The Padawan At Work and Stupid Christians

There’s this guy who comes through my line at work who has a Padawan braid.  The first time I saw him, I said, “Hey, you have a Padawan braid!”

He said, “No, it’s…well…” and shrugged and kind of nodded.  I grinned and said, “I’m going to call you ‘Padawan’.”  He kind of rolled his eyes and smiled.  And I do, every night.

So the other night, Padawan was in my line, and he sneezed, and I said, “Oh, may the Force be with you!” in this really concerned voice.  He did the same rolling eyes and smiling thing.  Hahaha.

So this random occurrence pissed me off.  I was reading Sandman, and there was this one part where these Bacchante things came out (I guess they’re witches?) and they made the strangest calls:  “Euan, euan, eu-oi-oi-oi!”  That’s the sort of thing that sticks in your mind if you read it once and then see it again, because it’s so odd.  I remembered having read it before, more than once, and more recently, within the past couple of years.  I did a search for it, because I knew some text would have to come up.

It’s from Prince Caspian.  And suddenly I did remember reading it.  But all the sites I found listing it (and you can try it yourself, just the same way I did) were from Christians who were telling people not to let their children read The Chronicles of Narnia because it would turn them into witches–because of this one scene.  Oh, I was furious.  They were calling C. S. Lewis a Pagan and all sorts of shit.

I am not religiously intolerant.  It wouldn’t matter to me what C. S. Lewis was, I’d still read the books, but that is not the point.  The point is all these morons who refuse to look at anything that isn’t directly related to God or may have something in it that they don’t approve of, for really asinine reasons.  (“This is why I don’t go to church!” I told my mom later.  “This is why there are so many stupid Christians!”)

For the record, C. S. Lewis was a once-atheist who set out to disprove Christianity and ended up becoming so convinced by it that he converted.  He was definitely a Christian, and he chose to use Greek elements in his books because they are interesting and because it was a fucking story.

The scene in question, by the way, has these witches worshipping Aslan.  I believe the point, as it is Christian allegory, is that even the witches cannot ignore God’s presence.  It’s supposed to be a happy occasion.  Again, all of this from a Christian perspective, and I realize a lot of you don’t care.  Stay with me; I haven’t yet gotten to what really pissed me off.

Here is one example of one of the sites that I found.  See all of those  “[emphasis added]”s?  Remember those.

Then I saw, on the list of search results, J. K. Rowling’s name.  (And I just searched for it again and suddenly can’t find it, unfortunately.)  I clicked it.  It was this Christian message board with HP-bashers, one of which had posted an extremely long message explaining how HP is real witchcraft and that their children should not read it.  They had a passage supposedly quoted from the book.  The passage was the exact same one from Prince Caspian, but the names were changed to Dumbledore, Harry, etc.

I was furious.  I can’t believe the depths people will go to to brainwash each other.  I really wanted to respond, but the message was from 2001.  Somebody responded saying that they read HP, and they didn’t want to call the person a liar, but they didn’t recall the passage from the book, and could that person post page numbers?  The other person, of course, never responded, but I so wanted to reply, “I’ll call you a liar, and here are the page numbers from PRINCE CASPIAN, where you stole the passage!”

I’ve calmed down a bit since then; otherwise this would be a lot more heated.  I just wanted to share.


My Quest for the Holy Grail

My dream last night had all this weird Christian imagery.

I was with some guy and girl, I don’t know who they were, and we were looking for the Holy Grail.  We were in some small town in like Germany or something…it kind of looked like Germany, from the buildings.  And every night we’d go into…I don’t know what it was.  It had stone walls, but it had grass growing up out of the floor, and it was really dark, and it was really, really big, and we’d get a little bit farther every night, but if we hadn’t reached the Grail by a certain time, I guess, we were sent back to the beginning.  We found the Ten Commandments and the Cross–the Ten Commandments and the Cross–but we couldn’t find the Grail.  We kept getting sent back, and eventually I was getting impatient and was all, “How many times do we have to pass the Ten Commandments and the Cross!?  Yes, they’re cool, but we have to find the Grail!”

We were all wearing Spanish Conquistador helmets, and there were like helmets strewn about the ground, many with arrows sticking out of them–big, heavy, metal arrows that could break through a helmet like that.  These represented the bodies of all the unworthy souls who had not made it to the Grail.  They had been slain by…I guess angels.  I think that’s what they were.

So one day, we’re standing by a wall, right near the Ten Commandments, and studying a map that we’ve been creating of this place, when one of those huge arrows flies right between two of us and pierces the stone wall.  We’re all a bit shaken as we look up and see an angel standing several yards away, staring at us solemnly, still holding the bow, which has another arrow in it.  He says that the unworthy one must come forward and meet him, because that one could no longer continue the search.

We all sort of looked at each other, questioning, but I knew, somehow, that I was not worthy.  And then the angel spoke right into my head, saying, “Come forth”, and so of course I had to.  He was pointing an arrow at me.

So I tentatively approached the angel, who had a sheet of paper or two, and a question.  I think it may have been a Bible verse.  Something about a path–oh!  I think it might have been Ezekiel 25:17!  You know, the one Samuel L. Jackson shouts at that guy in Pulp Fiction before blowing his brains out!  Anyway, I had to fill in the blank…something about the path of the righteous man, and how it was a metaphor for his life and his overall philosophy, and I remember some of the words–there were a lot–like, your path should be _____.  Some of the words he showed me were happy, lucky, right, divine….

I can’t remember which word I chose, but it was obviously the wrong word.  The angel didn’t shoot me, but he led me out of the whole…whatever it was…by the arm, and I think that may have meant that I died….  I’m not sure.  But either way, I wasn’t allowed to search for the Grail because my motives were impure.  See, I was only searching for it because I thought going on a quest–for the Holy Grail, of all things–would be fun.  Fun is not a correct motive to have to search for the Grail.  Apparently.

I love my dreams.

Weekend Uproar

Of course, we had one of many Weekend Uproars this morning (oh, SNL is starting in a bit, isn’t it?).

Here’s the scene:  I’m in the rocker reading a deliciously funny book; my mom’s on the computer studying the budget; my dad’s trying to fix the handle on the sliding back door again, because it’s constantly being broken somehow.  The kids are both out.  Everything is calm and quiet.

Suddenly, my dad throws down the tools angrily and stomps through the kitchen, to the garage.  He yells loudly, “FUCK IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  And then we hear crashing sounds, like things being thrown around, knocked over, and broken.

Then he stomped into his room and was singing something in a loud, taunting, annoying voice.  I couldn’t make out any of the words.  And finally he came out and said in that Voice of Pissed-Off Arrogance, “OOH, he was a REALLY nice person, WASN’T HE!?”

We’re like, “Who?”

“JOB!” he said.  “JOB was a really nice person!  Oh, but he loved God, though, didn’t he?  He went through ALL those tribulations, just because he loved God!  And God REWARRRRDED him in the end, didn’t he!?!?”

Neither of us said anything.  That’s pointless in these situations.

And then he’s back with the tools and the door, just muttering, “Job loved God so much, he killed his whole family, and God blessed him for it—gave him another one!  Just gave him another one.  He was a really nice guy.  God loved Job!  So this means that if somebody came in here and started abusing all of you, oh well that’s fine, I should just let it happen, because God’ll give me a second family, a better one this time!  Ohh, we have a really good God, don’t we?  Some God.”

I’m Ginny, and this has been Weekend Uproar.  Tune in tomorrow—the stories never end.

Disturbing Behavior

Hello, followers and lurkers!

I know I never update anymore, but as I am constantly pointing out, that is only temporary until the end of summer semester!  I’m going to have to go back and read some old daily entries or something and see just what the hell it is I used to talk about every day, sometimes a couple of times a day.

I stayed up late last night studying–really late–for this test today, and I was determined to do well on it!  So I took these online interactive quizzes that correspond to the chapters in my book, and I didn’t do too great on them…so I kept on going, repeating it over and over until I knew every answer.

Of course, none of these questions, or anything really remotely like them, were on the test, so who knows?  Maybe I passed; that’d be nice.

Thursday is the last day, thank goodness!  I can’t stand our World Religions class.  I have to say I think it’s positively the worst class I’ve ever been in.  I don’t know how else to describe it except as a cult.  They all think as one monstrous entity; it’s really scary!  And our teacher has no idea what the hell she’s talking about–well, no, she does know what she’s talking about, she just doesn’t know how to convey the information so that it makes any logical sense.  I don’t think anybody knows what their grades are, not that it matters…I have a feeling everybody but us is passing.

Get this–we have this huge group project we had to do, right…due today.  She’d been saying for a week that it was due today.

Then the weekend rolls around, and Katie and I neglect to go to three field trips with the entire rest of the class (who didn’t really miss us but acted like they did just to try and make us feel bad for not participating), and suddenly, they all come in yesterday with their projects done, ready to present, and our teacher says, “Okay, everybody got their projects ready to present today?”–and they all did.

Except for us.  And I suspect that this was done deliberately; she changed the date over the weekend while we weren’t there, just because.  I’m telling you, they hate us.

Fortunately, because of said teacher’s propensity for talking nonstop about random crap all class long, (well, not all class–half an hour into class until 45 minutes to an hour after it’s over) only one group actually went yesterday, and we have a test today, so we won’t have to worry about it today, either.  We’ll be ready for tomorrow.

Our project is great.  It’s snazzy; everyone else’s will pale in comparison.  This is when we will either sweep them all off their feet and win our way back into their hearts with our brilliance…or just drown miserably, as we have consistently done since sometime in the first week of class.

I think what’ll keep us afloat is that we have Needs-A-Nickname in our group.  It’s the three of us.  Needs-A-Nickname is on the inside.  This is the one who missed about three straight weeks of class, but came back just as much a part of it all as anyone ever was.  They welcomed him back with open arms and prize sheep!  But Katie and I, we miss a couple of days, and we’re devil-girls.  (I’m serious; that’s what they called us yesterday for having missed all of the field trips.)

As far as we can figure out, the only reason Needs-A-Nickname (who, assuredly, does believe we’re insane) is willing to fraternize with us is because he was gone for so long and doesn’t quite understand the class’s hatred of us.  At one time, we had a handful of people like this–they thought we were weird, but we weren’t outcasts to them–but gradually, they all became brainwashed, and now we have only Needs-A-Nickname…until they get him, too.  It’s like freaking…what’s the name of that movie…well, it’s like a lot of movies, actually…but I’m thinking of…Disturbing Behavior.  That’s the one.

Anyway, for our project, from what we could figure out from Stephanie’s (that’s the teacher) garbled notes, we were to compare Christianity, Islam, and Judaism–three major themes that each share.  So we’re doing creation, marriage, and peace.

For creation, we’re playing the Star Wars theme (it’s on PowerPoint) just because it randomly occurred to Katie to use, and I agreed with it.  Somewhere in there (probably a basic intro or the conclusion) there’s that picture of God from Monty Python and the Holy Grail–heh.

We’re playing the “mawwaige” quote from The Princess Bride, and at the very start of it all, we’re playing that quote from Pulp Fiction, Ezekiel something-or-other, right before Samuel L. Jackson blows somebody’s brains out (which is included on the sound effects).  Picture it:  We’ll be standing up there, with our PowerPoint, looking relatively normal, playing this seemingly relevant Bible verse, and then all of a sudden!  Rain Man will have a conniption fit.  (Needs-A-Nickname might, too, for that matter, because he’s doing most of the speaking–since he was unable to help create anything–and he doesn’t know what’s coming.)

We’re going to follow the mawwaige quote (accompanied by a picture of Westley and Buttercup kissing) with “All I Ask of You”…and then at the end, for peace, we’ve got a quote from the Sermon on the Mount–“Blessed are the peacemakers”, which will be accompanied by the sound-effect-quote, “Blessed are the cheesemakers,” from Monty Python’s Life of Brian.  And then to balance everything out, at the end we’re going to play “Imagine”, by John Lennon.  Hooray.  We’re going to have fun.

…And this isn’t even as outlandish as it could have been, not by a long shot.  You should hear what we were going to do.

“Do you believe in Moses?”: Fun Arguments As Usual In The Jones House

An interesting argument ensued in my house this morning between my father and me, when Psychobrat was going on about Amityville Horror and how she can’t sleep at night anymore, and the entire family went to the computer to look at pictures of the real house, read aloud something about a priest visiting the house and saying that the third floor was the worst part, and I mistakenly said something (but what?—I can’t remember precisely what my comment was) about how I don’t believe there are quite so many exorcisms being performed by priests as some would have you believe.

Not that exorcisms are something you hear about on the news every day.  What I meant was that I don’t feel that every case of divine intervention necessarily involves a Catholic priest (or that if it does, there’s quite a bit of hoaxing going on, as well).  Come on, I’m supposed to believe that God only works through Catholics?  And only the priests, at that?  That, just because a man is a Catholic priest, he can suddenly sense evil spirits wherever they may lurk?

I stated as much, pointing out that supposedly God works through plain old ordinary people quite often—people you just wouldn’t expect to see great things coming from.  (Jesus was a carpenter.  His mother was the wife of one.  Noah was no Prince of Egypt, although Moses was, but only in name.)

Somehow this led my dad to ask me questions like, “So you don’t believe there is evil in the world?”

Did I ever say that I don’t believe that there’s evil in the world?  How anyone could live in this world and not believe in the existence of evil is beyond me.

“And you do believe in Moses?” he went on.  And, “Why do you even believe in religion at all if you have thoughts like this?”

I said, “All I said is that I don’t believe God always chooses to work through Catholic priests!” and as he was partially distracted anyway, the conversation sort of died right there.

The truth is, maybe I don’t believe in religion anymore.  Or God.  I don’t know.  I just keep asking myself questions.  And to me it seems suspicious that religious people, like my family, are quick to get offended when you question things about religion.  I can’t ask an innocent question without you freaking out?  It seems like you have something to hide, like maybe deep down you don’t even believe in the religion and are afraid that if I won’t believe in it with you then it will be exposed as a fraud.  Because seriously, if “God works through more people than just Catholic priests” causes you to freak out and wonder whether I think Moses was real…it seems you’re hiding something.

But then I feel blasphemous and afraid for having these thoughts.  Like I’ve been brainwashed all my life not to question my own beliefs for fear of what could happen if I allow my mind to wander too much.

Anyway.  Cort and I got our apartment in Orlando.  Of course, I still have not heard from UCF, so god only knows if I’ll be moving into the place.

I’m not feeling too well at the moment, so I’m going to end this right here and just wait for the laundry to be done so I can go to bed.