SPidge Tales

Sunday, October 30, 2005

I Begin Basketball Coaching!

This week I begin coaching the 5th & 6th grade B basketball team. Two things immediately come to mind. (1) Every time I am told I am coaching the B squad, I always think of the movie Van Wilder, where Van raises money for tuition with "topless tutors." He hires the good looking girls at the strip club to help guys study, for a fee, of course. This source of income stops when the strip club owner confronts Van, bat in hand, surrounding by a bunch of nasty, skanky looking 40-year olds. Van says that the strip club owner "got tired of using his 'B' squad." So, yes, I am comparing coaching the 5th & 6th grade boys (mostly, I assume, 5th graders) to the ugly strippers in Van Wilder. (2) I worry about what the hell I am going to do during practices, considering that I have not been involved in organized basketball in 6 years, before remembering the awful experiencing of my high school basketball playing days and realizing that I am best off going in the exact opposite direction when I coach.

I will not name my coach from high school since it's not nice to talk about people (even though, I guess that is exactly what I am doing). I don't think anyone from high school reads my blog, so no one should know who I am talking about, anyways. He was the type of coach who, if we lost a road game, it had to be library quiet on the busride back home, and we had to act sad. We would get screamed at in the locker room, with F-words and everything, questioning our manhood, etc., if we dared lose a game. Of course, we were losing on purpose. The other team is never better, and can never just have a better game than us. At home games, the leftover pizza, hot dogs, soda, and other food from the concession stand would be brought into the locker room for us to eat. We weren't allowed to touch it until after Coach's post-game spiel. One game, after we lost, Coach decided, while screaming at us, to knock all of the food off the table. From that point on, we would hide the food behind the lockers after losses.

I might have been able to put up with this, except for his added on personal vendetta against me. I was his great project, great hope, that never fulfilled the promise he expected. I was in his 9th grade math class in 8th grade because I was one of the smart kids. I was tall for my age; 5'11" (I would eventually grow to reach my current 6'3"). He was coaching the JV team at the time. He decided that I would be his great project; he would mold me into a great player. So, he made me the first 8th grader in school history (and still, as far as I know, the only) to play JV.

He was hard on me, but I thought it was because I thought he was just pushing me. He used me as an example of what to do when someone goes over your back for a rebound by making me go over his back, then elbowing me and knocking the wind out of me. Even in class, he would pick on me. He used to send me down to the discipline office after answering his phone, then after finding out I wasn't really in trouble, I would come back to find my desk out in the hallway and myself locked out. But, I developed pretty well as a basketball player. I didn't do that well in 8th grade playing with 9th and 10th graders, but I got experience, and by 10th grade I was the star on JV, averaging 16 points per game. However, the trouble started in 11th grade.

I liked basketball, but baseball was my favorite sport. By this point Coach was coaching the varsity team, and expected big things from me. He was always pushing me to go to summer basketball camps and play AAU ball. He didn't like the fact that basketball was just something I did for fun in the winter, and I would rather just play baseball in the summer. During the season, when I missed one practice because I was attending a school field trip to New York City, he benched me for the next game. Which means I played about 2 minutes less than I normally did. I understand not starting...I was anywhere from the 5th to 7th best player on the team, but he barely played me because I didn't kiss his ass and act like basketball was my favorite thing in the world.

Right before summer vacation after junior year, I knew that senior year basketball would not be any better. Coach decided to give me a talk, suggested I do basketball camp in the summer, then maybe I could have a good season as a senior, and then "maybe the girls would start noticing me." That's a really nice thing to say to a guy who is very self conscious around girls. Besides, maybe I didn't have a girlfriend, but I had good female friends, and I wouldn't want girls to like me for being good at a sport or something superficial, I'd want them to like me for who I am (in hindsight, yeah, I'd rather be liked on a romantic level for who I am than for superficial reasons; but I'd rather be liked for superficial reasons than not be liked at all, which is the way it is--but that's a story for another day).

Senior year, he decided to make a guy who had quit school, and who would quit school again the day after the season ended, co-captain over me since I decided to relax the week between the end of football season and the start of basketball practice, instead of going to his open gym sessions. I was a starter now, got to play a lot and was doing pretty well. I even played one game when I had the flu. After spraining my ankle, the team needed me, so instead of healing up, I put an air cast on and played. I had a bad game, and instead of saying, "thanks for giving your best when you're not full strength, Sean," he reamed me out, and yelled and swore at me. And, not in the locker room, mind you, but during a time-out, in front of everybody in the stands.

Anyways, I don't know what the point of this rant is. All I know is that I will not coach like him. I will not yell and scream and swear at my players. I will make sure that, above all else, they have fun.

Classical, Modern, and Post-Modern Culture

Three umpires sit at a bar after the baseball game, sharing some drinks and discussing their respective strategies on calling a game behind the plate. The first umpire declares, "there are set rules for what balls and strikes are, and I call balls and strikes as they are." The second umpire says, "I call balls and strikes as I see them." The third umpire, speaking gleefully, announces, "there are no balls and strikes until I call them."

I think this story is an interesting way to explain the differences between classical/ancient/medieval, modern, and post-modern thought. We always here these terms brandied about in reference to culture or ideas, yet often we, and the speaker, have no idea what is being talked about.

The first umpire represents the classical worldview. Balls and strikes, the rules of the game, of life, and the way things are, is set. It is our task, in this understanding, to see the world the way it is. Umpire One believes that there is an objective order of which our duty is to conform ourselves to it.

The second umpire represents the modernist worldview. Descartes's famous line, "I think, therefore I am," refers to his belief that we are radically separated from one another, and have no way of really knowing anyone outside of ourselves. From this flows the notion that the classical view of a shared reality, and an objective order of which me must conform ourselves, is false. Everything, according to the modernist umpire, is a matter of perspective. There are no "balls and strikes as they are," but only "balls and strikes as he sees them."

The third umpire represents the post-modernist worldview. Going beyond saying everything depends on one's perspective, the post-modernist claims that there is no order of any kind, there is nothing that can be claimed to be real, other than that which we construct. There is no such thing as gender, such as the way men and women are supposed to be, and there is no such thing as culture as something beyond ourselves. These are all just social constructions. There is no such thing as human nature. It is up to us to create entirely for ourselves who we want to be. Like the third umpire says, "there are no balls and strikes until I call them."

I find irony in the term "Enlightenment." The period of history known by this name is so called because historians see this as the time when we shed our "medieval" superstitions and prejudices and began to make the world a better place. Yes, we have improved in areas such as health care, science, and technological. However, religiously, and morally, we have strayed way off the path. Our classical worldview told us that we are created by God, that their are moral laws inherent in our nature. That is, there are some actions that by their nature are just plain bad for us. The modernists, beginning with Descartes, were not atheists. Descartes, in fact, was a strong believer in God. However, though possibly justifable, considering the horrendous religious wars rought by the Reformation, their attempt separate moral truths from an attachment to God failed. The modernists tried to justify our moral objective truths, not with God as the reference, but with Man. The problem is, which man is the reference? It ends up just devolving into the notion that each person himself must decide for himself what is right or wrong. It is all a matter of personal perspective.

The post-modernists, especially Nietzsche, saw a flaw with the modernists. Nietzsche agreed with their desire to excise God from the equation. However, Nietzsce rightly pointed out that one cannot get rid of God and still hold claim to ultimate truths. Without God, anything goes. Nietzsche did not see this as a problem. For him, this is a good thing. We should get rid of both God and "objective" morality, and then each person not only decides for himself what is right and wrong, but creates for himself his own right and wrong and own worldview.

The criticisms of the ancient classical view by moderns and post-moderns have some value. It is true that we each see things from our own perspective. This does not mean that there are no objective truths. It just makes the task of conforming ourselves to these truths all the more crucial, since we do each see things from our own perspective. We need to recognize that we can be wrong, and it is good to conform ourselves to what the real truth is. The umpire does call balls and strikes as he sees them, but there are "balls and strikes as they are," and if the way the umpire sees them isn't the way they are, he can be sure to hear an earfull from the fans and from the player who is wrongly called out on a pitch 6 inches off the plate.

The post-modernists helped us to see the flaw in the modernists desire to try and keep an objective worldview without God. However, we need not just "abandon all hope, ye who enter." We can recognize an objective order, and understand that "they are balls and strikes when I call them" precisely because the Grand Rulemaker of our lives made "balls and strikes as they are."

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Rock, Paper, Scissors

This past weekend was a big one in the world of sports. And, no, I am not referring to the World Series, or to the NFL, or even to pro hockey (I don’t consider hockey a sport, anyway). Taking place in Toronto was the World Rock Paper Scissor Championships. Yes, that “sport” where you decide who goes first, or who gets the remote control, or who gets stuck playing wingman at the bar. Click here for the official site: http://www.rpschamps.com/ . You can purchase tickets to next year’s event or see the results from this year (first prize was $7,500). And, yes, I have faaaaaaarrrrr too much time on my hands.

Monday, October 24, 2005

Let's Bring Back "Thou"!

One thing I find very interesting, even downright fascinating, is the change in accents based on geographical location, even for people who share a language. It’s understandable and obvious that a person whose native language is French or Spanish would speak accented English. It’s the differences with the same language that are amazing. Like, I notice it just with the way people pronounce my name “Sean.” Down in New York City area, I am called “Shawn” with the hard “yawn” sound. In the north country, and across Lake Champlain in Vermont, it is more “Shon”, sort or rhyming with “Ron.” Everyone knows the Boston accent, where the don’t pronounce their “R’s”. People live near “Woostuh” and their former favorite Red Sox player was “Nomah Gaciuh-ppa-uhh.”

The best example of a difference in accent and pronunciation can be seen, I think, in the use of the plural “you.” In New York City, we hear reference to “youse guys.” In the South, it’s “y’all.” Technically, the correct grammar would be just to say “you.” However, since you is both singular and plural, we feel the need to add either “all” or “guys” so that it can be easily recognized that we are referring to a group and not an individual. English, unlike many other languages, does not have a distinction between singular and plural second person. In Spanish, singular “you” is “usted/ud.” and plural “you” is “ustedes/uds.” Latin and French also have different words for singular and plural second person. English used to. “Thou” was singular second person and “you” plural. “Thou” has gone out of usage, leaving us in the state of confusion.

I suggest a constitutional amendment returning “Thou” to the English language. We deserve to have singular and plural for the second person, as we have for the first. Better yet, let us petition the British Parliament, since we know that it is the Queen’s English that sets the standard. Will you join my crusade?

Friday, October 21, 2005

My New Blog

To all you who regularly read my blog (and even those who rarely read it) I thank you. I will be continuing this blog and it will remain as random as it has been, ranging anywhere and everywhere from my ruminations on women to silly movie reviews. I have also started a second blog. It is called Old College Papers and the link to it is: http://spidgepapers.blogspot.com/ . On this blog, I shall post old papers that I wrote in college and grad school. Bear in mind, I am cutting and pasting them, so sometimes it doesn't end up looking that good. So, feel free to check them out. Of course, those postings will be longer and academic in nature. So, if you are into that, great! If not, the fluff will remain on Spidge Tales for your enjoyment :-).

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Rule of 7’s (aka the rule of how to avoid creepy dating)

One of my good friends from grad school at Catholic U was a guy from Ireland. He is awesome. He lives on campus, doesn’t take more than one class each semester (he’s studying for comps), and throws the best parties. He gets the school to fund grad student get togethers a few times each year. We have the CrabFest in the fall, a brazilian dance fest in winter, and others. Each party is provided with plenty of free food and booze. Anyway, one night when we were out on the town, we got to talking about girls. And, of course, how we feel a little bit guilty about finding these young college women attractive, knowing that they were in middle school when I was in high school. So, my friend told me about the Rule of 7’s to Avoid Creepy Dating.

Here is how the Rule of 7’s goes. First, the rule exists so that you don’t date a woman who is too young. Sometimes, it can be hard to know. To make sure you are okay, take your age, divide it by 2, and then add 7. The number you get is the youngest a woman can be for you to date her and it to not be creepy. For example, if you are 18, divide by 2 and you get 9. Add 7, and that means you can date a woman as young as 16. If you are 30, you can go 22, if you’re 26, you can go 20, etc, etc. I am 24, so half my age is 12, plus 7 is 19. So I could date a 19 year old without it being creepy.

Now you know how to avoid creepy dating! Although, I think there is an age limit on this. Such as, once you reach, say 40, you need to add more than 7 after you divide by 2. Otherwise, a 60-year-old man could date a 37 year old, and then we are back to creepy.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Women and Baseball

Game Five of the NLCS was a classic. The Houston Astros were leading the series, 3 games to 1. One victory away from the first World Series appearance in franchise history. With a 4-2 lead in the top of the 9th, they bring in closer Brad Lidge, who may have the nastiest stuff of any closer. He is unhittable. He dispatches the first two batters quickly with strikeouts before giving up a single with two strikes to David Eckstein and walking Jim Edmonds, bringing up Albert Pujols, the best hitter in the game. You could feel the electricity in that stadium. They already had the locker room set up for the post-game champagne celebration. But, Pujols sucked the life out of a stadium, a city, a franchise, with one swing of the bat. His 3-run homer sent the series to a game 6. The Astros still lead 3 games to 2, but I think we all know they are dead.

Baseball has this way of pulling you in and breaking your heart. Just ask any Red Sox fan. Many people call baseball a metaphor for life. I think that is going a little too far. But, I do think you can compare baseball to women. Particularly, in the context of relationships. The extreme high followed by extreme low felt by Astros players and fans when they could practically feel, practically grip, that NL pennant and World Series trip, only to have it snatched away, is kind of like that moment when the woman of your dreams gives you the “I wanna be just friends” or “I wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship” talk. Could you just stab me in heart? It might feel a little bit better.

It is not just the heartbreaks and bad-times that we can compare baseball and women. Baseball when it is good is like women too. I think success, whether with women or baseball, depends on one’s approach. Unlike football, where you need to go full boar adrenaline rush, baseball is more an even keel sport. You need to relax to succeed. Through my playing career, little league through high school through college, I always did best when I didn’t give a shit. I don’t mean that I didn’t care at all how the team did or anything like that. The times when I was always worried about how I was gonna do, or when I would tell myself “I have to get a hit” or “I have to throw a strike” or “I want to hit a homerun” it would never happen. When I didn’t care and just relaxed, I did well. It’s the same way with women. When you worry about when the next girlfriend is going to come, or worry about how to act around a woman, then you never get a date. But, when you don’t care, you relax, and you don’t kiss their asses; and you tease them and treat them like a normal persons, you have more success.

For the woman that you really like that gets away, I think we can compare this to baseball from more of the fan perspective than playing perspective. Or, rather, a combination of both. When I was a kid, I loved going to Major League games, and loved being a fan, because I dreamed of growing up and playing in the pros. Most of the fun in following baseball was dreaming of being there yourself someday. Now, I am out of college, and I know that I am not going to be playing for the Mets. My baseball career is over. It is still fun going to games and following the sport, but it will never be the same. It will never be as good as when I was a kid. This is kind of what it is like when you end up in “The Friend Zone.” When you meet that special woman, it’s great when you first become friends. It is fun to hang out with her, plus there is always the hope that it will go to the next level, and you will have a relationship with her. But, when that moment comes where you get “the talk” and learn that you are stuck being “just friends”, the dream ends. It is still nice to be friends and hang out, but it will never be the same, because the dream of “making the Majors,” so to speak, is gone.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Elephant, by Gus Van Sant

Elephant, by Gus Van Sant. Movie review by me.

There is an old Hindu legend about six blind men who come upon an elephant. One thought the elephant like a wall, the second like a spear, the third thought it a snake, number four a tree, five a fan, and six thought the elephant like a rope. They bickered and argued over who was right, when each could only experience the elephant from his own perspective. (click here for the poem "The Blind Men and the Elephant: http://www.noogenesis.com/pineapple/blind_men_elephant.html)

Last night, I viewed Gus Van Sant’s 2003 film Elephant. Van Sant is the directory of Good Will Hunting, one of my favorite movies, as well as director of Finding Forrester (for a classic Sean Connery line, go to http://www.yourethemannowdog.com/ and turn the volume up). Elephant is Van Sant’s look at a typical high school day from the eyes of a handful of students, except that it is not a typical day. As an attempt at realism, we do not see “real” actors, but rather, real high school students, told to create their own dialogue, and simply allow the camera to follow them.

We open with a car swerving around the neighborhood before abruptly crash stopping in front blond haired John, to the tune of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata in the background. John makes his obviously drunk father hand over the keys and switch to the passenger seat, so that he may drive himself to school. The camera follows John as he walks around school, leaving behind the background sonata that graced our journey to a day of learning. John’s travels include stopping to pose for Elias, another student and an amateur photographer, receiving a kiss on the cheek from Acadia during a sad moment, and leaving the building as Alex and Eric are about to enter, carrying heavy bags. We receive an ominous sign with Alex’s warning to John, “Get the fuck out and don't come back! Some heavy shit's going down!”

Our next guide is Elias, photographing a gothic couple on his walk to school, developing a roll in water in the school’s lab, and stopping blond haired John, and requesting he pose for some photographs. We also see football star Nathan leave practice, walk down the hall to the notice of three admiring girls, before meeting up with girlfriend Carrie. They have a lot to talk about, and the camera makes sure we witness. There is Michelle, in sadness walking down the hallway, walking by Nathan before he meets up with Carrie. We meet three girls, noticing Nathan walking towards Carrie, disgusted that he is taken. Through the windows we can see John leaving school and Alex and Eric walking toward the doors. The three girls will have lunch and throw up in the bathroom, Michelle will receive a talking to from a teacher about refusing to wear gym class shorts. We see Eric get picked on, and Alex sit at his piano to break the long musical silence in the film with Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Everyone has problems and hurts. Everyone is in emotional flux. We may look upon their problems as petty or small, but to a teenager in transition, small things really can affect one’s emotional well-being. If anything, for those who have forgotten, we are reminded that high school is not an easy time.

From the first frame, we can sense that something seems wrong, even in a seemingly ordinary day. The relatively early glimpse of Alex and Eric alerts us to what will transpire. Yet, our anticipation and angst are never met with an explanation before the final scene of violence erupts. No explanation is given. We do not come to an understanding. In naming his film Elephant, Van Sant could be saying that there is no answer, explanation, or solution to horrendous acts such as these. Like in the parable above, each blind man experiences the elephant from his own perspective. We all see things differently. In order to find a cure, first we must have a correct diagnosis to the illness. What is the “illness” that causes troubled youth to engage in acts of school violence? Van Sant throws his hands up. He does not know. All of the characters we meet have problems, so why did these two end up being the ones? Some of the characters we meet die and some do not, yet we do not see a reason why. We are left with the Moonlight Sonota and no closure.

Monday, October 17, 2005

White Sox, Carl Everett, and Dinosaurs

Last night, the Chicago White Sox won their first American League pennant since my mom was 3 years old and my dad was 11. Beginning Saturday, they will have the opportunity to win their first World Series since the days of Shoeless Joe Jackson. However, most importantly, into the spotlight rises White Sox slugger and Paleontologist of the year Carl Everett. For a complete appreciation of this dinosaur doubter and admitted crazy man (not bad-crazy, but “fun crazy”), read his interview with Maxim Magazine here: http://www.maximonline.com/sports/articles/article_6530.html . The return of Carl Everett could not have come at a better time, with the issues of evolution, “creation” science, intelligent design, religion, and science, all in the forefront of our national consciousness.

I am not a proponent of intelligent design in the classroom as an alternative to evolution, or, in the terms of the fake open-mindedness of its conservative proponents, “teach the controversy.” I do believe in intelligent design, per se, as in I believe that God is behind creation, and is at work in the world. However, this is not a scientific proposition. It is a matter of religious faith that is beyond the realm of proof or disproof. The issue of whether God is at work through evolution should be left out of the science classroom.

While I disagree with the advocates of creationism and intelligent design in the classroom (to get a funny look at biblical fundamentalism, click here: http://objectiveministries.org/kidz/ ; this website is hilarious), I can sympathize with their frustration over a feeling of being looked down upon by a media and cultural “elite” who mock anything non-secular. When any display of public religiosity is frowned upon, people of faith feel forced to get their spiritual messages across in different ways. Religion does have a place in school. Religious beliefs, and an understanding of the different religions of the world, should be taught in public schools. It should be integrated into history and literature curriculums. Religious belief has influenced political and cultural life since the beginning of civilization, and most of the great literature and art is either religious in content, or influenced by religious themes. Students should not be proselytized, but they should be taught about religion. It is because religion is not taught in the humanities, where it belongs, that religious people are trying to sneak it in the backdoor through the science classroom, where it does not belong.

If scientists wish to keep religion out of their field, they need to act in two ways. They need to convince their secular colleagues in the humanities that religious thought and belief need to be taught and discussed in their classrooms. And, scientists need to stick to science, and stop playing ethics and philosophy. Ethical dilemmas such as the destruction of human embryos for the creation of stem cell lines should not be treated by scientists as just some issue of science that is beyond the realm of religious critique. If they want religious people to stop playing science, they should stop pretending that all scientific advances are beyond the realm of religious criticism.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Is Beauty Objective or Subjective?

Back in college, my friends and I, while sitting around and drinking, (you know, the times when you didn’t go to a party but just hung out in the dorm room/apartment shooting the breeze) sometimes played this game called Kill, F***, or Marry. The game is simple. You name three females, and each person has to decide which one he would choose to kill, which one to f***, and which one to marry. For example, if the three women are Rosie O’Donnell, Julia Roberts, and Christina Aguilera, most guys would choose to kill Rosie, f*** Christina, and marry Julia Roberts. Of course, we didn’t play the game with celebrities. It was always the names of women we knew at college, ranging from the women none of us knew that much who we all fantasized about to the women we who were in our circle of friends, and occasionally, though usually not, girlfriends were included too. Sometimes, to make it interesting, we would throw in a couple nasty ones, such as the 70 year old lady who works in the cafeteria and the butch looking professor, so that you would have to pick to f*** or marry one of them. Anyways, when there were obvious disparities between the choices, most of us would all answer the same way. But, when all three girls were hot (or ugly), then every one would pick differently and it got interesting when we each would have to explain our choices.

I think beauty is kind of like that. No, beauty is not some perverted college drinking game. I mean, sometimes, it is obvious who or what is more beautiful and there is no need for debate, whereas at other times it depends on whose perspective. And, no, I am not going to bring in Socrates, Plato, or Aristotle to explain how beauty is objective, or bring in a Nietzsche or Sartre to tell you that beauty is all subjective. This will be my own thoughts and ponderings (though, I did study philosophy in college and have been influenced by the great thinkers, so there ideas may show up some).

It’s kind of like “which pizza topping is best” is always a subjective question whereas something like “green stop light means go and red light means stop” is always objective. Beauty is one of those categories that has an uneasy existence in the middle. When you have someone like Rosie O’Donnell and, let’s say, Britney Spears, it is obvious who is better looking. But, let’s compare, say, Hilary Duff and Lindsay Lohan. There are different answers from different men on who is better looking. It depends on what you are into. There is no exact objective answer to the question on which one is more beautiful. Or, if you have two beautiful women, each with a boyfriend. The man with women one will think she is best looking, and the man with woman two will think woman two is best.

Baseball Musings

The big debate over the last few weeks of the season was over the AL MVP award. Should it go to David Ortiz or Alex Rodriguez. They had very similar stats. ARod led in batting something like .320 to .300, and in homers 48 to 47, while Big Papi led in RBI’s like 150 to 130. Many pundits claim that ARod deserves is over Ortiz because he plays third base, and Ortiz is just a DH. While ARod has to play both offense and defense, Ortiz doesn’t play the field, and the argument goes, “how can someone who is just in a specialist role merit MVP over someone who plays the whole game?”

It will probably be a very close vote, and the MVP could go either way. However, if the vote was taken after, say, the divisional series rather than the day after the end of the regular season, I think we all know that Ortiz would win in a landslide. Ortiz is a clutch player. He always comes up with the big hit. There is no more feared hitter in baseball (other than that Grinch on the west coast whose head has grown three sizes since his earlier playing days). As for ARod, we can all admit that there is no more feared hitter in baseball when the game is out of reach. Count on him for the three run homer in the 4th inning when the Yankees are already up by 5 runs. We have all played on teams with That Guy who scores his touchdowns in the 4th quarter when the game has long since been decided, or who gets his basketball points in garbage time. Stats are only a small measure of a player’s worth. It’s the guys who come through in the clutch who are the great players. Not guys who bat .133 in the playoffs and ground into a double play in the 9th inning of the deciding game when your team is down 2 and needs you. Let’s hope that the MVP voters picked wisely.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

The Most Beautiful Woman in the World

Sitting here bored in front of my computer, I decided that it was time for me to see the most beautiful woman in the world. I typed “most beautiful woman in the world” into Google, and began my search. Avoiding the inevitable porn sites that popped up, I noticed that one woman’s name showed up more frequently than others. Aishwarya Rai, a Bollywood actress, is the most beautiful woman in the world, according to Google and others. Roger Ebert, the great movie reviewer, called her the first and second most beautiful woman in the world, while reviewing the Bollywood turned Hollywood flick Bride and Prejudice (For those who don’t know, Bollywood is the major film studio in India, which puts out at the very least twice as many movies each year as Hollywood studios). So, here is her IMDB page: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0706787/ . Check her out. Whether she is the most beautiful woman in the world, I don’t know. What I do know is that she definately is beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world, to me, is usually the person I have a crush on at a given time. However, the question of whether beauty is objective or subjective (I think it is a combination of both) is a question for another time, of which I will deal with in a later blog.

Should Priests be Allowed to Marry?

Recently some bishops have brought up in the issue of celibacy in the Church, and whether celibacy should me made an optional part of ordination. Priests were only required to remain celibate and not marry beginning 1,000 years ago. And, occasionally this rule is dispensed from. This is a teaching that can change. However, I believe that it would be wise, at least now, to leave the mandatory celibacy rule in place.

Even when priests were allowed to marry, there was always a decent number of men who chose to remain celibate as priests, as well as monastic orders devoted to celibacy, both male and female. It the early years of Christianity, a life of celibacy in a monastic order was a way for a women to show her independence. Instead of being married off by her family to some guy that she did not choose for herself, she could take her life into her own hands and choose to devote herself to God.

Besides, when we look at the relationship game, it’s just a bunch of bullshit. All people ever do is hurt each other emotionally. If we really looked at things empirically, we would have to conclude that physical attraction causes more problems than it is worth. Life would be a lot simpler if we weren’t attracted to members of the opposite sex. We could actually have real friends of the other gender. The only thing that keeps us from concluding that this whole male-female-dating-bullshit-game is not a waste of time is that our faith tells us that God created men and women for each other. Paradoxically, the Church, which always gets blamed for “repression,” is the one that tells us, despite the apparent bullshit that we see as the basis for male-female interaction, men and women are made for one another, and to love one another.

People argue that we should eliminate mandatory celibacy for priests since supposedly people are unable to remain celibate and that is the cause of the priest shortage. Yet, I think, precisely because our culture is oversexed, and does not appreciate celibacy, the priesthood should remain celibate as an example for people to live up to. Marriage and relationships are good because they show us an image of God's love for us: As one spouse loves another, God loves us. Living as a single person, whether as a priest, nun, brother, or just regular single life, is a way to live like Jesus did, and devote yourself to all of God's people. Both are good.

I, personally, am sick of living in a culture where everyone is expected to be in a relationship, and you are looked at as if there is something wrong with you if you go without a girlfriend or boyfriend for a long period. Social events are all tailored around couples. It’s treated as if people are repressing themselves if they do not date. Well, some people choose not to date, and some people can’t find anyone to like them, and it’s just mean to say that people ought to date, or have a right to do what they want. Nobody has a "right" to anything. You only can date if someone actually wants to date you.

The whole dating game is just the random luck of whether you were born physically attractive or not. There is a reason why we all know people who seem to always be in relationships and people who hardly or never date. It’s not whether they are nice or not or have personality or not. It’s looks. That’s it. (At least, with women. Out of the women I know, the ones who are usually in relationships are the good looking ones, and the ones who aren't are the ones who aren't physically attractive. It has nothing to do with whether they are nice or not or have personality or not. As far as guys, there really is no clear cut pattern. I still haven't figured out what women are interested in in guys. My assumption regarding myself, and I may be wrong, is that it is probably my looks that is the problem. Because, the women I know all like hanging out with me and like my personality, but still don't want to date me, so it can't be my personality that is the problem--but that is a topic for another day. And, not all of us have that. So, my point, after that pointless rambling session, is twofold. (1) our culture does not honor and respect the fact that some people either can’t date or just don’t want to, so priests show that there are honorable ways of living outside the accepted norm, and (2) the fact is, based on sociological studies, priests on average live happier lives than other people. Unlike members of the opposite sex, God does not reject you when you give yourself to Him.

Sorry if that was incoherent. I was just rambling and didn’t proofread it.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Either/Or or Both/And

Last week in one of my classes, we were reading together from the textbook when we came across this passage that says, “God alone is holy and good” or something to that effect. Immediately my students had questions. “How can only God be holy?” “Aren’t there other holy people?” “Wasn’t Jesus holy?” The last one was simple to answer: Jesus is God. But, that led into “How can Jesus be both God and human?” Luckily, class was just about over, so I decided to think over how I could respond, and then explain it in class the next day. Below are some of the ideas that came to my head, and some of what I told them in class. If you think I’m full of shit or there are better explanations, feel free to comment. I was just doing the best I could, and I can be wrong.

(1) God alone is holy and good.
(2) There have been and are people, often called saints, who have been and are holy and good.

How do we explain this apparent contradiction? Well, in one sense, only God is good and holy, and only God can be good. God is beyond our wildest imagination. God is infinite goodness and power. St. Thomas Aquinas wrote volumes on God. His Summa Theologia is over 3000 pages, and covers everything from “Does God exist?” to “Does crying mitigate sorrow?”, offering reasons contra, with rebuttals of the contra, before offering an affirmative, with reasons for the affirmative. Few have written as much on God, the world, theology, philosophy, etc. as Thomas. Yet, Thomas never finished his Summa Theologia. In his 40’s, when close to death, he received of vision of God. In this vision he saw that all that he had written was only “a drop of water in an ocean” of knowledge about the nature of God. As much as we know about God, it is only a tiny grain of sand in desert compared to what there is to know about God. (This is why we can say we know, through the Church and Scripture, much about God, yet what we know is hardly anything at all). God is beyond our wildest dreams, so there is no way anyone can measure up to the goodness of God to be considered “good and holy.”

Yet, we do call some people “good and holy.” How? Let us turn by way of example to Socrates. Socrates was considered the wisest man in ancient world. And, why? Socrates was wise because he knew that he was a fool. He knew that he, a simple man, could not possible know all that much about the world and the way it works. His humility made him wiser than other men who thought they knew a lot. The first step towards wisdom is recognizing one’s own foolishness. Likewise, the first step to holiness is recognizing one’s sinfulness. All of the great saints considered themselves great sinners and unworthy servants of the Lord. If you are sick, the first step in getting healed is realizing that you are sick. You need to know you are sick before you can go to the doctor. We need to see our own sinfulness before turning to God and asking for help. The paradox is that in order to be holy, we must realize that we are not holy. Think of St. Francis’s prayer: “In giving we receive…in dying we are born to eternal life.”

Another way to understand the apparent contradiction is the recognition that these two statements may very well be speaking of “good and holy” based on different standards. For example, I can say that Mark Bellhorn is a terrible baseball player, and that I am a good baseball player. Mark Bellhorn is far superior to me as a player (he is in the Major Leagues, I am not), yet both statements are true. How? Well, I can say that I am good because I was really good in high school, and played in college. Bellhorn is so bad, that the Red Sox cut him. Both statements can be true because we are speaking of “good baseball player” on different levels in each statement. When I say that I am good, the reference point is your average amateur baseball player. When I say Bellhorn is bad, the reference point is a good Major League player. When we say that God alone is holy, the standard of holiness implied is God. Of course, none of us measure up to God. When we speak of humans who are holy, the standard is the saints, prophets, and holy men who have gone before us.

I hope that helps. I am still confused by all of this. Comments are nice :-). Unless you are a spammer. Then, no comments, please.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

My Attempt at Poetry

I hardly ever write poetry. I am not very good at it. But, today, I decided to write a poem. I started, and I had no idea where I was going with it. So, if you want, read it and enjoy (if that is the right word). Let's call this poem "the potion to her heart."

The Potion to her Heart

The princess fell into a sleep so deep.
The King, her father, proclaimed on this day
“I must put a stop to my heart that doth weep”
And in proclamation, “here forth I say…”

“In marriage, I shall give my daughter’s hand
To the one who seeking the potion and finds
The potion without flavor and bland
Yet in blandness this potion shall be kind

For this potion you shall be sure
As you test it on the dark forest elf
Will be the one for the princess’s cure
That you must bring back to the Kingdom shelf.”

I set forth on my journey that day
For the potion to my princess’s heart.
For her cure, that is, I mean to say.
The dark forest edge is where I start.

I follow a pathway to the place
Where the magic potions hide.
The pathway vanished without a trace.
Two monsters shall fight, I must choose a side.

A goobledie gook and a kalamazoo
In a struggle, before they commence
Ask me what I shall do
A decision that must come hence

Kalamazoo and gobbledie gook
Each promise to help me
Then give me that look.
A choice to make, I now see.

If I choose in the wise,
The princess’s potion I get.
If my choice meets demise,
Then my fate also is set.

I choose to back the Kalamazoo
Whose fight results in victory.
A sigh of relief, sounding “whew”
The potion I can practically see.

The potion tastes like beer and ale
I know this cannot be right.
I find a boat and set to sail
In hopes the “real” potion is in sight.

I crossed some pirates in search of treasure
They say it is buried underground
They have yet to find their pleasure
For it is not gold, but a potion they found

Before I could have the potion I sought
I knew I must find gold to trade
It is a treasure that must be caught
Before getting the potion for my fair maid

To McDonald’s I sail
To buy a happy meal
Quite a twist in this tale
But don’t ask now, “what’s the deal?”

In my happy meal was a prize
It was a magical, special key
Upon it once I laid my eyes
To a sight for all to see

The key I showed to Pirate Jack
“This key, to treasure shall it lead”
I said, “Now put the potion in a sack.”
On my part, a dangerous deed

I set sail for the forest of the elf
In hope the pirates did not yet learn
Of the key received from myself
The wrong key for the treasure they yearned.

I found Forest Elf in the Keebler Tree
I showed the potion I hoped would heal
But, first I had to take a pee
For, now I must have broken the seal

“This potion is blah and bland”
yelped Keebler elf, who was a mess
“Take this back to the land
Where sleeping still is the princess.”

Before the princess I could reach
The road signs set me for a fall
First I got lost on the beach
And then was stuck in Montreal

Lo, this was not so bad
I found a friend named Youppie
He survived the Expos fad
And even had a groupie

No groupies for me
My heart is for the beauty in sleep
As is easy for one to see
The fun for now is left to Youppie

Youppie fought the fire-breathing dragon
They battled with honor and pride.
It was a draw; we were given a wagon.
Dragon, in respect, had loaned us a ride

This wagon to the Kingdom we took.
Of course, with a not so unexpected detour.
We were caught by the pirate with a hook.
The fight we had done left us sore.

This was not the pirate I had fooled.
Those pirates I never did again meet.
This different pirate was a tool.
He wanted the potion for princess, how neat.

“We have reached the Kingdom!” said I
to Youppi as we entered the walls.
“Finally,” I spoke with a sigh
“I can check my cell phone calls”

To the king I brought the potion.
He seemed busy, and said “next time first ring”
But was certainly intrigued by the notion.
“The cure is here!” said the king,
“Now it is time for me to sing!”

The princess was given the potion for sure.
At first her eyes stayed shut.
We wondered if ‘twas really the cure.
This must not be the end, but…

…just as I thought ‘twas all for naught
the princess’s eyes twinkled
And so a wedding ring I bought.
“Yay, I’ll be married before I am wrinkled.”

“Dear princess, our love will never end.
May your hand in marriage have I?”
“I like you just as a friend”
Said princess with sadness in her eye.

“You are way too obsessed in your quest
To try and win my heart.
To you,” said princess, “I wish all the best.
And watch the baked beans, they make you fart.”

You may find this story sad
But all is not lost.
Her hand could not be had
But all along that was the cost

My adventure did not turn out all poopy,
I got nice pictures on my digital cam.
I made a great friend named Youppi
And the King rewarded me with a dinner ham.

Friday, October 07, 2005

Gary Busey World

This is the blog that you have been waiting for. If you have been a regular reader of my columns (all 2 of you), then you are angry over how I whetted your appetite for all things Gary Busey in my Point Break movie review, and had yet to follow up. Well, today is your lucky day! I bring to you the official Gary Busey website, http://www.buseyworld.com/index.htm . You can see his filmography, quotes, pictures, etc. And, there is even a link to his son Jake (he is the guy who got the knife thrown into his hand in the not so Oscar worthy StarShip Troopers). In the words of Sergeant Drake Sabitch, "rest in pieces sir."

"I could go over to your mama's, and light a small fire in her panties! "

Bill Bennett, Freakonomics, and Eugenics

Bill Bennett, that beacon of virtue who hits the slot machines and blackjack tables with the best of them, raised quite the brouhaha this week with his remark on his radio show, “if we wanted to reduce the crime rate in America, we could just go and abort all of the black babies.” He quickly added that he would never recommend this action, and that it would be abominable. The pundits quickly jumped on his comments, demonizing him as some delusional right-wing nut way outside the mainstream. But, really, taking a look at our culture, were Bill Bennett’s comments outside of the mainstream of accepted behavior? And, what does it say about us?

I am no fan of Bill Bennett. It is rather incongruous for someone with a gambling addiction to preach on virtues. Yet, I don’t understand why his comments have caused such an uproar in the liberal community. All he has done is make basically the same argument as Steven Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner in Freakonomics, who justify Roe V. Wade on the grounds that it is a major factor in the precipitation of a national drop in crime over the past quarter century. The thesis: most of those who have been killed in-utero since abortion was legalized would have been born into poverty, the major factor in future likelihood of criminal activity. So, Roe V. Wade helps us kill off those who are useless to society anyways. Yet, when Bennett says the same thing, he is ostracized. And, Bennett, unlike Levitt and Dubner, is actually against abortion.

See, the thing is about liberals; they are uncomfortable about the idea of abortion being used for bad purposes, such as when it is done to get rid of black babies, or when it is done because the couple does not want a female child. This is not to be confused with the “good” and “holy” reasons to have an abortion, such as when your child will be born with a handicap a la down syndrome (God forbid) or when you want to be able to fuck whoever you want, whenever you want, without consequences. Because, lets not kid ourselves: The reason why abortion is legal is because there is a collective idea among the intellectual “elite” in Western Culture that people ought to be able to do whatever they want with their bodies, and fuck whoever they want, without any consequences. I am not naïve about the reasons women actually have abortions. Most of them do it because they feel lost and helpless, and as if they have no choice at all (the irony of the pro-“choice” position). But, the reason why it is legal is because we believe that nothing, not even the most innocent and helpless of humans who cannot speak up for themselves, should get in the way of the pursuit of all consuming pleasure.

Ultimately, what legal abortion ends up being is eugenics. We eliminate those we deem unwanted, whether they be an inconvenience or a handicap (80 % of unborn babies diagnosed with Down Syndrome don’t make it out of the womb alive). It is appalling for the intelligentsia to get all worked up about Bennett’s comments and implications when, in reality, they are the ones who support a social system that encourages the destruction of these poor minorities, handicapped, and females, they claim to represent.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Open Mind or Doubt Everything?

You remember that there were two tourists present: that one called (the waterfall) 'sublime' and that the other 'pretty': and that Coleridge mentally endorsed the first judgement and rejected the second with disgust. Gaius and Titius comment as follows: 'When the man said That is sublime, he appeared to be making a remark about the waterfall...Actually...he was not making a remark about the waterfall, but a remark about his own feelings. What he was saying was really I have feelings associated in my mind with the word "Sublime," or shortly, I have sublime feelings." (Lewis, C.S. The Abolition of Man (MacMillan Publishing Co., Inc: New York, 1947)

The two most popular educational philosophies among young people (mainly because it has been drummed into our minds by the intellectual “elite” since we were drinking our mothers’s milk) are “be open minded” and “doubt everything.” We are taught to always have an open mind, to never close ourselves off to possibilities, to keep your options open. Yet, we also constantly are being told to doubt everything, to always ask questions, and to question authority, reality, etc, blah blah blah.

What do make of this seeming contradiction? It is our Cartesian dichotomy. Descartes is responsible for this shift in mind, and shift in thinking about mind. His “I think, therefore I am” has radically reshaped the way we think about ourselves and our relation to the world. We used to believe in an objective reality. Our task to was to conform our minds to reality, to the way things actually are. For Descartes, we can know nothing of reality, let alone whether there be anything objective. All that we know is that we have a mind since we are the ones who are thinking. All a person can know is his own existence. Anything and anyone else, he cannot be sure of. Gauis and Titius, above, are in a Cartesian framework. For, when the man makes a comment about the waterfall, he can't possibly be saying something that can be considered 'true' about the waterfall. The man looking at the waterfall can only know himself, therefore, the 'sublime' that he speaks of waterfall is really a sublime feeling inside himself. The conclusion from the Cartesian perspective is that a person cannot make objective statements about anything outside of himself, and that he is the only one that truly knows himself, meaning that whatever he believes is absolutely true for himself, but only for himself.

When we are told to have an open mind, yet doubt everything, there is no contradiction. We are to doubt everything, since, according to Descartes and modern thinkers, there is nothing we can be sure of. Since there is nothing we can be sure of, we must have an open mind to all possibilities. Generally, when people say we should doubt everything, they mean we should doubt “authority”, or religious belief and religious truths, such as truths about Jesus and God and morality. When people say to keep an open-mind, what they mean is to not condemn debauchery or fornication or “alternative” lifestyles.

So much of our lives have been shaped by this Cartesian revolution. Sadly, despite this modern claim to open us up to possibilities, the Cartesian framework limits us. We are told that we are trapped in our own minds, and we can only make inferences about the state of another person, that each individual is hidden from every other. Is this the state of our reality? Are we really trapped in our little realities? No, Descartes was wrong. I would argue that we are interconnected, that our minds are not closed of from one another, that we can truly know others and touch their hearts. But, that is a column for a later blog. Bye for now!!

Jessica Alba--my current Hollywood Crush

Yesterday, I went to the movies and saw Into The Blue, that new movie starring Paul Walker and Jessica Alba. Pretty good movie. Alba and Walker play boyfriend and girlfriend who own a boat on the Bahamas, and Walker likes to ocean dive looking for buried treasure. That Guy from Ready to Rumble plays Walker’s brother, and Ashley Scott (a somewhat new, under-rated hottie) plays his girlfriend. They discover a sunken airplane with bags and bags of coke, and it’s a question of whether they turn it into the authorities or try to sell it on their own and risk the wrath of the drug-dealers who want their missing coke. The plot is secondary to the main purpose of the film, which is watching Jessica Alba swimming in a bikini in crystal clear ocean blue. It was PG-13, and no sex scenes, yet they hit just the right camera angles many times. Even if the movie had stunk, it still would have been worth it just for her.

I think most guys probably have a top five list of “if she is on the cover, I will buy an issue of Playboy” women. As in, there are many guys, such as myself, who won’t actually purchase an issue of Playboy (it’s kind of creepy, ya know). I have Those Friends just like everyone else who have stashes of them, and I have no qualms about looking through when I am hanging out at their place, and it’s not mixed company. Yet, I steadfastly refuse to buy an issue unless any of a certain few girls graced the cover.

I would say three or four years ago, my numero uno chica would have been Britney Spears. She was the hottest celebrity at the time. She has gone down hill since, looking more and more like white trash every time her and Kevin Federline appear in the tabloids. A year ago, it would have been Lindsay Lohan. Mean Girls was out, and Lindsay was in her peak. Now, she has gone fake blond and anorexic. And, many guys would have said the Olsen twins, but that is some sick fetish. They dress like hobos, and combined weigh 110 pounds. Even guys who want to see them in Playboy, it’s gotta be just for the spectacle, because you know it won’t look good; it’ll probably be like Mena Suvari’s nude scene in American Beauty.

Right now, the two women I would pay to see in Playboy are my two Jessica’s. Jessica Alba, by far right now the hottest woman in Hollywood. And, Jessica Simpson. She has that down to earth, sweetheart, and a little bit ditzy thing going, and it’s hot. I don’t care if it’s chicken or fish, as long as Jessica Simpson is making my tuna sandwich.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Don't Be That Guy

Merriam-Webster dictionary just announced the new entries into this year’s edition. Some of the new ones include “chick flicks”, “bikini wax”, and “wi-fi”. As certain phrases become part of the cultural lexicon over a long enough period of time that show realistic staying power, they gain the status of official words, and merit inclusion in the dictionary. This got me to thinking of phrases that I (over?) use, and one that keeps popping to mind is That Guy. We always talk about That Guy, and I am not sure anyone knows exactly whom we are referring to. I use the phrase all the time, and even I am not always sure who I am talking about. The only thing I know for certain, even if I don’t know for certain whom he is, is that I don’t (and you don’t) want to be That Guy.

When we say That Guy, I think we are speaking about an archetype of a certain kind of person, and a certain kind of behavior, that, on the one hand, we don’t want to fall into, but on the other hand, desire, and possibly need, as a reassurance that we are at least treading, if not staying above, water, in whatever the particular endeavor may be. There are variations of, or, better put, categories and lower subdivision of That Guy, such as “you know, That Guy who…”, and on top, on the pantheon, is just That Guy. The one of whom you definitely do not want to be.

That Guy also gives us a reference and comparison point. When a friend tells about That Guy who can’t answer a “How are you doing?” with an “I’m well, yourself?” but instead turns it into a 40 minute story, we give a knowing glance, because we all know someone like that. Or, That Guy who is always drunk, or that Guy who always talks during movies. We don’t want to be That Guy who everyone talks about, but we also appreciate That Guy-ness, because it shows that we are all connected, we are all in this together. Humans may be unique individuals, but we have much in common. We all have similar, if not the same, experiences. These shared annoyances allow us to bond.

We have all, whether we like to admit it or not, been That Guy (or That Girl) at some points in our lives. Whether it is being That Girl who gets annoyingly drunk, or That Guy who doesn’t understand “no” and keeps pursuing the girl who doesn’t want him, we have all been there. That Guy is both a warning and a memory. In college, we even used to hand out That Guy awards to whoever ended up being That Guy at the party.

So, here’s to you, That Guy. Crack open a Bud Light. We salute you.

Purgatory (Final Part)

Purgatory is not, in its most essential, a place that you go when you die if you are not quite ready for Heaven. That is a manifestation of purgatory, but not its essence. Just as when Christ speaks of the Kingdom of Heaven as not being something distant and far away, but something that we can begin experiencing on Earth when we love and follow Him, purgatory is also something we experience. Purgatory on earth is that Dark Night of the Soul, it is that period where we don’t know why things have happened the way they have, and we experience that unrest and uneasiness over the uncertainty we face.

I went to a speaker back in the spring and he hit upon this in his talk on the different stages people go through. Our lives parallel the basic biblical narrative. In this narrative, we begin with happiness in the garden with God, before the Fall, and the history of the Jewish people as embodiment of the search for reunion with God, before final reunion with God through Christ. We begin life as children, and in a family. As we reach teenage years and adolescence, we start to feel not as comfortable at home and desire to branch out on our own, discover ourselves, and search for that person who can be our match, our companion, and of whom we can start a family with and finally feel as if we are at home again. For many people nowadays, this period can stretch into the 30’s and 40’s, and can be their purgatory. For others, they find that special person rather quickly, and get settled into their family life, and their purgatory comes later. It could come through struggles with their children, having a rebellious child, or having a child with special needs. The point: everyone must go through a trying period in his life in order to see who he truly is.

A story this speaker told to illustrate his point was of this married couple, who had the perfect life, raised their children, settled into retirement and a nice inheritance. Instead of living their twilight years relaxing and playing with the grandkids, this couple decides to sell everything and move to Africa to be missionaries, and live a life filled with struggle and hardship. They chose to go through purgatory at the end. And, what if they had chosen to take the easy route? Something would have come up, maybe cancer, who knows. But, something always comes up, we hardly ever know why, but it is necessary to go through struggles and suffering learn the true meaning of love, friendship and life.

Do I agree with everything I’ve heard, from this speaker, from Boethius, Antoine de Saint Exupery, et al? I don’t know. But I do believe that everything happens for a reason, and I have hope that all will work for the good in the end. I guess we can compare our lives now to back when we were in the womb. If someone had showed us back in utero all the sufferings we would go through, and the heartbreaks we would face, and then gave us a choice of whether to stay in the comfort zone of the womb, or go through the birth pangs of entering the world and suffering, we might say no. But, ask us now, looking back, if it was worth it to go through everything, I think we would say yes. We may have suffered, but we are wiser for it.

Purgatory (Part 2)

“Come and play with me,” proposed the little prince. “I am so unhappy.”
“I cannot play with you,” the fox said. “I am not tamed.”
…”One only understands the things that one tames,” said the fox. “Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things already at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, so men have no friends anymore. If you want a friend, tame me.”
“What must I do, to tame you?” asked the little prince.
“You must be very patient,” replied the fox…
So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near—
“Ah,” said the fox, “I shall cry.”
“it is your own fault,” said the little prince. “I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you…”
“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.
“But, now you are going to cry!” said the little prince.
“Yes, that is so,” said the fox.
“Then it has done you no good at all!”
“It has done me good,” said the fox….

It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important…Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become, responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose…”
Antoine De Saint Exupery, The Little Prince


We often think of having bad luck and good luck, or bad fortune and good fortune. The philosopher Boethius, however, taught that all fortune is good fortune. Further, what is commonly thought of as “bad” fortune is actually better for you than what is thought of as “good” fortune. When good things happen, tend to get big egos and such, but when bad things happen, we have to reflect on our lives, think about things, and grow as persons. Fr. Joseph Girzone speaks of how there are times in our lives when we feel close to God, and feel God’s presence strongly in our lives. Other times, it feels like God has abandoned us, that He is not there and no matter what we do, we feel lost and empty. It is during these times, what St. John of the Cross called the “Dark Night of the Soul” or senses, that we can actually grow stronger in our faith. Anyone can have faith when God seems close, but it is harder when it feels like God is not there. I think St. Augustine was definitely on to something when he says that faith is a gift from God, it is a grace. It is not so simple as saying that we can just pick and choose whether to have faith.

We can stay in our comfort zone, and not take any risks. By choosing to go out and make friends, and enter relationships, we risk bad fortune, and hurt, and suffering. But, if we don’t ever take a risk, then we never grow. When the fox lets the little prince tame him, he gets hurt. He cries. Yet, the fox is wise enough to realize that it is for the better to have allowed himself to enter this relationship with the little prince, even if it means being hurt…(to be continued in a later blog)

Purgatory (Part 1)

Our souls demand Purgatory, don't they? Would in not break the heart if God said to us, 'It is true, my son, that your breath smells and your rags drip with mud and slime, but we are charitable here and no one will upbraid you with these things, nor draw away from you. Enter into the joy'? Should we not reply, 'With submission, sir, and if there is no objection, I'd rather be cleaned first.' 'It may hurt, you know' - 'Even so, sir.' C.S. Lewis, Letter to Malcolm, pgs. 108-109

One of the major differences between Catholics and most Protestants is the belief in Purgatory. Catholics believe that if you have unfinished business, or things weighing you down that were not taken care of during this life, that there is a waiting period before Paradise to shed, or purge, those things that are on your conscience and are weighing you down. Protestants, for the most part, believe it’s either a straight up or down after you die. Yet, the best argument I have heard in favor of Purgatory is from C.S. Lewis, a Protestant himself (whose, thinking, I might add, is in many ways very “Catholic”).

I guess the best way I could explain his example would be like getting ready for the prom. I guess you could show up in a dirty t-shirt and smelly underwear, and if your girlfriend really loves you, she wouldn’t mind. But, wouldn’t you want to first take a shower, and clean up, and dress real nice for the big date? Well, Heaven is our big date with God. God loves us the way we are, but wouldn’t we want to clear our consciences first? And, if we don’t have to time to do it before we die, wouldn’t we want to before we enter Paradise? Besides, personally, I would argue that we all need to experience Purgatory, and we all will, whether in this life or the next. We all need to go through suffering to truly appreciate the happy times. I would go further and say that if you haven’t experience suffering, then you cannot truly love…(to be continued in a later blog)

Monday, October 03, 2005

The King and the Peasant Girl

Once upon a time, in the time of Long Ago and land of Far Away, there was a great King who ruled with wisdom, justice, and mercy. His palace was magnificent, crafted with the richest gold, and decorated with the finest silks. His reign was an era of peace and prosperity. This King had it all…all except for the hand of his beloved. The King could have his pick of any lady in the land. Princesses from distant kingdoms traveled great distances just to offer themselves in marriage to him. The King did not desire any of these fair maidens. His heart went out to a common peasant girl he always watched strolling along the outside of the castle moat, feeding the ducks. This peasant girl had never even seen a royal guard, let alone the King himself.

His royal advisers were unable to convince the King to marry someone in his “class.” Once resigned to the fact that he would not be swayed, they urged him to invite the peasant girl into the palace walls, and impress her with his power and majesty. But, the King would have none of that. “I could have her if I showed off my glory, but then I will never know if she will truly love me or just like what I give her.”

The King decided to live as a peasant himself. Dressed in rags, he waited by the moat for his beloved to arrive and feed the ducks. He was to show his love for her, and win her love by living as she did, experiencing the same pleasures and joys, sorrows and pains, as she…

God’s love for us is like the King’s love for his peasant girl. We are God’s beloved, and he does not just sit up in Heaven and overwhelm us with his power and majesty. He became human in the person of Jesus Christ, and is with us in all our joys and sufferings. He asks us to love him as a fragile human, suffering servant, and he shows his love for us by giving his life, his all, just as any man would do for his beloved.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Boston

So, I just got home from an amazing weekend. I went to Boston Friday night to visit my friend Matt, who is living and working there. Kirk came up to visit too, from his home in dirty Jersey. I managed to make what should be only a 2 hour 45 minute drive a 5 hour extravaganza. Part of it was not my fault, but rather God’s, because he sent a lot of traffic to slow me down. But, God wasn’t all bad, so thank Him for EZPass. I saved about 15 minutes of waiting at the tolls—yeah, I’m one of those guys you hate who gets to fly by everyone and not wait because I got the magnetic pass on my windshield. The drive was easy until I actually pulled into the city a little after 8. My directions had about 20 different turns, I think I messed up around turn number 2, every street in this frickin city is one-way, and I played phone tag for an hour with Matt, trying to help him figure out where I was by describing buildings I saw. After crossing the Charles River and going back and forth between Beantown and Cambridge like three times, I finally made it to some bar near Beacon Hill, the apartment area Matt lives at, and Matt and Kirk ran down to meet me (To fully comprehend my complete lack of a sense of direction, check out my column archives and read my blog titled “Montreal”).

Things were uphill from there. Jack Daniel and his buddies Sam Adams and Bud Light were waiting in the studio apartment for us. Jacky D, Sam Adams, Buddy Lite, Kirk, Matt, and I watched the rest of the Yanks-Sox game, before heading off to check out the downtown scene. We met up with our friend Jaggermeister (it would have been better if we didn’t). Matt and I played the anti-wingmen, and pulled Kirk away from a couple of girls he just met. Kirk wasn’t happy then, but it really was for the best. The beer goggles were in full effect, and somebody had to be the voice of reason. The three of us closed the night with something much better than meeting girls for random hookups—late night dominos pizza delivery and Anchorman on DVD. Now go back to your home on whore island!

There is something about Boston and its baseball team that is unlike any other city. It really is a love affair. Yankee fans are definitely into their team, but New York is a very diverse city, and it is fairly easy to find people who could care less about baseball. Boston is different. Everyone is nicknamed Sully or Pat, and they do not just like the Red Sox, they are obsessed. It is a love affair. You can sense the mood of the city by the results of a Red Sox game, and you can tell how the Sox did just by seeing how people interact at Starbucks or Bennigans. Saturday, we decided that the best cure for hangovers would be too keep drinking. We headed to Fenway at 1:00 for the game, and spent the afternoon watching at a bar near the Stadium (you pretty much would have to sell your firstborn child to get a ticket into the game). Kirk is a die-hard Yankee fan, Matt is a big Boston fan, and I am a Mets fan. So, I was the neutral, impartial friend just enjoying an opportunity to see Boston fans in their element.

Everyone but Kirk and I had Boston apparel on. They Yankees were winning, so the anger level rose. Apparently, if you yell and swear at a tv screen, you can actually affect what is happening on the field. Matt, Kirk, and I managed to get seats at the bar. Next to us on the left is That Drunk Girl. She was a really hot blond, but the most annoying person I have ever met. She had that high squeaky voice, she never shut it, and she loved to scream and swear at the tv. She decided it would be fun to talk to us. She was really sloppy; asking us our names like every 2 minutes, asking us for congratulations because she could remember our names. It got so bad that each time one of the three of us went pee, we would switch seats so that none of us were stuck with her the whole time. Worst of all, her fiancé was right with her, and you could tell he was embarrassed by her, and only with her for her looks. She asked me if she was gonna get thrown out if she kept being too loud, and I told her that she had 3 more strikes and then she had to leave. She said “really?”, then asked the bartender if she really would have to leave after 3 more mess-ups, and he assured her that she could stay. Then I convinced her that I had been mistaken, she could get 5 strikes, but then, she really had to go. Kirk had to tell her that I was a middle school teacher, too, when she told us she was a middle school teacher, so I was stuck talking to her some more (I’m sure her students want to both fuck her and kill her).

After the game, and the bragging we knew would come from Kirk, we traveled the city in a drunken haze, visiting about 5 more bars, subsisting on a diet of bar food—sweet pototo fries, onion rings, chips & salsa, chicken fingers—and, of course, more beer. Kirk’s dad was in town for business, so he met up with us. He’s a really cool guy; likes to party and everything. All in all, it was a great weekend. Part of me wishes I lived in a city like Boston or New York or DC. It would be chill to be able to head to a coffee shop and read whenever I wanted, to have easy cultural opportunity access, etc. The only bad part about cities is the driving. I hate city driving. People are crazy. And one-way streets. But, now it’s back to the grind, and waiting for the next big trip. It could be Montreal, it could be Syracuse, it could be anywhere…