Irony, thy name is patriot.

Before 9/11, our nation's freshest emotional scar and now the latest shorthand for everything that threatens and undermines "the American Way", I had a lot more patriotic feelings. And since I was a kid I've always loved the flag as a graphic representation of this country and it's ideals. My brother and I had matching flag Speedos. Loved it, loved matching my brother. It was my favorite suit ever, with the added oddity of having left strange dark tan lines that temporarily worried our pediatrician. Not much SPF in white nylon apparently. Immediately before 9/11, I was actually thinking I might buy an honest-to-gosh American flag to put out. Not one of the cheesy nylon made-in-Taiwan things you see everywhere, which always screamed irony to me, but an actual US-made, natural fiber real deal (ok, maybe a little smaller, but still). Then, the towers fell. I'm not gonna lie. I couldn't really process it right away. I watched the second one go down live on TV. I listened to my brother do a little freak out on the phone about driving down for our planned backpacking trip. I told him that staying home would not solve or change anything. We went on our little overnight. There were too many bugs to enjoy it for longer, but we had a pretty good time, it was fun in the end. There was not a plane that flew overhead. It was only a little odd at the time. It's more eery thinking about it all these years later.

But what really irked me in those days (still does) was the instantaneous plasti-patriotism. It wasn't me though. It was everyone else. All of a sudden flags were everywhere, like the when a local team wins the Superbowl/World Series. But we hadn't won anything. We'd lost something. A big something. And I don't mean buildings or planes. We couldn't comprehend what we'd actually lost. And there was so much more to lose in the ensuing years. Vengeance was the easiest and most accessible emotion. I indulged in it. Absolutely. But, suddenly, what I couldn't indulge in was the graphic display of reactionary jingoism. I get it, I get it. People must rally and heal and do the national group hug (I still cannot bring myself to watch United 93. The personal, individual horror, outside all the nationalistic blah-blah is too much. I get emotional). Yeah, yeah.

But where were all those people before? Where had they all been as "Fair Trade", the WTO, Walmart and cheaper and cheaper goods undermined our wages, our economy, our standard of living, our national sovereignty? Kennedy Democrats and military Republicans had always been flying mostly cheapo American flags—many looking shamefully battered, I was always disappointed to see. Everybody else back then was like—meh! Did I wish that there were wall-to-wall stars and stripes as far as the eye could see? Nope. Was I annoyed and disappointed by the opportunistic and sudden display of synthetic Americana sprouting like so many cheap car lot commercials everywhere I looked? Yeah. I was. Still am. Yay, Lakers! Yeah, Raiders! Eff yeah, USA! Does that make me ashamed to be an American? Of course not; not only is that idea offensive but is facile and ignorant. It just makes me wanna slap my fellow citizens around for their tardy reactionary displays and grotesque personal choices.

BTW, do I see all these latter-day patriots at the polls, or writing to their representatives (do they even know who they are?)? Do I see them at the recruiting office? Or see them urging their kids to serve? Not too many…though they do seem to be over-represented among the ranks of those who stumble over themselves to "appreciate" others' service (a special sentiment to all who would accuse anyone else of not "loving their country" or impugning anyone else's patriotism, if you have never served—or made the honest attempt and been rejected—especially when you were young and had those choices to make: Shut the F up). Is there a dissonance here? Maybe. Maybe not. I'm just past tired of hearing the flapping jaws of presumption. And it's invariably over descent. It brings out the worst in chicken hawks, neocons and now Republican former hippies. Real convenient by the time you're middle aged or older. Like St Augustine: it was all good while he was debauching his way across the landscape. But now that he's had his fun, he's seen the light. And he says, do what I say and not what I do. Just like your mother. Only none of you but one is my mother. Mom gets a free pass, mostly 'cause I'm pretty sure I'd win any debauchery contest between us. But I could be wrong.

But I digress. Back to tragedy-induced gratuitous flag-waving.

It's very much like the treacly old sentiments about not appreciating what you have until after tragedy strikes. That is us. En masse. But the way many apparently decided to show their solidarity was to fly a bunch of tacky plastic Chinese-made flags. I don't remember seeing a single dignified, natural looking textile Old Glory anywhere that wasn't there beforehand. I gave up the idea of putting a nice one up myself out of personal protest and disgust. Of course, no one will "see" this unless they read it here or have had this conversation with me before, and not many have. Though I feel stirrings now and again—the design and emotional symbolism do pull—it still may still be years more before I can again think of displaying a proper flag. Who knows. By then, there may not be much to celebrate at the rate we're currently going. After all, last survey I saw, a majority of Americans randomly polled on the contents of the Bill of Rights, thought it was a bad idea. Go USA. While we're at it, why not let the government into your bedroom, blood and bank account? You don't have anything to hide, do you? Oops! Too late. After more than two centuries we can't even keep our few basic tenants straight much less react to current events or see our own need for reading glasses. It's far easier to just fly a piece of cheap plastic crap at our doorstep. Soooo much easier. I guess that's what passes for American solidarity anymore. It is easier than the alternatives. Like proactive thinking about actions and consequences. Being part of the solution instead of the problem, and on and on.

Jingoism does not equal patriotism anymore than idol worship equals romantic love. Do not presume that I am not a proud American because you cannot tell the difference. Descent is still the most American of all ideals. And fifty falling buildings will not change that.

Oh, Rapture Day, Callooh! Callay!

Heaven, hell, or just the smoke detector?

I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been hearing about The Rapture ever since I was 12 years old and my best friend revealed that me and the rest of my young friends were all going to be left, essentially, on the newly remodeled hell on earth when it came, while she and her family ascended to the heavens and eternal bliss with Jesus. In that little microcosm of international religious representation, this was quite shocking news. Since I was an inchoate agnostic, soon-to-be atheist, this was shocking for a different reason than for my friends, who actually appeared to be following in their parents Buddhist, Catholic, Greek Orthodox and mainline Protestant footsteps, as much as a twelve year old can, at any rate. I, on the other hand, had one of my first introductions (if you don't count a few odd family members) to my first insane nutcase whack-job belief system, and it was in the form of my best friend.

How could this have happened?! It was so close and so unexpected. Like, like…a Revelation. And it was. I still remember that circle of faces in the hall, and the silence that fell upon us as we had that group eye-blink moment, complete with crickets and shocked expressions. Really? So now that The Rapture is again upon us, courtesy of a minor math glitch, and one publicized religious nutball (not that I think there is only one), I gotta say again: Really? And don't you go thinkin' that just because all the other religious nutcases out there are saying this guy is wrong and givin' them all a bad name, or whatever, that he is in a small minority. Oh no. There are many others, if statistics and polls are any indication. The idea that they are pissed about this whack-a-doodle is, frankly, hilarious, 'cause their big beef is that, even though they too believe in this crazy believers flying up to the heavens and heathens being left "below", the bible says that the actual date is on a need to know basis. And the only one that needs to know is god (please note the small "g"), not us. Talk about your splitting hairs. 'Cause it's just a declaring of a date that is the problematic part. You crazies.

Although, as I understand it, this is all supposed to commence at 0600, which is definitely problematic, as I intend fully to be happily asleep when the fun begins. Hopefully someone will have their DVR set, cause I know this is gonna be a popcorn muncher.

Next up: the Mayan calendar's end-of-days (if you don't count the "end of world" that follows the rapture, in October 2011, of course). It's further afield than good ol' all-American non compos mentis that I find far more amusing, when it's not being a menace, but hey. I'm sure, true to form, Americana will be amply represented in that demonstration of lunacy too. As George Carlin said, and I paraphrase here, we've got front row seats to the greatest freak show on earth. So enjoy, and don't forget to visit the concession stand before the feature presentation begins. And ya might want to stick around after the credits…I hear it's a whopper.

The REAL time in a bottle

This is what my day's last Culinary Adventure contained (thanks to a coworker for that perfect word combo!). It began with trying to conquer the poached egg. Alas, a second failure, despite having googled advice and technique from the internet. I even got brave and used balsamic vinegar, but that just made a more colorful mess as the whites ran a muck in the roiling stew of water. Patting it all back together with a slotted wooden spoon made for a pathetic little pile of goo in the plate. Not unpalatable, but not right and definitely overcooked (that part was my own fault, I have a feeling, as I didn't want to toss the mess into cold water to stop the cooking). Everybody out of the pool!

So, I end my day with something less predictable, but more prefab. I'm really just trying to stay awake after my graveyard into this morning so I can flop back for more, though different, in the morning. It's harder than you might imagine, to stay a demotivated lump on the couch after being up for more than a day, thoughts of productivity dancing in your head, AND still stay awake. It's the kind of thing that seems reasonable right up to the moment the key hits the lock on the way in the door. But, with a little help from my darling, coffee, and, later, my long-time associate, Dr. Pepper, the battle is nearly won. That and some lively Facebook posting has kept things humming along. It really is better to be up in the late evening. I don't care what other people say.

Now, why is it that I feel like I'm going backwards in my so-called career? Well, my friends, a "regular" schedule will do that to ya after a few years, I guess. Event stagehand work is like being on a never ending hamster wheel, no end in sight, even when the LED is shining directly into your eyeball and they are slapping you around telling you to go home already. Just because it is a "different event" doesn't mean it's not the same hamster wheel with the same shavings and alfalfa pellets. Since I've never quite gotten it together to get any goals going, I guess I might have already arrived and didn't know it. As Peggy Lee sang, "Is that all there is?" Only my feet hurt, so I'll pass on the dancing for now. Just pass the monkey butt powder instead. Gee, thanks. Yeah, it's a brave new world even when it's the same old shit. Strange. And yet, oddly familiar.

Thinking, the Real Endangered Theses

The first interesting headline of my day: Irish Atheists Challenge Blasphemy Law.
 (In Ireland, blasphemy is now a crime punishable by a €25,000 fine).

They did this by posting a list of so-called "25 Blasphemous Quotations" including selections from everyone from Jesus to Mark Twain to George Carlin (this last being one of the most terrific ones of the bunch, though all are quite good reading). Simply amazing. And yet not, sadly. You may follow the following link to read them all:

http://blasphemy.ie/2010/01/01/atheist-ireland-publishes-25-blasphemous-quotes/

Having arisen at the crack of post-noon, enjoying the last of my week of recent vacation with a heavily milked and saccharined (welcome, new word!) coffee, I feel privileged to have the luxury to be able to read this list and story. Although the list is not earth-shattering, this is a view not widely shared through much (most?) of the world, obviously. Even though I again despair at the idea of such crazy thought control as law, I only have so many despair molecules anymore. I've long ago understood that we will not all just get along. Especially because of those who do not like those who fail to toe the line of religious belief. And, despite the yearly exercise in holiday shenanigans surrounding whose season it really is and why and how, I tire of the relentless onslaught upon the tiny minority of actual atheists. It's not that I feel personally singled out even. I do still feel compelled on occasion to remind individuals within "the presumptuous masses" that, while I may not celebrate with religious displays, nor necessarily agree with the salutational yoga that often is represented as "political correctness" gone wild (a redundancy?), I too can enjoy the various other seasonal celebrations without being hammered with the baby Jesus. Besides, does anyone really believe that Americans would really enjoy the season en masse as we do without the rampant economic consumption and displays that DO NOT feature Christian religious symbols? Oh, cultural history, me must again fish you out from under the collective rug and dust you off…

Is it politically incorrect to call all of the endless hoards of unrelenting, attention whore, religious believers "wackos" (that is the nicest term I can muster)? Perhaps. But there are so vastly many more of them than non-believers, it seems a fairer observation than the reverse (ooh! reverse discrimination, ye ugly head has risen!). After all, despite their constant and voluminous press calling out their favorite  traditional whipping boys and girls--witches, pagans (aka "devil worshippers") and atheists--it really is all the "other" denominations that are their usual and far more powerful rivals in all things high religious and civic dudgeon. This gives some comfort, I must admit. They are so much more numerous and diverse. It reminds me of the famous Martin Niemöller quotation ("First they came for the Communists…"). I have come out many times on behalf of others in conversation and, trust me, it is not fashionable, nor common. It reminds me of the rapidly disappearing Yankee spirit, which includes the idea of religion being a private, personal thing, not a public sleeve-adorning display to be foisted on others.

My personal philosophy is keep your hands to yourself, keep your religion to yourself and mind your own business. I think that is an eminently workable and reasonable modern way of attempting to live, even as we are ever more subsumed in glitteratti gossip at every turn. Of course I would. And it allows for others' to carry on as they please without stomping everyone else into the nearest pew. And, I simply do not understand why such basic golden rule living seems to have gone so out of style, except for the idea that we as human beings apparently always know better than the other gal. And it drives us mad that others' have other ideas and ways. It really does. Or, at least, a large percentage of us seem to. It's when these masses begin to make a boarding house reach to my plate and abode and body (!!) and try and tell me how to live that I get twitchy. I feel myself becoming positively pugnacious. I can never have enough rocks to throw. And I know I am in the minority, always, which makes the rocks more important than ever. Thank goodness I am not also a pacifist. In most other countries of the world I would either be dead already, or in prison, or an outcast (soon to be dead and/or in prison, therefore).

This brings both an odd sense of undeserved good fortune as well as the obligatory despair. And that brings us back to the beginning: Thinking and ideas versus blasphemy.

And on that note, I believe I will take full advantage of my place, time and privilege to enjoy some moderate consumption and take in the last of the day's light. Too much depressive thought can hinder further thinking, after all.

I'll leave you with the George Carlin quotation:

“Religion easily has the greatest bullshit story ever told. Think about it. Religion has actually convinced people that there’s an invisible man living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a special list of ten things he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place, full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish, where he will send you to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry forever and ever ’til the end of time! But He loves you. He loves you, and He needs money! He always needs money! He’s all-powerful, all-perfect, all-knowing, and all-wise, somehow just can’t handle money! Religion takes in billions of dollars, they pay no taxes, and they always need a little more. Now, talk about a good bullshit story. Holy Shit!” (George Carlin, 1999)