WWJD?

Hey,

You may or may not know this about me, but I am not a fan of political parties (I prefer parties that are off the chain, dawg!).  I don't particularly like the Democrats, the Republicans, the Libertarians, the Greens, the Nazis, the media, or the social media at the moment.

I engage in politics similarly to the way I consume the NFL.  I prefer players to teams.  If I like a particular player, I'll watch him, follow him, maybe vote for him, but I'm not going to get all caught up in the team he plays for.  I understand when folks fall in love with a team, but that's not me.  Because, what if my team just ends up stinking and gets all filled up with murderers and domestic violence perpetrators (the way all teams in the NFL have)?  What then?  Am I stuck?  Do I have to defend my team or look the other way because it is my team?  Why would I do that?

So, anyhoo, I saw this picture yesterday and I felt like it needed some commentary:

Notwithstanding the sweet headband, assault rifle, and stack of cash; I think it's a fake republican jesus (I'm using lower-case here to avoid confusion with the real, unaffiliated Jesus (i.e.,Creator, Savior of mankind)).  The best proof that this is a fake republican jesus is on the GOP sign he gently holds--it has a sticky note on it that says "1 percent."  Republicans don't like dealing in that small of a number--they drink either whole or skim.  Either they want the milk fat as nature intended, whole, or they don't want milk fat at all--middle ground is contemptible.

I guess I could also quibble with the use of "Greedy Oligarch Puppet" on the GOP sign instead of "Grand Ol' Party,"  but what's a grand ol' party without greedy oligarch puppets? 

The more I look at the republican jesus photo--it's a photo, right?--the more I wonder if this photo got mixed up with other photos of various jesuses.  I think this might be a Democrat jesus.  He's obviously not comfortable with that gun that he meekly wrested from Charleton Heston's cold, dead hands; also, he's about to mildly hand out a stack of cash for no real reason with no apparent accountability.


The meme is very clear about what republican jesus would do. Obviously, he'd blamelessly do at least the following:

1. Cut food stamps (food stamps stretch further when you cut them, but they still taste the same; I don't like eating stamps--even the food kind)
2. Gut affordable healthcare (republicans love to pay a lot for healthcare--especially healthcare for your gut)
3. Demonize the homeless (demons do better in the homeless than in swine)
4. Block equality rights (blocking two equality rights doesn't make a wrong!)

I'm pretty sure republican jesus would also tenderly do the following:

5. Act like a spoiled child when he doesn't get his way
6. Be a hypocrite saying and doing one thing when out of power and another thing when in power
7. Own an assault rifle, and fantasize about shooting someone, and then actually shoot someone


So, what would Democrat jesus justly do?

1. Not believe in real Jesus--except for using Him as a tool to justify anything
2. Be disturbed to the point of hysterics by anything presented from the "other side"
3. Lose a bunch of recent elections
4. Eat at trendy restaurants and kill babies
5. Watch (and maybe appear in) Portlandia
6. Talk about feeding the poor; try to make other people give money to large, non-profit groups that feed the poor; and feel outraged when large, non-profit groups turn out to be taking most of the money (substitute "care for the sick" and "shelter the homeless")
7. Use equality as a way to divide.
8. Make a music video telling everyone that they should vote (but he won't say for whom you should vote--that's private--but it should be a democrat)

Don't even get me started on what Libertarian and Green party jesuses would meekly and mildly do.

Often (frequently) Orphaned (a person who has lost his parents)

Mom died a year ago, today. I wish she hadn't.

Dad died eleven-and-a-half years before that. Although not technically true, I liked to say that Dad's death left me a bastard child, and now Mom's departure has left me an orphan.  Thirty-nine-year-old orphans have very little chance of being adopted.  They won't even consider my application for Wednesday's child.

Luckily, I've been able to avoid the cops well enough to not have to go to an orphanage.  But, living on the streets has taken its toll.  My cap is just about worn out and once it's gone, I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to collect the shillings that people give me to stay alive.  I might have to join with other orphans--I do have seven siblings, all of which are also orphans--and orchestrate elaborate pick-pocketing schemes.  I used to have eight siblings, but my brother Jack was given the sweet release of death, which allowed him to avoid orphan-hood altogether, the lucky bastard!

I might be able to get on at the Trib as a newsie, which would mean I'd go around selling papes.  We call them papes because we're too lazy to say paper.  That second syllable takes a lot out of you. There is this kid that I'd be working with, who uses a crutch to help him walk.  We call him Crutchy because we're very creative.  I think the nickname is either based on his use of kindness and humor as an emotional crutch or because of the crutch he uses.

A dog started following me around a while back.  He's has light, brownish-tan fur, almost the color of sand.  Like sand you'd find at the beach--sandy colored, I guess you'd say .  I named him Beachy. Some dog catchers were after him, so I hid him while he was on the lamb.  The lamb didn't stand a chance against Beachy.  We all ate really well that night.  Mmmm....mutton, which is what we call stuff we find in the dumpsters behind restaurants.

My wife and kids, who are not orphans, are helpful in keeping me fed and clothed.  Maybe they will adopt me one day. If only I could get on the radio and sing about tomorrow.

In other news: I miss Mom and Dad.

Religious Exception

I know I said I wasn't writing about religion on this blog anymore, but last week was General Conference for all Mormondom, and I helped.

If you watched the Women's Meeting (recently defined as the first session of General Conference) on the Saturday before the first Sunday in April (yes, I do have to phrase it that way for when the first Sunday of April is on April Fool's, sucka!) you may have seen this:

It's a video featuring some lovely families, one of which is mine.  You will see how perfect we are, right down to the two-year-old Toby and his munchkinness.  It was a great experience for us.  They called on a Tuesday, we went into a recording studio on Thursday to record the singing.  Buffy was under the weather with a case of laryngitis, so they had an acquaintance of ours sing her part (yes, we are thinking of changing Lady Buffington's name to Milli Vanilli).  Then, on Friday, we went to the LDS Conference Center in down town Salt Lake City, where they took us to the roof, which evidently has a weed field for pretend pic nics and had us film our part.

As you can see from the video, we were perfect.  By that I mean the editors must be perfect because the shoot was a big ol' chaotic mess.  Toby was screeming the entire time--with the exception of the approximately 0.25 seconds that he's featured on the video.  At one point in the video he's pulling on my hand.  His face is not in the shot, if it were you would have seen him screeming, "Get up! Get up!"  Later they set up another shot where all three of the singing families were to stand together and sing the song.  Toby did not allow any of that scene to make it to the final video.  He arched his back, beat me over the head with a string cheese, punched me in the face, stole my glasses and hucked them, twice!

Of course, Toby's bad behavior had an effect on the others.  Ike could not help himself; he was mad, and it showed.  He sang along to the track with a scowl of pure disgust.  Between takes he'd mumble about how Toby was ruining everything, and how we should have left Toby home, or better yet, never had him to begin with.  Luckily, something about his face just works on camera.  I've seen him practicing smiling for pictures in front of a mirror, and what looks like a fake and, dare I say, stupid facial expression in real life, looks perfect on camera.  Plus his singing voice which is highlighted in the beginning of the song is really pretty.

Mimi and Kitty couldn't stop giggling.

Cubby spent one full take unbuttoning my shirt.  I, not wanting to ruin the take, was powerless to stop him.

We will forever treasure the experience.  And thank goodness they didn't ask us to sing the second verse, which everyone knows is the most sexist of the verses.



The next week I got to sing with a men's choral group from BYU for the priesthood session.  I was really more or less a seat filler.  They didn't have enough students to fill all of the choir seats, so they invited some alumni along to fill out the numbers.  Watch here:

Did you see me?  By my count, I made as many appearances as President Monson in this conference! If they had credits, I would be listed as a featured player.  Also, isn't the arrangement for Master the Tempest is Raging excellent?

Amen.

Other Blogs I Have

A while ago, I decided to stop writing religious things on this 'blog.  Mostly because this 'blog is for public consumption, and silly things.  And, as you know, much of the public died of consumption in the 1800's, and even though religion is sometimes silly, the truth is I didn't love the juxtaposition of silly and religious in this space.   So, if you are interested in reading my religious thoughts, I've moved them to a forum housed here.

That's all.

knock, knock...

We moved, some time ago, into an older, slightly larger home.  It was built in the late 1960s, so you know it's groovy, baby!

Also, the first owner was an electrical engineer, so there are tons of electrical outlets, and electronic switches and specialty wiring  all over the place.  And, there are switches that are wired into a knob that allows you to turn off all of the lights in the basement from upstairs--it only took us a year to figure that out.  And, you can turn on your Christmas lights from inside the house.  And, there are four switches that we think do nothing, but we're sure do something.

In other words, the adventure is just beginning!

Then there is the doorbell.  It's one of those novelty, electronic doorbells circa 1985 that plays tunes like Big Ben's chimes or Beethoven's fifth in sterile electronic bleeps a bloops.

The control box and speaker for this technological advancement is located above the entrance to the kitchen, and it has a little door that, when opened, reveals some switches and buttons.  Several of the buttons are lined up like a piano keyboard, and if you mash on them, you will learn that, in fact, they are tuned to be the notes of a scale!  This, of course, implies that one is able to program one's favorite tune to play when someone comes ringing at the door.  

I thought it might be funny to program the doorbell to play a specialized tune for our family.  So, I began to program the bell to play "We Thank Thee O God for a Prophet," a Mormon tune that would be equal parts cute and annoying to my family and to all that dared visit.  Unfortunately, my abilities with mid-eighties technology is not what it once was, and all I was able to accomplish was to stop the doorbell playing the clock-chime song.

Actually, I'm being modest, stopping the chime song was not all I was able to accomplish.  I also was able to convince the doorbell to replace the clock-chime song.

Here is where it gets a little hard to explain.

It turns out that this doorbell held within it's rudimentary 80's memory banks a few measures of every song in the great American song book.  So, whatever I did when trying to reprogram the doorbell, caused the doorbell to play a new song each time someone rang at our door.  Sometimes it was America the Beautiful, sometimes it was O Christmas Tree, (this was during Christmas time so the few times Christmas songs played kind of made sense), and sometimes it was Here Comes the Bride (there are surprisingly few instances in which it is appropriate to play, Here Comes the Bride, when someone comes to your door). 

What's worse is I couldn't fix it.  I tried.  I didn't have the know how.  So, for several weeks we endured what the Russians call, doorbell roulette.

One day, I couldn't take it anymore, so I reopened the little door on the doorbell box determined to reclaim our first impressions.

I switched and mashed and mashed and switched.  And by golly, I got that thing to stop playing random songs.

It now plays just one song, and it plays that same one song every time.

If you come to our house, and if you ring our doorbell, you will hear ...


          ... The Yellow Rose of Texas.

Where've you been?"

Hey,

It's been almost a full year since the last time I posted anything on this weblog. I've thought about it, but have just been out of the habit.  I'd like to write more, and maybe I will (i.e.,I probably won't).

After a year, I must admit, I'm a little rusty.  I think I'll need to warm up before I can post anything of substance.

Maybe a list of random things could be a good warm up.

1. Margot Kidder
2. Beach towels
3. Turtles
4. Lyle Alzado
5. Crayon sharpeners
6. Milk mustaches
7. Lando Calrissian
8. Potato, cheese, and broccoli soup
9. Oxford comma
10. Happenstance (the word not the phenomenon)

Okay.  Good warm up.  Very random.  Some good stuff in there.  Let's try something a little more challenging:

A list of made-up, full names.

1. Nelly Jeanne Killburn
2. Samuel H. Benzlequist
3. Ulysses Ben Holepunch
4. Cragon Lowell Crust
5. Nelson J. Nielsen
6. Scott-scott Ascott
7. Technisam Wren Lickwild
8. Brunch Dunch Linner
9. Ed Peterson
10. Pouderheinz Stubbletoe

Man, that is way harder than you'd think.  Okay, I think I'm ready to write something real...

Put your suggestions in the comments below.

8 Simple Rules for Public Discourse in Social Media: a Primer

I have got to say it: I'm tired of the rancor and bitter exchange that makes up most of our public discourse these days. For some reason we feel compelled, in our social media, to entrench ourselves in one ideology or another, and we refuse to admit that there just might be some validity to others' closely held, opposite argument(s).

Facebook, once a wonderful way to connect with old friends and acquaintances has devolved to a slog of memes and ideology. I don't get it. I want to hear what you're up to, not what you think about the current political situation, my religion, kids these days, or some poorly written quote that has been mis-attributed to Bill Cosby or George Carlin.

So, I've come up with a list of 8 rules that I think will help make our social media experience a more pleasant one.

1. Sarcasm is very difficult to pull off without body language, facial cues, and voice inflection, so sincere posts are preferable to sarcastic posts.

2. Condescension is magnified in social media. If you even remotely hint at being better than someone else, it is noticed, and you come off looking like a jerk. This is because, no matter how much better than someone else you are, you are not better than anyone else. We all come in naked and screaming, and we all eventually go out--if we're lucky we'll be naked and screaming.

3. Humor is fine; however, humor directed at any particular group is probably not fine. Be funny without ridiculing people.  Remember, humor is very subjective.  No matter what you post, some will not find it funny.  At the very least it can be nice.

4.  For every negative-toned post you throw into the ether, you should post three positive-toned posts. That way people who only interact with you through social media won't think of you as an Eeyore type.

5. Long stories about your kids should be put in an email and sent to your mother, she is the only one who cares to read a long story about your kids. Short stories about your kids are fine. Here is the best format to follow:

Kid: Blah, blah, something hilarious.
Parent: *Reaction*

6. Too many selfies will negatively affect your reputation.

7. Don't swear in your posts and don't forward posts with swears in them.  My kids get on my computer, and it makes you look desperate for attention.

8. (This rule is only for the meme forwarding crowd): Limit the number of memes you re-post to ten percent of what you think is appropriate (that means you do not post nine of ten memes that you think you ought to post). Originality is better than repeating other people's tired, sometimes plagiarized, motivational posters.

 That's all.