I am contemplating atheism, yet again, it being a topic of much importance to me. Stay with me, because my chain of reasoning here is more slender than Ann Coulter.
Right now, I laugh at your holy books.
But in a hundred years, you will be able to laugh at mine. It will be old fashioned, full of assumptions no longer in the slightest true, and neither realistic nor edifying. Just like your book. I am quoting myself to say that “The Bible’s truth to me is not the truth of its history and laws, but of its poetry and narrative.” My book, whether putatively fact or tentatively fiction, will look the same to the most rabid Christian. Laughable. Simply because a hundred years have gone by.
So why can’t I laugh at your 4000 to 1900 year old books? Ain’t they out of date? Tired, even?
Just asking.
Played Brooke vs John for Mike in the car today, he liked it. Got a compost bin (about frakking time, tahellja) and sigh a hammock for Jeff and I to laze about in. So when I realized I could no more work today than fly to the moon (although I did put an hour in on Grieg before I gave it up to do something more interesting) I IM’d with Mike, found out he’d broken up with Heather (O.0) and then spent a good chunk of the day with him, first stopping off at Still Creek to acquire and then drop off a compost bin. Then… tooling about to a surplus joint where I dropped 15 whole dollars and ended up with a recorder, a glasses case, a shower head and a campstove. Yeepsh. Then off to Canadian Tire where I watched a very quiet Asian chick get escorted civilly out in handcuffs, this after saying to Mike under my breath, “What the farce are three cop cars doing here?” and Mike said, just as quietly, “Shoplifter.” Found the hammock after some casting about, and then Mike got his hot springs shoes and a foamy for the spring itself, so you can lie in it at your ease without scuffin da skin offen yo’sef. Everytime I see pictures of it, I just don’t get a sense of what it’s really like. I saw pictures of Hot Springs at Hesquiat for years before I ever went there. Oh, and Mike tells me that BATHING SUITS must be w0rn at all times. I’ll make mine so worn I pop right out of it. No I won’t. I won’t go. I am feeling a desperate need to stay home, and will give in to the urge.
I send loving energy to all the people I know whose love relationships are over or in terrible, terrible peril. Couple of candles too.
Saw Irina Palm. LOVED every minute of it.
Ate at the Balkan House. Loved every minute of that, too. I hadn’t had a good schnitzel since Toronto. What put me in mind was reading about Czehoski’s in the Toronto Star, and that made me think of Toronto, and its many culinary delights. The Maharani on Queensway, which by a miracle is still there; Bumpkins is long gone of course, but many o many were the times we ate ourselves silly and happy there, and Tony was SUCH a doll… the Szechuan place on Spadina, whose name escapes, where the owner lost his licence and dispensed beer in teapots while he sweated out a six month suspension. And he used to parade up and down between the tables with two crossed bandoliers full of fake projectiles. Colourful, I believe the word is. HUGE aquarium in the front of the restaurant, like really, almost floor to ceiling, big. The soft ice cream place way the hell and gone in Mississauga, out along the Lakeshore, so far out we had to pass in the shadow of the Four Sisters to get there (the stacks for the coal fired generators). The Golden Griddle, the breakfast buffet place at the Etobicoke Toronto border the kids used to tease us to go to.
Mmmm. Breakfast. I haven’t done an all out breakfast in ages. And without eggs or milk in the house, that age will age yet more.
Off to see Kopper tomorrow. I know exactly what has derailed me, and I think a good dose of girlfriend will fix it.
