I Get Goog'ed: Clifford Pooping, Pimples, and Other Stories

From time to time, I get hots from the Goog.  Always entertaining, I love to answer them to the best of my ability.


"was thomas wrong for doubting"

I don't know Thomas personally, but I have written on the subject.  My opinion is nothing more than reasoned logic.  In order to get the real answer, I would suggest you phone the bloke yourself.



"steve drain is going to hell"

Seriously now.  I don't think I ever said anything of the sort.  It doesn't help too much to get into a pissing match between hell shouters.  Steve Drain, the untalented media guy of Westboro Baptist Church, is an arrogant, pompous, ass.  But, since I don't believe in hell, I would just say that I hope he pays for his evils and hatred in this life - his only life.  I would pay a lot of money to see his face when he wakes up after death and realizes, he dayd!...and there ain't nuttin' but deadness.  But then, that's not logical.



"smell of rotten flesh and disappears in house"

One word.  Ghosts.  Run!


"is it normal to get pimples under beauty marks?"

I have no medical degree, but I have personal experience with pimples, even under "beauty marks".  Not direct experience except that, when Kristine, my beautiful bride gets one, I find myself kissing it because, after all, I have embraced the pimple as a beauty mark itself.  In fact, if you have a pimple under a societally accepted beauty mark, you have a double stacked mark.  Go out into the world and rock it!



"how does clifford poop"

Very carefully, looking both ways for cars.  The better question is, how does he pee?


And that's it.  Enjoy my expertise.

Love,

I. C.

I Get Comments: I'm Seeing Pretty Rainbows

Gawrsh, I'm tickled pink.  I have tried to be real in all of my writings, only recently deciding to shed my inhibitions and write what is really in my head and heart, rather than worrying about how my words would be received by members of my past life.

Then I receive this comment:

"Yesterday I stumbled upon this blog, I think it was an email link rec.'d from Michael Moore.???? I have yet to figure the connection. My experience so far is likened to a great book you just can't bear to put down. I'm a recluse and when I do find myself in the "real" world I find it discouraging to say the least and reading these stories so far has given me hope. Thank you for reminding me that sanity, honesty, humor & straight-talking folks still exist."

Always a sucker for praise and adoration (as well as an idiot for loving criticism), my heart is all warm and fuzzy-like.  I'm seeing unicorns before my very eyes and little bluebirds are singing on my shoulders right now.

Watch out for the bull.  (old movie reference...did you get it?)

Love,

I. C.

I Get Goog'ed: What to Call a Non-Believer

I got the following search term hit from the ole' Goog today:

"if i don't believe in god what am i"

A human.  Yeah.  Still.  Pinch yourself.  Carry on.

Struggling in America - Amanda B.

This is the first story in this series.  I am still collecting your stories on an ongoing basis.  My desire is to show many perspectives of real life in America where real people are or have struggled.  Please send them to crackedcornjimmy@gmail.com.

Amanda B's childhood sounds eerily similar to mine, though, in this story, she is tight lipped about how her mother affected her as an adult.  She became the head of the family at the age of twelve, due to her mother's extreme mental disabilities.  But, now, as an adult, she is killing life with the help of her awesome boyfriend.

Now, her story:

**************

My mother has been diagnosed with bi-polar disorder. She has yet to be diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, which I am sure she also has. She was diagnosed with nothing until I was 14 despite very obvious signs of serious disordered behavior. My father had been driven away over the years, sure that I would share my mother’s extreme views of their relationship. I was an only child. Both my parents came from large abusive families. The cards were stacked against all of us.

My mother did the best she could within the constraints of her disease. Keeping a job was difficult and by the time I was 12, totally impossible. By then I was picking up our food stamps, doing the shopping, and making any phone calls to utilities that needed to be made.

Life was difficult. I never went without food or clothes thanks to government programs but due to stress and poor nutrition my physical health was always terrible and my mental health suffered unspeakably.

I somehow figured out that the only way away from my mother’s life was an education. I worked hard and got both government and private scholarships. Of course, they couldn’t cover everything and loans were a necessity. I worked three part time jobs, went to school full time, and managed to graduate early.

By the age of 22 I was exhausted and feeling very much alone. I found a job that paid the bills, barely, but those damned loans were just enough to push me into financial insecurity. That and the fact that I’d never been taught how to handle money. I was clueless about saving, budgeting, what to sacrifice/gamble with and what to spend on. It seemed every month the bank was charging me fees. I just became more exhausted, more jaded, and more likely to ignore phone calls from numbers I didn’t know.

Thankfully, a few years ago help came in the form of my boyfriend. He came from an upper middle class family and had savings before he even went to college. He helped me pay my back bills and taught me how to budget and save. He made me confront my anxiety and shame surrounding my finances. He gave me hope that one day I might not be fighting just to get by.

We live together now; my amazing guy teaching me how normal people live and pulling me back from the edge my mother delights in bringing me to. But it’s still hard. My finances are better but not perfect. I have health insurance but I spend a lot on therapy. I’m going back to school to get my masters but I’m taking more loans out to do it. I hope one day to have a job that truly contributes to our little family, to not fear answering my phone, and to be part of the middle class. In short, I hope, one day, to not feel as though I’m drowning.

Struggling in America - Victoria P.

This is the first story in this series.  I am still collecting your stories on an ongoing basis.  My desire is to show many perspectives of real life in America where real people are or have struggled.  Please send them to crackedcornjimmy@gmail.com.

Victoria's story is a perfect one to kick this off.  She writes about her parents' struggles in raising her and her sister due to their severe disabilities.  Victoria is now a successful person and is a true testament to what America can do when we pull together.

Now...her story:

*************

My experiences involve disability and illness. My mother was a polio survivor, stricken at age three, and paralyzed from the waist down. She was able to walk with braces and crutches. She also suffered from rheumatoid arthritis. My father was in a work-related accident before they met, and suffered traumatic brain injury. They actually met in a government sponsored rehabilitation training class at a local Y in 1952. The company that employed my father at the time of his injury was at fault, and in today’s environment, there would have been a massive lawsuit. However, my father’s parents never considered that, I don’t really know why. The company took my father back when he was able to work, and kept him on as long as they could, possibly out of worry about such a suit.

My father was able to recover enough to continue working, and my parents married about 3 years after meeting. My mother’s disabilities and health meant our family sometimes needed help, however. This mostly came through government programs. My father’s family was pretty well-off, but had been dead set against the marriage for some reason, and had actually tried to “buy my mother off” by offering her money to call off the wedding. They pretty much disowned my father after he defied them and they wrote us off. My mother’s parents helped as much as they could, but they were elderly and not well off.

I was born a couple of years after they married. From the time I could toddle, I was the most “able bodied” person in the house, and my relatives tell stories of seeing me acting as my mother’s legs as early as two. My sister was born when I was about seven, and I know I did a lot of the child-care. The pregnancy was very hard on my mother, and she was restricted to bed for the last months. She never walked again, but was confined to a wheelchair. By the time I was ten, I was mostly running the house, in terms of cooking, cleaning and such, while attending school. I never resented this. I understood the need early on, and I always felt that having these responsibilities helped me to grow up both confident in my abilities to handle what life throws at me, and compassionate towards those around me. I think that’s a pretty good combination, and not as common as I would like.

When my sister was two, a calcified aneurysm in my father’s brain shifted, causing further damage. He suffered a massive seizure, and almost died. He had to be medically retired. He received Social Security disability, State Worker’s Compensation, (since his disability was caused in a work-related accident) and a small company pension. My mother was able to earn some money as a custom seamstress, and later taught sewing for a retail outlet, but her earnings were always meager. Her own disability wouldn’t permit much of a work schedule. I was nine at the time, not exactly able to shoulder the burden of supporting my parents, no matter how responsible I might have been.

Again, my father’s family was of no help. I don’t know why. My mother’s family helped as much as they could. My parents were active in a main-line Christian church, and they did the usual “casserole” sort of assistance, which was appreciated, but they couldn’t do much more. No one person or small group can. The burden of supporting a family is too great. Without governmental “entitlements” our lives would have been hell. The family would have been broken up, my sister and I would have gone into foster care, and my parents would have most likely died.

I took care of my parents to the best of my ability, and helped raise my sister. We both went to college with the help of Pell Grants and scholarships, and are both professionals today. She’s a teacher, and I’m a graphic designer. We’re both married. She has two sons whereas my husband and have decided not to have children.  My parents have both passed away, my mother at 49, due in part to a collapsing spine as the result of the polio damage, and my father at 62, due to damage caused by another shift in the aneurysm that disabled him. However, they lived fairly dignified, happy lives under the limitations they faced. I consider our family to be a success story, one that might not have happened in the world as the current incarnation of the Republican Party would have it be.

Private charity couldn’t have done this. No private group can take care of a family, raising children from nine and two, providing shelter, medical needs, and care for two frail adults until they die. The burden is too great, the need lasts too long. Also, the dignity I spoke of is a factor. People seem to want to see those who are suffering beg, and to be able to sit in judgment of them. Frankly, that’s creepy. You can never know the pain of another person, and we often judge others by standards we ourselves couldn’t meet. Saying, “Those other slobs are lazy, and shouldn’t get help, but I’m truly deserving,” is all too common.

As to those who say my sister and I shouldn’t have been born to disabled parents, remember, my father was able to work for the first seven years of my life. There was no way of knowing that this old injury could rear up and bite him years after it occurred. The future is always in motion, and no one is truly secure. We are all one accident or illness from helplessness. Also, if my sister and I hadn’t been born, my parents would still have been there. They still would have needed care. In the end, because my sister and I grew up and were able to care for our parents in their later years, society was most likely saved a great deal of money.

Beginning My First Book Ever

Just beginning my first book. I hope to publish this before I die. It is titled "My Perfect Marriage - Do What I Did and Ruin Your Relationship Forever".

Tell me if this first paragraph will draw you in once you crack the cover:

[“Fuck you!”, Kristine blurted out. I was shocked. Not only had I never heard my wife swear before, but here, she was directing her wrath at me. My thoughts went into hyper mode as I realized that, since she was using her first naughty word on me, something must be really wrong.

Usually, I just made her cry.]

Scott Clifton has Spoken

Scott Clifton has spoken the words that I have been trying to say - though less eloquently - for over a year now.  Worth the watch.

Happy Ending Project by Kate Townsend

Kate write at Phoenix and the Olive Branch.

I want to bring all my reader's attention to a project that she has begun.  The project is her mother's happiness and financial viability.  As Kate says in the above link, "My mother is the kind of woman who will make this world a better place or die trying, and then come back and haunt [it] until the job is done. She is physiologically incapable of giving up."

Seven years ago, a financial aid paper mishap caused her mother to drop out of college, only a semester's worth or so of classes away from her bachelor's degree.  When it happened, her mother fought the red tape and lost, resigning herself to hoping for "...God to open another door one day."

Kate wants to be that door, repaying her mother for who she was as a mom and who she currently is as a human being, and who she can be in the future, while changing her little corner of the world for the better. 

She has set up a Go Fund Me site called:

Happy Ending Project

Kate is leaving almost daily updates at this site and also gives a thorough description of the cause here.

Please consider helping out.  As of 8:00 PM CST, July 27, $1055.00 has been raised.  And yes, she's asking for just nickles and dimes.  If everyone gave a dime, we would only need 64,450 donations.  Only 6445 people if you give a dollar.  Five dollars gets us there with just 1289 generous individuals. I think we can make it!

Thank You for Your Generosity

On May 27, 2012, I made a plea for help for Scottie and Anne Moser.  Since then, money has been trickling in and we're up to $380.  I am just writing this to say thank you and to inform you that every red cent has been duly given toward the need.

Love,

I. C.

New Series: Struggling in America

I want your story.  I want it raw.  I want to hear from real Americans.

I grew up Republican.  My family believed that everyone had a fair and equal chance of being successful.  If you were poor, it was simply because you didn't work hard enough.  If you lived paycheck to paycheck, it was because you were bad at handling money.  Even though my mother used the welfare system, we did so in secret and looked down on others, politically, for doing the same thing, viewing them as lazy.

Then I grew up and began to live real life.  I used the government to put myself through school and so is my wife, currently.  I used food stamps for many years while I struggled to make ends meet, pre-college.  Then, the government slowly weaned us off of them as my salary grew.  We also used federal medical assistance for years throughout all six of Kristine's pregnancies.  Now, our children are on the Minnesota state program for a fee and my wife and I are paying cash for our infrequent medical care.

We are a middle class family, one paycheck from disaster, looking to better ourselves in the future - and we used government help to do it.  But that isn't necessarily the kinds of stories I'm looking for.  I want to see real and raw life.  If you have never used government assistance, I want to hear about it. If you have used it, I want your story too!

No politician from any party has all the answers and even the good answers' best laid plans will not work for all situations (maybe even most).  Life is simply too nuanced to be able to fit onto a 30 page application.  I want to show the world this fact through your eloquent words.

Send me your story to crackedcornjimmy@gmail.com.  The only editing I will do will be grammatical and spelling.  I will keep the story intact.

Love,

I. C.

Amy's Words Reveal Her Inner Beauty - A Batman Story

I don't know Amy personally, but I have been around the interwebs since she began writing her blog.  Not only is she a beautiful person on the outside, but she has a wonderful heart for humanity. 

Amy was directly affected by the Colorado shooting.  She was only thirty minutes away from Aurora at another theater when it happened.  A friend of a friend of hers died in the theater.  Everyone she knows knew someone in Theater 9. 

Here is her story.  Please keep some Kleenex handy.  You will fall in love with her heart as I have.

If You're Violet, Please Check In

A woman with a Google name of Violet used to read this blog quite frequently and would email me on occasion.  I fell in love with her heart and desire to be an independent and dynamic woman.  Since then, she has dropped off the face of the earth and I worry about those sorts of things.

Violet, I hope you're doing well.  I hope you're living the life that you've always wanted and are supremely happy.  I hope that you are free.

If you're out there, please check in.

Love,


I. C.

P. Z. Myers Critiques a Book Against Science

I am very familiar with the confused feeling of "but they say it so eloquently!"  You know, when you're steeped in misinformation and it all sounds so logical, having never been introduced to real data or current research, you sort of stop listening to the other side.  Once I left fundamentalist Christianity, I began to study other viewpoints, especially science.

P.Z. Myers is one of my favorite science writers because he spends the time to carefully explain the process of how conclusions are made and gives you much of the history of a developing or accepted theory.

Then he does this.  Go read it. I love it when he skewers the arguments of those that I used to trust blindingly.  I hunger for getting things right and I sorely appreciate his pen.

Enjoy!

The Aurora Police Dept are Better Than Me

Yes.  I cry.  I heard the news this morning about the shooting in Aurora and I cried.  I was driving to work and called Kristine, choking over my words, trying to sound calm.  When I hung up, I cried. 

The world will be asking why.  I don't care.  I hurt for the victims and their families who will forever be affected by this senseless act.  But, mostly, I admire the police department for the following reason:

If I was the arresting officer of the shooter in Aurora, I would have riddled his body full of bullets, pulled out a hunting knife and done a hack job, and then, hours after the shooting, I would still be there, standing over his body, beating his face in with a baseball bat.

The arresting police officers of Aurora are better men and women than I.

All my love to the victims.

Love,

I. C.

Another Perspective on Mys Doug Wilson

So, Sierra calls me angry in this article.  She's right.  I was angry.  My miserable existence, for years, suffered under the hands of idiots like Mys. Wilson. 

Sierra's best quote:

"Believe me, I’m very familiar with the rhetoric about how submission does not mean inferiority. It may not mean that in theory, but it does in practice. When one person is systematically denied the ability to teach others, to make decisions for her family, to deny sex or pregnancy, to disobey her partner or to live and work independently, she is made the inferior of her partner. This does not mean she is inferior intrinsically. It means she behaves as though she is. It means she is treated as though she is. It means she thinks it’s right for one person to be freer than another on the basis of birth. That is wrong."

I hate to say this, but tears came to my eyes when I read that.  I have been trying to tell men, and the women they rule, this for a long time.  Kristine, my wife has articulated this many times while debating with women who have no idea what freedom means and men who have no clue what it means to love your wife.

Guys, I know how to love my wife.  And Mys. Wilson, I am way above your grade level in being an awesome husband.  I am better than you.  Shave your beard, come sit at my feet, and learn to live your life, changing it from your miserable existence as head controller of your blinded church.  Oh...and get that blowjob I recommended.

Give Sierra's article a read!

I get Goog'ed: Softball Tips

I've been getting hit by the Goog with a search for "why am I bad at softball?"
 
So, here are my two tips that have helped out millions of ball players across the world, including the 2008 Yankees and the 2004 Red Sox.  My tips are in their respective glass cases.

1.  See ball, hit ball.

I taught that to Pete Rose.

2. A softball never killed anyone who lived to tell about it.

That is all.  Learn those two and you will be an epic player on both sides of the ball.

Enjoy success!

Doug Wilson is in Need of a Good Blowjob

The Gospel Coalition is an organization formed by Calvinist, women-hating heavyweights like John Piper (Piper Boy), Mark Driscoll (Strawberry Boy), and Tim Keller (someone I am just becoming familiar with).  TGC has a Council.  This Council is made up of 52 members.  52 big name Christians.  Not one of them is a woman. 

On July 13, 2012, Jared C. Wilson wrote a small blog post on TGC's website.  In this post, he quoted a passage from a book by the misogynist Doug Wilson.  The passage read like a 1950's depiction of daddy coming home and Beaver joyously, at the age of 16, tugging on his trouser leg, begging for a story of his day at work.  Translation:  The utopia of the 1950's family on television was just that - a utopia.  Reality is and always will be much better.

There is much hoopla around cyberspace about this excerpt being an endorsement of rape from a biblical perspective, but I disagree with that.  In Doug's defense, as well as Jared's, I will take their word at face value.  They insist this isn't the case and I don't see how one can read that into this passage.  However, I think the true meaning of Doug's words give a picture into his own sex life - dry, repetitive (when it comes to sex, repetitive can be a good thing), and boring.

Doug's pet theme in many of his works is the authority of the god of the Bible over all of his creation and, by proxy, mankind created with a built-in authority structure.  Of course, as all pompous men in the fundamentalist, male-dominated world, Doug concludes that women are to be subservient to men.  But, in his writings, Doug doesn't try to mince his words by adding flowers and bunnies to the word "submit", or even attempt to redefine it as something mutual between a husband and wife.  No, he flaunts men's superiority.  In short, Doug Wilson is a prude - a veritable prick.

Get a load of this quote:
"When we quarrel with the way the world is, we find that the world has ways of getting back at us. In other words, however we try, the sexual act cannot be made into an egalitarian pleasuring party. A man penetrates, conquers, colonizes, plants. A woman receives, surrenders, accepts. This is of course offensive to all egalitarians, and so our culture has rebelled against the concept of authority and submission in marriage. This means that we have sought to suppress the concepts of authority and submission as they relate to the marriage bed."

I'll give you a moment to catch your breath.

........................................

Ok.  Moment over.

Ah, the nebulous "world" jargon speak.  This word is used to keep converts in line and has no practical meaning except by those that wish to exert their control over their followers. If anyone questions the leader's principled life or words, they merely have to say "world!" and the layperson has to acquiesce.  In this case, anything that Mys. (short for misogynist) Wilson says about sex in the positive "biblical" sense is good.  Anything else - world!

Sex is only to be enjoyed through the lens of the authority doctrine.  Man conquers, woman is entered.

Mys. Wilson, I despise your kind.  You are the scum of the earth.  You are part of the problem with respect to failed marriages.  You deem yourself to be lifting up a standard for perfect people to be a pleasing aroma to your god and, instead, you end up creating piles of filth - lives destroyed in the wake of the collapse of your exalted, yet unworkable principles.

I know.  I lived it.  For SIX YEARS!

My wife grew up in fundamentalism and from conception to the day she was married, people like Mys. Wilson taught her how disgusting and evil sex was.  Sex was evil up until the magical moment of saying "I do."  Then, you could enjoy sex, but it had to be proper.  Even society, with all its hallowed stereotypes played a role in telling my bride that women weren't supposed to desire sex and men were rabid, insatiable, dogs.

So, for the first six years of marriage, we suffered.  Why?  Because I didn't get enough sex?  I must be an insatiable, selfish, self-centered, pathetic, bastard, right?

Hell no!  I just wanted her to initiate sexual activity.  That's it.

Call it egalitarian.  Call it married.  I don't care.  When two people come together to enjoy sex, rules be damned.  I want to make sweet love to my wife in the way SHE wants it.  She wants to do it exactly the way I want it.  Then, we both want much for ourselves. 

You see, Mys. Wilson, sex isn't about rules, authority, perfection, or anything you dream up to try and spiritualize an awesome act of pure pleasure.  Sex is about the union of two bodies in the perfect, animalistic way that those two people desire to do with each other.  Frankly, it's none of your damned business what we do with it.  And, here's the shocking part, Kristine exhibits all the stereotypes of what society considers "male" and I "female" when it comes to what we desire.  There are no male and female roles in sex. 

Doug Wilson, you need a damn good blowjob.  You need to learn how to be conquered, be planted upon, and smothered by a beautiful woman that wants nothing but to satiate your lustful desires while enjoying the hell out of herself, as well.  Take your perfect world and throw it out the window for one night of pleasure.  Doug, you'll never go back.

Finally, one last consideration.  Where to insert your beard.

A Shattered Peace on Independence Day

Duluth, Minnesota, on July 4^th, was a beautiful respite from the searing heat that blanketed the rest of the state.  Right over the ridge that separated the Iron Range from Lake Superior, the temperature was an uncomfortable 98 degrees.  The humidity brought the heat index to 110 and the mosquitos were out in bunches, ready to suck the blood of anyone without eight arms to slap them away.

Duluth was 62 degrees with a light wind and an occasional drip from a passing cloud.  Our six children enjoyed the cool breeze blowing in off the lake and the lack of mosquitos in the lakeside rose garden.  We settled down on a brick circle to wait the three hours until the fireworks show and ate doughnuts.

100 yards away, I noticed a young man climbing onto a large rock.  I would expect that from a child, but not this grown man.  Then he started to yell.

“Jesus loves you!”

The crowd around us groaned.  Many began to move away, pretending they had been walking past all along.

“God loves you!  Put away your earthly lusts and follow Christ!”

Apparently, nobody told this gentleman that the common man does not quite understand Christian jargon.  Earthly lusts?  We're at a freaking fireworks show!  Maybe that's evil? On and on he went, Ray Comfort style.

“You say you’ve never murdered anyone, but Jesus says that hating your brother is the same.  Have you murdered someone?”

Way to put a guilt trip on everyone, buddy.  No wonder Christians and those who are yelled at by Christians, walk around looking over their shoulder, finding a rat under every cream puff.

But, guilt aside, there is a deeper problem with this theology than meets the eye.  According to Christianity, if one gets saved through Jesus Christ (also jargon, not understood by the common man), they can go to heaven.  Yes, this includes the guy who rapes his children, slits their throats, slices their limp bodies into pieces, eats them, shoots himself in the head, and then, with his last dying breath, calls upon the name of the lord (also jargon).  Yes, he gets to go to heaven while the tribal Amazonian who never heard of the name, Jesus Christ, was a damn good father, a great husband to all of his wives, a considerate and masterful lover, and a dedicated grower of all the tribe’s food, dies and burns in hell for eternity.

Forget the liar that is just as bad as the murderer.  Jesus’ moral compass was a tad off.  A murderer deserves to pay for his actions while a liar deserves a slap and sometimes a medal.

“For the wages of sin is death!  Know the truth and the truth shall set you free!”

Says who!?  Ah yes, the Bible.  The holy book revered by western societies and other small pockets of the world, but not used by Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Zoroastrians, Skeptics, Atheists, Agnostics, and the Aliens that brought us Scientologists.  Why that book and its truisms (which, many times, aren’t so truismism) instead of the Rigveda?

“Will you turn to Christ and follow him today!”

Where!?  That dude over there with the long hair?  Is that Jesus!  Yeeehoo…oh no…wait….he’s using jargon again.  Dad blammit.

“Thank you for your time!”

You’re welcome.

Actually, despite destroying the peace of the evening, which he has every right to do, this gentleman was non-confrontational, pious, obviously sincere, and seemed to feel as if he loved people in his own unique way – though clouded by his bible-based outlook on life.

He was a decent man.  One day, I hope to meet him and explain to him that God doesn’t require this embarrassing act of his.  He can be a good guy and not feel guilty that the fireworks crowd’s blood is on his hands (also jargon).

Maybe I can show him how his god lies and then requires us not to lie, holding up lying as a sin as evil as murder.  Maybe I can show him how his god is a serial murderer and takes pleasure in the death of others.  Maybe he’ll change his mind one day.

The crowd let out a sigh of relief and the show was on the road.

Dougy Boy Elevates Food to Spiritual Status

Dougy Boy is off his rocker again.  This time, he wants to grab the headlines of the fundamentalist community by claiming expertise in the area of food.

Food and its close cousin, health, is a very important subject in fundamentalism.  At any church, you can find an old lady guru who knows everything about the body.  Oh, you have Lyme Disease?  Grab a bottle of lavender oil and spread it on the rash.  Asthma!?  Easy.  Fill a pot with boiling water, drop a bunch of soft mullen leaves in, and then breathe in the steam.  Strain out leaves and drink the tea.  But, nothing in life will be sane unless you own and run at least seven church lady approved ozone machines throughout your home.

But Dougy isn’t satisfied with the ole’ church lady guru – yes, Betty Funk from Normandale Baptist Church in Bloomington, Minnesota, I’m thinking of you – fondly of course.  He wants to be the man.  So, he is gathering a bunch of “professionals” in the area of…um…food, and making a conference of it.

In his absurdly worded prayer petition where he claims food issues is the “elephant in the room” (he uses elephant three times in one sentence, looks back over it, then changes “elephant” in the next sentence to “pachyderm”…how do I know this?  I just do.  I know how people think when they write.  You can tell when they Google something too.), Dougy says,

“Once more we walk into the breach of controversy, this time by addressing a very difficult subject fraught with inherent challenges, not the least of which are the potential of error from confusion, extremism, trendism, indifference, apathy, and worse—theological heresy.”

Wow.  Food is a theological issue people.  In fact, it’s so theological, you can be heretical about it.  Sure, he addresses the problem in fundamentalism where diet is a test of fellowship, which is a real problem, but then he turns right around and says,

“[we aspire to battle]…the error of those Christians who believe it improper to even articulate a biblical basis for a theory of food and the family”

If you know the organization of Vision Forum, you are required to be in lock step with whatever Dougy and his cronies dream up to be deemed as spiritual enough to be living a holy life.  Dougy is pretending that he cares about the “test of fellowship” problem when, in reality, he perpetuates it.

Then, D. Boy goes on to describe the problem further,

“We gather to battle statism, Marxism and the last fifty years of man-centered manipulation of the food supply, contrary to both wisdom and applicable biblical precepts. We gather to battle the assault on the family table and the once robust Christian household culture, …radical egalitarianism and individualism, the tyranny of entertainment addiction and technological overload, and the poverty of the fast-food lifestyle”

All that from food, Dougy Boy?  Really? 

I see Dougy now, sitting out in a field, on his knees, praying for God to grow a plant.  Seriously, how can agriculture not be man-centered?  Since the 1800’s, the world has learned to grow food exponentially better than their ancestors and yields have increased so dramatically, we can do things like feed the world’s poor, use crops for alternative fuels, lessen the effects of famine and drought, create hardier crops to be able to grow them in historically off-limits growing zones, along with many more societal benefits.

But, of course, that’s not his point.  Everything evil in life, according to Dougy and his ilk, stems from the breakdown of the family – an epidemic he has created in his follower’s heads.  As many young people are finding out now, his rules and guilt trips run them far away from the judgmentalism that is his ideal lifestyle.  Many families that follow his stupid ideas are being ripped apart at the seams.  Parents are rejecting their “backslidden” children and young adults are moving on without their love and support.  Many of them are hurt – which Dougy defines as “bitter” so his sheep can look the other way in pompous, arrogant piety.

Dougy finishes off with a flare,

“…we aspire to rekindle the vision for food and family culture as a God-appointed tool for transforming culture and restoring the family to its place of influence in the lives of the next generation”

Gawrsh!  How many god-appointed tools do we need?  He already has sex, modesty, female insubordination, church vision, family, baby squirting factories, home births, midwifery, spanking, single income families, voting restricted to males, and on and on.

In truth, this new thrust of Dougy’s (sorry, he probably has banned the word “thrust” from his book of holy words) is simply another way to exercise total control over his followers.  Worse than that, it is simply another way for his sheep to deem themselves superior to the evil bastards they find themselves forced to cohabitate with in this fleeting life.

You know who I’m talking about, Dougy.  The little bastards who grow your food so you can sell crap in your Vision Forum store and not lift a finger to a plow.

Have a popsicle, Dougy Boy.

A Case for Universal Health Care - From Real Life, Not Theory

Melissa at Permission to Live wrote a very good piece about her experience with government run health care while living in Canada.  It's from the perspective of her real life experience, rather than theory spouted as talking points from politicians who have no clue what they are talking about.

My favorite line in this article:

"I found out that religious rights were still respected. The Catholic hospital in the area did not provide abortions, and they were not required too."

Just like you wouldn't take any marital or child-rearing advice from Bill Gothard (who has never been married or had any kids), nor would you take advice from Mickey Mouse on how to sing bass, listening to a book-learned individual about real, day to day experiences that he or she has never lived through, should be avoided at all costs.

Give it a read!

How I Lost My Fear of Universal Health Care

Friend Me On Facebook

I'm snarky, sassy, thoughtful (I think), sappy, dripping with love for my bride, and all around fun (I've been told) on Facebook.  When I post something, I expect 115 comments at a minimum.  I love discussion, debate, other viewpoints, and pretty much anything to do with women, beer, religion, family, kids, life, well...anything (and in that order, but really only very good beer).

Yes, I'm shallow.  But join the fun if you so desire.

Love,

I. C.

Has My Writing Affected Your Beliefs or Outlook on Life?

Blogging, for me, isn't so much about splaying my thoughts onto a page, spitting them into the wind, whether or not they stick to anything.  Rather, it's an outlet for me to reach people that I would otherwise cower from in person.

I want my words to matter to you.

When I write about my family, I want you to laugh, cry, bristle in incredulity, take some thoughts to heart, and maybe even provide me with some constructive criticism and helpful aids.  When I write about religion, I want my readers to read, process, and maybe even expand their belief system.

Again, I want to be relevant.

So, here's the question.  Have I been?  Has anything I have written since I began blogging in February, 2011 mattered at all to you?  Do you look at religion differently?  Are you more knowledgeable in biblical matters?  Does agnosticism hold any value to you at all?  How about family?  Do you own your mistakes and your past and look ahead and love and enjoy what you currently have?

I'd love to know that I am not writing to the choir.  While that sells ads, books, and the like, the true satisfaction for me would come from one person - yes, just one - telling me that I have changed their minds on something - even if it is simply that they like heavy beer now, rather than Coors Lite horse pee.

Love,

I. C.

Hit Me With Religion

To all who have wanted to for many moons, now is your chance.  Hit me with anything religious in the comments under this post.  I have muzzled myself from writing anything religious until 7PM CST tonight, July 6th.

Enjoy!

Target Parking Lot at 100 Degrees

"Honey, we can't go swimming until I get Renaya a new swimsuit and Frederic some flip flops.  Just drop me off at Target and wait in the parking lot.  It'll be quick."

Um...we're talking about buying a swimsuit here, not a gallon of milk.  Kristine made this announcement the minute we drove out of our driveway to drive three hours north to Lake Milacs to enjoy its warm, green, and fishy waters.  Being that I love my wife more than anything this side of the Mississippi, I happily obliged.

Dropping Kristine of at the door of the big box store, I noticed some shade trees across the fairly new parking lot.  The trees were in the middle of one of those concrete parking lot thingamajigs that are there to make the mass of asphalt look nice.  This one was filled with rocks and wood chips.  I drove over to it, opened all the windows and doors to the van, welcoming in the 100 degree heat, and kicked the kids out into the elements.

Laura (8) grabbed a few books, walked over to one of the trees, leaned her back against it, and began to read out loud to whomever would lend an ear.

Jack (3) hopped out of the car with Go-Gurt in hand, took two step, and tripped on the absolutely flat and perfectly level parking lot.  His blue yogurt spurted all over the place, leaving a weepy and dejected little man with a scraped up knee.  I scooped him up as he began to cuss out a crack that he had "tripped on", grabbed the first aid kit, squirted some anti-bacterial gel on the scrape, and slapped a Band-Aid on the spot.  He hopped down and ambled over to Laura, sat down, picked up some rocks, and began throwing them out onto the tar.

Analisse (2) jumped out of her car seat and out onto the lot in one leap.  She ran around for a while, balancing gracefully on the concrete curb.  After a bit, she saw something she wanted and headed for the back of the van.  I watched her go, checked for traffic and turned to Laura who had just asked me how to read a word.

The second I looked away, I heard a thud of metal on skull and a scream.  It wasn't one of those screams where a kid is obviously hurt, but simply a very peed off type of high-pitched yell.  I whipped my head around to see Analisse laid out on her back beside the van, staring up at the metal bumper and yelling at it at the top of her lungs.  I ran over to her and scooped her up into my arms and helped her yell at it, kicking it once, then kissed her head about twenty times.  I finally walked her over to Laura and she sat down beside the other two, still lightly yelling at the van.

I think my kids need two things - glasses and anger management.