Things have been sort of heavy around here lately, with Lent, and Jesus dying and everything. Easter-wise, I think we’re in “tomb time” at this point. It’s where Jesus is physically dead from execution. Everybody in Jesus’ world has had a super crappy day. They put him in the ground, and seal it up. He’s dead. Their hearts and dreams are broken and shattered.
Jesus is in paradise or Hades… or maybe someone should explain that to me…hang on… Okay. Checked on that. If that bit is confusing to you too, try this article. (Then get back here, before I lose my train of thought.)
Anyway, I’m writing this from home. No. I should say, I’m writing this from a place where my mother lives, and where I spent a few college breaks, and one horrid 6 week summer stint before I got married almost 16 years ago. So, actually not home at all. There’s a dislocation all over.
My mom still lives here. It was her late husband’s house. A guy who wasn’t my father.
There’s a guy here, now. I call him Jerry, she calls him fiancé. They met on the computer, in February. I thought he would go back to his place by now, but it’s almost 11pm, and he’s still hanging around. We’re slated to see him, at his place, tomorrow, and most of Sunday, here. Trust me, it’s weird to be in my head, right now.
It feels much like I’m the protagonist in a very awkward Ben Stiller movie. But I haven’t had a chance to figure out my lines. The plot is sketchy. The characters are underdeveloped. I wouldn’t be able to explain it all, even if I tried. But, this picture may reveal much of what I can’t. (I’m the one on the left.)
(me with mom)
Kind of funny picture, no? Laugh for me, if you can.
So, I ate my feelings today. Which, in this case, means about a half a cup of Rasinets, and other sugar and carb no-nos. It feels like Tomb time. Things seem ruined, or broken, and altogether not right. I will acknowledge this.
I won’t shove it aside, or pretend I can’t feel it, see it, smell it. Life can really suck. (That’s a theological term. It means…oh nevermind.)
YET! I know this thing. Nothing can keep the dawn from coming.
I really like Easter and Spring. And well, life. Rebirth is also–excellent. Brighter days are ahead. Death has no victory. The tomb cannot keep us. Even the tomb of discontent, or broken dreams.
We are poised to celebrate life and renewal. Come, Lord Jesus.
I usually encourage responses to my posts. But this time, I’m just letting it all hang out without a care of that. You can do what you’d like, I just need to sit here for a while.
Cuss / noun 1 an annoying or stubborn person or animal : he was certainly an unsociable cuss. 2 another term for curse (sense 2).
Disclaimer: I’m not using a moral arguement against cussing, though you might expect I would, at a site with spiritual flavor like this one. While, many may say it’s a sin to cuss, I think what may be the truest thing is that the intention of using the vulgarity that is the real issue at stake. Nevertheless, I won’t go in that direction. My contentions are not nearly so deep or heartfelt. This is simple practicality and common sense at work:
Simply put: I don’t think foul language is powerful enough. I finding it lacking. Any great use of the stuff tips me off that I’m in the company of communication amateurs.
In truth, I’m not very offended by expletives. The shock wore off in high school. And high school–childhood–is about the only time a certain amount of cussing is, sort of, understandable. By nature, kids don’t know how to express themselves very well. Salty language makes rookie humans feel older and more formidable. It gives them a sense of power, as they flex their ” ‘I’m growing up’ muscles”. Yet, it’s the running myth that if something is bleeped on tv, it resides in the realm of “grown-up language”, and signifies something more heady and legit. In fact, expletives are quite banal.
I cuss quite rarely, and when I do it’s actually because I’m having trouble expressing myself. In some foolish desperation I concede to inferior “describing words”. So, really, cussing takes away from our points, rather than aids them.
Just for the sake of developing better communication, we needn’t use them. Maybe you enjoy tossing around a swear here or there. I don’t really care. But here are 7 points to remember on this topic:
7 Cussing Tip Offs
misnamed swear tin (for keeping fines)
1. Cussing quickly reveals one has a diminished vocabulary or the inability to use their vocabulary very well. (This can become a worsening habit also. Hence, it is sometimes combated with a Swear (fine) Bank.)
2. It displays a rather uncreative mind. (What could help? Simple: A thesaurus.)
3. If a cuss word can be used as an adjective, noun, and verb, it’s hackneyed, and by consequence, impotent. Let’s just say it’s, “lame” in a hobbling sense.
4. While cussing may somehow help one reveal emotions, or relieve stress, it doesn’t help one’s case. Quite the opposite. Logic is a better choice. Give it a try.
5. Foul language tells a bigger story about the person and his/her hang ups than it does about whatever the person is trying to convey. (It’s sort of sad, really.)
6. Cussing offends people for a myriad of reasons, but strangely enough, much use of it boils down to spotlighting simple bad manners and poor taste. Throughout history, “vulgar” language has some sort of reflection on social or economic status. [Ex: A mother says to her child who has been running around with the kids from “the other side of the tracks”, “No, honey, we don’t talk like that (or them).”] Most often people mentally associate foul language with an uncouth boorish social class, or uneducated and unrefined upbringing.
7. “Dirty words” are given meaning by a culture, not the other way around. What is the massively cussing person trying to prove, then? And why? [That’s the bigger question.] Here, subtext trumps communication. so probably a #fail
What are your thoughts?
My favorite cuss quote:
“Are you cussing with me?” -Fantastic Mr. Fox
I got this fortune cookie fortune today. This variety of weirdness feels like it was written in Hoboken, not Peking…but I think I like it.
As it relates to my future? Hum…now that’s a good question. It could be in keeping with the Raisinets I found on my porch on the Chinese New Year’s Day (It’s the Year of the Rabbit)
What’s the funniest or strangest fortune cookie you’ve ever gotten?
What happens when you eat 14 year old pizza crust from Betty Crocker? We found out.
On January 1, 2011, in a short series of unfortunate events, my husband prepared a Betty Crocker pizza crust from a mix. It turned out terribly. We couldn’t figure out why. It was paper thin, and stuck so badly to the pan that it seemed to only come off in stamp-sized pieces, not to mention being brittle and tasteless.
I forced it down, and after the kids bemoaned their meal, I, being a proper mom, I had them finish most of it–by decree. It was only after I saw the varying package design of some just-bought Betty Crocker pizza crust, did suspect something was amiss. That little wave of electric panic fear went around on my back. This could be a long night in the bathroom, I thought.
The thought was sickening, but oddly the meal wasn’t, in a true sense. We were all fine. No harm done.
4 Proposals: 1. Betty Crocker Pizza crust is not food.
2. God spared us (because sometimes he’s wacky like that.) 3. Pizza crust couldn’t hurt us, even if it was 50 years old…’cause that’s how p.c. rolls. 4. We’ve just realized we are the real life version of “No Ordinary Family”
Do you have any ideas?
It was a mysterious way to start the new year, and things have only gotten stranger since.
What the oldest thing you’ve eaten recently? Or…What’s the strangest thing that’s happened to you so far this year?
Data on this blog reports that married men, ages 25-35, with children are the biggest frequenters of this blog. I’m really flattered.
It’s a throwback to being picked by the neighbor boys to be quarterback for both teams during the zenith of my football prowess, ages 9-11. I guess they just trusted my skills. (Or, maybe I was bad at tackling.)
It seems I don’t write like a chick. A Lady. Or what have you.
BUT! I KNOW I don’t seem to read like one.
Case in Point:
I’d love to be involved with the women’s book club at my church. I love books and the discussions that ensue. I put one together for Blue Like Jazz. 3 people came, including me. One of them was a friend I drove to it, because I begged her to come at the last minute. She hadn’t even read the book.
The truth is, in general, I like the richness of mixed gender book clubs, and I like to hear various perspectives (unless it devolves into gender battles and insults, like Sunday School this past week. ACK! The men were PENT UP. Arrows were flying!) Plus, I think, this gender war stuff gets old, fast. Hello, John and Stasi Eldridge, can you hear me? Um. You’re causing infighting. It’s the truth.)
But for the exception of the wonderful Brother Lawrence’s Practicing the Presence of God, that came up at book club, it’s been just a slew of girly books. I just cannot stop my gag reflex long enough to muddle through something Pioneer or Amish related. I can’t stomach “historical fiction/dreamy (and yet Christian-safe–in-all-the-right-spots) romance–with–a–God-twist”. This dominates our book club. Completely.
Thanks to a reader’s helpful link, you’ll find a really fascinating rendering of this issue here (Newsweek article).
(Bear in mind that my area can’t support a Walden’s Book store in the mall (which shut down a number of years ago) let alone something mainstream like a Boarders. Something like that is 31 miles away. And a cozy and bookish sole proprietorship? HAA! NEVER. So, it could be the situation that I’m just a fish out of water around here.) So, in a measure of self-soothing, I’ve come up with a quick list-
5 Reasons I Don’t Read (Christian) Chick Books
1. I don’t care about reading gooey, implausible stories about the Amish. I live near the Amish. You know what? They aren’t that interesting.(Basically, they just dress weirdly, frequent “dent and scratch” bargain grocery stores, and have gaggles of children.)
2. I like history, and I like (good) fiction. But, it always seems like the category so-called “Women’s Christian Historical Fiction” is just a mash up that’s two levels closer to crap than anything else.
I feel insulted by everything from the predictable plot-lines, to the saccharine Christian-evangelism tactics that snake through like, well, “like a string of pearls snaking between ample bosoms”.
3. Since I’m not a big fan of the macho man/Christian book market, I can’t start getting aligned to closely with mushy, girly books. It’ll trash my street cred. (Guilt by association, obviously.)
4. If it makes a guy wince to see a chick book, it makes me wince. I just don’t like feeling I should defend my gender for enjoying overly sentimental tripe, that often sacrifices intellectual integrity for dramatic episodes that involve a high- stakes rescue, or a whore-come-home riff. Call me silly.
5. These books all seem to severely lack in the sense of humor department. This. is. not. okay. This is perhaps the biggest reason I just can’t do it. I need more. I want to be challenged. I want to laugh and cry, but not because “his heart has been too scarred to let her love in, despite their undeniable attraction…but he unknowingly gave himself a milk mustache on his curvaceous and stubbly upper lip, and her heart skipped a beat.” (You get the idea.)
If you are a fan of these books (or a writer of them, or an agent of them (like Chip MacGregor, my agent)), I apologize for being so brash. I’m not trying to be a guy about it.
It’s just my opinion that these books are for women what the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show holiday tv special is for men. They offer something superficial, that aims to scratch an itch, but ends up inflaming the whole thing. Less, not more, is the remedy, but no one wants to give it up.
Image by cattias.photos via Flickr
I realize writing this will mean I’ll never get a Christmas card from:
For a long list of these books, click here. If you start to feel ill, even at the sheer multitude, I wanna hear from you.
Here’s the surprise ending:
If any of these authors will have me over for dinner, and try to change my mind, I will indulge that. (In stereotypical male form, you may get to me through my stomach. And that’s a chance I’m willing to take, especially if there is PA German Apple crumb pie involved.)
What do you think about this genre? Are you a woman who gets embarrassed by what’s available in the “Women’s genre”?
Ladies, if you like these books, have your say.
And guys, what’s your take on any of this? (If you were given $20, would you read a “bonnet ripper” and contribute at a book discussion? Or would you just break out in hives?)
