Month: April 2006

Crankypantsing, News & Politics

But keeping dark is hateful

Shelly

It’s not particularly fun to wake up at 4 am. It’s not particularly fun to have to leave for work at 5:15 am. About the only thing that is less fun is waking up at 3 am and leaving for work at 4:15 am. Daylight saving time, my ass! It wouldn’t be so bad if I could figure out how to change the clock in my car. I don’t really need to be reminded every morning that it is really 4:15, not 5:15. Talk about adding insult to injury. Worse is that it’s not even pretending to be dark out when I go to bed, which I also usually do at a ridiculously and obscenely early hour. Mitch Daniels has a lot to answer for.

Fucker.

Sometimes it’s depressing to be a tiny speck of pinko-blue swimming in a sea of red. I am finding this to be especially true at 3am.

Since I’m on the subject of things that make me cranky in the morning, I’d like to take this opportunity to discuss the accepted procedure for stopping at traffic lights and stop signs. I don’t know how they do things in Wisconsin, where Mr. CRV Driver is from, but here in Indiana we recommend stopping in front of the line. As in, all four tires of your car should not yet have crossed the aforementioned. That would be the exact opposite of having all four of your tires on the far side of the line. I’m just sayin’…

To the old dude who works for the parks department and drives a nearly invisible dark green Ford F-150, could you please either pick up the pace or stop driving on the bypass? Seriously. If you cannot go faster than 30mph, you really shouldn’t be driving where the speed limit is 55mph. I’ve almost rear-ended you multiple times, and I saw a gravel truck nearly go off the road this morning, trying to avoid flattening you.

To the person with the E tag who keeps snagging my parking spot: Are you made of money or something? How long do you intend to accumulate tickets, just so you can park in the A lot?

To the Herald Times delivery driver: What in the name of all that is holy do you think you’re doing? You do not (not!) deliver papers from the highway. This is the second time I’ve been stuck behind you as you’ve crept along, winging papers through the passenger side window onto the the ends of people’s driveways. Not cool.

That’s all from this week’s edition of the Rural Road Rage Diaries.

Oh, wait, I lie. There was one more. A red blinky light means S-T-O-P. It does not mean slow down a little bit. A blinky yellow light means slow down a bit, and proceed with care. Which is what I did, which is why I didn’t cream your ass when you barrelled through your blinky red light. Fuckwit.

Uncategorized

Speaking of Christians and Righteous Indignation…

Shelly

This is not completely on-topic re Paul Ramsey, but it does seem to be part of the same pathology.

There is a growing trend among ultra-conservative Christians toward claiming the “right” to abuse those whose way of life they do not condone. There is an interesting, um, scary, article in the LA Times on the subject. For example, Christians are charging that the laws that protect gays are actually illegal because they impinge on Christians’ “right” to “freedom of expression.”

Malhotra says her Christian faith compels her to speak out against homosexuality. But the Georgia Institute of Technology, where she’s a senior, bans speech that puts down others because of their sexual orientation.

Malhotra sees that as an unacceptable infringement on her right to religious expression. So she’s demanding that Georgia Tech revoke its tolerance policy.

By freedom of religious expression, she means “carte blanche to harass and abuse.” Nice. Apparently, conservative Christians feel that their right to be “Christian” is being hampered by their inability to harangue others. Who knew that Christian = intolerant godbag? Jesus, I feel sure, is weeping.

I see very little that is compassionate in the behavior of most conservative Christians–certainly not from those who are in power. I think the upper eschelons–like BushCo–are not in the least bit Christian. In fact, my understanding is that W had an epiphany of the political sort prior to becoming “reborn.” He knew what a large and maleable political base like the conservative Christians, could do for his career. His religious persona was well orchestrated, and had nothing whatsoever to do with faith and everything to do with greed and lust for power.

Anyway, BushCo–a divider, not a uniter!–has done its damnedest to polarize this country. Everything he’s done has been toward that end. The more people are polarized, the more they distrust and hate each other, the less they trust each other, the less they are willing to actually listen to each other. That suits BushCo just fine, thankyouverymuch.

What that has done is make people–especially hard-line conservative Christians–paranoid that anyone who isn’t also hard-line and conservative and Christian, is out to get them. If you aren’t for them, you’re against them, and are part of a liberal (or Muslim, take your pick) plot to destroy Christianity.

It’s hard to come back down to earth, and to look at things objectively, when you’re consumed with paranoia that The Other Guy is out to destroy your way of life, so it’s no wonder that those who believe that their religion and way of life are under attack would also be willing to buy into the justification for an all-out holy war upon those folks they believe are on a mission of world domination: Muslims. If you make a large enough mountain out of your little mole hill, the ends suddenly seem thoroughly justified. Because, remember, it is a Christian’s right to harass (or drop bombs on) those who are perceived as threatening said Christian’s right to abuse them. How’s that for nice, circular, um, logic?

Photography

There falls no shadow where there shines no sun

Shelly

Image from page 141 of "Bulletin of the Southern California Academy of Sciences" (1902-1971.)
Solar Eclipse with Corona
Credit: Internet Archive Book Images
Image from page 141 of “Bulletin of the Southern California Academy of Sciences” (1902-1971)

If I ever become rich and famous, the very first thing I’ll do is invest in a telescope. Living in the middle of nowhere provides some wonderful opportunities for sky watching (which is a damned good thing, because it sure as hell doesn’t provide for other forms of entertainment, like cable teevee and broadband internet access). I would live to take even more advantage of it, and eventually would love to get a halfway decent telescope.

Letters to Esther

Those Wacky Mormons

Shelly

So, as I’ve been going through all this genealogy BS, I’ve come across a metric ass-load of references to the phrase “sealed to parent/child,” along with recent-ish dates. Wondering what on earth that might mean, I went a-Googling. Lo and behold, it refers to LDS baptism and binding. Basically, no matter when you died, or, apparently, what your faith was when you keeled over (boggle), your present day descendants, if they are endowed[1] LDS members, can opt to have you baptized and sealed to them. In other words, your spirits are then eternally bound together.

Now, I’m all for folks practicing whatever sort of religious nonsense floats their boats, but I think it’s of the utmost importance for people to have free choice of which flavor of Kool-Aid they prefer to drink. I’m squicked out by the thought that hundreds of years after someone’s death, their descendants can fool around with their eternal souls. I think that definitely qualifies as spiritual “Bad Touch.”

I’m just trying to imagine how some of the Quakers I’ve been researching would react if they found out their souls were being enshrined against their wills in some sort of Mormon death cult. I mean, these were folks who took their own brand of religion seriously enough that they were willing to come to the “new world” in order to practice it freely. They also don’t strike me as folks who were into super secret rituals.

They’ve also tried to co-opt CS Lewis’ immortal soul. And, not just once or twice, either. There have been multiple endowments (again, whatever the hell that means), posthumous baptisms, and sealings performed on his, um, behalf. It’s not like he was some sort of vaguely spiritual person who might’ve converted to Mormonism if he’d gotten half a chance. It would have been plenty bad enough if he were. However, he was devoutly C of E. I can’t imagine that he would’ve consented to being converted to Mormonism.

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[1] What endowment means is anyone’s guess. It apparently entails participating in an uber-s00per-s33kr1t ceremony that none must speak of ever after.

Pets

Ball Redux

Shelly

Ball has returned.  I found it while sorting the pile of stuff that accumulates under the coffee table.  Harriet was overjoyed, and much hilarity ensued.  Alas, I was too busy laughing to take pictures, but it looked a little like this.  Harriet is an enthusiastic jokester, but her sense of humor does not extend to Ball.  Ball, she takes very, very seriously.  Do not mess with Ball, pleaseandthanks.  Of course, that didn’t stop me from torturing her.  That’s what dogs are for, right?

Uncategorized

Speaking of Things That Make You Go Hmmm…

Shelly

Like the Rev. King, I had a dream. Only, mine happened while I was sleeping. I had this one a few weeks ago, but it was so mind-boggling that I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit.

I was at my mom’s house, and it must have taken place before her divorce. She, my brothers, and I were in the living room, sitting around and talking, like ya’ do. I suddenly turned around, and noticed that the wood stove was on fire. Ginormous flames were shooting out of the top of it. Eeep! So, I yell “fire!” and run to the kitchen, to get the fire extinguisher. Herb (ex step-father) was standing in front of the microwave, behind which the fire extinguisher was located. I told him the wood stove was on fire, and he just stared at me like I was a pod person. Hrmph. I ran back to the living room, then back to the kitchen, then back to the living room, then back to the kitchen. Back and forth, back and forth, each time telling Herb that the wood stove was on fire (Aaack! Fire!). But, bupkis from him.

See, he was drying pot in the microwave. Very important, that, and not to be interrupted, apparently. Also, he was always a stickler for asking for exactly what you wanted, instead of either hinting around at it or waiting for the other person to offer up what you needed. All well and good, I suppose, but at times, especially when I was young, it seemed like a cruel sort of game to him.

So, my interpretation is that:

1) He was waiting for me to actually ask him for the fire extinguisher. Simply telling him the fucking house was on fire was not good enough, as that required him to supply the requisite action (“Duh, maybe she wants the fire extinguisher?”).

2) He was perfectly happy to let the world combust around him, as long as his own needs were being met. He was spectacularly selfish that way. So, I can totally see him thinking that his priorities might take precedence over others’, because often, they did. And, when they didn’t, he could be the world’s worst Whiney McWhinerPants.

Crankypantsing, Genealogy

Mormons Being Creepy

Shelly

So, as I’ve been going through all this genealogy BS, I’ve come across a metric fuck-load of references to the phrase “sealed to parent/child,” along with recent-ish dates. Wondering what on earth that might mean, I went a-Googling. Lo and behold, it refers to LDS baptism and binding. Basically, no matter when you died, or, apparently, what your faith was when you keeled over (boggle), your present day descendants, if they are endowed[1] LDS members, can opt to have you baptised and sealed to them. In other words, your spirits are then eternally bound together.

Now, I’m all for folks practicing whatever sort of mumbo-jumbo floats their boats, but I think it’s of the utmost importance for people to have free choice of which flavor of Kool-Aid they prefer to drink. I’m squicked out by the thought that hundreds of years after someone’s death, their descendants can fool around with their eternal souls.

I think that definitely qualifies as spiritual “Bad Touch.”

I’m just trying to imagine how some of the Quakers I’ve been researching would react if they found out their souls were being enshrined against their wills in some sort of Mormon death cult. I mean, these were folks who took their own brand of religion seriously enough that they were willing to come to this country in order to practice it freely. They also don’t strike me as folks who were into super secret rituals.

____________________________________
[1] What endowment means is anyone’s guess. It apparently entails participating in an uber-s00per-s33kr1t ceremony that none must speak of ever after.

Letters to Esther

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

Shelly

I’ve spent a good portion of this weekend helping a my neighbor sort and move things around, in preparation for the installation of a temporary housemate at Chez Lea. Mostly, it involved hanging out and providing company and moral support while she did the dirty work. But, there was something in it for me, too. She’d read about my recent dissatisfaction with my printer situation, and that I was planning on eventually upgrading one of my printers to a black and white laser (not so very expensive, especially after the cost per page is factored in). Anyway, she had an older but perfectly functional laser printer sitting in her “to be sorted” pile, complete with extra cartridge. Both of which she gave to me, onna counta she’s such a spectacularly swell person. Wheee!

I just finished swapping it into the printer rotation and printing a test sheet, and it appears as if all systems are go. I win! Not only does this mean that I don’t have to worry about ink drying out, but I can now play around with toner-based transfers. I can’t wait. I’m having a geek-gasm just thinking about it.

This, boys and girls, is a prime lesson in why it’s important to let the universe know what you want. If you don’t, how will it know what to give you?

And now, I’m off to play in genealogy-land. I’ve found yet another collapsing branch on Esther’s family tree, this time in the form of first cousins marrying. What’s funny is that both collapses are in the same generation, but on opposite sides of her grandmother’s family.

I’m still having no luck with her paternal grandmother’s family. I know her name (Emma Pearson) and I now know her parent’s names (Jonathan C. Pearson and Nancy Jane Anderson), but it dies there. I’ve found what I think are some of Jonathan Pearson’s relatives, and a possible link to them, but nothing solid enough to be useful. If it does turn out to be his family, they were originally from South Carolina, moved to Ohio, where Jonathan was born, then to La Salle County Ohio, where he married Nancy Jane.

(Please, do not ask how many hours I wasted last night trying to get even that far.)

Oh, and I encountered another kick-ass name: Tamer Jane Cammack. She might (or might not) have been Jonathan’s mother. She had a son named Jonathan, but I could find no birth/death dates or anything else to indicate that they’re the same person. The dates are in the right ball park, and the migration pattern would be possible, but that’s obviously not good enough.