The Veil

Harry Potter is just SUCH a good series. And has nothing to do with this post really.

Okay this is a serious one guys, that I've been thinking of for a while. (No, it's not about hijab, though that is a fascinating topic.) But you know that scene in Harry Potter: The Order of the Phoenix at the end when Sirius Black is killed by Bellatrix Lestrange ("Avada Kedavra!") and he falls through that strange, transparent curtain in the department of mysteries and disappears?  And you wonder if he's really gone or maybe not but what is that curtain and what's behind it? (In case you're wondering, yes, typing this out is making me feel as though it's more ridiculous than I was thinking it was before I started writing this.) ANYWAY, do you know the scene? Well I feel like that scene is being replicated in my life. Only the Department of Mysteries is my social group and the magical, transparent curtain is parenthood. (Avada "I'm Pregnant!")

Now before you parental types stop reading and de-friend me from Facebook, please know that I'm being serious. As I grow older and more and more of my close friends have started to have children, I've been thinking a lot about what that transition means, especially for those of us still on this side of the great divide. And it is a strange thing. Even though I have many friends who manage to balance child rearing with adult friendships, I recognize that there is something that's irrevocably changed when you have kids, not just for you but for those you're in relationship with as well.  While most of me is overcome with joy for my friends striking out on the path of parenting and legitimately hopeful for the future of their family life, there is part of me that feels differently. Perhaps it's part sadness at losing what was once an easy bond to sustain, now made more difficult by the introduction of drastic changes in the lifestyle and priorities of those around me. Perhaps it is part feeling left out, wondering what's on the other side of the veil. Perhaps it's part worrying that in resisting the pull of having children, I'm missing something profoundly valuable and that by the time I realize my desire for it, it will be too late.

The God's honest truth, though,  is that I'm not sure I want to have children. It might be that I'm just not ready yet, but it's also a serious area of discernment, something I want to take seriously knowing that not choosing is a form of choosing.  I am clear that childbearing isn't one of the deepest desires of my heart right now. And as with all things, it's hard to know if and when it will be.  One thing I do know is that I feel hesitant to give up the control (financial, spiritual, social, what have you) that I feel I have just (finally!) established over my own life. But it's painful to realize that this careful discernment might leave me unable to connect in important ways with some of my most precious friends.*

And so I wait. And I think. And I realize how much my world is changing as more evenings out end early, as more discussions at dinner are about baby swings and bottle nipples, and as the things I care about and engage with seem slightly out of joint in comparison with many of those around me.

The irony of this is that I am feeling all this as someone who (as far as I am aware having never tested it) has a choice about children.  I know many friends who, struggling with fertility challenges or sexual orientation or what have you, don't feel as though they have a choice at all and who are in great pain about how to fulfill their longing to have children. I cannot imagine the agony of navigating this stage of life with awareness of one's reproductive limitations looming overhead each time a new ultrasound photo pops up on Facebook.** And I want for those voices to be part of my world too, not just in whispered private conversations, but in a public way that is valued and acknowledged as much as we value and acknowledge announcements by those who can and do have children.

If you're wondering why I'm writing this (especially on a blog mostly reserved for cynical musings about things as trivial as Self-Check Out Stands and Dress-Me Jesus'***), it's because of this: I don't know that I have a single role model of a couple who has chosen not to have children AND publicly discussed this choice. And I could use some. Where are you? Why did you choose not to have children? What does that feel like over a lifetime? How do I talk to my friends about my decision without sounding as though I am judging theirs? How do I continue to play an informed and meaningful role in the life of children not my own?

My friend Ghandi told me to be the change I want to see. So here I am.  Because I think our culture could use some voices of all genders and generations and sexual orientations and life setting talking about what childbearing means and what not having children means at every different stage of life.

Despite my general feelings about Elizabeth Gilbert****, I did enjoy many parts of her most recent book, "Committed" which is loosely about the history of marriage. She claims that there are (and have always been) a consistent percentage of women (across history and geography) who don't have children. So I know you're out there. And I want to hear what you think! I hope more voices, on both sides of the veil, will be heard. I think we'll all be better for it, and so will our children (And of course I mean that in a "It takes a village" kind of way. But I'll let you know.)



* Though there is one resource for which I am profoundly grateful in this area. And that is my friend LKF, who, as I've previously mentioned, blogs here about the intersection of vocation and motherhood. Her honest reflections are a great gift to me and an open window in the challenges of deciding TO have children, and I am profoundly grateful for her generosity in sharing them. 
 ** Please don't post your ultrasound on Facebook. I feel awkward about seeing the inside of your uterus, especially when we're not that close of friends. I'll just take your word for it, okay?. 
***What on EARTH is the plural of Jesus?
**** Look, I know a lot of people out there really loved Eat, Pray, Love, which is fine. But seriously, E.G. I just canNOT bring myself to feel bad for you that you got divorced and then got PAID to travel around the world and find yourself afterward.
 

Cosmic Crazyness

This is my life. But seriously, we don't play nearly enough pinball.

I've come to the conclusion that there must be some cosmic system of chaos regulation that causes there to be a direct relationship between the amount of crazy that you put into the world and the amount that gets doled out to you. I think this because I've noticed that there are people* who aren't very crazy at all, who live life in a relatively balanced fashion (work, home, favorite TV shows, normal conversations held at normal volume levels, etc.) and that these same folks just don't seem to fall victim to a huge amount of inexplicably wild stuff that I observe happening in my own life. Then there are folks like me who, as pinballs of nutty energy, ping off of the sides of our life and those around us and, as a result of that continual outpouring of chaos, experience some really crazy stuff.

For instance, here are three vignettes from my life that I feel could only happen to me.

1) About three weeks ago, Mr. L and I did not sleep a wink between about 1 a.m. and 5 a.m. Why is this? Do we have a newborn to attend to? No. Was there some urban disruption happening outside the window? No. Were we lying awake contemplating the uncertainty of our future? No. What happened, in fact, was that our dog got gas. But not just any gas, loud, audible gas.** And every 15-20 minutes for about 4 hours, she would fart, LOUDLY, which would startle her awake, causing her to scramble to get up (small room + huge dog + slippery wood floors makes this a significant event) and bullet out of the room. After about 3 minutes, she would come back, slam herself down on the floor, sigh loudly and fall back asleep. Until 15 minutes later when this would all happen again. For several HOURS. Exhausted the next day at work, I didn't feel at liberty to say, "Excuse me for yawning, but my dog got gas." Because that just sounds too nuts.

2) About two weeks ago, in an attempt to rid myself of a terrible cold I had had for six weeks, I went to the doctor. Everything went fine and I was sent home with some crazy antibiotics and told I might feel better in 2 to 4 weeks. (Awesome. I should note those two weeks included Holy Week and Easter). On the way home, I thought I might treat myself to a bagel and coffee at the shop right next to the doctor's office so I didn't have to make lunch at home and could go directly back to bed and spend more quality time feeling like I was dying.  So I get in line, order my bagel, and get to the front counter where I am reminded by an annoying little sign that this particular coffee shop has a $10 minimum on credit cards. Damn. Do I have any cash? Of course not. This is the 21st Century. But it is too late to bow out as I've already ordered the bagel. So I proceed to have the following conversation:
College-Age Disinterested Register Girl: "$5.01"
Me: "I'm so sorry....I only have a card."
CADRG: "We have a $10 minimum."
Me: "Oh. Okay. We'll then I'll add a cranberry juice."
CADRG: "That's $6.28." Blank Stare.
Me (bordering on getting annoyed): "Ooooookay. Well then how about I get a bag of chips."
CADRG: "That's only $8.05." Looks at her nails.
Me (now beginning to unravel as other customers line up behind me and demonstrate their annoyance at having to wait, my nose starts running and my head feels like it is being crushed by giant fist.): "What are you going to make me buy everything in the damn store? Haha." (I was surprised this was what I said, when what I had intended to say was "I'll have an almond croissant." I added the Haha apparently to make it seem I was joking, when I was clearly NOT.)
CADRG: "I'm sorry. It's our policy."
Me (I feel the waters of annoyance being let loose, but I try to stick to the Almond Croissant Strategy): "Well, it's a bad policy. And it's actually against Mastercard policy.*** You're not supposed to have a minimum."
CADRG: "It's our policy. No exceptions. It's just that they charge us a lot to use the cards."****
Me: "Great."
CADRG: "Is there something else?"
Me: "Yes, um......just give me an almond croissant. Is THAT enough?"
CADRG: "Yes, that's $10.28"
Me: "Thank God."
Now, you're thinking, "That's not that bad. This could happen to anyone." Yes. It could. But that's not it. Having paid my $10.28 disgruntled-ly, I heard the College-Age Disinterested Barista called out that my latte was ready. I picked it up and tried to make it over to the counter so I could get a lid, at which point, burdened by the dozens of items I was trying to carry (wallet, bag of prescriptions, juice, chips, bagel), I DROPPED multiple things INCLUDING the latte, which exploded all over the floor next to the bagel which, in falling, slipped out of its wrapper and landed cream-cheese side down on the nasty welcome mat. So much for my my attempt to make a quick exit after my outburst at CADRG. Now I am faced with the moral dilemma, do I stay to help clean it up or just leave? Spirit broken, I grab a few napkins and start to pathetically mop up the latte, at which point CADB says, "MAAM...I'll come get it with the mop." "I'm sorry," I say. Now you think, it's really over. But NO. Because I am now gripped by the Universe-Crazy-Balancing Mechanism. On top of which this is a JUSTICE issue. A combination which causes me to YELL OUT to the Register Girl as I am crouching on the floor mopping up hot milk with two crappy napkins: "What? Are you going to make me spend another $10 to get another latte?" and then run out of the store. ***** It has been said that one should not cry over spilled milk, but I did cry over this (mostly I was just feeling so TERRIBLE) as I enjoyed my lunch of cranberry juice and potato chips.******You should know that I am laughing out loud as I am writing this, almost too hard to even type. But seriously, who AM I?

3) Last week, I was in TJMaxx looking for new jeans and a new pair of black slacks, both of which had worn out on me simultaneously during Holy Week. In the dressing room, I pull on a pair of jeans only to feel a SEARING pain on the outside of my left thigh. I take the pants back off again and realize that the security tag preventing me from stealing said jeans was missing its back, making it effectively a 1.5 inch long nail which had ripped a 10 inch long slit in the flesh of my thigh. And there I am, dripping blood in the dressing room of TJMaxx with no pants and absolutely no idea what to do. I rationally assessed that I didn't want to put my own pants back on, lest they end up drenched in blood and I be forced to again risk my life as a discount retailer to replace THEM. But I definitely should be wearing pants. So I just stood there, pantless and bleeding thinking: "Why is this my life?"

All that to say, does anyone else feel gripped by this cosmic force of hysteria? Or is it just me?

*I live with one of these people.
** My friend who knows a LOT about dogs tells me dogs shouldn't get audible gas...but should or shouldn't, this was LEGIT.
***Only people with non-crazy spouses who work at banks say things like this. But it is in fact true. And immediately upon recounting this story to Mr. L, he logged on to Mastercard.com and reported them. 'Cause that's how he rolls.
**** Later, I realized that I wanted to say, "Well, that's the cost of doing business." Genius.
***** This ACTUALLY happened, though I myself can barely believe it.
****** Once I got back to the car, I realized that CADRG never even GAVE me the croissant. But I felt re-entry was too humiliating.

Announcing My Candidacy

Warning: I'm about to get political on you for a minute. Because I'm officially announcing my candidacy for public office (Eat it, Trump!). Though the exact nature of said office and how I will run for it still remains up in the air, I've officially decided on my campaign slogan:

Taxes: They Pay for Shit. 

That's right. And that's it. And I'm going to be SO popular.

But seriously, let's get real America. Taxes pay for shit. I know no one wants to pay them, but no one wants to take out the trash or do the dishes or clean the toilet. But we suck it up, because otherwise the whole place becomes a stinking mess.

I get the feeling that most of the folks out there want to have health care for the elderly (especially when THEY are elderly) and funding for the military and firefighters who show up on time and a justice system that doesn't solve things by coming to shoot you in the middle of the night. And SOME people even want to have a government that supports the arts and cares for a woman's reproductive health and helps children at risk get a head start before they're in school. But NO ONE WANTS TO PAY MORE TAXES.

Which is just silly. And impossible. So thus my campaign.

The reality recently came to light that 47% of Americans paid no income tax this year. Now, this is a nuanced issue and not as easy as making those 47% just pay taxes. (Read a very good piece here on why this is so complicated.) But the simple fact is that you can't keep spending money on the things you want without the income to support it. And those of us that can afford it (yes that means you top 5%, but it means me too!) need to pony up. Not because we want to, but because we should.

To inspire you, here are some words from one of my role-model political regimes: The Bartlett White House. (If only they were real!).


Bumper stickers and lawn signs will be available soon......

Holy Hell

Several people have mentioned to me that my last few posts seem to have been written by my alter-ego: The Reverend Debbie Downer. True enough. One can't be hilarious AND upbeat all the time, you know?

I think part of the problem is that this is one of the most difficult times of the year to be a pastor. Not only because of all the work that's associated with these days (palm to be distributed, donkeys to be shepherded*, feet to wash, black cloth to locate, vigil candles to gather, most-important-sermon-of-the-year to write!) but also because of what's sometimes missing: a true opportunity to experience the spiritual fruits of the season.

I find it to be a great irony that pastors (usually persons naturally predisposed to spiritual experience and interest) tend to have very limited opportunities to actually practice the faith that got them into this in the first place. Because it's hard to feel as though you're fully present (spiritually) when you're on the clock (literally).

This is not to say that pastors are never spiritually present and attuned while in worship. We are (for the most part!). When we pray, we're really praying. And when we sing, we're singing! But it is certainly not the same as sitting in the pew. Because worship is very much about being present. And ,as a pastor, I feel part of me is usually elsewhere when leading in worship. Part of me is there, but another part is thinking about the next song (Did I remember to give the music to the music director?) or trying to catch the eye of the liturgist (You're up, kid!) or taking stock of attendance (Wow! 32 if I count myself!** Where's so-and-so? Who's what new face?) or realizing I forgot to plan a children's sermon again (Guess what kids? God loves all of you!) or motioning to my co-worker (we forgot the grape juice!) or any of the other myriad of directorial movements that makes a service work.***

Luckily, amidst all this chaos with little opportunity for intentional reflection, my spirits were lifted this week by the words of my friend in cyberspace (and every now and then in real life too!) who keeps a wonderful blog on the intersection of spirituality and motherhood. She is a wise soul and regularly a source of inspiration to me. Her reflections on the difficulty of observing a meaningful holy week while parenting a small child helped me to remember that God can be in the little things too, just as God is in the big spiritual epiphanies.

So I'm taking a hint from her and doing a few little things: I'll try to observe a vegan diet with no alcohol this holy week in order to focus a bit more on spiritual nourishment. And I'll try to give up watching TV for the most part this week and spend those extra moments in prayer or sharing thoughts with friends here. And I think I might try (no promises!) to observe a silent fast from our service on Good Friday until our Saturday vigil. Either way, I'll hope that God can bring some revelation into my life somehow though all this while I'm busy thinking about other things.

So happy Holy Week, everyone. 

Now did that donkey get off to......

*No, I'm not being metaphorical about the donkey. We have an actual donkey on Palm Sunday. No, I'm not kidding. It's a LEGIT donkey. And we march with out down Main St. Take that mega-churches!

**If I can be honest, just because it's holy week, I almost always count myself. :)

**Perhaps this is different in a rather large church....but in a small church, I sometimes feel like a one-woman band!

BREAKING NEWS: Following the Gospel a Detriment to Church Growth

Somewheresville, MA: A new study by the Love-it-or-leav-it Charitable Trust has uncovered a shocking reality in the modern church: Following Jesus' exact instructions in the gospel may not the best strategy for church growth.

"I'm just so shocked," says The Reverend LIOLI, director of the study entitled, The Church I Serve. "But what we're finding is that doing the things Jesus said to do--feeding the poor, housing the homeless, visiting the sick and imprisoned, clothing the naked--aren't necessarily directly related to the success of the church."

Though these findings are only preliminary, the strong correlation between sick, imprisoned, homeless and naked individuals and having low to no income was found to be one source of the problem. "It seems that people without homes or food or clothing can't give much money to the church for staffing and building costs," says the Rev. L.

The study has yet to offer suggestions for how these particular challenges might be overcome. 

Pastors are People Too

I might be creeped out if people in my church actually had this bumper sticker. But I like the sentiment!

I know it can be difficult to tell with the collar and robes and stoles and holiness and all, but actually, as it turns out, pastors are also just people. And we need to get treated like it. We need to be shown respect and compassion and TACT. Because when we don't, it hurts.* The only difference is we won't tell YOU about it, except in indirect and kind language the nuance of which you may completely miss unless you are also trained as a pastor. (This is something we call "discipling." In the Christian church, it means gently trying to get you to stop being an ass.) But the truth is we will tell our therapists and spiritual directors and spouses, which will end up either costing money we don't have or making our home life like a demilitarized zone. I know this is difficult to integrate. But it's the truth. And the sooner you embrace it the better. For all of us.

To help you along, I've developed a little list of stuff that I think will help guide you in the right direction. These are just examples from my own life. There could be many more. Let's just call this "THE BEGINNING."

1. Do NOT visit my church, say you would love to meet for coffee (which will initiate in me the unconscious process of being excited that someone is actually interested in joining our church), and then ask me if I can help you to find a "good church" to go to, one with "quality preaching" and "vibrant worship." I know you see me as a spiritual resource and appreciate you coming to me for help.  But as you might imagine if you have that special disorder we call "empathy," I will extrapolate from this that you thought our church "sucked" and that my preaching and worship leadership was "low quality" and "boring." This hurts. Remember that I don't come to your work and tell you I'd like you to help me find a (fill in the blank: banker, barista, photographer, landscape architect, whatever you are) who has real talent.
2. Do NOT talk about my weight. Ever. Unless you are telling me I'm worth the equivalent of it in gold.  Additionally, do NOT tell  me I look tired. I am tired. This job is difficult and makes me crazy. People call me in the middle of the night. Contrary to popular opinion, you telling me I look like shit doing it doesn't make it any easier. 
3. Do NOT write me a lengthy email on Sunday evening telling me you didn't feel at all moved by the service I spent hours and hours and hours planning. No amount of positive feedback will be able to make up for this transgression in my mind and now I will be stressed that I am terrible at my job. If you want to help plan worship, join the worship committee to give constructive input. Or better yet, spend three years and thousands of dollars in seminary to become a pastor of your own damn church. 
4. Do NOT talk about how great it would be if the pastor of the church could take a huge pay-cut to help balance the budget. Though changes in staffing patterns may be inevitable in many small churches, don't talk about it as some obvious act of martyrdom that I should willingly undertake. I'm not Ghandi, you know.
5. Please limit the amount of time you spend talking to me about how wonderful your previous minister was. Please stop telling VISITORS that you used to have another minister before me who was fabulous. Because this is not a good strategy for growth. Plus, I'm beginning to think you'd prefer to have your previous minister instead of me, which makes it difficult to come to work. If it helps, I will make a commitment to not talk to you all the time about my previous church, and how great it was and how they actually had money and office supplies and stuff.
6. Do NOT ask me things such as, "Why do you need to go on vacation?" and "Don't you feel bad going on fancy trips when the people you work with are poor?" Yes. Of course I feel bad. In fact, it consumes me. And this is exactly why I need to go on vacation, an act which I will now enjoy less given the heavy burden of guilt you've so generously given me.
7. When I meet you socially, at a party or wherever, and tell you I'm a minister, do NOT take is as license to talk all about how you hate religion and think it is evil and hypocritical etc. etc. etc. It's not that I can't handle this type of critique...I can and in fact myself am critical of some aspects of the religious institution. It's just that I also think religion is important and valuable (OBVIOUSLY, YOU JERKS) and like to show some respect for the topic and discuss it with people who care.
8. Do NOT call me and leave a voicemail that simply says, "Please call me as soon as possible." without leaving a reason. This is a phrase which will lead me to believe you've just been in a horrible accident, when what you actually want to know is when the next book club meeting is. Just say that in the message and save me from experiencing a stress-induced aneurism. 
9. Do recognize that I am not perfect...try not to act shocked when this comes to light. 
10. Lastly, and not least-ly, DO say thank you sometimes. Yes, this is my job and yes, I do it joyfully, but it's also nice to hear some positive feedback sometimes. 

* One of the MOST awesome things I've heard in a while was a Flight Attendant on a recent Alaska Airlines flight who said over the loudspeaker: "It's just about time to turn off your electronic devices. So we're going to come through the cabin to check. And please, if we ask you to turn off your phone, don't give us dirty looks. Because that's just hurtful."

Liberalism: A Full Time Job

Sorry I haven't been writing. But I've been too busy being liberal to do too much of everything else.

At first, I thought liberalism was going to be so liberating (these words have the same route, even, as you can see). But now, like any other subtle but attractive cult, it is taking over my life. And I just don't have time for anything else. Because being liberal is a full time job.

A few weeks ago, I went to the store in order to buy a bar of soap*. I went to Whole Foods, of course, as that is where I usually shop, it being the closest and "best"** grocery store in the liberal town in which I live. So I went to the soap aisle and there tried to apply the liberal lessons imparted to me by such helpful friends as Michael Moore, Al Gore, Moveon.org and Jesus. Lesson such as:

• A liberal person must help the environment. 
• Oil is bad.
• Chemicals are even worse.
• Packaging, which is likely plastic and made from oil, is THE WORST. 

So, I surveyed the soap options and noticed (thankfully!) that here in liberal world, there were plenty of products that satisfy my parameters. They were labeled with feel-good words and phrases such as "All Natural," "Biodegradable," "Not tested on animals," "No Parabens***," "No artificial color or preservatives," and "Earth Friendly"****.  All of them were packaged in some sort of biodegradable, bamboo paper product which could be reused as a rain shield, greeting card, baby diaper or origami paper.***** Now, having read a number of key pieces of liberal propaganda by radicals such as Barbara Kingsolver and Joel Salatin, I knew the following things must also be true:

• Liberals support LOCAL businesses, NOT big corporations.

So I checked the labels of all the soaps and found one that had been milled just south of us in Connecticut. Unfortunately, the size of the soap operation was not discussed on the label. (I briefly considered that buying this particular bar in a Whole Foods, technically a corporation based in Austin, TX, might not be "local" enough, but dismissed this as I had already been in the soap aisle for about 10 minutes.) Now, on down the checklist. I think I remember that Cesar Chavez said something about:

• Liberals support businesses that advocate for fair labor practices.

Hmmm....tricky. I check the bars, but none of the packaging discussed such things as the hourly wage of workers engaged in producing said soap. I decided I'd have to investigate this online when I got home. (Though I doubted there are migrant farm workers engaged in the production of "South of France, Hand Milled Lavendar Body Soap." But you never can tell, right?)

All of this felt very good until I found the one I wanted and noted that it cost $7.******

With a sense of horror, I realized that my liberal values were about to contradict each other. Because I also have other lessons imparted to me by liberal notables such as the Apostle Paul, Thomas Merton, and the Buddha, who have said CRAZY liberal things such as:

• One must be a good steward of one's resources. 
• One should use one's resources to help the poor and marginalized, not to glorify oneself. 
• Buying a bar of soap for $7 is ridiculous.*******

What's a good liberal to do? Pollute the world with noxious chemicals that will end up turning the ocean yellow and cranking up the heat on the globe to sauna level? Contribute yet another package to the island of plastic now floating somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic? Or should I use my money to help those who need it most? What if I recognize that the ones who need support are also likely the ones who will be the most screwed by climate change?  I felt my liberal mind spinning.

After spending probably 5 minutes considering my options, I did what any rational person trying to express her values in the modern world would do: I left. And just didn't get any soap. And I waited for Mr.LIOLI to buy soap for himself and then chided him about not "fulfilling our values" when he came home with a 2-pack of Dove soap that cost $1.50. (No seriously, this is what I did.)

Now multiply the time it took me to come to this conclusion by the number of activities in my day (Should I get the organic carrots or the conventionally yet locally grown carrots? Do I get the recycled thank you note cards, even if they are also the Target-brand ones that will save trees but perpetuate a corporate empire? Do I get the French Roast selection at the coffee shop or the Ethiopian blend? Which is closer, France or Ethiopia? Am I oppressing people in Ethiopia by buying their coffee? Or helping them?) , and you can understand why I haven't had time to write.

I could go on and on and on.....but I just realized we're out of spray cleaner, so I need to log off.......


*This is a completely true story that can be corroborated by Mr. LIOLI who appreciated by attempt to express my values but was also annoyed that there was no soap. 
**I have a love-hate relationships with Whole Foods, though it is where I shop regularly. (It is the closest store to my home.) I also feel so GOOD shopping there, like I'm saving the world with each $6 grapefruit. But the hypocrisy of it sometimes get to me, especially when Mr. L points out that it too is a giant corporation trying to get my money, one which if it was called something else that began with W and ended with ALMART I would go to rallys to protest. Plus. they don't things like Diet Coke and Quaker Instant Oatmeal. And their recycled Aluminum Foil isn't worth the powder to blow it up. Uh-oh. War metaphor. So not liberal...
***I have no idea what "Parabens" actually are, though I once looked it up on Wikipedia and decided that someone made it up. I pretend it means either "Chemicals Made from Baby Bunny Fur" or "Republican Campaign Donations" and feel good that my soap company endorses neither of these things. Liberals, as you may know, love to eliminate things from their lives that they didn't even know were bad for them or would never have cared about.
**** A phrase I am 100% sure has no basis at all other than that the people who make said soap are also liberal.
*****This is not true.
******This IS true.
******* Okay, so I made this up. But it is extrapolated from the others.

Thanks to ThePeoplesCube.com for the image.