I Confess: I'm Still Here!

That echoing you folks (both of you; heh-heh) have been hearing this week is the empty space where normally my ~daily posting ought to've been. That roaring silence has been in place for several reasons, the greatest of which being that I was simply – though very uncomfortably – ill with TMI. 

Some missed hours at work, an early-morning broken fever (don't worry; I fixed it… no sweat!!), and a few days to recharge my energy, and I'm fine. Most likely just low-grade food-poisoning – but it seems to have taken this blasted long for my head to pull itself back together. Spartacus and I (and others yet) have still been dismantling and rebuilding the universe, but essentially offline. 

I was also operating somewhere between ticked off and feeling violated: I discovered a couple days ago that at least one spamming site (masquerading as a blog), and one or more of the shadier kinds of snatch-'em-up domain-squatters, had seized a couple of my longer posts and put them up as either a temporary camouflage to hide behind, or a component of their propped-up mask of pseudo-legitimacy. 

I've been digesting this (now that I can digest again), and decided that – apart from alerting WordPress, which I still need to do – there isn't a whole lot that can be done. Anyone on a PC and internet access can Ctrl/A + Ctrl/C = Ctrl/V, and have instant content, especially with one of the less savory kinds of webcrawlers. 

Note to them: splinters have not kept me off my soapbox. Posing as me fools only the most gullible – and as long as you're up and functional, you're wising us up. Think about it. 

I’m not going to identify those locations, or which posts were lifted (they made a lousy job of it, too), or even what country/ies seem to be allowing those slimy newts to operate. But I can speak enough of their native language (and I know a good several) that they got a bilingual chewing-out from me – while I squatted behind what may be one of the sturdiest firewalls in this part of the country; I'm not stupid. (Naïve, though, not a problem. Eve was nigh Adam, Adam was naïve; "Madam, I'm Adam".) Also didn't use email… which means I've no way of knowing whether the message got through. 

I'll have to settle for that, and move on. Crap on them, you know? Not that anyone can tell. Back to blogging regardless. 

Being laid up Tuesday meant I missed what I (perhaps a bit lightheartedly) refer to as our semiannual Confessathon. I’m a member of the largest Catholic parish in this part of the state, and twice a year – near the end each of Lent and Advent – most of a dozen priests from more distant points join our own for a communal penance service for the parish. 

Basically, it's a non-Mass service of prayer, reflection, meditation, and Reconciliation (confession); at the culmination of this service, the priests take up (very private) stations around our very big church, and hear confessions until we've all been taken care of… and there are generally several hundred parishioners who make it to these services, so this can take a few hours. Fine by me. 

I'll have to take time in another posting to deal with this in greater detail; it's too easily misunderstood outside of (and even within) the Church. Folks who feel they know their Bible, and have unfortunately accepted the troubling (and demonstrably fallacious) assertion of sola scriptura, will ask how a priest can forgive sins when quite clearly the Bible says that only God/Jesus can forgive sins. Read it again, friends; it's there. 

Other people perhaps imagine these dirty old men in robes (as near as they can get to wearing dresses in public, right? Oh, please!) getting their kickies listening to embarrassingly dirty stories.  

It is remarkably easy to disparage what you don't understand, isn't it? Patience, my friends; I want to tackle some of the common misunderstandings there – since I held many of them myself… and have also received that special Sacrament on many occasions, and gone home feeling fully cleansed to utter purity, through and through, to a degree and depth I cannot hope to adequately describe. 

But it is real – more real, even, than any strain of music that has made me cry, than any cliff-edge that has wrenched my gut, than any spring-blossoming tree and blood-of-autumn branch has wrapped my heart around itself. It would be meaningless, yes, if all we each are is our own flawed and aging body, and no more. But we aren't, and it's not. 

And that's what I missed out on, last Tuesday, so I'm looking forward (very nervously, yet eagerly) to going tomorrow evening – I may be able to relate more of it then. 

God is love. God is compassion. And God is mercy.

 

Countercounterpoint: The Science and Art of the Divine

And again Spartacus responds, as well he should, and most certainly may. I'm still much better than he is at backing and filling… which is why my backside regularly gets into trouble. Anyway, let's keep this discussion open – though I think we've gone as far below the surface as we can with tattooing for now, heh-heh. Spartacus, the podium is yours again: 

Thanks for your additional comments. You make some very good points, which, though they haven't changed my opinion about tattoos, HAVE helped me refine my own thinking about why I find them so objectionable–and for that I'm very grateful. It is so helpful to have a friend to act as a sounding board. Your sharp mind has the effect of helping to chip some of the rust from mine! 

"You're drawing a line based on what you personally find distasteful, and not merely contrasurvival. Thus you're obligated to accept that this standard is yours only, and works for you – but cannot work for all individuals." 

Well yes, absolutely!!! I thought I made it very clear that I was only speaking for myself. I would never suggest or condone a movement to outlaw tattoos. People should have the freedom to do what they want with their bodies–including drinking or drugging themselves to death, if that's what they want–but that doesn't mean I am obligated to approve of, or like what they are doing either. IMHO, there is not enough personal freedom in this world, but I'm not necessarily going to partake in, nor be a cheerleader, for any and all behaviors one could conceivably indulge in–even though I may believe it is within a person's rights to indulge in those behaviors. 

I suppose qualifying some of my comments with references to "nature" and/or "God" just confused the issue. I did so because I didn't want to get into a whole discussion on religion, but I can see now that handling it the way I did probably made such a discussion inevitable. I also see now how waffling was also preventing me from really clarifying WHY I hold some of the beliefs which have been discussed here. So without further ado, please return your seat to its upright position and we'll get down to it! 

I really do object to being called an agnostic–I believe quite fervently in God, though not in the way you believe. I believe God is immanent in the universe, and we come to know the nature of God through scientific inquiry. I worship that god by trying to be appreciative and respectful of the world and all that inhabit it (the specific word for this belief system is pantheism). 

One component of appreciation is esthetics, so for me, it is not MERE esthetics–esthetics are an element of the divine. So yes, in those terms I do find tattoos morally reprehensible–according to my personal belief system (others who think of themselves as pantheists could very well hold other views–and they are welcome to them!). 

I believe your quote from Corinthians could also be interpreted as a biblical injunction against tattoos, though personally that holds no weight with me as I do not acknowledge the Bible as God's word. 

"Hee-hee; I like that word, 'sheeple'! I usually use 'lemming'… but I might have to adopt your term, too, if you don't mind." 

You are welcome to it–I heard it from someone else. It tickled my fancy too. 

I'll take the last word here… since it is my blog, after all. (BOO, HISS!) Oh, shush. That clears the deck for other topics. (YAY!!) Thank you. 

No, sir – I had no intention of changing your opinion. You and I have each claimed our own pied-à-terre, and have since been using this forum to dig in a bit further. But my objective has been – both in this topic, and others we've volleyed back and forth – to use your viewpoint and assertions to sharpen both my own, and my debating techniques. 

With most folks I'm generally too polite to say more than, "Pardon me – your slip is showing", and then proceed to tug on it for greater exposure, or cover them while they hurriedly tuck back in… or, if she's cute enough, tuck it myself. 

However, some other people simply don't respond to anything less than both barrels; in that case, watch out! And you and I (and others I or we may invite into the clubhouse) can stand here, grinning, flinging open our jackets and showing the world what we each have. 

Anyway, Sparts, I’m glad you didn't take any of this personally – as I said previously, I was pointing out holes so you could plug 'em, while at the same time lobbing (low-yield) grenades through them. Fortunately, you defused them all; great job… and this is fun exercise! 

"I thought I made it very clear that I was only speaking for myself": Okay, I erred in my approach; at some non-conscious level, I believe I was running on the assumption you had regarded your views as absolute, rather than subjective, values… but I know you better than that. My apologies, sir! 

"I didn't want to get into a whole discussion on religion". Likewise – although let me clarify that further by saying that the reason I also steered largely away from those waters is that such a discussion would need much more time and space than I was able to give it last time, or will this evening. This gigantic topic, too, we may find consumed best by taking small bites from different ends, over time, and seeing how close to the middle we end up. 

Second apology, Sparkly Cuss, for the agnostic assertion. I think I'd somehow (wrongly) drawn that conclusion, but again I ought to've known better – in this case, mostly from things you've said here since late January, and in our emails of at least the last few years. Let me deepen that just a bit more by thanking you (and Mrs. Sparks) for your patient, very polite willingness to listen to my in-person babblings, last Fall, about some of the profound religious truths/points that have blown me away over the past several years. I'd like to believe I'd be as kindly disposed (as opposed to "disposed of"!), although I sense your shoes would rattle around very loosely on my tiny feet/feat, should I try to walk in them. 

Sir, in how you then proceed, above, to lay out your clarification, I find that you seem to be singing from my hymnal. I, too, see the hand of The Divine in nature, demonstrated through the harder sciences (including mathematics), and in esthetics. Though further, for me, appreciating the beauty in something – a sunset, a voice in song, a woman's curve, a slice of fresh-baked bread, a galaxy, and so on, perhaps indeed ad infinitum – is a prayer of thanks with no words. 

My electronic Merriam-Webster [(c)2000 Zane Publishing, Inc. and Merriam-Webster, Incorporated. All rights reserved.] defines "pantheism" as a doctrine that equates God with the forces and laws of the universe, so I can see that you've labeled it well (as opposed, say, to the more primitive "panINtheism"). But I feel I go a dimension beyond this, in that all this doesn't equal God, so much as prominently show his fingerprints and – as one delves deeper into any hard science – some of his tool-marks and some of the lines of his blueprints, too. 

I like especially one phrase you use: "esthetics are an element of the divine." Awesomely said! And your personal belief system allows you to quite nicely both wrap up, and comfortably justify (not in any sarcastic way!) your feeling on tattoos. 

I think the point where (from my view only) you stop short and I continue, is that you are fully at ease and secure in an adoctrinal (i.e., doctrine-free) divine. I said a good while back that I'm still mulling over the literal leap of faith humans must make to move from standing there beside you (and I did for many, great years), to one where there is doctrine and dogma – a leap I took without jettisoning any of the love for the universe and its description/analysis via science. This I am still mulling, and I'm still unable to point out, or even adequately describe, that leap. 

Nonetheless, here I rotate ninety degrees to another plane and vanish from your universe (man, I would love to be able to do this physically!). For me, that next step (I mentioned this a while back) grows from a yearning to recognize a love coming to me from that God that the universe manifests and paints. Relying entirely on science and esthetics alone, there is nowhere to firmly hang God's almighty "I love you, my son" word-balloon. God thus is impersonal; at best kind and even rather considerate. But love? Love is subjective; God defined by the borders and contours of the universe is objective only, breathtakingly beautiful as he becomes, yes, on examination. 

Yet we, humans, we love… so is this a power we have, that the God of the universe doesn't? Or is it merely something insignificant in the greater scheme of space/time + mass/energy? To both of these, I have to say No. A strictly deterministic God is absent of emotion of any sort; while I believe that we in some tiny ways parallel traits God himself carries: love, compassion, sorrow, delight, and so on… much like a tiny hydrogen atom mimics/mirrors the spectacular sweep of a vast, whirling (on a cosmic timescale, okay?) galaxy… only on the inside, where emotions dwell. 

Why not? 

I think the next step for me, after this one, would look extremely tenuous to you, so I'm going to set it aside again, and pick it back up later – since I can't yet paint with words the secure footing my mind and soul found. That step is the inner assurance I feel, that out of love for us, God regularly bridges between the realms of the divine and the mundane: through profound spiritual experiences, through stirring up our souls, and even through taking on a human form. 

Why not? 

Well, a science-only God has no reason to do so. But a God who loves, even more profoundly than I have loved my children and their mothers, has every reason to do so. 

But enough for tonight. 

Now I lay me down to sleep…

 

Counterpoint: Needle, and Threat

As always interested in airing both sides of the same coin, or whatever seems to have currency (yuk, yuk) at the moment, I present here Spartacus' response to my post of yesterday. I felt then that I'd found some holes in his assertion and – with no disrespect at all – wanted to point them out and give him the opportunity to fill them in, or/and correct any mistake(s) in my perception… which he does quite handily (to a strong degree) below. 

Important to note, folks: holes in theories/assertions are not necessarily leaks, and thus are not sufficient on their own, necessarily, to sink these positions. In many cases, a point simply has not been stated fully, or adequately, or is possibly still in the process of form(ul)ation – this latter being the case of many of my own positions. 

Take it away, Spartacus! 

Thank you sir, for your reply, you make some good points, though my age-impaired, semi-calcified mind still clings stubbornly to feelings of derision when confronted by a tat. 

I'd like to try to clarify what I was saying when referring to tattoos as "…blasphem[ing] against nature…" and being "…irreverent towards one's body…". I anticipated your argument about eating right and exercising, and I agree, you're absolutely right–it's the "body as a temple" concept. In addition to nutrition and exercise, destroying the body and mind with drugs, alcohol and other toxins should also be included in the category of disrespecting/abusing our bodies. 

However, I really had something different in mind when I made those statements. It goes back to our culture's notion that we somehow exist apart from, and above, nature (or God if you're of that mindset). It's the arrogant and misguided belief that we can exert our dominion over nature and bend her to our whims because we somehow "know better"–and with that belief system we usurp the wisdom of nature (or God if you will). We were born with bodies which have been honed by millions of years of evolution–those bodies are exquisitely fine tuned to meet our needs and serve our purposes. It seems to me that it is the height of arrogance to think one can improve on nature's work by applying a tattoo. When I see an attractive young woman with a tattoo (OK, so I'm an old goat too!) I think, "You were perfect without it, how could you think that trashy looking splash of color disfiguring your skin was somehow an improvement over what nature (God) has given you?" 

Now I suppose someone could take what I've written above and say that logically it follows that one should also therefore accept those infirmities and imperfections which nature gives us–and ultimately therefore one should reject any type of medical intervention. No, I make a distinction between superficial vanity and taking legitimate steps towards maintaining/improving one's health (on a somewhat unrelated note, I do also think current medical technology has outstripped our culture's understanding of how best to apply those technologies–but that's a discussion for another time!).  

Your points about the thoughtful use of "aboriginal" tattoos is well taken, however, I would submit that the vast, vast majority of Westerners wearing them have little or no appreciation for what they mean other than, "hey dude, check out the cool tat!". And even if they do appreciate the meaning and significance of what they're wearing, do they really have a RIGHT to wear it? I don't think so. Most of those traditional tattoos represent a right of passage and full membership in a traditional culture–if you haven't been accepted by that tribe, group, whatever, and gone through their initiation ceremony/ordeal, then you have no right to wear those markings. If you are wearing them sans ceremony/acceptance, you are a fraud, plain and simple–it's just like someone using a badge to pose as a police officer, or a kid using a fake ID to get served in a bar. 

A big part of my distaste for tattoos is with those "fatuous followers of fashion". It seems like I almost instinctively reject anything which smacks of trendiness or fashion. I despise "sheeple"–those going through life following the herd, with hardly an original thought of their own. Tattoos have become fashionable, and I submit most of the new wearers of tats today decided to get one with the same half-mindless thought process which guides their other fashion accessory acquisitions–they see others wearing it, decide therefore it must be cool, so they now want one too. 

So, sorry, I'm just not buying. Tats are stupid and vulgar. I pity the young people today who have fallen for the hype (or groupthink). 

PS–I loved the story about your dad's grammar critique! 

My turn, Sparks: 

The "'body as a temple' concept" is, of course, Biblical (though hardly limited just to people who defer to the Bible!): 1 Corinthians 6:18-20 reads "…the immoral person sins against his [or her] own body. Don't you know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have [received] from God, and that you are not your own? For you have been purchased at a price. Therefore, glorify God in your body." 

I was sure Spartacus felt the same as I, that there are other (arguably greater) disgraces one might do to one's body beyond burying pigments under the skin. I'm glad he seizes the opportunity (and I'd've expected no less). 

For myself, though, I cannot place tattooing on the same level as deliberately ingesting/imbibing toxins, whether quick-acting (excessive alcohol, and various il/legal pharmaceuticals), or slow (fats and sugars) – or depriving same body of needed nutrients (e.g., through anorexia/bulimia) or reasonable maintenance (exercise, regular medical and dental checkups, etc.). 

Simply put: a trim woman with a small tattoo of, say, a sunburst on her shoulder blade is far more attractive to me than a woman with fifty extra pounds, unkempt hair, and a cigarette dangling from her lips. Spartacus, I suspect you'd agree. If not, there's a woman down the road I will not introduce you to anytime soon! Your wife should appreciate that. 

The issue of humankind's exertion of dominion over nature is of a far greater and different scale from that of some guy with his ex-wife's name tattooed (and crossed out) on his chest. I might decide to touch on that a bit here, but I think it belongs to another blog, another day, because it also embraces other morally questionable ideas, such as meat-eating, mineral-mining, and so much more. I.e., its impact is wholesale (on all of humankind), versus retail (on a single person). If you don't mind, sir! 

Back to the individual, then. I don't see that a tattoo is taken on, necessarily, out of "think[ing] one can improve on nature's work". I see it simply as a form of adornment, much like makeup, hair-tinting and styling, even (arguably) shaving. The only difference – for me a crucial one, which puts me in your camp (hey! I brought marshmallows this time!) – is its permanence. Therein for me lies the arguable stupidity. 

Were it not for that aspect of permanence, it would be no more significant that a shave and a haircut, two bits' worth of dye to tint the eyebrows (my younger brother did this once on a whim… or was that his bangs, after he'd shaved his head?), a clip-on earring and other jewelry, and so on – all of which may make one more attractive (or would you rather answer your wife differently when she asks you?) than before, and all of which are things we were not given by nature. 

Let's identify another later-blog topic that I see in what appears to be a rather shaky rock you're standing on. I believe you characterize yourself as agnostic… yet here you also use phrases like "the wisdom of nature", "nature's work", "nature gives us", and speak of nature as "her". Buddy, as you get older, you're going to have to fish, or cut bait… or stay away from the river. Those phrases are common when speaking about the world around us in poetic terms, yes – but you're also personifying it… and thus creating a god of your own. 

"Nature" is blind, mechanical, non-sentient, and an accumulation of processes, not a design/aim: something works, and continues… or fails, and dies out. But when you put "mother" or "she" there, you've made a demigod out of what is neither mother nor gender. Unless Mother Nature is a human, with all the inner and outer attributes of that state, you're focusing on what at the least is, by definition, a demi-deity: powers and strengths and objectives beyond our own, and beyond our ken, Barbie. And you're thus no longer agnostic. But let's tackle that one later. 

You do hit the nail quite well with your head in describing tattooing as a "superficial vanity"; heartily second the motion!!. Yet in your so doing, I think you're underscoring that the nature (!) of your objection is esthetic, and not of a higher principle. (Don't bristle at me like that!) You're drawing a line based on what you personally find distasteful, and not merely contrasurvival. Thus you're obligated to accept that this standard is yours only, and works for you – but cannot work for all individuals. 

Me, I find a woman most attractive if she has long hair (and I was married to one); if she has an accent (especially Slavic or German… although lately I've been finding some African and Indian accents breathtakingly lovely)… If it turns out there's a little dove tattooed just above the edge of her bikini top, I would not send her away. However, if she puts a cigarette in her face, all the attraction is lost – even if she has wings and a halo, and the most pure and unblemished of skin. 

Do you see what I mean? We're dealing with esthetics here. Nature doesn't cut our hair. Nature doesn't scrape the hair off our faces, or legs. Nature doesn't even trim our nails. And none of these physical traits fall under the header of "infirmities and imperfections". Your condemnation is esthetic, not moral. 

Tattoos are permanent. That's all. 

Now, aboriginal designs: yes; I do concede that faddists seize on them first, and in sickening droves. Whereas the deep soul that adopts the lifestyle and heritage with the tattoo… is extremely rare. But just such a person I feel, is not a poser. Sometimes an emulable culture has become terribly watered down (e.g., casinos instead of Kachinas), and this person seeks a return to the old nobility that that culture once historically bore proudly… and now no longer has any kind of worthy "initiator" to offer the interested. 

Hee-hee; I like that word, "sheeple"! I usually use "lemming"… but I might have to adopt your term, too, if you don't mind. Larry Niven mentions once seeing someone at a party wearing a button that read "Go, lemmings, go!". That kind of dittoheaded mindset sickens me… speaking as a man who gets together every Sunday with a bunch of other Catholics to say prayers in unison and bow (and scrape) and sing together, of course. 

I've said it before: "Vote Republican: it's easier than thinking!" and "If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention!". 

PS: Thanks for the compliments on my dad! As I said, I hadn't been trying to impress him (and never succeeded when I tried, even with jokes… when the utmost I could count on was a near-smile); I was practicing – no, exercising – my German, and wanted to get my thought across correctly… and I did! (Just picture your jaw dropping if you overheard your kid say, "Look over there, Andy – it's a real Focke-Wulf Fw 190D WrN 836017, unless I'm very much mistaken!" Yeah; like that.) 

Take care, good sir, you and family and dawgs! I think soon we'll be able, you and I, to start drawing up some moral guidelines/principles for humans to maintain their place on this earth, and in the greater universe: as individuals, as members of a tribe/nation, and as yearning souls.

 

Tattoo You: Getting Under the Skin

Spartacus is back!

My friend of yesteryear and current years – boxing coach, referee, and aficionado of the finest blues and bluegrass you could hope to weep to – read Sunday's posting, and after nearly a month unblogged here, he weighs in on a topic I'd breezed past on Sunday… so I'll have to take it up today, having plugged away at my own screed for two evenings now. Sparta-Cuss's subject-line was "March Madness"; I award him an extra Kudos® bar to him for not holding back… we all need these reality-checks!

-----Original Message-----
Sent: Sunday, March 18, 2007 11:45 PM

Good evening sir!

I read your latest blog post with interest. A happy b-day to your daughter! I just celebrated mine a couple of days ago and my kid's is coming up in a week. My mom also celebrates her b-day in March. Here's to all of us Pisceans and Aireans (oops, luckily the spelling on that last one saves me from appearing to be a follower of Corporal Shickelgruber!).

I gotta admit I was shocked and saddened to hear of your daughter's plan to disfigure her body with a tattoo. Please don't take this the wrong way, I feel like I'm walking on eggshells here, my motive in saying this is not to try to butt into your family's business, nor is it a criticism of you or your family. Rather, I'm doing this in keeping with the frank and relatively BS-free exchange of dialog we've been sharing these some odd years now, in the spirit of keeping the conversation rolling (and providing possible grist for your blog). You have my sincerest apologies in advance if you find my words offensive----they are only my opinion and, as you well know, opinions are like assholes and vice versa.

To my mind's eye, I see tattoos as being really trashy (and making their bearers look trashy in turn)--regardless of how well they are done or what the subject matter may be. It may seem odd, given my views on God, but I do believe we enter this world in a natural and perfect state, and to mar our bodies with tattoos is to somehow blaspheme against nature. It is an irreverence toward our body—if you want to express yourself artistically, do it on canvas or paper, etc—don't deface your divine-born body (same goes for piercings and other permanent methods of body mutilation).

I scoff at the idea that the tattooed are expressing their "individuality", because I see the same motifs over and over again. It's like the laughable notion of a teen expressing their individuality through dress or hairstyle, when that "individual" look is replicated by 90% of the high school population.

Then there are the people wearing so called "aboriginal" tattoos, which I see as highly demeaning toward the cultures where those markings originated. In those traditional societies, they have deep and symbolic meaning, and are more than just markings on skin—they represent membership in that society, they are a right of passage and represent a place which is earned by being native born in that society. Seeing them on some punk pseudo-trendy Westerner is yet another example of our vacuous pop culture.

I also find it pathetic when a tattooed individual complains that "straight" society sees them as "freaks" or "weirdos"—well, didn't you get those tats to set yourself apart from "straight" society? You made a permanent, visual statement on your body which says you reject the common mores of our society, so have the integrity to accept the consequences of that rejection by said society. If you don't have the stomach for it, you were deluding yourself in the first place—you're not really a rebel, you're just a fatuous follower of fashion. A real rebel doesn't wear a bullseye on their body advertising their affiliation—stealth will serve your insurgent aims much better.

They may seem cool and "edgy" to a good portion of today's callow youth when viewed upon the young bodies of their peers, but when I see the faded colors, fuzzy detail and jaded motifs of tattoos on middle-aged or older folks, I see bad art and stupidity.

Again, my deepest apologies if I have offended—the above was offered in the spirit of frank and BS free dialog. I'm not trying to tell anybody how to live—if someone wants a tattoo they should get one—just don't expect me to like it.

Peace!

People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use.—Søren Kierkegaard

Under the subject line of "March-Hare Raisers", and signing off as "Hervé Villechaize", I answered him in brief:

Sent: Monday, March 19, 2007 7:38 PM

No offense taken, sir! …although the image of you tiptoeing over imagined eggshells is a chortle in itself!

I largely agree with your opinion and assertions, but at twenty-four it's less likely she'd heed any caution from me, and she's old enough to be stupid on her own… which she still does a heck of a lot less than I did at that age, or even last month. I do think it's stupid, and you've got me rethinking (but not yet retracting) my idea of buying a star or UFO. But the concept of doing so in a capitalistic, spectacular (albeit largely en famille et amis) fashion still tickles my funnybone. Would you mind terribly if I take this up in greater detail on tonight's (or tomorrow's) installment?

There's been a bit of a patch lately where I don't have as much thoughtful/deep blog-material to post (though why should I try to rise above everyone else?)… so it's been fun harvesting said material from emails and at-work pun-contests. And this matter is deserving of a longer and more detailed response, and a bit more of a public airing… or erring, in my case.

Ciao bello!

Let's have at it further now; Sparky's candor deserves both deep consideration and response at length. This is not an open letter to everybody, though; this is a longer response to Spartacī email with the rest of you guys looking over my shoulder:

As usual, bro, I'm going to plow through more or less sequentially.

Aargh! Missed your birthday! The Mrs. said you'd be getting your AARP card; did it ever show up? Or don't you recall? Anyway, many happy returns of the day (meaning that I hope you refunded all your gifts and kept the money), and belatedly! And having yet another birthday should have merited you at least one stinky-stogie, and a trot down the walk with the dawgs to enjoy it. Now wipe the icing off your chin.

Aah, forget that failed architect Schickelgruber; your spelling also spares me the desire to exorcise you as a fanatical follower of the heretic Arius. Never mind; it may well be all (heh-heh) Greek to you.

As I said earlier, I'm not in agreement with daughter Shelly's idea for a tattoo. Shoot; she never even had piercings, except in her ears, growing up – and those were courtesy of her mom, and they soon closed up anyway. During college, though, she mentioned she was thinking of getting her navel pierced. She knew I disfavored that, too… but once a child is out from under your roof (and thumb, as both parent and child may sometimes view it), you cannot give her/him orders – although you can place conditions on the mundane support you provide them.

No, you have to play it fairly clichéic, and give them your love and emotional support and encouragement, cheer them on as they blaze their own trail – and keep them aware of where their actions may disappoint you, and meet with your disapproval. If you've been at least a reasonably good parent, then your child, even once grown, will never stop gaining inner mileage from meeting your approval, and receiving your praise.

As a bit of a sidetrack, one of few things I was truly able to clutch to my heart when my father passed away suddenly in 2003 happened while I was standing near him some years earlier, talking on the phone with one of our relatives who lived in Germany, Dad's birth-country. And aching to visit that sweet country again, I said to her (my relative), "Ich wollte, ich nur da wäre," or, "I just wish I were there!"

And unexpectedly Dad just about leapt out of his chair; he sat bolt upright and exclaimed, "PERFECT first-person subjunctive indirect discourse! Very good!!" I felt, for just one startled moment, that I was his prize student (he'd never really taught language to his own children)… and am still so proud of that moment that I included it in my eulogy for him. Next time I see him, I hope to remember to tell him Thank you. (PS: he was a lousy parent… and I still miss him.)

I don't fully buy into the concept of "blaspheme against nature" – though I do feel we have to answer for what we do with these bodies we are loaned. Picture your dad turning over to you the family Vega, or Pinto, for the evening: "You don't have to fill the tank back up, Son, but I expect it to come back without a scratch. If it does come back scratched to dented, you'd better have a good reason. See you at eleven, Kiddo."

There's more than tattooing that mars our bodies. What about high cholesterol that could be shortening (!) our lives? The poor eating habits and lack of exercise? You and I, sir, have retained our svelte, teen-years bods… only they're hidden layers of leftovers; no one can now see the waifs we once were. Is this not also taking poor care of the body? Is this not an even greater "irreverence toward our body"?

I submit to Counsel that indeed we are expected – whether by nature, or by God – to make the best of our bodies, to make them last as long as we can and take utmost good care of them, since we're each issued only one. The longer we each stay alive, healthy, and focused, the longer we can work to make our world a better place, yes? So we must take care of our bodies. Now, which wrecks aforesaid body worse, and knocks off more years: tattooing, or a Big Mac?

Following point, esthetics: yah; generally looks stupid, and is expensive to remove (where even possible). That kind of sheer permanence bothers me, personally; it's not like a change of hair style or color. So by definition, this ought not to be done on a whim.

Hence your next point, those culturally-rich tattoos of "deep and symbolic meaning", being appropriated as The Latest Thing. Here again I largely agree; it grates on me to find something of great depth and continuity ripped from its context/milieu. A girlfriend of mine who, years back, was the district manager for a national jewelry company, told me then of her shock at hearing a youth trying to decide with a friend which cross pendant to buy, and finally deciding on the one "without the guy on it".

Still… can one not consciously, deliberatively, honor such a culture and society – Keltic, African, Austroaboriginal, Native American, etc. – by adopting a traditional, tattooed image, and embracing its significance? Yes? Then posit a stranger has done so, and deeply appreciates the struggles and sufferings of that culture, even though s/he was never born into it; in taking on as a tattoo the symbol of that culture's heritage and ancient wounds, s/he has added an entire new dimension to his/her soul, and is wonderfully enriched deep within thereby. Now: you pass on the sidewalk, see the motif of that world on his/her upper arm… how do you know it's been assumed superficially? …especially when, here, it hasn't been?

You're right that someone who has tattooed/pierced him/herself – whether out of superficiality, or out of deep empathy with the oppressed – has abrogated any privilege to complain about the superficial response from the lowbrows in his/her own social realm; the wise wo/man will expect this, and ignore it (truly having "the integrity to accept the consequences of that rejection by said society")… the shallow wo/man, well, tough – you're naïve and out of touch. ("a fatuous follower of fashion" – heh-heh; I like that one!)

A good, though I feel quite separate, point lies in your line that "stealth will serve your insurgent aims much better": quite agree, sir! I am an inner rebel; since I am paid to work for a prominent company that counts the US military among its clients, I don't really have a "Buck Fush" sticker on my car; nor do I let anyone see the half-peace-sign I flash at the radio's latest mention of the Commander-in-Chimp. That would be hypocritical. Strike that; there's definite hypocrisy for me in working for a firm that is more sword- than plowshare-focused. Fine; I'll be an embarrassed hypocrite with a roof over my head, rather than a proud ideologue starving under the overpass. But I can also blend into the unwashed masses with greater ease, and when needed can more "softly and suddenly vanish away"… which was my modus operandi during the Ray-gun years, and again earlier this decade.

So… as with many other things, I could easily rationalize myself into a tattoo – or rather, technically, the other way around. But I'm not interested in the least. By the way, that girlfriend who helped run the jewelry company also wanted me to be a "practice dummy" for ear-piercings, to show the nervous young-men customers (this was in the late eighties) that it didn't hurt. I refused, even though she offered to let me hold the teddy bear.

So at long (-winded) last, back to daughter Shelly: I think her getting a tattoo is dumb, and without discretion and thought (neither one of which she lacks) could be downright stupid. But she's been thinking about this for a while, and has been mulling tasteful (I hope you can conceive of that!) designs… I picture something like a Tolkienesque dragon blasting through the old Procter and Gamble logo, there on her ankle; and I might still be willing to lay down a couple sawbucks for a star, or crescent-Saturn.

Yes; tasteful.

Happy Birthday: Belles and Smells

Okay, this choice of skin restores the missing title and subtitle; I'm not greatly fond of the overall layout, but I'll tinker with it a bit and see what I can do about that. 

This evening, I got together with Shelly, my older daughter, plus my younger brother Richard and his younger daughter, my older sister and her husband and two kids, and my mother; we met at a local sports-themed restaurant, and proceeded to have the kind of loud, raucous (and occasionally off-color) good time this family can have, especially if that sister or/and my older daughter is involved. (I may post a picture later.) The occasion, of course, was my daughter's birthday… somehow, while growing no older than five or six in my heart, she's now twenty-four. 

It may not be a coincidence that "Twenty-Four" is the name of her current favorite TV series… and if I'd taken the time to think about it a bit further, I would have tried to give our hooraw that very theme. 

Presents included a gift card to a store that late last year gave her PTSD; also a refrigerator magnet, and two rolls of cookie dough. Yes, this is a strange family. 

We dispersed again after a couple hours; my brother followed me and my mother back to our house. He went sans daughter, who went off with my birthday-girl Shelly to my sister's house to practice a design for a tattoo Shelly wants on her ankle and foot. Daughter's thinking of underwriting the cost by giving each member of my generation (five of us, plus two spouses) and hers (five more for now, not counting her) the opportunity to buy a color for part of the design – e.g., ten or twenty dollars would allow you to color a star, or the crescent moon. 

My brother says he wants a tattoo on the back of his neck to look like a wall socket, and possibly also a bar code. Our mother's modesty was shocked at this suggestion. "You don't want to do something you're going to regret when you're eighty!" 

"But I want something to regret!" my brother countered. 

Before he left, he told us a joke, after assessing whether we'd be offended. Oh, it's irreverent, but we didn't find it offensive at the least – after thoroughly berating him earlier for even suggesting we sometime see "The Last Temptation of Christ". That is offensive. 

His joke wasn't, though… but I've still edited it for the, uh, masses: 

An old, devout Catholic widower brings his new, little-old-lady widow-friend – who's even older, nearsighted, and has never been in a Catholic church – to Mass one Sunday. It turns out that this is one of the holiest feast days of the year, so there a grand procession of altarboys and -girls carrying the lectionary, a huge crozier, and many tall, blazing candles. The priests are in the middle of the procession, all decked up in resplendent robes of gold and violet. And the bishop who is to lead the Mass is walking with a censer, swinging it back and forth to fill the grand interior of the church with great clouds of rich incense as the procession makes its way up to the altar. 

The little old lady has been delighted and transfixed by the decorations, the paintings and statues, the gold, the organ music, and the thunder of voices singing together. She's standing at the end of her pew, right at the aisle, so she's able now to lightly grab the bishop by his beautifully embroidered robe. "Look, dear", she says softly, "that's a lovely frock – but your purse is on fire!"

 

The Incredible Vanishing Title

Wait a minute… where's the title for this blog? It's supposed to be right up there in the header, reading "MT2mb", subtitled "…because the tomb was empty…" But upstairs are just Cleopas, Jesus, Cleopas' friend, and a serving-guy. Not that I would knock sharing a blog with Jesus, I hasten to add. 

I shouldn't complain; the header-image space is much wider than on most WordPress skins. But this blasted blog does have a title, and I want to make a point with it. Darn; I was even thinking of keeping this skin for a few more weeks. Well, I'll change it again tomorrow. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a date in South America.

 

Bringing Up Mother: Annie's Ssong

A few weeks ago, I sent an email to an ex-girlfriend. "Annie" and I dated almost two years, a relationship longer than all but one in the twenty-two years since my divorce. Annie and my older daughter (only one, back then), Shelly, got along very well.

I got in touch with Annie a few times in the nineteen years that have passed since our breakup; the first time – a year after I'd made like a real (pardon me) rectum and shoved her out of my life – I nearly gave her an actual heart attack; but I'd gone to visit her to apologize sincerely for how rude, insensitive, selfish, and hurtful I'd been to her for most of our time together.

Annie has since had two kids – "Luke", and "Mimi" – and recently she and I began emailing each other. In my last email to her – my third in all, I think; this was a few weeks ago – I included some JPEGs of Shelly, so she could see how beautifully "our girl" has grown up. Here's her response:

Sent: Saturday, March 17, 2007 12:46 PM

Subject: hello

my goodness she looks so much like you!!!!! the pictures were beautiful....or rather she was beautifull in the pictures.

not much going on here in the way of excitement. at this point and time luke in failing the sixth grade, not because he doesnt know it, but rather because he is lazy and doesnt want to do the work. he claims he keeps losing things and forgetting to turn them in. im sorry, i could swallow that story once in a while but not on a consistant basis.

speaking of, i sent you a picture. i think it will get at least a grin out of you.

mimi is improving in school a little bit. i dont know if it will be enough to get her a passing grade or not. last time i talked to her teacher she said it wasnt really a concern for her at that point. it is for me though. seems like most of the papers she brings home are grades of d or f. i told the teacher i feel like she is being left behind, but she doesnt feel that way. guess ill talk to her more about it at the conference.

mom is doing okay i believe. she has a follow up appointment monday so i guess we will find out then how good she is really doing.

as for me, well all i can say is i need to get up off my rear end and do something. i took a class last year and i havent been applying what i learned.....and i learned a lot from it. it was a course sponsored by the coronary health improvement project......c.h.i.p. for short. basically what it taught was how your body reacts to different types of food. the underlying lesson being, if you want to be healthy and live longer eat only foods as grown and nothing with a mother or a face. BASIC VEGETARIANISM. i know it sounds really lame and very 70s but it isnt just a diet, its a lifestyle. i did really well with it at first but lately i have been having a really hard time with it. it is so much easier to throw something in the microwave or order out than it is to stand in the kitchen for god knows how long cutting veggies and all that stuff. and as for the exercise, that is totally nonexistant at this point for me. i was doing it for 1/2 hour every day and had actually lost about 20 pounds. since i stopped i have put half of that back on. and i have been missing the alumni meetings also. not good when you dont have the support of your family.

in addition to that, mimis father dropped a bomb shell on me the other day. he wants to get back together. after about 10 years of just being "friends".....which basically means that i felt like the only reason he was in my life was to spend time with meem and to have transportation......he had a dream. that dream scared him. it was very scrooge-like. he dreamed he died and everyone hated him. his children refused to come to his funeral and everyone that did come to it just spit on his grave. he said when he woke up he made the decision that he needed to tell me what he had been wanting to say for almost ten years. so he called me immediately and dropped the bomb in my lap. he said that he has never stopped loving me, wants us to get back together to the point of marriage and that he is willing to wait as long as it takes. im not all that sure how i feel about that, but it would really be nice to have a man to talk to about it. can you give me a call????? please??????? xxx-yyy-zzzz. there really is no convenient time for people to call so just do so at your convenience and thank you.

anyway, speaking of time. i should get done here so i can do some other things i need to do before i go to work. give everyone hugs for me and tell them i said hello.

hugs

annie

I didn't warn her that her Shift key and apostrophe seem to be broken… although, heh-heh, I would have if I'd thought of it.

As usual, my answer was considerably longer… though I pondered much of it, and had EWTN on beside me as a bit of spiritual energy-boost so I could advise more considerately. Maybe I did, too.

Sent: Saturday, March 17, 2007 7:58 PM

Well, unimaginatively and rather linearly from the top, down:

No, she looks so much more like her mom – Shelly has my mouth and attitude; the rest (aside from some of her metabolism, and the inconsequential matter of half her DNA) comes from her mom. And I think it is the best possible combination… so do the two of them!

Re Luke: do you study with him? Do you give him incentives to remember things? Is it possible he has too many distractions (TV, iPod, etc.)? Too many goodies? I.e., a) has his mom spoiled him with lots more than she had at his age? and b) have you begun taking things away from him as punishment (at sixth grade he's likely too big to go over your knee!)? Other discipline would include further work – e.g., whether additional schoolwork you assign him (based on texts you can buy in any bookstore), or/and work around the house… such as tidying his room? Obviously discipline must consist both of negative feedback (making it very uncomfortable for him to slip) and positive (rewards of restoring things/privileges taken away, of special events, goodies, etc.).

And a different tack would be to have him tested for issues like AD(H)D and other things that may be making it difficult for him physiologically (chemical imbalance) or/and psychologically (e.g., rough experiences at an early age, causing him, say, to value the security of failure over the unknown world of success). That is – it may be needful to firmly eliminate the possibility that for some reason he really is forgetting these things. More: have some high-quality-time walky-talkies with him – actually schedule personal one-on-one time with him, once or twice a week; encourage him to talk about himself and his world and how he feels he's fitting in it… very little, if any, of this time should be spent in chewing the boy out. And involving a walk means that this would be great exercise for both of you. Speaking of which: what opportunities are there for him to be involved in neighborhood sports? I'd strongly recommend martial arts over soccer. Cost? Unless it's equal to squeezing blood from a turnip, his dad should be expected to pay at least half.

Re Mimi: see all of the above, come to think of it. With her, too, I'd suggest as well that you have some scheduled one-on-one time with her. Between the two of them, now, you should get plenty of exercise in!

Further ideas for both: back to the bookstore, as mentioned above. If there's any decent-sized bookstore nearby (e.g., Barnes and No-Bull, Borders, etc.), there should be a good array of catch-up texts, even some remedial, that can help them along. While you're there, pick up a book on easy vegetarian cooking, another one of "Vegetarianism for Dummies", and one more along the lines of a kids' guide to vegetarianism or/and vegetarian cooking.

There should be a way to kick in some of your rusty old ROTC discipline methods. [Annie attended Naval ROTC in high school.]

How involved are they in cleaning up around the house? They're also old enough to cut up the vegetables, both literally and metaphorically. So start loading, yes, more responsibilities on them, and more of the good (vegetarian) food. Give them up to ten seconds each per hour to whine about it, then finis! My dad's response to whining was: "Tough!" No kid ever died from vegetables, unless brother/sister stabbed them with a carrot stick.

What can they do in their worst classes to pick up extra credit? See to it that they do it.

It's about time they did their own laundry. Shelly was doing hers at ten.

Do not let them believe they run the household (even though their needs determine the lion's share of your actions). They should get one vote for every dollar they contribute to the household bottom line. Make sure they know who Copernicus was – i.e., the universe really does not rotate around them. The house is not a democracy, nor a kid-ocracy; it's totalitarian – a mom-ocracy

Make sure, though, they (and you) don't lose sight of the fact that you love them deeply, utterly, and beyond question. And that your love for them is not contingent in any way whatsoever on their success in school. However, this doesn't mean they can't terribly disappoint you. And it's not "all right" if they fail another test. Because you love them and have known them all their lives, you know full well they can do much better.

Half a year or so before I met you, I was floored when a girlfriend's son yelled at her, "I hate you!", and she fired back immediately and instinctively with, "Well, I love you! I just don't like you very much right now! Now, go to your room!"

Wow. This I took to heart.

Thanks for the good news on your mom! [Annie's mother is well into her eighties, and there was a recent scare with her over pneumonia. Incredibly, Mrs. Annie still remembers me, the poor woman. Still, it had been a delight talking to her on the phone several weeks ago, after finding out she was still alive!] As I probably said before, take good care of her. You and I are both running out of parents, so we have to make it work out right this time! Continue to make her waning years good, and warm; at the least you'll build up some heavy karma you can cash in later… and at best, you'll have an advocate to stand beside you when it's your turn to shuffle off the mortal coil, goil.

Good for you, re the vegetarianism! Do your best to hop back on that wagon… think of the example your stick-to-it-iveness will be for the kids. So at least do it for them: to lengthen your life, and to show them that "tough" doesn't equal "impossible". You've toughed out stuff much harder than that anyway. If you're going to stop heeding your kids' whining, you also have to ignore your own.

Vegetarianism isn't lame; the concept is sound and good – make sure, of course, that the proteins (and other nutrients) you'd ordinarily be getting from meats are being made up for through other food-items. And work with your doctor! Descendants of animals, we are physiologically configured to live off animal proteins. But we can also detour around that, as long as we aren't missing out on what the old bod needs. And allow yourself the occasional "relapses"; forgiving yourself makes it so much easier to forgive other people.

I might have said Shelly was vegetarian for several years, after reading up on Paul McCartney's vegetarianism. She was flexible enough to eat chicken and seafood, and we had some great, fun quests for things like meatless hot dogs, burgers, and so on.

PS: support of your family is great on difficult challenges, and you'll be doing this for your kids. But you're a grownup, and know by your own experience that you can do plenty even when every other person is telling you that you can't.

Re bombshell: I know where Mimi Sr. is coming from. There's someone I'd still get back together with and marry in an instant – even setting aside the seminary/monastery for that – if she should get down on a knee and propose to me; shoot… I'll even spring for the rings. But she won't; we settled that almost fifteen years ago. I simply never got my heart back.

Re Mr. M.: disregard the Dickensian dream of his, real or not. At most, this is his drive and his need; what is yours? A dream is ethereal, and terribly insubstantial a foundation for a lifetime together. Marriage and lifetime together (pardon upcoming cliché) take two; unless you love him very much in your heart, then it is only one person's dream.

This doesn't mean you shouldn't open the door a bit. Decide first whether, based on the last ten years, he deserves the opportunity to make a case for himself. If not, make like the Magic Eight Ball and say, No, Ask Again Later. And if so, then proceed together in little steps. Strongly suggest you two don't get intimate if at this point it is still avoidable (and this is none of my business), since this binds the heart and blinds the head – and right now you need to be able to use your head. At the very least, his shadow over the threshold terribly complicates things. Your attention is already being pulled in five directions (you, mom, Luke, Mimi, and work); to be a good mother you may not have it in you to slice yourself even smaller… since this might call on you to take attention away from your kids, and that is a must-not-do.

One way he could make a great case for himself would be for him to do work around the house whenever he visits. I mean it; if you two are fated to be together, then sharing your life means sharing the workload, today. Make him cut up vegetables. Have him change your oil. It would be a good sign if his presence in your life and home would make things easier, not more complicated; and he could achieve this by relieving you of some of your mundane burdens.

Most important: he must be able to get along very, very well with Luke. If he's going to be spending time with you, he should help tutor the kids. You aren't just you and your heart; you are also your kids, and your mom, and your house; he has to have a good, sound role in all of these. Any less indicates his heart is not in it, and yours shouldn't be either.

Look at it from another direction, too: what else has been going on lately in his life? Has he recently been dumped? Did he get fired? Did someone close to him die? What other reasons might there be (dream or no dream) for him to suddenly turn to you? Around 1984 or 1985, my heart turned powerfully toward a girlfriend I'd had in high school (Spring of 1978)… and some months later my marriage fell apart: the re-attraction to this girl was symptomatic of deeper issues I was hardly aware of.

These are things to consider to help you decide how to respond. And after ten years, nothing says you should respond to him today, or tomorrow, or next week. As complicated as your life is now, you must be free to take the time to think about it – and much of it should be in the back of your mind, while you're doing other stuff. If he pressures you, ask him kindly to back off. If he continues to push, and does not relent, change the "ba" in "back off" to an "fu", if I might be a bit coarse.

There may be other ways he can de-scrooge his life without tying you needlessly in an emotional knot. Right now Mimi is young enough that he can begin, today, to start having a ratcheted-up quality-role in her life, without marrying her mom: have him take her to the library to help her study. Get him to sign her up at the nearest Jiu-Jitsu joint, and to take her there every time she's supposed to be there, and see to it that she's practicing and he's cheering her on.

Bonus points to him if he sometimes – of his own initiative – brings along an occasional something for Luke, and sometimes even takes him along. After ten years he has much to prove… but it's entirely possible he can do so. He should not need you to tell him how.

Hello to you from Shelly; she stopped by for a visit and took over my computer just after your messages had shown up; I told her they were from you. So she says Hi; she wanted to show me a site where her cousin had posted a picture of her (Shelly) red in the face, laughing and choking as she tries to pull a tie off over her head. Crazy kid! She also turns 24 tomorrow; how about that??

Very minor issue: your other email, the grin-maker: uh… with apologies, my sense of humor isn't what it was twenty years ago. With my heart and mind set on the clergy, or avowed religious, well, that image did get me to drop my jaw, but I'm afraid I've lost a lot of my ability to find that as funny as I once did. [It was a startling – I suppose humorous – and graphic image not suitable for children; 'nough said.]  Please don't worry about it; you couldn't know this about me – and if you're embarrassed to hear/read this, then I am grinning! I will admit I do indulge in the occasional innuendo with one of my coworkers, and even snort at something not-quite-G-rated… but I expect that this will wither away in time. It's not judgmentality on my part, so much as being pruned by the divine vinedresser; that's all. Again; don't worry about it.

I suspect you have too little time, but when you can, take a peek at my blog sometime; one running bit is under Humor; look for entries titled "Pundemonium", where I recount the latest stinkers a coworker and I lay on each other in an effort to outpun the other. I think you'll find those postings will remind you most of the A. Gene Childe you recall of a couple decades ago.

Meanwhile, I'll try to give you a call early tomorrow afternoon. This evening Mother and I will be watching a movie (VHS), "The Mission". A friend loaned it to me, and I watched it last week; now Mother wants to see it – and my friend was fine with that.

All for now; as soon as you're done with this email, please give each of your kids (and your mother) a kiss on the head and a hug – they're from you, not from me… and just may startle the heck out of them. All the better…

Regards,

AgingChild