Oct 29, 2009
Free tip: If you're in the mood to get angry, browse any site that offers daily Christian devotionals. You may find a good one or two, but you'll soon run across one like this:
(Don't let the length intimidate you. As is the case with most craziness, it's a quick read.)
Manipulation is witchcraft!
1 Kings 21:25—But there was none like unto Ahab, which did sell himself to work wickedness in the sight of the LORD, whom Jezebel his wife stirred up.
Jezebel manipulated Ahab every day of his life. Manipulation in marriage works this way. A wife can manipulate her husband with sex. It says, “If you buy me what I want today, the bedroom is going to be exciting tonight. And if you don’t, I’m going to be like an iceberg until you cave in. It’s your choice, Bubba,” That’s witchcraft. You can manipulate through moods. “Give daddy what he wants, or he’ll get mad.” That’s witchcraft, and you’ll be giving into it till the day you die.
I’m talking about the spirit of witchcraft evidenced by manipulation. In the home, children will try to manipulate the parents. Many times a rebellious child will try to divide the parents, getting the father to stand against the mother, and vice versa. That’s witchcraft, pure and simple. When the child gets older, her or she will threaten to run away if they don’t get their way. I’m speaking from experience here.
I was raised in a very strict German home. If I told you how strict, many of you would think it was child abuse. It was strong. No movies. No dominoes. No Monopoly, because it had dice and my mother didn’t want her son to grow up to be a gambler. That’s how strong it was. So one day I got the idea that I’d just leave home. I’m 17 years old and bright as the noonday sun. And I came in and told my German mama, “I’m leaving. I’m getting out of here.” She said, “Fine.” Then she pulled my suitcase out of the closet and started throwing my clothes in it and telling me goodbye. I got a revelation that I wasn’t going to be there to eat supper. Mother wasn’t upset at all. She was telling me about Traveler’s Aid whenever I ran out of money and things like that. It took me about five minutes to start eating humble pie. I said, “I’ll do anything you want me to, just let me hang around and eat another meal.”
Is your home divided because your children are manipulating you? Parents, you stop it. You get together and you make those little tortilla snappers jump up and do what you want them to do. You’re the leader at your house, they’re not. Listen up, teenagers. Your parents do not owe you a perpetual good time. If you’re bored, get up off your duff and dust the furniture, vacuum the rugs, make the beds, wash the clothes, go outside and cut the grass, clean the windows wash the family car and then go back inside and straighten up your room before you leave to straighten out the world.
When children grow up, many mothers try to manipulate their grown children with guilt. Some of you are forty years old and can’t cross the street without your mother’s permission. That’s not good. Mother’s manipulation goes something like this. “I just want you to remember that I almost died giving birth to you. I slaved to feed you. I took clothes off my back to clothe you. I begged and borrowed to give you a big wedding. An now you won’t do what I want you to do.” That’s the spirit of Jezebel; that’s witchcraft—stop it!
Devotion taken from Pastor Hagee’s book 12 Sunday Mornings Volume 3 – currently unavailable
Where to begin, where to begin...how about the fact that Pastor Hagee's understanding of how women talk seems to have been learned from spam email about penis enlargement? "The bedroom is going to be exciting tonight?" Did she install a disco ball?
You've got misogyny, obviously. That's an easy one--sort of a staple in ill-advised Christian messages. It bothers me that this fictional woman calls her husband "Bubba," but it bothers me more that--in the same paragraph about sexual manipulation--Hagee includes the priceless: "give daddy what he wants, or he'll get mad." Let's leave your weird role-play stuff out of this, Padre.
Apparently most of Hagee's readers consider a home without movies, dominoes, or Monopoly an abusive one. I guess I can understand that, because Monopoly kicks ass. But referring to children as "tortilla snappers" is either one of the more racist things I've ever heard, or Hagee was suffering from word salad, and the person he was dictating to didn't want to correct him.
If Hagee thinks his domino-less home was borderline child abuse, than what would he call the slave-labor he suggests for teenagers? I'm all for children helping out around the house, but he's listed every chore that people don't want to do. What are the parents doing during all this, watching Fox news?
The worst, predictably, is the crux of his argument. In what is surely meant to be "Hagee getting personal," he opens up, sharing a childhood story about how, in a fit of rebellion & witchcraft manipulation, he threatened to run away from home. He then explains that his mother, in her wisdom, simply pretended not to give a damn, which made him come to his senses and go set the table.
What is more manipulative than a mother pretending she doesn't care that her son is skipping town!? He raises this tactic up as the perfect way to make someone eat "humble pie," (another method: tell them it's lingonberry) but she's the worst offender of all.
I've got news for you Pastor: your mom's strict rules may have kept you from a life of gambling and vagrancy, but--if your theory is correct--she was also a real-life witch.
Oct 22, 2009
OK, confession. I have been trying for over a month to finish American Pastoral, the book that won Phillip Roth a Pulitzer Prize, was named one of the greatest novels of all time by TIME, and took a runner-up spot in the "greatest work of American fiction in the last 25 years" contest that NYT Book review did a few years back. I have picked it up and put it down two pages later a dozen times, but I've also done full-chapter trudges (Phillip Roth chapters are about 290 pages long) that have left me with not much more than tired eyes and a thin layer of mild depression.
There are quite a few good things about the novel. The character of Swede Levov is great, well-developed, someone the reader can really see. The plot is compelling, the narrator is exactly the right person to tell the story, and the device used to deliver the story from a close third-person perspective is genius. There are scenes that I felt--really felt--in a visceral, stinging way. But Phillip Roth stops every few paragraphs to pontificate, to masturbate literary-style, in a way that makes the whole thing feel like riding a badly-designed theme park ride. The dull parts are too long and too numerous, and the exciting parts are too short to feel like they were worth the wait.
I also think that we should care a little more about Mary, Swede's daughter, before she goes where she goes/does what she does. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I'm not a father yet, but my inclination throughout most of the story has been "tell her to screw off, Swede!"
This whole rambling academic vibe must be Roth's shtick. I read The Dying Animal first, (library was out of American Pastoral) not realizing that I'd already seen the movie they adapted from it. I admit, I didn't figure out that it was the same story until I was halfway through, mostly because I was too busy wading through Roth's diatribes. We spend the whole of this novella in the narrator's head as he details his affair/obsession with his (much) younger student, so it ends up reading like an extra-long Wordpress entry. I think I got through this one because it was both shorter (under 200 pages) and sexier (possible alternate title=Boobs and Death: One Man's Thoughts), but it was no easy battle. I've always preferred authors that didn't do all the thinking for me.
The decision is, do I keep reading American Pastoral so that I can say I gave it my all (and so I can raise my hand if I'm ever in a book club and someone asks)? Or should I spend my energies elsewhere, with one of the many books I've got on deck that I'll actually enjoy? I can't decide. I think that people that give up on books too quickly cheat themselves, but just writing about the possibility of reading another chapter is making me yawn. Plus, I bet I can figure out the end (everyone is unhappy, lives that seem perfect aren't, anyone?)
Considering Elegy (The Dying Animal adaptation) was one of the few movies that was better than the book, maybe I'll stop now and hold out for the American Pastoral movie due out in '11. Considering it has a good director and great cast going for it, I can't imagine it being anything but an improvement.
Oct 17, 2009
A surprising number of celebrities are honest-to-goodness Scientologists. Since this "religion" is guano-crazy, I wanted to find out why. It took some digging, but I discovered the true reasons behind some of the more unbelievable conversions.
You may not know this, but Battlefield Earth is actually adapted from the first half of a book by L. Ron Hubbard. No lie. Problem is, Travolta was contractually obligated to star in Battlefield Earth 2: The Second Half. L. Ron told him the only way he could get out of making this movie, which could only be described as a "career-crucifier," was to convert. Travolta admitted defeat, not realizing that it was already too late.
Similar situation, actually. Kirstie was drunk on Schnapps and ice tea the night she signed up to co-star with Travolta in Look Who's Talking. What she didn't realize is that is was an eleven-sequel commitment. That's right, eleven sequels to this. Kirstie woke up, hungover and freaking out. Luckily, Hubby (L. Ron's new nickname, not her Baywatch-directing husband) stepped in an offered to make the whole thing go away if she'd start going to his "church." The rest is history.
It's a little-known fact, but Jenna Elfman is a serious method actor. She got into Scientology to prepare for her role as Dharma in the "hit" ABC series Dharma and Greg and has never got around to un-registering.
Actually, he was tricked into it. What follows is the exchange:
Giovanni Ribisi: (Whistling a tune as he walks down a street)
L. Ron Hubbard in disguise as a friendly hippie-type: Yo Maa-an.
GR: Oh, oh hello. Hi. What, ah, what's going on my friend?
LRHIDAAFHT: Yo dude, I can get you like the highest you've ever been man. You'll love what I've got. Come back to my house with me.
GR: Oh, ah, see--I don't do drugs or anything. I'm clean, you know? Thank you, though, for the offer and everything, ah--
LRHIDAAFHT: Please man, you'll like it, come on.
GR: Well, ah, I guess I could ah, you know--come with you. I'm not gonna do any drugs but if you want to just hang out or whatever, you know, that would be okay.
LRHIDAAFHT: Yeah, come on to my house ma-an.
GR: Oh, ah, haha, OK.
Later
LRHIDAAFHT: Sign this or I will fucking kill you.
GR: (signs it, weeping.)
He was bored, and he thought it would be funny.
Oct 13, 2009
Here's the preface to this post: I adore Ricky Gervais. I'm a huge fan of The Office and of Extras, and his stand-up is some of the best I've ever seen. I laugh like a moron watching this guy. Ghost World suffered from so-so writing, but Gervais' performance made me glad I watched it.
The Invention of Lying is Gervais' cinematic directorial debut. I wanted it to be a lot of things, but here's what it was (pseudo-spoilers to follow):
First 25 minutes or so: People making fun of Gervais with straight faces because, you see, they can't lie. There is also a hilarious Coke commercial.
Next 30 minutes or so: Gervais learns to lie, tricks people into doing stuff. Cue the unnecessary celebrity cameos.
Next 35 minutes or so: Gervais pokes easy fun at the most elementary of religious principles.
Final 10 minutes: Abrupt, cheesy ending. Credits.
Now you say, Andrew, you can't possibly sum up the whole movie that quickly, dismissing an entire work with just a few quips. You cannot oversimplify! Oh, but dear reader, I can. Because Gervais and Matthew Robinson, who co-wrote, did exactly that. They did it to their premise, they did it to Christianity, and they did it to their audience.
Gervais and Robinson committed the great sin of underestimating their viewers. Gervais offering up a one-note joke of a movie like this is the cinematic equivalent of buying your best girl gas station flowers for Valentine's Day. The awkwardly-placed cameos by all my favorite actors (Hoffman, Norton, Fey, Bateman, Bill from Freaks and Geeks) only made it worse. You know when a baby is crying and screaming, so you grab the closest toy, shake it in front of them and say, in your best high-pitched voice: look at the elephant! Look at this elephant! ?
It felt like that. And it pissed me of as much now as it did back then. Man, did I hate that. I'd poop down my own leg for revenge every time.
Anyway. I think the part that bothered me most, that pushed me over the ledge of annoyed and into the sea of offended was the film's treatment of Western religion. I'm no enemy of religious satire or parody, honest. Gervais is a proud atheist, and I get that. I respect it. But if you're going to point and laugh at something for half a movie, at least acknowledge some of its depth and complexity.
See, the Bible is pretty problematic. It provides an unlimited wealth of material for doubters, comedians and stoned agnostics to debate, denigrate, and disrespect. When you go further than that, and start delving into church dogma, religious zealots, and DC Talk's early stuff, even steadfast believers have to admit that Christianity can be pretty damn ridiculous.
Instead, the film's laugh factor hinges on this idea: that a "man in the sky" controls everything, that if you do 3 bad things you go to a bad place, but if you are good you go to a good place and get a mansion. Oh, and Gervais grows a beard so that he kinda looks like chubby Jesus. This alone seems to be the extent of the writers' understanding of religion.
Most religious people I know (even the close-minded jerks) moved past that kind of thinking when they were around five. If you're committed to lampooning an entire system of belief, at least give credit where credit is due. If you believe that all of religion is a lie told by one hapless idiot, at least admit that it's a terribly complex lie, one that means a great deal to a great many people. Christianity--true Christianity--is not a religion for the immature or the simple. It is actually quite challenging. And Gervais makes it look like a collection of dunces.
When people attack Christians this way, they remind me of Glenn Beck. And of Rush Limbaugh. And of all the dopes they hate because they speak out against something that they do not understand.
Also, and finally: this movie had some very clever moments, but it should have been much funnier. The premise had tons of possibility, Gervais was at the helm, and apparently every great actor currently working wanted in on it. Instead, what we got is something very few of us would want to pay for: an 18.5 million dollar anti-Christian statement. One which, instead of making an argument or delivering good comedy, muddled in the middle of the two, winking and nudging all the way to the lukewarm end.
Oct 8, 2009
My new favorite humor website is Conservapedia. Seriously, these guys are hilarious. I'm not sure who is behind it, but they're giving Stephen Colbert a run for his money with their ludicrous portrayal of the "crazy right."
The jokes start right off the bat: they dub themselves "The Trustworthy Encyclopedia." This is a gut-buster for a number of reasons. The first is that the site works exactly like Wikipedia, meaning anyone can edit almost any article as he or she sees fit. I just wrote that Ronald Reagan is "known by many of his followers as 'Jesus II'." Boy, do I love satire! The second is that they present the looniest claims that right wing dolts make as encyclopedic fact. According to Conservapedia, Barack Hussein Obama (haha, they insist on using his middle name, just like the dummies!) is a false name. He's also foreign-born, a mobster, an acceptor of fraudulent cash, a fetus-eater, etc. They even say that he used mind control to be elected! A crackup--Not even Hannity claims that! The whole format is comic genius; it is almost as if people actually believe this stuff!
Hmm? What? No, no...seriously?
OK. I'm being told that this website is not a joke. Conservapedia was, in fact, set up to "combat the liberal bias of Wikipedia." And claims like "Sarah Palin was attacked by the press on a level not since Dan Quayle...but she ultimately handled it much better," are certainly illustrative of an unbalanced, straightforward point of view.
Sick. OK. This website is still a gut-buster, but now it's dark humor. Ultra-dark. We're talking a-magician's-inside-pocket dark. O.J.-on-the-cover-of-TIME dark. We're talking Very Bad Things style funny here. And now I'm conflicted.
See, I want to keep browsing, so that I can find more gems like this image of a woman's ultrasound, which she and Conservapedia believe to be not a baby, as one would expect, but instead an image of Jesus Christ, pleading the mother not to abort. (I'm so glad someone is finally presenting unbiased information!)
On the other hand, every time I click on a new guffaw-inspiring article, I'm boosting their hits. This could cause the psychos behind this stuff to believe that they have more supporters than they actually do, which could lead to more funding for them, more advertising for them, and bragging rights at their wacky gatherings.
The same thing is true for everyone who watches The O'Reilly factor just for yucks. I mean, I understand, the guy is hilariously doltish, but check the highlights on Youtube or something, geez. Otherwise, when you hear that he's got 2.5 million viewers every time he's on, you have to remember that you're part of the problem.
PS: If you need any more proof that Conservapedia is run by the seriously deranged, check this: they're rewriting the Bible. As it turns out, the Good Book has a huge liberal bias, too.
Oct 6, 2009
[Edit: I started this entry on Wednesday, September 30, and couldn't think of a good punchline to a joke that appears below. I put the entry on hold until today, so all of my readers would know how funny I truly am.]
Last night, Andrew Bird and St. Vincent played at The Murat downtown, and it was stellar. It has been a long time since a show really hit me, but this one did, in a big way.
Annie Clark, who basically is St. Vincent (sorry, other dudes who were there), is, as my hot fiancee put it, "fucking hot." She's not exactly my type (she's kind of a waif, and I'm into curves), but she does have some serious stage presence that demands your attention. I know for a fact that Stevi would run away with her in a heartbeat, and I guess I understand. She looks like a cross between Christina Ricci in That Darn Cat and Helena Bonham Carter in everything (except her stint on Miami Vice)--in other words, a Tim Burton cocktail. On the albums, St. Vincent is a by-the-book boxer: form and beauty mixed with calculated, effective punches. Live, they're more like a half-drunk street brawler--they come out swinging and never really stop. Their newest, Actor, released earlier this year.
When Andrew Bird took the stage, it was immediately obvious why he and Clark are touring together. This lanky gentleman treats his violin like a lover, from gentle caresses to--you know--the rough stuff. He alternately plucked, bowed, and straight up ravaged his instrument, and even took some time out to pick up a guitar or two as well. His extensive use of a loop pedal was surprising but fascinating, and he's got a voice like the purring engine of a European sports car. He also whistles. Save for his haunting version of "Why?" from his Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire days, he was at his best with his backing band (Martin Dosh, Jeremy Ylvisaker, and Mike Lewis), who ably kept up with Bird's passion, energy and musical godishness.
To summarize, you simply must go see Andrew Bird and St. Vincent if you have the opportunity. They are two artists that represent a (sadly) dwindling type of performer, the kind whose live shows transcend their already-great recorded work, illustrating the line between performance and experience.
Making a Molotov cocktail is easy. Remember to tape the top and you're golden--the bottles break without much effort, just like us. Even without experience, you could have a batch in the time it takes to brush your teeth.
Resist this urge. The chuck will feel righteous, but the aftermath will make you an ash--a single ash in an evidence bag full of ashes, the investigators taking you wherever they like.
Instead, paint a still life. The dust-covered oak, the rotten pears, the fruit flies with their buzz. Paint a crack in the bowl that holds it all together. Mute the colors. Step back. The finished product should look like an apology.
Stare at it for a while before you strike the match. When the first corner catches fire, you might smile. Keep staring. The table, the rot, the buzz--it's all yours
and it's almost gone.
