Sermonade

When life hands you sermons, make Sermonade. We can help you spice up your tired old sermon. Nature is your friend as you introduce your flock to the grandeur of God. Sinners and saved alike can benefit from our visual metaphors and aids.

Genius

Boy am I threatened by it, knee-buckled by it, roiling with envy at it. For some reason I believe it is what I am to be. And I know it is what I am not. As exceptional as I might be. One in a hundred is not one in a million. It upsets me. I've had to come to terms with and let go of several juvenile fantasies later in life than you might expect.

1. I will be neither Air Force pilot nor astronaut
2. I will not play professional baseball
3. I am not now and will not suddenly become a genius

I don't know why this should be so hard to accept. It's not as if geniuses are renowned for being especially happy. And that's if they happen to be renowned. If we're to believe the wisdom of our culture, there are many more geniuses, toiling in obscurity, unrecognized as the prophets they are, and brimming with vitriol at not being renowned. Even renown is known to be a generally unhappy experience.

When I nurtured this fantasy of genius, that things did not come easily was a constant frustration. So not much came at all. Now I understand I have to work (some things can be slow in coming to a self-presumed genius), which has been a surprisingly satisfying experience.

So, no Grand Unified Theories, no As I Lay Dying, no OK Computer from me.

I am not endorsing mediocrity, but an understanding that perfection is unattainable, and even undesirable.

Private Defective

My jaw hurts so bad. It's been bad for a while. As long as I can remember. Sometimes, it just sort of locks closed, so I can't open it more than an inch. It feels like the bones are stuck. Like one of those dreams where you can't scream for help. It always goes away after a little bit, when I'm not even thinking about it.

I don't know why I'm hurt all the time and everyone else is always fine. I never miss work, but my back always hurts. The rest of it I don't even want to talk about.

But there are plenty of people who have it much worse. I mean, at least I'm not in Africa without any food, or getting beat up, or a communist, or anything like that. It's really no big deal, when I really think about it. Most people have it much worse than me.

I've been thinking about asking my doctor if maybe my medicine is what's making my jaw hurt. I think it started before the medicine, but I can't really remember.

It's been two years since I dropped a plate.

Mom

This week wasn't very good. Vijay yelled at me every day. First it was the short money. Then, I couldn't get some guy's hood open. Some other stuff, too. The worst part is, a lady complained about me. She said I was rude. I always follow the training video and smile and greet the customer, so I can't remember being rude to anyone. Vijay told me the only reason I don't fire you is because people think you're retarded and it wouldn't look right

If I don't shape up, I'm gone in a heartbeat.

Maybe I am retarded. I don't want to be fired. I'll never get another job.

So, I called my mom. My mom's been mad at me for long time because I won't live at home with her anymore. But when things go wrong I think of her and still love her and want to talk to her. We mostly talked about her garden, and I asked her about my houseplants, because I knew she wanted me to. She tells me how much to water them and where to put them. I don't really care that much, but it's not too hard, so I do it for her. The thing was, after I started talking to her, I was afraid to talk about the gas station. She said "hello," and I just wanted to hang up. I don't want my mom to know I'm a loser. Or at least how much of one I am.

So we just talked about plants and said it was nice to talk and all that. Then, when we were getting ready to go, I didn't know what to say, so I said, "Mom, what do you think I'm doing wrong?"

She was quiet and I felt something bad coming, and she said, really slowly, "I didn't say you were doing anything wrong, Glen. Why are you so sensitive? Grow up, already"

I told her that's not what I meant but I could already feel my cheeks burning, so I just hung up and punched a hole in my wall.

When I call her in a couple days to apologize, I'll probably have to tell her I got fired, too.

A Few Bad Apples

Katrina is the world right now. This thing just keeps getting worse, and there's no hope in sight. Now the specter of race riots appears. As New Orleans becomes a warzone, there is the distinct possibility that confrontations will spark outpourings of frustration in other destitute communities.

Worrying about rioting, thousands dead and dying, looting, misery, and massive destruction is enough for one, without having to deal with the pundits, the partisans and the party hacks. The waters had barely begun to rise when the opportunists started asking themselves: "How can we use this to our advantage?"

There are folks screaming racism in the coverage because black people have been shown looting. I know I've seen shots of both black and white looting, and that the majority of rescue shots I've seen have involved people of color.

Then there are the people who see this as an opportunity to attack the Bush administration. I am no fan of the nutcases in power at the moment, but give them a few days to mobilize relief. Lesson 1: The hurricane was not caused by Bush's failure to sign the Kyoto treaty, and anyone who says so is either stupid or dishonest.

On the other hand, there are worse faults than criticizing the disaster preparedness of the area or country. You could claim that the storm is sent by god to punish the wicked. Kind of like Robertson did in the past...or this Kuwaiti official just did in the World Tribune. Lesson 2: God doesn't help football players score touchdowns and he doesn't indiscriminately kill thousands of people (many of whom undoubtedly were opposed to the Bush administration's policies in the Middle East) as an act of judgment. Anyone who claims god does such things is insane and an enemy of reason.

Of course nothing compares to the inspiring example of people in times of crisis:
"Police say storm victims are being raped and beaten inside the New Orleans Convention Center. About 15,200 people who had taken shelter at the convention center to await buses grew increasingly hostile. Police Chief Eddie Compass says he sent in 88 officers to quell the situation at the building, but they were quickly beaten back by an angry mob. Compass says, "We have individuals who are getting raped, we have individuals who are getting beaten."He says tourists are walking in that direction and they are getting preyed upon.In hopes of defusing the unrest at the convention center, Mayor Ray Nagin gave the refugees permission to march across a bridge to the city's unflooded west bank for whatever relief they can find. But the bedlam appeared to make leaving difficult."
-AP

As if people needed an excuse not to send money, to turn a blind eye, to say, "Maybe they did deserve it." Lesson 3: People are idiots. I mean what are you going to do with the TV? There's no power! And 20 ft. of water! Take food sure...but beer?...sneakers?

Now ask me why I have such a dim view of humanity.

Captain Kidd & the UFOs

I just watched a bit of a program, on the Discovery or History Channel or somesuch, which documented the efforts of some researchers to uncover the wreck of the dread pirate Captain Kidd's ship.

At first, I found something charming in the zeal these men (and they were all men) brought to their hunt. Deploying expensive equipment and workingwith a largish team, I felt they must pour every cent into this wild endeavor. They must live and breathe pirate hunting at the expense of their wealth, credibility, and popularity with women. Their quest carries with it an air of childish innocence; of boyish fantasies somehow turned into reality.

But the longer I watched, the more I felt unease. There was something dishonest about the enterprise. Intellectually dishonest. The problem was that these men purported to be researchers, but went in with a predetermined result. When they found evidence on the sea floor, they immediately fit it to their preconception. Gold coins became an occasion for a hypothesis that the pirates perhaps needed to leave the ship quickly and were not able to save all their loot. There was no real evidence for this. They were looking for reasons the wreck could have been Captain Kidd's as opposed to reasons it could not. I could see the strain in the pirate-hunter's brain as he forced the find into his worldview.

Why would they operate in so counterproductive a manner? It could easily lead to incorrect labeling of the ship as Kidd's wreck. It makes better TV, for one. And for two, it is only human to want to be a part of something great. For them, greatness seems wrapped up in the romantic pirate, and their part of this greatness would be a great discovery, which would bring them renown and publicity.

I for one would be damned proud to be part of such a discovery. But I am not delusional, as these poor chaps appear dangerously close to being. I have some experience with delusional individuals, and while I can't make a positive diagnosis, I can offer this advice: be wary of anyone with an abnormal fascination with UFOs, conspiracies, or pirates.

I imagine anyone still reading at this point is thinking "But why should this bother you so much? Why take so much effort with a trivial TV show?"

I don't know. I understand others somehow tune the crap out. It's not something I can do. Commercials, for instance have a way of really upsetting me. They really piss me off. I become livid at the blatant manipulations and deceptions employed. The attacks on my self constantly flowing from the TV get way under my skin. I complain. I criticize. I rant. And I irritate anyone who happens to be watching with me far more than the commercials ever could. Most people are able to hit a mental "mute" button. It's a gift I was not given.

On second thought, go on and hunt pirate booty all ye want, ye wild-eyed romantics. As long as you're not scheming in the conference rooms of some ad agency, plotting to foist on me moisturizer and beer, I salute you. Argh.

Rising Dread in a 767

It's like getting a pen knife driven into the small of your back. Like having a gnome in your chest cavity, grinding your guts to dust. A piece of elastic around your head, slowly contracting, inching and crawling its way upward, infinitely, never snapping.

It means never again focusing your eyes tightly.
Never thinking rightly.
Never touching the moment of completion.

What's wrong with death in small doses? One might build up an immunity. Death is an event one should practice. It is epochal. One must prepare for it.

I can only hope the minute death of the cigarette drag is representative of the real thing.

Dumb Stupid Idiot

I say it over and over. You dummy. You dummy. You dummy.

I hope repeating it will have some effect and things will change finally.

One night I said it for three or four hours. Hundreds of times. I say it out loud, sometimes really loud at home. When I'm out somewhere, I say it kind of under my breath, so it's not just thinking; so it means something, but quiet enough so other people won't look at me.

So far, I still feel pretty dumb, but I know that if you try hard enough you can change. And if I try hard enough, I can change. I do want to change. I don't want to be like this forever. All stupid and ugly. I can't change how I look, but I can stop screwing stuff up so much. I might not actually get smarter, but I can stop making dumb mistakes.

The register was $22.52 short tonight, so I had to make up the difference. I'm sure I messed up the math somehow. That means if I go out this weekend, I won't be able to buy any drinks.

You dummy.

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