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.