In which I’m just as afraid of the fundies as everyone else with half a brain in her head, but I had to take issue with at least a little of it because contrary to much of the evidence believing in God does not immediately make one stupid.
First, go read Why There Almost Certainly Is No God, so we can all be on the same page.
Done? Welcome back.
The author finds the presence of people in our society who would be genuinely excited by, say, the total loss of New York via giant fireball, and the hundreds of thousands tragic deaths such an event would cause — as signs of Armegeddon, the Second Coming, and the Rapture — to be not merely disturbing, but a social and intellectual goddamned crisis.
Which is exactly what it is. There are people who believe literally in the Rapture. They profess to think that supernatural beings — angels and devils — will come to earth and stage epic battles before their very eyes. They really believe that all the sinners will go to Hell — which they think is a literal, physical location — and that all the Saved will be resurrected and live forever in the Kingdom of Heaven, another literal physical location.
They might as well still live in the Middle Ages for all their intellectual sophistication. Apparently metaphor and symbolism escape these people utterly. They can learn that an icon on their cell phone represents something without actually being that thing, but yet they read the Bible literally¹. It boggles the mind, to know that people believe in Armageddon literally.
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In which I’m all stealth.
It’s That Time Of The Month again, so I’m antisocial. I did not go anywhere yesterday, and I will not go anywhere today. I might go out and rip this town a new one tomorrow, though. We’ll see.
I’m online now to catch up on my email — haven’t checked it in days — and to get my calendar all straightened out — there are weddings and gigs and things I must attend in the next two weeks — and then? I’m going back to bed to read or listen to my iPod.
Speaking of iPods makes me think of iTunes which reminds me I owe Shenry a CD for the swap. Gah! How can someone with as much free time as I have be so behind on her social duties? I haven’t written to my relatives, or shipped the one gift I need to ship, nor even mailed my mom her wool slippers yet.
Bleeding sucks, but at least I no longer get the horrible cramps I was getting last summer. Those REALLY sucked.
I made another sheep:
It’s knitted out of wool and mohair and then felted. I started it about a year and a half ago and decided it was time to get it OFF. MY. NEEDLES.
In other news, a guy from this site asked me if I wanted to maybe contribute blog entries. Could be fun, but I bet they won’t fucking let me use the fucking F-word as much as I normally fucking do.
In which I recall a story that didn’t happen to me.
Someone once told me — my aunt, I believe — that while she was in Australia for a Toastmasters conference, she’d asked a waiter for a napkin. He’d gotten all flustered and awkward, and finally called the hostess over to the table to assist her.
Apparently they say serviette, not napkin, in Australia. The napkin, of course, being an article belonging to the stunning array of feminine hygiene products available these days, tends not to be available from one’s waiter… even in the finer restaurants.
In which I take a quiz I found at Jake’s blog.
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Klein Sexual Orientation Grid
I scored an average of 2.38
| 0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
| Heterosexual | Bisexual | Homosexual |
Meaning
This result can also be related to the Kinsey Scale:
0 = exclusively heterosexual
1 = predominantly heterosexual, incidentally homosexual
2 = predominantly heterosexual, but more
than incidentally homosexual
3 = equally heterosexual and homosexual
4 = predominantly homosexual, but more than incidentally
heterosexual
5 = predominantly homosexual, incidentally heterosexual
6 = exclusively homosexual
Summary
The idea of this excercise is to understand exactly how dynamic a person’s sexual orientation can be, as well as how fluid it can be over a person’s lifespan. While a person’s number of actual homo/heterosexual encounters may be easy to categorize, their actual orientation may be completely different. Simple labels like “homosexual”, “heterosexual”, and “bisexual” need not be the only three options available to us.
Take the quiz
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Now that we all know I’m more than incidentally homosexual (I love that verbiage!), I’m going to Taco Bell for a bean burrito. Then I’m going to bathe. Later, I’m going to get Snow from the airport. Oh, the fascinating life I lead!
Update: Not only does Taco Bell no longer offer onions, they also don’t offer napkins. What’s up with that? Plus, I miss the old-style hot sauce packets. Remember those little tubs they used to have? They were so much better than today’s dorky little impossible-to-open jobbies.
In which I gamble a little.
Friday night I rode with Apple up to Riverside for Gorgeous’ going away party. (She’s moving to Hawaii. I hate her. Let’s not discuss it.) Riverside, it turns out, is a whole entire casino with a decent hotel attached, and it’s less than an hour away.
Gorgeous got a room, gave her guests $25 chips as gifts, and provided munchies and far too much booze. Not as many people showed up as could have, so I tried valiantly to drink as much of the vodka as I could. Ouch.
I gambled a little — played some slots. Didn’t win. A couple of people in our party won a few hundred bucks each, but I don’t win at gambling.
We ended up on Saturday morning with six drunken people in a double, so we kept ourselves up chatting and laughing and making more cocktails. By eleven o’clock in the morning I was wretched with hunger and had a mediocre tomato-cheddar omelet in one of the hotel restaurants while Gorgeous and Mother were taking Aveda spa treatments, and Rockstar was blissfully snoring away up in the room.
When I finally made it home the next afternoon — the Holy Couple drove me back, bless them — I was so tired I was literally seeing spots. I was the kind of tired where, when you finally lie down and close your eyes, you can see all kinds of interesting kaleidoscope-y moire patterns on the insides of your eyelids, like oil on water, and you can feel some of the fine muscles around your eyes twitching spasmodically and you’re so glad you’ve finally got your contacts out that you can hardly stand yourself…
…and the next thing you know it’s nine hours later and you’re waking up. I basically slept for a whole day, save the times I got up to eat and let my dog out, and I’m now much recovered.
I have to pick Snow up from the airport tomorrow night at 11:21 PM. Right now it’s 10:30 and I’m ready to do something. Maybe I’ll do some laundry. Gah.
In other news, my referrer traffic is disturbing to me. I need to figure out how to totally disable registration on Rants; that board is getting way too much spambot traffic.
In which I’ve been knitting.
I came down with a knitting bug, and decided I had to get a bunch of old stuff off of my needles. Some of these projects have been in progress for over a year, and that’s just wrong. So I finished some slippers, two hats, and am nearly finished with one of those sheep I was so into about two years ago.
I’ll be mailing out knitted items to two different households soon! I feel so… accomplished! (Yes, mom, the slippers I promised you over a year ago will be on their way soon.)
My schedule has moved entirely to India time. I’m up all night, and I sleep all day. Sometimes I get up around noon and eat lunch, and then go back to bed. I’m such a rock star! (If only I had a rock star’s clothes, groupies, drugs, and deluxe tour bus. That would be tits!)
As there have been no jobs in any of the papers, I haven’t applied for anything this week at all. I was offered a temp part-time gig painting, but I don’t think I’ll take it. I don’t have any clothes I can afford to get paint on, and I don’t know how to paint. On the other hand, beggars can’t be choosers. Hmm. Maybe I’ll paint for a bit.
I splurged tonight: I had artichoke-spinach dip at the Dead Cock. That stuff is hideously good. Other gross things I’m indulging in are Justin Timberlake’s latest album, cans of icy cold Coke, and late night television. I’m disgusting.
In which I see seven AM for the first time in awhile.
Snow asked me to take him to the airport this morning. He had a flight departing at 6:10 AM, and we were supposed to leave his house — which is a block away — at 3:45 this morning. I set my phone alarm, got up at 3:15, dressed and put in my contact lenses, let Bindu out, and was where I was supposed to be on time.
His whole house was dark and all the doors were locked. I lurked around for ten minutes and called his cell five times — later I learned it was in Denver — before I gave up and went home.
I stayed awake for another hour or more expecting him to call, but he didn’t and I finally crashed. Just about the time I finally entered REM sleep, my cell rang and jarred me awake. Oof. Instant headache.
So now it’s ten AM and I just got home from a round trip to Cedar Rapids. Ten AM may be “morning” to some people, but I’m on India time and I’ve been up all night. DISCO NAP!
In which there are gigs!
Last night’s gig was fun. Here are the reviews:
“… fabulous original music that touches the heart and exhilarates the spirit.”
“… incredible harmonies sung by as many as seven of nine extraordinarily talented band members.”
“… a great folk-rock style that gets your feet tapping and your heart dancing.”
“… Mindy Meacham and Michelle Mook definitely are among the area’s hottest female vocalists.”
“… what a loving and joyful experience!”
“… bagpipes and electric guitar? This music is hot!”
After last night’s show I went to the bar, then I went to Torino’s and had pizza with FunkEd.
I’m doing another gig tonight. I’m gonna need a coffee!
If you live in my town, you should come see us tonight. It’s at Morning Star Studio at eight, and the door charge is only $7. The money goes to the Jefferson County Resource Center and to Airline Ambassadors. Good causes, folks! Come on out!
In which something wonderful happens for no apparent reason!
AmmZon ordered herself two pairs of high heels off the Internet. They arrived yesterday in a strangely large box… along with a pair of Uggs that did not appear on the packing list nor on the invoice.
The Uggs were too small for AmmZon, so she gave them to me for Christmas! I now have warm, fuzzy, fleecy boots with good soles that probably retailed at about $150 bucks and which cost me nothing! How hot is that?
I love them. I really do. Snuggly warm feets are the bestest!
And just in time, too, because it started snowing within the hour.
In which Dykewife tagged me. The wench.
“People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says ‘you are tagged’ in their comments and tell them to read your blog!”
The structure of that rule section drives me nuts; the first sentence doesn’t actually appear to mean anything because it’s so badly written! Gah! But here are 6 weird things about me anyway:
1) I eat burnt match heads.
2) I rock myself to sleep at night and wake up each morning with really messy hair.
3) I read in bars.
4) I put cardamom in my coffee.
5) I continue to curse even in situations where I shouldn’t, like in front of children and in business meetings.
6) I know I’m weird, but I’m struggling to think of weird things about myself to post. That in itself is weird, because it proves I’m so weird that I can’t identify my own weirdness.
And although I’m supposed to tag six people, instead I tag:
Anyone who cares!
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4 random books from my Library!
