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)