Jesus is coming. Or not.

You know how I said that Jesus is late for his appointment???  Personally I think he’s a no show.  The Kingdom of God and the Immanence of Christ are right here, right now.  You may call it something else, but you can’t wait for Jesus; he’s already here.  That’s why I always thought the Rapture was bad theology; it’s just an excuse to sit on your ass (among many, I have my own excuses and I don’t need yours) while the poor suffer.

Now we know why Jesus is late!

When he finally makes it past the abortionist’s curette, the Christians will claim this is his second visit, and the Jews will get all stabby because they will say this is the first time he came to the party.  The Muslims won’t take any proof that either group offers, even as Messiah chews through Jerusalem like Taz on crystal meth (remember he promised us a sword… when he bails on the Temple and starts pulling prostitutes out of their cribs and healing their AIDS, and then publicly blasting the rabbis for their lack of care of the poor, what a glad day that will be!!!)  And Isa PBUH (Jesus, Yeshuah) is a Messiah for Muslims, he’s just not the son of God, just to make it even more confusing.  Crazy times.

The essentials of messianic thought in Judaism. Ganked from Wikipedia, sorry.

Belief in the eventual coming of the moshiach…is part of the minimum requirements of Jewish belief. In the Shemoneh Esrei prayer, recited three times daily, we pray for all of the elements of the coming of the moshiach: ingathering of the exiles;

*ed note… Bonnie, Alan, are you guys going to live in Israel soon? If you can hold off, I’d like that.

restoration of the religious courts of justice;

*ed note. Bleaugh.  Because, you know, justice for women and children sucks SO BAD.

an end of wickedness, sin and heresy;

*ed note; right about then I started breathing again, because at this rate the Messiah can only return in the middle of a wasteland, the rest of us having croaked.

reward to the righteous;

*dunno what that means, but it sounds good

rebuilding of Jerusalem;

*urban renewal as a religious prescription?  Kewl.

restoration of the line of King David;

*Read King Jesus on that topic, yes indeedy.

and restoration of Temple service.

*once again, urban renewal mashup with religion.  And it sounds like a Tweet from translink.ca. Interesting. But with all of these restrictions, I don’t need to worry about a Jewish Messiah any time soon. After all, in the days of the Apostles, they said it would be any minute, but that just reminds me of a joke, “God is it true that to you a thousand years are like a minute and a million dollars is like a penny?”  “Yes, my child.” “Can I have a penny?”  “Just a minute.”

Ah, religion!  My fave.

Plotting and planning

Coffee’s up, I’ll go grab it in a minute…. here’s my New Year wishes….

Revellers, depart with care
From chill 2009
2010’s embrace may be
Nowhere near as fine
Approach with caution, friends close by
and plans all carefully laid.
Some depart this year with glee
And some with great cost paid.
Unemployment, lack and dearth
Attend some of us nightly
Easy, then, to love the earth
and live upon it lightly.
And to your fellow creatures be
as kindly as you may
And blessed be in all you seek
Next year in work and play.

Jeff gets a half day off, which is pleasant.  We’ll probably find something appropriate to watch.

I made turkey soup with barley, and butter turkey (store bought sauce) yesterday.  It was yummy.  So, no boring roast turkey in the fridge, yes; it has all been transformed back in the food…  I can hear Catherine chiding me with amusement, as I put bread stuffing in the bird and that does not improve the stock.  Next year for sure I will do the stuffing on the side.  There’s less waste and better stock, so I will do as she advises.

I will make my New Year Resolutions again; I feel like Pinky and the Brain.  “Same thing we do every night…”

Brain empty, repost

Keith sent me the following email, so I am reposting it.  The apple don’t fall far from the tree, as a rule.

A Regular Canadian Family.

… Aren’t they cute? Not even remotely.

Check this out: Montreal mafia Don’s son killed

This is so awesome I have to write some of my take on the yarn.
The dead guy is the son of a man named Vito Corleo-excuse me Rizzuto. Vito is doing a stretch in the USA for racketeering, and quote “being present at” unquote the murder of three made men in 1981. Vito is due to be handed back over to Canadian authorities in 2012.
This guy’s Wikipedia page is unbelievable. Apparently the Montreal Mafia is huge. As will be the likely response to the slaying of Nick Rizzuto. These guys have a larger geographical territory than any of the legendary/mythical Five Families, and apparently while nominally under the Bonnanno banner, the Rizzuto rival any Families in money and influence.

The cherry on the cake for me is the fact that Vito may in time be extradited to Italy in connection to- what do I hear? Murder? Nope. Extortion? Nuh-uh. Bribery of public officials? Not even close. Alleged money laundering in the finances of a public works project to build a fucking bridge. From Sicily to mainland Italy.

All we need now is a witch doctor to resurrect Mario Puzo, so he can make a movie out of this man’s story. Or maybe the crew that made Bon Cop Bad Cop could do it.

Disorienting day

The transit trip out to Richmond left me in broadloom biting mode, with extra rantiness, so the less vented the better.  Harley the Akita Lab cross still loves me, which was nice.  There was much conversation and a bite or two of yummy Japanese food.  I was home by 7 o’clock, my new beau gave me a lift back.  I have discovered in my little heart a great fondness for Foghat, that old Canadian band.  I know it’s insane, but when I hear that music I feel happy.

Jeff and I then watched Wolverine.  I’ll watch Hugh Jackman sleepwalk his way through a v.crappy script anytime.  He was so buff he didn’t look real.

I accidentally locked Eddie in my room all day.  I am officially a bad housemate.

Oh, no, I feel a rant coming on

All creativity comes from God? You have GOT to be kidding me.  Yes, the article is about something else, but that was the quote that caused my bowels to rumble and my breath to catch.

Creativity does not come from God.  Creativity is definitely affected, channeled, restricted or liberated by belief or unbelief in God, gods, fairies, the Kraken, lil green tentaclechicks and Eric Northman, but creativity is an inside job.

I have spent an entire lifetime, well, since I wrote my first song at the age of eight, thinking about creativity.  What is it? Where does it come from?  Where does it go when it’s gone?  What is it for?  How does one define it broadly enough so that it’s accurate and narrowly enough so that it’s useful?  Who gets to call what’s creative creative?

Are animals creative?  If they are . or aren’t . what does their activity say about human creativity?

I will take a stab at a definition.  I didn’t look at a dictionary first or wikipedia, so forgive me if this sounds clueless or twee.

Creativity is a normal behaviour in which a human being applies what he or she knows or intuits about the world to a novel situation; this creativity may be a thought or it may make an appearance in the world. When this application is successful it’s called creativity; when it’s unsuccessful it’s called a failure or an experiment.  It’s all creativity but the reaction to the results is different.

All creativity is rooted in preference.  If you take six dogs, or six cats, or six orangs, or six people, and ask them to state or make plain their food preferences, you will see that all of them, given choices, will zero in on what they genuinely prefer, or on what they think the other critters want (the whole I didn’t want it until you wanted it thing that I see play out at the food dish every day).  The basic building blocks of creativity are being used the minute an individual thinks “I want….”

There are three levels of creativity.  One is mechanical and we share it with higher mammals (and corvids, and cephalopods and many psittacines).  It is the application of physical objects in the physical world to achieve a particular survival goal, or acquire some preferred item.

The second level is where most of us play.  It happens when we do, think, make or physically embody something new, having learned the mechanics, or basics, of some human skill.  nautilus3 claims my song writing is somehow superior to her quilting, but they are much of a muchness.  Once she knew how to quilt, she got better and faster at it.  Once I knew how to write songs I got better and faster at it; the principle didn’t change.  Songwriting comes out of the place where math meets speech and emotion.  Drumming comes out of the place where math meets movement (along with dance and cheerleading).  Quilting comes out of the place where math meets colour and texture. (nautilus3 STILL hasn’t done a Penrose tiling quilt, no matter how many times I hint…).

The third level is where people make a category concept error and ascribe the product of human intelligence to God.  It is creativity, but of a completely different and novel kind.  Truly novel, not merely accomplished or polished or worthy of study for technical excellence.  In order to be set among the blessed roster of human genius, you must think, and cause to appear clearly, an entire discipline.  For example, the first human being who taught himself to knap flint; the human who took that knowledge and made herself a baby sling because she’d given birth to twins and couldn’t tote both of them (think how she was without other resourceful females at the time and you’ll see how it happened).  One invented a new class of tool and weapon; the other invented a method of making sure she got enough food while she was nursing two younguns.  Playful younguns.  Curious, greedy and helpless younguns; the type who inspire their parents and elders to spend a lot of time thinking about how to keep them safe, how to keep them well, how to keep them fed. Remember, every proto human who formed a thought which resulted in one of his or her descendants living to breeding age skewed our DNA; remember, every living human being had an ancestor who went through a cheetah style reproductive bottleneck, and only the most adaptable, creative, tough and cooperative humans made it through, what with the climate going ass over teakettle, the food supply altering dramatically and the requirement to move quickly and efficiently through all kinds of terrain while encountering new threats and predators pushing down on the weak, slow and sickly.  Creativity in human beings is so obviously one of the differences between humans and our kin that we forget that it TOO is an adaptation.  The best of all possible adaptations, although, for the sake of the planet, maybe not so good. Creativity can also be directed to the invention of derivatives of asset backed securities and the use of mercury in precious metal mining.

The human who systematized hunting and alarm calls for his troupe and nudged humans towards language; the human who mastered fire and invented cooking; those were the creative geniuses.  These days people apply the word genius with gay abandon; I only apply it people who create a new discipline.  James Cameron is a really good director, but he isn’t a genius.  He has not created a new discipline; he has given himself entirely to a discipline which is well established, the art of storytelling through film.  To create a new discipline is not merely to be creative; it is to light, with the torch of reason, an entire area of human capacity WHICH WAS NOT VISIBLE BEFORE and to transfer the capacity to the judgment and use of the world.  Einstein was a genius.  Edison was a genius (also a thief, thug and anti-Semite).  Marie Curie was a genius.  Why?  ‘Cause after they pointed something out, everybody could see it.  Before they pointed it out, it didn’t exist.  Somebody had to invent calculus and it’s a good thing, too, because the internet wouldn’t exist without calculus. (Because the sciences which support all these packets flying around would be crippled without it).   If you read the Wikipedia article about calculus, about ten dudes from a multitude of cultures contributed to the foundations upon which calculus was built; but it took two guys, Leibnitz and Newton, to create a useful discipline.  But, as I was saying, the discipline wasn’t there before. That is true creativity.

As much as I enjoy songwriting and am proud of my output, it’s second order creativity.  It’s true that nobody had to show me how to do it; that’s a natural gift.  It’s like watching Wayne Gretzky skate in his back yard when he was 4.  The combination of encouragement (or in my case, benign neglect, while surrounded by the most glorious voices in folk music as I was growing up) and innate talent (I was harmonizing when I was tiny, because harmonizing is something I do without thought or effort) makes the application of skill to novel situations look effortless.  However, nothing I’ve done has expanded song writing; all of the major elements of everything I do was either codified or made traditional somewhere between 500 and 1000 years ago.   Wayne Gretzky, for talent, love of the game and character, is a model hockey player, but he’s not a genius; his creativity, like mine, colours inside the lines.

Nothing anybody can say to me will make me believe that God is guiding my hand when I write songs.  It is true that I am sometimes flabbergasted by how fast and how strong it do come on sometimes, but I’m also flabbergasted by how badly I can lose my temper in a short period of time, or how fast I can assemble a tasty meal, or respond to someone else’s quip.  When it goes well, it goes as fast as the human mind and body can carry it, but that goes for everybody.  The trick is having a sense of humility about the whole thing.  Somebody invented a system for me to write down songs; until I come up with a better way of doing it (and by god, I hate the system we have now), I’m a 2nd order creative determined to sign my own work.  There’s no shame in that, but twould be a shame indeed if I asked God or the Tooth Fairy to take the credit.

OOPPPS

Went to the wrong church.  Church is at the Gathering Place today.  Since I was already late for church if it was in Sapperton, I wasn’t going to drive to Coquitlam to be late there as well.  Sigh.  I suppose this is a sign from God that I should clean the kitchen.

Oh, well

I would have been a lot happier if Katie had deigned to show up for Christmas dinner, but I am reminded of the comment regarding 50 dollars and Kid Shelleen, so I’ll just leave it at that.  He that hath ears, let him hear.  At some point I should deliver her housemates’ presents.

We’re having a bit of an Aaron Sorkin fest and working our way through Sports Night.  We also re-watched Bon Cop Bad Cop, this time with Keith, who loved it (and why not, it’s a simply adorable action flick that dances with enthusiasm with every single buddy cop movie trope). After they were playing Borderlands in co-op mode. The soundtrack for that game ROCKS, I want to download it.

My new beau is hanging with his kids so I am free to go to the housefilk @ Cindy’s this afternoon and stay late.  So, church in the morning and filk in the afternoon.  It should be a musical day. Now to sweet talk Jeff into letting me borrow the car.

There is garlic/basil/scallion bread in the breadmaker right now; it will be ready in a couple of hours.

Paul’s visiting Lois and Bob.

Jeff wandered around the house yesterday continuing to seal leaky windows and doors.  It’s been quite cold, even for December; every morning there is a skin of frost on everything.  I heard foghorns on the river at 3 this morning; that and my back woke me up.