Mr. Crepe Hits the Spot

Despite my faux pas earlier last week, I do believe that Mr. Crepe just may be my writing spot.

When I first moved to Davis Square I was smitten with Diesel, the very hip, urban coffee house in the center of the square. Yet, as I actually thought about working there the noise, "urban grit" (and by that I mean smelly bathrooms and dirty tables), and ever present crowds soon made it seem like a less than savory option for full time writing. Just getting a table, let alone an outlet for the laptop, seemed too daunting to even try.

At Mr. Crepe, on the other hand, there is always a table, there are a bajillion outlets, people are quiet, bathrooms are spotless, and wi-fi is free (although spotty at times...but what can you expect for free?)...not to mention the very, very yummy crepes and waffles! My only fear is that they will close before the dissertation is complete.

I Thought the Cold War Was Over...

This is just sad and wrong.

Wesley and Schism

For those interested in the current debate over schism in the UMC, see the latest post over at Religion Is a Queer Thing.

Reason #4374 Why I Am an Idiot

Today in my "earnest" effort to begin research and writing on my dissertation I ventured out to a new coffee house in Davis Square. I had heard that a new business had moved in to the old Someday Café and thought I might give it a try. On approaching, I was slightly anxious because it looked fairly sterile and rather empty and there was no sign indicating its name, hours or the availability of wi-fi.

The coffee menu seemed absurdly small to me and there were no signs of snacks anywhere. I was particularly concerned since I skipped breakfast to get out in a reasonable time to study. As I approached the counter I looked around for any sign of edible food, but the ubiquitous case filled with pastries that it so common in every other coffeehouse was missing.

The man behind the counter seemed eager to help me asking me what I wanted before I could survey the small chalk board menu.

“Um, do you have...bagels?” I asked hesitantly. I generally do not like bagels, but I was desperate for something to tide me over until I could go home after my 5 hour writing shift.

The man looked at me quizzically like I had just babbled something entirely incoherent.

“You know a bagel, or pastry or some breakfast food?” I kept listing suggestions for foods a coffee house might have, but the more I options I offered the more the man stared at me like I was, well, an idiot.

“Um, ma’am, we have, uh...crepes," and with that he pointed to a plain, non-descript, generic looking menu filled with a variety of crepes.

That’s weird, I thought. That’s a lot of crepe selections for a coffeehouse.

As I walked toward the back to find a table, the light began to dawn….there was a sign announcing a 20 minute table limit for non-food customers, there were no comfy couches or chairs or gathering space, the tables were adorned with napkin holders, and if these were not signs enough, there was a huge row of crepe making machines lined up on the wall. And then I see it, finally, the name of the “coffeehouse,” Mr. Crepe.

No wonder the man looked at me like I was an idot. I was.

In Earnest

Today is my first day of "writing in earnest" on my dissertation (okay, well, yesterday was supposed to be...but I had a meeting with my advisor AND went to the library...so that counts for something, right?)

So, I woke up on time...before seven (to be at my desk by exactly seven), but Josh was awake and the dogs were sleeping on me and well, it was so nice to just lay there and talk, that I didn't get up until 8 AM. Not too bad for a first try.

But then I realized it had snowed the night before and I really want to be a good neighbor (especially considering our dogs can sometimes be disruptive to the peace and quiet of our upstairs neighbor). So I shoveled the two walkways, stairs (front and back), long, wide driveway and sidewalks (we live on a rather large corner lot).

All set to study and it was only 9:30...not too bad for a first try.

But then I remembered that my friend and her two kids were visiting later the day and the house was a wreck. I told myself I would only do a quick sweep of the mountains of dog hair and be done. But an hour later I had done Josh's laundry (something I NEVER do), straightened the piles of stuff laying around, swept the whole house, put away my mound of not-dirty-enough-to wash-yet clothes, and washed all the dishes. Then I realized I need to shower and eat (since I skipped breakfast for shoveling).

So, here it is nearly noon and I am writing...but only on my blog.

Oh well. Tomorrow is a new day.

Go Bears!

Now that the Patriots have lost, I'm all for the Bears! Of course, what I truly hope for (besides the demise of Peyton Manning) is the return of the Super Bowl Shuffle.


Super Bowl Shuffle - video powered by Metacafe

I Love Emily!

I must confess I love the Indigo Girls and when I say "love," I mean LOOOVE. So you might imagine both my surprise and delight when I discovered this morning that as part of our board meeting we would attend a concert of Don and Emily Saliers.

In fact, I was so excited that at the announcement I jumped up and down in my seat and clapped my hands. This is not an exaggeration. It probably was not the best first impression to make as a new board member (I suppose the suggestion to throw blood on ecclesial officials at General Conference didn't help my image much either...it was a joke...of sorts).

I was going to see Emily Saliers in concert at an event for activists like me!!! I immediately began to fantasize that I would get to meet her...because why wouldn't she want to meet the board of leading gay activists in her own home denomination??? We would be stars after all!

I became fixated on what I would wear and say. I was quite distressed at my potential wardrobe options as I wore my folksy Turkish wrap today and only had a brown blazer for tomorrow. Maybe I could go buy a new outfit.....

I also obsessed about what I would say and how I would introduce myself. I know someone who knows Emily, but how do I make that connection, after all I have not seen that person in years (after I failed to edit and publish her text as she asked me to). Could I say I am a friend of Suzanne or a colleague? Do I say "you know, 'Suzanne-calls-from-Boston,' Suzanne," quoting back her lyrics?

With all these questions swirling around it was quite difficult to pay attention to the dreary board matters of reports and committee check ins, let alone remember that the concert was for the benefit of a pastor facing defrocking in the Lutheran Church and not for the benefit of my crush on the Girls.

A Return to Modesty

While I thought Mormon fashion was, well, less than desirable, Josh pointed out to me it could be much, much worse. Not only does ModestApparelUSA feature the latest in fundy fashion, they also offer a free bible study on, you guessed it, modesty.

I thought I'd share my answers to one of the questions. Note some of my answers exceeded the suggested responses.

How do you "feel" when you wear the following items? (feminine, dowdy, sexy, tough, cool, hip, discreet, pretty, wholesome, professional, powerful, smart, )

jeans: comfy

top showing cleavage: if I have cleavage, I'm feeling pretty damn good

tight long skirt: fairly professorial...I usually wear a long black tight skirt to lecture

long skirt and loose fitting top: must be a feeling fat day or I had to borrow clothes from someone else's closet

jumper dress: suicidal

high heeled shoes: sexy

jacket and skirt set: Ann Taylor? Then very hip. From this company? Then delusional....I mean "dowdy."

tank top: hot (and by that I mean it must be in the 90s outside)

culottes: are you kidding me?

long jean skirt: desperate

long skirt with a side slit past the knee : ready for a night on the town

pants suit: powerful

Mormon Makeover

Worried about your your eternal fashion sense?

Look no further.

The Mormons have their own fashion line to ensure modesty among their women. From prom to bridal to temple gowns, the EternityStore has a dress for you.

For a good laugh, check out this year's line.

New Blog on the Block

MasonDixon finally has a blog. Check it out at the Asphalt Playground. Guaranteed to be a good read.

Brilliant

It is not very often that you come across a book that you think is just brilliant...but this is one. Umberto Eco is a genius. His grasp of medieval theology alone is enough to have me shout "brilliance!"

Music That Moves Me

This week as I found myself weeping in my car, listening to my new favorite Indigo Girls song (Pendulum Swinger) , I began to wonder what was it about this song that evoked such emotion in me. In general I don't think of myself as a "music person." I can't sing (and for those of you who might doubt this, just ask anyone unfortunate enough to sit near me during a worship service); I have never been good with pop music (except for a brief span of a few months in elementary school when I was trying to "learn" to be cool and memorized the entire play list of Q102 in Cincinnati. I could repeat the title and name of a group within just a few bars of any song circa 1985); and I hardly ever listen to music at home (I prefer silence).

Yet, in the midst of this crying fit over the image of a woman, like me, trying to make a difference in the institutional church, I realized that I do in fact like the evocative, poetic quality of music that can arouse such strong feelings in me, even as I drive to pick up the dogs from day care. It is cathartic and good and offers up new ways to reflect on what is going on in my life. (Like weeping over the image of Church should tell me there is something I need to think about vocationally...)

So, then I began to think about all the music that has moved me over time. While the Indigo Girls figure prominently (and why not?), there are other songs about which I have been passionate in the past. Some made me weep, others made me dance...but these are songs that I listened to over and over and over again. Here are just a few listed (roughly) chronologically...

• High School Hits: My high school friends loved Steve Miller. We would go to his concert almost every summer together. The two best songs for me were always "Take the Money and Run" (who could resist the clever clapping) and "The Joker" (what a great line about "peaches"). I was also in love with Sting, listening endlessly to the Police's greatest hits....who doesn't love "Roxanne?" My senior year of high school was also the first time I ever heard the Indigo Girls. My firend, Tushi, and I were driving back from Keith Stanton's house (who I believe she was dating at the time?) and she put in the cassette (yes, cassette) of their 1989 release with the first track "Closer to Fine." We listened to it over and over again and it is still a favorite!!
  
• College Favs: In college there were three songs we listened to every time we went out. Before leaving for campus parties we had to listen and dance to: "Baby Got Back" (also played at my wedding), "Like a Prayer" (with choreographed hand motions), and "The Sign" (yes, that is Ace of Base). I also fell asleep every night to James Taylor's Greatest Hits listening to "Sweet Baby James" over and over again. And, of course, my obsession continued with the Indigo Girls listening to every song they ever recorded over and over again.
• Grad School and Beyond: While I was living in Nicaragua I loved Latin American protest songs, my favorite being the ode to the revolution in Nicaragua, "Nicaragua, Nicaraguita" by Carlos Mejia Godoy. I even got to see him perform live at a very upscale bar in Managua (oh, the times have changed). Grad school could be summed up by the Indigo Girls, particularly their song "Watershed" as I tried to figure out what to do with my life. I also went to see them in concert every year of my masters program. However, there was a time when I was also very into Destiny's Child (particularly "Independent Women" from the Charlie's Angels soundtrack). I also became attached to Janet Jackson's song, "All for You ", singing it ad nauseum the night I found out I was valedictorian for my seminary class ( who doesn't groove to Janet?). I also went through a Jewel phase where I listened to and preached on almost every song off her Spirit cd.

What songs have moved you?

NOTE: After posting this it seems the title is not very apt for the majority of songs I have listened to over and over again. They are, well, shall we say, not exactly the "evocative, poetic" type I first began thinking about. Oh well, see that first paragraph where I confess to being "not a music person."

Break In

Yesterday morning as I trudged my tired body into my office to begin writing for the day, I discovered the french doors to our porch were pushed open. More annoyed than alarmed I tried to close the doors but couldn't. Something was wrong with the locks. The doors leading out to our first floor balcony have a series of four different crappy locks on them; three out of the four were busted. There were large chunks of wood taken out from where the doors had been forced open. The only lock that held was our small, tiny hook and eye latch! Surveying the damage it dawned on me that this was not a gust of wind...someone had tried to break in.

So, I called Josh to do a "I'm-not-paranoid" check. He affirmed I was not paranoid (about this) and gave the okay to call the police. I then called my dad, a police officer (albeit in Cincinnati), to do a second "Will-they-think-I'm-crazy" check. My dad did not think the police would think I was off balance and said this is a very normal, routine call that the police make on a daily basis. It should be reported. I made him tell me word for word what I should say...so as not to sound, you know, crazy.

"I'm calling to report an attempted break-in at our home and would like an officer to come and take a look at it."

"I'm calling to report an attempted break-in at our home and would like an officer to come and take a look at it."

"I'm calling to report an attempted break-in at our home and would like an officer to come and take a look at it."

Got it.

"Yes, hello, I'm calling to report an attempted break-in at our home and would like an officer to come and take a look at it."

It took a while for the officer to respond, apparently all the detectives were busy. When finally they sent a patrol officer, he was quite astounded by our utter lack of secure locks. "Has it always been this unsecure? You don't have any other locks? Who owns this house anyway?"

(Here we digressed into an ecclesiological question of women's ordination because he just couldn't believe I was a pastor.)

Clearly we had been living on the brink of a break-in all this time. Who knew?

I have to admit I am not one for uber-tight home security. After living in Nicaragua and hearing thieves run across the roof at night, watching hands grope through bars for anything portable, and having more than a few dogs poisoned, break-ins seemed normal. Nothing to be afraid of...it just happens...IN NICARAGUA!

I never imagined anyone would want to break in to our home. We don't have anything of value. We live in a safe neighborhood. There are street lights all over. We have two large, barky dogs. (Unfortunately, we have trained them not to bark at noises of intruders...lest our upstairs neighbor be barked at every time he comes home. This would be the only lesson they get right!)

While Josh is furious at the intrusion, I am more amazed at my lack of foresight than actually afraid or even angry. I was wrong. Someone did want to break in our home. I guess my dad was right after all these years. You should lock your doors.

The problem is I hate the concept of locked doors. It creates an atmosphere of fear and makes your home seem more like a fortress than a dwelling place. I want a home that is welcoming and open (literally) for friends to drop by when they want. I suppose I also still have a little of my Nica attitude left...if they need my stuff so badly, let them have it. It's only stuff after all. When Julie and I lived in Lynn we never locked our front door and that was LYNN (Lynn, Lynn city of sin; you never go out the way you came in). When we lived in Winthrop I would pretend to lock the doors to make Josh feel better but still let me have the feeling of being open. And since we moved to Somerville I like to keep our apartment door to the hallway open, just in case our upstairs neighbor needs to borrow something or wants to play with the dogs.

You would think being a police officer's daughter I would know better. Perhaps it is time I need to re-think my literal openness and be more serious about the possibility of theft. When I think about what could have been stolen, I am horrified at the prospect of losing my research and writing...that's probably the only thing of value I have!

However reluctant I am to lock-up, perhaps its time. I'm off to lock the doors.

Knitting Nirvana Is Gone

So, remember the "I-love-knitting" post back in October? Well, I have officially left nirvana and moved straight to hell.

I decided to try my hand at hats. I know. I know. You, too, remember my vow never to try anything beyond scarves. I knew this would happen. But, the problem is that I can't just give people scarf after scarf every year, can I? And at my last Wild Woman gathering, after presenting them all with their beautiful new scarves, they asked for hats for next year. How could I refuse?

So, I searched far and wide on the internet and in all sorts of crafty books for the world's easiest hat pattern. I dug through piles of yarn to find the absolute easiest to knit. I begged my knitting mentor for tips to ease my anxiety. I even set aside a whole evening for this endeavor. But despite my careful planning I had serious problems.

The first problem is that I can't count. No matter how hard I concentrate, no matter how many times I recount stitch by stitch, no matter how carefully I pay attention, I cannot keep track of how many sets I have cast on. I only needed 72 stitches, but it took me over an hour because I had to count and recount at least ten times to make sure I had it right.

The second problem is that I only vaguely understand the concept of "gauge." This meant that despite carefully following the directions my gauge was vastly larger than that of the pattern. Instead of hat size circumference I ended up with a tube that fit well over my head and even slid down and off my hips. Now that is big.

The third problem is that I tried to do this while watching football, the OSU/FSU game at that. This meant that somehow, somehwere in all my careful knitting, I twisted my tube into a mobius strip...no kidding. There was an irreversible twist in the tube that made it impossible to sew up or wear as a hat.

Josh begged me (really) at several points to just give up, but I am determined. Tonight, round two.

Methodist? Really?

There are days when I seriously reconsider my choice to be methodist. Despite the fact that I am committed to creating change in this denomination, I wonder sometimes why I stay. What strange, twisted fascination keeps me in a denomination where:

• we defrock people based on who they love
• a bishop can say things like, "pastors are not ordained to preach their own theology. They are ordained to preach the doctrine of the church" and be praised for the promotion of uniformity, instead of questioned for their lock-step adherence to broken creeds and outdated theology
• or things like, "it is okay to be gay, as long as you remain celibate."
• inclusive language has gone the way of the dinosaur in most church settings
• we have whole "congresses" on evangelism where we worry about reaching out to "pre-christians" and transmitting the "orthodox faith."
• headlines such as "pro-homosexuals to lead worship" and "lesbian to speak at women's division" stir up huge controversies in caucus group newletters
• christian spirituality is made "chicken-soup-for-the-soul-like" with sappy feel good stories of empty triumphs
• fashion is circa 1970 and obesity is all the rage (particularly among frumpy pastor women types)

I suppose I stay because I have hope that things can be better...but sometimes that hope is hard to find.

Can you tell I am having a bad day?

Loverboys

This has to be one of the best Baywindows front page designs ever. The man in the front is the Senate president, Travaglini, who single handedly forced through this week's vote on the anti-gay marriage amendment in MA and the man behind him is our now former governor, Mitt Romney.

The caption reads,

"Senate President Robert Travaglini delivers parting gift for outgoing Gov. Romney"

Excellent!

She's A Master

Not only are dogs stars, so is Josh's mom. Check out the story the local news channel did of her and her work here.

Her website appears under links: Old Master Reproductions.

Sigh

As many of you may have already heard, the anti-gay marriage amendment was passed yesterday at the first of two Constitutional Conventions needed to put it on the ballot in 2008. Having worked myself to the bone this fall to defeat it and having believed we had won, it is truly disappointing.

Despite trying to frame this in a positive light for parishioners and members of the movement, it sucks. Yesterday, standing outside the State House, listening to the incessant chants of stupidity and hatred from the so-called "christian" opposition, I began to wonder how we never predicted this type of backlash after the procedural vote in Novemeber. How could I, a scholar of religion, underestimate the power of the fundamentalist persecution narrative? It is this myth of marginalization and persecution that motivated thousands of fundies (both Catholic and Protestant) to flood the State House over the past month with harassing and threatening messages to their representatives. While it is true that the ruling of the Supreme Judicial Court, which implied that legislators have a constitutional duty to vote on the merits of the amendment (though they have not done so on a host of other amendments in the past) did place more pressure on legislators to vote, I do not want to underestimate the power and influence of a well-organized fundy movement. They were good. They outsmarted us at our own game. Of course, having a stubborn, egotistical and power-hungry president of the senate did not help either. He wielded his power to show everyone he could do whatever he wanted, even if that was against the wishes of the incoming governor.

There is of course always good news amidst the bad...our new aformentioned, way-cool, governor Deval Patrick sent out a wonderfully clear message to legislators in support of marriage equality and lobbied representatives individually; the work some of the clergy I organized (including my own Bishop Weaver) did turned one representative to our side; in less than three years we went from 55 supportive legislators to 134; I am now employable again as a religious consultant; and last but certainly not least the signs of the opposition made me laugh....

"Yo mamma needed ur daddi"

"Marriage = 1 man + 1 women"

"woman + woman + man + woman + tree + bird = what next?"

Sigh.

Misadventures in New Years

Every year I conjure in my mind the perfect New Year's Eve: good friends, conversations that are both meaningful and meaningless, silly party hats, good food, better drinks and lots of laughter. In my head these parties play out somewhere a cross between a fancy New Year's ball and a good ole' fashioned cozy party at home.

Yet my track record for New Year's celebrations is enough to show how very far I usually get from this ideal:

• New Year's 1992: My senior year of high school, my friend Sarah and I decided to go to downtown Cincy for the faux NYC ball drop celebration in Fountain (not Times) Square. Despite the obvious limitations of being held in Cincinnati and the fact that we could not get a call-a-cab free taxi ride home until after 3 or 4 am, we had a great time. However, here's the catch: Since my parents were not keen on me going downtown and would have never given me permission to do so, I told them we were going to my friend Teddy's house. A perfectly fine cover if only at the stroke of midnight the @#?%$ weatherman from channel 5 did not tap me on the shoulder and stick a microphone in my face, asking "So what's your name and where are you from?" I must have appeared the idiot on TV because I froze. All at once in my mind I began to contemplate a) turning and runnning like mad, b) giving an alias and hoping I could convince my parents' of the doppelganger theory, or c) feigning a foreign language (which to that point all I knew was Latin). Never a good liar, I chose option d) real name, fake home town. That would throw my parents off. Needless to say, my parents' phone rang off the hook with my appearance and I ended up grounded and shamed. Not a very good New Year's.
• New Year's 1994: I was home visiting from college and went to a party with my high school friend, Tara. Teddy was supposed to come pick me up and we were to go to The Warehouse together. As I recall, Teddy never showed. All seemed to be going well, until right before my eyes, some young, drunk kid reached out and grabbed a woman's ass right in front of me! It was literally a knee-jerk reaction, though I seem to remember the event in Bionic-Woman-like-chhi-chhii-chii-detail, as my well-clogged foot slammed into the side of his head. Kick boxing paid off after all. While I was quite please with my vigilante efforts, the poor boy had his manhood threatened and responded with idle threats to beat the %$# out of me. Unfortunately for him, Tara's male friends took him seriously and gave him the favor of a sound roughing up, hence disrupting the party revelry. Not a very good New Year's.
• New Year's 2001: Josh and I decided to meet up with our friends, Matt and Pauletta, in Atlanta to celebrate New Year's. We spent the day touring Atlanta, visiting Coca-Cola World and having fun. For dinner we ate at a very tasty hip new french-ish restaurant where we did not drink very much, just two glasses of wine with a long dinner (this will prove key to the rest of the story). After dinner we went trolling for a good bar to spend the night. The problem was that all the good bars were either a) packed or b) expensive. So, we opted for the empty, no cover place at the end of the strip...Axis, if I recall correctly. (This should have been a clue for us.) Pauletta and I had a great time...we danced, we drank (again, not alot, just two drinks each) and had fun. Our respective partners on the other hand were not so enthused about dancing to cheesy pop music with trashed people. Sober, they did not find our merry making, well, very merry. However, we persuaded them to come out for just one spin on the dance floor. Midnight came, we cheered, and started to pack up to go home. The only problem was that Josh lost his glasses. He claims on the dance floor, thus making it my fault. We searched the bar from top to bottom and came up empty. We asked the bartender if there were any in the lost and found, we made people get out of their booth and crawled underneath tables, we even stayed until the club emptied out. Nothing. Josh was so angry with me he would hardly talk to me. His silence was not the only punishment I received. Upon waking the next morning I was so sick I wanted to die. Surely, four drinks over many hours could not make me feel this wretched? Calling Pauletta, we found she was even worse off than I was. Apparently it was something we ate. We spent New Year's Day convalescing at home, nursing our poor tummies back to normalcy once again. Not a good New Year's.

You would think I would learn after all these years not to expect the perfect New Year's Eve, yet I do. Why? Because I have hope that there can be one, hope that I garner from the memory of THE perfect New Year's in 2000. That year friends from seminary all gathered at our friend, Sara's hometown for a week of revelry, rest and relaxation. Staying in an eco-friendly lodge in the backwoods of the Ozarks, we had THE perfect New Year's Eve: good friends, conversations that are both meaningful and meaningless, silly party hats, good food, better drinks and lots of laughter. And the minute it was over, we all sensed it would never again be so good.

NOTE: Just in case some folks reading are wondering about this year's celebrations, they were fine. After church I joined friends at a fabulous Irish pub with yummy food (mmmm....gourmet mac and cheese) and a never ending beer list. When Josh and I realized we were extroverted out, we left the party and came home to enjoy the midnight hour in pajamas, curled up with our pooches and Garrison Keeler via TV. The most painful moments were spent on the way too long T ride with drunk college students: the privileged,white men drinking from bottles and proclaiming they would never work past the age of 35, the trashed blonde begging her partner for sex, and the prep-turned-whore group of college cadets wearing the god-awful combination of ragged jean mini-skirts, cheap vinyl knee high boots and no stockings. (By the way, what's up with the no-socks-no-stockings fad in Boston in mid-winter??? Not only is it just tacky, it's stupid. Hello? Cold?)

We were glad to be home and enjoy our introvert celebration.