, my pastor sure sucks!" or "What the %$&# was she thinking preaching a sermon like that?"

Some things you just don't want to know.

Ask and You Shall Receive

Despite the fact that I am the place where technology goes to die, I have been lusting after a Blackberry for quite some time.

You see my problem is that I am a complete Myers Briggs P. This means I am an absolute disaster when it comes to organizing myself and my life. My idea of organizing involves little scraps of paper with half-jotted notes strewn across my desk, stuffed in my multiple bags and/or placed randomly throughout the house. Sometimes the sorry notes get left to die in the car, office or coat pocket. Not a day goes by that I don't gasp in horror at the realization I have forgotten something. Most times this is an early warning stress system that reminds me to look for the scrap with said date and time on it. But sometimes, and trust me this is the worst, sometimes the gasp is accompanied with the frustrated "!?*$" as I discover I have doublebooked, missed a deadline, forgotten an appointment or spaced on a lunch date.

If I had a Blackberry my life would be instantly better...right? I once tried a Palm Pilot and an HP handheld, but the problem was if I wasn't breaking it, I was forgetting to keep it with me. But, the sweet, sweet Blackberry solves all of that. Since it doubles as my phone, I have a much less chance of forgetting it and if I misplace it, all I have to do is call!! As for the breakage, I can get an insurance policy!!

For months I lusted and for months Josh warned me of the inevitable disaster of wasting $300 on a broken/lost/destroyed piece of technology I would never really understand how to operate. He was right. I could not justify a $300 wash.

But today, the gods smiled upon me and led me to a free, yes you read right, free Blackberry on my carrier!! I was so excited I called Josh with the news. His reply was a wry laugh as he envisioned me fumbling about with this new-fangled phone. I filled out all the information, put in the entirety of my life history and personal identity, gave over the keys to my finances and was just about to sign when I realized I had to sign a two year contract! Two years!! I only wanted a new line for one year while I am doing organizing work!

I sighed, almost defeated....suddenly I wondered if maybe, just possibly, I could ask. It seemed simple though most likely not to work...but what the hell. I'll ask. In Nicaragua I learned that there is really never a firm "no." You just have to keep talking and eventually you can wear the person down...or at least in Nicargua you can.

So I called my provider and laid out my case. I needed the Blacberry. I mean I really needed it. The problem was I could not afford a two year contract. He could understand, right? Work comes and goes, life is unceratin, who knows what will happen tomorrow let alone in two years. I gave it my best drama-queen try..."Please sir, could I have a free Blackberry?"

And then, to my great surprise, he said, "Sure. I can do that for you."

"Wait, no strings attached? I don't have to sign my life away or promise to buy bad magazines or overpriced cds or apply for a mortgage I don't want? You are just going to give it to me for the price of adding one line to my plan?"

"Yes, ma'am"

I could hardly believe my ears! This was too good to be true...but it is! Not only does my new Blackberry arrive this week but I am well within, if not below, the budget for the work phone I planned to get anyway!!!

Now all I have to do is learn to use it!!

Birthday Surprise

After telling Josh for months I didn't want to celebrate my birthday, I changed my mind...yesterday. Even though I don't want a party I realized I needed a cake, a special dinner, flowers and a card to make it seem like it is really my birthday. After all, I have to spend half my birthday with the bishop and tomorrow I start back to the insanity schedule posted below.

I'm off to my meeting and Josh is off to plan an impromptu birthday surprise. My instructions are to wait for a text message with directions.

I'm glad we are celebrating after all.

NOTE: Any suggestions can be emailed to Josh. He may appreciate some since this is so last minute.

UPDATE: We went to Ginza for dinner last night, the restaurant where we had our first "date." (There was some confusion about whether or not it was a date at the time.) Afterwards we came home to yummy cake from Lyndell's. It was a fabulous birthday!

Let the Insanity Begin

Today starts a two week period of insane travelling and conferences. I leave this afternoon for a Reconciling Clergy meeting in DC which I am convening, followed by a three day celebratory conference for Methodist Federation for Social Action where I have to network to find 300 plus volunteers for trainings I will lead this summer. I return Sunday afternoon and head straight to church. The following week I have a meeting with my DS, a "retreat" with my bishop, a two day queer theology conference and a board meeting in Chicago. The insanity ends on Sunday when I fly back to Boston to lead worship in the evening.

Phew!

Wish me luck!

PS Oh, and not to mention, I inaugurate my "jesus year/crucifixion year" as I celebrate my 33rd birthday in the midst of all this work!

YouTube

Turns out I am on YouTube...go figure. This is from the Palm Sunday parade last week. I viewed it on my crappy, old computer without sound, so I have no idea if there is narration.

My job was to pray for "the city" using a list of topics. This was complicated by the fact that I did not have access to said list and I kept being interrupted by a police officer who was concerned about illegally parked cars. His constant whispering drowned out the other clergy making it impossible for me to know for what they had prayed. It was a leap of faith each time I spoke, hoping that I was just not repeating what someone else said. As the prayers wore on I was running out of ideas so I prayed for the gays, like I always do...how was I to know that a deal had been struck with the Baptists that we would not mention the "homosexuals?" Oops!

101

101 pages and counting and an Easter sermon to boot...

He's Not That Into You

An Open Letter to 11 Year Old Girls Everywhere:

My dear little ones, I want to introduce you to a new word...HOMOSEXUAL. A homosexual is someone who is attracted to members of the same gender identity. For example, a boy homosexual likes boys and a girl homosexual likes girls. Now trust me, there is nothing wrong with being homosexual. In fact, throughout history many important and famous people have themselves been part of this prestigious club.

The problem comes when well-meaning, sweet innocent things, perhaps not unlike yourselves, do not recognize the signs of homosexuality and are led into deep, passionate adolescent crushes that cause them to do silly, yet devastatingly dangerous things. It is easy to do, trust me. As a young girl growing up in the 70's (yes, that very long ago, dark age of disco), I too fell prey to the closeted homosexual and found myself madly in love with a star who would never return my affections. How was I to have known the man that wrote the songs to make this young girl cry first played them in a San Francisco bath house with the Divine Miss M.? Sad, but true, I had to accept the fact that I would never be his Man-dy.

So, please, for the love of God, stop voting for your favorite teenage idol. I know this may come as a shock to you, but someone has to break the news to you. It is high time you accept the fact that your number one singing sensation (and I mean that facetiously) is a homosexual. Don't be too upset. Being gay is okay. Celebrate his sexuality. Throw him a coming out party. Try to fix him up with that shy boy in your class...but whatever you do, please, please do not vote for him any longer.

The fact is, ladies, he is not that into you!

91 pages

91 pages and counting...

I will finish my dissertation. I will finish my dissertation. I will finish my dissertation.

Thank You, Jesus!

This Palm Sunday, in the midst of feeling pathetic and full of self-pity, I received the best compliment ever from a stranger.

The new church where CWM meets has a tradition of gathering with the other neighborhood churches for Palm Sunday. Together they parade into the town square led by a donkey borrowed from the Heifer Project (a la Jesus entering Jerusalem) and pray for the city. This was my first year participating and I was slightly nervous about the tone of the whole shindig. I was feeling particular pus-y (read like oozing with pus...no, it's not missing another "s") because I showed up way overly dressed for the occasion with my black suit, clerical collar and purple stole. Despite the instructions I had received from others, all the clergy (except for me) showed up in normal street garb...no collar, no stole, no nothing. I stuck out like a sore thumb!

After the service ended I was standing around waiting like magnet for press and for those who had no idea women could be clergy. In Boston, whenever I wear my collar I inevitably get comments from shocked bystanders who never cease to be amazed that I could be both female and clergy. (Though, there are some who can't put those two together and end up referring to me as "Father." No kidding.) As I waited for the questions, a really well-dressed, well-put-together, attractive, cool woman came up and grabbed my arm saying, "It is so good to see another foxy pastor woman!"

Foxy pastor woman! Excellent!

It turns out she too is clergy serving a local non-profit in the area. We laughed and lamented together about the sad, sorry state of clergywomen's fashion. I may have blogged about this in the past, but in general, when women become clergy there is some irrational, insane impulse that drives them to dress in one of two ways:

1. Androgynously Asexual: Imagine bland, polyester suits, sensible shoes like your father wore circa 1965, short hair, and a gain of at least 50 pounds if not more to hide any feminine curves that might appear.
   
2. Sickingly "Sweet": Imagine sweaters with kittens playing with a ball of yarn that dangles from the front or amorphous denim jumpers adorned only with some tacky, over the top dreamcatcher with feathers and beads (meant for one's home, not one's chest). Again, the weight gain, bad hair and plain shoes are requisite to the uniform.

Either type is known by the term "frumpy pastor woman." God help the woman who looks like a woman in the pulpit!! The Church's inability to deal with sexuality has led to this masking of women's bodies and very beings. You can't be both sexual (and of course, according to the Church, to be woman is to be inherently sexual) and a pastor (despite the fact that male pastors showcase their wives and children on a regular basis in local congregations...no sex involved there!).

There is nothing that pisses me off more than when women allow themselves to be co-opted by the patriarchy of the ecclesial institution to hide their bodies and sexuality. Before I became clergy I dressed, well, like someone who might appear on What Not To Wear or Extreme Makeover. It was only my utter hatred (and really, hatred is not too strong a word) of the frumpy (non)woman that compelled me to dress better. It is my goal in life never to succumb to the asexual image of so many of my colleagues. So, you can imagine how refreshing and exciting it was to hear someone affirm my ability to rise above the frumpiness fray and be classified as "foxy!"

Foxy, indeed!

NOTE: I am not alone in my quest for clerical style. Rev. Victoria Weinstein maintains a blog for her fashion-challenged colleagues over at Peacebang's Beauty Tips for Ministers.

The Soundtrack of My Life

I stole this from Teddy over at The Gideonse Bible after my first (and probably last) foray into digital music. It's the soundtrack to the movie of your life. It was the only consolation to the sad, sorry realization that my free 14 day trial on Rhapsody did not allow me to actually download music...that I would have to pay for. Once my trial is up, all my vast music library is gone. You can see I am not techno savvy after all.

So, before my one and only digital music library disappears, here is the soundtrack of my life.

Here's how you do it:

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend your cool...
7. When you're finished tag some other people to do it!

Opening Credits: "Freakshow," Ani DiFranco

I suppose there could not be a more appropriate opening song than this....welcome to the freakshow! I love Ani...her honesty, rage and edge. What a good song to begin my story of radical revolution!

"life in the circus ain't easy
but the folks on the outside don't know
the tent goes up and the tent comes down
and all that they see is the show
and the ladies on the horses look so pretty
and the lions are looking real mad
and some of the clowns are happy
and some of the clowns are sad

but underneath
there's another expression
that the makeup isn't making
life under the big top
it's about freedom
it's about faking
there's an art to the laughter
there's a science
and there's alot of love
and compliance

welcome to the freakshow
here we go..."

Waking Up: "Murder By Numbers," The Police

Okay...so, this could be a bad omen...perhaps revolution takes the form of psychopathic, homicidal rage in this movie...gee, I hope not, but I could definitely imagine it happening. Perhaps this is an ode to Heathers. I suppose it could have been worse...Roxanne might have made an interesting waking song.

Once that you've decided on a killing
First you make a stone of your heart
And if you find that your hands are still willing
Then you can turn a murder into art

First Day of School: "Shed a Little Light," James Taylor

My conscientization began at an early age...

"Oh, let us turn our thoughts today
To martin luther king
And recognize that there are ties between us
All men and women
Living on the earth
Ties of hope and love
Sister and brotherhood"

Falling in Love: "I Still Believe in My Friends," The Nields

"I never wanted to be much of a martyr
Don't worry baby it can't get any harder,
Then it gets harder
And I can't carry you anymore
What doesn't kill you will make you stronger
I'm not dead yet so I must be stronger
Then it gets longer
Counting all the moments I can sit alone with you in the dark."

A depressing sort of love song...It gets better and more hopeful eventually. Perhaps this is a scene of falling in love while in the midst of high school angst with my best friend to whom I had been previously blind to our fated love connection. See any John Hughes film for examples. The Nields were another college love that got lost in the stacks until now.

First Song: "A Home" by the Dixie Chicks

Foreshadowing of the melancholic unlucky in love theme that will pervade this film...I was disappointed that this was the Chicks song that came instead of "Not Ready to Make Nice" which I think makes a very good theme song for my life!

"Not a night goes by
I don't dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now every day I wake again
In a house that might have been
A home"

Breaking Up: "I Feel the Blues Movin' In," Dolly Parton, Emmy Lou Harris, Linda Ronstadt

Shuffle and fate do make a good movie...a little bluegrass blues about cheating, lying, no-good partners. Gotta love Dolly!

"The last letter that you wrote was on a blue piece of paper
That old feelin's back the clouds are moving in
The beginning of the end is near I feel your love has faded
Into darkness it seems I have no friend I feel the blues movin' in"

Prom: "Out In the Cold," Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Well, it is a good dancing tune...though the lyrics suggest a horrible prom experience. I suppose this would not be so far off the truth remembering my own prom memories. I actually associate Tom Petty with road trips. It is really quite good driving music.

"I'm out in the cold (out in the cold)
Body and soul (out in the cold)
There's nowhere to go (out in the cold)
I'm out in the cold (out in the cold)"

Driving: "Don't Take Your Guns to Town," Charlie Robinson, cover of Johnny Cash.

Back to the murderous, rebellious rage first foreshadowed in my waking up at the beginning of the film. Obviously, this song is played as I am driving toward some climactic confrontation scene. The question is, do I heed the song or enact the sad, sorry tragedy of little ole Bill?

"Filled with rage then
Billy Joe reached for his gun to draw
But the stranger drew his gun and fired
Before he even saw
As Billy Joe fell to the floor"

Flashback: "Leeds," Indigo Girls.

A very reflective, melancholy memory of pain and loss surfaces...

"It's dark at four PM in Leeds the steeples pierce the skylight till the last of it bleeds
The absent sound of another day as it recedes into the shadows until it's nothing
Fax papers slipped under the hotel room door like food for the prisoner or the prospect to the whore. Well fed and halfway drunk I ache myself for more until I'm shadows of myself until I'm nothing"

Starting a New Relationship: "Big Beautiful Spoon," Poi Dog Pondering.

Just perfect! A sweet song of cuddly new love...particularly apt since I love to spoon! In fact, Josh and I spooned long before we ever dated. I love Poi Dog Pondering...it's one of those bands I listened to endlessly in college, only to be resurrected through my short lived foray into my online unlimited music library.

"Wrap around me and curl, you big beautiful spoon
The thought of your touch and smell just makes me swoon
When you lay me down, my heart is still as a pond
Together like two spoons until dawn."

Wedding: "Mountain Angel," Dolly Parton

Well, it looks like this marriage won't last long....

"She gave up everything for him that mattered in her life
All the others that had loved her and she vowed to be his wife
She dreamed of bearing children in an ivy-covered house
The mountain angel's sunshine turned to clouds
The wicked handsome stranger left the way he came
Broke her heart and broke her mind
She never was the same
They say he was the devil
That had come to steal her soul
She never loved another it was told"

Birth of Child: "Desperate Housewives Theme," Danny Elfman.

I am not sure how this song made it into my library. I don't even watch the show...though it is quite fitting.

Final Battle: "Woh, Don' You Know," James Taylor.

Despite all the early murderous musings, there is in fact no final confrontation...rather I just pack my bags and head off into the sunset.

"Listen here now, don't you come 'round
Talkin' bout over yonder
Bound to wake up the walkin' man in me
And I'm bound to wanderin'"

Death Scene: "Watershed," Indigo Girls.

Can't you just see me crossing over to the other side as this tune plays in the background? This is, in fact, one of my all-time favorite Girls tunes, coming in second only to Closer to Fine.

"Thought I knew my mind
Like the back of my hand
The gold and the rainbow
But nothing panned out as I planned
And they say only milk and honeys
Gonna make your soul satisfied
Well I better learn how to swim
Cause the crossing is chilly and wide"

Funeral Song: "One Big Love," Patti Griffin

A fitting goodbye ritual...

"I guess Im taking my chances
Giving up the ring throwing in the gloves
I guess Im taking my chances
Trading in my things for a couple wings on a
Little white dove"

End Credits: "All I Wanna Do," Sheryl Crow

A good, upbeat ending to what was a sad, depressing, yet committed life. After that summary, I hope this is not a reflection of life to come.

"All I wanna do is have some fun
I got a feeling I'm not the only one
All I wanna do is have some fun
I got a feeling I'm not the only one"

Remember the Communist Threat

Remember the Communist threat over at The Asphalt Playground...

Mission Accomplished

For nearly a year now I have been on a less than noble mission to obtain the ALIAS tv theme song as my ringtone. It began last spring as the show approached the end of it's five year run. I needed something to take with me, something to hold on to the magic that was Sydney and company. I also thought it would be wicked cool (as they say in MA) and would in some small way allow me to live in to my own fantasies of traveling the globe in sexy costumes while simultaneously kicking ass on the "bad guys" of the world. I could even play it to myself when I engaged in spy missions of my own...my friend Julie and I have some very interesting ideas for creating change in our denomination.

I became obsessed.

I spent hours on the Internet searching and searching, pouring over ALIAS fan chat sites (many of whom were also frustrated at their own inability to secure the theme for themselves). Twice I was so close I could taste it, but both times it turned out that either my carrier or phone were not compatible with the supplier's site.

For a while I gave up...depressed and defeated I settled for sub-optimal ringtones such as "VooDoo Woman" and the theme song from Charlie's Angels. Then, in a renewed wave of self-pity and dissertation desperation I began my search once again. I went to the ABC web store convinced they may have updated the site and added new phone models...but they had not.

In the past I had rejected the notion of needlessly buying a new phone in order to get the ringtone, but now, well, now things were different. I just had to have that ring tone. The only problem was that the phones ABC listed as compatible were all old models. I would have to search craigslist for used phones. And so I did. Miraculously, I found a slightly used Samsung e715, abandoned by its previous teenage owner for lack of a cool quotient (though she told her father it was b/c she could not dial long distance on that model....I contemplated telling him it was merely an adolescent ruse to get a cooler model, but didn't want to risk losing my one and only chance at ringtone happiness).

Having driven an hour and a half to get pick up the phone, I was ecstatic to finally have it in my hands. I immediately switched cards and put the new phone to my ear, feeling what it would be like to now have the phone of my dreams. I admit, it almost felt like I was cheating on a beloved, dear friend. My old, ALIAS-less cell phone lay on the car seat discarded. While the new phone was compatible with the ringtone, its buttons seemed cold and hard and it felt out of place in my palm. Nevertheless, there was no turning back now.

Racing home I went to the ABC site, punched in the code and waited for my ringtone to appear...I waited and waited and waited. Nothing. I then sent a text message begging for the tune and received the fateful, sad message: "ACCESS DENIED." I was crushed. This could not be. The website said my new/old e715 would be compatible. It had to work.

I waited days in sad hopelessness, but could not give up. I went to the T-Mobile store and embarrassed myself with the young salesperson who said with disdain, "Ma'am, I'm sorry. I don't know what this abc site is you're talking about." She suggested I let the card stay in my new phone for several hours and then try again.

I went home filled with hope...it would work this time. I waited the requisite 2 hours, went to the website and discovered that finally after over a year they had upgraded the website and all phones were now compatible. I felt cheated and horrible. I bought this crappy old phone for nothing??? I went ahead and sent it to the new phone anyway. Again, I waited and waited and waited. Nothing. Maybe, this old model is no longer compatible. So, I sent it to Josh's phone (same model as my original beloved). It worked! All I had to do was change the cards back and wait....victory was at hand.

But two days later, I waited and waited and waited and NOTHING. For some mysterious reason the web message could not get through to my phone, no matter how many times I tried.

God hated me.

But then, just when I almost succumbed to defeat I had the bright idea of switching cards with Josh and sending the ringtone to old beloved phone via his phone number. Josh was sure this would not work...but it did!! I actually did a little dance of joy around the house after hearing it ring for the first time!

Mission accomplished.

So if you want to make me happy, call me on my cell and imagine me dancing in to the tune of ALIAS.

PS I may not answer quickly since I now so enjoy my ringtone!

Refreshed

I just returned from another Wild Women's week at Tenants Harbor. Earlier this fall I went for just a day with a few of the women in our group, but last week all (but one) of us gathered for four days of rest, relaxation and ritual.

It was fabulous!

Being at Tenants Harbor is always a liminal experience. It is as if for those few days we go outside of time and space to create an oasis of safety, love, trust and nourishment. On the margins of society, neither here nor there, we create space through ritual and sharing for our own individual and communal transformation. This time we framed our time there with two rituals. The opening ritual crafted a safe circle "on the margins of patriarchy" in which we could exist for the week, while the closing ritual banished all the "unwanted guests" of pain and struggle that had been conjured up and released during our time together. Fear, guilt, anxiety, certain-people-left-unnamed (at least for the purposes of public sharing), expectations and burdens were all cast out leaving us refreshed and able to engage the world once again.

I've spent most of my academic career studying feminist theology, often times in a very abstract and intellectual way. Yet this group allows me to truly embody this theory. Daly's gyn-rgy, Morton's hearing to speech, Russell's open table ecclesiology and Ruether's woman church become not just ideas but reality. Part of the power we derive from these rituals comes from a deep sense of trust between members of this group. It is not just a matter of acting out or performing the theory, but rather allowing it to be birthed from within a circle of trust and assurance...a circle that we have built over the past eleven years of gathering together by sharing with one another our deepest wounds and greatest joys.

Sucker

It did not take long for Zoe to learn that I am indeed a sucker for dogs!

My dogs discovered this fact long ago which makes it nearly impossible for me to get work done while at home. If they aren't jumping in my lap for attention or lapping at their food bowls for more, they are incessantly nudging and prodding me to let them out...every 10 %$#!@ minutes.

To escape this canine insanity I have taken to working anywhere but home...in coffee shops , cafes, libraries and now this week at a friends' apartment. I agreed to walk their dog, Zoe, three times a day in exchange for a little peace and quiet. Zoe is a retired greyhound and in general very low key. The first two days I was here I practically had to beg her to go out with me. I wrote and wrote and wrote. Life was good. Perhaps we should have adopted greyhounds instead of energetic mutts, I mused.

However, today Zoe discovered my weakness.

The fact of the matter is, like it or not, I have been extremely well-trained by my own dogs to respond immediately when pooches pester me to go out. Always slightly fearful a denial of their request will lead to an unfortunate and smelly accident, I leap to my feet when prompted. This Zoe figured out. Within two hours, she had me on four walks. My only respite was to take her to the park in hopes of wearing her out.

And so here we are, back at home, an exhausted pooch panting on her bed and her well-trained sucker of a playmate waiting for her next request.

53 Pages and Counting...

Well, I am indeed "writing in earnest." To date I have 53 usable pages...15 on an introductory chapter outlining my work, 12 on the conflict in the UMC over membership and sexuality, and 26 on the dual ecclesiological influences on the ecclesial praxis of John Wesley.

The good news is that I am 1/6 of the way finished in terms of my original page goals. The bad news is that I have not even started on the chapters I intended to write. The bulk of what I have written was an afterthought to merely set up my analysis. I still have 5 chapters on Wesley, three chapters on homos in the UMC, and at least two chapters of analysis.

I will finish my dissertation. I will finish my dissertation. I will finish my dissertation.

NOTE: Make that 57...

NOTE: Make that 65...too bad none of it is really usable...

One More Thing the Christian Right Has Ruined For Me

I have a confession...I love the song, Baby Got Back, by Sir Mixalot. It began as part of a college rebellion that hoped to embrace altnertaive body image for women (despite the obvious sexism and misogyny embedded in the song)...

So Cosmo says you're fat
Well I ain't down with that!
'Cause your waist is small and your curves are kickin'
And I'm thinkin' bout stickin'
To the beanpole dames in the magazines:
You ain't it, Miss Thing!
Give me a sista, I can't resist her
Red beans and rice didn't miss her"

We loved the song so much it became part of the sacred trinity of dance music we would listen to before going partying on campus (for those of you dying to know, the other two were Like a Prayer and The Sign). Lest you think it was a mere college infatuation, you should know I also taught this song to my English students in Nicaragua (they wanted to know a rap song and it's all I knew) and even had it sung to me at my wedding (thank you, Elizabeth and Tushi)!

Needless to say, the song holds great meaning and memory for me...so, you must imagine my horror when I found this online:

The Wages of Racism

Here is another example of the way racism works to divide us all.

__________________

NOTE: There has been an update on this ruling...Idle Rambling Thoughts posted this today.

TAHLEQUAH, Okla. - In a split ruling, the Cherokee Nation's highest court today reversed a prior decision regarding the citizenship of Freedmen. The court ruled unconstitutional the Cherokee Nation's law requiring citizens to trace their ancestry to a person with either Cherokee, Shawnee or Delaware blood. The ruling means that the Cherokee Nation's citizenship roll is now open to the descendants of Freedmen who were included in the Dawes Rolls of the Five Civilized Tribes.

The full ruling from the Cherokee Nation Judicial Appeals Tribunal can be found on the Cherokee Nation's Web site, www.cherokee.org

I thought Antonio Banderas settled this one...

Wasn't this a (very bad) movie?

While it goes without saying that this theory will generate its own whirlwind of controversy, I have to wonder what is so bad about the possibility of a resurrection that was not bodily? Although I doubt the ability to conclusively prove that this particular site is the tomb of THE "Jesus of Nazareth," the possibility of its existence is not at all threatening to my faith.

I think only a very shallow faith and reading of the Christian tradition makes it's truth claims absolutely dependent on a literal interpretation and understanding of resurrection.

The Christian faith is about much more than literal facts. It is about a transcendent message that embodies a truth not dependent on historical fact. Resurrection can be true regardless of what happened to Jesus' body. It is the claim that death is not the end, that love and life can and do triumph despite the brokenness of the world in which we live. We don't need the evidence of an empty tomb to witness to this truth in our lives. We testify to the power of resurrection as it bubbles up through the cracks of despair each and every day.

Sometimes I Forget

Sometimes I forget why it is I do what I do. Yet, last night as I travelled back to my alma mater for a panel discussion of queer Christians sponsored by the Intervarsity Fellowship, I was reminded exactly why.

When I was at Williams I joined the Intervarsity Williams Christian Fellowship thinking it would be an extension of my own United Methodist Youth Fellowship. It did not take long to learn that while our high school fellowship was open and welcoming of all people, even non-Christians, this group was not. In fact, I spent most large group meetings going rounds with my nemesis, Mr. P, the founder and chief writer for the campus' neo-con paper that spewed hate on a regular basis. We would argue about everything from global warming to poverty to immigration...and of course, homosexuality.

He, as well as the entire leadership of the fellowship, made it clear to me that homosexuality was wrong and sinful. While I could "love" my friends (I'm not sure what type of love that would be), I was called to tell them to repent, turn straight and give their lives to Jesus. When I refused to comply with their advice I became the target of guerrilla prayer vigils where members of the fellowship would randomly turn up at my dorm room to "pray over me" asking God to help me see "Him" more clearly, to learn to follow "His" ways and respect "His laws." While it was done with the utmost sincerity, for they did fear for my eternal damnation, it was (as you might have guessed) never pleasant.

But I was and continue to be stubborn. They were not going to proclaim in the name of all Christians that homosexuality was a sin. It was and is not. I was damned if they were going to present their view as the one and only right view on the matter. I talked to my local pastor and asked him to come to the fellowship to explain why we were a Reconciling Church (open and affirming of GLBT persons) and why homosexuality was not a sin. I proceeded to invite all my queer friends as well so that we took over the fellowship that evening.

The problem was that no matter what my pastor said, no matter what my queer friends testified to about their own lives, no matter how much I protested, it fell on dead ears. If anyone in the fellowship had not already closed their minds to this notion of radical inclusivity and love, they were shut forever when the hell-fire-and-brimstone baptist preacher convinced them of this in his tirade against the "ungodly" and "sub-optimal lifestyle" of homosexuals that send them straight to hell. Somehow, in my mind, I imagined that at the end of the night the fellowship people would be the ones repenting for their sin of hatred and discrimination. After all, how could they continue to believe such bunk? Yet, it was not to be. After the comment-turned-sermon of the baptist fear monger, my queer friends left in disgust and anger, while the purported Christians sang a few more rounds of praise hymns.

It was not a good experience. Over the years as I would receive appeal letters as an almuna of the fellowship asking for money, I would always send back a note saying that until they opened the fellowship to GLBT Christians and affirmed that homosexuality is a good gift from God, I would never give them a penny. In over 10 years, no one ever responded to my missives.

So, you must imagine my surprise when I received an email from two of the students on the leadership team for the fellowship asking me and several members of CWM to come and address the fellowship on what it means to be queer and Christian. I have to admit I was quite hesitant...could this really be true? The young women had been referred to me by their local United Methodist pastor (Yeah for Methodism!). After talking via email, phone and meeting, it seemed that they actually did want to present an alternative to the turn-or-burn reparative therapy crap that is spoon fed to the fellowship through the national Intervarsity office.

Two parishioners and I drove out during a fierce winter storm over Florida mountain to be there in time for the evening service. After the two of them told their stories, I told the story of CWM; who we were, how we came to be and the stories of transformation (the good kind, not the homo-no-mo kind) that happened through our ministry. I expected a lot of resistance to our testimonies. I was ready for the Bible questions or the tales of happy ex-gays. I was ready for students to challenge us and take us to task for our "anti-Christian" views...but no one did.

Okay, that is not exactly true...no student did. A new hell-fire-and-brimstone-crazy baptist preacher (and I do mean crazy...the man looked insane; bushy beard and beady eyes insane) quoted Romans to me (to which I responded with a systematic deconstruction of the 7 clobber verses and a proclamation that the Bible never says homosexuality is sin. Thanks for the easy pitch, man.) and the "unofficial faculty advisor" told me no Christian had ever said they actually "hated" gay people (to which I answered, "No, they don't have to. Actions speak louder than words.")

The students by and large were curious about this possibility of an inclusive and affirming Christian faith. Most, both queer and straight alike, had never heard anyone say to them that homosexuality is not a sin. Most of them did not even know that there were churches that welcomed and affirmed queer folk. Most of them had no idea that someone could be Christian and queer. I was shocked by the response. How could they not have known? I guess I thought that Williams kids are smart. Of course they would have heard this all before, but they had not.

Rather than one of judgement and damnation, these students' response was one of care, concern and compassion. They asked how they could help their friends who struggle with their sexuality and spirituality, they wanted to know how to start a community like CWM on their campus, they wanted to know if other faith traditions were welcoming and how could they create space to help people understand that Christianity and homosexuality are indeed compatible. We stayed until midnight talking to students who were in the midst of wrestling with this issue, not just on campus but in their own lives. I was deeply moved by both their palpable pain and their indomitable hope. Perhaps the fellowship could change after all.

This is why I do what I do.

New Favorite Idol

So, it is true...you cannot judge a book by its cover. My early idol assessments based on their profiles were crushed last night as I discovered my new favorite idol...Lakisha Jones.



I love Lakisha! Atta Girl!

And, yes, I was a Fantasia fan too. Josh says my preferences reveal my view of Idol as a potential battleground for class warfare (e.g. my support for Antonella to piss off her privileged best friend who boasted about her professional training in their audition together.)

NOTE: Besides a new fascination with reality TV, my "101 Ways to Do Nothing" day has yielded other fruits...new boots from L.L. Bean, a full refrigerator, an empty(ish) freezer and the realization we cannot buy a new car or house.

Overheard at True Grounds...

"What got me hooked in the biz was that men actually pay me to berate and hit them. It's the easiest $150 an hour I've ever made. Wanna look at the ads on craigslist with me?"

True Grounds

Mr. Crepe is out. True Grounds is in.

After a really bad day at Mr. Crepe this week, I knew I needed to look elsewhere for a study haven. Besides the inaccessible internet connection, pricey food, and austere atmosphere, the table limit at Mr. Crepe was making me too anxious to write. Trying to figure out at every moment if I needed to leave so another customer could have my seat was wearing.

Yesterday I finally tried True Grounds. Tons of people in the neighborhood have raved about it...good coffee, nice vibe, dog friendly, etc. etc. But it seemed so far...(this is the part where I throw myself a pity party).

Turns out it is probably faster than getting to Mr. Crepe, has good coffee, free, reliable internet, yummy (and cheap) soups, folk music (no more "hip," cutting-edge dance music a la Mr. Crepe), comfy, warm spaces and a way chill staff who could care less how long you stay.

Yeah!

Check Out The Asphalt Playground

Mason Dixon over at The Asphalt Playground has a very amusing video up for all you who have trouble making sense of Christian theology. Mr. Deity answers all your questions.

Dates Gone Bad

Goat and Chicken's post on music brought me back to my senior year prom with its inclusion of our theme song, "Save the Best for Last" by Vanessa Williams. As I commented distant memories of dates gone horribly wrong surfaced and a new post topic emerged (if you have not noticed my blog continues to deteriorate as I lose myself in research)...Dates Gone Bad!

So, here in no particular order are just a few of my bad dates revisited...

• Hijacked! - Our cheerleading squad was no "Bring It On," but we did at times pretend to want to be better than we were. So, it was no surprise when one of the guys on the squad invited me to a local college basketball game to "watch the cheerleaders." Supposedly we were going to meet up with others at the game and take notes on the Musketeers' moves. I should have known it would be a rough night when he showed up at my house with an enormous, elaborately wrapped gift for me...a framed poster of Clark Gable from Gone With the Wind (to his credit, one of my favorite movies at the time). He then suggested we grab something to eat before the game. Disregarding my suggestion for quick take out from Izzy's or Skyline, he took me to a very sad, shabby Chinese restaurant where he made us sit in an all-too-cozy booth and insisted on paying. Things were getting worse. When we arrived at the game nobody else was there to meet us. Surprise. Surprise. I had been duped. As if I was not uncomfortable enough already, he decided to make a declaration of his love for me right then and there...at which point I could say nothing more than, "Take me home. Now!"
• Save the Best for Last - My senior prom was well, less than the best, to say the least. Being on one of the many break-up hiatuses from my high school boyfriend, I ended up being set up for prom with my best friend's boyfriend's friend from school. He was a lovely person. Very nice, neat, polite and courteous...so much so he drove me crazy. What I found most annoying was his insane insistence on opening every single door for me even if it meant sprinting ahead of me so he could reach the entry first. No matter what I did he refused to leave me alone. Unable to convince him it was time for him to go home, I resorted to hiding out in the vastness of our friend's home. Dodging from room to room, I would tell my friends to misdirect him so I could have some space (which also meant reconciling with my boyfriend in the bushes). While I managed to evade his presence for most of the night, I did not get away scott free. At the end of the evening, just as I thought the nightmare was finally over, he leaned in for the inevitable good night kiss attempt. I tried to be kind, but I just couldn't do it. I knew it would be horribly embarassing for him, but no matter how hard I tried to bear it, I could not. Despite all our friends watching, I denied him by grabbing his hands and pushing him away. "Thanks for a good night. Good luck with everything."
  
• Excuse me? In grad school I met a new student who had just moved to the area where I lived at the time. He seemed lonely and in need of a friend and so I offered to show him around. In hindsight, I should have realized that this would turn into a date, but at the time I just thought I was being nice. It became clear early on from his words and attempted groping that in fact this was a date. After an all-too intimate dinner, we headed to the movies. As we were waiting for the film to begin he said, "You know, I'm really glad you went out with me. Living with my wife and kids is hard and I need to have some fun once and a while." Um, excuse me? Wife and kids? As I expressed my surprise at his marital status and asked him what he thought we were doing together he said, "Well, this is a date, right? I thought you would be cool with it. You look like the type of woman that would date a married man." Lovely. And with that I reverted to my high school habit and said, "Take me home. Now."
  

God, I'm glad I'm married.

What are your memories of dates gone bad?

101 Ways to Do Nothing

Coming home this morning too sad and sorry for myself to actually read the papers that were being presented in Nashville, I set about do nothing. ..which I realize I am very good at, particularly when I feel overwhelmed by my research. (Have I mentioned I feel overwhelmed by my research? I have 100s of pages of notes and yet am at an utter loss with where to begin.)

Instead of researching or writing, this is what I did:

1. Cleaned the kitchen
2. Made Josh breakfast
3. Cleaned my desk
4. Cluttered my now clean desk
   
5. Organized my board notes from October to date
6. Printed off a ream of paper's worth of documents by Wesley since the %^#%@* electronic version I have SUCKS
7. Punched holes in said ream using a very outdated, rusty and non-compliant three-hole punch
8. Scattered dots of paper throughout the house in frustration, having to open and close the %$#^ hole punch every time I used it
9. Left said dots as evidence of my hard work for when Josh comes home
10. Obsessively read (several times over) every blog linked to mine
11. Was inspired by Ted's post on Tom Lowe to research each of the 24 semi-finalists left on American Idol [With nothing more than their pics and trite answers to tired get-to-know-you facts, I'm rooting for Chris (he's from Greenville and his answers did not bore me), Antonella (if only to piss off her annoying best friend who did not make the finals), and Gina (cool hair).]
    
12. Tried to buy a used dishwasher on Craigslist...but I couldn't find out the exact dimensions, get permission from the trustees, nor actually get to the woman's place to see it because my car is stuck in the ice and she lives off the T line
13. Tried to buy groceries through Peapod because my car is stuck in the ice (do you see a pattern emerging?) and I don't want to schlep groceries all the way from the square while skating on the sheet of ice that has covered the city. They would not deliver until tomorrow...a fact conveniently left out until I had spent 45 minutes shopping, carefully compiling my cart. Too late for tonight's dinner.
14. Thawed a "mystery meal" for dinner tonight. It is a tupperware of frozen red stuff. We never remember to label our frozen foods so it always a surprise. Originally I thought it was homemade chili, but it tastes more like a pasta sauce of sorts.
15. Thawed chicken in case the mystery meal is not edible
    
16. Discovered that although working at the kitchen table is the most pleasant work space, it drives the dogs insane since they think I am either about to give them a T-R-E-A-T or let them go O-U-T...both of which I finally caved and did since it was better than actually doing my work
17. Browsed available real estate and station wagons for sale in the area, lusting after each prospect with the knowledge that we are not buying either a car or a house for many, many, many years
18. Scavenged the kitchen for lunch morsels to eat. I finally settled on the end of the jalapeno jack cheese, the broken dregs of the salt-n-pepper potato chips and Ritz crackers (left over from the Southern Dinner we hosted). yum.
19. Browsed LL Bean for new boots since I am stuck in the house and can't leave without risking life and limb. Lest you think I am exaggerating (particularly those of you out and about today in Boston), you should know that just one night in this weather was enough to induce a panic attack of sheer terror in me. Walking to the T for our Valentine's date at OM in Harvard Square was so harrowing it made me cry. Literally. For the five blocks to the T I sobbed. The wind broke my umbrella. My hair was wet and frizzy. The puddles sopped my pants. And, leading to my hunt for new boots, I slid the whole way there in thoroughly inappropriate (yet fashionable) black high heeled boots.
20. Settled the details on a wedding gig for this summer. This is how pastors make ends meet
    
21. Checked for the mail at least five times...make that six
    
22. Made tea
23. Contemplated sweeping the floors
    
24. Ate more chocolate than I should have
    
25. Wrote a post about nothing.

NOTE: Mystery meal solved...not chili, not pasta sauce, but a rather bland tomato soup I made this summer. We ate out.

Sigh

After getting up at 3 AM, arriving at the airport at 4:30 AM, and waiting in line for 2 1/2 hours I am back home...grounded and unable to get to my meeting in Nashville in time. My flight was canceled not because of bad weather, but because of overbooking and delayed flights from yesterday.

I am quite disappointed to say the least.

Caffeine High

Note to Self: After abstaining from caffeine for a month, do not try eight cups of coffee in less than 3 hours...even if it helps you meet imminent deadlines.

After sucking down more cups of coffee than is recommended even for the most avid drinker, I found myself shaking (literally) and wondered what in the world was going on. Hmmm...maybe a caffeine buzz was not the best thing to help me finish everything before heading to Nashville tomorrow for a church consultation.

I am leaving at the god-awful hour of 5:30 AM to make it to the 9 AM meeting of the committee on eccleisology and membership for the United Methodist Church. My dissertation focuses on just this issue and being there will be extremely helpful as I research and write. Now, after the caffeine buzz pushes me through my deadlines, all I have to worry about is the weather. We are in the middle of a Nor'Easter here in Boston...let's hope my plane leaves on time tomorrow.

Hallelujah for Haggard

Well, hallelujah and praise be, ole Teddy's gone straight! That's right, after just THREE WEEKS of reparative therapy (i.e. not Jesus Camp, but True Directions Camp) , Ted Haggard announced that he was "completely heterosexual."

While skeptics both gay and "ex-gay" have raised concerns about such a quick conversion to the straight and narrow path after three (known) years of an affair with a male prostitute, Haggard's team of spiritual directors is adamant that the change is complete. When pressed with questions about how a process that even most hard-core homo-no-mos admit takes at least three to five years, Teddy's team explained what they really meant by "completely heterosexual." The quotation marks around this term are certainly appropriate, since in no way do they actually mean that Teddy is no longer gay, rather, they simply mean that his "choice is to be married to his wife and love her and be married to her for the rest of his life." Well, thank God he's not getting a divorce too!

Although many at his home mega-church had their hopes up that he would return to the beloved flock, news reports that he and his family will move to the midwest where he and his wife will both pursue masters degrees in psychology. They should make a lovely couples counseling team, don't you think?

(Trust me, it's all true. I can't make this stuff up!)

Overheard at Panera...

Today as I set about finishing the very long and detailed account of Mr. John Wesley's affair with the Church of England, I could not help but overhear the most bizarre series of conversations...and I have heard my fair share.

As someone who is only disciplined enough by the panopticon of public cafes to actually sit down and work, I often am privy to many a lunchtime conversation. Most have something to do with errant children ("sit down! be quiet! come back here!"), boring business details ("sales are up this quarter...blah, blah, blah...), misbehaving husbands (and I do mean husbands...my God the number of women who frequent Panera is amazing!), teen angst (particularly of the "he likes me, he likes me not" variety) and/or nutritional nitpicking ("this sandwich is soooooo fattening, but it is sooo delicious").

Today's conversation defied these common topics. At first I thought it was merely another boring business deal being done via cell...appointments were being arranged, times assigned, directions given. But then this part of the conversation caught my attention...

"Do you have a suit?"

Pause

"Well, you should dress nice. You want to look clean." (Like the "clean" of Obama?)

Pause

"I mean you really want to impress him. He is in charge of the entire East Coast. When you meet him, make sure you look him directly in the eyes. Don't lose his gaze because this tells him you aren't paying attention. If you look him directly in the eyes he knows you are serious. Really. Whatever you do, look him in the eyes." (What the hell would happen if you didn't?)

Pause

"Now if you are not serious, you need to tell me. I can't put myself out on the line for you and attach my name to your name if you are not going to show up. Your actions reflect my actions. I am getting you this appointment because I trust you. Do you trust me?" (This was beginning to sound much more cultish than business-like the more she put the pressure on to commit.)

Pause

"No, I don't know what is going to happen. If you dress well, and present yourself well, and look him in the eye, I don't know what will happen. It all depends on how you present yourself to him and how well you look him in the eye." (And now in my mind the "him" changed to "Him" as this mysterious person grew to the status of some cult leader.)

Looking across the way I discovered that the small team making these phone calls were a group of Asian Americans all under the age of 25. The men wore suits, while the women were dressed in jogging suits. Just then, another prospect appeared this time in person. He was white, 21 years old and from Dorchester (amazing the details you can overhear). At first they did what I might describe as an IAF one-on-one meeting, asking him his interests, his passions, finding connections between them and building on those commonalities. (i.e. "You like sports? Me too. We're very similar.") Group cohesion, anyone?

Then the team began to give this guy the exact same sell as they had numerous others via phone, giving him insidert tips on doing well including dressing well (they even made him stand up and turn around to assess if he passed), listening and above all else, "looking Him in the eyes."

At that point one of the women piped in, "Yeah, when I met him I was so scared but I made sure I kept my eyes right on him. You know if you do this right He can give you all the money and success you have ever wanted. He will take care of you."

This was just bizarre. Scientologists? Moonies? Amwayists? Or just plain shysters?

For the life of me I could not figure out who they were and what they were doing...all I knew was that something was not quite right.

Any suggestions on the identity of the mystery team and the "Him" to which they all defer??