Eccelctic Epicurean

I've realized recently that this blog is rather spazmatic in terms of content. It seems to be part fail blog, part travelog, part Christian Century, and part stream-of-consciousness-reflection on the boring details of my life. Having recognized this undeniable fact, I've decided that instead of fixing it, I'd like to add something else: food journal! Mr.LIOLI and I do quite a bit of cooking, and I think I'll start posting some of my reflections about that important and wonderful and frustrating art.

So, here's what was on the table at Christmas Dinner today:
Roquefort Grapes (simple, elegant and scrumptious)
Wild Greens with Baked Goat Cheese (I'll never eat another salad again!)
Salmon Escalopes with Lentils and Wild Rice (A unique mix of flavors but actually quite good.)
Glazed French Carrot Medley (Who knew steamed carrots could be so wonderful!)

It was all scrumptious and one of the first multi-course meals of this kind that I've made:
1) By myself AND
2) With everything coming out at the same time AND
3) Without having a complete freak-out.

And with that success under my belt, I think I just might have enough energy left for Bananas Foster (I consider anything that one lights on fire to be a culinary Coup-d'Etat.)!

Merry Christmas

I know it's late, but I wanted to log on and wish all my readers a Merry Christmas. I'm not sure how many of you are out there, three or three hundred (the former a more likely estimate), but wherever and whoever you are, I hope you have a peaceful and pleasant holiday.

It turns out that many of my Christmas wishes were granted this year, but one especially: a white Christmas. It just started snowing not an hour ago. Not unusual for around here, but special on Christmas.

So here's wishing you some similar unexpected blessings,
LIOLI

At long last, the Book of Things that Suck (Electronic Edition)

When I was in college, a friend and I had the idea to create a book called "The Book of Things that Suck." It would mostly be pictures of things that suck: a bike whose seat and tires were stolen, cars with the boot, etc. But we would also include other things like my friends' three (yes, count em' three) rejection letters from the school of architecture at our undergraduate college (they just wanted to make extra sure she knew she didn't get in). We often brainstormed about it, but never brought it to fruition.

But I met an awesome couple last night at my friends' birthday party and our conversation rekindled my passion for the important work of documenting the suckage of the world. They even gave me my first few ideas.

So I have added a side-bar to this blog as an electronic book of things that suck....a clearinghouse for mockery and hilarity. I hope you'll enjoy it or even consider suggesting items for the list or submitting photos that might be included.

Over and out. Suckas!

Bring on the Chemicals

Over the last year or two, in an effort to do our part to stem the tide of pollution and climate change, we've tried to make a move in our household toward reducing the number of chemicals in our lives and home. We've transitioned to mostly all natural cleaning products (did you know you can mop wood floors with vinegar? Or that vinegar and baking soda are an incredibly effective drain cleaner?), all natural, non-animal tested toiletries, biodegradable detergents for dishes and laundry, and home remedies for pesky things like fruit flies (we still keep some very poisonous, very aerosol chemical around to deal with the gargantuan centipedes we sometimes find in our basement apartment....more on that later).

But recently, I've come to an unfortunate but obvious conclusion: chemicals were added to stuff for a reason....because they make things better! My desire to go "all-natural" has unfortunately left me with oily hair, a dirty floor, a greasy stove-top, and streaky dishes.

I know there are scientists out there working day and night to clone things like sheep (which already look alike.) and study other obscure and random stuff. Don't you think at least a few of them could take some time out to develop a quality shampoo made from bamboo or something?

Best Books

A friend just sent me the following link to a list of the best books of the last decade (http://www.avclub.com/articles/the-best-books-of-the-00s,35774/1/) I'd read 10 of them, and reading through it gave me some great new ideas about a few things to add to my "list." But it also motivated me to develop by own list of literary bests. So here goes, my list of the best books ever:

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Middlesex by Jeffery Eugenides
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
And the Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Ann Fadiman
The Bretheren: Inside the Supreme Court by Bob Woodward and Scott Armstrong
Love Poems from God by Daniel Ladinsky
Iron and Silk by Mark Salzman
Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
The Brothers Karamazov by Fydor Dostoevsky
Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammet
Bowling Alone by Robert Putnam
Lamb by Christopher Moore
Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes

Which ones would you add to the list?

In the Dog House

We've been in the market for a new dog house for the Love-it-or-leav-itt hound. What do you all think of this?

Fabulous Foliage

When I first moved to Boston (and only slightly less often now that I've been indoctrinated into the culture here), I often wondered why the HELL the pilgrims ever settled here. If I had laid eyes on this frozen hell hole after 3 months on a boat, I would have taken a big fat left and headed for the warmer waters of Florida. I've never understood why people would want to live here. If asked, natives will talk about the beauty of the landscape or the wonderful fall foliage. But I've never agreed. We have deciduous trees in other parts of the country too, I'd say.

That was until this year. We had some incredibly magical foliage this year that almost made me glad to live in New England. Everywhere I turned it seemed this tree or that was absolutely exploding with color. Orange, red, yellow, all three....my drives to and from work were a treat for the eyes for almost two months.

And seeing the foliage always reminds me about the true limitations of the human knowledge. Though we can splice the atom, we still don't know why and how the leaves change color. To me, there is something magical about that.

Here are just a few shots from our neighborhood. These were taken after the more intense colors had past, but are still wonderful:



Even the ivy on many of the buildings seemed to be ablaze in color:

Ad Fad

I've come to the conclusion that pharmaceutical advertising is taking over the world (or maybe I'm just watching a subset of shows geared toward people in their 60s and 70s). But I actually think this is okay, because I find most pharmaceutical adds incredibly entertaining. I especially appreciate the one in which the disclosed side effects are worse than the actual disease such as one I just saw for an anti-depressent: May cause weight gain, loss of sexual drive, fatigue and suicidal thoughts. (This sounds like the medicine might actually cause depression....)

I'm also amazed by the ones with bizarre requirements such as one I recently heard for a kidney medication: Alert your doctor if you have an allergic reaction to bird products such as eggs, meat or feathers or if you have numbness in your leg.

But the BEST ones are the completely vague ones, the ones in which it is impossible to determine what ailment the drug addresses. They usually go something like this: Do you ever feel tired? (Flash image of an attractive young person in a superbly decorated house rubbing forehead das if tired.) Do you ever feel sick? (Flash to image of an equally attractive young person of a different gender and, even better, a minority sitting at their desk at a white collar job pretending to cough.) Do you ever have trouble deciding what to eat for dinner? (Flash to an image of an elderly woman looking into the refrigerator in despair.) Well you don't every have to feel these things again! Try Pharmaceutica and be free! (But what exactly is it for??!??!)

I often wonder what the effect of these ads is. Do people really go to their doctor demanding the little purple pill or are we simply creating a generation of hypochondriacs who wander the world believing they have high blood pressure, sleep apnea and restless less syndrome?

Trouble in Paradise

Most of the time I find it easy to do my job, to go to church, to preach the Word of God to God's people, to proclaim God's unending and unimaginable love and benevolence to the masses. But sometimes I arrive at church on Sunday to find the church basement flooded with three inches of sewage and find myself thinking that a career in accounting is looking pretty damn good.

Halloween or Whoreloween?

Has anyone noticed that Halloween has just become an excuse for people to dress up like prostitutes? Somehow every costume has become a prostitute costume. There are nurse prostitutes, witch prostitutes, cat prostitutes, fairy prostitutes, even Disney character prostitutes. It seems that in the good old days, the objective of Halloween was to look ugly. When did we lose this essential discipline?

Politically Problematic

There is a house down the street from where I live. I can imagine it in its glory days, for it must have once been a beautiful home. It is a single family dwelling, unusual for our area, with some neat features. Unfortunately, now, well, it's a dump.

For starters, the place looks as though it hasn't been painted in 25 years, with paint peeling off the siding exposing the bare wood. The trim is rotting, and some of the windows are broken and boarded up. The yard (if it could even be called a yard) is overgrown with weeds and brambles. In the driveway are 5 or 6 broken-down, rusted-out cars that look as though they are slowly melting back into the earth. Behind the house is something that looks as though once, in its hayday, was a garage. But it now looks as though even attempting to pry the rusted door open might send the entire thing crashing to the ground. The whole piece of real estate is rather Adams-family-esque, somewhere I'd definitely be wary of going to trick-or-treat.

What I find to be ironic about all this is that the entire front of the house and yard are covered with political signs. There are signs endorsing senators, city councilors, and various pieces of legislation.

Now, here is my question: should I be more or less inclined to support those candidates and issues endorsed by our aesthetically un-inclined neighbor?

TV Immunity

You know, I've always been one of those softie, flaming liberal types who loves to get on the bandwagon of all types of progressive programs to change the world. But sometimes, usually due to a discussion with Mr. Love-it-or-leav-itt and his fiscal and political sensibility, I come across something that challenges my innate senses of all things liberal.

This time, however, it wasn't Mr. Love-it-or-leav-itt. It was network television.

Now, many times in my life I have, with my liberal cohort, condemned the violent and sexual content of TV, especially TV for kids. It's influencing them, we've said. That's why they are so violent. They see violence on TV and they think it's cool and want to be violent themselves. Same with sex.

With these assumptions, comes the natural conclusion that what we see on TV influences us, that what we see on TV, we do in our own lives.

However, if this is true, can someone please explain to me how I can be sitting in my chair watching "The Biggest Loser" and simulatneously deciding to have a glass of red wine and an ice cream Sundae?

More Info Please

When I worked in the school district, one strategy they taught us for helping kids obey rules was letting the kids know why the rules existed. If kids were empowered with information, it seemed, they were more likely to abide by the rules created from that information.

So with that in mind, I'd like to submit the following proposal to the City of Cambridge:

Please install postings detailing the reasoning behind each intersection at which:
1) Right turns on a red light are not permitted.
2) Left turns are prohibitted.

For instance:



Below that a small sign that reads: Oncoming traffic does not stop. OR Heavy Pedestrian Traffic.

If the city implements this plan, I promise (cross my heart and hope to die) to obey all such traffic postings. (Not that I didn't already, of course.)

MAN LAND

Well, in addition to diet cola for men, they now also have CHURCH FOR MEN!!!

Check it out! 12 easy steps to turn your church into a man cave.
http://www.speakingofmen.com/manfriendlychurch.html

Among my favorite pearls of wisdom:
Why should men go to a large church? Well, because "Large churches have many advantages. Probably foremost is quality."
Why should men go to a church with a fit male pastor? Well, because "Guys are drawn to men who exude a healthy masculinity, but are turned off by softies."

I guess I better just give up and take my feminine, "messages composed of familiar, comforting religious jargon" on the road to womensville.

News Snooze

Well, we've done it. We broke down and got....an antenna. This might not sound like a big deal, but it has changed our life quite a bit.

We have a relatively new TV, so we avoided the digital converter box installation drama. However, we had been surviving without cable for some time, subsisting on movies and netflix, when we decided it was time to plug back into the world of broadcast television. With a powerful antenna that could get signal even in our basement condo, we were reconnected. I soon realized that there wasn't too much was new. There are only about 5 shows: Medical Show-ER spinoffs, Crime Show-NYPD Blue Spinoffs, Reality Show-RealWorld Spinoffs, Young Adult Show-Friends Spinoffs and, well, the news.

Now, I'm not sure what's happened with TV news since I've been away, but whatever it is it is NOT good. For instance, here are three news stories I saw this week:

Turtle's Life Saved This story had two trailers in the first half hour of the show making it seem like some miraculous veterinary triumph. When the story finally came on it was this: someone had let her pet turtle outside (well, there's your first problem), which had gotten attacked by a racoon and lost its two front legs, but the vet had "saved" it by attaching small felt furniature moving pads to the front of its shell so it can still push itself around with its back feet. Don't get me wrong, I think it's important to have good veterinary care, but why is this on a nationally syndicated news show?

Girl Wants IPOD The trailer for this story informed us that a young woman who had been attacked by robbers in her own home was asking for something special. What it is? I thought. Forgiveness? Reconciliation??? How Christian, I thought. When the story finally came around at the end of the hour, it turned out the girl was asking for her IPOD.

Fight Over Fries This story was reported in each of three news hours on each of three different news channels. Apparently, two customers in a McDonalds in in Qunicy, MA had attacked a worker after she had given them the wrong size order of fries.

I'm amazed that these stories pass for "news." Not a single story engaged any issue of national or international importance. Not one of them opened a wider discussion about important topics such as drug use, health care, or crime. Are we not fighting wars on several fronts right now? Are we not having an economic crisis? Are we not facing a battle on health care reform? Are we not attempting to institute nucelar disarmarment and create peace in the middle east? Why, then, are we talking about turtles, ipods and french fries?

*The photo above is not quite the model we got, but it's close!

Vacay

Hello readers! We just returned from some time away in our beloved Oregon. It was a great vacation, full of visits to family and friends (some of whom reminded me that it had been a while since I updated my blog!), lots of delicious food and beer and many memories of good times. So now, we are back and you can expect some new blog content coming soon!

Suck Fest

A somewhat crazy, incredibly manipulative, outright terrifying German supervisor I once had told me two things about myself: I have issues with authority and I am a perfectionist. At the time, I thought she was being ridiculous because, well, she was somewhat crazy, incredibly manipulative, and outright terrifying. But earlier this summer, when I took up tennis immediately after being told by my optometrist that engaging in racket sports could be detrimental to my long term eye health, I began to wonder whether or not her scare tactics about my psychological profile had some merit. Maybe I did have issues with authority. Why else would I, as athletic as I am not, as hot as the weather here is, and as much as I've not recently been interested in any sport other than badminton and croquet, take up tennis in direct and blatant defiance of the orders of my eye-health care practitioner?

Well, if good ol' A.Z. had me on one count, she wouldn't get me on the other. Because tennis has opened up a whole new world for me and my allegedly-perfectionist-self in that it has allowed me to hone a completely new and important life skill: sucking at something publically.

Now, I don't think I'm some sort of image-conscious maniac, but I do have the tendency to want to appear as though I have a basic grasp of things. But the normal survival mechanisms for looking good don't work here. There is no pretending-to-kick-as-on-all-fronts allowed out on the tennis court. If you're terrible, everyone is going to know it...mostly because you are hitting balls into their court and disrupting their game. And I am terrible. My most favorite move of late is to lob the ball about 100 feet in the air, instead of barely over the net like the pros, and making my partner wait for it to return from space before returning it. A close second favorite is to send the ball completely out of the court, and then anxiously waiting to see if it ends up on the other side of the fence or in the garbage can.

Luckily, the court we've been playing at is home to a broad range of skill levels. Also luckily, I've found out something strange: it's actually really fun. And I actually don't care that much how terrible I am. I'm just glad to be out there.

So take that Germany!



p.s. My optometrist also told me not to take up boxing.....hmm........

Culinary Conundrum

A questions for faithful readers and the world wide web:

Is it better to completely clean the kitchen before you start cooking or after you are finished? I feel as though cleaning first gives you a clean slate, while cleaning after leaves you with a clean kitchen and feelings of completeness.

In all my culinary exercises, I've never figure this out and would appreciate your thoughts.

An Open Letter to Cyclists in Cambridge, MA

Dear Cambridge Bicyclers,

I want to start by thanking you. You are doing a wonderful thing by biking wherever it is that you are going. You are taking care for the planet into your own hands, and you should feel proud of that. While other schmucks (like myself) are buzzing from place to place in our air-conditioned, planet-killing, obesity-inducing death pods (otherwise known as cars), you are zipping around on your pollution-free, fitness-creating 10-speed. For this, I commend you and the ozone layer and polar ice caps thank you.

But I have something else that I absolutely must say to you: could you please, please, please, please, please, please stop being such oblivious, knuckle-headed assholes? Now, before you stop reading, please know that this is for your own safety. Even though we don't know each other well, I'm a fairly reasonable and compassionate person (at least I think I am) and I would very much prefer not to kill any of you while I'm going about my daily business. And I'm assuming this is something you would also prefer. So let's get together on it.

You see, when you whip out from the middle of no-where or run a red-light without looking or ride in the crosswalk or ride the wrong-way down a one-way street, you really stress me out a bit. Because I'm not expecting you to do any of those things (mostly because they are illegal). I don't expect things to come out of nowhere. When I watch for things in the crosswalk, I am looking for pedestrians, who move differently and more slowly than bikes. I, usually, assume that traffic will all be moving in one direction on a one-way street, just like I expect cross traffic to stop when they have a red and I have a green (do NOT get me started on bikers who will yell at me and make nasty gestures when I get in their way while they are breaking the law!).

If you are assuming at this point that I am just another oblivious driver who hates the environment and cares nothing for bikers, you are mistaken. I appreciate bikers. I watch out, as best I can, for their welfare. I always give them a wide berth when passing. I ALWAYS look for bikes before turning, making sure not to turn in front of them. I look for bikes before I open the door of my car into the street. I don't drive because I hate the earth, but because I have a complicated work life. And I'm terrible at biking (story for another time.) And, as I said, I am grateful for what you are doing. But that doesn't mean I will always see you or that I will always be able to react quickly enough. And it certainly doesn't mean that you can do whatever you feel like, not wear a helmet and be okay!

I'm just asking, can't we do a little better at sharing the road? I'd like to both remain alive and go about our daily routine with a little more respect for each other. Don't you?

Signed,
Beside-herself Behind-the-wheel

Trash Tragedy

Have I ever told you about my theory that when you witness something tragic you can dissipate the trauma by telling other people about it? For every person, you tell, in fact, the tragedy is halved, because you've passed part of it onto someone else. Mr. Love-it-or-leav-it absolutely LOVES it when I practice this theory (read: he actually really loathes it.) by saying "Do you want to hear the most HORRIBLE, SAD, GUT-WRENCHING thing I saw today?" Anyhow, I'm going to be employing that here.


I witnessed something terrible the other day. I was driving home from the gym on a Wednesday (yes, I drive to the gym, but that's a story for another time). And right in front of our building was the recycling truck, which made sense, because Wednesday is trash day. And, of course, because this is Boston, the recycling truck was parked in the very middle of the street. Not over to the side so cars could pass by, oh no, but right smack-dab in the middle of the street. And so I waited until I could pass. And while I waited I watched the garbage handlers go about there work while feeling good about our neighborhood's level of responsible recycling and eco-stewardship. And then I realized something horrible was happening: they were dumping all the recycling into the same place!

Now just to be clear, in Cambridge, we do not have co-mingled recycling. We have VERY clearly marked bins to separate paper/cardboard and glass/plastic/metal. There are details instructions on the top of our bins, which I have read carefully many time, and, given that I am the person I am, I follow them strictly. I painstakingly (mostly just painful for Mr. Love-it-or-leav-it) enforce a strict policy of separate recycling, even going so far as to reach in the bin to extract a stray orange juice container or egg carton that has fallen haphazardly into the glass/metal/plastic bin.

And so you understand my GREAT frustration and confusion at seeing all of these bins being dumped into one giant truck. How did I feel? Betrayed, bewildered.....Why would my city play such a dastardly trick on myself and my neighbors? Were they just doing it for sport? Just doing it to see how far we would to follow some arbitrary rules about cardboard recycling format? Recycling is LEGALLY required in Cambridge. Why make it so much for difficult to comply?

Can anyone out there explain this trash tragedy?????


FYI: Here are the instructions:

The New Mr. Somebody

I've met someone.

I'd grown up with him, actually. I have great memories of him and me in elementary school, having fun, being creative, getting bored together during summer break. Those were the good old days. And recently I learned that he was back in town.

And now we're together.

I see him several days a week. It's strange, because sometimes we're not even sure what to do together it's been so long since we've seen each other. Sometimes we just email together or watch LOST reruns all day or take naps. It still feels illicit, what we're doing, like it should be a secret. Don't worry, I've told Mr. Love-it-or-leav-it all about it, and he doesn't mind. He says it's perfectly normal for people to have a relationship like this. But I'm not sure. It goes against everything I've learned so far.

The new someone's name? Oh, it's Mr. Free Time.

I had completely forgotten about Mr. Free Time. Because for so long I've been spending all my time with my friends: Ms. Full-time-job, Ms. Remodeling-the-house, Ms. Graduate-school, and Ms. Being-overly-involved-in-everything. But they're all gone now. So it's just me and Mr. Free Time. I keep telling myself I shouldn't be with him. That I should call Ms. Being-overly-involved-in-everything and see if we can't make up. But then I wonder, is this really that bad? Do I really have to feel so guilty about ever minute I spend with Mr. Free Time?

I hope that in time we can develop a healthy and open relationship. Maybe we can actually go out on the town together, you know, try some new local coffee shops. And maybe I'll learn to tell people "It's my day off. I didn't do anything today, other than have some free time."

Ministry Rules

Please do not, under any circumstances, steal the following idea that I am thinking about making into a book: Ministry is a flippin' awesome career.

To read much of what contemporary Christian media has to say about the work of ministry might be to think it a grueling, unattractive, and almost impossible task. As I made my way through three years of seminary, much of the input I received offered me a dismal portrait of my future potential. “It's so taxing, you just can't understand,” ministers in the field told me. “People have no boundaries. You'll work yourself to death. Your studies will be meaningless and cannot possibly prepare you,” they have threatened.

But I beg to differ. After one official month on the job as a pastor, I can tell you that, so far, it is awesome. And here are some reasons why:

-I spend most of my days eating lunch and drinking iced tea and talking to folks about the best and worst times of their lives. I get to witness people's struggles, without losing myself in them.

-Except for Sundays and session meetings, I can go to work and come home pretty much anytime I want.

-I get to read the bible and think about it on a weekly basis. Reading fascinating stuff is actually part of my job.

-I get to choose what to do with my time, what projects will draw my attention.

-I get to help people figure out how to develop and use their god-given gifts in service to others.

As far as I'm concerned, at this point, I got the good end of the vocational deal. I'm not sure what those other ministers were talking about, but thank God I didn't listen.

Dog Day Afternoon

A question for cyberspace: Does my dog actually want to go for a walk?

I've been thinking about this more recently since the heat and humidity have allowed fewer romps for my pooch. Now, the love-it-or-leav-it-canine isn't a very active dog. Don't get me wrong, she loves to romp and play when she has the opportunity (chasing cats and squirrels is like the kingdom of dog for her). But, unlike other breeds such as dalmations and some forms of terrier, she doesn't really seem to mind not walking. For instance, were I to sit right here in this chair and blog my heart out for the next 7 hours, she would probably not move at all. She would just lay there completely content, punctuated only by the occasional yawn or dream-bark. She does not behave differently whether we walk her on not, doesn't become overly anxious or active either way. (Although she has become more bold since her breif brush with cancer earlier this year. Apparently for her, living strong means eating meat out of the garbage can and a brownie off the coffee table at our friend's house. But that's a story for another time.) All this does not mean that I'm not overcome with guilt whenever I don't walk her. I am. I am constantly projecting my feelings of inadequacy on myself as a dog owner.

But I've begun to think of it differently lately.

You see, I go to the gym every morning at 7:30 a.m. I go because if I didn't the bi-weekly trips to the Indian take-out place down from our house would force me into the red-zone of body mass index on those charts at the doc's office. But, to be honest, I would much prefer to NOT have to go. (In fact, I regularly get sucked into those infomercials about the magic pill that will help you lose weight without changing your diet or lifestyle. If only it were true...) Thing is my pooch is not fat. And she isn't obsessed with Indian take-out. So maybe making her walk is just torturing her otherwise wonderfully leisureful life.

That said, I think I'm going to start researching doggy mind-game activities instead of taking her out. Canine sudoku, now there's a money maker. Maybe I could call the folks at the lettuce knife factory and see if they'd like a market share......

Absolutely the Best Cookies Ever

I'd like to give a gift to you, my faithful readers. A link to the recipe for the absolute best chocolate chip cookies. Ever. In the universe.

I first tried these cookies at an underground event at an undisclosed location, and, though it is against my better judgment to share with you a recipe that actually makes me popular, I'm going to do it. Because, well, these cookies changed my life.

So check it out and enjoy:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/09/dining/091crex.html

Antibacterial, Lettuce Knives for Men

I just want to chime in to the blog-o-sphere and ask who the hell is out there developing new product lines that are completely ridiculous to try to make a buck.

I just saw an add for anti-bacterial glass wipes. The ad emphasized that the wipes shine glass AND kill bacteria. Now, I'm not sure about you, but I don't spend much time licking my bathroom mirror, my windows or my framed photos, so I'm wondering why in God's name would I need to kill the bacteria on any of these surfaces? Aside from the fact that all this anti-bacterial madness is creating a generation of antibody-less, immuno-suppressed kids, what, pray tell, is wrong with good old windex and a paper towel? Or better yet (a trick I learned from my mom) ammonia and a newspaper page?

All this after my last trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond during which I discovered a "lettuce knife." It's a knife meant to cut lettuce in a special way that will keep it fresh. Well, I've got a news flash for the manufactures of said lettuce knife: IT'S FRIGGIN LETTUCE. JUST USE A REGULAR DAMN KNIFE. AND THEN REFIGERATE IT. THAT'S HOW YOU KEEP IT FROM GOING BAD. I hate to break it to the manufacturers of the lettuce knife, but it isn't the cutting that makes lettuce go bad: it's ripping it out of the ground. That's where the problem starts.

And Pepsi just released a diet-coke for men! Don't get me started.

Now, my beloved and I have different perspectives on innovation. I am generally against it (hence my boycotting of facebook, iphones and blueray). But my better half is generally for it: hence his recent purchase of a pasta maker, a salad spinner and a touch screen phone which I cannot, to save my life, figure out how to use.

So I've made a unilateral decision that we as a nation need to put a moratorium on certain areas of innovation, American dream of constant production, consumption and upward mobility be damned. I'd say we can keep innovating in the following areas: medicine, saving the environment, and helping people not starve to death. But I demand that we stop innovating in these areas: cleaning products (who really needs more than bleach, ammonia, soap and baking soda anyway?), kitchen gadgets (my friend's mom, originally from Hong Kong uses a cleaver for all kitchen jobs including peeling small items, killing lobster, and chopping herbs), plastic storage bins (I had to end my subscription to Real Simple magazine because I was overwhelmed by my lack of space for all the plastic storage bins it kept telling me to buy), and office supplies (what's wrong with regular, old, silver paper clips?...actually I did see some rather hilarious paperclips the other day with swearwords on them. But seriously.....).

Once we stop innovating in such stupid areas, we can focus our energies into more important things such as playing badmiton and developing the ultimate low fat ice-cream.

Complaint Center

I have an important ethical conundrum for you, dear readers. I've been wondering of late when it is okay to complain about someone, professionally.

Having worked in the service industry in a variety of capacities, I usually operate in the "no-complaining-about-workers-to-their-boss-no-matter-what" solidarity camp. I always try to give them the benefit of the doubt: they might be having a rough day/week/month, maybe they weren't supposed to have to work today but are filling in, or perhaps they don't usually fill in for this position and so aren't properly trained. (Having found myself in all of these positions and more, I have a deep sympathy for them.) However, recently I'm beginning to wonder if this is the best solution for everyone involved. Is it actually better to complain sometimes? If so, what is the best way to do it? (The only time I've ever complained about someone to their superior the whole situation BLEW UP into an incredibly nasty and stupid situation that left awkwardness everywhere like nuclear residue.)

Let me give you an example. A few weeks ago, I went to the salon to get my hair cut. The place was busy but not overly so. The receptionist, upon my arrival, barked "Why don't you go get a smock on?" (Issue #1 Since when do I have to put on my own smock? Issue #2 I have no idea what that means having never been to this particular location before.) I tell her I don't know where the smocks are, she says "in the bathroom". Where's the bathroom? I ask, trying to still sound pleasant. "Down there" she motions dismissively. I tell her who I'm here to see, find the smocks, and sit down to enjoy a juicy issue of Cosmo from 2005 while I wait. 45 minutes later, I am still sitting there having finished the Cosmo, 2 US Weekly's and half of a Self magazine (THIS JUST IN: If you eat less and exercise more, you can lose weight! Get me a subscription!!). Finally, my stylist comes over to me and begins profusely apologizing. The receptionist never told her that I had arrived, and when she had specifically asked if I was her client, the receptionist had said no and went back to filing her nails. (Yes, I'm just sitting here in a smock reading Cosmo because I like the atmosphere....)The stylist felt terrible, and I was more than a bit annoyed. When the stylist motioned to one of the other "junior stylists" (who are these extra people who work at a Salon?) to help shampoo my hair, the girl sighed dramatically and dragged herself over to the sink making it very clear it was extremely inconvenient and annoying for her to have to do her job at this particular moment. After this, things improved a bit. I loved the haircut and would consider going back to this woman again, except for the administrative snafus.

Now the question is, is this something to complain about? Is this sufficient enough to write an email to the manager describing my experience? Or should I post something online? (I almost feel as though that's not fair, because the place has not way to respond.) What would be the purpose of such a complaint? What would I get out of it? What would they?

Thoughts, please...

Self Check Out THIS

For a while now, I've been suspicious that much of modern, novel technology is actually categorically stupid and unhelpful. Don't get me wrong; I'm all for technology in some forms: computers that help me type (and make this blog possible), dishwashers that do the work for me saving my hands from unwanted prune-ish-ness, digital picture frames that stop every flat surface in our small house from becoming cluttered with photos. But there are new and novel items out there that I believe are actually making life (my life at least) worse rather than better.

Case in Point: Grocery Store Self Check Out.

Now, in theory, it makes sense. Avoid the long lines, skip the cashier that may or may not be helpful and pleasant today, zip through the self-check out, scan a few things, and KAZAAM, you're outta there, back to enjoying life in paradise. Unfortunately, it never, ever goes quite this way. In fact, the last time I visited the self-check out, I became engaged in a cosmic battle for control of my groceries...and barely got out alive.

PLEASE SCAN YOUR FISRT ITEM AND PLACE IT IN THE BAG, the machine yells at me. There is not mute option on these bohemouth machines. So I scan my first item.
BLEEEEEP.
A success. I place it in the "bagging area". (I'm going to try to use my own bags to bag my groceries, which is a giant mistake, as trying to do this can anger the self-check-out-machine-gods, as we will see, who will punish you with shame later.)
My second item, breakfast cereal, is also easy.
BLEEEEEP.
The third item is where everything starts to go south. It's a small package of spices (short digression: why are spices 1/12 the price in the hispanic foods section? I feel like I've struck a GOLD mine having figured this out.). Unfortunately, the little envelopes of spices in the hispanic section do not weigh enough for the special machine to recognize. So I scan it,
BLEEP
and put it in the "bagging area" as it declares
PLEASE PUT THE ITEM IN THE BAGGING....
I forsee that this might be a problem so I try to quickly scan the next item.
BLEEP
But it's too late.
PLEASE PLACE THE ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA.
So I try to put the spice bag on the little metal scales to no avail.
PLEASE PLACE THE ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA.
I try to take it away to replace it when
AN ITEM HAS BEEN REMOVED FROM THE BAGGING AREA. PLEASE RETURN THE ITEM TO THE BAGGING AREA. AN ITEM HAS BEEN REMOVED FROM THE BAGGGING AREA. PLEASE RETURN THE ITEM TO THE BAGGING AREA.
Like some sort of nagging spouse, the machine will continue with this monologue until you offer it something to appease its anger. I try to trick it by placing my reusable bag in the bagging area, like Indiana Jones in the beginning of that one movie where he steals the statue and replaces it with a bag of sand...big mistake.
AN ITEM HAS BEEN ADDED TO THE BAGGING AREA. PLEASE REMOVE ITEM FROM THE BAGGING AREA.
It's like trying to argue with a person who has no access to rational thought. (And is it just me or are its protestations getting louder with each command?) Now the people waiting behind me in line are starting to stare, smugly believing that they can master this process with much more grace. I dutifully, as if appeasing some unseen and moody God, remove the reusable bag from the bagging area, find the "I do not wish to bag this item" button and after a full minute of gargling and whizzing inside the machine, it returns to normal mode. (Don't even get me STARTED on trying to purchase produce with one of these things!) I gingerly scan my next few items, with an appropriate level of apprehension and fear (each time I do this I identify more and more with ancient peoples and their elaborate rituals to please the Gods and elicit Godly favor rather than wrath.)
After only a few more altercations, I manage to get most of my items scanned and stacked, albeit precariously, in "the bagging area." Because the bagging area is not big enough for very many items, and because you can't remove them, it can get very tricky.
I press "Finish and Pay" glad to finally be close to finished with this ordeal.
PLEASE SCAN YOUR REWARDS CARD.
PLEASE CHECK YOUR CART FOR OTHER ITEMS.
PLEASE SCAN ANY COUPONS.
PLEASE SELECT THE PAYMENT METHOD.
I select credit, move to the other end of the machine to scan my card, move back to the front end to enter my zip code, move back to the other end to approve the amount....
PLEASE USE PINPAD TO COMPLETE YOUR TRANSACTION.
Now I'm getting flustered with all these commands, so I do not see that Mr. Love-it-or-leav-it has decided to help by beginning to bag our items in our resulable bags. It is our downfall.
AN ITEM HAS BEEN REMOVED FROM THE BAGGING AREA. PLEASE RETURN ITEM TO THE BAGGING AREA.
AN ITEM HAS BEEN REMOVED FROM THE BAGGING AREA. PLEASE RETURN ITEM TO THE BAGGING AREA.
AN ITEM HAS BEEN REMOVED FROM THE BAGGING AREA. PLEASE RETURN ITEM TO THE BAGGING AREA.
It has become too much. We have been defeated. The annoyed customers behind us give us shaming looks, the store staff who have been loitering around the manager's station this whole time are staring at us. We replace the items, finish the transaction, then quickly try to bag our items and flee the scene, leaving in a whirlwind of anger and humiliation. I have to take a 3 hour nap later in the day to recover.



Now tell me, fair readers, is this technological advancement is a sign of development? Is it helping us live better lives or save time for other, more important an fulfilling activities? Or is it something used to punish us for our constant need to innovate? And it's not just your local Star Market: these things are everywhere, from Costco to Home Depot (can you imagine going through one of these things with a five gallon bucket of mayonnaise or a two-by-four???) For my money, I'm with staying in the stone age, my mental health, and spice envelope fully intact and headed for my nearest, potentially grumpy cashier.

Tonight we're gonna party like it's 1999!

My tenth high school reunion is taking place this weekend. It's crazy for me to think that a decade has already passed since I walked the halls of my high school, but it's true. Unfortunately, I won't be there to participate in the blessed event. My new job, as it turns out, cramps my ability to travel on the weekend.


So, instead, I wanted to project the following reflections into cyberspace on why I'm glad I'm 28 and no longer 18 in the form of the following top ten list.

"What I've Learned Since High School":
10. Most of what I learned in High School I've now forgotten.
9. Caring what people I don't care about think about me is not a good use of my mental energy.
8. Tighter clothing is not necessarily better clothing.
7. Uncomfortable shoes can cause nothing but blisters and heartache.
6. Subtle, well-thought-out rebellion is much more effective than momentary idiocy.
5. Never tell God what you'll never do.
4. I don't actually know everything.
3. Friendship is never like it is in the movies: it's better and worse in unexpected ways.
2. I actually really like my parents, value their opinion and want to spend time with them.
1. I'm actually pretty great, and unfortunately, I'll never get back all the hours I spent worrying about my flaws.

Perhaps I'll put my 20 year reunion on my calendar now. I can't even fathom how much more attractive and comfortable with myself I'll be by then. They probably won't even recognize me.

Better late than....the first one at the party?

As a (usually) punctual person, I have been recently challenged by the developing trend of tardiness that seems to be overtaking the social landscape. The last three parties I have been to, I've appeared relatively on time to find out that myself and my partner-in-crime are the first to arrive...by about 30 minutes! This combined with being the first (and for a while, only) one at half a dozen meetings this month has left me wondering:

If you know everyone else will be late, is it okay to be late yourself? When a party is at 7:30, when should I arrive? If I'm the only one at the meeting, should I start it myself?

As of now, I'm feeling as though I either need to adjust my internal social clock or move to Switzerland.

It's not a maze, but it is amazing!

It is not usually the purview of this blog to give advice to its (limited) readership, but I hope you have all had a chance to experience the wonder of a labyrinth and that if you have not you will go out and experiment with them immediately.

A labyrinth is an ancient symbol, a unicursal design used for prayer and meditation. Though many sources associate a labyrinth with a maze (a misconception not helped by the 1986 film Labyrinth starring David Bowie*), there is a distinct difference: a labyrinth has a single path in and out. Whereas a maze is a complicated series of paths in which it is easy to become lost, a labyrinth requires no choices and involves no confusion. One must simply journey in and out.

The pattern can be quite simple:

Or quite complicated:

The most well-known pattern is this one

which is the same pattern of the 13th century labyrinth inlaid into the floor of the cathedral in Chartes, France, perhaps one of the beautiful and most famous:



I had loved labyrinths for a long while and have appreciated their metaphorical and spiritual significance. But I was prompted to remind you about them when I had an opportunity recently to participate in a guided labyrinth walk accompanied by an incredibly talented music thanatologist or harpist who accompanies patients at the end of life. (If you have never heard this type of harp music, I suggest you do! It is the most soothing, peaceful, and beautiful sound you could imagine. In fact, if I am ever near death, I hope my loved ones will call just such a person.)

Anyhow, just a suggestion for your journey, something I've found quite helpful. Enjoy!

p.s. For those of you in the Cambridge, MA area, there is a beautiful outdoor labyrinth on the campus of Harvard Divinity School. Check it out!

p.p.s. Some people get so into labyrinths that they get tattoos of them! Can you believe that?




* Did anyone know that Labyrinth the movie was directed by Jim Henson? Strange...

Don't Take the Bait

On a recent weekend trip to Minneapolis, I was trapped and reeled in by an unforeseen yet dangerous beast of the travel world: the talkative-airline-seat-mate.

Now, as a particularly egregious extrovert, I have to be very careful not to be sucked in by enemies such as the talkative seat mate because I lack a particular enzyme that allows me to end a conversation (for example, it takes me approximately 1.5 hours* to pick up our dog from the dogsitter, while it takes my husband 10 minutes....I just cannot stop talking!). So once the airline chat has commenced, I am committed to talking for the rest of the flight even if it is excruciating.

But this seat-mate was employing advanced, guerilla-warfare-like tactics of conversational entrapment, such as

• Upon arriving, over-enthusiastically announcing that this was her row.
  
• Sitting down and immediately asking me if it was better for me to have the seat arm up or down (and other questions that precluded "yes" or "no" answers). Inserting that she didn't care either way.
  
• Commenting on the number of babies surrounding us in the aisles and how cute they were. When I responded, "mmmhmmm", asking if I had ever seen so many babies on a plane.
  
• Taking out her phone to listen to her voicemail and then exclaiming "OH MY GOD" quite loudly and then looking at me.
  
• Engaging in verbal outbursts as she was reading including "WOW" and several machine-gun bursts of laughter.
  

I proudly managed to avoid her advances almost the entire flight through curt answers, exaggeratedly un-welcoming body language, repeated attempts to engage Mr.Love-it-or-leav-it in hushed conversation (although unfortuantely as an introvert he easily rebuffed my interjections) and pretending to sleep.

But, alas, in the final hour, she outwitted me with the one simple question that is impossible to avoid and which releases a torrent of other possible questions: are you going home or going on a trip? Depleted of my powers, I gave in, telling her we were on our way to Minneapolis for a wedding, at which point she talked my ear off the rest of our journey about her children, their academic and athletic careers and personality quirks, her life as a teacher at a boarding school, her childhood, the health of her parents, their recent home remodel, her recent vacation schedule, and her personal opinions on everything from traffic in Boston to American culture to why Dartmouth is inbred.

I left the flight exhausted and irritated, feeling defeated by having given in to the beast in 22C and fully committed to investing in some sound-canceling head-phones and an eye mask.



*Note for MP: This is ACTUALLY, LITERALLY how long it takes me, and therefore NOT an exaggeration of any kind.

Gridlock Traffic, Racism and Idiocy

A story on NPR the other day (listen to it here) combined with an experience I had while driving in Harvard Square prompted me to reflect a bit on the idea of racism and its implications for various generations of Americans.*

First, the story: the Talk of the Nation segment was discussing recent media hype over comments made by Supreme Court Justice Nominee Sonia Sotomayor and whether or not those comments could be classified as "racist". Most of the callers on the show were older Americans who had lived through the civil rights movement, and many asserted that the worst thing in the world anyone could call someone else was "a racist."

Now, the experience: I was driving through gridlock traffic right in the heart of Harvard Square. When I finally got the much needed opportunity to make a left turn, just at the critical moment, a man stepped out into the crosswalk (against the light) right in front of me, causing me to slam on my breaks at which point the light turned red, the walk signal began to chirp and I was stuck in the middle of the intersection swarmed by annoyed pedestrians. Now I must confess that in my frustration I made a face and gesture at this young man (made more awkward by the fact that it was beautiful out and all my windows were down). But in the midst of my gesturing, I realized that this man was Arab. I was immediately filled with guilt and shame, and the first thought that popped into my head was "oh my gosh, I'm so........racist!" I seriously considered trying to reconcile with this man (and would have were I not stuck in the middle of an intersection surrounded by commuters on foot), to shout something about how I wasn't thinking, or to confess to some neutral, non-culturally oppressive deity.

This incident came flooding back to me when I listened to the NPR story, and caused me to wonder about the differences in the way my generation and that of, say, my parents' views race and racism. I see that my generation (or at least my sub-cultural section of my generation) has grown up with the idea that political-correctness is to be valued about all else. As a child, I learned never to judge, to believe that all viewpoints were valid, and to understand that everyone was different and to be valued. But I wonder where this trajectory has led us? What have we lost in advocating the religion of political-correctness? How ridiculous is it that I feel racist for being upset with someone who annoyed me just because that person also happened to be part of an ethnic minority?

A quick survey of friends my age revealed similar issues: one friend felt racist because she didn't like salsa music. Another had been called racist because he didn't like hummus. I wonder if this type of self-reflection is really helping anyone at all. I would be willing to wager that it isn't. Of course not all viewpoints are valid: knowing that is what allows us to say no to violence and oppression, to real racism when we see it.

Several callers on the NPR show wondered whether or not racism had to be connected with power or judgment. Did you have to exercise power to be racist, they mused? I'm not sure whether or not I agree, but I do appreciate the sentiment that we need a deeper investigation in this country about what racism is before we can confront it and understand the real ways it still works.

I didn't think that the man crossed the street against the light because he was Arab, I thought he crossed the street against the light because he was an idiot. And idiocy, fortunately, can be found in every race. So maybe I'm not too racist after all.

If you're concerned at all about you're own racism, watch this youtube video to know you're not alone.




* This subject matter might seem strangely heavy compared to the normal WUJ content. But don't fret, more hilarity is coming soon!

Presbyterian Pride

Sitting around this weekend with not too much to do, I thought I'd take my pastoral authority out for a spin. So, as my first pastoral act, I marched in the Boston Pride Parade last Saturday. What a great time! The atmosphere was so positive with throngs of people lining the route clapping and cheering us on. It was an absolutely beautiful day, and a great time to show off some Presbyterian Pride.

The Big Day

There are times in which having incredibly talented friends can make you feel jealous or un-self-assured. But there are other times when having incredibly talented friends makes you feel blessed. Today is one of the latter.

Thus, I present to you the winner of the "What's Up, Jesus? Reader Submission Video Contest,"* a production of one of my most talented friends to whom I will be forever grateful for capturing special moments from my"big day." I hope you enjoy it as much as I have.





*Huge thanks to our submission participant Dina Rudick Jacobs.

Exaggeration Station

So I've come up against a new problem lately: literalists.

Not biblical literalists. I can deal with those. These are literal literalists; they take everything I say literally.

Now, as you may have noticed from this blog, I consider myself to be somewhat of a storyteller, a spinner of yarns, if you will. And I freely admit that there are times when a story needs a little "boost". Now don't get me wrong, facts are facts, but there are some situations in which a little splash of excitement and drama is necessary to make the telling of the story worthwhile. This is all for the sake of the hearers, of course, so that they can experience first hand the original sense of the narrative. I don't consider a little bit of enhancement to be off-limits, especially if I'm trying to tell a funny story or a story about something that annoyed me.*

But recently, my storytelling abilities have been stalled by the literalists. I'll give you an example:

Me: I went to Target yesterday to buy paper towels, and there was only one checkstand open, on a SATURDAY, and there were fifty-eight people in line.....I had to wait in line for an hour to pay.
Literalist #1: You really had to wait a whole hour?

See, this is where I get stopped up. Because there is not way to respond to the literalist. Okay, so maybe there were three checkstands open and I only waited five minutes behind three people, but I was in a hurry so it felt like an hour. (Besides, it wouldn't be worth retelling if it went like this: I was in Target and had to wait the normal amount of time to pay for my items.) But to explain all this would be to kill the story-telling buzz for both the teller and the hearer. Because the teller is forced to confront his or her exaggeration (never fun), and the hearer forced to realize that it wasn't a very good story to begin with.

So, I would like to propose a new system for letting the exaggerators remain in the closet and the literalists feel safe. My new system is called: Don't ask, don't tell. The basic premise is that no one should question any of the facts of my stories, and I won't tell you the mundane details of my life that are not (at least mildly) entertaining. This way, we'll all feel fulfilled and keep boredom (and terrorism) at bay.


*As it turns out, exaggerating is actually a genetic trait. My father has it, evidenced by the fact that 30% of my childhood was spent asking "MOM, is that true?" Scientists are still working on finding the gene for it, but it definitely may be connected to the easily-worked-up-about-things gene, also dominant in my family.

Watch It....

So, I've joined Weight Watchers again, mainly just to remind myself why it's not a good idea to eat Indian take out every night and have multiple servings of Brie cheese at every party. I've done it before and it's usually a great wake-up call about my health habits. Also, the stress of graduate school is having an effect on my figure, so it was more than time.

But joining up prompted me to share this story about last time I tried to join Weight Watchers, which is actually inexplicably hilarious.

So we're in the meeting and the leader is describing the plan to us (you know, making good food decisions, planning things out, less bread, more veggies....typical stuff), and in walks a very tall, very skinny woman with green eyebrows. (The color of her eyebrows is irrelevant to the story, but an interesting fact!) Now I'm not one to try to create animosity between women of different sizes and shapes, but this was not the body type one expects to see at a Weight Watchers meeting. However, no one seemed to mind so she sat down. After a few moments, she raises her hand and the following dialog ensued:

Instructor: Hi. Welcome to Weight Watchers. Are you interested in joining us today?
Skinny Lady: No. Actually, some of my co-workers are really overweight so I'm checking out this program so I can recommend it to them.
(At this point, I am beginning to feel a little resentful imagining what I might feel like if one of my coworkers told me that she visited a weight loss meeting in order to check it out for me....I can sense from looking around the table that I'm not alone.)
Instructor: Ummm......okay. Well, as I was saying, with Weight Watchers there is a points value assigned to each different food. You get so many points per day and...
Skinny Lady: Excuse me?
Instructor: Yes?
Skinny Lady: What resources do you have for people who need to gain weight?
(Awkward silence.)
Instructor: Well, not really any. This is mainly a program for people to lose weight or maintain a healthy weight.
Skinny Lady: So you don't have anything for people who are too thin?
Instructor: No.
Skinny Lady: Okay then.....

At which point, I was no longer able to pay attention because my blood pressure had gone up 70% in the last three minutes. In my head, I was thinking of genius things to say to green-eyebrows such as "I'LL GIVE YOU A RESOURCE FOR GAINING WEIGHT: IT'S CALLED A HAMBURGER YOU CRAZY $#%@#" or as my friend N says "You should be aware that you look like a ham sandwhich to everyone in here, so you should watch it....."

Radial Head (No, not Radio Head...Radial Head)

Fair Readers-

I'm so sorry to have neglected you for this long...you must have felt as though you were in blogging purgatory. Alas, I was kept from updating my musings by a broken radial head.

For those of you unfamiliar with human anatomy (as I was until recently), the radial head is the end of your radius (lower arm bone) which connects to your humorous (upper arm. bone). It looks like this:


And I broke mine. How you ask? Well, by doing something very risky and treacherous otherwise known as walking. That's right. Nothing adventurous or exciting. I was simply walking and fell down and broke my elbow. I also happened to be carrying a plate of food into a meeting when this happened, which made everything a bit more messy and embarrassing. In fact while some of my other colleagues rushed to help me, a law student also in the meeting turned to his friend and said "I hope we don't get charged a cleaning fee for the carpet." And that, my friends, is why I'm in the Divinity School.

Now, as you might imagine, one's radial head is something that goes unappreciated much of the time. However, upon breaking it, one soon realizes its absolute necessity for all manner of tasks including:
Getting dressed*
Driving
Washing your hair
Doing dishes
Sleeping
Walking the dog
And yes, typing (hence my extended absence from the blog-o-sphere).

But you will be happy to know that I am back on track, with only slightly limited mobility, and of course MUCH more gratitude for my radial head. So expect more updates soon from What's Up, Jesus?


*You know you've been married a while when your life partner's main function is to put your bra on, instead of take it off. Thank God for Mr. Love-it-or-leav-it!

This is how I am currently feeling about my job search.....

Missed Connection

Sometimes, even when you really, really, really love someone and you've committed your lives to one another, and agreed to be a team forever, and gotten to know each other as well as anyone can know another person, you can still be ships passing in the night of enthusiasm and interest.

Rub-a-dub-dub!

Why is it that we tend to spend an inordinate amount of time in the shower washing parts of ourselves that aren't actually that dirty? Such as the center of our chest or our upper arms. I've been tracking this recently, and have found it quite hilarious. I will spend several full minutes loofah-ing my arms and shoulders (as if their cleanliness is really a problem for me who sits at a desk all day reading and thinking about theology). For some reason it's hilarious to me that something that we do every single day could actually make no sense from an efficiency standpoint.....Thoughts, dear readers?

When is "Fat" going to be the new black?

I've been waiting for a while now for a fashion trend to sweep the nation: fat as the new black. Seriously, when is plump going to come back into style? Almost everyone in the 16th century dug chubby, pale chicks, and I must say I can't wait for those days to return. Then those of us who are not naturally thin pixies could relax and have another cookie just for the fun of it.

For my part, I eat relatively healthily (although I do LOVE big fancy meals...but try to save them for the weekends), and try to incorporate lean meats and veggies. I limit my alcohol and caffeine intake and have switched completely to Splenda in my coffee (thanks M!). I exercise a few days a week and walk here and there. But all this is no match for an aging body, a slowing metabolism, and a stressful lifestyle, all of which have contributed to making me quite well-insulated for this chilly climate. And I'd like not to have to worry about that absolutely every minute of every day.

Now, let me be clear: I fully understand that the obesity epidemic in America is a terrifying and growing problem, and I put my full support behind regular exercise and healthy eating. For that reason, I don't think mortal obesity is appropriate or attractive. However, I do hope that sometime in the near future "well-rounded" will become the "in" thing for bodies not just college applicants.

Things that are Hilarious #2: Scooters

Why is the image of people riding scooters so hilarious?

I've been passed by several people on scooters recently, now that the weather will permit someone without a full rain suit to be out on the roads. And I have to admit it has cracked me up every time! It's different than motorcycles or bicycles or any other type of two-wheeled vehicle. Perhaps it's something about sitting completely upright, as if one was in a job interview, but also wearing a helmet and whizzing down the street in the bike lane.

I'm not sure what it is, but our scooting friends are certainly giving me a good laugh as they whiz through this spring weather.

Oh Happy Day

Hello, dear readers! Sorry to all three of you for having been so neglectful of my blogging responsibilities of late. With the preparations for Holy Week, a Greek Exegesis Paper, and four sermons in two weeks, I've had my head in the books too much to think about my commitment to my friends in the blogosphere.

Just a quick survey that came to mind this morning that you may want to weigh in on: How do you wish someone a pleasant Good Friday? It is a major Christian holiday, but not really a commemoration of something that would make one want to say "Happy Good Friday!" or "Have a Great Good Friday!" As my beloved was leaving the house this morning, he decided on "Have a spiritually and religiously appropriate Good Friday!" But that might be too wordy to shout to friends as you leave your Easter Sunday prep meeting.

What is a good, holy-week-observant-girl to do????

Whatever you do, do NOT walk with your child on this pedestrian street while wearing a mortar board.

Jesus, I just wanna thank you....

I've discovered innumerable benefits to a theological education during my three years in divinity school. But there are also some serious drawbacks. For instance, you can never attend a dinner party for the rest of your life without being asked to say the blessing. Even worse than that, is the fact my theological education has forever ruined me for the evangelical praise music of my high school days. None of the songs which I sang so passionately in my high school youth group make sense any more, given all the things I now know about The Bible, theology and the church. Whenever I try to go back and sing old classics such as this one:

The nails in Your hands, the nails in Your feet, they tell me how much You love me ...

I just can't stomach it and feel the need to immediately initiate an ecumenical dialogue about the dangers of substitutionary atonement theology.

Or this one:

Better is one day in Your courts, better is one day in Your house, better is one day in Your courts than thousands elsewhere …

which scares me with its hierarchical rhetoric and tendency toward disengagement from the world. It seems that the ideology of most evangelical praise music boils down to “I just want to thank You, King Jesus, for the blood, the blood, the blood.” But while the colloquial language is easy and welcoming it can't possibly outweigh the problematic perspective that undergirds it.
I've tried composing my own praise music with more theologically appropriately lyrics but “justification by faith alone” doesn't fit easily into the meter of much contemporary music while songs about the triune God and Jesus as a political dissident don't inspire the kind of emotion I'm looking for. For now I'll have to settle for my friend's composition:

Homoousias*, we love You, we just wanna let You know. We're Your people, we love You. Three persons, one God, today.

*Greek for “of the same substance”

Anyone recognize the once famous Christian rocker above? Bonus points if you can name a song by him from the 1990s!

Leprosy and Other Interests

I overheard one of my colleagues say the following sentence the other day: “I'm really into social justice right now.” To which her friend responded: “Yeah, me too.” Now, I understand the progressive Christian impulse to see Jesus' care for the marginalized as central to their tradition as opposed to biblical inerrancy or substitutionary atonement, and I count myself among those who highly value justice as a Christian practice. But I find it difficult to understand just how someone can be “into” social justice, as they might be into badminton, Pinot Noir or terriers.

It seems that social justice now exists as a hugely broad category for all things ethically and morally right in the world. And that it has been divorced from the concrete practices that move toward a more just society. When asked what professional role they'd like to fill once graduating from Seminary, I've heard several fellow classmates respond: “I'd really like to do social justice.” I very much identify with this sentiment but I'm amused to think about how it might be practically applied. I find it funny that we've turned justice into a trend that one can be interested in, rather than engaged with; that could be listed at the end of a resume along with literature and foreign language films. It seems to me that a more Christ-like proclamation would be: “I'm really into lepers right now.” Perhaps we need to do a bit of rethinking about how we live out our faith, rather than just think about it. Unless we're willing to list lepers on our next resume.

ICUYS

One popular phenomenon that I don't completely understand is the white, oval-shaped bumper stickers with letters inside them. I find them especially confusing because only one time out of a hundred do I actually know what the letters stand for. They seem to cover the broadest possible range of topics including states, band names, vacation spots, schools and various other stuff. The main function of these stickers really seems to be to frustrate other drivers and passengers trying to figure out what the bumper stickers actually say. The same thing happens with confusing or cryptic vanity license plates. I get almost hysterical sitting behind cars in traffic whose vanity places are a string of letters and numbers that I can't seem to form into any phrase or name. Then I wonder what the point of paying an exorbitant amount of extra money is when nobody can understand what it says. All this prompts me to have fantasies about creating my own oval sticker with some extremely cryptic list of letters or an acronym: ICUYS (I Can't Understand Your Sticker).