Practice tonight for church on Sunday

I’ll be heading over to Tom and Peggy’s for practice tonight, and I’ll be rehearsing my own part separately earlier in the day.

I really want more acrylic paint.  I kinda emptied out the black tube…

I’m about 1/3 of the way through the connecting writing and book assembly… first bit is off to La mOm this morning.

Katie is still pregnant.

The Ebola patient in Texas was sent home with antibiotics.  At least 80 people have been exposed.  He was put in the ambo vomiting on everything.  I don’t know what makes the CDC think they’ll have no difficulty stopping the infection.  It’s shit like this that makes me never want to leave the house.

2020 says what a putz allegra is

 

Oh well some other time maybe

Yesterday it was church, during which I ran around like a fool after a toddler, and then Mike came over in the afternoon and we had a long talk about what’s going on with him, and then I went to Theology Pub.  It was rotating discussion groups.  I enjoyed myself but I don’t think I’ll be going back.  I can’t explain why and keep my UU principles intact, so I’ll just backspace over about three hundred words worth of high pressure whining and put a good spin on it. The turnout was spectacular though, at least twenty people came and the gender balance was much better than normal. There were more people from South Fraser Fellowship.

Tonight Katie is cooking dinner for her dad’s birthday. Paul turns 65 today.  He’s going to work until the last possible moment; he’s not retiring, or so he says, for at least another couple of years.

 

Church and PUB NIGHT

Man, I hope I remember a can for the food bank. I always seem to forget them. The most exciting thing today is that there is going to be a Theology pub night!!  It’s actually someplace easy to get to and from on transit, so that’s what I will do.  From the facebook page:

 

SOMETHING NEW

WHAT: Theology Pub Nights at Central City Brewing Pub and Restaurant, 13450 102 Avenue Surrey, close to the Central City Sky Train Station (see map below).

WHEN: Second Sunday of the month at 7pm, starting September 14th
Sept 14 topic: Where is God in our lives? Anywhere, everywhere, none of the above?

 

Unsettlement

There are a lot of people suffering from mental illness and I am lighting a candle for comfort, hugs and clarity for all of them.

I am waiting for a package from India.  I have no interview clothes (the last two dresses now have teeny holes in them) so I ordered some.  Had no idea it was going to be shipped from India. I hope nobody was oppressed in the manufacture but I likely the boat’s sailed on that.

Katie is only five weeks away from her due date.  Exciting, eh wot?  We spent the money the fOlks gave me on a really nice convertible stroller for her and Malachi, or whatever moniker the wee baby is given.

Church was delightful.  There were so many new faces that the 25 or so of us (half the active church members) who went to the workshop on Saturday were going GUPPA GUPPA GUPPA and of course as much as I wanted to talk to newcomers that was a day I was assisting with coffee and potluck.

And now one more teeny church item and back to writing.

Yay, writing again!

The folks haven’t contacted me about the job I applied for – they wanted my availability for an interview and I guess are too busy to get back to me.  This seems to happen a lot. I hold my breath hoping for good news and don’t get any, and then all of a sudden I realize that I’m supposed to be writing.  Anyway, This Bit is working out well.

King Canute, your agent’s on the other line.

Filking tonight and giving Keith a ride to the ferry in the morning.  Then churchy stuff in the afternoon (another pointless workshop called Focusing on What’s Important, but hey, there will be food), and Water Ceremony on Sunday.  Apparently some money has fallen out of the sky for growth.  I think we should buy a yurt, decorate it loudly, and have church in a different location for a year to go out among the people.  Church in a yurt.  Beautiful. I think I wanna yurt.

Back to Michel and his bad stupid foolish holy crap day (writing).

Why I don’t date, part 49/b.

Guy responds to me liking his profile.  He comes clean about his weight.  I know that it’s a good thing he’s done this and praise his honesty.  I ask him how his feet are and never hear from him again.  All I wanted to do was find out if he can walk half a kilometre on level ground unassisted, and I specifically said I don’t do hills.  I guess that was pushing too hard.

Pleasant visit

The visit with the fOlks was very good and we had a SPECTACULAR trip back.  The wind and the sun were in perfect proportion, and we got chocolate soft ice cream for a snack.  Thank you Paul for subsidizing that trip (pOp too….) and mOm for the baby stuffs. It was fun noodling around Victoria looking for baby stuffs.

Why I love Susan Sarandon. She just so effervescently and totally rocks.

Watched Boyhood.  I really enjoyed it, and then immediately read a black critic’s takedown of it and have to now file the movie under guilty pleasures.  Sigh. Jeff bailed partway through since various characters were being jerks.

Sahara Delights is now in the space Kitty Kate’s Cafe was in.

Went singing at Tom and Peggy’s last night.  The alto part for Word of God is wicked hard.

 

Robin Williams is funnier than me

But he sure inspires me.

My take for UUs:

  1. Well behaved dogs are welcome at service.
  2. You are obliged to believe in dinosaurs.
  3. Male, female, trans* and intersex, God created ’em; male, female, trans* and intersex, we ordain ’em.
  4. You don’t have to check your brains at the door, but we’d be obliged if you don’t snore.
  5. Stand as you are able.
  6. No church in the summer – God trusts you to play safe and have fun.
  7. Free cheese on Sunday.
  8. Unless you’re planning on sewing it yourself, we’re not so much with the pageantry.
  9. You don’t have to swim to participate in the Water Ceremony.
  10. No matter what you believe, there’s bound to be at least one other UU who agrees with you.

Continuing to love on Europe Central

This is the best novel I’ve read since the 40 rules of Love, and it’s a really really different book.  I am finding it enthralling reading. (Except for the typos, and there were a couple of doozies).  Historical characters – snared in conflicting loyalties and pushed to the snapping point time and time again, broken on the wheel of tyranny -command attention from every page.  Superlative.  His prose has the effortful grace of a bird of prey taking off.  He calls Hitler ‘the sleepwalker’.  Yesterday I watched a documentary on the death of Stalin for more background.

Hymn sing yesterday at Tom and Peggy’s was wonderful, and I took a cilantro salad based on the one Sandra taught me.  (oh god, the food she fed me…. it was amazing, stellar, eye popping, wonderful). Two bunches cilantro wash the hell out of them pick them over and chop.  One rinsed can kidney beans, make em yourself if you can. A cup of walnuts, broken up.  Rather more garlic than you would think necessary, minced.  Lemon juice all together maybe three tablespoons.  No salt, no pepper.  I’m also going to try this with parsley.

Jeff and Katie went to Wreck Beach yesterday.  I would have gone, but I put out my knee somehow and every time I go up and downstairs my eyebrows bob up and down and I puff and blow in a most elderly way.

I read mOm what I wrote in Madawaska and she laughed in all the right parts. Now on to more serious bits.  It can’t all be waltzes and comedy.

Sang froid, hot butt

The sang froid is her – she rocks the uneven bars.

The hot butt is me after Paul’s delayed family Indian dinner at Best Quality Sweets on Main St.  I am suffering today, although I didn’t yesterday.  Yes, it’s Too Much Information.  I told Jeff he should be happy there were no leftovers for him or he’d be suffering too.  I noticed neither of the kids put their hands up for the check, but since neither of them read my blog, they won’t feel the rebuke.  For 60 bucks including tip we ate like ogres.  This is a lacto vegetarian restaurant.  The mango lassi was suPERB, the chai tea kinda whatever with weird spice sludge at the end.  I ate so much I had no room for Indian sweets for dessert, which is FULL.

I am about ready to quit being a Unitarian, having reached my load line on denominational bullshit. I won’t of course, it’s just all part of my engagement with the faith.  Nothing’s perfect, including me, and if people want to nice me to death, I can always back away before that last soft word turns into a killing blow.  Also, I am one moody individual, so I just need the mood to die back and I’ll be fine.  A foolish consistency is what’s asked of us when we believe that organized religion is necessary or even possible.

I am NOT a nice person.  I’m nice to my my mother, but so what?  Even the guy who kept two women as sex slaves was nice to his mother.  It’s not a good test…. What I want more than anything else is to keep all my bad behaviours and still be categorized as nice, and that’s when the crazy train really starts to pick up speed.  Woo woo!

Speaking of train whistles, I ran across this article which made me very happy.   My room is at a sonic collection point for train noise (it hits the neighbour’s house, bounces against the garage and then slams into my window) so even though the whistles are 2.5 kilometres away sometimes I feel like I am right on Columbia St.  If NW Council can make it stop I’ll do handsprings.  Mentally of course, I couldn’t even do that when I was little.

There’s a new species of waterbear, from Antarctica.  How sweet is that?

My symphysis pubis spasmed in sympathy.  Ow ow ow ow ow.

 

 

 

unchurch was delightful

/// but I still had to wash dishes, LOL.

I am feeling kind of icky still but definitely better than late last week, when all I wanted to do was take to my bed.

I’ve been practicing a lot. Otto sounds great.  The housefilk on Saturday evening was fun even if I bailed early.  If I was going to sleep over that would have been different. Jeri Lynn and Jeff were there which meant there was cello (SO AWESOME ON THE HERE THEY COME ZOMBIE SONG!!!) and Appalachian dulcimer, which is just the sweetest sounding instrument.

Jeff and I bought another awning and sprayed it with anti UV goop in a hopefully successful attempt to get the material to survive more than four years.

This week… job applications and selling more stuff, I hope. Also a walk around Burnaby Mountain and a quote for a replacement awning.

Theology at the movies… homily from today

 

I have a confession to make.  I love the movies. I read about them, I watch them, I critique them – I even had a bunch of movie reviews published in the early eighties. I’m not as obsessive as some, but I’m a good deal more obsessive than most.  I jumped at the chance to speak about theology at the movies. But then, I realized with a sinking heart, I would have to reveal the great love, verging on mania, that I have for the art form; digital or analog, rotoscoped or all one continuous take, animated or live action or CGI.  I love movies for their pounding soundtracks and their wistful lietmotifs; the energetic and subtle performances of human chameleons; the polish and precision of the planning, technology and execution of a really great shot; the behind the scenes dramas, tempestuous romances and epic legal battles; the way you can watch a really great movie twenty times and appreciate it more with each viewing; the way trashy movies from your childhood can cheer you up in no time; the way a movie that is an all ages cross cultural hit can make everyone feel, however temporarily, like we are all members of the same family.

As Willa Cather remarked in a novel, There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before.  There are a lot of lists of plot types, but to me there are only three.  Human vs. Human, human vs. Self, human vs. Elements. There are story traditions without conflict; the Japanese in particular have perfected ways of making movies in which there’s no struggle, just life and all of its pains, pleasures and changes; they get called art films because ‘nothing happens’.

Every time I hear somebody complain about the repetitiveness of modern movies, I have to laugh.  Recycling plots and characters has been a feature of plays and entertainments for 2500 years.   While a conformity of explosions and cleavage has taken over big budget movies, let us be thankful for the improvements in affordable cinema technology, which have allowed people like actor/writer/director/composer Shane Carruth to bring his visions to the screen with his science fiction movies Primer and Upstream Color.  The drop in cost has allowed poor people and marginalized people to record and document and publicize their lives as Kimberley Rivers Roberts did in the documentary about Katrina called Trouble the Water.  It has allowed us to bring our imaginings to bear on photographs of the deep sea and the forest canopies and the vastness of outer space, and tell new stories with new energy, a firmer grasp of what it is to be human, and less concern with commercial success.  It is now possible to make a movie – a good movie, an interesting movie – for less than it costs to buy a new car.

My love of the movies comes from my parents.  When I was little, my parents had 16 millimeter silent films; Chaplin and Keystone Cops and Laurel and Hardy; they had a sound projector too, so I watched the Weavers sing their songs, including an incredibly young and slender Pete Seeger.  I associated watching films with family bonding time.

These days I ask two things from movies; one is “Can you take me somewhere I haven’t been before?” so that I am removed from my normal concerns and brought into a world I could not have imagined.

This demand for novelty isn’t just ‘show me something new’, but “I wish to be told a compelling story by a confident and competent storyteller.  Take me out of my comfort zone.  Put me in a situation I would never find myself in, and walk with me and the characters.  Avoid the cliches and the tropes and the bad habits of modern filmmaking; no explosions today, thanks.”

The other thing I ask is the very simple, “Tell me your truth.”  If I am to fully live my values, I hope to spend more time asking myself how a particular film is going to bring more compassion, wisdom, or self-knowledge into my life.  In documentaries, I want accuracy and accountability; in fiction I want a story that can be told no other way.  For films which seek to uplift, a clear call to action is part of the experience.

Which is funny, because movies make you sit in one place for a couple of hours.

It’s after the movie is over that the magic really starts.  A good movie makes memories; memories of sitting around the coffee shop after the show and arguing about what the point of the movie was with your friends.  A good movie becomes part of your artistic vocabulary, part of the catchphrases and in jokes of your family.  A good movie is made by people who understand that it’s going to have an effect on your nervous system and they won’t make you pull out your handkerchief without a good reason. A good movie makes you think and feel and stretches you a little, shows you your mental quirks and cognitive biases – and loves you anyway.

How should we watch a movie?  I want to be experiential, not prescriptive.  Nobody wants to watch Old Yeller the week their dog dies, and nobody wants to watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding when they were jilted at the altar.  I really don’t want to tell you what to do; but I do want you to think about your movie watching habits.  Mine have changed quite a bit in the last five years; I watch many more documentaries, and I’m trying to watch movies that have unstuck themselves from the gender norms and racial profiling that pursued us out of the twentieth century and into the twenty-first.

What to do?

One is to stop watching any movie if you think it is a waste of time.  Turn it off.  I frequently stop watching movies that I think are bunk, that are gory or sexist or trite or racist or boring.  I’ve even walked out of movies I paid for.  If we have but one wild and precious life, let’s not watch crappy movies.

Another challenge is to think of a movie not as a piece of entertainment, but as a commentary on our culture.

 What is it REALLY saying?  About gender roles, about love, about violence, about authority, about the ages and stages of the characters?

Whose voices are being heard, and whose voices are on the cutting room floor?

Whose interests are being served by the assumptions that underly the plot and characters?

 What shape is your own humanity in at the end of the film?

Some of you may already know about the Bechdel test, which was invented by Alison Bechdel as part of her amazing comic series Dykes to Watch Out For.  In it, a character says that in order for her to feel comfortable about watching a movie, there have to be at least two named female characters, and they have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around the needs of the leading man.  There are an amazing number of movies which don’t meet this simple feminist test (including a lot of movies I like) but that will just give you an idea of how there can be theological implications in your movie choices.  If you believe in equal rights for women, why not show it at the box office?

One of my theological tests is that I immediately want to stop watching movies which show fathers as stupid, lazy or incapable of appropriately interacting with their own children.  My father wasn’t like that.  My husband wasn’t like that.  If there are fathers in the congregation like that you’ve done a good job of hiding it.  Why spend money to support an outdated and morally bankrupt view of men?  It isn’t funny!

Trust your instincts.  You may not be able to put your finger on or put into words why you find a movie disturbing, or overly commercial, or ugly in some way; but I guarantee that if somehow you object to the moral tone of a movie, you won’t hurt anybody if you refrain from finishing it.  Even if you paid for the movie… hey, maybe you can get your money back.  And if you’re at home, even more reason not to.

Spend your movie dollars differently.  If you have $12 in your pocket for a ‘movie experience’ you might want to consider using that money to fund a documentarian or minority film-maker working on challenging subject matter.  You’ll have to wait longer for your movie, but you’ll be living your values in a different way.

There are a remarkable number of Unitarian congregations who run movie nights on social justice themes, and have really great discussions after the movie to consolidate what’s been learned and felt.  We could do that.  We could rate movies on our facebook pages with a seven star system, one star for each of our principles, letting other Unitarians know when movies meet basic requirements.

Whenever you watch movies, be the part of the audience that stays mindful.  Resist the urge to have some sentimental popcorn and turn off your brain.  When something offends you, respectfully engage with the producers, directors and studio – leave the actors alone, since in most cases they didn’t finance it.  And when something is good, and respects all persons and the world we live in, don’t forget to share it with your friends!

I will let Willa Cather have the last word, since it sums up my fierce obsession with the movies.  “There is no God but one God and Art is his revealer; that’s my creed and I’ll follow it to the end, to a hotter place than Pittsburgh if need be.”

An open letter to J.

who wants all the kinksters to stop promoting BDSM on the UU poly feed.  Best of British luck with that, darlin’.

 

letter begins…

I guess it all depends on whether you consider the uu-poly group to be a place to talk about kink.  I do, but it’s for the moderators to decide, if we aren’t a democracy.

I used to take what I thought was a moral stance on the subject of other people’s wacky sex practices, in line with how I was raised, of course, but once I figured out that what ‘paraphilias’ are, is a normal human response to various kinds of stress, plus wiring, plus repetition, I quit thinking it was necessarily a bad thing.  The moral issue is not whether it’s healthy by a narrow definition, but whether there is genuine consent.  Human beings of their nature have long childhoods and are incredibly social, and so experimentation with hierarchy in terms of dominance and submission is not just normal, it’s inevitable. And along with inevitable, we will get extreme. 

Paraphilias have been defined as a trifecta of sexuality that is extreme and dangerous and abnormal.  Funny thing; I think of rape the same way and yet we have a large constituency of people, both men and women, who think rape is part of the normal course of events – and a desirable one too, as it allows rapists to provide tools of social control for the society at large.
If we want to travel down the path of having our sexuality defined by those who will profit by othering us, then we’re getting off the UU train entirely.

In that regard the kink community has been leading the way for a number of years with an emphasis on consent for scenes. Humans contain a multitude of sexual possibilities and as long as all parties are able to give and obtain agreement for activities my opinion on whether those activities are harmful is just wind.
Paraphilias concerning those who cannot by nature give consent (children, animals, unconscious and disabled, as examples) need a better class of scientists and therapists to figure out what’s going on so it can be controlled for the benefit of all, because the people who came up with the DSM have harmed our culture almost irreparably; each successive iteration has been an object lesson in legitimized othering. I could start raving about the drug companies too and how long it took to get queerness out of the DSM but that rant’s been done better elsewhere.
Paraphilias involving consenting adults who play in safe spaces and in a fashion that isn’t a menace to public health are not my concern. Which is why I choose to call THOSE paraphilias kink, and will use the freighted medical term for people who get off forcing their violent imaginations and lust on those weaker than themselves.  Solitary paraphiliacs I just feel sorry for but I always was a softie.
I don’t want to other people.  Draw the circle wide, friends. We all need love and acceptance, and we have to model it, whether we feel like punching each other out occasionally or not, or want the (pick a minority group) – oops, I meant kinksters – to leave the room while we’re talking about our serious matters.
Letter ends
At least I didn’t say tone troll, evoke Hitler or tell her to go fuck herself, so there’s that.  I didn’t have permission to quote her letter, which was a masterpiece of liberal uptightness, srsly.