Department Of Did I Raise My Offspring Right, Or What?
Dateline: yesterday, noonish. Son K, who is aware of my preference for dry, subtle humor which mines the nuances and incongruities inherent in trying to lead a life of service and reflection in these coarse and chaotic times, sends me this catchy ditty. Moiself hereby nominates the following for Best American Folk Song Ever. Just try not to sing along (but be warned, definitely NSFW).
* * *
Department Of Two Annoying Life Event Trends
I Am Looking Forward To Seeing Combined
Those would be a wedding reception which features a gender reveal, and a robot.
“After the vows, the champagne toasts, the filet mignon and the first dance between the bride and groom — after all the normal wedding stuff — came the cue. The cue for the abnormal wedding stuff.
‘Start waving those hands for the PARTY ROBOT!’
Into the candlelit banquet hall lumbered a menacing eight-foot-tall humanoid machine, pumping his metallic fists to the thumping electronic music, flanked by servers bearing sparklers and trays of dessert.”
(The Robots are coming…for your wedding,” The Washington Post 4-24-24 )
Silly moiself, googling the idea of gender reveal/wedding, thinking I’d get nothing (but it would still be better, as in, even tackier, to combine it with a wedding reception)….
* * *
Department Of Arguably One Of My Favorite Pieces of Jesus Art…
…is a stained glass window at Saint Ignatius College Prep, comedian John Mulaney’s high school, which he and David Letterman visited while filming Mulaney’s appearance on Letterman’s show, My Next Guest Needs No Introduction.
Moiself can’t help but think that the stained-glass artist who created that panel was a closeted (which, until relatively recently, you had to be) atheist or at least skeptic, as the artist gave JC an eye-rolling, “Oy vey, the horseshit people believe!?” expression.
* * *
Department Of All-Time Great Pranks
This slice o’ life story is courtesy of the six degrees of separation principle vis-à-vis my [1] neurons making the connections that they…just make, sometimes.
Dateline: last Saturday 7:45 AM-ish; walking. The podcast I was listening to reminded me of some actor, [2] who reminded me of another actor, which reminded me that one of those actors is either currently or formerly a Scientologist, which brought to mind one of the great pranks ever played on me, which occurred when I was in college at UC Davis.
Way back then the town of Davis had a very active Scientology Center. I use the term Center deliberately – there was no “Church of Scientology” at that time, [3] a fact that Scientologists boastfully emphasized in their recruitment efforts. When a Scientology proselytizer knocked on your door or approached you on the campus quad, and you as the average student/citizen had no interest in taking the time to challenge Scientology bullshit beliefs, it’s likely you’d use some version of the customary brushoff:
“No thanks/not interested, I have my own religion.”
The eager beaver Scientologist would scoff, “Religion?!? Scientology is *not* a religion!” The Scientology recruiter would use that as an entryway into assuring their target that there’d be no conflict in learning about Scientology – “which, *not* being a religion, would not require any renouncing of your personal religious beliefs – which is a proven/effective method/philosophy combining spirituality and Science ®, to handle stress and show pathways to healthy and successful lives….”
Moiself could (and may, eventually) share more stories re my encounters with Scientology adherents at UCD. Instead, the afore-mentioned prank, which discerning readers will surmise has something to do with Scientology, will now take center stage.
My college boyfriend “Scott,” [4] no fan of any supernatural beliefs (including the religions of the dominant culture, one of which I pretended to believe in, at the time), considered Scientology to be the most egregious example of spiritual and intellectual quackery. As a student who would go on to get undergraduate and graduate degrees in several scientific disciplines, Scott particularly objected to the cult’s organization using the word science in any way shape or form.
I knew that Scott had visited the Scientology Center at least once, to check it out, after I’d amused him with my tales of encountering Scientology recruiters on campus. Scott and his best friend “Bruce” returned the favor, amusing moiself and a couple of my apartment mates one evening when they showed up at our apartment, pulled out a small tape recorder from Bruce’s book bag, and played back Scott’s session with a Scientology auditor which, unbeknownst to the auditor, they had surreptitiously recorded with the tape recorder hidden in Bruce’s book bag.
The tape’s audio wasn’t all that great, but we could hear enough to be both flabbergasted and highly entertained, as the auditor asked Scott a series of questions while Scott grasped both handholds of the infamous Scientology E-Meter.
The E-meter is (was? Are they still using that batshit crazy thang?) a crude electronic device meant to mimic a polygraph, and was used by Scientology auditors (“counselors”) to purportedly “examine a person’s mental state.” [5] In terms of sophisticated electronic devices, Scott described the E-Meter as perhaps one or two steps above using a “telephone” consisting of two tin cans connected by kite string.
One evening about a week after Scott entertained us with the E-meter tape, I heard a knock at my apartment door. My three roommates and I had a lot of regular visitors to our apartment, most of whom just opened the door and announced their arrival – so, someone who actually bothered to knock was something different, maybe even special. When I opened the door I beheld a young man standing on our welcome mat. He was carrying some kind of satchel and a piece of paper with a name and address on it. He looked at me, then past me to my three (all-female) roommates who were in the living room, then down at his paper, then his eyes traveled back up to our apartment door. He asked if this was 224 A St. apartment 16? When I replied in the affirmative, he said that he was here at the behest of a man named “Victor Lazlo, who visited the Scientology Center and expressed a desire to ‘get clear.’ “
VICTOR LAZLO ?!?!?! [6]
Had I been sipping a beverage there’s no way I could have avoided a classic spit take.
Young Scientology Man seemed undeterred by my and my roommates’ scarcely muffled guffaws. I got rid of him by throwing him a bone, something ala, “Oh, yeah, Victor – he moved back on campus,” and giving him the dorm address of a male friend of mine. [7]
* * *
A Haiku For Unglamorous Vegetables In Our Weekly Farm Share
Celery root, and
turnips. I was surprised by
Their very pleasant
aroma, as they
boiled. Meanwhile, I sauteed leeks
in (plant-based) butter.
Garlic; a pinch each
of white pepper, nutmeg, and
green salt; [8] a splash each
of lemon juice, and
veg broth; mashed all together; top with fresh parsley.
Yummers – who knew?
* * *
Department of Employee Of The Month
It’s that time, to bestow that prestigious award upon moiself. Again. The need for which I wrote about here. [9]
* * *
Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week [10]
“If you think it’s offensive that I call alleged biblical miracles ridiculous, you should ask yourself whether or not it’s ridiculous to insist that Muhammad flew on a winged horse. Or that the earth was hatched from a cosmic egg? Or that Xenu, the dictator of the Galactic Confederacy, brought billions of his people to earth 75 million years ago and killed them using hydrogen bombs? These are all religious beliefs of others, but that doesn’t mean calling them ridiculous is an insult – it’s an objective fact until proven otherwise.”
(David G. McAfee, journalist and author, of No Sacred Cows: Investigating Myths, Cults, and the Supernatural, and other books)
* * *
Parting Shot: I love it when/I hate it when…
I hate it when I realize that April 1 is way done gone and past, and no one even tried to play an April Fool’s joke on moiself.
* * *
May homely vegetables inspire you to write haiku;
May you appreciate having a creative prank played on you;
May you avoid gluing your __ to your…..you know;
…and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
* * *
[1] In olden days referred to as “the six handshakes” principle, Six degrees of separation is the theory the idea that anyone can be connected to any other person via six or fewer social connections – that is, a chain of “friend of a friend” statements can connect any two people in a maximum of six steps. For example, let’s say that, despite having never been to China or having met him, moiself claims to have a connection to Chairman Mao Zedong, to whom I am connected, six-degrees style, via my sister-in-law who is from Canton, whose great uncle was an aide to a vice president of the Chinese communist party who served under Mao. (BTW, my SIL is from Canton, but that’s the only part of that example that is true….I think).
[2] An actor who was not mentioned in the podcast, but, there it is.
[3] The Internal Revenue Service did not recognize Scientology as a “charitable and religious organization” until 1993, after a 37 year dispute and controversial negotiations.
[4] Not his real name.
[5] As in, if used by a properly trained (ahem) auditor, the device can allow the operator to “see a thought” and uncover hidden lies and other thought “crimes. “
[6] A key character in the movie Casablanca, Victor Lazlo (played by Paul Heinreid) was the heroic Czechoslovakian resistance leader, and unintended rival to (Humphrey Bogart’s) Rick Blaine for the affections of Ilsa Lund, Lazlo’s wife (played by Ingrid Bergman).
[7] Damn! All these years later, I think I’d forgotten to ask them if the guy ever showed up.
[8] What I used in place of most salt, for cooking now – this may save the planet. Check it out: https://www.trygreensalt.com/
[9] Several years ago, MH received a particularly glowing performance review from his workplace. As happy as I was for him when he shared the news, it left me with a certain melancholy I couldn’t quite peg. Until I did.
One of the many “things” about being a writer (or any occupation working freelance at/from home) is that although you avoid the petty bureaucratic policies, bungling bosses, mean girls’ and boys’ cliques, office politics and other irritations inherent in going to a workplace, you also lack the camaraderie and other social perks that come with being surrounded by your fellow homo sapiens. No one praises me for fixing the paper jam in the copy machine, or thanks me for staying late and helping the new guy with a special project, or otherwise says, Good on you, sister. Once I realized the source of the left-out feelings, I came up with a small way to lighten them.
[10] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.” Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org
