Apparently there is an app for that. But not for this.
From the desk of: “Are you kidding me??” comes this news item:
For the last couple of years of app madness the tagline, “Is there an app for that?” has become a pop cultural (though amusing) cliché. There is now even a website called App for that. [My favorite: “If your reading this, there’s an app for that.”] Anyhow, the tech industry’s version of “That’s what she said” has taken me to the point where I am rarely impressed by the notion of there being an app for that, let alone caught up in the melee to investigate the possibility that there may actually be an app for that. And with the release of the confession app, the big fellas at the Vatican were impressed, caught up in the melee, and getting a little uppity.
Or at least, that’s what [Confession: A Roman Catholic app] said.
But the Vatican seems to be a little slow on the uptake [shocker]. There are others, including Confession Booth, and it appears that some in the church think that any repentance is good repentance. Apparently the app “It leads you through an “Examination of Conscience” to help you figure out what your real sins are,” which I find really reassuring. I mean, if my iPhone cannot tell me when I am approaching the red-zone of immorality, what or who else could? For those of you who are really treading unholy ground, here is a little quiz you can take here to determine if you are bound to be a saint or a sinner [no pressure.] Cue Billy Joel –> I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints… the sinners are much more fun… After all that is where I learned about Catholicism in the modern vernacular:
You got a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation
You got a brand new soul
And a cross of gold
But Virginia they didn’t give you quite enough information
You didn’t count on me
When you were counting on your rosary…
Really, I am not so sure why the Papal panties are all in a twist over this. If the purpose of confession is for Catholics to metacognitively evaluate their behavior, it seems like a useful concept. Of course, if the purpose has more to do with the little man behind the curtain, then…
Do you realize??
Do you realize
That you have the most beautiful face?
Do you realize
We’re floating in space?
I couldn’t help looking across the aisle at the two UMs. They were not traveling together, but because they were UMs they were, of course, set right next to each other. I wondered if they were going from one parent to another parent. Or maybe they were going home from their grandparents’ house. I looked at their quiet faces and the big, awkward UM tags the airlines still hang around their necks. It seemed somehow perfect that I was flying from LAX to SFO, still Unattended, though no longer a Minor, going home from my Grandma’s house for the last time.
How many times had I made this flight, back in the day on PSA, with my UM tags? There would be no way to count. Every summer practically from birth I found myself in The Valley with my grandparents. I think I started making the trip on my own when I was five or six. I continued to go throughout my college career and beyond. But this weekend I had not flown down to The Valley, I had gone to Santa Fe. And this was a different kind of visit. I did everything I could to try to get to Santa Fe to see my Grandma Joan. But I was too late. Or maybe I wasn’t. It is so hard to tell sometimes.
Do you realize
That happiness makes you cry?
The entire weekend was temporally elastic, rubbery, vague, anachronistic… much like the entire experience of Alzheimer’s in many ways. Not all bad. But sad. Sitting in the airport in Albuquerque with my Uncle Patrick and my Aunt Kay today we could not even remember what day it was. When had we arrived? When had we heard? How long had we been here? It was all so surreal.
Only January 17. Just seventeen days into the new year and so much has happened.
Considering the considerate and a consideration of douchebaggery: wordplay and power
A nun lived upstairs from me once.
This is true. Ani Zamba was my neighbor for a year or so when I returned to Hong Kong after a couple of months spent realizing that I was not ready to come back to the US in 2006. Ani used to do teachings in her flat and a lot of the local Buddhist community would come and see her speak. I did not go very often because a lot of times the nature of the group made me uncomfortable. It had little to do with Ani herself and much more to do with the group of people who seemed to flock to her; these people talked so much about how they were spiritual that they didn’t have a whole lot of time to actually practice their craft. Seriously, they were some of the biggest hypocrites I met in Hong Kong, always preaching clean living and lack of judgement and really just being so fucked up and judgemental that they practically smelled toxic. I suppose Ani would have said that these people deserved the most of my compassion. It was just hard because I mostly really wanted to punch them in their pinched up faces. Metaphorically, of course.
Even though I did not spend a lot of time in Ani’s formal teachings, we would talk pretty regularly. She was kind of amazing in her ability to display the kind of compassion that she talked about. She always had a soft spot for Ex#5 even though I am sure she was fully aware of the cloud of bullshit he was living in; she would still listen to him and allow him to experience that load of shit. Ani had a really great sense of humor too, and so I know she understood my issues with her followers, she just realized, way before I ever could have, that their issues were unimportant. They were not about her.
One day I did go up to one of her teachings and as I sat there, a rush of familiarity came over me. I felt like I used to when I sat in Catholic Church with my grandparents, or when I went in to so many churches of so many faiths all around the world. I felt like a poseur. Sometimes that feeling was shameful, like I was trying to pull something over on some sort of supreme being. Sometimes it was colored with jealousy; even if the communion wafers were going to taste like shit, I wanted to be able to go up and get one with everyone else – as a six-year-old the idea of the “host” sounded a lot like “toast”. Sometimes the type of poseur I felt like was totally fraudulent; like why was I standing in front of this Christ-Buddha-Saint-Icon-Tomb looking at it reverently when I was the self-professed Queen of Irreverence, and blocking some other far more devout individual from getting their reverence on?
Sitting in Ani’s place on the floor I felt like I had interrupted an age-old dialog. I moved to the back of the room. But I stayed. Plus, my parents were there and so getting up and leaving would have been triple-embarassment.
I don’t remember much of what Ani said that day. In fact, there is only one thing I do remember. Ani spoke about the power that we give to words, and the choice to embrace them. Like, how if you leave your house in the morning and you are feeling pretty good and someone sees you and says, “Oh my god, what happened? Are you okay? You look so tired…” Suddenly you go from feeling really okay to feeling really not so okay. And nothing has changed. Nothing. The only thing that has happened is that someone has put some words out there – an abstract concept just kicked your ass. In the same vein, you leave your home and someone – a total stranger – stops and says, “My god! You look fabulous!” And equally suddenly your day has just headed off on some magical trajectory – I can almost hear myself saying: ‘Well, this is definitely going to be a good day!’ And there is no difference, Ani said, between the two interaction except for what we take from the exchange, which is entirely based on what weight we give to the words.
I think about this a lot. In fact, I have used the example a lot.
Last night I was sitting at home deliberating about what I wanted to do. I had been out with one person but opted out of joining them in the second phase of their plans, another person who I was supposed to meet had some issue. I was considering meeting another person, but was unsure of the timeline and so I texted a fourth person. What was she doing? You will guess in two seconds who I am with, she replied. I figured she meant Sonny Liston and I was right. Whatevs. The thing that bothered me about this the most is that Sonny and I – according to him – are supposed to be friends. Though his definition of friend is unclear to me. It could be that British thing where he is trying to be polite and says he wants to be friends but in reality he does not and just can’t say that because it would be rude. Either way, I found myself feeling suddenly and decidedly UNgood as I thought back over the rounds of conversation Sonny and I had had over the past few weeks. This was perplexing to me because frankly, I am not really that interested in Sonny. But the fact that his disdain for me is so clear really irks me. [On a phone call, answering, "Sonny Liston's phone," instead of hello, I say, "Oh, I guess I have been deleted," and he says, "No your name came up," and I think to myself, - the man cannot even say hello lest it be interpreted as kindness --> Douche.] I looked around and realized I had gone from a totally fun afternoon and evening with fun people and good energy to being sullen and cranky. Because of words. Abstract, fleeting, wisps of vapor transmitted through fiberoptics and cellular technology. Bizarre.
And then the phone rang again and it was someone else altogether. Was I up for grabbing a beer around 10-ish? I texted my reply, “Certainly.” This person is someone I have known in abstract terms for about six years. We have never been in each other’s physical proximity. Seriously. Still, the shift in my mood was dramatic and clear. I no longer felt irritated by – wait, who? Sonny Liston? Who is that? I was up and excited and ready to go out.
I thought about Ani’s teaching about the power of words. That one person’s words could be such a downer and at the same time someone else’s the total opposite. And the power of the words seems to have no correlation to the nature of the relationship. How is it that the words of a total stranger can often lift you up or knock you down far more effectively than those of someone you have known a lifetime? Or that someone who you have known but a short time can work out such a direct road to Hurtville, when in reality they are not even that significant to you? I suppose because you know that your “lifers” are there forever there is some safety in their words, so they are less traumatizing when they are harsh, and sadly, less euphoric when they are complimentary. Ironic, but true.
I got up and walked out of my building passing two girls who have just moved in as I went out the door. “Hey! You look awesome! Have a great night,” one of them said as I held the door for her. “Thanks,” I smiled back and headed out to meet a long-awaited non-stranger.
{image from here.}
You asked why, I will try to tell you.
Yoga is a process of becoming free from limited definitions of the field of consciousness. ~ Patanjali
I am not sure I can effectively explain the reason behind my interest in and focus on yoga over the past months. I suppose it has been more than a few months, but whatever, no need to be so specific. But I feel sort of compelled to try to articulate it because, well, because then maybe people will quit telling me I am crazy. Or maybe it will only solidify my craziness in their minds, but at least I know I will have made the effort.
I started doing yoga because I needed something to do to take my mind off of things that were becoming increasingly challenging in my life and which I felt were out of my control. It turned out that they were, of course, entirely within my control once I got brave enough to deal with them, but that is not the point here. I had never done yoga, and in fact had thought it was sort of a silly pastime of the less athletically inclined, or people who were trying to be a part of something that rang false (to me). [Yeah, yeah... judgement reigns supreme.] However, my options in Hong Kong seemed to be quite limited with regard to physical activity – dragon boating? Umm, HELL NO. Basketball? Cannot with my work schedule. The Gym? Simply an extension of the LKF meat market that I was ready to avoid forever. So, yoga it was.
And it was good.
I went to a big old huge place where the classes had like 50 people in them. We’ll call it “Mega Yoga.” Not knowing any different I rolled with it and made my way. Slowly. Yoga is really hard if you want it to be. But I immediately noticed that it made me feel better. Like, not just physically, but really shifted my mood noticeably. That seemed like a good thing, all things considered. There were some really good teachers at Mega Yoga, and I felt like I was learning a lot. But the place itself was kind of annoying, and it definitely caters to a tai-tai’s certain type of person that I am not. The vibe was not ideal, but the purpose remained intact.
Then the teachers that I really liked started to leave. One by one they were disappearing and it was clear that things were not going the way I wanted them to go at Mega Yoga. I was not sure what I was going to do. I did not know any of the teachers, like really know them and I am quite sure that none of them had even ever heard my voice – I go to yoga for the practice, not for conversation (which has become an issue on occasion – and I know you all who know me are laughing to think of me as mute, but there you go…) – and so even though I wanted to ask them what was up, I didn’t. Fortunately, my cousin, who is much more forward in circumstances like this and was a member of the same studio did inquire. And on the heels of his inquiry I finally asked one of the teachers, my favorite one, where he was going. It was a funny conversation, like the weird ones where you have seen someone a million times, but still have to introduce yourself. Odd. But, then I got a little bit of the info, he would be going home to India and then to a new studio in a different part of Hong Kong. Hm. Again, not ideal for me and potentially forcing me to deal with change. Damn. But as Vonnegut says, ‘So it goes.’
Of course, I did not remember the name of the place where this teacher was going and I had no idea how I would find it – or him – if I didn’t work it out. And then one morning I decided to get off the bus at a different stop just for variety and walk to work a different way. Randomly. And as I was walking along talking on the phone I believe, I saw the teacher. It was one of those funny moments, like I know my students have when they see me out my classroom context. But there he was. And we stopped and exchanged numbers.
Then he went to India and I went home for month.
It’s the shortest day of the year!
“Call to mind the age-old spaciousness of informed imagination!”
The Winter Solstice occurs exactly when the earth’s axial tilt is farthest away from the sun at its maximum of 23° 26′. This will be at 1:47 a.m. 22 December for those of us in Hong Kong (you can work out when it is for you here.) It is unlikely that I will be awake but I like to know when it is anyhow. I mostly like that from this moment forward the days begin to get longer. Of course this was far more relevant when I lived in the more northern reaches of the mid-latitudes, but even here in the low latitudes one can tell a difference.
I find the orderly mathematics of the universe comforting, and for this reason I like the solstices and the equinoxes. I prefer the equinoxes because I like the idea of equal hours of light and dark (though that is almost par for the course of the entire year in the subtropics…) and also because my birthday falls on the autumnal equinox and March Madness peaks on the vernal. But the drama of the solstices is cool too; they seem like such a turning point in the year, like a tangible marker of time. and with the rate at which time seems to be passing these days, I like to have a little marker on the highway.
Another thing I think is very cool about the solstice is the confluence of superstition and science; tradition and history; Paganism and Christianity; labor and celebration. It is a total mash-up. Most people think all of those things are mutually exclusive, but – as a good buddy and I have decided – mutual exclusivity is so played out, all it is really is a lack of creativity. That being said, how cool to have a day where all these ideas collide and everyone makes the best of it?
But today the scientists mock the believers, and one religion knocks the other, and modern people can’t even tell there is more hours of darkness than normal because they are all lit up like the Griswolds or in the malls…
Everyone likes to celebrate a homecoming and revel in the joyous return of their chosen one, whether it is Sol Invictus, Jesus, your crazy family or spirits in the night. ‘Tis the season, so let ‘em all in. Like Carroll says in his column today, “Knowledge is holy. Season’s greetings.”
It feels like a party…
Jesus H. Christ and Charles Darwin: Together Again
God loves you, but most of the time He thinks you’re acting like a fucking idiot.
~ You Look Great, via Twitter
This year marks the 150 year anniversary of Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection. Known generally as The Origin of Species, this work is described by many as a seminal work of science forming the foundation of evolutionary biology. There is much confusion about the nature of Darwin’s ideas by people who tend to follow headlines rather than read, but basically, he described a phenomenon whereby changes occur in species based on natural selection of superior traits. You know, like gills, or tails, or bad-assed jaws, or say, opposable thumbs. Of course logic dictates that Darwin may have been suggesting that we evolved from *gasp* other animals, like say, oh, monkeys. But he doesn’t really come out and say that. He presents a case that looks at the changes and similarities in species over time. I understand that my philosophical background may predispose me to agreeing with Darwin’s ideas, but they seem pretty logical to me. I certainly have an easier time buying his theories, even without irrefutable concrete evidence, than I do believing that there was one guy, and then from his rib was created another. But that is just me.
Perhaps atheism is the new black.
I said a while back that I thought cynicism might be the new black since everyone was rushing to get their sardonic on. Now I am wondering if the new black is actually atheism. It certainly seems to be all the rage these days. And by rage, I do mean RAGE. I used to think that atheists were interesting and far preferable to agnostics because at least an atheist has made a commitment. But as it goes with so many cool concepts… I think it is getting a little played out… if not downright hypocritical… a lot like the dogmatic targets of their ire.
Exhibit A: Richard Dawkins and his diagnosis of delusion
Dawkins purports that: belief in a personal god qualifies as a delusion, which he defines as a persistent false belief held in the face of strong contradictory evidence. Correct me if I am wrong, but that just seems like name calling at this point. And the thing is that approximately 90% of people on the planet believe in some kind of god (or if they don’t they are members of a religion that says they do, which seems to be a lot of trouble to go to if you do not.) That’s a lot of people to be delusional… not that it is impossible, just seems… like a lot to prove.
Frankly, I think there are a lot better reasons to call people delusional than a belief in some sort of god. How about people who wear white pumps and think it looks good? Or people who think that the war on terror is actually a war that warrants suspension of habeas corpus? What about all those people who are seriously vested in the outcome of American Idol or think that The Hills is real? Talk about delusion.
Exhibit B: The Atheist Buses in the UK
Now, I thought these bus advertisements were very amusing… that is when I believed they were being tongue in cheek rather than dogmatic, which in the end, it turns out they are. Remember Martin Luther? The first one? Well, he said humans actually had the ability to work it out on their own. Like ’cause they could read good ‘n’ stuff. Suddenly the atheists are every bit as rant-y as the zealots and that seems pretty self-defeating. I have to say that the guy who refused to drive the bus with the ad seems to me like he was just looking for a good way out of work… I mean come on… if it had had one of those tits and ass Armani ads would he have refused on the grounds that it is mildly pornographic and certainly incompatible with conservative Christian ideals? Doubtful.
As a general rule, by the time you can buy the t-shirt you are probably a bit of a cliche (think of all those “Same Same But Different” shirts in Thailand – ouch.)
Exhibit C: The Demand For Proof
The idea that there cannot be a god of any sort because it cannot be proved seems a little short sighted and generally arrogant to me. There are lots of things that I take on faith, and I don’t consider myself particularly religious… Like I believe that my parents love me. Can they PROVE this? I dunno. I believe that crappy things will eventually happen to crappy people. (Yes, I also KNOW that crappy things happen to good people – but there is no scientific reason why this should happen either.) I believe that there are certain things that happen in the world (and in my daily life) that are simply beyond explanation. I know Mr. Dawkins would call me delusional (I doubt he would be the first) but to think that anything that doesn’t have empirical, irrefutable proof is impossible seems frighteningly limited and boorishly arrogant.
Which brings me to my last point, Exhibit D: The Obtuseness of Arrogance
George Bernard Shaw said, The fact that a believer is happier than a skeptic is no more to the point than the fact that a drunken man is happier than a sober one. The happiness of credulity is a cheap and dangerous quality. And I have to say, I agree… this has always been one of my primary complaints about organized religion. But atheism is it’s own belief and Shaw’s sentiments could easily be applied to any number of sheep-like tendencies among humanity in addition to organized religion. Now, I don’t want all the atheists to get their knickers in a twist over my calling atheism a belief… but really, what is it if it is not? Don Hirschberg said, calling Atheism a religion is like calling bald a hair color. Maybe so Don, but bald is still certainly a style and definitely something we would use to describe you and likely something you would be a bit defensive about. Sounds like, err… religion.
Personally, I like Carl Sagan’s approach to the whole concept a la Contact; the idea that somehow there must be a way that the empirical nature of science and the experiential nature of faith overlap. To think that somehow we know all the answers to all the questions or we have the potential to do so is incredibly ambitious – to the point of being pretentious. And in the words of the late Daniel Boorstin: I have observed that the world has suffered far less from ignorance than from pretensions to knowledge. It is not skeptics or explorers but fanatics and ideologues who menace decency and progress. This is not about religion, it is about mental lassitude.
All four of my points above could as easily be describing religious fanatics as atheists… the parallels are freakish. It reminds me of what a therapist told me once that what pisses us off the most in others is that which characterizes ourselves.
I am still not sure where I fall on the spectrum of belief, I like the idea that there are larger forces at work in my life and in the universe. I don’t think it makes me stupid or delusional. I like a nice glass of wine too, does it make me an alcoholic? In the big picture I believe that it is totally cool to embrace things that make you happy… and for someone to tell me that the thing in question isn’t really making me happy because it doesn’t really exist, well… I don’t know… Ever heard of unrequited love? You feel it, and you alone. Bummer. But does the fact that it is not reciprocated make it less real?
I definitely have my share of issues with religion, and like Mike Fuhrman, “I refuse to believe in a god who is the primary cause of conflict in the world, preaches racism, sexism, homophobia, and ignorance, and then sends me to hell if I’m ‘bad’. But who says there’s only one choice? Stephen F. Roberts said, “when you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours.” I say fair play. And in the same vein, the atheists should stop taking themselves so seriously and learn to be a little more tolerant of the 90% of the world population that disagrees with them… until then I am putting them on the backburner with all the people who railed against me for saying I didn’t support Israel, the anti-choice people, the Propostion 8 Supporters, and all those people who have killed in the name of some god… right next to those who have killed in the name of no god.
I wonder what next season’s black will be… Any ideas?
[All atheist quotations came from here.]
Blogobssession
So, I am relatively new to blogging… like how bloggers do for general consumption and commentary and dialog. In fact I find that I am easily overwhelmed by the whole process and hardly do the authors of my favorite blogs justice with timely and interesting commentary (though, of course, I want everyone to comment on mine…) I started blogging playing around on MySpace back in the day, mostly for my friends and for travel journals. But those days a re long gone… now I have my own blog and I am obsessed.
I wish I could say this obsession was with writing. But no. My obsession is statistical. I am amazed at all of the ways you can analyze your blog. I check religiously to see how many hits I have attracted, comments, pingbacks, etcetera. Being rather new at this I am generally satisfied with any incremental increase, but I fear this bodes ill for the future. What happens if I fall back into the abyss of *gasp* private writing???
Amanda
