Some guys have all the luck.
Okay, maybe "luck" isn't the right word to apply to people like us, who lost their parents to animal attacks or fires (in my case, both). But still... Mowgli. Do you know what that guy earns in a year? His Learn To Hunt Like A Wolf seminars are enough to keep him comfortably well off all by themselves, but then he has the books, and those speaking engagements... It's maddening, I tell you. They treat him like he was the only orphan in the world to be raised by animals in the wilderness.
Let me tell you a little secret: he's not. Not even close.
Hi, my name is Diana, and I was raised by animals in the wilderness. There, I said it. And you know what? I'd be happy to share my secrets with you, for a tiny fraction of what Mowgli charges. I'd be thrilled if I could find a publisher for my autobiography. Speaking engagements? Ha! I'd settle for an interview in the local paper!
But, no. It's always Mowgli, Mowgli, Mowgli. Mowgli was raised by wolves. Mowgli was befriended by a panther, Mowgli was taught the Law of the Jungle by a bear, Mowgli killed a tiger and got the animals to trample an entire village in order to save his adopted parents. Well, good for him.
I can teach you how to survive in the wilderness. I can show you where to find food, and how to dig a nice burrow for the winter. I can help you get back to nature. But nobody wants to hear it from me. Why? Because I wasn't abandoned in the jungles of India, and growing up in the Enchanted Rock State Natural Area just doesn't have the cachet. Because being raised by squirrels just isn't as cool as being raised by wolves. Because everybody wants to hear about the Law of the Jungle, but nobody cares at all about the Wisdom of the Ducks. While Mowgli was running around learning how to stare down his brother wolves, I was learning how to crack walnuts with my teeth... but does anybody want to hear about that? Not hardly. Oh, sure Mowgli took down Shere Khan the tiger, but did he ever have to face down an angry armadillo? I don't think so.
But he's out there being famous and living it up, while I have to make ends meet by stocking shelves at Wal-Mart and waiting tables at the local truck stop. It's just not fair.
Some guys gave all the luck.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Right Behind: a brief explanation
It occurs to me that not all of my readers will recognize the "Right Behind" tag on the current story, so let me take a moment to explain.
A while back, I got interested in Fred Clark's deconstruction of the Left Behind books (and films). These are really awful books, both theologically and stylistically; but they're awful in some rather instructive ways, and Fred Clark has a real knack for pointing up where they go wrong and how they could have gone right (or at least, closer to right).
Now, not everyone responds to stories with commentary; some of us respond with stories of our own. And that, basically, is the origin of the Right Behind blog (also available from my sidebar): some of Fred's commenters set out to see if they could write better version of the scenes in the Left Behind books, or to experiment with alternate apocalyptic scenarios, or to head off into other, related bits of fiction. And having written these things, it seemed like a good idea to have some sort of repository for them, so they didn't get lost in the comment threads. And that, as I understand it, is how Right Behind was born.
They Are Legion is a Right Behind story. (I've requested access to the Right Behind blog, to post it there as well, but meanwhile I'm also posting it here.) So that's what's going on here.
A while back, I got interested in Fred Clark's deconstruction of the Left Behind books (and films). These are really awful books, both theologically and stylistically; but they're awful in some rather instructive ways, and Fred Clark has a real knack for pointing up where they go wrong and how they could have gone right (or at least, closer to right).
Now, not everyone responds to stories with commentary; some of us respond with stories of our own. And that, basically, is the origin of the Right Behind blog (also available from my sidebar): some of Fred's commenters set out to see if they could write better version of the scenes in the Left Behind books, or to experiment with alternate apocalyptic scenarios, or to head off into other, related bits of fiction. And having written these things, it seemed like a good idea to have some sort of repository for them, so they didn't get lost in the comment threads. And that, as I understand it, is how Right Behind was born.
They Are Legion is a Right Behind story. (I've requested access to the Right Behind blog, to post it there as well, but meanwhile I'm also posting it here.) So that's what's going on here.
Right Behind: They Are Legion Part Two
A park ranger picked us up not five minutes after we got back to my Jeep. We'd left the parking area beside the trail head, but we hadn't even made it back to the main road. He filled us in a little - told us that there had been mass disappearances, world-wide, and that nobody was sure what had really happened - but mainly he took down our names, addresses, and family information. He said he was going to radio it in, so someone could put it in the big national database that everyone was using to search for missing family. It was something that FEMA had come up with, apparently.
The radio wasn't much help. Everyone broadcasting assumed that everyone else knew as much as they did. They didn't give us any new information about what had happened, and we didn't understand the significance of what they did have to say. It wasn't until we got back to campus and found my roommate, Andrew, that we could get any real information about what had happened while we were away.
And that was when Anna realized - or decided - that we'd been left behind. The Rapture, she said, had come. Jesus had claimed His own, taking them directly to Heaven to avoid the judgements that were about to be poured out upon the Earth.
And I, in my usual I'm-withholding-judgement-until-I-get-more-and-better-information way, said: "That doesn't seem very likely."
It didn't occur to me until much later that Anna would see that as a slap at her beliefs, or that she considered those beliefs so personal that rejecting them was rejecting her. She just went very still, the way she does when she's angry but doesn't want to show it, and then she told me that she was going to find her parents, and that Andrew and I should do the same.
And then she left. It seemed a little abrupt, but I didn’t think much about it at the time. We’d just found out about a disaster, she needed to check on her family, and we’d been together all weekend; of course she’d want to get going. I wanted to get going, too.
So I went back to my room, and picked up my cell phone, and called home. And what I learned then made me forget all about what Anna and I had said to each other.
The radio wasn't much help. Everyone broadcasting assumed that everyone else knew as much as they did. They didn't give us any new information about what had happened, and we didn't understand the significance of what they did have to say. It wasn't until we got back to campus and found my roommate, Andrew, that we could get any real information about what had happened while we were away.
And that was when Anna realized - or decided - that we'd been left behind. The Rapture, she said, had come. Jesus had claimed His own, taking them directly to Heaven to avoid the judgements that were about to be poured out upon the Earth.
And I, in my usual I'm-withholding-judgement-until-I-get-more-and-better-information way, said: "That doesn't seem very likely."
It didn't occur to me until much later that Anna would see that as a slap at her beliefs, or that she considered those beliefs so personal that rejecting them was rejecting her. She just went very still, the way she does when she's angry but doesn't want to show it, and then she told me that she was going to find her parents, and that Andrew and I should do the same.
And then she left. It seemed a little abrupt, but I didn’t think much about it at the time. We’d just found out about a disaster, she needed to check on her family, and we’d been together all weekend; of course she’d want to get going. I wanted to get going, too.
So I went back to my room, and picked up my cell phone, and called home. And what I learned then made me forget all about what Anna and I had said to each other.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Christmas Lessons
Christmas this year was something of a benchmark. (And, actually, it's not over yet - we'll be getting together with my side of the family this weekend.) So what's the big deal? Well, Secondborn (1.6 yrs) is finally old enough to get presents that Firstborn (5.5 yrs) finds interesting. This has created an interesting new dynamic in our unwrapping and subsequent playing with the toys.
Fortunately, it wasn't a huge crisis. The boys are pretty good about sharing, and were even able to play together... or at least side by side with the same set of toys. Firstborn, however, kept trying to claim a selection of Secondborn's toys, which meant that we kept having to reiterate that those toys, in fact, belonged to his brother.
Which brings me back to the topic of this post...
Lessons I have learned from Christmas 2011:
Fortunately, it wasn't a huge crisis. The boys are pretty good about sharing, and were even able to play together... or at least side by side with the same set of toys. Firstborn, however, kept trying to claim a selection of Secondborn's toys, which meant that we kept having to reiterate that those toys, in fact, belonged to his brother.
Which brings me back to the topic of this post...
Lessons I have learned from Christmas 2011:
- We require a Balance of Toys. That's not to say that the two boys must get exactly the same presents, just that they must be comparable enough that nobody feels left out. We knew we were going to have to do this eventually, but apparently we're already there.
- Shared Resources must occupy Neutral Ground. Firstborn is old enough to think of his room as his own space. He's allowed to close the gate and keep his younger brother out. This is fine, except that if he borrows one of his brother's toys and takes it into his room... You see where this is going, right? So toys that are being shared should be played with in the living room.
- Marketing doesn't end when you buy the product. Firstborn won't let us throw away all the packaging. He likes pressing his toys back into the molded plastic packages, usually to indicate that they've been put in jail or frozen in ice. He wants to keep the back of the Imaginext packages, which show entire landscapes of toys. Throwing away the packaging is Not Acceptable, which makes it very hard to clean up after the toys have been opened.
- Gratitude is not instinctive. Firstborn has a habit of speaking his mind. We generally encourage this, but it can create some problems... as, for example, when his Nana gives him a special pair of Christmas pajamas on Christmas Eve, and he immediately announces - loudly - that he hates them and will not wear them. (I'm pretty sure he was hoping for a toy, and was just disappointed. We were able to coax him into going and giving his Nana a hug, and telling her that he loved her; and he didn't object at all when I put the PJs on him at bedtime.) We're, um, we're going to be doing some extra work on when and why we use "Thank you" to be polite.
- I cannot eat that much food. I don't care how good it looks or what time of year this is, if the total amount of food on my plate exceeds my own body mass, then I will not be able to finish it.
- Sleep is not optional. We had a couple of friends over while they were in town, and it was great. We haven't had that much fun, or that kind of social fun at all, in a long time. (We basically just sat around the kitchen table, talking and laughing, after the boys had gone to bed.) And because we were enjoying ourselves, we stayed up late. Because we stayed up late, we were tired. Back when we were younger, and didn't have kids, that was no big deal. Now, it's a serious issue that we have to make major allowances for. (It was still completely worth it, though!)
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Right Behind: They Are Legion Part One
What if the Rapture came, and you missed it?
I'm not talking about being "left behind." That's all of us, everyone who's left on Earth. All the people who looked around and realized that their children were gone, all the people who looked up and realized that the car beside them suddenly had no driver, all the people who came home to empty beds or empty houses or empty neighborhoods.
But there were some of us who missed the whole thing. I, for example, had taken a couple of days off after Finals to go camping with my girlfriend. Two college students all alone in the woods at the end of their Junior year: you can imagine what all we we were doing. Maybe that's why we got left behind. Maybe, and maybe not.
Anna, you see, is very bright in her way. She can grasp complex ideas, do equations in her head, and memorize things in ways that I can't even begin to match. Unfortunately, she tends to take any idea she's given, and run with it. I'm smart in other ways; I can speak English, Spanish, and French (and read a fair amount of Latin), and I tend to withhold judgement and not take things at face value. Mine is the sort of intelligence that wants to do a lot of research, look for origins and evidence and support, and tends to ask uncomfortable and unwelcome questions.
That may be why Anna was still a Christian (nominally, at least) while I was... not. On the other hand, we came back from our trip to discover that everyone - everyone - under the age twelve had disappeared, along with a fair amount of the adult population... and the adult statistics skewed heavily to certain strains of Christianity. Nobody knew how heavily, because nobody can organize a census that quickly, but even the preliminary, anecdotal information was fairly convincing. When the police department notices that eighty percent of their missing persons calls concern members of a certain church, and further investigation can locate only four or five people from a congregation of over one hundred, that's pretty convincing. So maybe I shouldn’t consider my disbelief a product of my intelligence, if you see what I mean.
And yes, I know that everyone who's reading this now has been through it themselves, and remembers how it happened. I'm not writing this part down for you. I'm writing it down for our children, if we have any, if the world lasts that long. If there's one thing you learn studying history, it's just how much information gets lost. It's frightening how fast knowledge can disappear - a generation, maybe less, if it isn't needed or isn't wanted.
So that's what happened to us: we went into the woods, and when we came out the world had changed.
I'm not talking about being "left behind." That's all of us, everyone who's left on Earth. All the people who looked around and realized that their children were gone, all the people who looked up and realized that the car beside them suddenly had no driver, all the people who came home to empty beds or empty houses or empty neighborhoods.
But there were some of us who missed the whole thing. I, for example, had taken a couple of days off after Finals to go camping with my girlfriend. Two college students all alone in the woods at the end of their Junior year: you can imagine what all we we were doing. Maybe that's why we got left behind. Maybe, and maybe not.
Anna, you see, is very bright in her way. She can grasp complex ideas, do equations in her head, and memorize things in ways that I can't even begin to match. Unfortunately, she tends to take any idea she's given, and run with it. I'm smart in other ways; I can speak English, Spanish, and French (and read a fair amount of Latin), and I tend to withhold judgement and not take things at face value. Mine is the sort of intelligence that wants to do a lot of research, look for origins and evidence and support, and tends to ask uncomfortable and unwelcome questions.
That may be why Anna was still a Christian (nominally, at least) while I was... not. On the other hand, we came back from our trip to discover that everyone - everyone - under the age twelve had disappeared, along with a fair amount of the adult population... and the adult statistics skewed heavily to certain strains of Christianity. Nobody knew how heavily, because nobody can organize a census that quickly, but even the preliminary, anecdotal information was fairly convincing. When the police department notices that eighty percent of their missing persons calls concern members of a certain church, and further investigation can locate only four or five people from a congregation of over one hundred, that's pretty convincing. So maybe I shouldn’t consider my disbelief a product of my intelligence, if you see what I mean.
And yes, I know that everyone who's reading this now has been through it themselves, and remembers how it happened. I'm not writing this part down for you. I'm writing it down for our children, if we have any, if the world lasts that long. If there's one thing you learn studying history, it's just how much information gets lost. It's frightening how fast knowledge can disappear - a generation, maybe less, if it isn't needed or isn't wanted.
So that's what happened to us: we went into the woods, and when we came out the world had changed.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Notes from the Mad Science Lab: For Flavor
Ladies and Gentlemen, I have an announcement. You may want to make sure you are sitting down for this, as this is by far the most ambitious project I have ever undertaken. Is everybody ready?
Good.
Ladies and Gentlemen, for my next major project I propose to create something the world has never before experienced, something that despite decades of research and hundreds of attempts has never been accomplished. Ladies and Gentlemen, I will invent an artificial grape flavoring... that actually tastes like a grape!
Thank you, and good night.
Good.
Ladies and Gentlemen, for my next major project I propose to create something the world has never before experienced, something that despite decades of research and hundreds of attempts has never been accomplished. Ladies and Gentlemen, I will invent an artificial grape flavoring... that actually tastes like a grape!
Thank you, and good night.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
No shirt, no shoes no service - no pants?
So we took both the boys to McDonald's for lunch today. It went well, in that we got something that might loosely be described as "food," and the boys played in the gerbil tubes for at least two hours.
Secondborn is fierce and fearless. He has figured out that he can climb around in the tunnels, and he does. The sections that give other, older kids pause - like, say, the bits of heavy netting where you can see the floor below you - don't faze him at all. He isn't at all worried about whether anyone else comes with him, either. He just charges in, goes to the top level, and gets inside the little car. (He has a deep, strong love of anything with a steering wheel.) He'll even come down the slide on his own.
Anyway, at one point Firstborn has gone up there with him. And I have no idea what happened, but I look up to see a diaper-clad bottom flash past one of the plexiglass windows. I immediately suspect that this is my child, and this impression is reinforced by the fact that the mystery flasher is wearing the same red shirt that Secondborn had on.
My suspicions are further reinforced a moment later, when Firstborn flashes past the window. He is evidently in hot pursuit of his younger brother... and he's clutching his brother's pants.
Do I even want to know how this happened? No, not really. But I slip my shoes off, climb up into the tunnels, capture Secondborn, and then get Firstborn to hand me the pants. Offhand, I can't see any good way to get the pants back on the child inside the tunnels, so I slide us both down to the bottom. At last I am able to return my son's pants to their rightful place on his bottom, and once again all is right in the kingdom.
With my quest completed, I retire to my table for a well-deserved rest.
Secondborn is fierce and fearless. He has figured out that he can climb around in the tunnels, and he does. The sections that give other, older kids pause - like, say, the bits of heavy netting where you can see the floor below you - don't faze him at all. He isn't at all worried about whether anyone else comes with him, either. He just charges in, goes to the top level, and gets inside the little car. (He has a deep, strong love of anything with a steering wheel.) He'll even come down the slide on his own.
Anyway, at one point Firstborn has gone up there with him. And I have no idea what happened, but I look up to see a diaper-clad bottom flash past one of the plexiglass windows. I immediately suspect that this is my child, and this impression is reinforced by the fact that the mystery flasher is wearing the same red shirt that Secondborn had on.
My suspicions are further reinforced a moment later, when Firstborn flashes past the window. He is evidently in hot pursuit of his younger brother... and he's clutching his brother's pants.
Do I even want to know how this happened? No, not really. But I slip my shoes off, climb up into the tunnels, capture Secondborn, and then get Firstborn to hand me the pants. Offhand, I can't see any good way to get the pants back on the child inside the tunnels, so I slide us both down to the bottom. At last I am able to return my son's pants to their rightful place on his bottom, and once again all is right in the kingdom.
With my quest completed, I retire to my table for a well-deserved rest.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Classic Horror Movies From My Childhood
When I was a youngster - I'm guessing I was around seven or eight, but I might have been as young as six - the local science museum decided to do a series of Saturday morning programs. The idea was that they'd show a movie, and then talk about the science in the movie, usually with some sort of arts and crafts activity. My parents were delighted by this idea, and promptly signed me up.
This turned out to be one of the formative experiences of my childhood - or, at the very least, one of the most memorable.
I really have no idea how the museum selected these movies, but I'm pretty sure cost was a factor: they were mostly older, often black-and-white films. Naturally, they involved enough science to be worth discussing. And, of course, they had been carefully selected for their ability to scare the living NFBSK out of an eight-year-old child.
I don't remember the exact sequence, but I think they might have started us with Soylent Green. This was my introduction to the concept of overpopulation, scarcity of resources, and possibly cannibalism. I don't remember exactly what sort of gloom and doom I announced to my parents when I came home from this, but I'm sure they were thrilled to have their kid explaining the eminent end of civilization to them.
Next up (I think) was Them! I had nightmares about giant ants for a week. (Admittedly, some of them were pretty cool nightmares.) Knowing about the biological limiting factors that prevent insects from getting that big? Didn't help. Not. At. All.
Obviously I wasn't permanently scarred, though. I say this because:
A) Them! remains one of my all-time favorite films to this day.
B) I went back to the museum the following Saturday and watched yet another child-traumatizing film.
After Them! we came to Invasion of the Body Snatchers. This was really an excellent choice, since if there's one thing you want to show children, it's a film whose central lesson is, "Whatever you do, don't fall asleep!" I'm sure my parents really appreciated that one.
The one that really did me in, though, was The Swarm. This was the film that gave me really bad nightmares for at least two weeks, and launched my life-long aversion to bees and wasps. After the movie was over, we learned that in fact those bees really did exist, and that they were moving north towards the United States - coming closer every year. And how do you defend yourself against a swarm of bees? You can't shoot them, you can't hit them with sticks, you can't run fast enough to get away... this was by far the scariest thing I'd ever encountered in my life. I swear I spent the next month sleeping entire under the covers so the bees couldn't find me. It's a wonder I didn't suffocate; I wouldn't make any openings, because then the bees could get in.
Now, some of you are (no doubt) sitting there thinking, Well, that sure explains a lot about him. And you may be right, because clearly neither I nor my parents learned our lesson from this. Oh, no. A few short years later, I talked them into letting me stay up extra-late one Saturday night so I could watch the original Alien. And maybe a year after that, my father went to the library and checked out The Thing from Another World and let me watch that with him, after explaining that it was set up a lot like Alien.
So now you know the truth: I acquired my lifelong love of horror movies from a science museum.
This turned out to be one of the formative experiences of my childhood - or, at the very least, one of the most memorable.
I really have no idea how the museum selected these movies, but I'm pretty sure cost was a factor: they were mostly older, often black-and-white films. Naturally, they involved enough science to be worth discussing. And, of course, they had been carefully selected for their ability to scare the living NFBSK out of an eight-year-old child.
I don't remember the exact sequence, but I think they might have started us with Soylent Green. This was my introduction to the concept of overpopulation, scarcity of resources, and possibly cannibalism. I don't remember exactly what sort of gloom and doom I announced to my parents when I came home from this, but I'm sure they were thrilled to have their kid explaining the eminent end of civilization to them.
Next up (I think) was Them! I had nightmares about giant ants for a week. (Admittedly, some of them were pretty cool nightmares.) Knowing about the biological limiting factors that prevent insects from getting that big? Didn't help. Not. At. All.
Obviously I wasn't permanently scarred, though. I say this because:
A) Them! remains one of my all-time favorite films to this day.
B) I went back to the museum the following Saturday and watched yet another child-traumatizing film.
After Them! we came to Invasion of the Body Snatchers. This was really an excellent choice, since if there's one thing you want to show children, it's a film whose central lesson is, "Whatever you do, don't fall asleep!" I'm sure my parents really appreciated that one.
The one that really did me in, though, was The Swarm. This was the film that gave me really bad nightmares for at least two weeks, and launched my life-long aversion to bees and wasps. After the movie was over, we learned that in fact those bees really did exist, and that they were moving north towards the United States - coming closer every year. And how do you defend yourself against a swarm of bees? You can't shoot them, you can't hit them with sticks, you can't run fast enough to get away... this was by far the scariest thing I'd ever encountered in my life. I swear I spent the next month sleeping entire under the covers so the bees couldn't find me. It's a wonder I didn't suffocate; I wouldn't make any openings, because then the bees could get in.
Now, some of you are (no doubt) sitting there thinking, Well, that sure explains a lot about him. And you may be right, because clearly neither I nor my parents learned our lesson from this. Oh, no. A few short years later, I talked them into letting me stay up extra-late one Saturday night so I could watch the original Alien. And maybe a year after that, my father went to the library and checked out The Thing from Another World and let me watch that with him, after explaining that it was set up a lot like Alien.
So now you know the truth: I acquired my lifelong love of horror movies from a science museum.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
People helping people
An iFriend posted this video on Facebook. I'm sharing it here because there's just something about watching people help each other (even in something that's very clearly dramatized) that cheers me up. Admittedly, it also left me a little sniffly, so if you don't want your co-workers to catch you crying you might want to watch it at home, or at least make sure nobody else is around. (I'd pretend like I'm the sort of manly man who doesn't get reduced to tears by, say, this sort of music video - or children's cartoons, for that matter - but I've been a parent for over five years now. If I ever had those sort of pretensions, or even a tiny little shred of personal dignity, they're long gone now.)
More Christmas music
Right, so: more Christmas music that I actually enjoy. Because, hey, it's that time of year.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
A movie idea too terrifying to contemplate (sober)
Opening Scene: A darkened laboratory. Men and women in lab coats stand in front of computer consoles. Through a heavily-reinforced window, a steel sphere is visible. The sphere is supported by an elaborate network of struts, tubes and wires.
Head Researcher: "Is everything ready?"
Assistant: "Almost. We're still charging the trigger. Anders thinks another minute or two."
Head Researcher: "Cold fusion. If this works, we can solve the world's energy problems. Clean, cheap, plentiful energy."
Assistant: "If we can get enough power to start the reaction..."
Head Researcher: (nods)
Anders: "Got it!"
Head Researcher: "Okay. Anders, watch those readings. Thompson, activate the cycle."
Thompson: "Activating."
The screen goes white. A moment later, the screen goes black.
Head Researcher: "What happened?"
Thompson: "I can't tell."
Anders: "Looked like a power spike... feedback from the reactor, maybe?"
Assistant: "Did it work?"
Fade back in to lab. Resolve blurry shapes into people. Through the reinforced window is a massive, oddly-shaped tree. After a moment, its branches move.
Head Researcher: "Where did it go? And what the Hell is *that*?"
Assistant: "It looks like a giant octo-"
Window smashes as a tentacle reaches through. It coils around Assistant and drags him through the window.
Anders: "Run. Run now."
Scene 1: front of building. Tentacles can be seen waving idly around and occasionally knocking down walls behind the researchers.
Head Researcher: "What *is* that thing? Where did it come from?"
Thompson: "It looks like the leviathan."
Anders: "It what?"
Thompson: "Leviathan. Giant octopus-squid thing? Ate the pirate ship?"
Anders: "You're babbling. Where did the reactor go?"
Cut scene: A man in a rumpled fedora and a battered leather jacket jams a wedge into a stone door to hold it open, then steps through. He stares up at the ancient stone altar, and the gleaming metal sphere resting atop it. Water and steam leak from the severed ends of tubes, and loose wires hang down across the front of the altar. The man pauses to examine the pattern of tiles on the floor, then carefully starts forward.
Head Researcher: "Maybe the energy from the reaction punched through to some other reality. I can't imagine where else the monster-"
Thompson: "Leviathan!"
Anders: "Not helping."
Head Researcher: "-could have come from."
Anders: "Come on. Let's find a phone."
Thompson: "Try my cell."
Anders: "Good call." Punches in numbers. "Yes, Dean Yeager? What? Listen, this is Anders down in R&D. We have a situation... Fine, I'll wait."
Thompson: "What is that?"
Head Researcher: "What is wha- We should run again."
Winged figure drops from the sky, lands on Thompson, and launches itself back into the air. Head Researcher and Anders run for shelter.
Anders: "Yeager? Yes, it's Dr. Anders... Research... Cold fusion, remember? I think we may... have done something wrong... and... what do you mean, turn on the TV?"
Anders: "No, we're busy running."
Anders and Head Researcher duck into a bank, which against all probability seems to be empty.
Anders: "Just a... moment..." (To himself:) "I should never have given up jogging." (Into phone:) "All over what, sir?"
Anders (to Head Researcher): "Apparently a batch of skeletal pirates just sailed into San Fransisco, looted everything within three blocks of the harbor, and sailed away in a black ship. New York has some sort of giant monster running around, knocking over buildings... and it seems to be dropping smaller, poisonous cricket-monsters."
Head Researcher: "What?"
Anders: "I think you were right. I think we punched through into some other movies, and now they're loose in our world."
A young woman hurries into the bank and starts towards the empty row of desks for the tellers. She appears puzzled by their absence. Behind her, the bank door slams open, and a young man chases her in.
Young Man: "Wait! Before you leave for Spain, there's something I have to tell you. Jane, I am hopelessly in love with you!"
Jane: "Oh, Martin! I love you, too! I've tried to ignore it, but it just..."
Martin: "I know."
The pair approach each other, embrace, and kiss.
Head Researcher: "And this is because of our experiment?"
Anders: "Looks that way."
A flash of movement catches his eye. Anders turns, tensing, as a tiny figure climbs onto the desk beside him.
Anders: "Oh, no."
Tiny Figure: "Where are we? This doesn't look like the village."
Head Researcher: "...Village?"
Tiny Figure: "Our home! Say, you're really big. And all this stuff is really big. Do you live here? Can you show us around?"
More figures climb onto the tops of desks, chairs, etc.
Tiny Figure: "'Cause that would be positively Smurfy!"
Anders: "My god, what have we done?"
Head Researcher: "NOOOOO! Please, God, Noooooo!"
Head Researcher: "Is everything ready?"
Assistant: "Almost. We're still charging the trigger. Anders thinks another minute or two."
Head Researcher: "Cold fusion. If this works, we can solve the world's energy problems. Clean, cheap, plentiful energy."
Assistant: "If we can get enough power to start the reaction..."
Head Researcher: (nods)
Anders: "Got it!"
Head Researcher: "Okay. Anders, watch those readings. Thompson, activate the cycle."
Thompson: "Activating."
The screen goes white. A moment later, the screen goes black.
Head Researcher: "What happened?"
Thompson: "I can't tell."
Anders: "Looked like a power spike... feedback from the reactor, maybe?"
Assistant: "Did it work?"
Fade back in to lab. Resolve blurry shapes into people. Through the reinforced window is a massive, oddly-shaped tree. After a moment, its branches move.
Head Researcher: "Where did it go? And what the Hell is *that*?"
Assistant: "It looks like a giant octo-"
Window smashes as a tentacle reaches through. It coils around Assistant and drags him through the window.
Anders: "Run. Run now."
Scene 1: front of building. Tentacles can be seen waving idly around and occasionally knocking down walls behind the researchers.
Head Researcher: "What *is* that thing? Where did it come from?"
Thompson: "It looks like the leviathan."
Anders: "It what?"
Thompson: "Leviathan. Giant octopus-squid thing? Ate the pirate ship?"
Anders: "You're babbling. Where did the reactor go?"
Cut scene: A man in a rumpled fedora and a battered leather jacket jams a wedge into a stone door to hold it open, then steps through. He stares up at the ancient stone altar, and the gleaming metal sphere resting atop it. Water and steam leak from the severed ends of tubes, and loose wires hang down across the front of the altar. The man pauses to examine the pattern of tiles on the floor, then carefully starts forward.
Head Researcher: "Maybe the energy from the reaction punched through to some other reality. I can't imagine where else the monster-"
Thompson: "Leviathan!"
Anders: "Not helping."
Head Researcher: "-could have come from."
Anders: "Come on. Let's find a phone."
Thompson: "Try my cell."
Anders: "Good call." Punches in numbers. "Yes, Dean Yeager? What? Listen, this is Anders down in R&D. We have a situation... Fine, I'll wait."
Thompson: "What is that?"
Head Researcher: "What is wha- We should run again."
Winged figure drops from the sky, lands on Thompson, and launches itself back into the air. Head Researcher and Anders run for shelter.
Anders: "Yeager? Yes, it's Dr. Anders... Research... Cold fusion, remember? I think we may... have done something wrong... and... what do you mean, turn on the TV?"
Anders: "No, we're busy running."
Anders and Head Researcher duck into a bank, which against all probability seems to be empty.
Anders: "Just a... moment..." (To himself:) "I should never have given up jogging." (Into phone:) "All over what, sir?"
Anders (to Head Researcher): "Apparently a batch of skeletal pirates just sailed into San Fransisco, looted everything within three blocks of the harbor, and sailed away in a black ship. New York has some sort of giant monster running around, knocking over buildings... and it seems to be dropping smaller, poisonous cricket-monsters."
Head Researcher: "What?"
Anders: "I think you were right. I think we punched through into some other movies, and now they're loose in our world."
A young woman hurries into the bank and starts towards the empty row of desks for the tellers. She appears puzzled by their absence. Behind her, the bank door slams open, and a young man chases her in.
Young Man: "Wait! Before you leave for Spain, there's something I have to tell you. Jane, I am hopelessly in love with you!"
Jane: "Oh, Martin! I love you, too! I've tried to ignore it, but it just..."
Martin: "I know."
The pair approach each other, embrace, and kiss.
Head Researcher: "And this is because of our experiment?"
Anders: "Looks that way."
A flash of movement catches his eye. Anders turns, tensing, as a tiny figure climbs onto the desk beside him.
Anders: "Oh, no."
Tiny Figure: "Where are we? This doesn't look like the village."
Head Researcher: "...Village?"
Tiny Figure: "Our home! Say, you're really big. And all this stuff is really big. Do you live here? Can you show us around?"
More figures climb onto the tops of desks, chairs, etc.
Tiny Figure: "'Cause that would be positively Smurfy!"
Anders: "My god, what have we done?"
Head Researcher: "NOOOOO! Please, God, Noooooo!"
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 23
Public baptism and the end of the book
Welcome to the detailed (and spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Monday, December 19, 2011
True Parenting Moments: Restraint
I have reached a critical spot in the video game. I have my little character carefully lined up for the nearly-impossible jump that will take him into the next area. I am focused entirely on the screen in front of me and the controller in my hands.
From the couch beside me, a quiet voice says: "I was going to say something, Daddy, but I am being quiet so you can concentrate."
Why, yes. Yes you were.
From the couch beside me, a quiet voice says: "I was going to say something, Daddy, but I am being quiet so you can concentrate."
Why, yes. Yes you were.
Odd recommendation: The Innovators
I recently saw The Innovators perform, and I thought they deserved a mention here. This is going to sound a bit odd, since they are an explicitly Christian music group, meaning that their songs are basically all songs of praise. (For those of you who aren't regular readers, I'm basically an atheist... so, pretty much the exact opposite of The Innovators' target audience.)
Musically, they're very good: there's nothing sloppy or unprofessional about their performance. They opened with a couple of praise songs done in a very catchy a cappella/barbershop style. They're originally from Zimbabwe, so the next couple of songs were done in their native language (Shona, I think) and were, for me, the most enjoyable part of the show. Though I have to say, the doo-wop version of Silent Night that they closed with was fun, too.
Basically, if you're looking for a music group to include in a praise service or something like that, these guys are very good and you should check them out. They're mostly performing in and around the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex right now, but (based on their calendar) it looks like they're willing to travel.
Now, if explicitly inspirational/praise-oriented Christian music isn't your thing, you probably won't enjoy The Innovators anywhere near as much. They're not a group that I'd recommend for non-Christians or ex-Christians, as the all-praise-all-the-time vibe tends to wear on my nerves. But they knew what they were doing and they did it well, so if their material suits your beliefs you're good to go.
Musically, they're very good: there's nothing sloppy or unprofessional about their performance. They opened with a couple of praise songs done in a very catchy a cappella/barbershop style. They're originally from Zimbabwe, so the next couple of songs were done in their native language (Shona, I think) and were, for me, the most enjoyable part of the show. Though I have to say, the doo-wop version of Silent Night that they closed with was fun, too.
Basically, if you're looking for a music group to include in a praise service or something like that, these guys are very good and you should check them out. They're mostly performing in and around the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex right now, but (based on their calendar) it looks like they're willing to travel.
Now, if explicitly inspirational/praise-oriented Christian music isn't your thing, you probably won't enjoy The Innovators anywhere near as much. They're not a group that I'd recommend for non-Christians or ex-Christians, as the all-praise-all-the-time vibe tends to wear on my nerves. But they knew what they were doing and they did it well, so if their material suits your beliefs you're good to go.
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 22
You are my greatest adventure, and I almost missed it.
Welcome to the detailed (and spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Friday, December 16, 2011
Christmas Music
I've mentioned before that I'm a bit... ambivalent... about holiday music. But hey, we're almost to Christmas, so I figure I'll put up a couple of songs that I actually like. So...
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 21
Where the zombies went wrong?
Welcome to the detailed (and spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Email from my mom
This came in an e-mail from my mom. Since I know that some of you share my... idiosynctratic, yeah, that's the word for it... sense of humor, I thought I'd pass it along:
Please join me in remembering a great icon of the entertainment community. The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.
Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch. The grave site was piled high with flours.
Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded. Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was considered a very smart cookie, but wasted much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times, he still was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions.
Doughboy is survived by his wife Play dough, three children: John Dough, Jane Dough and Dosey Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop tart.
The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.
If this made you smile for even a brief second, please rise to the occasion and take time to pass it on and share that smile with someone else who may be having a crumby day and kneads a lift.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 20
Zombies and the Doctrine of Universal Monstrosity
Welcome to the detailed (and spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 19
He's Saved! Howl-elujah!
Welcome to the detailed (and spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The Pinnacle Of Awesome
Anyone who's been on the Internet for any length of time is aware of Internet memes: LOLcats, for example. Or strange and wondrous phrases ("All your ____ are belong to us.") Ninjas. Pirates.
Mostly, they're amusing. Every once in a while, though, an Internet meme gets out of hand.
I'm thinking, in particular, of bacon.
Bacon is awesome. Bacon is wonderful. Bacon is the best thing to come along since, well, ever.
Bacon is so awesome that it must be incorporated into everything. Thus, we now have bacon-flavored salt. Freeze-dried survival bacon. You can even purchase your very own talking, plush bacon to hug and cuddle between bites of bacon. I am not making this up.
You can get bacon-flavored mints, bacon-scented air fresheners, bacon flavored popcorn, and baconnaise. And I have to admit that those things are, well, pretty freakin' awesome.
But I have something better. The ultimate expression of bacon-loving. The pinnacle of awesome. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...
...bacon-flavored bacon.
I ask you, can it get any more awesome than that?
Mostly, they're amusing. Every once in a while, though, an Internet meme gets out of hand.
I'm thinking, in particular, of bacon.
Bacon is awesome. Bacon is wonderful. Bacon is the best thing to come along since, well, ever.
Bacon is so awesome that it must be incorporated into everything. Thus, we now have bacon-flavored salt. Freeze-dried survival bacon. You can even purchase your very own talking, plush bacon to hug and cuddle between bites of bacon. I am not making this up.
You can get bacon-flavored mints, bacon-scented air fresheners, bacon flavored popcorn, and baconnaise. And I have to admit that those things are, well, pretty freakin' awesome.
But I have something better. The ultimate expression of bacon-loving. The pinnacle of awesome. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...
...bacon-flavored bacon.
I ask you, can it get any more awesome than that?
Monday, December 12, 2011
Update on Night of the Living Dead Christian
We're very nearly done with the... vivisection? ...of Night of the Living Dead Christian. We're also nearly at the end of the commentary that I'd written out in advance. So I'm going to take a brief break - probably just a couple of days - and write out the last of my critique before I resume posting it here. There are... I don't know, five or six more entries at most, so we'll be done in time for Christmas.
(That will be my gift to Matt Mikalatos: he won't have to read any more of my criticism! I'm sure this will come as a great relief, though he's been a wonderfully good sport about all this.)
So, yeah. That's where we are, and that's where we're going.
(That will be my gift to Matt Mikalatos: he won't have to read any more of my criticism! I'm sure this will come as a great relief, though he's been a wonderfully good sport about all this.)
So, yeah. That's where we are, and that's where we're going.
Real Work Conversations: The Ultimate SF Movie Script
This is why I love my workplace. Well, one of the reasons.
So I'm walking down the hall, and I hear this:
Bob: "...be Highlander V. Or whatever. We could do this, we'd just need something..."
Sam: "Lightsabers."
Bob: "Yeah! No, too distinctive."
Sam: "Too copyrighted."
Me (stopping in the doorway): "Though I did once write a bit of fan fiction in which a Sith Lord was going around killing Jedi, harvesting their midichlorians, and injecting them into his own body. 'Cause after doing that for a while, there can be only one..."
Sam: "Yeah, way to mind-f*ck that childhood memory. Turns out The Force isn't some invisible energy field that surrounds us and binds us together. Turns out there are these little micro-organisms that live in your body, feeding off of you, and crapping Force into your body. And if you have enough of them, you can become a Jedi."
Bob: "And then the Umbrella Corporation got ahold of them."
Sam: "No."
Me: "No, I like this. They inject them into your body, and they give you psychic powers, except when you die you become a zombie and go out to devour the brains of Jedi. This could work."
Sam: "And they're real slow, but it doesn't matter because when you try to run they can Force-pull you back to them. Just-" (He demonstrates in pantomime.)
Bob: "We should find an RTVF Major to make this film."
Unfortunately, at that point I had to go, so I didn't get to hear how the rest of the conversation went.
So I'm walking down the hall, and I hear this:
Bob: "...be Highlander V. Or whatever. We could do this, we'd just need something..."
Sam: "Lightsabers."
Bob: "Yeah! No, too distinctive."
Sam: "Too copyrighted."
Me (stopping in the doorway): "Though I did once write a bit of fan fiction in which a Sith Lord was going around killing Jedi, harvesting their midichlorians, and injecting them into his own body. 'Cause after doing that for a while, there can be only one..."
Sam: "Yeah, way to mind-f*ck that childhood memory. Turns out The Force isn't some invisible energy field that surrounds us and binds us together. Turns out there are these little micro-organisms that live in your body, feeding off of you, and crapping Force into your body. And if you have enough of them, you can become a Jedi."
Bob: "And then the Umbrella Corporation got ahold of them."
Sam: "No."
Me: "No, I like this. They inject them into your body, and they give you psychic powers, except when you die you become a zombie and go out to devour the brains of Jedi. This could work."
Sam: "And they're real slow, but it doesn't matter because when you try to run they can Force-pull you back to them. Just-" (He demonstrates in pantomime.)
Bob: "We should find an RTVF Major to make this film."
Unfortunately, at that point I had to go, so I didn't get to hear how the rest of the conversation went.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Christian parents of atheist or agnostic children
Update as of May 22, 2012: There is now a support group on Facebook for parents who find themselves in this position. It's not a large group (I just created it yesterday), but if you're interested you can find it here: http://www.facebook.com/groups/241694482603159/ You will need a Facebook account to join.
There is also a corresponding group for the unbelieving "children" (regardless of actual age, obviously) here: http://www.facebook.com/groups/406543069389528/
I'm not sure exactly how to start this post, since it's a response to the troubles that some of my friends (in various locations) have run into recently, and I really don't want to name names or even talk about specific situations. But it seems worthwhile to look at this topic again, only this time specifically in terms of family relationships.
Before I jump in, I'd like to point out some other resources that might also be helpful:
No. It's not fun. In fact, I can pretty well guarantee that it's not fun for anybody. The best you can hope for - the absolute best - is that it won't be a very big deal.[1] That's true whether you're the Christian parent, or the atheist/agnostic[2] child. It's a difficult, tricky situation. Which brings me to my first piece of advice:
Don't panic. I know this is a huge shock for you. I realize that - depending on your particular flavor of Christianity - you may be terrified by the thought that your own flesh and blood is now bound for Hell. You may be wondering how this happened, what went wrong, whether you could have done something to prevent it, and what happens next. You may feel that the world is out of balance, that everything is wrong. But whatever you do, share as little of this reaction as possible with your child. Wait. Walk away and have your primal scream in private.[3]
Remember that however difficult, unpleasant, and horrifying this may be for you to accept, it was at least that hard for your child, too. In fact, it was probably harder. That feeling that someone just pulled the rug out from under you, or kicked a leg out from under your chair, or punched you in the gut? They've had that. And odds are, if you're reading this, they've felt that in very recent memory.
After that, watch your language. Losing your faith is almost never a quick, casual decision. For most people, it's an uncomfortable and unwelcome conclusion to a long and painful search for answers. So anything you say, or ask, that sounds like your child chose to quit being Christian is going to be unwelcome at best. At worst, it's infuriating.
Similarly, anything that has to do with their relationship with God is probably unwelcome. People who are unhappy with their church (or their minister, or their faith community) just go find another church. People who are dissatisfied with Christianity itself but still believe in some sort of divinity will move to another religion, or become "spiritual but not religious".[4] To get all the way to atheism, or even firm agnosticism, you have to conclude that either God doesn't exist, or at the very least that He isn't active in the world. And once someone has reached that point, they don't have feelings about God. They don't see religion as having anything to do with God: it's just people. As far as they can tell, it has always been just people. So they don't "hate God" and they aren't "angry at God." They can't be; for atheists, that's like being mad at Santa Claus.
That said, they can be, and probably are, angry about being told for years about God. Once someone has concluded that God doesn't exist - or even that He isn't what they were told - they tend to feel like a great many people have lied to them. They tend to feel like they've been used and manipulated. They feel betrayed. If you're seeing anger, that's where a lot of it is coming from. That's not all of it, but that's a lot.
The other part of the anger is mostly - one way or another - a reaction to pain. Losing faith is painful. Losing faith means asking questions that peers, family, and authority figures may find uncomfortable, unwelcome, or inappropriate. (It feels a bit like admitting to people that you have a communicable disease.) In the process of losing their faith, a lot of people also lose friends, relationships, even entire communities. At its worst, losing your faith is like losing your whole world - or, worse, losing yourself. It's an experience of finding out that you aren't who you thought you were, that things you'd always relied on weren't true, or weren't there. This experience is made worse by the fact that very few people understand (and fewer accept) what the disaffected Christian is going through as they lose their faith - especially in more conservative, religious communities.
Basically, you should try to avoid anything that trivializes their loss of faith: anything that makes it sound like they're just being silly or childish or petulant; anything that makes it sound like a simple choice; and - and here's the hard part - anything that treats their lack of belief as something other than a lack of belief. Telling a former believer that they just had a bad experience with the church, or that they're just mad at God, sends a very clear message that you have no idea what happened to them and aren't interested in finding out.
Listen to people who know. As a rule, Christianity doesn't really prepare its adherents for the idea of people losing their faith. Changing from one denomination to another, sure - but dropping out of Christianity entirely? Rare few churches ever talk about that. Most churches assume that atheists have never heard of the Gospel, or at the very least that they've never been exposed to true Christianity. A casual reading of the Apostle Paul would suggest that there's no such thing as an atheist, that God's presence is so unambiguously obvious that anyone who denies His existence must clearly be in rebellion against Him. There are several problems with these views, but even if they were irrefutably true, here and now they're just not helpful.
By the same token, talking with your minister (priest, pastor, whatever) might be helpful, but odds are good that they don't have a lot more experience with this than you do. Despite what you (and they) might hope, their training isn't likely to be especially helpful, either. So by all means ask them for advice, but take their answers with a grain of salt (or, in some cases, an entire salt mine).
You know who's going to best understand what your child is going through? That's right... it's your child. Listen to what your child has to say about his or her experience. But - and this is a very big "but" - remember that losing faith is a process. It's not like buying a car, where one day you can just decide to go out and do it, and then it's done. Your child may not be able to fully articulate everything that went into their loss of faith, particularly not in a way that make sense to you. So listen. Ask questions if you must. Take time to think over what they tell you. Above all, do not demand answers. If you can accept that you may never understand what happened, that will probably help.
Treat your child like an adult. The age of the child is going to make a big difference, here. High-school or college age children may just be "going through a phase" or "rebelling" or what have you. Then again, they may not. I myself wandered away from Christianity in my early teens; I'm creeping up on forty now, and Christian beliefs still don't make any sense to me.[5] Either way, it's best to treat your child as if this is a serious conclusion that they've legitimately worked their way to.
That's doubly important if your children actually are independent adults. I shouldn't even have to say that, but I keep running into parents who can't seem to process the fact that their children can, in fact, make decisions and reach conclusions on their own. Despite the fact that these "children" are completely self reliant, gainfully employed, married, and/or parents in their own right, their parents either can't or won't acknowledge that they have the right and ability to be self-determining.
Be ready to make some adjustments. If your child is still at home, forcing them to go to church with you isn't going to magically turn them back into a Christian - in fact, it's rather more likely to drive them further away. The same goes for leaving tracts around for them to find. If you, or they, aren't comfortable talking about religion - or can't discuss it calmly, or whatever - then put the topic off-limits. (Sort like the "Don't talk politics at the family gathering" rule. Remember that one? The one that was put in place because Uncle Charlie loves to argue, and holds political opinions that are diametrically opposed to those of everyone else in the family, and can't or won't pull back before things get really unpleasant?) If your grown child isn't comfortable with taking your grandchildren to church, let it go. It's not that important, and it's not like they're going to grow up never hearing about Jesus.[6] Take a deep breath, be flexible, and try to focus on what's really important: your relationship with your child.
Above all, have faith. I know that sounds funny coming from me, but I'm serious. If you can't trust in your child, trust in God. Do you really think He's just going to let them fall? (If you just said yes, are we talking about the same deity? He'd sacrifice His only Son to save everyone, but you think He's just going to stand by when it comes to your child?) Do you really think He's all that concerned about whether or not they're aware of His presence? Especially when compared to, say, how they're living their lives?
Don't let your confusion and fear try to tell you the limits of God's grace and mercy. Have faith. Trust.
* * *
So that's my advice. I hope it helps. Comments are open. If there's something you'd like to add - something I missed, or something you think I got wrong - please contribute. If you have questions, please ask. If you've found other resources helpful, let us know. Discovering that your child has lost his or her faith is a difficult, unpleasant situation, but you can work through it and you can keep your family intact.
[1] At worst... well, I know of one case where a high school senior was kicked out of his house, his possessions tossed out on the yard to get rained on; not just disowned, but disavowed entirely.
[2] A quick note on terminology: "atheism" is generally defined as the belief that there is (or are) no God (or gods). Agnosticism is generally defined as uncertainty about the existence of God, or sometimes as the belief that it's impossible to really know whether or not God exists. In practice, there's a huge amount of overlap between those two positions. There are a lot of atheists who prefer to define the term not as definite belief that God does not exist, but as a lack of belief that God does exist. There are plenty of agnostics who are functionally atheist: since they see no definite evidence proof of God's existence, they assume that He doesn't exist.
[3] I realize that if you've looked this up on the Internet, it's probably just exactly too late for this advice. I stand by it nevertheless.
[4] Oddly, a lot of people find this easier to accept than the notion that their child doesn't believe in the supernatural at all. I say "oddly" because from a theological perspective, it makes no sense: in most Christian doctrine, a Buddhist is just as damned as an atheist. Though in all honesty, I think this particular part of Christian doctrine is based on a seriously misguided reading of the Bible.
[5] So my parents have been coping with my lack of belief for quite a long time, now.
[6] Seriously, in modern, Western nations, that's essentially impossible. Everybody hears about Jesus.
There is also a corresponding group for the unbelieving "children" (regardless of actual age, obviously) here: http://www.facebook.com/groups/406543069389528/
I'm not sure exactly how to start this post, since it's a response to the troubles that some of my friends (in various locations) have run into recently, and I really don't want to name names or even talk about specific situations. But it seems worthwhile to look at this topic again, only this time specifically in terms of family relationships.
Before I jump in, I'd like to point out some other resources that might also be helpful:
- Friendly Evangelism - a while back, I wrote a series of posts on how Christians can talk to ex-Christians and non-Christians without driving them away, starting arguments, or giving offense. (It's best to scroll down and start at the beginning.)
- Alise... Write! - Alise is a Christian whose (formerly Christian) husband lost his faith. She has some very interesting material on moving into and being part of an "unevenly-yoked" marriage. (Again, it's best to scroll down and start at the beginning.)
- Better a good atheist than a bad Christian - John Shore talks about priorities.
- What to do if your college-aged child turns his back on Judaism - Shula J Asher Silberstein's article is aimed at Jewish parents, but there's plenty there to help Christian parents as well.
No. It's not fun. In fact, I can pretty well guarantee that it's not fun for anybody. The best you can hope for - the absolute best - is that it won't be a very big deal.[1] That's true whether you're the Christian parent, or the atheist/agnostic[2] child. It's a difficult, tricky situation. Which brings me to my first piece of advice:
Don't panic. I know this is a huge shock for you. I realize that - depending on your particular flavor of Christianity - you may be terrified by the thought that your own flesh and blood is now bound for Hell. You may be wondering how this happened, what went wrong, whether you could have done something to prevent it, and what happens next. You may feel that the world is out of balance, that everything is wrong. But whatever you do, share as little of this reaction as possible with your child. Wait. Walk away and have your primal scream in private.[3]
Remember that however difficult, unpleasant, and horrifying this may be for you to accept, it was at least that hard for your child, too. In fact, it was probably harder. That feeling that someone just pulled the rug out from under you, or kicked a leg out from under your chair, or punched you in the gut? They've had that. And odds are, if you're reading this, they've felt that in very recent memory.
After that, watch your language. Losing your faith is almost never a quick, casual decision. For most people, it's an uncomfortable and unwelcome conclusion to a long and painful search for answers. So anything you say, or ask, that sounds like your child chose to quit being Christian is going to be unwelcome at best. At worst, it's infuriating.
Similarly, anything that has to do with their relationship with God is probably unwelcome. People who are unhappy with their church (or their minister, or their faith community) just go find another church. People who are dissatisfied with Christianity itself but still believe in some sort of divinity will move to another religion, or become "spiritual but not religious".[4] To get all the way to atheism, or even firm agnosticism, you have to conclude that either God doesn't exist, or at the very least that He isn't active in the world. And once someone has reached that point, they don't have feelings about God. They don't see religion as having anything to do with God: it's just people. As far as they can tell, it has always been just people. So they don't "hate God" and they aren't "angry at God." They can't be; for atheists, that's like being mad at Santa Claus.
That said, they can be, and probably are, angry about being told for years about God. Once someone has concluded that God doesn't exist - or even that He isn't what they were told - they tend to feel like a great many people have lied to them. They tend to feel like they've been used and manipulated. They feel betrayed. If you're seeing anger, that's where a lot of it is coming from. That's not all of it, but that's a lot.
The other part of the anger is mostly - one way or another - a reaction to pain. Losing faith is painful. Losing faith means asking questions that peers, family, and authority figures may find uncomfortable, unwelcome, or inappropriate. (It feels a bit like admitting to people that you have a communicable disease.) In the process of losing their faith, a lot of people also lose friends, relationships, even entire communities. At its worst, losing your faith is like losing your whole world - or, worse, losing yourself. It's an experience of finding out that you aren't who you thought you were, that things you'd always relied on weren't true, or weren't there. This experience is made worse by the fact that very few people understand (and fewer accept) what the disaffected Christian is going through as they lose their faith - especially in more conservative, religious communities.
Basically, you should try to avoid anything that trivializes their loss of faith: anything that makes it sound like they're just being silly or childish or petulant; anything that makes it sound like a simple choice; and - and here's the hard part - anything that treats their lack of belief as something other than a lack of belief. Telling a former believer that they just had a bad experience with the church, or that they're just mad at God, sends a very clear message that you have no idea what happened to them and aren't interested in finding out.
Listen to people who know. As a rule, Christianity doesn't really prepare its adherents for the idea of people losing their faith. Changing from one denomination to another, sure - but dropping out of Christianity entirely? Rare few churches ever talk about that. Most churches assume that atheists have never heard of the Gospel, or at the very least that they've never been exposed to true Christianity. A casual reading of the Apostle Paul would suggest that there's no such thing as an atheist, that God's presence is so unambiguously obvious that anyone who denies His existence must clearly be in rebellion against Him. There are several problems with these views, but even if they were irrefutably true, here and now they're just not helpful.
By the same token, talking with your minister (priest, pastor, whatever) might be helpful, but odds are good that they don't have a lot more experience with this than you do. Despite what you (and they) might hope, their training isn't likely to be especially helpful, either. So by all means ask them for advice, but take their answers with a grain of salt (or, in some cases, an entire salt mine).
You know who's going to best understand what your child is going through? That's right... it's your child. Listen to what your child has to say about his or her experience. But - and this is a very big "but" - remember that losing faith is a process. It's not like buying a car, where one day you can just decide to go out and do it, and then it's done. Your child may not be able to fully articulate everything that went into their loss of faith, particularly not in a way that make sense to you. So listen. Ask questions if you must. Take time to think over what they tell you. Above all, do not demand answers. If you can accept that you may never understand what happened, that will probably help.
Treat your child like an adult. The age of the child is going to make a big difference, here. High-school or college age children may just be "going through a phase" or "rebelling" or what have you. Then again, they may not. I myself wandered away from Christianity in my early teens; I'm creeping up on forty now, and Christian beliefs still don't make any sense to me.[5] Either way, it's best to treat your child as if this is a serious conclusion that they've legitimately worked their way to.
That's doubly important if your children actually are independent adults. I shouldn't even have to say that, but I keep running into parents who can't seem to process the fact that their children can, in fact, make decisions and reach conclusions on their own. Despite the fact that these "children" are completely self reliant, gainfully employed, married, and/or parents in their own right, their parents either can't or won't acknowledge that they have the right and ability to be self-determining.
Be ready to make some adjustments. If your child is still at home, forcing them to go to church with you isn't going to magically turn them back into a Christian - in fact, it's rather more likely to drive them further away. The same goes for leaving tracts around for them to find. If you, or they, aren't comfortable talking about religion - or can't discuss it calmly, or whatever - then put the topic off-limits. (Sort like the "Don't talk politics at the family gathering" rule. Remember that one? The one that was put in place because Uncle Charlie loves to argue, and holds political opinions that are diametrically opposed to those of everyone else in the family, and can't or won't pull back before things get really unpleasant?) If your grown child isn't comfortable with taking your grandchildren to church, let it go. It's not that important, and it's not like they're going to grow up never hearing about Jesus.[6] Take a deep breath, be flexible, and try to focus on what's really important: your relationship with your child.
Above all, have faith. I know that sounds funny coming from me, but I'm serious. If you can't trust in your child, trust in God. Do you really think He's just going to let them fall? (If you just said yes, are we talking about the same deity? He'd sacrifice His only Son to save everyone, but you think He's just going to stand by when it comes to your child?) Do you really think He's all that concerned about whether or not they're aware of His presence? Especially when compared to, say, how they're living their lives?
Don't let your confusion and fear try to tell you the limits of God's grace and mercy. Have faith. Trust.
So that's my advice. I hope it helps. Comments are open. If there's something you'd like to add - something I missed, or something you think I got wrong - please contribute. If you have questions, please ask. If you've found other resources helpful, let us know. Discovering that your child has lost his or her faith is a difficult, unpleasant situation, but you can work through it and you can keep your family intact.
[1] At worst... well, I know of one case where a high school senior was kicked out of his house, his possessions tossed out on the yard to get rained on; not just disowned, but disavowed entirely.
[2] A quick note on terminology: "atheism" is generally defined as the belief that there is (or are) no God (or gods). Agnosticism is generally defined as uncertainty about the existence of God, or sometimes as the belief that it's impossible to really know whether or not God exists. In practice, there's a huge amount of overlap between those two positions. There are a lot of atheists who prefer to define the term not as definite belief that God does not exist, but as a lack of belief that God does exist. There are plenty of agnostics who are functionally atheist: since they see no definite evidence proof of God's existence, they assume that He doesn't exist.
[3] I realize that if you've looked this up on the Internet, it's probably just exactly too late for this advice. I stand by it nevertheless.
[4] Oddly, a lot of people find this easier to accept than the notion that their child doesn't believe in the supernatural at all. I say "oddly" because from a theological perspective, it makes no sense: in most Christian doctrine, a Buddhist is just as damned as an atheist. Though in all honesty, I think this particular part of Christian doctrine is based on a seriously misguided reading of the Bible.
[5] So my parents have been coping with my lack of belief for quite a long time, now.
[6] Seriously, in modern, Western nations, that's essentially impossible. Everybody hears about Jesus.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 18
Inside the burning church
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Christmas Angels
Some of you may be wondering where the custom of setting an angel at the very top of a Christmas tree comes from. Well...
As I understand the story, one year Santa was very busy. The elves were disorganized, the reindeer were slacking off, Mrs. Claus had just burnt the cookies. Nothing seemed to be going right.
Up in Heaven, God looked down and noticed that Christmas was in serious danger of being late - they didn't even have the tree set up in the toy factory yet! So He sent one of His angels down to help.
There at the North Pole, one of the management elves had just finished telling Santa that they'd lost a whole ream of wish lists, and that Rudolph was violently ill from overeating, and that they were having trouble with the runners on the sled. The angel arrived right about then, and finds Santa talking with this elf beside their Christmas tree - which is still lying on the factory floor, waiting to be set up.
Well, the angel heads over there to help. Santa looks up at the angel's arrival (which is yet another unwelcome interruption) and the angel asks: "What should I do with this tree?"
The rest is history.
As I understand the story, one year Santa was very busy. The elves were disorganized, the reindeer were slacking off, Mrs. Claus had just burnt the cookies. Nothing seemed to be going right.
Up in Heaven, God looked down and noticed that Christmas was in serious danger of being late - they didn't even have the tree set up in the toy factory yet! So He sent one of His angels down to help.
There at the North Pole, one of the management elves had just finished telling Santa that they'd lost a whole ream of wish lists, and that Rudolph was violently ill from overeating, and that they were having trouble with the runners on the sled. The angel arrived right about then, and finds Santa talking with this elf beside their Christmas tree - which is still lying on the factory floor, waiting to be set up.
Well, the angel heads over there to help. Santa looks up at the angel's arrival (which is yet another unwelcome interruption) and the angel asks: "What should I do with this tree?"
The rest is history.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Christmas for non-Christians
We celebrate Christmas. Or solstice, or Saturnalia, or whatever. We have stockings, Christmas trees, presents. Firstborn helped set up the manger scene at my parents’ house this past weekend. (It has a delightful collection of little pewter animals, and my father built a sort of lincoln-logs-on-a-wooden-base setup for the manger itself.) We won’t be attending services, let alone midnight mass, because, y’know, we’re not actually Christian in a religious sense.
Even so, there’s plenty to celebrate. For one thing, there's a lot of Christmas that isn’t actually Christian in a religious sense. And culturally, we are Christian: Christianity is the first thing that comes to mind when we think of religion, Christian holidays are the ones we grew up celebrating, and Christian churches are the ones that we will definitely not be attending.
I've ranted before about my deep and profound loathing for the holiday season, but the holiday itself I rather like. And despite my lack of religious faith, I don't see any particular reason not to celebrate the parts I enjoy.
The Christmas songs are, of course, explicitly religious, but that's not as hard to fix as you might think:
Or...
Or you could go with something more contemporary; I was recently introduced to White Wine in the Sun:
Whatever you're doing for the holidays, be safe and enjoy yourselves. Feel free to talk about your plans, traditions - or, if you prefer, your deep hatred for retail work and general disgust with Christmas Carols - in the comments. Or correct my German. Or whatever. Consider this an open thread.
Even so, there’s plenty to celebrate. For one thing, there's a lot of Christmas that isn’t actually Christian in a religious sense. And culturally, we are Christian: Christianity is the first thing that comes to mind when we think of religion, Christian holidays are the ones we grew up celebrating, and Christian churches are the ones that we will definitely not be attending.
I've ranted before about my deep and profound loathing for the holiday season, but the holiday itself I rather like. And despite my lack of religious faith, I don't see any particular reason not to celebrate the parts I enjoy.
The Christmas songs are, of course, explicitly religious, but that's not as hard to fix as you might think:
Adeste infideles, laeti triumphantes;
venite et bibate cervisia!
Or...
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Ich habe dich getötet.
Ich schneide sie ab und brachte sie in.
Mein Boden ist in Ihrem Nadeln begraben.
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Ich hätte lassen Sie wachsen!
Or you could go with something more contemporary; I was recently introduced to White Wine in the Sun:
Whatever you're doing for the holidays, be safe and enjoy yourselves. Feel free to talk about your plans, traditions - or, if you prefer, your deep hatred for retail work and general disgust with Christmas Carols - in the comments. Or correct my German. Or whatever. Consider this an open thread.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 17
Finally, an explanation of sorts...
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Monday, December 5, 2011
'Tis the season!
I'm thinking of starting a collection. Now, some people might consider stamps, or rare books, or art. Me, I'm thinking brains. In jars. I'll take them from the people who have decided that the holiday season excuses them from driving with even a bare minimum of safety and courtesy.
This, by the way, is why I should never be given Vast Supernatural Powers. (Or psychic abilities. Or a Power Ring. Or super soldier serum. Etc.)
This, by the way, is why I should never be given Vast Supernatural Powers. (Or psychic abilities. Or a Power Ring. Or super soldier serum. Etc.)
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 16
Werewolf vs. werewolf hunter: BRAWL!
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Friday, December 2, 2011
Not pedantic - precise!
Let's be perfectly clear about this. I am not pedantic. I'm precise.
True, I'm very careful to find exactly the right words to express every nuance of my thoughts. And it's important to make sure that I address every single point relevant to the topic at hand. Sure, maybe that requires using footnotes[1] from time to time, but there's nothing pedantic about that. Footnotes are an easy way of making sure that you include everything without losing track of the main focus of your topic. They're a sign of organization, not pedantry.
And yes, as a matter of fact, it is important to address every little factual inaccuracy, even if the intended meaning is perfectly clear. Accuracy matters, after all. Plus, you never know when a particular distinction, however subtle or unimportant in its current context, might become an issue of vital importance in some other setting. So clearly it's best to correct these issues as early as possible.
I'm not pedantic; I'm precise. That's all there is to it, really.[2]
[1] This didn't require a footnote.
[2] Okay, maybe not. I'd also like to remind you that I have opinions.
True, I'm very careful to find exactly the right words to express every nuance of my thoughts. And it's important to make sure that I address every single point relevant to the topic at hand. Sure, maybe that requires using footnotes[1] from time to time, but there's nothing pedantic about that. Footnotes are an easy way of making sure that you include everything without losing track of the main focus of your topic. They're a sign of organization, not pedantry.
And yes, as a matter of fact, it is important to address every little factual inaccuracy, even if the intended meaning is perfectly clear. Accuracy matters, after all. Plus, you never know when a particular distinction, however subtle or unimportant in its current context, might become an issue of vital importance in some other setting. So clearly it's best to correct these issues as early as possible.
I'm not pedantic; I'm precise. That's all there is to it, really.[2]
[1] This didn't require a footnote.
[2] Okay, maybe not. I'd also like to remind you that I have opinions.
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 15
Luther... I am your father... Search your feelings. You know it to be true.
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 14
The Clockwork Project
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Who needs electricity?
It turns out that a two-hour power outage will do wonders to focus one's attention on the end of the world story that one is attempting to work on.
Fortunately, the laptop has more than enough battery to cope.
Fortunately, the laptop has more than enough battery to cope.
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 13
Reflecting on the fight...
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Parenthood: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
The Good: Secondborn tried to put on my glasses. This was funny. They're about twice the size of his face. This was also basically harmless, as he managed it without breaking anything or even bending the frames.
The Bad: His idea of "put on Daddy's glasses" involves grabbing them by the lenses and wrestling them into place. So, y'know, fingerprints. Everywhere.
The Ugly: Secondborn had just finished eating a large meal of Honey-Seared Chicken. So there weren't just fingerprints on the lenses, there were great, slimy, sticky fingerprints on the lenses.
I have to applaud his effort, really. I mean, most kids are naturally messy, but this was a whole new level of "smeared beyond any possible use." Fortunately, I don't actually require my glasses in order to drive. And it wasn't terribly hard to clean, once I got to the cleaning supplies. And it was entirely too cute to be annoying.
The Bad: His idea of "put on Daddy's glasses" involves grabbing them by the lenses and wrestling them into place. So, y'know, fingerprints. Everywhere.
The Ugly: Secondborn had just finished eating a large meal of Honey-Seared Chicken. So there weren't just fingerprints on the lenses, there were great, slimy, sticky fingerprints on the lenses.
I have to applaud his effort, really. I mean, most kids are naturally messy, but this was a whole new level of "smeared beyond any possible use." Fortunately, I don't actually require my glasses in order to drive. And it wasn't terribly hard to clean, once I got to the cleaning supplies. And it was entirely too cute to be annoying.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Am I an adult yet?
Over at Forever in Hell, Personal Failure has asked if anyone out there feels like an adult, or if we're all pretty much faking it.
I'm... ambivalent.
I mean, I have a job, and I've managed to remain employed at the same place for ten years now, so in that sense I think I'm an adult. I'm married (arguably re-married), and we mostly don't get into fights over stupid stuff...
Well, okay, there was that one argument in Target, with "They're golden dreams" on her side, and "Red, Gold, and Green" on my side - she insisted that the lyrics made more sense in her version, but I stayed firm on the point that nevertheless those weren't the words that Boy George had actually written.
But, really, aside from that one incident, we don't fight much and we work together very well; that feels like being an adult.
And then there's being a parent. My parents didn't raise children, exactly. It was more like they raised future adults, and I'm trying to do the same thing with my kids. And that means taking their thoughts, questions, and concerns seriously; it means expecting them to act responsibly, and (within reason) trusting them to make their own decisions.
On the other hand, I'm thrilled to have kids because now I don't look so weird when I buy toys, or watch superhero movies, or play video games. I still write stories about unlikely heroes who discover powerful magic swords and go off to save the world. I was completely undone - like, reduced to helpless sobbing - by the ending of Astro Boy. I remain grievously disappointed that my mutant power still hasn't manifested (at age 38 - clearly I'm just a late bloomer).
So I don't know. I don't think being an adult means what I used to think it meant. It doesn't mean knowing what you're doing all the time. I don't think it means being serious and sober all the time. I don't think it even means being responsible, beyond whatever is strictly necessary. On the other hand, I think it does mean having a good, working idea of what is strictly necessary. I think it means understanding what's important, and worth fighting for/over; and learning to ignore or not worry too much about the things that aren't important or that you can't help/do/fix. I think it means learning that you aren't the only important person in the world.
I'm... ambivalent.
I mean, I have a job, and I've managed to remain employed at the same place for ten years now, so in that sense I think I'm an adult. I'm married (arguably re-married), and we mostly don't get into fights over stupid stuff...
Well, okay, there was that one argument in Target, with "They're golden dreams" on her side, and "Red, Gold, and Green" on my side - she insisted that the lyrics made more sense in her version, but I stayed firm on the point that nevertheless those weren't the words that Boy George had actually written.
But, really, aside from that one incident, we don't fight much and we work together very well; that feels like being an adult.
And then there's being a parent. My parents didn't raise children, exactly. It was more like they raised future adults, and I'm trying to do the same thing with my kids. And that means taking their thoughts, questions, and concerns seriously; it means expecting them to act responsibly, and (within reason) trusting them to make their own decisions.
On the other hand, I'm thrilled to have kids because now I don't look so weird when I buy toys, or watch superhero movies, or play video games. I still write stories about unlikely heroes who discover powerful magic swords and go off to save the world. I was completely undone - like, reduced to helpless sobbing - by the ending of Astro Boy. I remain grievously disappointed that my mutant power still hasn't manifested (at age 38 - clearly I'm just a late bloomer).
So I don't know. I don't think being an adult means what I used to think it meant. It doesn't mean knowing what you're doing all the time. I don't think it means being serious and sober all the time. I don't think it even means being responsible, beyond whatever is strictly necessary. On the other hand, I think it does mean having a good, working idea of what is strictly necessary. I think it means understanding what's important, and worth fighting for/over; and learning to ignore or not worry too much about the things that aren't important or that you can't help/do/fix. I think it means learning that you aren't the only important person in the world.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 12
The monster in the mirror...
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Sunday, November 27, 2011
National Novel Writing Month
Here's why I don't participate in NaNoWriMo. I just went back to work on one of my projects. It's a book-length idea. Probably the first in a series, actually. (I've talked about it before - it's the "other project" mentioned in this post.)
I have eight pages done. So, y'know, so far, so good. Especially since I started writing it towards the end of October...
...2009.
No, that's not depressing AT ALL.
But you know what? I'm not going to sit here and tell you why it takes absolutely bloody forever to get any writing projects done. Instead, I'm going to take the time I have now, and see if I can at least fill page nine.
So what about you? Working on anything for NaNoWriMo? Got any other projects - writing, artistic, crafty - that you'd like to talk about? Comments are open.
I have eight pages done. So, y'know, so far, so good. Especially since I started writing it towards the end of October...
...2009.
No, that's not depressing AT ALL.
But you know what? I'm not going to sit here and tell you why it takes absolutely bloody forever to get any writing projects done. Instead, I'm going to take the time I have now, and see if I can at least fill page nine.
So what about you? Working on anything for NaNoWriMo? Got any other projects - writing, artistic, crafty - that you'd like to talk about? Comments are open.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Another request from the search logs
I've noted before that people find this blog through a variety of improbable and surprising search terms. Often, I suspect, they're disappointed: for one reason or another, what's actually here isn't quite what they were looking for. And I'm very sure that was the case in our most recent example, who was searching for "spider bondage sexy art".
I say this because I have exactly one spider picture on this blog, and it isn't sexy. But, as Bigweld says, "See a need, fill a need." And here at Mock Ramblings, we are all about helping out our fellow spider fetishists, as well as anyone else who happens along. So, in the spirit of brotherhood and solidarity, I offer you Spider Bondage Sexy Art:
I say this because I have exactly one spider picture on this blog, and it isn't sexy. But, as Bigweld says, "See a need, fill a need." And here at Mock Ramblings, we are all about helping out our fellow spider fetishists, as well as anyone else who happens along. So, in the spirit of brotherhood and solidarity, I offer you Spider Bondage Sexy Art:
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Thanksgiving schedule
I don't expect to be on the computer this weekend. At least, not very much.
I do have one story idea, but I doubt I'll be able to write it. If I manage it, it'll go up tomorrow (Thanksgiving) around mid-morning. Otherwise, it's going to be pretty quiet around here until at least Monday.
So... consider this an open thread. Possible topics include:
I do have one story idea, but I doubt I'll be able to write it. If I manage it, it'll go up tomorrow (Thanksgiving) around mid-morning. Otherwise, it's going to be pretty quiet around here until at least Monday.
So... consider this an open thread. Possible topics include:
- Super heroes
- Monsters
- How you're preparing for the zombie apocalypse
- Whether or not anyone would even notice the zombie apocalypse if it happened during the Black Friday sales
- Whether Dr. Who could successfully prevent Gojira from destroying Tokyo
- Thanksgiving and/or what you're thankful for
- Were-turkeys vs. zombie elves: who wins?
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 11
The furry-ous showdown...
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
I don't know where they get it, really
So Firstborn - who is five - threw one of his toys inside the house tonight. This is a direct violation of one of our long-standing rules, plus we'd just warned him not to. So we took it away.
He ran off to his room yelling, "Evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil!"
I managed to get a pillow over my face before I burst out laughing. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have appreciated that.
A bit later he got into a sort of snit and essentially ran over his little brother (who's about nineteen months old - call it a year and a half). So Secondborn fell down, and I think got the wind knocked out of him. And we decided, at about seven o'clock in the evening, that it was clearly time for bed.
Secondborn got a shower first, then got put in his bed. He seems to be okay; he cried a bit and then went to sleep.
Firstborn got sent to his room, and put in his sleeping clothes, and then he had his teeth brushed. He told us he was feeling bad - which he probably is, he's almost never this careless unless he's sick or getting sick. After lying in bed in the dark for a while, he asked if he could have a story. I told him that it was bedtime, and that he was not getting a story tonight, and that this was because he was in trouble for running over his brother.
Now he's laying on his bed and moaning. "I am doomed. Doomed. I do not care, I am doomed." And just a moment ago: "I was right. I am doomed. Totally right: doomed."
He is so melodramatic. I don't know where he gets it from. It's all very mysterious, really.
He ran off to his room yelling, "Evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil-evil!"
I managed to get a pillow over my face before I burst out laughing. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have appreciated that.
A bit later he got into a sort of snit and essentially ran over his little brother (who's about nineteen months old - call it a year and a half). So Secondborn fell down, and I think got the wind knocked out of him. And we decided, at about seven o'clock in the evening, that it was clearly time for bed.
Secondborn got a shower first, then got put in his bed. He seems to be okay; he cried a bit and then went to sleep.
Firstborn got sent to his room, and put in his sleeping clothes, and then he had his teeth brushed. He told us he was feeling bad - which he probably is, he's almost never this careless unless he's sick or getting sick. After lying in bed in the dark for a while, he asked if he could have a story. I told him that it was bedtime, and that he was not getting a story tonight, and that this was because he was in trouble for running over his brother.
Now he's laying on his bed and moaning. "I am doomed. Doomed. I do not care, I am doomed." And just a moment ago: "I was right. I am doomed. Totally right: doomed."
He is so melodramatic. I don't know where he gets it from. It's all very mysterious, really.
Random thoughts on parenting
Firstborn is about five and half years old now. Secondborn is about nineteen months old - call it a year and a half. And even taking those ages into account, they're very different children.
The developmental stuff is pretty close. Firstborn is learning to read and do basic math, and doesn't seem to have any problems with either subject. Secondborn can say a handful of words, and just learned to hop in a way that gets both feet of the ground. He understands a startling amount of English, he just hasn't figured out how to produce the words himself. This is, I think, roughly where his older brother was at the same age.
But there are some noteworthy differences. Firstborn got his teeth relatively early; Secondborn's teeth are still coming in. Despite this, Secondborn has been eating grown-up food, exclusively, for months now. All the Stage 1 mush, the Stage 3 hot-dogs-in-slime that Firstborn was still eating at two-and-half years old? Secondborn won't touch them.
Secondborn is vastly more interested in vehicles than Firstborn ever was (or is now, for that matter). He rides the tricycles around at my parents' house, which Firstborn never did. And he's surprisingly adept at it: he can stop within two inches of my ankle, and he does. He plays with (and carries around) the Hotwheels cars - which were only mildly and briefly interesting to Firstborn.
In geek terms: Firstborn is the Transformers kid. He wants to be the giant robot that turns into other things. Secondborn is the Robotech kid: he wants to drive the giant robot that turns into other things.
The developmental stuff is pretty close. Firstborn is learning to read and do basic math, and doesn't seem to have any problems with either subject. Secondborn can say a handful of words, and just learned to hop in a way that gets both feet of the ground. He understands a startling amount of English, he just hasn't figured out how to produce the words himself. This is, I think, roughly where his older brother was at the same age.
But there are some noteworthy differences. Firstborn got his teeth relatively early; Secondborn's teeth are still coming in. Despite this, Secondborn has been eating grown-up food, exclusively, for months now. All the Stage 1 mush, the Stage 3 hot-dogs-in-slime that Firstborn was still eating at two-and-half years old? Secondborn won't touch them.
Secondborn is vastly more interested in vehicles than Firstborn ever was (or is now, for that matter). He rides the tricycles around at my parents' house, which Firstborn never did. And he's surprisingly adept at it: he can stop within two inches of my ankle, and he does. He plays with (and carries around) the Hotwheels cars - which were only mildly and briefly interesting to Firstborn.
In geek terms: Firstborn is the Transformers kid. He wants to be the giant robot that turns into other things. Secondborn is the Robotech kid: he wants to drive the giant robot that turns into other things.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Time Wasting Survey: Time Machine
It's pretty quiet, but I'm too tired to focus on writing anything actually useful. So I turn to you, gentle readers, for answers to the most important question of this century[1]:
What's the first thing you would do if you created a working time machine?
[1] Or any century, really.
What's the first thing you would do if you created a working time machine?
[1] Or any century, really.
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 10
It's the psychology of the thing...
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Reflections on Communication
Well, he's officially missing again. Not that the Watchers could be bother to tell little ol' me, of course. No, I got the word from our friend Billy, after my boyfriend failed to come home for three days in row. And I had to call them in order to find out.
In their defense, Billy and Crystal apparently assumed that I knew already. They were... "appalled" is a good word... that I hadn't been told. So the blame pretty much falls on the Watchers, or the Elders, and until I learn better, the woman who's supposed to be training my boyfriend: Kate.
This is Claire, of course, in case you hadn't picked that up already. You know, the Deranged Cultist's girlfriend. Or just the Deranged Girlfriend. The more I think about that, the more it seems to fit.
Anyway, apparently my boyfriend was watching this researcher - let's call him "Dr. Fine". Dr. Fine was trying to see if there was any sort of psychic connection to be found between his sleeping subjects: shared images, a collective unconscious, atavistic memories... stuff like that. Now, all those things exist - but most of the time, for most people, they're completely inaccessible. That's... a lot less true for a lot of my boyfriend's fellow cultists, apparently.
According to Billy, they decided to send my boyfriend in to take part of the research and find out more about what Dr. Fine was doing. They chose him because he doesn't have any of those dream connections. (That led me to wonder: the business with the Place Of Mists started as a series of dreams, so maybe they were wrong about that? I don't know. Maybe we'll find out. But that's something I can check, so I'll do that tonight.) Anyway, my boyfriend went to the sleep lab and joined the test subjects, and... something went wrong. About midway through the night, the bed was empty.
Crystal thinks that whatever Dr. Fine was doing interacted with the way that one of the Watchers was observing my boyfriend. She thinks so because while that Watcher is still around physically, he dropped into a deep coma at precisely the moment that my boyfriend disappeared.
Dr. Fine and his staff are panicking. They haven't actually reported that they lost one of their test subjects, but they've been working steadily to figure out what happened and how to fix it. I don't think much of their chances, but that's something at least. And the fact that they haven't told anyone else actually makes it easier for the Watchers, who also want to keep the whole thing secret.
I spoke to Kate, and she's pretty sure that my boyfriend is still alive. I get the impression that the Watchers might have been panicking some, too, because she said she should have called me in immediately - and she said it with that "I'm an idiot" tone in her voice. So I'm working with them, sort of, at a safe distance, and we're all trying to find out what happened.
I'll keep you posted.
Oh, right, I almost forgot: "Reflections of a Deranged Cultist" is a work of fiction. People don't really disappear just because they have the wrong sort of dreams. Promise.
In their defense, Billy and Crystal apparently assumed that I knew already. They were... "appalled" is a good word... that I hadn't been told. So the blame pretty much falls on the Watchers, or the Elders, and until I learn better, the woman who's supposed to be training my boyfriend: Kate.
This is Claire, of course, in case you hadn't picked that up already. You know, the Deranged Cultist's girlfriend. Or just the Deranged Girlfriend. The more I think about that, the more it seems to fit.
Anyway, apparently my boyfriend was watching this researcher - let's call him "Dr. Fine". Dr. Fine was trying to see if there was any sort of psychic connection to be found between his sleeping subjects: shared images, a collective unconscious, atavistic memories... stuff like that. Now, all those things exist - but most of the time, for most people, they're completely inaccessible. That's... a lot less true for a lot of my boyfriend's fellow cultists, apparently.
According to Billy, they decided to send my boyfriend in to take part of the research and find out more about what Dr. Fine was doing. They chose him because he doesn't have any of those dream connections. (That led me to wonder: the business with the Place Of Mists started as a series of dreams, so maybe they were wrong about that? I don't know. Maybe we'll find out. But that's something I can check, so I'll do that tonight.) Anyway, my boyfriend went to the sleep lab and joined the test subjects, and... something went wrong. About midway through the night, the bed was empty.
Crystal thinks that whatever Dr. Fine was doing interacted with the way that one of the Watchers was observing my boyfriend. She thinks so because while that Watcher is still around physically, he dropped into a deep coma at precisely the moment that my boyfriend disappeared.
Dr. Fine and his staff are panicking. They haven't actually reported that they lost one of their test subjects, but they've been working steadily to figure out what happened and how to fix it. I don't think much of their chances, but that's something at least. And the fact that they haven't told anyone else actually makes it easier for the Watchers, who also want to keep the whole thing secret.
I spoke to Kate, and she's pretty sure that my boyfriend is still alive. I get the impression that the Watchers might have been panicking some, too, because she said she should have called me in immediately - and she said it with that "I'm an idiot" tone in her voice. So I'm working with them, sort of, at a safe distance, and we're all trying to find out what happened.
I'll keep you posted.
Oh, right, I almost forgot: "Reflections of a Deranged Cultist" is a work of fiction. People don't really disappear just because they have the wrong sort of dreams. Promise.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 9
In which we return to the implications of vampirism...
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Put another log on the fire...
Some of you, who don't recognize that title, probably think I'm about to talk about the weather. You can relax; I don't much care what the weather is doing. No, this is just a collection of songs that I'm playing at for my co-workers on this lovely this Friday morning. Enjoy!
Thursday, November 17, 2011
How can that be a "choice"?
So a while back, Former Conservative found a bunch of "gotcha!" questions on the topic of homosexuality courtesy of an organization called CARM - which is all I know about them, and all I want to know about them. Former Conservative has a stronger stomach than I do: he waded through the entire list of questions and responded to all of them.
In the process, FC also made fun of them. This is an entirely understandable response - in fact, I think it's just about the only sensible response to a list like that. These are not questions in the traditional sense of "a request for more information." They're accusations that happen to be made in an interrogative format for rhetorical effect. Not only that, they're easy enough to pick apart if you can stand to expose yourself that much prolonged, concentrated idiocy: they're based on easily refuted (and in some cases mind-numbingly stupid) assumptions.
The fellow who originally posted the list of "questions", one Matt Slick, apparently noticed that someone had refuted him. So he wrote a response. And now Former Conservative has ripped apart his response as well.
All of which is a long (and possibly unnecessary) prologue for an observation that I'd like to make. Because one of the abjectly stupid ideas that Matt Slick is championing is that homosexuality is a "choice". Matt Slick isn't the only person who thinks so, of course; it's a common refrain in the anti-QUILTBAG rhetoric. And, well, I just don't see how sexual attraction can be described as a "choice" in any meaningful sense of the word.
Here's the thing: I'm a heterosexual male, and I can't even control what sort of women I find attractive. Either I find someone attractive, or I don't. It's a reaction, not a choice. I could no more choose to find men attractive than I could choose to be sexually aroused by abstract art. As far as I know, that's how attraction works for more or less everybody. So why in the hell would you think that people who happen to be attracted to members of their own sex have chosen to do so?
And even if that were possible, who would choose to have attractions that make you an automatic target for teasing, bullying, and possible persecution from every stray bigot who happens by? In what world would that possibly make sense?
So, yeah. Matt Slick and his view of homosexuality can bite me.
Edited to add: ...And then on Facebook, someone posted a link to this video detailing the top five reasons why you should choose to be gay. Warning: really, really not safe for work. Or small children. Or anyone with a particularly delicate constitution. Contains swearing and skimpy outfits.
In the process, FC also made fun of them. This is an entirely understandable response - in fact, I think it's just about the only sensible response to a list like that. These are not questions in the traditional sense of "a request for more information." They're accusations that happen to be made in an interrogative format for rhetorical effect. Not only that, they're easy enough to pick apart if you can stand to expose yourself that much prolonged, concentrated idiocy: they're based on easily refuted (and in some cases mind-numbingly stupid) assumptions.
The fellow who originally posted the list of "questions", one Matt Slick, apparently noticed that someone had refuted him. So he wrote a response. And now Former Conservative has ripped apart his response as well.
All of which is a long (and possibly unnecessary) prologue for an observation that I'd like to make. Because one of the abjectly stupid ideas that Matt Slick is championing is that homosexuality is a "choice". Matt Slick isn't the only person who thinks so, of course; it's a common refrain in the anti-QUILTBAG rhetoric. And, well, I just don't see how sexual attraction can be described as a "choice" in any meaningful sense of the word.
Here's the thing: I'm a heterosexual male, and I can't even control what sort of women I find attractive. Either I find someone attractive, or I don't. It's a reaction, not a choice. I could no more choose to find men attractive than I could choose to be sexually aroused by abstract art. As far as I know, that's how attraction works for more or less everybody. So why in the hell would you think that people who happen to be attracted to members of their own sex have chosen to do so?
And even if that were possible, who would choose to have attractions that make you an automatic target for teasing, bullying, and possible persecution from every stray bigot who happens by? In what world would that possibly make sense?
So, yeah. Matt Slick and his view of homosexuality can bite me.
Edited to add: ...And then on Facebook, someone posted a link to this video detailing the top five reasons why you should choose to be gay. Warning: really, really not safe for work. Or small children. Or anyone with a particularly delicate constitution. Contains swearing and skimpy outfits.
The Doom That Came To Hippo
Being a hippopotamus is more perilous than you might think.
I was in English class. It must have been sixth grade, because I had Ms. Green for a teacher. Poor, poor Ms. Green. So, yeah, there I was, in sixth grade English class.
The thing is, I took sixth grade English in fifth grade. Then, for reasons that I’m not sure I ever completely understood, I took sixth grade English again in sixth grade. And I enjoyed it a lot more in fifth grade – not just because it was the first time I’d had it, but also because I’d liked that teacher much better than I liked Ms. Green.
Poor, poor Ms. Green.
So we came into the classroom, and we took our seats, and Ms. Green announced that we’d be doing some creative writing. And she handed out copies of a worksheet.
This was not a sixth-grade worksheet. It was, to my jaded sixth grade eyes, barely even a fourth grade worksheet. At the top was a fanciful drawing of a hippopotamus sitting in – and slightly overflowing – an old-fashioned bath tub. Beneath that was the writing assignment:
The hippo is stuck in the tub! How can we get him out?
And beneath that was a series a brief lines where we could write our answers. They’d even included a helpful writing prompt on the first line: Grease the hippo with Crisco! Just, y’know, to give you some idea of what kind of answers they were expecting.
To say I was insulted would be an understatement of epic proportions. I regarded this assignment with the profound and unshakable contempt of a twelve-year-old who has just been asked to do kid stuff. The sheer effrontery of it all left me speechless. This lèse-majesté I could not, would not forgive. And so I decided to express my... displeasure.
Poor, poor Ms. Green.
So I took a fresh sheet of paper from my desk. At the top, I copied over the assignment: “The hippo is stuck in the tub! How can we get him out?” I paused for a moment, to further consider this affront to my dignity.
And then I wrote the most violent, gory, horrific story that my twelve-year-old mind could produce. In the whole history of the world, no fictional hippopotamus has ever suffered as this hippo suffered – and all for the unforgivable crime of getting stuck in my bath tub. I enumerated the tools of his demise in loving detail: the vast array of martial arts weaponry, the gardening tools, the machine shop equipment. I described the feel of blades entering hippo flesh, the splut of impact, the gouts of blood and gobbets of flesh that littered the floor and splattered across the walls and ceiling. I explained the painstaking process of extracting the hippo from the tub, one organ at a time. It’s possible that I even included the hippo’s cries for mercy and last, desperate gasps for breath.
Poor, poor Ms. Green.
It was, quite simply, the most profoundly disturbing piece of writing that I was then capable of producing. It perfectly expressed my absolute contempt for the entire idea of that assignment. It sent - I thought - a very clear message that I expected never to be given such an abjectly stupid assignment ever again.
It might – just maybe possibly might - have gone a bit overboard.
Because the next thing I remember is my parents asking if I’d had trouble in English class. And then there were meetings. Meetings with Ms. Green. Meetings with the person in charge of fourth, fifth, and sixth grades. Meetings with the school counselor.
Everyone was relieved to hear that I was not, in fact, contemplating any sort of actual, real-world violence. They were rather less concerned about whether I was planning some sort of anti-hippopotamus rampage, but I reassured them about that too. This was before school shootings became a regular news item, so we didn’t have any No Tolerance policies to deal with, so once everyone was clear that I was just expressing my disgust with the in-class writing assignment, it was pretty much over. They didn’t even move me to a different English class, so the next day I was right back in my desk with Ms. Green.
Poor, poor Ms. Green.
Poor, poor hippopotamus.
I was in English class. It must have been sixth grade, because I had Ms. Green for a teacher. Poor, poor Ms. Green. So, yeah, there I was, in sixth grade English class.
The thing is, I took sixth grade English in fifth grade. Then, for reasons that I’m not sure I ever completely understood, I took sixth grade English again in sixth grade. And I enjoyed it a lot more in fifth grade – not just because it was the first time I’d had it, but also because I’d liked that teacher much better than I liked Ms. Green.
Poor, poor Ms. Green.
So we came into the classroom, and we took our seats, and Ms. Green announced that we’d be doing some creative writing. And she handed out copies of a worksheet.
This was not a sixth-grade worksheet. It was, to my jaded sixth grade eyes, barely even a fourth grade worksheet. At the top was a fanciful drawing of a hippopotamus sitting in – and slightly overflowing – an old-fashioned bath tub. Beneath that was the writing assignment:
And beneath that was a series a brief lines where we could write our answers. They’d even included a helpful writing prompt on the first line: Grease the hippo with Crisco! Just, y’know, to give you some idea of what kind of answers they were expecting.
To say I was insulted would be an understatement of epic proportions. I regarded this assignment with the profound and unshakable contempt of a twelve-year-old who has just been asked to do kid stuff. The sheer effrontery of it all left me speechless. This lèse-majesté I could not, would not forgive. And so I decided to express my... displeasure.
Poor, poor Ms. Green.
So I took a fresh sheet of paper from my desk. At the top, I copied over the assignment: “The hippo is stuck in the tub! How can we get him out?” I paused for a moment, to further consider this affront to my dignity.
And then I wrote the most violent, gory, horrific story that my twelve-year-old mind could produce. In the whole history of the world, no fictional hippopotamus has ever suffered as this hippo suffered – and all for the unforgivable crime of getting stuck in my bath tub. I enumerated the tools of his demise in loving detail: the vast array of martial arts weaponry, the gardening tools, the machine shop equipment. I described the feel of blades entering hippo flesh, the splut of impact, the gouts of blood and gobbets of flesh that littered the floor and splattered across the walls and ceiling. I explained the painstaking process of extracting the hippo from the tub, one organ at a time. It’s possible that I even included the hippo’s cries for mercy and last, desperate gasps for breath.
Poor, poor Ms. Green.
It was, quite simply, the most profoundly disturbing piece of writing that I was then capable of producing. It perfectly expressed my absolute contempt for the entire idea of that assignment. It sent - I thought - a very clear message that I expected never to be given such an abjectly stupid assignment ever again.
It might – just maybe possibly might - have gone a bit overboard.
Because the next thing I remember is my parents asking if I’d had trouble in English class. And then there were meetings. Meetings with Ms. Green. Meetings with the person in charge of fourth, fifth, and sixth grades. Meetings with the school counselor.
Everyone was relieved to hear that I was not, in fact, contemplating any sort of actual, real-world violence. They were rather less concerned about whether I was planning some sort of anti-hippopotamus rampage, but I reassured them about that too. This was before school shootings became a regular news item, so we didn’t have any No Tolerance policies to deal with, so once everyone was clear that I was just expressing my disgust with the in-class writing assignment, it was pretty much over. They didn’t even move me to a different English class, so the next day I was right back in my desk with Ms. Green.
Poor, poor Ms. Green.
Poor, poor hippopotamus.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 8
It's a small world and Luther doesn't like that church.
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 7
The vampire next door...
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Monday, November 14, 2011
Half a league onward!
So, the software for the new site got installed at four-thirty this morning, and we started the training-people-and-importing-content session at nine o'clock. We're off and running... at least for now. The contractor is still tweaking the software as we go, so there's always the possibility that our new site will eat itself, but for the moment it's up and we have about sixteen people importing content from the old site. The ideas is that once they're comfortable with the process - well, and once the logins are working[1] - they can go back to their departments and continue importing their pages.
My job, at this point, is basically to circulate and talk them through it. Mostly, this has not been too hard. However, owing to the abysmal quality of what we ironically refer to as "air" here in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex, I am also coping with a lot of sinus drainage. At this rate, by mid-afternoon I'll have lost my voice completely.[2]
We're definitely doing things, though. Oh, yes. Things of great and profound importance. Things that might even manage - yes, yes, it's a very slim chance, but it's there - might even manage not to implode spectacularly at some undisclosed future time. Chin up, stiff upper lip, and all that.
Was there a man dismay'd? Maybe one or two. But don't tell anybody, it would spoil our image.
[1] We don't actually have those set up. They were supposed to be able to import from our network, but that's... not working yet. So we have a temporary workaround. Which, again, may decide to eat itself as soon as they do try to import the network logins.
[2] There are not enough cough drops in the world to prevent this, though they certainly do help. Note to self: buy stock in Halls.
My job, at this point, is basically to circulate and talk them through it. Mostly, this has not been too hard. However, owing to the abysmal quality of what we ironically refer to as "air" here in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex, I am also coping with a lot of sinus drainage. At this rate, by mid-afternoon I'll have lost my voice completely.[2]
We're definitely doing things, though. Oh, yes. Things of great and profound importance. Things that might even manage - yes, yes, it's a very slim chance, but it's there - might even manage not to implode spectacularly at some undisclosed future time. Chin up, stiff upper lip, and all that.
Was there a man dismay'd? Maybe one or two. But don't tell anybody, it would spoil our image.
[1] We don't actually have those set up. They were supposed to be able to import from our network, but that's... not working yet. So we have a temporary workaround. Which, again, may decide to eat itself as soon as they do try to import the network logins.
[2] There are not enough cough drops in the world to prevent this, though they certainly do help. Note to self: buy stock in Halls.
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 6
A brief digression on snacks...
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Friday, November 11, 2011
Climbing the avalanche
I'd meant to put up another post today - maybe something on the topic of Lying With Facts, which I've been meaning to write for a while - but we've officially started installing the new website. For those coming in late (which is probably everyone, now that I think about it), we're undertaking a complete redesign of our primary website: moving it to a new server, moving to new Content Management software, moving to a completely new look and layout.
So far, it's going exactly as well as I expected. (I have that Dilbert strip posted on the wall of my cubicle. It's been there since it was published. It turns out that you actually can tell the future from comic strips, using a mystic art known as Graphispication, and this is my first successful prediction.)
On Monday we're scheduled to start moving content across from the old server to the new server. That, of course, presupposed that the installation of the software for the new site got finished yesterday (Thursday). It's now midmorning on Friday. We're still working out the bugs in the install. Even assuming it gets finished today, we will have no time to test it before Monday. You see where this is going, right? I feel compelled to point out that according to the original timeline for the project, the new site was supposed to go live back in February of this year.
So consider this an open thread. Suggested topics include computer problems, doomed and/or hellish projects at work, and whether or not it's moral to actively hope that zombies, plague, or soul-devouringly-horrible Lovecraftian beasties will intervene to make the whole project unnecessary.
So far, it's going exactly as well as I expected. (I have that Dilbert strip posted on the wall of my cubicle. It's been there since it was published. It turns out that you actually can tell the future from comic strips, using a mystic art known as Graphispication, and this is my first successful prediction.)
On Monday we're scheduled to start moving content across from the old server to the new server. That, of course, presupposed that the installation of the software for the new site got finished yesterday (Thursday). It's now midmorning on Friday. We're still working out the bugs in the install. Even assuming it gets finished today, we will have no time to test it before Monday. You see where this is going, right? I feel compelled to point out that according to the original timeline for the project, the new site was supposed to go live back in February of this year.
So consider this an open thread. Suggested topics include computer problems, doomed and/or hellish projects at work, and whether or not it's moral to actively hope that zombies, plague, or soul-devouringly-horrible Lovecraftian beasties will intervene to make the whole project unnecessary.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Deconstruction: Night of the Living Dead Christian 5
In which the captives try to define Christianity and go off to visit a church.
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Welcome to the detailed (and, unfortunately, spoiler-rich) review of Night of the Living Dead Christian. For a briefer review that doesn't give anything away, read the main review. If you're curious, here's a discussion of why I'm doing this.
This is a rather long bit of reaction, so I'm breaking it up into sections. Hopefully that will allow for more bite-sized discussions. So, now that you've all been fairly warned, we'll pick up the deconstruction after the jump:
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Take two Ave Marias and call me in the morning
Father Martin Davis stood beside the hospital bed and watched as Dr. Price reset the boy's leg. The boy was maybe ten years old; apparently he'd fallen off his bike and caught the leg in a drain. As a priest, Father Davis didn't pay much attention to the medical portions of the procedure; he was busy composing his mind for prayer.
The bones were lined up and the cast was in place when Dr. Price caught his eye and nodded. Father Martin stepped forward, feeling the Ruach HaKodesh move through him as he prayed: "Holy Father, drive the demons from this boy's injury and keep them at bay while he heals. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen."
"Thank you, Father," said the boy's mother, who had been sitting on the far side of the bed.
Father Martin smiled and stepped back. There weren't any demons or evil influences here in the hospital, of course. The building was blessed far too regularly for that. The prayer was just to discourage them from settling in the wound and causing an infection after the boy went home.
He was halfway to the door when one of the nurses came rushing in. "Father Martin? Come quick. We've got a bad one."
The priest followed her down the hallway to another room. He hated working the Emergency Room, particularly at night, and especially during the dark of the moon, when the most chaotic and malign of spirits were ascendant. So, naturally, that was always when his ministry was scheduled. Father Martin wasn't sure if this was because the Bishop had it in for him, or whether it was intended as some sort of test or lesson. It didn't matter, really: it was his duty and he did it.
He could hear the trouble well before they reached the room. Shouted curses, in English and French, spilled out into the corridor. He could hear bangs and thumps from inside the room, and a shockingly loud clatter as something metal hit the floor. The nurse started, then went in.
Father Martin followed her, and the obscenities moved yet another language: Greek, he thought, but he couldn't be sure. The boy was strapped to one of the beds, but he was thrashing around with maniacal strength. The parents were huddled together in a corner of the room, away from the medical equipment. They looked panicked and exhausted, though their expressions lightened towards relief when they saw his clerical collar.
Ignoring the thrashing figure of the boy - teenager, really - Father Martin turned to the parents and lifted a hand. "Bless you," he said. He could feel no evil in them, no demonic influences hovering around them, but if they'd been in the presence of something like this... well, they could probably use a little extra protection.
He turned back to the boy, and was gratified to see that the body had gone still - though the mouth was still spitting curses. Whatever had gotten into this boy was strong. He made the sign of the Cross in the air in front of him, then stepped closer.
"Bless me, Father," he said softly, "as I work to save this child from the minions of Evil." He felt the Spirit settle over him once again, peaceful and powerful and strong.
This wasn't just a matter of a minor demon hanging around and exerting its influence, he saw immediately. Just bringing the child to the hospital would resolve that sort of problem, placing the child beyond its reach. All that would be left would be to drive out the last of its influence, a practice which filled a great many of Father Martin's working hours. But this... this was worse.
Either the young man wasn't a Christian, or he'd opened himself to sin so much that a beast of wrath had been able to enter his mind. This was a full-on possession, and the spirit that moved those limbs and spoke those words would not be willingly or easily displaced. Somewhere in there, the boy was watching this demon move him like a puppet, and being tempted ever further into despair. How had it come to this?
He started to ask the parents, then decided there was no time. Instead, he turned back and raised his hands over the bound form of their son. "Holy father, we ask that you take the burden from this boy. Release him from his bondage, and drive out this darkness inside him..."
The procedure went on for hours. In the unchanging light of the hospital room, it felt like days. The beast was strong, and it called on its Master to increase its strength. Father Martin prayed for its removal, and his faith in the One Who Could Do All Things never wavered. He had no doubt of the eventual outcome, and so he was not surprised when at last the boy's body gave a great, bone-deep cry. The sound was horrible, echoing, overflowing the room and spilling out into the halls. It went on impossibly long, unbroken, until at last a twisted shape of black smoke rose from the boy's mouth.
Father Martin put a hand out, feeling the Ruach HaKodesh move through him. He caught the smoke, held it while it struggled, and finally crushed it in his fingers. Before him, on the bed, the boy was weeping silently. His tormentor was gone.
With the demon vanquished, the Holy Spirit moved on as well. Its strength went with it, and Father Martin resisted the urge to sag - or to forgo dignity entirely and sit down on the floor. He had one thing left to do before he could rest, and it was vitally important.
There were cards in his pocket, pre-printed and blessed by the Bishop. A prayer was inscribed on each. He skipped the simple ones at the front, and went to the more potent invocations at the back.
As the parents moved towards the bed, he drew his prescription from the pile. "Here," he said, and handed the card to the father. "You can read this, yes?"
"Oui," the man answered. "Yes."
Father Martin put a hand on his shoulder. "You must say this twice a day - the three of you, together. You understand? Once in the morning, once at night, for the next seven days. Your son will seem better - he will be better. But you must not forget. Twice a day, for seven days. If you stop too soon, this thing - or something like it - might come back."
"I understand," said the father.
"The ones that come back, they're resistant to prayer." The family didn't need to know all this, but Father Martin had a regrettable tendency to lecture people when he was tired - and right now he was exhausted. "We have too much of that already, too many new prayer-resistant strains of demons. Pray together for the full seven days, to make sure the beast is entirely destroyed."
"We know," said the mother. "We will do it."
"Good," Father Martin replied. "God's blessing be upon you all."
"And upon you," said the mother. "Thank you."
By the clock on the wall, his shift had ended two hours ago. Father Martin gathered himself, wondering if he could make it home, or if he should find a place to sleep here. The idea of sleeping in the hospital didn't appeal to him, but driving didn't seem wise.
"This way, Father," said the nurse in the doorway. She was short and squat and dark, but right then she looked like an angel sent from Heaven. He wondered how long she'd been standing there. "Let's get you to a bed."
Tip of the hat to Former Conservative, for reminding me that there are people who think this is really how it works - except, of course, that in their view of the world a Catholic priest would be bringing the demons in rather than casting them out.
The bones were lined up and the cast was in place when Dr. Price caught his eye and nodded. Father Martin stepped forward, feeling the Ruach HaKodesh move through him as he prayed: "Holy Father, drive the demons from this boy's injury and keep them at bay while he heals. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen."
"Thank you, Father," said the boy's mother, who had been sitting on the far side of the bed.
Father Martin smiled and stepped back. There weren't any demons or evil influences here in the hospital, of course. The building was blessed far too regularly for that. The prayer was just to discourage them from settling in the wound and causing an infection after the boy went home.
He was halfway to the door when one of the nurses came rushing in. "Father Martin? Come quick. We've got a bad one."
The priest followed her down the hallway to another room. He hated working the Emergency Room, particularly at night, and especially during the dark of the moon, when the most chaotic and malign of spirits were ascendant. So, naturally, that was always when his ministry was scheduled. Father Martin wasn't sure if this was because the Bishop had it in for him, or whether it was intended as some sort of test or lesson. It didn't matter, really: it was his duty and he did it.
He could hear the trouble well before they reached the room. Shouted curses, in English and French, spilled out into the corridor. He could hear bangs and thumps from inside the room, and a shockingly loud clatter as something metal hit the floor. The nurse started, then went in.
Father Martin followed her, and the obscenities moved yet another language: Greek, he thought, but he couldn't be sure. The boy was strapped to one of the beds, but he was thrashing around with maniacal strength. The parents were huddled together in a corner of the room, away from the medical equipment. They looked panicked and exhausted, though their expressions lightened towards relief when they saw his clerical collar.
Ignoring the thrashing figure of the boy - teenager, really - Father Martin turned to the parents and lifted a hand. "Bless you," he said. He could feel no evil in them, no demonic influences hovering around them, but if they'd been in the presence of something like this... well, they could probably use a little extra protection.
He turned back to the boy, and was gratified to see that the body had gone still - though the mouth was still spitting curses. Whatever had gotten into this boy was strong. He made the sign of the Cross in the air in front of him, then stepped closer.
"Bless me, Father," he said softly, "as I work to save this child from the minions of Evil." He felt the Spirit settle over him once again, peaceful and powerful and strong.
This wasn't just a matter of a minor demon hanging around and exerting its influence, he saw immediately. Just bringing the child to the hospital would resolve that sort of problem, placing the child beyond its reach. All that would be left would be to drive out the last of its influence, a practice which filled a great many of Father Martin's working hours. But this... this was worse.
Either the young man wasn't a Christian, or he'd opened himself to sin so much that a beast of wrath had been able to enter his mind. This was a full-on possession, and the spirit that moved those limbs and spoke those words would not be willingly or easily displaced. Somewhere in there, the boy was watching this demon move him like a puppet, and being tempted ever further into despair. How had it come to this?
He started to ask the parents, then decided there was no time. Instead, he turned back and raised his hands over the bound form of their son. "Holy father, we ask that you take the burden from this boy. Release him from his bondage, and drive out this darkness inside him..."
The procedure went on for hours. In the unchanging light of the hospital room, it felt like days. The beast was strong, and it called on its Master to increase its strength. Father Martin prayed for its removal, and his faith in the One Who Could Do All Things never wavered. He had no doubt of the eventual outcome, and so he was not surprised when at last the boy's body gave a great, bone-deep cry. The sound was horrible, echoing, overflowing the room and spilling out into the halls. It went on impossibly long, unbroken, until at last a twisted shape of black smoke rose from the boy's mouth.
Father Martin put a hand out, feeling the Ruach HaKodesh move through him. He caught the smoke, held it while it struggled, and finally crushed it in his fingers. Before him, on the bed, the boy was weeping silently. His tormentor was gone.
With the demon vanquished, the Holy Spirit moved on as well. Its strength went with it, and Father Martin resisted the urge to sag - or to forgo dignity entirely and sit down on the floor. He had one thing left to do before he could rest, and it was vitally important.
There were cards in his pocket, pre-printed and blessed by the Bishop. A prayer was inscribed on each. He skipped the simple ones at the front, and went to the more potent invocations at the back.
As the parents moved towards the bed, he drew his prescription from the pile. "Here," he said, and handed the card to the father. "You can read this, yes?"
"Oui," the man answered. "Yes."
Father Martin put a hand on his shoulder. "You must say this twice a day - the three of you, together. You understand? Once in the morning, once at night, for the next seven days. Your son will seem better - he will be better. But you must not forget. Twice a day, for seven days. If you stop too soon, this thing - or something like it - might come back."
"I understand," said the father.
"The ones that come back, they're resistant to prayer." The family didn't need to know all this, but Father Martin had a regrettable tendency to lecture people when he was tired - and right now he was exhausted. "We have too much of that already, too many new prayer-resistant strains of demons. Pray together for the full seven days, to make sure the beast is entirely destroyed."
"We know," said the mother. "We will do it."
"Good," Father Martin replied. "God's blessing be upon you all."
"And upon you," said the mother. "Thank you."
By the clock on the wall, his shift had ended two hours ago. Father Martin gathered himself, wondering if he could make it home, or if he should find a place to sleep here. The idea of sleeping in the hospital didn't appeal to him, but driving didn't seem wise.
"This way, Father," said the nurse in the doorway. She was short and squat and dark, but right then she looked like an angel sent from Heaven. He wondered how long she'd been standing there. "Let's get you to a bed."
Tip of the hat to Former Conservative, for reminding me that there are people who think this is really how it works - except, of course, that in their view of the world a Catholic priest would be bringing the demons in rather than casting them out.
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