Probably the last thing anyone -- myself included -- ever expected me to post on my blog was a link to a video of a woman doing a striptease routine. VERY, VERY NOT SAFE FOR WORK.
However, you have got to see this.
Hat tip: Useless! Worthless! Insipid!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Friday, February 16, 2007
Believing Bellini
Anyone looking for evidence to support the idea that opera is more about music than drama need look no further than Vincenzo Bellini’s final work; the old adage “what’s too silly to be said can be sung” applies all too aptly to I Puritani.
The plot concerns a 17th century English puritan girl, Elvira, whose kindly gay uncle Giorgio somehow manages to convince her father to allow her to marry her sweetheart Arturo, even though he is a Catholic and a Royalist. (These are some very progressive Puritans.) When Arturo, just before the wedding, discovers that the Puritans are keeping the recently widowed Catholic queen prisoner – though she is free to wander around and sing with everyone else – he flees with her by walking out the front door. Elvira assumes she has been abandoned, and loses her sanity. She finds it again briefly in the third act when Arturo finally returns, but when the Puritans inform her that he has been condemned to death it’s back to crazytown. Fortunately, just moments later – indeed, a mere minute and seventeen seconds on the famous Callas recording – messengers from Cromwell arrive and announce a general pardon to Stuart loyalists, and Elvira regains her composure. I think today we’d call her bi-polar.
The only reason that the opera is still on the boards 170 years later is because the music – when the singing is good – is divine. There are endless opportunities for vocal virtuosity, including several “notes only dogs can hear,” as Beverly Sills put it. The tenor gets a high C-sharp in his opening aria, followed in the third act by a high D. Bellini also wrote an F above high-C for the tenor, but that’s generally ducked. (This recorded snippet of a San Francisco performance in the 1970s shows – hilariously – why.) In last night’s PBS telecast of a recent Metropolitan Opera performance the voices were largely outstanding.
The weak link was Franco Vassallo as Arturo’s jealous Puritan rival Riccardo. As the only native Italian speaker in the cast, he managed to be the only performer to convey a total lack of emotional connection to his text. He plowed through the beautiful aria “Ah, per sempre” with nary a nuance or dynamic other than forte, unless you count poor intonation as nuance. I’m not typically* in favor of cuts in the score, but if you’re not going to do anything at all with the second verse of a cabaletta, I shouldn’t have to hear it.
Canadian bass John Relyea is wonderful; it takes his kind of smooth, legato singing to navigate the interval leaps of the beautiful second act aria “Cinta di fiori.” It holds up the action like a jackknifed truck on the expressway, but becomes a pleasure when it’s that well-sung.
Poor Eric Cutler. In person, he’s really, really good-looking, a very nice match for Anna Netrebko. Unfortunately his hairstyle (not sure if that was a wig) and goatee were highly unflattering, it was like a comedic caricature of “Italian tenor.” He was disturbingly nasal for his opening aria “A te, o cara,” but his voice rounded out and warmed up for the difficult third act. (The death-defying duet “Vieni fra queste braccia,” with its high D’s, was transposed down a half-step.) Just fix the hair; he looks like Luigi from the pizza parlor.
The telecast’s co-host Beverly Sills, herself a famous Elvira and renowned actress, said there wasn’t much one could do with parts of this opera other than stand center stage with your arms down and sing beautifully. Until I saw Anna Netrebko, I would have agreed with her.
I really didn’t think it was possibly to effectively “act” Elvira, but Netrebko managed. And it wasn’t hokey, stagey “operatic” acting that looks so horrible on televison, it was just a constant awareness of her character’s situation and feeling behind every note. She even managed to make the famously undramatic – but pretty -- “mad scene” compelling. In the third act when Arturo says he has been away for three months and she replies, “No…three centuries, three centuries of anguish,” she was heartbreaking. She made Bellini believable, no small feat.
Her voice is unusually warm and dark for sopranos in this repertoire; she may not have the coloratura agility or the brilliant, easy top of some of her illustrious predecessors in the role, but it is phenomenal singing nonetheless. The thrill of her high E flat is not its security, but the risk she takes with it. That said, she could probably leave out a few of the earlier unwritten interpolations; the high D in the duet with Relyea was about two flutters of vibrato shy of a yelp.
The performance was very good; the telecast was excellent. I particularly liked the shots from the wings with the singers’ backs to the camera looking out across the orchestra at the audience and conductor. It’s pointless to try to make televised opera look “realistic”; this gave the viewer an exciting “insider” look. The intermission features – with Renee Fleming doing her best Katie Couric impersonation – were educational and entertaining. It was exceptionally gracious of Netrebko to agree to be interviewed in her dressing room between acts; she was charming and funny. I think it’s extremely helpful for people to discover that “opera singers” can be low-key, witty…and thin! I never expected to watch the entire broadcast, but I stayed entranced until the final high D.
*Puritani, as with most Bellini operas, benefits from judicious cutting.
The plot concerns a 17th century English puritan girl, Elvira, whose kindly gay uncle Giorgio somehow manages to convince her father to allow her to marry her sweetheart Arturo, even though he is a Catholic and a Royalist. (These are some very progressive Puritans.) When Arturo, just before the wedding, discovers that the Puritans are keeping the recently widowed Catholic queen prisoner – though she is free to wander around and sing with everyone else – he flees with her by walking out the front door. Elvira assumes she has been abandoned, and loses her sanity. She finds it again briefly in the third act when Arturo finally returns, but when the Puritans inform her that he has been condemned to death it’s back to crazytown. Fortunately, just moments later – indeed, a mere minute and seventeen seconds on the famous Callas recording – messengers from Cromwell arrive and announce a general pardon to Stuart loyalists, and Elvira regains her composure. I think today we’d call her bi-polar.
The only reason that the opera is still on the boards 170 years later is because the music – when the singing is good – is divine. There are endless opportunities for vocal virtuosity, including several “notes only dogs can hear,” as Beverly Sills put it. The tenor gets a high C-sharp in his opening aria, followed in the third act by a high D. Bellini also wrote an F above high-C for the tenor, but that’s generally ducked. (This recorded snippet of a San Francisco performance in the 1970s shows – hilariously – why.) In last night’s PBS telecast of a recent Metropolitan Opera performance the voices were largely outstanding.
The weak link was Franco Vassallo as Arturo’s jealous Puritan rival Riccardo. As the only native Italian speaker in the cast, he managed to be the only performer to convey a total lack of emotional connection to his text. He plowed through the beautiful aria “Ah, per sempre” with nary a nuance or dynamic other than forte, unless you count poor intonation as nuance. I’m not typically* in favor of cuts in the score, but if you’re not going to do anything at all with the second verse of a cabaletta, I shouldn’t have to hear it.
Canadian bass John Relyea is wonderful; it takes his kind of smooth, legato singing to navigate the interval leaps of the beautiful second act aria “Cinta di fiori.” It holds up the action like a jackknifed truck on the expressway, but becomes a pleasure when it’s that well-sung.
Poor Eric Cutler. In person, he’s really, really good-looking, a very nice match for Anna Netrebko. Unfortunately his hairstyle (not sure if that was a wig) and goatee were highly unflattering, it was like a comedic caricature of “Italian tenor.” He was disturbingly nasal for his opening aria “A te, o cara,” but his voice rounded out and warmed up for the difficult third act. (The death-defying duet “Vieni fra queste braccia,” with its high D’s, was transposed down a half-step.) Just fix the hair; he looks like Luigi from the pizza parlor.
The telecast’s co-host Beverly Sills, herself a famous Elvira and renowned actress, said there wasn’t much one could do with parts of this opera other than stand center stage with your arms down and sing beautifully. Until I saw Anna Netrebko, I would have agreed with her.
I really didn’t think it was possibly to effectively “act” Elvira, but Netrebko managed. And it wasn’t hokey, stagey “operatic” acting that looks so horrible on televison, it was just a constant awareness of her character’s situation and feeling behind every note. She even managed to make the famously undramatic – but pretty -- “mad scene” compelling. In the third act when Arturo says he has been away for three months and she replies, “No…three centuries, three centuries of anguish,” she was heartbreaking. She made Bellini believable, no small feat.
Her voice is unusually warm and dark for sopranos in this repertoire; she may not have the coloratura agility or the brilliant, easy top of some of her illustrious predecessors in the role, but it is phenomenal singing nonetheless. The thrill of her high E flat is not its security, but the risk she takes with it. That said, she could probably leave out a few of the earlier unwritten interpolations; the high D in the duet with Relyea was about two flutters of vibrato shy of a yelp.
The performance was very good; the telecast was excellent. I particularly liked the shots from the wings with the singers’ backs to the camera looking out across the orchestra at the audience and conductor. It’s pointless to try to make televised opera look “realistic”; this gave the viewer an exciting “insider” look. The intermission features – with Renee Fleming doing her best Katie Couric impersonation – were educational and entertaining. It was exceptionally gracious of Netrebko to agree to be interviewed in her dressing room between acts; she was charming and funny. I think it’s extremely helpful for people to discover that “opera singers” can be low-key, witty…and thin! I never expected to watch the entire broadcast, but I stayed entranced until the final high D.
*Puritani, as with most Bellini operas, benefits from judicious cutting.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
The Two Masters of Marcus Ross
On Monday The New York Times ran a fascinating article on Dr. Marcus Ross, a “young earth creationist” who believes the earth is no more than 10,000 years old, but nevertheless recently received a PhD in geosciences from the University of Rhode Island after submitting a dissertation – described by his adviser as “impeccable” and “strictly scientific” – on mosasaurs, which disappeared around 65 million years ago.
Dr. Ross defends his approach by saying “the methods and theories of paleontology are one “paradigm” for studying the past, and Scripture is another.” That’s true, but they are not interchangeable, equal dimensions of study. One doesn’t attempt to define the mystery of baptism through chemistry, and you shouldn’t attempt to fit geology within the confines of Genesis.
The Times article poses a number of interesting, difficult questions, among them: “Can a student produce intellectually honest work that contradicts deeply held beliefs?”
Dr. Ross’ approach is highly suspect, largely because it is not intellectually honest to insist on a literal understanding of the Bible. There is no possible coherent understanding of an anthology of ancient writings by different authors in different places at different points in history that does not admit to the impossibility of reconciling the countless inconsistencies between – and often within – the texts. Even Genesis contradicts its own account of creation by the second chapter.
The scientific community is rightly concerned that Ross and others like him will use their academic credentials to lend an impression of authority and credibility to anti-scientific views. Ross now teaches earth science at Jerry Falwell’s Liberty University. Of course, it would be wrong – and unconstitutional – to establish ideological litmus tests for college graduates.
The only solution is for mainstream Christians to speak louder and more often about our faith’s relationship to its sacred writings. The spiritual truths are independent of the understandably limited scientific experience of the Biblical authors. A “literal understanding” of the Bible is a misguided and spiritually impoverished one; Christianity believes that the Scriptures were inspired, not dictated. We must continue to expose Christian Fundamentalists for having abandoned the fundamentals of Christianity. Christianity and science are not in opposition. Insistence on literalism undermines both scientific and religious integrity.
Dr. Ross claims he can objectively navigate between the two opposing paradigms, but Jesus taught that we cannot serve two masters. That’s one verse Dr. Ross should consider taking literally.
Dr. Ross defends his approach by saying “the methods and theories of paleontology are one “paradigm” for studying the past, and Scripture is another.” That’s true, but they are not interchangeable, equal dimensions of study. One doesn’t attempt to define the mystery of baptism through chemistry, and you shouldn’t attempt to fit geology within the confines of Genesis.
The Times article poses a number of interesting, difficult questions, among them: “Can a student produce intellectually honest work that contradicts deeply held beliefs?”
Dr. Ross’ approach is highly suspect, largely because it is not intellectually honest to insist on a literal understanding of the Bible. There is no possible coherent understanding of an anthology of ancient writings by different authors in different places at different points in history that does not admit to the impossibility of reconciling the countless inconsistencies between – and often within – the texts. Even Genesis contradicts its own account of creation by the second chapter.
The scientific community is rightly concerned that Ross and others like him will use their academic credentials to lend an impression of authority and credibility to anti-scientific views. Ross now teaches earth science at Jerry Falwell’s Liberty University. Of course, it would be wrong – and unconstitutional – to establish ideological litmus tests for college graduates.
The only solution is for mainstream Christians to speak louder and more often about our faith’s relationship to its sacred writings. The spiritual truths are independent of the understandably limited scientific experience of the Biblical authors. A “literal understanding” of the Bible is a misguided and spiritually impoverished one; Christianity believes that the Scriptures were inspired, not dictated. We must continue to expose Christian Fundamentalists for having abandoned the fundamentals of Christianity. Christianity and science are not in opposition. Insistence on literalism undermines both scientific and religious integrity.
Dr. Ross claims he can objectively navigate between the two opposing paradigms, but Jesus taught that we cannot serve two masters. That’s one verse Dr. Ross should consider taking literally.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Best Valentine's Day Ever
Dear Friend in Wisconsin,
I know you said earlier that I did not have to acknowledge receipt of your gifts or thank you, but I feel awkward not being able to do so. Thank you for your kindness and incredible generosity.
Andy
I know you said earlier that I did not have to acknowledge receipt of your gifts or thank you, but I feel awkward not being able to do so. Thank you for your kindness and incredible generosity.
Andy
Monday, February 12, 2007
Don't Feed the Bass After Midnight
The New York Times has an absolutely glowing review of the revival of Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin at the Metropolitan Opera, starring Dmitri Hvorostovsky, Renee Fleming and Ramon Vargas, conducted by Valery Gergiev. I love this staging, and happen to have been at the premiere in 1997. The production team was soundly booed on opening night, apparently for not providing a Zeffirelli-esque series of opulent dioramas. I thought the stark simplicity was incredibly beautiful, and the moment during the famous Letter Scene when Tatiana stepped outside of her "room" and ran around in circles in the autumn leaves covering the stage was unforgettable.
Alas, something has gone subtly but hilariously awry in Anthony Tommasini's review. He wrote, "[T]he powerful Russian bass Sergei Aleksashkin was very moving as the decent older Prince Gremlin."
The character's name is Gremin.
Alas, something has gone subtly but hilariously awry in Anthony Tommasini's review. He wrote, "[T]he powerful Russian bass Sergei Aleksashkin was very moving as the decent older Prince Gremlin."
The character's name is Gremin.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Eeeauuuuyeccxxxhhhh
My project for this weekend was to clean out the file cabinet and pack up the stuff I have to keep but definitely won't need before I move.
Unfortunately it seems that in addition to bank statements, invoices, insurance statements and the like, I've also been keeping cockroaches in there. Ew! So I went off to the store this morning to pick up a can of Raid so I could gas the files before I pack them up and then spray out the file cabinet, since that's one of the things I'm planning on selling (at a bargain price!) before I leave.
I picked up the smallest can they had. I didn't really look at it other than to check that it said "Raid" and "Ant & Roach."
Apparently someone at SC Johnson had the bright idea of creating scented Raid. What a horrible stench!
I came home with "Country Fresh Scent." What I want to know is, which country? New Jersey?
Unfortunately it seems that in addition to bank statements, invoices, insurance statements and the like, I've also been keeping cockroaches in there. Ew! So I went off to the store this morning to pick up a can of Raid so I could gas the files before I pack them up and then spray out the file cabinet, since that's one of the things I'm planning on selling (at a bargain price!) before I leave.
I picked up the smallest can they had. I didn't really look at it other than to check that it said "Raid" and "Ant & Roach."
Apparently someone at SC Johnson had the bright idea of creating scented Raid. What a horrible stench!
I came home with "Country Fresh Scent." What I want to know is, which country? New Jersey?
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Switch Hitting
Casual social euphemisms for sexual orientation often involve sports metaphors. More than once I can recall a straight woman asking me about a cute guy we've just spotted, "Is he on my team or yours?"
So here's an interesting poll from CNN this morning: "If a player with your favorite team came out as gay, how would you react?"
The options to respond are:
a) Support the player; or,
b) Change teams.
Presently, with more than 48,000 votes, 22% would change teams.
So here's an interesting poll from CNN this morning: "If a player with your favorite team came out as gay, how would you react?"
The options to respond are:
a) Support the player; or,
b) Change teams.
Presently, with more than 48,000 votes, 22% would change teams.
The Colbert Report Report
Have you ever wondered where we got the phrase "bitter cold"?
I'll tell you: stand outside a television studio at the far end of West 54th Street in 23-degree weather for an hour, and bitter may be the only feeling you have left.
At least they have you line up in an alley alongside the building under a plastic canopy which blocked the frigid wind coming off the Hudson River. (The wind chill brought the apparent temperature to 5.) Still, by the time they finally opened the doors, I had lost all sensation in my toes other than pain and did not have the manual dexterity necessary to turn off my cell phone. I had an undershirt, a button-down shirt, a heavy sweater and a long wool coat, big wool scarf, heavy socks, corduroy pants and two pairs of underwear. (Tighty-whities for moral support, and flannel boxers for that warm fuzzy feeling.)
The show itself was great fun. I was really impressed that during the entire taping there were only two takes they had to re-do. I thought tonight's word -- "silence" -- was one of his very best. We were also delighted that Stephen happened to mention Battlestar Galactica. As a whole it was highly entertaining and I totally recommend attending a taping. Just wait for better weather. Oh, and word to the wise: show up on time. Seriously.
I admit I had reservations about the guest, but I remembered a cardinal rule: don't judge a book by its author's hairstyle. Actually what Mr. Pinker had to say seemed rather interesting. I was curious to know more, but of course in this particular venue, the spotlight is always on Colbert and so the guests never really get a chance to say much of interest.
The show airs again tonight at 8:30 p.m. on Comedy Central. I don't believe there are any audience shots, so no point in straining your eyes hoping to catch a glimpse of me.
******
Brief rant: in the waiting area inside there's a television, which I guess was tuned to Comedy Central. I didn't really notice the program that was on. I just noticed an anti-smoking campaign ad that featured severed human limbs poking out of garbage cans around Manhattan. Apparently, according to this advertisement, more people die of lung cancer every month than there are public garbage cans in all of New York City.
Ummm, more one legged Vietnam veteran Jewish lesbians of color are killed by lightning during trapeze performances in Ecuador each month than there are trash cans in New York City. Hello.
I'll tell you: stand outside a television studio at the far end of West 54th Street in 23-degree weather for an hour, and bitter may be the only feeling you have left.
At least they have you line up in an alley alongside the building under a plastic canopy which blocked the frigid wind coming off the Hudson River. (The wind chill brought the apparent temperature to 5.) Still, by the time they finally opened the doors, I had lost all sensation in my toes other than pain and did not have the manual dexterity necessary to turn off my cell phone. I had an undershirt, a button-down shirt, a heavy sweater and a long wool coat, big wool scarf, heavy socks, corduroy pants and two pairs of underwear. (Tighty-whities for moral support, and flannel boxers for that warm fuzzy feeling.)
The show itself was great fun. I was really impressed that during the entire taping there were only two takes they had to re-do. I thought tonight's word -- "silence" -- was one of his very best. We were also delighted that Stephen happened to mention Battlestar Galactica. As a whole it was highly entertaining and I totally recommend attending a taping. Just wait for better weather. Oh, and word to the wise: show up on time. Seriously.
I admit I had reservations about the guest, but I remembered a cardinal rule: don't judge a book by its author's hairstyle. Actually what Mr. Pinker had to say seemed rather interesting. I was curious to know more, but of course in this particular venue, the spotlight is always on Colbert and so the guests never really get a chance to say much of interest.
The show airs again tonight at 8:30 p.m. on Comedy Central. I don't believe there are any audience shots, so no point in straining your eyes hoping to catch a glimpse of me.
******
Brief rant: in the waiting area inside there's a television, which I guess was tuned to Comedy Central. I didn't really notice the program that was on. I just noticed an anti-smoking campaign ad that featured severed human limbs poking out of garbage cans around Manhattan. Apparently, according to this advertisement, more people die of lung cancer every month than there are public garbage cans in all of New York City.
Ummm, more one legged Vietnam veteran Jewish lesbians of color are killed by lightning during trapeze performances in Ecuador each month than there are trash cans in New York City. Hello.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Which Brings Us to Tonight's Word
Audience member.
As part of my "things I have to do before I leave New York" plan, I am going to be in The Colbert Report's studio audience tonight. (Yes, The Daily Show is on the list, too.)
I'm excited, but somewhat dismayed that we are advised to get in line by 4:30 before they "open the doors" at 6:00 for the 7:00 taping. (The show airs at 11:30 and again tomorrow at 8:30). Presently it's 13 degrees, and the forecast calls for snow with a high of 26. Actually, 26 might seem downright mild compared to the last three days. Still, it's not exactly ideal weather for standing around outside for 90 minutes.
According to the website, tonight's guest is Steven Pinker, author of The Humanities and Human Nature. No offense to Mr. Pinker, but I'm going to spend my 90 minutes in line hoping something comes up and he has to cancel and he is replaced at the last minute by Jake Gyllenhaal.
UPDATE: Oh dear. According to Wikipedia, Mr. Pinker is an atheist and an "ally" of Richard Dawkins. Now I'm really wishing it was Jake Gyllenhaal.
UPDATED UPDATE: It was fun! Details tomorrow. I thought the guest was interesting.
*****
I think it's beginning to sink in what "leaving New York" is going to mean. I wouldn't say I'm having second thoughts; I've been wanting this for a long time, and it's clear to me that appreciating all that is wonderful about New York is not the same thing as wanting to live here.
Still, I think that first morning in Portland is going to be something of a shock.
As part of my "things I have to do before I leave New York" plan, I am going to be in The Colbert Report's studio audience tonight. (Yes, The Daily Show is on the list, too.)
I'm excited, but somewhat dismayed that we are advised to get in line by 4:30 before they "open the doors" at 6:00 for the 7:00 taping. (The show airs at 11:30 and again tomorrow at 8:30). Presently it's 13 degrees, and the forecast calls for snow with a high of 26. Actually, 26 might seem downright mild compared to the last three days. Still, it's not exactly ideal weather for standing around outside for 90 minutes.
According to the website, tonight's guest is Steven Pinker, author of The Humanities and Human Nature. No offense to Mr. Pinker, but I'm going to spend my 90 minutes in line hoping something comes up and he has to cancel and he is replaced at the last minute by Jake Gyllenhaal.
UPDATE: Oh dear. According to Wikipedia, Mr. Pinker is an atheist and an "ally" of Richard Dawkins. Now I'm really wishing it was Jake Gyllenhaal.
UPDATED UPDATE: It was fun! Details tomorrow. I thought the guest was interesting.
*****
I think it's beginning to sink in what "leaving New York" is going to mean. I wouldn't say I'm having second thoughts; I've been wanting this for a long time, and it's clear to me that appreciating all that is wonderful about New York is not the same thing as wanting to live here.
Still, I think that first morning in Portland is going to be something of a shock.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
What's Wrong With New York: Part 183
You'd think $1,000 a month would at least get you a thermostat.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Now She Takes the High Road
''This is a baby,'' Vice President Cheney's daughter Mary said at a forum in New York on Wednesday. ''This is a blessing from God. It is not a political statement. It is not a prop to be used in a debate by people on either side of an issue. It is my child.''
Last week the Veep grew testy in an interview with CNN's Wolf Blitzer when the subject of Mary's pregnancy was raised, insisting this is a private matter.
I'd give them both resounding snap-snap you go, girls, except unfortunately this righteous indignation rings hollow and hypocritical.
Let us not forget that Cheney serves as second in command to a President who has several times publicly called for an amendment to the Constitution to prevent Mary Cheney's family from having any meaningful legal status. Let us not forget that Karl Rove -- whose father was gay -- engineered getting 11 anti-gay marriage initiatives on the ballots for the November 2004 election to increase the wingnut turnout.
Dick Cheney has betrayed the best interests and civil rights of his own daughter -- and now grandchild -- in order to serve an administration that turned gay people and committed same-sex relationships into the very brand of rhetorical props that Mary now claims to disdain. I didn't realize that "family values" meant sacrificing your own flesh and blood on the altar of political expedience.
Bush, Cheney and Rove courted the support of people who believe that Mary's relationship and pregnancy are threats to our very civilization. They continue to demonize people just like Mary on a daily basis, and continue to "accuse" liberal Democrats of supporting gay marriage. They rode to power on a message of fear and prejudice, trivializing the relationships and dignity of millions of Americans in the process.
Now you're angry, Mary? Because finally you're feeling victimized and cheapened by the ugly debate over your civil rights?
Wish you'd spoken up a few years ago. You brought this on yourself.
Last week the Veep grew testy in an interview with CNN's Wolf Blitzer when the subject of Mary's pregnancy was raised, insisting this is a private matter.
I'd give them both resounding snap-snap you go, girls, except unfortunately this righteous indignation rings hollow and hypocritical.
Let us not forget that Cheney serves as second in command to a President who has several times publicly called for an amendment to the Constitution to prevent Mary Cheney's family from having any meaningful legal status. Let us not forget that Karl Rove -- whose father was gay -- engineered getting 11 anti-gay marriage initiatives on the ballots for the November 2004 election to increase the wingnut turnout.
Dick Cheney has betrayed the best interests and civil rights of his own daughter -- and now grandchild -- in order to serve an administration that turned gay people and committed same-sex relationships into the very brand of rhetorical props that Mary now claims to disdain. I didn't realize that "family values" meant sacrificing your own flesh and blood on the altar of political expedience.
Bush, Cheney and Rove courted the support of people who believe that Mary's relationship and pregnancy are threats to our very civilization. They continue to demonize people just like Mary on a daily basis, and continue to "accuse" liberal Democrats of supporting gay marriage. They rode to power on a message of fear and prejudice, trivializing the relationships and dignity of millions of Americans in the process.
Now you're angry, Mary? Because finally you're feeling victimized and cheapened by the ugly debate over your civil rights?
Wish you'd spoken up a few years ago. You brought this on yourself.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Molly Ivins; "A" is for Ass-Clown; Joe Biden
I was shocked and saddened last night to read about the death of my favorite political writer, Molly Ivins.
The byline on her columns read, "Molly Ivins writes about politics, Texas and other bizarre happenings." She combined a healthy liberal outrage with a folksy but nevertheless razor-sharp wit. It was classic muckraking with a uniquely American irreverence.
Her specialty was George W. Bush. Having chronicled Texas politics since the 70s, she had closely monitored his path to power and exposed many Bush administration policies that were under the mainstream media's radar. She made you laugh, but at the end of her essays, you usually wanted to cry or scream or both.
*****
It's no secret that one of my biggest problems with New York is life with the MTA. It's bad enough that my daily commute starts out by walking ten minutes in the wrong direction in order to get on the A train where I can get a seat, instead of using the station that's across the street from my apartment. (Sometimes even then I can't get a seat, if there are delays.) Since it's a solid 50-minute ride to Fulton Street, trust me, a seat is important.
This morning I was sitting at the end of one of the three-seater benches that faces into the aisle. Around 145th Street, I noticed that the guy sitting on the bench to my left facing me was resting his New York Post on my shoulder and using me as a desk to fill out the sudoku puzzle. Yes, he was writing on me. I was too shocked to say anything, plus he looked kinda scary. So I just let it go.
At 34th Street we sat and waited for an unusually long time. Eventually they announced that they were having door problems and asked us to be patient. (If New Yorkers wouldn't thrust anything they can find into the doors -- hands, feet, umbrellas, bags and yes, I've even seen a woman push a stroller with a baby in it into a set of closing doors -- maybe they wouldn't break. To be fair, however, *many* times I've heard "[ding-dong] stand clear of the closing doors" before the passengers have even finished getting off.) After a few more minutes, they apologized again for the delay and encouraged us to transfer to other subway lines.
No sooner had I stepped off the train did the doors close and the train continued on its way.
Fuckers.
As I was already late, I thought I'd transfer to the 2/3 express line, since it has the closest stop to my office anyway. Wow, what an experience in social darwinism that is! Forget politely lining up on either side of the train doors to let passengers off. The minute the doors open, everyone just collides. I couldn't even get on the first #2 that came because so many people just jumped the queue and pushed their way in.
It's moments like this when I remember my investigative reports on living conditions in Portland back in November. I introduced myself to a random lady on the MAX train, told her I was considering relocating and inquired if it would be okay to ask her a couple questions about her commute. "How often," I wanted to know, "are you late to work because of train delays or because the train simply isn't running?"
She blinked and said, "What do you mean?"
*****
Oh, my God, Joe Biden. You clown! Buh-bye-den.
*****
Now available on Amazon.com: my personal copy of Molly Ivins' classic Bushwhacked: Life in George W. Bush's America. UPDATE: Sold! ( Thanks, G!)
The byline on her columns read, "Molly Ivins writes about politics, Texas and other bizarre happenings." She combined a healthy liberal outrage with a folksy but nevertheless razor-sharp wit. It was classic muckraking with a uniquely American irreverence.
Her specialty was George W. Bush. Having chronicled Texas politics since the 70s, she had closely monitored his path to power and exposed many Bush administration policies that were under the mainstream media's radar. She made you laugh, but at the end of her essays, you usually wanted to cry or scream or both.
*****
It's no secret that one of my biggest problems with New York is life with the MTA. It's bad enough that my daily commute starts out by walking ten minutes in the wrong direction in order to get on the A train where I can get a seat, instead of using the station that's across the street from my apartment. (Sometimes even then I can't get a seat, if there are delays.) Since it's a solid 50-minute ride to Fulton Street, trust me, a seat is important.
This morning I was sitting at the end of one of the three-seater benches that faces into the aisle. Around 145th Street, I noticed that the guy sitting on the bench to my left facing me was resting his New York Post on my shoulder and using me as a desk to fill out the sudoku puzzle. Yes, he was writing on me. I was too shocked to say anything, plus he looked kinda scary. So I just let it go.
At 34th Street we sat and waited for an unusually long time. Eventually they announced that they were having door problems and asked us to be patient. (If New Yorkers wouldn't thrust anything they can find into the doors -- hands, feet, umbrellas, bags and yes, I've even seen a woman push a stroller with a baby in it into a set of closing doors -- maybe they wouldn't break. To be fair, however, *many* times I've heard "[ding-dong] stand clear of the closing doors" before the passengers have even finished getting off.) After a few more minutes, they apologized again for the delay and encouraged us to transfer to other subway lines.
No sooner had I stepped off the train did the doors close and the train continued on its way.
Fuckers.
As I was already late, I thought I'd transfer to the 2/3 express line, since it has the closest stop to my office anyway. Wow, what an experience in social darwinism that is! Forget politely lining up on either side of the train doors to let passengers off. The minute the doors open, everyone just collides. I couldn't even get on the first #2 that came because so many people just jumped the queue and pushed their way in.
It's moments like this when I remember my investigative reports on living conditions in Portland back in November. I introduced myself to a random lady on the MAX train, told her I was considering relocating and inquired if it would be okay to ask her a couple questions about her commute. "How often," I wanted to know, "are you late to work because of train delays or because the train simply isn't running?"
She blinked and said, "What do you mean?"
*****
Oh, my God, Joe Biden. You clown! Buh-bye-den.
*****
Now available on Amazon.com: my personal copy of Molly Ivins' classic Bushwhacked: Life in George W. Bush's America. UPDATE: Sold! ( Thanks, G!)
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Hi, Mr. President!
As much as I am looking forward to just starting over with a new life on the west coast this spring, I freely concede that one of the great things about living in New York is the frequency of random celebrity sightings.
True, once back in high school I saw local news anchor Tracy Barry at the Canyon Road Fred Meyer, but -- forgive me -- somehow that's not quite on the same level as passing Julia Roberts in Central Park, seeing Hugh Jackman coming out of the theater after The Boy from Oz, riding in an elevator with Michael J. Fox and Alec Baldwin (not at the same time; they both lived in my voice teacher's building), or sitting in front of Kiri Te Kanawa at a movie theater (Good Will Hunting at the multiplex on 68th Street). Once I even rode in a limousine with David Boreanaz. (Long story involving other WB celebrities. He was very nice.)
I haven't any idea what I'm going to be doing for work back on the Left Coast, but it's a reasonably safe bet that whatever it is, the President of the United States won't be flying past my window on a regular basis.
Here at the national headquarters of The Homosexual Agenda, we are fortunate enough to have lovely, expansive views of Brooklyn across the East River, including the heliport at the end of Wall Street. (My view is less impressive, but I'm grateful for it nonetheless. Yes, that's the Brooklyn Bridge. Or part of it, at any rate.)
"The Decider" is in town today to "bring his economic message out from the shadows of the Iraq war," as the AP puts it, in a speech on Wall Street. Whenever he's in New York, we gather in the better offices to watch the motorcade greet the fleet of helicopters that descend on the pier. Today for whatever reason, they came straight down FDR Drive and flew so close to our building that we could see the faces of the passengers.
As you might well imagine, we simply adore the President and gave him a warm wave.
True, once back in high school I saw local news anchor Tracy Barry at the Canyon Road Fred Meyer, but -- forgive me -- somehow that's not quite on the same level as passing Julia Roberts in Central Park, seeing Hugh Jackman coming out of the theater after The Boy from Oz, riding in an elevator with Michael J. Fox and Alec Baldwin (not at the same time; they both lived in my voice teacher's building), or sitting in front of Kiri Te Kanawa at a movie theater (Good Will Hunting at the multiplex on 68th Street). Once I even rode in a limousine with David Boreanaz. (Long story involving other WB celebrities. He was very nice.)
I haven't any idea what I'm going to be doing for work back on the Left Coast, but it's a reasonably safe bet that whatever it is, the President of the United States won't be flying past my window on a regular basis.
Here at the national headquarters of The Homosexual Agenda, we are fortunate enough to have lovely, expansive views of Brooklyn across the East River, including the heliport at the end of Wall Street. (My view is less impressive, but I'm grateful for it nonetheless. Yes, that's the Brooklyn Bridge. Or part of it, at any rate.)
"The Decider" is in town today to "bring his economic message out from the shadows of the Iraq war," as the AP puts it, in a speech on Wall Street. Whenever he's in New York, we gather in the better offices to watch the motorcade greet the fleet of helicopters that descend on the pier. Today for whatever reason, they came straight down FDR Drive and flew so close to our building that we could see the faces of the passengers.
As you might well imagine, we simply adore the President and gave him a warm wave.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Beware January 30
Yipes. Maybe it's better to stay home today. Here are some things that happened in history on January 30:
1649: King Charles I of England beheaded.
1933: Adolf Hitler became Chancellor of Germany.
1948: Gandhi assassinated.
1968: Tet Offensive began.
1972: Northern Ireland's "Bloody Sunday" massacre.
2006: ExxonMobil posts the highest quarterly and yearly profits for any American company in history.
And finally: Happy 66th Birthday, Dick Cheney!
1649: King Charles I of England beheaded.
1933: Adolf Hitler became Chancellor of Germany.
1948: Gandhi assassinated.
1968: Tet Offensive began.
1972: Northern Ireland's "Bloody Sunday" massacre.
2006: ExxonMobil posts the highest quarterly and yearly profits for any American company in history.
And finally: Happy 66th Birthday, Dick Cheney!
Friday, January 26, 2007
If God Doesn't Exist, Why Are There So Few Atheists?
Many atheists regard religion as nothing more than fairytales invented to explain the unexplainable or fantasies of hope in a hopeless world; “the opium of the masses” goes the popular quote. They claim religion defies logic and rejects reason, resting on beliefs which could appeal only to the hopelessly stupid, the desperate or the manipulative. They tend not to give religion very much thought, because they assume its adherents have given it virtually no thought at all.
They ask questions like, “If God exists, how can there be so much suffering in the world?” and because they cannot provide an answer, they assume there isn’t one. Indeed, like the Sam Harris piece I linked to earlier this week, they triumphantly tout their unanswered questions with a distinctly defiant “A-ha!” tone of voice. “You Christians never thought of that, did you?” goes the subtext.
Compounding this problem is that (especially in America) there are multitudes of Christians who frankly have not given such important questions sufficient thought, and who spew forth copious nonsensical verbiage blaming natural disasters on homosexuals, for example. Primetime Christianity is not, alas, an intellectually serious or theologically coherent movement. Fundamentalist Christians, for all their protestations of belief in Biblical inerrancy, are often ignorant of what Jesus said about tragedy and suffering.
But that doesn’t mean no Christian has ever pondered tough questions and come away with faith intact. John Stott wrote, “The fact of suffering undoubtedly constitutes the single greatest challenge to the Christian faith. Its distribution and degree appear to be entirely random and therefore unfair. Sensitive spirits ask if it can possibly be reconciled with God’s justice and love.”
At the heart of the misunderstanding is anthropomorphism, the old “If I were God” conundrum. “If God is omniscient,” they want to know, “then how come (fill in the blank)?” Are you claiming omniscience? The answer (forgive my snark) is that God knows what you don’t. Just as a good parent often makes decisions that a child will reject as unfair, God acts in our lives in ways that often do not become clear until we have gained perspective with the passage of time and the accumulation of experience and wisdom. Good parents sometimes have to let their kids stumble and fall, so they learn from their errors.
That dismissive atheists like Harris have not really put much thought into their judgments on religion is readily apparent in issues like suffering. If the question is “How can God permit so much suffering,” I have a couple of questions in return.
First of all, what is suffering? If I plan a trip to the beach but it rains, I am unhappy. Would you say, though, that I am suffering? Probably not. If I am a teenager in Darfur who has just witnessed his village burned and his family massacred in the middle of the night and I am fleeing for my life naked into the desert, you would probably say I’m suffering. Fair enough. But where is the dividing line between unhappiness and suffering? In order for a loving God to exist, must we never be unhappy?
How much suffering is “so much” that God could not possibly exist? People often point to the Holocaust, in which 13 million people were exterminated. How could God let that happen? (The better question, which God would like an answer to, is how did we let that happen?) If the Nazis had only killed 12 million, might there be a God? Six million? A hundred-thousand? Ten? One? Where is this line we cross between enough suffering that God is a possibility and too much? This is a difficult question to answer, especially since we’re not even clear on where mere unhappiness ends and suffering begins.
Here’s a question for atheists to answer, one posed by St. Augustine in the 4th century: “If there is no God, why is there so much good in the world?”
The fact that even atheists like Harris claim to be able to identify a distinct difference between the way the world is and the way it ought to be means there is a universal supposition of a standard of supreme good to which we should all aspire. Is that merely a byproduct of evolution? Frankly, the desire to kill others we judge different from ourselves sounds like the more Darwinian instinct.
Why didn’t God create a world without suffering? The simple answer is, He did. But he also gifted humanity with free will, which would be meaningless without the freedom to choose to do harm. Free will is either unconstrained or it is an impossibility.
Imagine a world without suffering. Really imagine it. It would be a world devoid of any of the human traits we value the most. What is generosity without poverty? What is heroism without danger? What is altruism without imbalance? What is sacrifice without cost? What is justice without cruelty? What is acceptance without bigotry? Courage without fear? Could we define sweetness without bitterness? For that matter, how could we prize unconditional love so highly if there were no hatred?
And if we have never suffered, how would we learn compassion?
We must also consider that even grotesque evil and senseless tragedy contain within themselves the potential for good. How many of us can say we have been through difficult periods in our life but are nonetheless better for having learned from the experience? Suffering gives us insight and earns us credibility.
Let’s go back to the Holocaust. It is likely the civil rights movement of the 1960s could not have taken place without the perspective that humanity gained from the racism of Nazi Germany. We learned – well, some of us did – that when we classify people merely according to arbitrary characteristics such as ethnicity, nationality, skin color, religion, gender or sexual orientation, when we group them by random categories of our choosing, we stop seeing them as individuals, and we stop valuing them as humans. Before we know it, we’ve killed 13 million of them.
When we start to consider these factors, it becomes clear that a life without suffering is a life without meaning. And if anything suggests the absence of God, it would be a meaningless life.
They ask questions like, “If God exists, how can there be so much suffering in the world?” and because they cannot provide an answer, they assume there isn’t one. Indeed, like the Sam Harris piece I linked to earlier this week, they triumphantly tout their unanswered questions with a distinctly defiant “A-ha!” tone of voice. “You Christians never thought of that, did you?” goes the subtext.
Compounding this problem is that (especially in America) there are multitudes of Christians who frankly have not given such important questions sufficient thought, and who spew forth copious nonsensical verbiage blaming natural disasters on homosexuals, for example. Primetime Christianity is not, alas, an intellectually serious or theologically coherent movement. Fundamentalist Christians, for all their protestations of belief in Biblical inerrancy, are often ignorant of what Jesus said about tragedy and suffering.
But that doesn’t mean no Christian has ever pondered tough questions and come away with faith intact. John Stott wrote, “The fact of suffering undoubtedly constitutes the single greatest challenge to the Christian faith. Its distribution and degree appear to be entirely random and therefore unfair. Sensitive spirits ask if it can possibly be reconciled with God’s justice and love.”
At the heart of the misunderstanding is anthropomorphism, the old “If I were God” conundrum. “If God is omniscient,” they want to know, “then how come (fill in the blank)?” Are you claiming omniscience? The answer (forgive my snark) is that God knows what you don’t. Just as a good parent often makes decisions that a child will reject as unfair, God acts in our lives in ways that often do not become clear until we have gained perspective with the passage of time and the accumulation of experience and wisdom. Good parents sometimes have to let their kids stumble and fall, so they learn from their errors.
That dismissive atheists like Harris have not really put much thought into their judgments on religion is readily apparent in issues like suffering. If the question is “How can God permit so much suffering,” I have a couple of questions in return.
First of all, what is suffering? If I plan a trip to the beach but it rains, I am unhappy. Would you say, though, that I am suffering? Probably not. If I am a teenager in Darfur who has just witnessed his village burned and his family massacred in the middle of the night and I am fleeing for my life naked into the desert, you would probably say I’m suffering. Fair enough. But where is the dividing line between unhappiness and suffering? In order for a loving God to exist, must we never be unhappy?
How much suffering is “so much” that God could not possibly exist? People often point to the Holocaust, in which 13 million people were exterminated. How could God let that happen? (The better question, which God would like an answer to, is how did we let that happen?) If the Nazis had only killed 12 million, might there be a God? Six million? A hundred-thousand? Ten? One? Where is this line we cross between enough suffering that God is a possibility and too much? This is a difficult question to answer, especially since we’re not even clear on where mere unhappiness ends and suffering begins.
Here’s a question for atheists to answer, one posed by St. Augustine in the 4th century: “If there is no God, why is there so much good in the world?”
The fact that even atheists like Harris claim to be able to identify a distinct difference between the way the world is and the way it ought to be means there is a universal supposition of a standard of supreme good to which we should all aspire. Is that merely a byproduct of evolution? Frankly, the desire to kill others we judge different from ourselves sounds like the more Darwinian instinct.
Why didn’t God create a world without suffering? The simple answer is, He did. But he also gifted humanity with free will, which would be meaningless without the freedom to choose to do harm. Free will is either unconstrained or it is an impossibility.
Imagine a world without suffering. Really imagine it. It would be a world devoid of any of the human traits we value the most. What is generosity without poverty? What is heroism without danger? What is altruism without imbalance? What is sacrifice without cost? What is justice without cruelty? What is acceptance without bigotry? Courage without fear? Could we define sweetness without bitterness? For that matter, how could we prize unconditional love so highly if there were no hatred?
And if we have never suffered, how would we learn compassion?
We must also consider that even grotesque evil and senseless tragedy contain within themselves the potential for good. How many of us can say we have been through difficult periods in our life but are nonetheless better for having learned from the experience? Suffering gives us insight and earns us credibility.
Let’s go back to the Holocaust. It is likely the civil rights movement of the 1960s could not have taken place without the perspective that humanity gained from the racism of Nazi Germany. We learned – well, some of us did – that when we classify people merely according to arbitrary characteristics such as ethnicity, nationality, skin color, religion, gender or sexual orientation, when we group them by random categories of our choosing, we stop seeing them as individuals, and we stop valuing them as humans. Before we know it, we’ve killed 13 million of them.
When we start to consider these factors, it becomes clear that a life without suffering is a life without meaning. And if anything suggests the absence of God, it would be a meaningless life.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Who Are the Final Five?
WARNING: Potential "spoilers" ahead if you haven't seen the most recent episode.
This past Sunday, on the first episode of the second half of the third season of SciFi’s Battlestar Galactica, Cylon agent D’Anna Biers beheld – or thought she did, at any rate – the five remaining “skinjob” Cylon models that have not been revealed, before her model was deactivated and her memory “boxed,” or placed into cold storage.
The identity of one of the final five Cylons seemed to surprise her very much. Who might it have been?
Admiral William Adama: No. He’s been active in the colonial fleet since the original Cylon models rebelled, long before they had developed the technology to impersonate human beings. He has, we presume, two biological human children. Because the Helo-Athena hybrid is supposedly the first of its kind, anyone with children is probably ruled out. Also in the miniseries, Cylon Leoben was overcome by radiation at the weapons depot that left Adama unaffected. And why bother shooting him?
Commander Lee Adama: Also highly unlikely, for the reasons given above. Do Cylons “grow up”? Do they age? We don’t know yet, other than to say we have never seen any models that weren’t adults. But presumably longtime friends of Admiral Adama – such as Colonel Tigh – knew Lee as a child.
President Laura Roslin: Probably not, since we know that Cylons are immune to disease and President Roslin had breast cancer, which only disappeared when she received a Cylon blood transfusion.
Dr. Gaius Baltar: Possibly…but then why the elaborate ruse of sending Caprica Six down to seduce him to gain access to the security mainframe before the attack? Why not just activate him?
Colonel Saul Tigh: Again, a military officer who has been involved in the struggle against the Cylons since before they developed the technology to appear human, so probably not.
Ellen Tigh: In her first appearance on the hilarious episode “Tigh Me Up, Tigh Me Down,” they seemed to make several suggestions that she was a potential Cylon suspect. She was executed for collaborating with the Cylon occupiers on New Caprica earlier this season, but if we see her again…we’ll know!
Chief Galen Tyrol: Possible, but see Helo below.
Anastasia “D” Dualla: Possible.
Lt. Felix Gaeta: Possible. It would be nice to have a handsome gay Cylon.
Karl “Helo” Agathon: No. He was the chosen subject of the Cylons’ first crossbreeding experiment. His daughter with Sharon “Boomer” Valerii, Hera, is understood to be the first (and so far only) hybrid. This casts doubt that Chief Tyrol or his wife Callie could be Cylons, though since the final five remain unknown even to the original seven, we can’t be sure.
Kara “Starbuck” Thrace: Alas, she gets my vote to be the secret Cylon who astonished D’Anna. She’s roughly the same age as Boomer, and, like Sharon, has only memories of a family but no actual family members (like the Adamas) that we have met. A Cylon identity explains why she is the top Viper pilot in the fleet, as well as why she so easily and quickly figured out the avionics of the captured Cylon raider. It would make perfect sense that she would be inserted into the Fleet Academy before the attacks to become a close confidante of the Adama family. Finally, in this most recent episode, we discovered that she has a secret, mysterious connection to the Eye of Jupiter, an icon located in the algae planet temple where D’Anna saw “the final five.” On the other hand, her capture by the Cylons on Caprica, when she apparently underwent some kind of operation or medical experiment in the breeding farm, would remain hard to explain.
This past Sunday, on the first episode of the second half of the third season of SciFi’s Battlestar Galactica, Cylon agent D’Anna Biers beheld – or thought she did, at any rate – the five remaining “skinjob” Cylon models that have not been revealed, before her model was deactivated and her memory “boxed,” or placed into cold storage.
The identity of one of the final five Cylons seemed to surprise her very much. Who might it have been?
Admiral William Adama: No. He’s been active in the colonial fleet since the original Cylon models rebelled, long before they had developed the technology to impersonate human beings. He has, we presume, two biological human children. Because the Helo-Athena hybrid is supposedly the first of its kind, anyone with children is probably ruled out. Also in the miniseries, Cylon Leoben was overcome by radiation at the weapons depot that left Adama unaffected. And why bother shooting him?
Commander Lee Adama: Also highly unlikely, for the reasons given above. Do Cylons “grow up”? Do they age? We don’t know yet, other than to say we have never seen any models that weren’t adults. But presumably longtime friends of Admiral Adama – such as Colonel Tigh – knew Lee as a child.
President Laura Roslin: Probably not, since we know that Cylons are immune to disease and President Roslin had breast cancer, which only disappeared when she received a Cylon blood transfusion.
Dr. Gaius Baltar: Possibly…but then why the elaborate ruse of sending Caprica Six down to seduce him to gain access to the security mainframe before the attack? Why not just activate him?
Colonel Saul Tigh: Again, a military officer who has been involved in the struggle against the Cylons since before they developed the technology to appear human, so probably not.
Ellen Tigh: In her first appearance on the hilarious episode “Tigh Me Up, Tigh Me Down,” they seemed to make several suggestions that she was a potential Cylon suspect. She was executed for collaborating with the Cylon occupiers on New Caprica earlier this season, but if we see her again…we’ll know!
Chief Galen Tyrol: Possible, but see Helo below.
Anastasia “D” Dualla: Possible.
Lt. Felix Gaeta: Possible. It would be nice to have a handsome gay Cylon.
Karl “Helo” Agathon: No. He was the chosen subject of the Cylons’ first crossbreeding experiment. His daughter with Sharon “Boomer” Valerii, Hera, is understood to be the first (and so far only) hybrid. This casts doubt that Chief Tyrol or his wife Callie could be Cylons, though since the final five remain unknown even to the original seven, we can’t be sure.
Kara “Starbuck” Thrace: Alas, she gets my vote to be the secret Cylon who astonished D’Anna. She’s roughly the same age as Boomer, and, like Sharon, has only memories of a family but no actual family members (like the Adamas) that we have met. A Cylon identity explains why she is the top Viper pilot in the fleet, as well as why she so easily and quickly figured out the avionics of the captured Cylon raider. It would make perfect sense that she would be inserted into the Fleet Academy before the attacks to become a close confidante of the Adama family. Finally, in this most recent episode, we discovered that she has a secret, mysterious connection to the Eye of Jupiter, an icon located in the algae planet temple where D’Anna saw “the final five.” On the other hand, her capture by the Cylons on Caprica, when she apparently underwent some kind of operation or medical experiment in the breeding farm, would remain hard to explain.
Monday, January 22, 2007
The Problem of Suffering
The question of why bad things happen to good people undoubtedly dates back to the mists of pre-history, when our ancestors first developed the ability to pose the question, “Why?” The tendency has been to answer the inexplicable with “God.”
It’s a serious question, and it deserves serious thought. What does the existence of suffering say about God?
Dagon linked to a piece from October 2005 by Sam Harris, entitled, “There Is No God (And You Know It).” Harris opens by presenting a likely scenario: A little girl is abducted, raped, tortured and killed, and while this is happening, her parents are innocently maintaining belief in a loving God who is watching out for them.
The argument here is that if God truly were omnipotent, omniscient and caring, He would never let atrocities and tragedies occur. As they do occur with regularity, either God is a hypocrite or, more likely, He simply does not exist. “If God exists, either He can do nothing to stop the most egregious calamities, or He does not care to. God, therefore, is either impotent or evil.”
My first reaction to this essay was disdainful anger. Harris mocks people of faith with dripping condescension: “Atheism is not a philosophy; it is simply a refusal to deny the obvious.” Or, “atheism is nothing more than the noises reasonable people make when in the presence of religious dogma.”
Harris assumes that people of all religions have the same fundamental beliefs about the nature of God and His role in the world (which is as sophisticated as assuming all Americans support George W. Bush), and because he thinks of faith as willing surrender of analytical thinking skills in favor of uncritical acceptance of a highly illogical belief system that demands adherence even in the face of reason and science, he doesn’t stop to consider that many people of faith have wrestled with this very question and come to conclusions far from the one he claims we all share.
The response to accusations like this is necessarily complex. It involves thoughts about free will and conscience, mortality, and though the phrase may sound strange, the benefits of suffering. The answer to “Where is God in the midst of all this tragedy?” can be found in the results of a Washington Post poll that Harris himself links to: 80% of Hurricane Katrina survivors responded that the experience strengthened their faith, a phenomenon we also saw with the 2004 Tsunami. Harris sees this as evidence of the utter idiocy of religious people, when the ironic truth is that far from proving that suffering indicates the absence of God, it is during our darkest hours that God is most present.
It’s a serious question, and it deserves serious thought. What does the existence of suffering say about God?
Dagon linked to a piece from October 2005 by Sam Harris, entitled, “There Is No God (And You Know It).” Harris opens by presenting a likely scenario: A little girl is abducted, raped, tortured and killed, and while this is happening, her parents are innocently maintaining belief in a loving God who is watching out for them.
The argument here is that if God truly were omnipotent, omniscient and caring, He would never let atrocities and tragedies occur. As they do occur with regularity, either God is a hypocrite or, more likely, He simply does not exist. “If God exists, either He can do nothing to stop the most egregious calamities, or He does not care to. God, therefore, is either impotent or evil.”
My first reaction to this essay was disdainful anger. Harris mocks people of faith with dripping condescension: “Atheism is not a philosophy; it is simply a refusal to deny the obvious.” Or, “atheism is nothing more than the noises reasonable people make when in the presence of religious dogma.”
Harris assumes that people of all religions have the same fundamental beliefs about the nature of God and His role in the world (which is as sophisticated as assuming all Americans support George W. Bush), and because he thinks of faith as willing surrender of analytical thinking skills in favor of uncritical acceptance of a highly illogical belief system that demands adherence even in the face of reason and science, he doesn’t stop to consider that many people of faith have wrestled with this very question and come to conclusions far from the one he claims we all share.
The response to accusations like this is necessarily complex. It involves thoughts about free will and conscience, mortality, and though the phrase may sound strange, the benefits of suffering. The answer to “Where is God in the midst of all this tragedy?” can be found in the results of a Washington Post poll that Harris himself links to: 80% of Hurricane Katrina survivors responded that the experience strengthened their faith, a phenomenon we also saw with the 2004 Tsunami. Harris sees this as evidence of the utter idiocy of religious people, when the ironic truth is that far from proving that suffering indicates the absence of God, it is during our darkest hours that God is most present.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
How Time Flies When You're Having Stress
Uch.
That pretty much sums it up.
Yes, I'm still here. I have been so busy lately -- both at work and in planning my upcoming move -- that I haven't had time or energy to follow the news or even read anyone's blogs. I haven't seen another person's blog in a week. I'll try to catch up this weekend. I have no idea what's happening in the world. The only time I have for current events is reading the cover of The New York Post that the person in front of me on the subway is holding. Basically, if I understand correctly, the week's top story is that Lindsay Lohan is in rehab.
This week was hard. Without going too much into it, I'm having some disagreements with my supervisors at work over priorities.
Also it is becoming apparent that the best strategy for relocation means abandoning almost everything I own. The cost of replacing my furniture and other banal possessions is only slightly higher than the cost of moving them across the country, so it seems like the better investment would be to just buy new things upon arrival. This also has the advantage of not needing a place to put an apartment's worth full of crap somewhere until I have a new home.
I've had a lot of sleepless nights lately. I think I understand why people turn to drugs. My mind would not get off the issues facing me. Either I was lying in bed arguing in my head with my bosses, getting angry over things I only fantasized they were saying (however likely it might be that they might eventually say them), or I was constantly turning over my spring calendar and fretting over all the things that could go wrong and brainstorming things I have to do, accounts to cancel, hotel options to research, gas costs to estimate, blah blah blah.
Try as I might, I just couldn't get my brain to leave it alone. I need to get back to my yoga practice, but every time I try to sit still and breathe and relax, my brain starts yelling at me, "You have too much to do!" I can't read, I can't listen to music, I can't watch TV. I just can't focus on anything. My brain just hijacks itself and goes back to work and moving.
Last night I had a good friend's birthday party to go to, but I came home and stretched out on the sofa and flipped on Animal Planet, and then promptly fell asleep and woke up at 10:45. I hadn't eaten dinner or anything, and I couldn't possibly have gotten to the party before midnight anyway, so I made a frozen pizza that I had in the freezer and then tried to go back to bed. Then of course I couldn't sleep. Ah, the joys of being stressed out. You're only sleepy when you need to be awake.
Still, there's reason for optimism. The wheels are turning and things are falling into place. I have a budget for this and should be able to last for a while upon arrival until I have a permanent job. The Amazon.com sales are going pretty well -- I've sold twelve items and made over $100! I've updated my storefront and added a few more items, hopefully with some broader appeal, so look again if you haven't recently.
And I promise to try to get back in touch with the rest of the world as soon as I can.
That pretty much sums it up.
Yes, I'm still here. I have been so busy lately -- both at work and in planning my upcoming move -- that I haven't had time or energy to follow the news or even read anyone's blogs. I haven't seen another person's blog in a week. I'll try to catch up this weekend. I have no idea what's happening in the world. The only time I have for current events is reading the cover of The New York Post that the person in front of me on the subway is holding. Basically, if I understand correctly, the week's top story is that Lindsay Lohan is in rehab.
This week was hard. Without going too much into it, I'm having some disagreements with my supervisors at work over priorities.
Also it is becoming apparent that the best strategy for relocation means abandoning almost everything I own. The cost of replacing my furniture and other banal possessions is only slightly higher than the cost of moving them across the country, so it seems like the better investment would be to just buy new things upon arrival. This also has the advantage of not needing a place to put an apartment's worth full of crap somewhere until I have a new home.
I've had a lot of sleepless nights lately. I think I understand why people turn to drugs. My mind would not get off the issues facing me. Either I was lying in bed arguing in my head with my bosses, getting angry over things I only fantasized they were saying (however likely it might be that they might eventually say them), or I was constantly turning over my spring calendar and fretting over all the things that could go wrong and brainstorming things I have to do, accounts to cancel, hotel options to research, gas costs to estimate, blah blah blah.
Try as I might, I just couldn't get my brain to leave it alone. I need to get back to my yoga practice, but every time I try to sit still and breathe and relax, my brain starts yelling at me, "You have too much to do!" I can't read, I can't listen to music, I can't watch TV. I just can't focus on anything. My brain just hijacks itself and goes back to work and moving.
Last night I had a good friend's birthday party to go to, but I came home and stretched out on the sofa and flipped on Animal Planet, and then promptly fell asleep and woke up at 10:45. I hadn't eaten dinner or anything, and I couldn't possibly have gotten to the party before midnight anyway, so I made a frozen pizza that I had in the freezer and then tried to go back to bed. Then of course I couldn't sleep. Ah, the joys of being stressed out. You're only sleepy when you need to be awake.
Still, there's reason for optimism. The wheels are turning and things are falling into place. I have a budget for this and should be able to last for a while upon arrival until I have a permanent job. The Amazon.com sales are going pretty well -- I've sold twelve items and made over $100! I've updated my storefront and added a few more items, hopefully with some broader appeal, so look again if you haven't recently.
And I promise to try to get back in touch with the rest of the world as soon as I can.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Giddeup, Kitty!
So I've been looking at my money situation and trying to figure out a budget for this proposed relocation to Oregon.
Basically this is what I can afford.
Basically this is what I can afford.
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