My Lonely City

Happy Guy Fawkes Day!

And for your disquieting song of the day, the un-condensed version of the rhyme opening V for Vendetta, taken from Wikipedia:

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t’was his intent
To blow up King and Parliament.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England’s overthrow;
By God’s providence he was catch’d
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!

A penny loaf to feed the Pope
A farthing o’ cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we’ll say ol’ Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah hoorah!

The men in the text are all leaders – revolutionary, established, and religious – and are played off against one another. As the rhyme suggests God’s “providence” extends only to the King, it serves to entrench even more firmly in the popular imagination the legitimacy of the federal authority and the futility of either rebellion or dissent. I have more to say regarding the second verse, but I really ought to get to work. I’ll return later – I hope.

Quote of the day:

“It may sound like something rather technical and anoraky but is fundamentally about what kind of relationship people have with each other, in terms of the rights and responsibilities they have towards each other.”

Um, what? No, really, what? Anoraky?

Interesting article, though; I’m back on a follow-the-news kick, at least for tonight.

I’m not sure, though, that giving sixteen-year-olds the right to vote is that great of an idea, at least if British sixteen-year-olds are anything like American ones.

On to America, here’s another interesting – and more follow-able – quote:

“On Capitol Hill, it is a sign of just how important religion is to US politics that only one member of Congress has ever admitted to being an atheist - and that admission came just a few months ago.”

I had no idea. About the only one person “admitt[ing]” to being an atheist – like admitting to being an alcoholic or something*. Are we afraid that the devil will possess non-religious legislators (or justices, or what-have-you) and suddenly start eating our children, or what?

Speaking of vampires, Dennis Kucinich has a MySpace page. Who knew? And it’s readable – super-primary-colors-y, but readable. I’ve gotta give him points for that, though perhaps not enough to counteract the deficit created by having a MySpace page in the first place.

(I’m such a snob. But I’m okay with that.)

*Being an atheist is not a disease; I’m being ironic, you know?

So my Best Friend (at least since 8th grade, which seems like forever ago, so the term actually almost applies, scary as that is) has had a spot of trouble with snoopy out-laws lately. No need to go into the details (nor would I be at liberty to do so even if there was a need), but I got to thinking. I might as well be considerate and save any similar nosies some trouble, if they take a notion to snoop in my direction.

I drink, but I don’t smoke. I curse like a sailor, depending on the company. I don’t do any drugs that have not been specifically prescribed to me by a doctor, and I never have. Except for occasional speeding and an illegal u-turn or two, I have never broken the law. Unless you count jaywalking. I didn’t drink alcohol until I was twenty-one, even when I was in countries (Mexico and New Zealand) whose drinking-age laws would have permitted me to do so. The worst thing I have ever done was made out with a boy who was engaged – engaged! to someone else! what was I thinking?! – on the way back from my senior trip.

I didn’t have sex until after I got married. (Yes, really.) I have never cheated on my husband. I love him very much, and love sharing my life with him. Most of the time it’s easy to love him; sometimes I love him because I promised him I would. Marriage is harder than I thought it would be, but it’s also more rewarding.

I sometimes hate spending time with my family – immediate-ish and extended – because I feel we have very little in common. I spend time with them anyway, because it’s the right thing to do.

I love God but Christians piss me off. I’m a vegan, feminist social critic with dozens of radical, half-formed ideas and almost no-one to bounce them off of. I complain a lot about being lonely and having no-one to talk to, but I don’t seek out any new relationships because I’m a lazy fraidy-cat a lot of the time.

I volunteer. I tithe. I pray. I read the Bible semi-regularly, though not as often as I ought to. I try to understand how God wants me to apply what I read to the way I behave. What I keep coming back to is this: Treat others the way you want to be treated.

I tip. I sing loudly in the car by myself. I sometimes preach sermons to people who are not, physically, present with me. I pick up paper towels that bastards in public restrooms throw on the floor. (Sometimes.) I wear underwear when trying on swimming suits.

I have a concealed-carry permit (somewhere). I enjoy shooting bottles and targets, and I’m pretty good at it. I doubt I could shoot a person, though, because I don’t want to be shot. Even in self-defense.

Sometimes I carry insects and spiders outside when they get in; sometimes I kill them. I don’t feel guilty. My cats are both declawed – though I wouldn’t make that decision again.

I lost my first child this year – a missed miscarriage six weeks after conception, discovered around four weeks later. It tore my world apart. I’m getting used to the pieces floating around, and I’m not trying to fit them together yet.

I think too much. But I’m okay with it.

Satisfied?

I realized that I never explained why the “It’s Greek to you…” marquis made me so angry: It so perfectly illustrates the snobbery, elitism, and guilty, defensive arrogance rampant in the Christian community. “We know you don’t get why we believe in Jesus. We don’t want you to, because having a secret makes us feel better about the way we’re failing to serve him.” Grow up, people.

I just wanted to say that I disagree with the new Pope; I think the church did force itself on the existing cultures of Latin America. And I’m not sure that the people in those cultures were “silently longing” to become Christians.

Just a thought. Perhaps we would be better evangelists if we could admit previous evangelical mistakes.

… but … still working out the details …

(Yes, Annette; I would like to talk this weekend.)

Matthew 5:4
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Revelation 21:3
I heard a loud voice shout from the throne:
God’s home is now with his people. He will live with them, and they will be his own. Yes, God will make his home among his people. He will wipe all tears from their eyes, and there will be no more death, suffering, crying, or pain. These things of the past are gone forever.

Then the one sitting on the throne said:
I am making everything new. Write down what I have said. My words are true and can be trusted.

Can anyone really comfort me? If I have to say, “Yeah, I’m … okay,” one more time. I mean, what am I supposed to say? I feel like hell, but thanks for asking. I just lost my baby, how do you think I am? The baby I was just getting used to the thought of having. The baby I thanked God for. The baby I wanted. I don’t know how to comfort Jared with his pain – or even acknowledge the pain of my or Jared’s parents, which I’m sure they’re feeling as well – because I don’t know where to start with mine. I don’t know what to do. In some ways I don’t want to feel better yet.

I’m scheduled for a D&C (d-something-with-lots-of-syllables, c-something-with-lots-of-syllables, where they open your cervix and – literally – scrape out the inside of your uterus, like a menstrual period á la Jack the Ripper). Tomorrow. At eleven. I asked yesterday, when the nurse called to tell me about the test results, if it would hurt. Her response was “It’s a surgery.” I guess that’s a yes.

I think a lot of the people around me have an idea that when people “hurt too much” it’s bad for their faith. So they try to make those who mourn … feel better. Be encouraging, like. Rather than just “mourn[ing] with those who mourn” without trying to fix anything (Romans 12:15). I would like to be mourned with, not encouraged, right now. (But how do you mourn?)

IXOYE
It may be greek to you, but it means everything to me.

Does this not just piss you off? More later.

Oh, and I saw a man riding a motorcycle with his dog – a dog on the seat in front of him.