In Defense of "Happy Holidays"

As a "word guy" I am annoyed by a lot of things people say and I have referenced a few of them on H&R. And, like a lot of you, I'm turned off by "doublespeak" and jargon and I am suspicious of anything that is considered "politically correct," not only because being politically correct seems cowardly (even though it is often kind, though more often beneficial to the speaker), but because I have learned that whatever politically correct word or phrase one picks, someone is bound to figure out a way to be offended by it; and, even if a politically correct statement is okay today, it might not be okay tomorrow.

(Think of the progress from that most atrocious of n-words (from the corrupted word "negro") to the gentler "colored" to the proudly proclaimed "black" and, eventually, to the "politicaly correct" "African American" -- a phrase, by the way, that a black college student of mine one voiced violent objection to: "If I hear one more person in this room refer to black people as African Americans, I'm going to flip." His objection was that he was black, but of West-Indian descent and that calling him African American was simply incorrect and that is was also a default disregarding of his culture. He saw, he said, no more problem being referred to as "the black guy" than he would imagine a ginger person should have with being called "the red-haired guy.")

The Great Teacher (A Parable)

The school was a great, open field. The Great Teacher watched from the sunlit hill.

Three teachers stood before his class, next to a great stack of bricks -- special bricks, that were called "facts."

The first teacher picked up a fact-brick and held it out. One at time, the students approached and took the offering from his hands. When each student was supplied, the teacher commanded: "Now, keep returning to me and put your bricks in a stack. You will make the biggest pile possible, for I will hand you many, many bricks before the sun falls."

The Great Teacher frowned.

The Chump (Who is Not Me)

Once upon a time, there was a fellow (not me, you understand) who went food-shopping because his wife (not mine, you understand), who usually did the food shopping, was recuperating from knee surgery. He wasn't used to food shopping, this fellow who is absolutely not me, but he had done it before -- back in the days before kids. He (this other fellow) went into this adventure feeling pretty confident.

And he did okay, this non-Chrissian chap, in general. Sure, he got non-fat creamer instead of half-and-half. And he did get regular cheese instead of 2%. Small errors, on the whole. On the opposite end, he managed to find (after some significant searching and a silent [but energetic] imagining that he was Indiana Jones exploring the Temple of the Frozen Menace) crumbled bleu cheese; an accomplishment of which he was exceedingly proud, and after which, in silent celebration, he stood heroically for a moment, next to his shopping cart, and ran an hand iconically across the brim of his imaginary fedora.

Finally -- a reason to use this painting!

Yes, this stalwart shopping-hero did okay.

More Lungs, Less Air

I'm at it again. I'm thinking about community and the on-going struggle I have regarding the concept. In short, in case you haven't read anything by me on the subject, yet, I have a rough time coming up with things that are positive as a result of community -- that is, outside of the benefit of shared work and companionship. I know these are big deals, but, then, when I start tallying up the problems that come out of community, my inner hermit peeks his long-bearded head out of the isolated cabin window and beckons.

But as a person who never closes the door on different perspectives (and who knows he has shifted on many an issue), I always question myself. A lot of times, while watching movies, I'll see scenes that make community look pretty awesome.

The Cosmic Sundae

It's that time again -- time for me to step aside. Here's a wonderful piece by a fellow contributor to When Falls the Coliseum, Mr. Frank Wilson. This piece on the question of life on other planets and the question's place in both faith and in general logic is done in Frank's usual eloquent and lucid manner. He's able to shine one heck of light on certain things, and this is no exception. "Maybe," Frank ponders, "we’re the sour cherry on the sundae" that is the universe. A simply wonderful piece: The presumption that we are not alone