Almost a Dream Come True

I dream of  seeing the two remaining Beatles perform live, and tonight I found out that just such an opportunity has presented itself to me. But goodness, at what cost?

Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr will be headlining a benefit concert at Radio City Music Hall on April 4, which is fabulous because I happen to be living in New York City right now. Their philanthropic efforts are being made for the advancement of the David Lynch Foundation, which all sounded very nice to me until I learned what said foundation is for: evidently, the David Lynch Foundation has raised millions of dollars to teach students, teachers, and parents the tenets and techniques of – wait for it – Transcendental Meditation.

Holy shit.

I don’t even need to say that there are far more worthy causes in the world, and the fact that this organization exists is a baffling disappointment to me…

…but I really do wanna’ see the Beatles.

Obviously, this is a product of excessive and unnecessary repression

I think I could have guessed this would be the case, but naturally, the brilliant folks at Harvard took it upon themselves to prove it:

Evidently, Utah leads the nation in the predilection for online pornography. (Seriously? All those wives and you still need porn?) Honestly, it makes sense. Countless Mormons hang their hats in Utah, and LDS conservatism is rivaled perhaps only by that of the Southern Baptists. Maybe Muslims. And I’ve felt for a long time that extreme conservatism (read: excessive and unnecessary repression of all that is good and fun in life – booze, sex, communism, late night television, etc.) quite often leads to extreme rebellion. Obviously, if you say, “This is bad, don’t do this,” the action in question becomes tantalizing and irresistable. So it stands to reason that the sexually repressed followers of a certain Joseph Smith would develop an inclination to imbibe the sweet and abundant nectar of Internet pornography.

And it’s not just the Mormons. According to the study, “Those states that do consume the most porn tend to be more conservative and religious than states with lower levels of consumption.” Eight of the top 10 pornography-consuming states voted for the McCain/Palin ticket in November. And in churchgoing areas, these seedy online activities declined on Sundays. Interesting…

Furthermore, six of the lowest 10 states voted for Obama. If all sins are equal, I find it bizarre that these a-hole right-wing Christian Republicans are so eager to judge liberals like myself for supporting things like abortion and same-sex marriage, but porn (which all churches staunchly preach against) is fine. Bet they might speak up if Congress tried to pass a law that banned all married persons from perusing Internet porn.

What a bunch of fucking hypocrites! Maybe if you just allowed yourself to get laid every now and then, and let your wife wear some makeup and something a little more formfitting than those freaky Mormon underpants, you wouldn’t have to spend so much time and money traversing the vast wasteland of Internet porn. Come on. Pour yourself a drink, put the kids to bed, bust out that Marvin Gaye CD your RA nearly confiscated at Brigham Young and let loose!

To paraphrase my good friend Frank Sinatra, life is a beautiful thing, as long as you hold the string. I am a firm believer in an Epicurean approach to life. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with a little porn now and then, but I think it’s interesting that the most ardently Republican states are its biggest fans. Clearly, something is missing in the sexual landscape of their actual lives, so they’re looking for some kind of lame fulfillment in a virtual world. Live for today folks. I highly doubt God would strike you down for getting a little action, and if he would, is that really the sort of God you want to believe in?

I’m just sayin…think about it.

A Striking Resemblance

I know this makes me an asshole, but I know I’m not the only one who noticed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just sayin’.

Dangerous Toys

I was really hoping this commercial would go away, but it seems that it won’t, and with Christmas so close, I have to say something.

Hasbro’s Rose Petal Cottage is helping girls and women take a big step backwards. I am a major advocate of non-gender-specific toys for children, and the Rose Petal Cottage could not pigeon hole girls more. So, I guess I can sort of let it slide that the Cottage comes with a cradle, a washing machine, and a sink. But it enrages me to no end that the tag line boldly declares, “Where dreams have room to grow.”

Obviously, this implies that little girls dream only of domestic duties and child-rearing, and I simply cannot stomach this. As a child, I dreamed of being an archaeologist and a writer. My little sister wanted to be a firefighter or a cement truck driver. Where are the toys for girls like that? How about a Lil’ Lawyer desk set, or a Miss Med doctor kit? I can’t believe that in 2008 we’re still giving our girls toys from the ’50s.

Let’s Make America Fabulous

I am very saddened to learn that California voters have overturned Proposition 8. It baffles me that in an America that claims to be so rife with freedoms, people still want to dictate the ways in which others should lead their lives. The mantra of the religious right is that same-sex marriage poses a threat to the traditional American family. I cannot even begin to conceive of how this might be remotely the case. Gay people don’t go knocking on doors trying to recruit people to join their team. They don’t care that you’re straight. So why do you care that they’re gay? How, exactly, are they a threat to your family?

Some of this fear and hatred stems from the conservatives’ belief that gay couples should not be allowed to adopt children. In fact, they just passed a law in Arkansas banning them from doing so. This is absurd. If two competent people with a loving home and the financial means to raise a family want to adopt a child, they should be allowed to. There are plenty of heterosexual couples who are completely unfit to raise children, and our country’s high divorce and unwanted pregnancy rates result in countless “broken homes” and single-parent families. Children raised by same-sex couples are in no more physical or moral danger than those raised by straight couples. There are so many children who are desperate for a family. Why deny them a happy home, regardless of the shape it takes?

And to those who feel threatened by gay marriage even when children wouldn’t be involved in the union, I ask you, why? How is your marriage at all threatened because Bill and Bob next door tied the knot? I know the answer. It’s because of your religious beliefs and that fact that you enjoy thinking that the “morals” you’ve chosen make you a better person than a lot of other people, and you should obviously get to tell them what to do. The thing is, as I recall this country was created based on the desire for religious freedom. So why do think it’s okay to impose your beliefs on others? If the atheists starting trying to pass laws saying that you shouldn’t be allowed to go to church because it’s a threat to their non-belief system, wouldn’t you be appalled and fight back? This situation is no different.

There is a distinct line between crime and sin that religious people consistently fail to recognize. The Ten Commandments tell us not to kill each other, as does the American legal system. It is clearly both a sin and a crime. I believe that being gay is no more a choice than being born with blue eyes, but Christians (and others) believe it is a sin. That’s fine, as long as they keep that opinion to themselves. But they don’t, and they’re trying to make that perceived sin a crime. By that token, we should criminalize not going to church on Sunday, or getting mad at your parents, or merely being jealous.

Face it, folks. Your life wouldn’t change at all, not the slightest bit, if same-sex marriage were allowed in this country. What are you so afraid of? All they’re asking for are the same rights and protections that heterosexual couples so freely enjoy. So get off your homophobic high horse already and let everyone have the freedom you’re so fond of broadcasting on your bumper stickers and in your country music. “American” means a lot of things these days. Let’s prove to the world that it doesn’t mean prejudice.

Congratulations, America

I am so very excited and hopeful for our country today, and I am confident that we are ushering in a new era in which America can again be all that it is meant to be – the world’s capital of justice, opportunity, prosperity, intellectual curiosity, open-mindedness, and freedom. Congratulations, America.

This is our moment, this is our time.

Girl In Progress

“F**k off with your sofa units and strine green stripe patterns. I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say… let’s evolve, let the chips fall where they may.”
-Tyler Durden

Today I have made the very important decision to become the Hunter S. Thompson sort of successful, instead of becoming successful the traditional way – by being an annoying, cutthroat, needlessly hard-working shrew. HST was a drunken, reckless genius, occasionally an a-hole, and my greatest aspiration is to be his female reincarnation. I bring this up to due recent events in the workplace which have driven me to the sheer and utter hatred of what I will refer to as High School Revisited. Allow me to explain.

All along, but particularly as of late, I have had a deeply palpable sense that the modern workplace is little more than a lightly veiled regurgitation of the American High School Experience. There are cliques and outcasts, whispered gossip, lunch-time alliances. In short, there is undeniably a social strata that cannot be ignored, as it seems to affect promotions, raises, your general status in the work environment, etc.

Which brings me to The New Girl, who has been embraced with such open-armed and immediate praise that her superior was fired and she was given the newly available position. Am I jealous? Professionally, yes. Socially, not so much. It does bother me that I’ve been here for two years and have yet to experience the kind of friendly adoration that she’s so easily received, but really, you couldn’t pay me to hang out with this odd conglomeration of co-workers beyond the doors of this office. No, more importantly, it bothers me that I’ve been here for two years and, despite a commendable work ethic and near-perfect attendance, my position has stayed largely the same, save for a few added responsibilities, which I don’t really want anyway. What the hell made it so easy for this newcomer? What saintly attributes does she possess that are obviously lacking in my own performance?

It seems that there are three main types of girls in this world: the ones who are hopeless in every sense of the word, the ones for whom everything in life is remarkably effortless, and the ones who secretly fall more into the hopeless category but try excrutiatingly hard to appear effortless. I suspect that The New Girl falls into that second category, and I fall into the third. Aside from academia, most things in life don’t come easily to me. I wouldn’t say I’m unattractive, but effortless girls can hop out of the shower with no makeup, throw on a T-shirt, and look stunning; I wouldn’t (and shouldn’t) be caught dead without eyeliner. This past weekend, during a late-night jaunt through Boston with some friends, we found ourselves caught in the rain; my hair, of course, immediately morphed into something hideous and un-fixable; my effortless female friend still looked like Audrey Hepburn by 3am. And evidently, I need to perform some sort of miracle to get ahead at work.

It’s exhausting being the girl who is trying in vain to be effortless, whether it’s getting ready for a night on the town or competing for a job. Which is why I’ve decided to try to change my strategy. Hunter Thompson didn’t pander to the masses. He didn’t win scavenger hunts or participate in team-building activities. He was a grade A bastard who didn’t care what anyone thought, and it took him everywhere. So hey, New Girl, you can have the stupid corner office and lead the pointless weekly meetings and take two-hour lunches with your fellow ass-kissers. One day you will be cowering in the long shadow of my genius!

Ok, if that sounded a little narcissistic, it’s because…well, I’m a little narcissistic today. Team-building activities seem to have that effect on me.

Les brunes sont fabuleuses!

“Blondes are great, they’re gorgeous. But it takes a brunette to put a spell on you.”
-Unknown

Contrary to popular belief, blondes do not, in fact, have more fun. I would say that fun is equally divided amongst girls of all hair colors, and I think the blondes-have-more-fun misconception is a result of the sheer number of fake blondes. So few among us choose to retain our natural hair color that it’s impossible to tell the blondes from the brunettes these days. Personally, I am proud to say that I’ve never dyed my hair and don’t intend do until the grey makes it’s first appearance (then, of course, all bets are off, and I’ll dye till I die). But I’ll never go blonde, and I feel the need to encourage the natural beauty of my fellow femmes brunes. Ladies, it’s time to ditch the bleach and join the Sisterhood of Bombshell Brunettes.

As a recent episode of “Mad Men” so aptly surmised, every woman is a Jackie or a Marilyn. I suppose there are shades of grey, but for the purpose of this tirade, let’s pretend we are all one or the other. Have you ever seen a brunette blow-up doll? I have not (not that I’ve seen that many), and I think there’s a reason why: there is something about a brunette that is inherently classy, sophisticated, and above objectification. JFK could have had any woman in the world (and he did), but he married Jackie because she was the crème de la crème. The Marilyns of the world are a dime a dozen, but the Jackies are few and far between.

Some of the most glamorous women ever to have lived were and are brunettes. We are in very good company. Par exemple:

Natalie Wood - stunning and stylish. I aspire to be even half as fabulous as she was.

Audrey Hepburn - obviously.

Angelina Jolie - Brad left his blonde for this killer brunette.

Penelope Cruz - Tom also realized the dark-haired species of womanhood is incomparable.

Demi Moore - she's in her mid-40s and managed to snag a much younger fella', thanks in part to those gorgeous locks.

Alessandra Amrosio - possibly the hottest woman alive. I think i have a crush on her!

Another Epiphany!

T.J. is my homeboy.

I was reading up on Thomas Jefferson – I don’t remember why – and was excited to learn that he was a deist. And then I was even more excited to learn what deism entails, because it perfectly articulates my current philosophy:

“Deism is the belief that a supreme God exists and created the physical universe, and that religious truths can be arrived at by the application of reason alone, without dependence on revelation. It is in contrast with fidelism, found in many forms of Christianity, Islamic and Judaic teachings, which holds that religious truths rely upon revelation in sacred scriptures and upon the testimony of other people as well as reasoning.

“Deists typically reject most supernatural events (prophecy, miracles) and tend to assert that God has a plan for the universe, which he does not alter by intervening in the affairs of human life nor by suspending the natural laws of the universe. What organized religions see as divine revelations and holy books, most deists see as interpretations made by other humans, rather than as authoritative sources. Deists believe that God’s greatest gift to humanity is not religion, but the ability to reason.”

I feel liberated. As I’ve stated before, I have decided to begin taking an Epicurean approach to life, and with that in mind, I am giving in to the reservations I’ve always had about Christianity. My parents always made me feel guilty about failing to demonstrate the same enthusiasm they have for the faith. But every Sunday, I felt overwhelmingly uncomfortable with the various goings-on of their church.

No more. I’ve finally managed to rid myself of that tiny but (until now) ever-present voice in the back of my head, pleading with me to not give up on the tenets of Christianity. I’ve begun to establish my own personal moral code and am focusing on what I want out of life and what I can do for others. Organized religion is little more than a dictatorship requiring unnecessary discipline and 10% of your income. Am I a bad person for not buying into that? I think not.

Confessions of a Preacher’s Kid (Well, a Few At Least)

As mentioned in previous posts, I am the daughter of pentecostal Christians, one of whom (my father) was a preacher. The stigmas surrounding preacher’s kids (or “PKs,” as those in certain circles refer to us) are bountiful and varied, ranging from the iconic perfect angel to the rebelious jail-bound streetwalker. Earlier today, I googled “preacher’s kids,” and the results were surprising. I expected a lot more anger, a lot more s**t talking and church bashing, and it simply was not there. Where is the rage, folks?! I know it exists. I know I’m not the only one. Maybe the others are so burnt out that they just don’t want to talk about it anymore. Whatever the case, I thought all the non-PKs might like a peek into the world that someone like me grew up in.

First though, I need to give you some context. Pentecostal churches are different from other churches. A Methodist PK is likely to have a different outlook than I do. Pentecostals are in a bizarre and baffling world all their own. So keep that in mind as you read.

My father became a minister when I was two years old, and he was 25 years old. The same age that I am now. He had his own church in California for 10 years, and then we moved to Texas so he could attend Bible school.

[Allow me to deviate for a moment and just state that Bible school is probably one of the biggest scams in modern religious history. A greater, more unforgivable waste of money I cannot think of.]

My parents told me that our reason for moving to Texas was simple: that’s what God had told them to do. I was 12 at the time, and just starting seventh grade (a horrible year to make your child start a new school, I have to say). As you can imagine, middle schoolers are not the kindest of human beings, so when asked why I had moved to Texas, I quickly learned to answer that “my Dad moved for his job,” and then asked them in kind why there were cows outside the math classroom window.

There were always two worlds for me: the world at church, and the world at school and with my friends, and the two mixed together somewhat at home, with religion tending to take the lead in everything. If we were going out to eat, my dad would pray and ask God where we were supposed to go. I don’t really remember doing anything active or fun with him, but he loved to make us sit at the table after dinner and read the Bible. We stopped taking family vacations after we moved to Texas, I assume because our financial status was somewhat diminished; the only trip I remember was the summer when I was 15 – we spent four days in Houston so my dad could go to Lakewood Church (now home to the famous Joel Osteen), and my sister and I spent the entire time in the hotel room by ourselves. If I did something wrong, my father gave me a sermon, not a lecture. Everything I did was supposed to glorify God, so my music (which, looking back, was pretty innocent stuff) was scrutinized, and I wasn’t allowed to watch certain TV shows or movies. He would commit me to church engagements without telling me. I recall one incident – I was supposed to go to a slumber party at my friend’s house for her birthday, but he had promised someone I would go to their church function. So he dropped me off at the party, picked me up and made me go to the event, and then drove me back to the party. I cried and cried but he wouldn’t relent, and I sat in the back of the church with my arms folded the entire time. He didn’t even stay there with me, he just dropped me off.

As you can tell, I guess I’m a little scarred from ordeals like these. Everything in our home life was refracted through the prism of religion. Don’t even get me started on Halloween or Santa Claus.

Sunday after Sunday, my little sister and I would feign illness in an effort to stay home from church; I can recall only two, maybe three times when this actually worked. Being pentecostal, my father delivered fiery sermons with speaking in tongues and people falling down and wailing and screaming. And on the extra fun Sundays, he wouldn’t preach at all – he would just lull the entire congregation into this strange, silent, meditative trance, with everyone lifting their hands, eyes closed, deeply in tune with the Holy Spirit. Personally, I got nothing out of those services, which of course lasted for hours on end. One time my mom and I left the church during one of these spells, went to the mall, came back, and found it hadn’t ended, not even close.

I could always tell that my parents were disappointed by and wary of the fact that I didn’t speak in tongues. Frankly, it always – always, even when I was very young – made me feel very uncomfortable. They said the purpose was to communicate with God when you didn’t know what to say. But I always knew what I wanted to say! Dear God, please help me get an A. Dear God, I really need $10. And the whole falling down thing didn’t sit well with me either. I remember once, when my sister and I were little, we were standing on our parents’ bed and my dad was praying for us (I don’t know why), and we started falling down on the bed like we saw the people in church do. And we thought it was so fun and funny that we kept doing it over and over and giggling to each other. But I clearly remember the look on my parents’ faces, and I think they genuinely believed we were experiencing some kind of holy awakening. Of course, these are the same people who claim to have seen angels and demons.

They never understood why I hated church so much, never truly realizing that I wasn’t getting anything out of it. All I longed for was a straight-up sermon with some simple concept that might help me in a practical way. But all the quiet singing and raising of hands and flailing on the ground did nothing. It just made me resent the fact that I had to be there.

Growing up in this culture also exposed me to a great deal of the hypocrisy and greed of the modern Christian church. For a time, my parents claimed allegiance to the Word of Faith doctrine, which is infamous for its prosperity teachings (not surprisingly, several of the group’s most famous ministers are currently under investigation by the IRS). Essentially, this concept fosters the idea that “if you believe, you will receive” – after, of course, you throw a little dough in the church’s direction. In case you couldn’t deduce this on your own, prosperity teachings are BALONEY. Have you ever tuned in to TBN? If not, I suggest you do sometime. It’s entertaining. There they are, these televangelists decked out in Armani suits on gilt sets next to their plastic-surgery-addicted wives. And they’re begging you for money for their Lear Jet, or they want you buy whatever ridiculous fluff-crammed book they’ve just written. I’m sorry, but they are laughing all the way to the bank.

My family has always, still to this day, had money problems. They’ve always given their 10% to the church, and to be completely honest, they are worse off for it. There is no return on an investment in the church. It’s easy to get up at the pulpit and say “Give and you will be greatly blessed!” when you’re on the receiving end of all that giving. Give me a break. We had way too many crappy Christmases for me to buy into any of that.

Don’t get me started on faith healing, either.

How did I turn out? Well, I wasn’t a “bad” kid, necessarily. Everyone hears those horror stories about how wild preacher’s kids can be. I didn’t use drugs. I wasn’t promiscuous. I did start drinking in high school, but really, who doesn’t? I moved in with my boyfriend when I was 21, and after five years, we are now married, so I don’t consider that a poor decision. I went to college and grad school and earned pretty respectable grades. I have a decent job and will probably be buying a house in the next year or two, maybe starting a family a few years after that. Things are great, really. But I don’t go to church, I don’t read the Bible, I pray on occasion but I don’t ask for or expect anything, and my religious beliefs could be best characterized as “undecided and seeking” at the moment. So in my parents’ eyes, they failed. Or I guess, I failed.

Do I wish my dad had chosen a different profession? Absolutely. I can say with confidence that my family would be far better off if he’d been a banker, or a plumber, or anything else at all. And it ends with me. I guess my marrying a lawyer could be attributed to a kind of rebelion in some way, the ultimate backlash against the sort of life I grew up in but despised. I don’t know exactly what they could have done differently. I do know that my pentecostal upbringing is the very reason why I refuse to go to church now. I have a physical allergic reaction to church. I don’t even like to think about it, and my own children certainly won’t have to go, unless they want to. I suppose it’s just a case of too much of anything being a bad thing. I got way too much, and now I don’t want any.