and more.

Trying to remain objective…must continue to delve into sources as best I can…

If this is true, the guy should not be president.

I’m so tired of politicians trying to pull the wool over my eyes. You know…a few years back I was ALMOST thinking…MAYBE…Clinton might not be so bad. Then he lied. Openly. Knowingly. VERY knowingly.

And now this guy.

And don’t EVEN tell me Bush has lied knowingly. When a person is provided with flawed information, that’s not lying, that’s being duped along with the rest of us.

People may say, “Well, but they aren’t lying about anything important…”

Lying is lying. I may refuse to comment, but I sure as hell don’t lie. If you’re too stupid to dig deeper and get what you want to know from me, then you deserve to be under the wrong impression. But lying is the sleazy way out. And shows a lack of creativity that I require in an elected official…the creativity of allowing truth to work to your advantage.

gah.

Granted, it’s a Drudge Report…uh…report. They aren’t always true…but if it is…

G.W. is looking pretty good, folks.

Irreverent? Yes. Like him or not, whether you think he’s innocent or not, it’s funny.

I can’t stop laughing…

Oh dear me, these are funny.

Teehee.

How To Sell Your Lecherous Frenchman on Ebay.

Funerals are just not my thing. (I know, I know…are they anyone’s?) Grief does not become me, nor I it. I don’t know how to do it well. I dislike dissolving in tears.

I clench my jaw, I stare fixedly at a point in space, anything to keep from giving in to that.

I don’t begrudge others their indulgence in grief…it’s just…really not for me. I’d rather not, is all.

I attended a funeral today in remembrance of one of the more beautiful women I have ever known. I don’t mean physically, though she was lovely in that way as well. She’s just one of those people that, upon meeting, I have never felt MORE comfort or more love than when in her presence. She wasn’t overwhelming, she was just…dear. Entirely, completely, dear; the sort of person one wants to wrap up and cherish, and protect from all the horror of the world, only to find that she’s the one who is protecting you through her mere existence and caring.

She danced with us for a while, before she got sick again. Cancer. Horrid thing, that. It seems to happen, so often, to the very best people. As my dance teacher said…this woman was an angel on earth, and God looked down and said, “Hmm…I think I made a mistake…I wanted to keep that one. She needs to come back.” She was that good.

So the funeral was a trial, as these things always are…an exhausting ordeal that is some sort of exquisite torture we humans seem to think we must perform to honor those we have lost to death. Then the lunch, or whatever you call it, after…was wonderful…people who knew the departed spending time together, remembering good things, smiling, laughing. That was much preferable.

The whole deal got me thinking. What would I want? How would I want to be remembered?

I forbid there to be any sort of formal funeral for me. If there just absolutely MUST be some recognition that I’m to be put in the ground or cremated (or whatever is the cheapest way of disposing of my carcass)…then no more than a couple words at graveside, or a teeny little memorial with the urn containing my ashes sitting in the corner somewhere.

Then have a party. Get together and have some fun. Invite belly dancers. Play music.

Please don’t play sorrowful songs that urge the listener to “look on the bright side because after all I’ve gone to my eternal reward and you don’t have me anymore but I’m happier.”

I think that’s insulting to the people who might have loved me.

Play…oh, I don’t know…something by Weird Al Yankovic. And then play Metallica on cellos. And then some good blues. And then Boston’s ‘Don’t Look Back’. But just don’t take it too seriously. After all…I’m gone. Nothing you can do about it. Just don’t play sappy crap. PLEASE. It must be raw. It must be honest. Or at least funny as hell. If you insist on having something heart wrenching to listen to… play Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings. Then, immediately upon its ending, someone must stand and say something entirely incongruous. And silly. Please. If you have to play “Joy to the World”…play the Three Dog Night one…not the churchy one.

Speeches, sermonizing, eulogizing…forbidden. I don’t want some clergy, or bishop, or anyone else for that matter, standing before my family and friends telling them who I was, what I believed, or how I thought. If they didn’t get it while I was among them…someone else trying to explain it all after I’m gone is not only useless…but they’ll probably get it wrong as well.

I would rather that people know what I think, or believe, from my own words, not someone else’s.

What do I think and believe?

One thing I do NOT believe is that I was born a sinner. I was not born impure. It is my conviction that every child born upon this earth is a sweet, beautiful, pure, clean little soul. It’s what they do once they become self-aware that defines their ‘sin’ or lack thereof. Any error before that self-awareness is the responsibility of the parent.

I am not a sinner. I am, however, a chooser. I believe in choice. I believe I have the right, even the responsibility, to evaluate situations, and based on my own conclusions according to my OWN value judgements to choose the path I will take. What I find valuable…you may not.

I try not to have any illusions as to the foolishness of my actions, my whims, my ‘choices’. And I definitely can be a fool, especiallly in the eyes of the world, for my choices.

I follow my heart AND my mind. I wouldn’t have the one without the other. Either course seems destructive to me. They work in tandem, or not at all.

My thoughts on God:

I do believe in God. I have faith in an omnipotence that is the cause of all that is. In my opinion, the odds against a chance occurence of the right conditions in the right combination all occuring at the right time to produce humanity are far too great for there not to have been a hand that directed them somehow.

I do not buy dogma, however. I do not follow ‘rules from God’ simply because someone told me they are ‘rules from God’. Again with the choice thing… I follow rules because they are right, and they make sense, and they are the right way to live in my judgement.

My view of God… He is, in a way, the ultimate parent. He brought me into this life. He loves me. He has given me the tools to live and His guidelines on how I should live, what would be the best way to behave, how best to be healthy physically, financially, emotionally. Then he set me free…and expects me to make choices based on my own will and judgement. He has made it clear that there are consequences for my actions. He is disappointed when I make choices contrary to his guidelines, and He will ruthlessly enforce those consequences, for good or ill in my eyes. I do not doubt at any time that He loves me. I do not doubt at any time that He always has my best interests at heart. And I freely admit that I may well be one of His more disappointing children, given that I knowingly defy his guidelines in some ways…and end up facing the consequences exactly as I was warned I would.

I have faith in God. I have faith in His wisdom, in that He allows, and expects, me to seek my own wisdom. I suspect that the more I learn, and truly seek to do what is best, to be the best that I can be, the more I will become like Him. After all, what parent doesn’t want a child to excel, and do as well as they have, or better?

I am a child of God. The above is what that phrase means to me.

The nonsense being preached so often that God is three entities in one…I reject. I have rejected it since I was a very small child. I would hear it taught in Sunday School, or Vacation Bible School. “God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost are all the same person.” I remember thinking, “That’s stupid.”

I still think, “That’s stupid.” I don’t care what title some religious ‘scholar’ has. I don’t care what worldwide religion they lead. I don’t care how many years they’ve studied theology. When a concept is stupid, a concept is stupid.

Three separate beings, with three separate identities, cannot all be the same person. If you said that some average human was three separate people with three separate identities and personalities, you would think one of just a few things: 1. The person is mentally unstable…there’s something psychologically wrong. 2. The person is a fraud, criminally, or at least cruelly, and is perpetrating a falsehood for some unsavory reason. 3. The person is actually just one entity, one personality, but is PRETENDING to be others for some sort of covert mission.

So…I do not believe God is insane. I do not believe God is a criminal or a fraud. I do not believe God is trying to conceal anything, or pull the wool over our eyes…because I do not believe He needs to resort to those sorts of games.

So the three-in-one, one-in-three argument is all bullshit to me. God is God. He had a son named Jesus who had His own work to do, and the Holy Ghost, or Holy spirit is another being who also had their own purpose. Yeah, they’re all on the same team…but when I play baseball, I’m not Pitcher, Catcher, and Right Fielder all at once, and neither are they.

Don’t get offended, folks, I’m just saying what I think.

For the record: I’ve often said I’m a misanthrope, that I dislike people, that I don’t care about humanity. That’s not entirely true. I care very much. I just find that the majority of people do not use their wits, the brains that God gave them… and because of that, I choose not to deal with them. It’s not that I think I’m so very much better than they are. With a little effort, most of them could surpass me in many ways… but the fact that they don’t is what makes them not at all worth my while. And frankly, the constant reminder of aborted potential is too much for me to bear, so I choose not to face it in any way. I have enough to deal with without carrying the weight of another’s’ sin against potential.

So…if I’ve ignored you, or treated you coldly, or been abrupt and somewhat unfeeling…it’s because I’ve felt I can’t afford to invest attention or feeling in you, because I know I will be hurt or disappointed…and I’m not strong enough to deal with that.

It’s your choice to be as you are, and it’s my choice to be as I am. No hard feelings on that score.

On the other hand, if you have wronged me, or if I have perceived that you have wronged me…well, there’s just not much likelihood I’m ever going to forget. I may forgive. Again…your choices are your choices, what is…is. But, as above, I’m not likely to invest anything in you, knowing what I know, and having experienced what I’ve already experienced at your hands. And on this score, there may well be hard feelings. If so…um…sorry? You’ll live. I have.

On regret…I don’t believe in regret, or guilt. It’s a completely useless emotion. Either you do something, or you do not do it. If you are feeling regret, you are feeling guilt… why feel guilt? You’ve made a choice. It was yours to make, as mine are my own. So…it’s like crying over spilled milk. You can choose not to do it again…or…you can resolve to choose differently in the future…but what you have done, you did because you chose to. Don’t second guess yourself after the fact unless your intention is simply to LEARN from it. Otherwise…let it go. When someone says, ” I regret having done that,” my first thought is, “Well, if you knew you were going to regret it…you wouldn’t have done it… quit lamenting the fact, and just choose to learn from it.”

On love: I have nothing to offer here. I vacillate violently between not believing in its existence and the willingness to stake my life on a passionate immersion in it. I will say this… from my experience, the thing I perceive as love is ephemeral, cannot be held or grasped, only enjoyed, and it is ever-changing. I feel I am a failure in love and have no wisdom to pass on.

Anything else you want to know about how I think you’ll have to glean from what you already know of me. Who I have been to you is what is going to define me in your eyes, anyway. I hope it’s been a good thing. If it hasn’t…I can’t care.

In this day and age, however, it’s not likely.

Men hate women, women hate men. With many good reasons, certainly. This kind of true admiration is impossible. Sadly.

Reality sets in. Glimpses of this kind of emotional purity are ephemeral, they disappear almost as they’re grasped. They flicker, enticing, bright and intense, but when we reach for their warmth we find they’re only a wisp of smoke. Or, perhaps, like the light of the stars…something that once existed long ago, but extinct before we ever even see proof of it.

Thirteen.

13.

I’m about to complete 13.

And I’m searching for some meaning in it.

12 is, supposedly, “all things”. Or it can represent “faith” or “charity”. Yes, I do suppose that resonates with me. Until now it has been “all things” because of my “faith” in that it is “right”, and my “charity” by negating the needs of the one for the good of “all things”.

14, on the other hand, is twice 7. (7 being the beginning of temptation – also oddly resonant). 14, supposedly, is the end of “childhood”. That also seems appropriate, this being a stage of , perhaps having reached, or getting close to reaching, the apex of my time in this life.

So. Does this mean I am between total faith and the end of that blind, child-like sentiment?

Between, meaning I have not yet reached whatever conviction or understanding that will herald the end of that heretofore held ‘faith’. I haven’t reached understanding and enlightenment, but I’ve begun to lose my grip on what I had grasped so trustingly, believing there need be no reason, only that faith.

Soo…..13 means I must now find some meaning, some purpose, in what I live. What comes first, though?

Which way do I go about it? Accept what I am, and create some purpose for it? OR…seek a purpose, and create what I will become from that?

Yes, Griffenous Quicksilver, I am the waffle queen. I am teetering on a tiny point between two chasms, and have no idea which way I’d rather leap.

Cake, and eat it too. Except I know that if I devour the cake…I will no longer have cake. But sitting and staring at it longingly isn’t enough.

Oh yes. I DARE you to make me see some sense.

I am still plodding through the last, oh…eighth of this book.

Ayn Rand is preachy. This is not to say that I disagree with her general point. But too much of a good thing is still too much. How many main characters are going to give the same speech couched in different references? I understand that she wrote this book as a means to an end. The entire point of it is to convey her objectivist philosophy. Fine. Dandy. She’s not the only writer who ever had an ulterior motive for their work, and she certainly doesn’t seem to have made any attempt to hide that she was making a point.

But good gawd. Does it have to be SO long, and SO boring? The story, the basic story itself, is fairly compelling to me. The premise is great, the idea is interesting enough that I WANT to know what happens.

What I do not like is that she has combined this story, this wonderful story that could very nicely convey a fictional application of her philosophy and its end, with a series of extremely dry and repetitive essays disguised (thinly) as the words of her main characters.

It rips me from the story, the story in which I have been entirely engaged to that point, and slaps me in the face with the fact that these characters are entirely unbelievable. I had been willing to suspend my disbelief until then.

It is at these disruptions in the story that I put the book down and my mind wanders. I begin to think of my earlier conclusion that she was showing her concept of the ‘ideal man’. In my opinion, the ideal man does not drone on and on about the same concept for upwards of three full pages of text. Or more.

For me, the ideal man conveys a point precisely, concisely, with elegant simplicity, then moves on. I want to scream “STOP EXPLAINING YOURSELF! To whom do you OWE this?”

After all, if a person is going to get it…they’ll get it. Continuing to try and hammer the idea home isn’t going to make the reader/listener any more likely to ‘discover’ what one hopes they will discover. And it’s a personal discovery of that idea, not blind acceptance of it, that is one’s goal, I believe.

“You can’t teach a pig to sing. It’s frustrates you, and annoys the pig.”

As one who got ‘the point’ early on in the book, I feel as though I’m being bludgeoned, punished, for getting it.

I also think that ‘the point’ is not well served by this continual, repetitive preaching. If there were anyone of the intelligence and self-awareness that seems to be so revered by the writer who might be on the verge of understanding and accepting her point, I believe that person might be monumentally insulted by the constant barrage of propagandizing…from someone who gives the impression of despising the idea of propaganda.

It could have been a wonderful story. In fact, it IS a wonderful story. But it is not a great story. Nothing so bogged down in opinion, preaching, moralizing, lecturing, could ever do anything but lose its way. I have had conversations with people that do this: I might be on the verge of conceding they have a valid idea, but am prevented from even acknowledging it by their constant repetitions of “Don’t you SEE? Don’t you SEE? Don’t you SEE? LOOK….” and then they go on for another thirty minutes reiterating every point I’ve already understood, perhaps even accepted. It’s insulting.

Because of that, I feel bereft and disappointed. I feel as though someone has offered me something then snatched it away.

Or, to put it in terms SHE might approve… If the barter of her presenting the story is for the return of my understanding and/or enlightenment, then I have been cheated. The value of the story does not match the time, effort, and understanding I have given it.

It’s not a great loss to me, but a disappointing one.

I do intend to finish the book. Why? I wish to find out how, or if, the characters will plan to achieve the ‘joy’ to which, by the philosophy of the whole thing, they are entitled and which has been their goal. Will Dagny find her personal, emotional, and physical fulfillment with her ‘ideal man’? Or will she only have the memory of one night in a train tunnel on a burlap sack?

Oh. The suspense.

Yes. That was sarcasm.

Truly, I want to know what OTHER impossibilities will be achieved by these luminescent beings, these avenging angels who have punished an ignorant, unaware, lecherous and contemptible world.