I’m curious as to what others think about this statement from Archbishop John Shelby Spong. http://walkingwithintegrity.blogspot.com/2009/10/manifesto-from-our-friend-bishop-john.html?spref=fb
Basically he writes: “I will no longer debate the issue of homosexuality in the church with anyone. I will no longer engage the biblical ignorance that emanates from so many right-wing Christians about how the Bible condemns homosexuality, as if that point of view still has any credibility.”
Misanthrope that I am, I also don’t care to waste my energy and time by arguing with the hypocrites who shove Leviticus down my growing-hoarse throat. Plus I usually just get flustered and incoherent and would probably just scream, “GOD IS DEAD,” while slapping them with a giant dildo.
Archbishop Spong makes a great point that the “equal time” ethics of mainstream media only raises witless bigots to the same “from the experts” category of actually reputable sources. But isn’t there some value, on an individual level, in discussing these almost-terminal issues? Maybe I’m just not the best person to take up the gauntlet.
“Dylan gargles out Santa-related trivia like an incredibly drunk Tom Waits while an oblivious choir chirps away underneath him, and there’s a part at the end where Dylan rattles off the names of reindeer and Presidents, for some reason.”
- Oh my god, it Must Be Santa
One of the most common responses to “I’m a poet” is the question, “Have you been published?” In most cases, this question is out of a polite interest. But it also might arise, I bitterly suspect, from the desire to classify a person on basis of success. Unlike hierarchial jobs where a title will tell others just how important you are, poets can exist in some nebulous space of general failure - unless, of course, you can distinguish yourself with Physical Evidence that you are not just A Hack, e.g. poems published in something higher than the Protest magazine.
This is why I hate Eric the chocolate salesman. We had this semi-awkward conversation last month. I told him I was less concerned right now about getting published than about, you know, actually becoming a serious poet, reading everything, and so on. He tells me, “You should try! Throw something on the wall, see what sticks” - this with his hands behind his head, reclining in a chair, in a cozy tone of false folksiness.
Unasked-for career advice is irritating enough. From a CHOCOLATE SALESMAN, regarding anything other than chocolate, it’s even worse.
Today my boss Jean tells me, “I have a nice young man for you!” And then confidentially, “Eric is SINGLE.”
And then I sort of almost vommed. I will get my OWN chocolate and I don’t need no man to get it for me or tell me what to do with my life.
The Bash Back queers commit acts of glamdalism!
As much as I love sticking it to the man (with GLITTER), aren’t these the same folk who got super aggressive, rude, and violent in Chicago’s Queers Bash Back this year?
Joshua: “I saw that picture on your tumblr and I’m making a drawing of Bitch City, where all the annoying feminists live.”
Stumbling back into my apartment after FKA night at Big Chicks, I open my door to whorling, hot clouds of STEAM! Erin’s with me and we can’t even get into the apartment without choking up sour air. I don’t know how long it was before the fire department showed up to turn off my leaking radiator, but it felt like an hour of running around in terror, slipping on the floors, as all the smoke alarms went off. My crabmeister landlord showed up, mopping fat beads of dirty water from the ceiling.
Bad news: Death knell for laptop, record player, and Aaron’s copy of In Search of Lost Time vol. 2 (even though I am still carrying that soggy spineless shit around, trying to read it, it’s just so good). Weird smells still lingering in cabinets.
Good news: Trans neighbor let me step into her apartment to cool off after I soaked through my clothes. She was so nice to me! YES, GET IN MY POCKET.
Also, can you imagine what would’ve happened if I brought back a chick from Big Chicks? “Come inside…and welcome to my LOVE PRISON in HELL.”
In “The Prime of Life,” Simone de Beauvoir also writes about borscht — “My lunch was a bowl of borscht at Dominique’s, and for supper I took a cup of hot chocolate at La Coupole. I was fond of hot chocolate, and borscht” — but for de Beauvoir, who added that her “chief delight was in doing as I please,” borscht represented the pleasure of a self-determined life, as opposed to the food that knit a family.
from this article: http://www.nytimes.com/1996/05/12/magazine/food-taste-memory.html
It gives me a really good feeling to think of de Beauvoir and borscht, now in the late-morning (1.5 hours to halfway mark) when all I’m really doing is dreaming of the pumpkin pancakes I will make tomorrow.
Even though work sucks up SO MUCH TIME (am I lazy for thinking 8 hours is obscene?) I am finding a lot of pleasure in cooking. Granted, much of that cooking has been limited to PB&J on George Forman, but I also add banana and honey for fanciness. But I want to get more involved - less of a domestic activity, more a reassertion of my independence. It is so satisfying!
Anyway, if you know where to find canned pumpkin, which doesn’t seem to be at Jewel, please let me know, and you will receive a pancake as reward.