Love With A Capital L

A journey towards living an inspired life of love in the modern world

Tag: culture

A Deadpool & Wolverine Review, sort of — August 5, 2024

A Deadpool & Wolverine Review, sort of

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I’ve made no secret of my love of superheroes. At the genre’s best, it presents issues of class, race, sex, integrity, principle, relationship, and on and on, in a very relatable way. This sounds ridiculous because we’re talking about super-powers, monsters and space aliens. But really, it’s only the context that is fantastical. Thor discusses worth v. insecurity, ego v. selflessness, and finding our place in families, communities, and the world(s) around us – this is a discussion that is happening in almost every one of us from grade school to the grave. Captain America is a love story, where the main character (a misfit in a world in which he doesn’t belong and that he can’t possibly understand) fights evil, but is also betrayed by an organization that he serves, while pursuing his best friend at any, and all, costs. Who couldn’t understand that? The Hulk is a never-ending battle to reconcile his anger. Spider-Man is an unsure, insecure teenager (is there any other kind????) trying to figure out how to balance passion, duty, romance, love, and using his great power responsibly. The more we see, it wouldn’t be crazy to suggest Hallmark movies and rom-coms have less in common with our real lives than the MCU.

That is, until this multi-versal business.

The Infinity Saga introduced characters we loved learning themselves, living as heroes, sometimes very uncomfortably, while one big bad wolf, Thanos, loomed over all of the individual films with their individual villains, collecting stones for a completely rational purpose. Each seemingly unconnected story was tied together by these stones. There was consequence and depth.

Endgame eliminated a little of the consequence, bringing back ‘dead’ characters, but we understood. Those 3 hours were a gift to the invested, serving us exactly what we wanted. And we are grateful.

I saw Deadpool & Wolverine last week and loved every second. (I don’t think we’ll get into the Christian uproar just yet, maybe we never will.) But it did clear up why the MCU has lost some significance lately, at least for me.

It’s dumb.

My mom saw it, also loved it, and admitted that she didn’t really know exactly what it was about, and as I explained (anchor beings, time rippers, TVA agents, Dog-, Lady-, Head-pools, etc), I honestly felt pretty silly. She was right, the plot had almost nothing to do with the movie. And that is the problem with the multi-verse.

It’s all stupid (plots are wholly nonsensical). There’s no relatability (I could try to connect flerkens with our love for pets and their unpredictability, but why?), no consequence (if a character dies, who cares, we’ll see them later, from another universe – as Luke Skywalker said in The Last Jedi, “No one’s ever really gone.” Sure, Robert Downey Jr’s Iron Man is dead dead, but is coming back anyway AS A DIFFERENT CHARACTER!), and appear to exist only as vehicles for the next gimmick (Wolverine’s dead bones, a million Deadpools & Dr. Strange’s, the place-shifting of the Marvels, hyper-evolved ants in the Quantum Realm).

I liked Quantumania, really liked The Marvels, and Dr. Strange & The Multiverse of Madness (we’ll get back to this one in a second), but didn’t care about any of them. I still cry when Steve & Bucky fight on a falling aircraft, maybe I’ll cry right now as I type the line, “because I’m with you to the end of the line.” Sheesh. We really cared about that, about them. Thor sacrificing himself to the destroyer in the 1st Thor, Tony Stark giving his life in Endgame – these things mattered. Do you think there is a multiverse where anyone could possibly care about She-Hulk? Of course not. It was the worst.

The 2 exceptions are Loki and Wanda. Loki sacrificed everything he’d ever be so that all of us can have a future. Maybe we’re not holding the tree of time together, but how can we not understand the conflict of offering ourselves (time, money, opportunity, etc) for others. Wandavision and then Multiverse of Madness served as meditations on grief and the lengths we’d go to spend one more moment with the people we love. It’s heartbreaking and real and, sure, she’s a witch, but she’s me and you, too.

Those 2 exceptions give hope that the MCU could regain some of it’s former beauty and significance. Or maybe they’ll become what they have become, exceptions, and the meaningless buffoonery of Love & Thunder (when I say She-Hulk is the worst, I do it realizing that it’s a tie with this piece of garbage) will be the rule. My guess is that it’ll be somewhere in the middle. It’ll be Deadpool & Wolverine. There will be scenes that mean something (like when Deadpool asks Wolverine to help just because he wants to rescue those he loves) and we’ll enjoy it. It’ll be like a Snickers bar. There are peanuts, which do have protein and substance. But mostly it’s delicious and we’ll love it while we eat it, and then 30 minutes later, we’ll be hungry again, as if we never ate in the first place.

A University Tour — July 30, 2024

A University Tour

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My youngest son is deciding on where he will spend the 4-ish years after this one. (First, that clumsy sentence refers to him being a HS senior, we know where he’ll be this year. And second, HOW DID THIS HAPPEN??? Yesterday, he was coming home from the hospital as a newborn and today we are visiting colleges. Sigh.) Anyway, we visited a small liberal arts university in northern New Jersey. To be honest, none of us had very high hopes, but our expectations were quickly demolished and this cool little campus in the woods became the front runner.

These “welcome” days are a bit like a timeshare presentation. For a few hours, a team of admissions counselors try to sell you on their wildly over-priced institution and give you some swag and lunch if you manage to make it through. The day begins in a room with a perfectly produced video and ends with a campus tour.

[Lunch was sort of horrible. We ate in a cafeteria filled with a million soccer-campers, sweaty, dirty & screaming, running amok like in a comedy movie about an overwhelmed substitute teacher who, by the end, discovers how to reach these hellions, teaching them about themselves, self-worth, cooperation, and learning about himself in the process, before running to the love interest he has overlooked for too long in the climax. We never got to the redeeming part, we only suffered through Act I.]

They split us up and assigned us to a leader. Our tour guide introduced herself. She was a lovely young woman, who was seemingly active in every club and activity they offered. And as we started, I realized how mistaken I was about the nature of this tour. She ran ahead, pointing and gesturing, possibly about the information she was maybe giving. It’s impossible to know for sure, no one could hear her. We could barely keep up. We flew into a couple of buildings and out the other side. I wasn’t aware of a time limit or a competition between the guides to finish first, but one clearly existed. Maybe she told us about it. Who knows? I stopped to use the bathroom at the end and came out to find my group gone. I retraced my steps and walked outside, hoping for a glimpse of someone/something I recognized. My son called to me from the porch of a building I had never seen (I still don’t know what the building was).

I’m thinking about it today and laughing. Especially as the school advisors hit such home runs as to make the silly, pointless tour race unimportant.

A few observations.

She would sometimes turn around and say, “Any questions?” And it was hilarious, reminding me of how the Angel will sometimes say, after compiling a list of some kind, out of the clear blue sky, “Anything else?” I have no idea what is on the list, making it impossible to know if there’s anything else. As for the tour, questions about what? How about, “what is this building?” “Where are we? What is this place?”

And that reminds me about life. If there is a guide, they seem to have a different objective. Where am I? What am I doing here? My son and I wandered off the path a few times to explore, I waited for a woman who stopped to fill her water bottle, we all connected over our shared circumstance. It’s confusing, but the people make it all worthwhile. Maybe the stated plot isn’t what we’re doing at all, and the side trails and parentheticals are where the learning takes place. Are we the kind of people who run through our responsibilities, chopping wood, getting the tour done at any cost, or are we open and available for others? What is this place? And why?

We were in one room, and as the Angel took her camera out to snap a photo of our son, the guide (maybe unaware of her intentions?) turned the light off and left. I wonder if our guide sits down to eat?

What are our expectations for things, people, activities? Are we able to see past them, to see the beauty in what is actually there, instead of the static notions/beliefs we have in our heads? (Those questions make me think of political debates and the new Deadpool movie.)

What are we doing here? Everywhere we go, every situation, is asking, isn’t it? But maybe, yesterday, my boy heard and will, ironically, end up finding out his answer there, in the very place where a lovely young woman posed the question to all of us during her ridiculous running tour.

— July 22, 2024
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The site is asking what I’d change about modern society. Probably a lot. But that’s not what I’m thinking about this weekend. You already know I’m a man that reads the Bible, and one of the passages I came across last week was one where Peter said I am a slave to whatever controls me. Passages and verses in the Bible are different as we are different. We don’t ever read the same book twice, because even as the words stay the same, we don’t.

So. What controls me? I’ve decided it’s food, the gym, and sex. This is complicated because all 3 are wonderful gifts from a Loving God.

To not make any of us uncomfortable, I’ll use the gym as the example we’ll discuss. I lift weights (and do a small amount of cardio). Exercise is a healthy lifestyle, fitness is positive, it’s a good thing to take care of myself. I should tell you I’ve always had a weight problem, and this is still sort of true. (I am classified as ‘morbidly obese,’ if you listen to the doctor’s charts.) Sometimes, the thing that gets me to the gym is not fitness, not positive, it’s the outpouring of an angry heart that is operating out of old tapes in my head. It is punishment. It is not a choice, or even a reward, the local Planet Fitness is my master. Or rather, the mean voices in my head that tell me I’m not enough, unless… or that I’m whatever and I’ll always be whatever, they become the masters of me.

The gym is awesome, and I love it. I don’t even so much mind that it’s not really a choice anymore, in a manner of speaking. It is so much a part of the fabric of me that I don’t have to. However, a rest day is not evidence of some defect, it’s a necessary facet of self-care. But too often, I spend rest days with some level of guilt and shame. These feelings are no longer oppressive, but I’d be lying if I said they weren’t there at all, and they are often the impetus to get me to the gym instead of beauty or gratitude or pleasure or even agency. This is mastery.

Food is a little different. It’s healthy and nourishing, relational, a blessing. But I very often don’t choose what to eat out of self-care and thanksgiving, I choose out of simple primal desire for whatever tastes best (like processed sugar-laden junk) that will damage me. Maybe it’s not that different, it’s a master that isn’t concerned with my well-being, and is, instead, bent on the opposite.

Anything we can’t stop, or that distorts our moods and emotions when we do stop, is a master. And we are it’s slave.

These things are gifts, I am not a slave to the socks I got at Christmas. I am not a slave to the Church, or Three’s Company, or my favorite songs. These are gifts, they add color and texture, and make my life so much better. So does food and sex and the dead lift. Until they don’t. Until they are the stern task/master that is holding the keys to me.

So now what? What do I do with this? I can’t cut them out, nor would I want to. I simply want them in their right place, as blessing instead of curse. Maybe that means more rest days. (It’s funny, most people’s New Years Resolutions are to go to the gym more often, mine would be to go less often. Weird.) Less sweets, or more mindful sweets? Maybe it means more and more sex, though. Haha. Probably it means that. But maybe “mindfulness” is the solution to all of this. If I am here, now, rooted in my identity, making conscious decisions, instead of some animal led around by unquestioned natural instincts, then I might be able to break free of their chains, and who knows? Maybe these things take on new meaning and overwhelming beauty that was impossible to see from underneath them.

What Bothers Me — July 15, 2024

What Bothers Me

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The site is asking, “what bothers me and why?”

There’s a song by the criminally underrated Kate Nash (if you don’t believe me, listen to “Foundations,” or “Later On,” and that’ll settle it) called “I Hate Seagulls.”

Here are the lyrics, “I hate seagulls and I hate being sick. I hate burning my finger on the toaster and I hate nits. I hate falling over, I hate grazing my knee. I hate picking off the scab a little bit too early. I hate getting toothache, I hate when it’s a piss-take. I hate all the mistakes I make. I hate rude, ignorant bastards and I hate snobbery. I hate anyone who, if I was serving chips, wouldn’t talk to me.”

That’s a pretty good list. I don’t like rude, ignorant bastards or those who don’t talk to those who they see as less than. I don’t like being sick, and don’t even bring up toothaches. I wouldn’t say I hate seagulls, but I see why she might. I am bothered by unkindness, injustice, and kids who hog gym equipment with no regard for the rest of us.

But I am not thrilled with the question. I now hear this song as a response to this site, who asked her the same question. And as we begin the list, it becomes clear to both of us that we aren’t really interested in answering it anymore. There’s a new list.

[Once, in college, a terrific professor gave us an assignment for an essay, and I wrote on a completely different topic. At the end, I wrote something like, “it’s true that this was not what you asked, but this is what I care a great deal about, and I think you’d rather read that than something I don’t.” I resigned myself to the F I probably deserved, and when he handed my paper back and stopped and called my name to the class, I knew he was right. My insubordination was perfect for him to make an example of. But he didn’t. He told everyone to remember my name, because I was an artist. My paper was an A+ and it’s impossible to understate the significance of a fresh word to a boy searching for himself and his place in the world. His actions meant more than I could ever have expressed. His name was John Synodinas, and he was the greatest.]

Anyway, we decide we don’t want to think about the things we don’t like, so we answer a new “site prompt.”

Ms Nash continues, “But…I have a friend With whom I like to spend Any time I can find with. I like sleeping in your bed. I like knowing what is going on inside your head. I like taking time and I like your mind. And I like when your hand is in mine. I like getting drunk on the dunes by the beach. I like picking strawberries. I like cream teas. And I like reading ghost stories. And my heart skips a beat every time that we meet. It’s been a while and now your smile is almost like a memory. But then you’re back and I am fine. ‘Cause you’re with me and I’m in love with you. And I can’t find the words to make it sound unique. But honestly you make me strong. I can’t believe I’ve found someone This kind, I hope we carry on ‘Cause you’re so nice and I’m in love with you.”

Right? That’s a muuuuch better list. I don’t like ghost stories, and I really really really hate drunk, but that doesn’t matter. This is her list and not mine, and one of the best thing about other people is that they are different than us. They’re weird and quirky and care about all sorts of things we don’t, and that is awesome. A monochromatic world is so dumb and boring. I love that she likes reading ghost stories. We all love when your hand is in mine.

The once (and probably future) President was shot yesterday, and there are a million things I could say about that (and at the end, you’d still not know who I vote for or what party is on my registration card). But what I’ll say is that the person who decided to go to that event and pull that trigger probably spent the last several weeks and months compiling lists of all the things he hates, unable to see the absolutely necessary second half. He had people who loved him, he loved macaroni & cheese (because everybody does), he’d love Kate Nash. And when you have a great 2nd half, the first gets very small very fast. Of course, there is always a first half, we all have things that get to us, but sheesh, it’s that wonderfully beautiful second half that makes everything worthwhile.

People who have great 2nd halves usually don’t shoot at somebody. Like John Synodinas, they’re too busy loving us and speaking life into our dark places to have any time or energy for tearing anything down.

People Are Strange — July 2, 2024

People Are Strange

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There’s a documentary on Max, called How To Create A Sex Scandal, detailing a horrific story about child sexual abuse in Texas. A foster family brought in 3 kids, whose parents were facing a list of drug charges, and the kids had, after being trained at a “sex kindergarten,” been forced to “work” as strippers and sex workers at a local swingers club. It was absolutely sickening, and the perpetrators were tried and given life sentences.

Except none of it was true. Well, the foster mom still stands by her accusations, so this is probably a case where we should say “alleged” liars, “alleged” mean-spirited cash grab, “alleged” shenanigans in an “alleged” dirty, filthy courtroom. The convictions were sort of turned over – they were released with scarlet letters for child sexual abuse felonies. Their children were all taken from them. Not just the 3 initially involved that the foster home “allegedly” manipulated, but all of the others children, as well. All convictions but 1, a man who died in prison before the wheels of justice could turn for him.

The last words of the series were from one of the accused, who said (something like), “I don’t trust anyone, and I learned that people are mean.”

Is that true? Are we mean? Jim Morrison wrote, “people are strange,” (which is a pretty decent Doors song, not just wildly overrated, like most Doors songs…and the Doors overall). Some of these faces looked very ugly in this doc, and I am very happy to say the Lizard King was 100% right, we are strange, but am I willing to say we’re mean? Some of us are, of course, and all of us can be sometimes, but is that enough for such a sweeping generalization?

These foster parents certainly were, allegedly. In Men In Black, Tommy Lee Jones’ character says, “a person is smart, people are dumb,” and I found that pretty profound (especially in the middle of an embarrassing presidential election season.) So, I think I’m happy to use that framework in this case. A person is mean, people are alright. Strange, but alright. Not always, probably, but a person isn’t always smart, either.

I don’t blame this woman, she’s had her whole life destroyed because of the nastiness of 2 foster parents and an allegedly crooked judicial system. To her, people are awfully mean. But just because the sky might look red behind red lenses, it doesn’t mean the sky IS red. She’s right, she sees a red sky, and in most cases, perception is reality. At least, practically, it is.

But by a very large majority, I believe that people are strange, well-meaning and awesome. That’s why stories like this are so shocking. We are knocked down by the depths some folks can sink, allegedly, because it’s so far outside of the reality we experience every day. 2 monsters aren’t representative of the foster parent population, are they? And some mess in Texas doesn’t indict us all, either, right?

Right?

What Happened? — June 26, 2024

What Happened?

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Brittany Murphy was a super talented actress who died at 32, in circumstances that were cloudy and subject to a bunch of suspicious guesses as to ‘what really happened.’ The documentary on Max is awfully sad, and after 2 hours, the circumstances aren’t so much cloudy as they are unimaginable. A 32 year old woman shouldn’t just die of pneumonia in her bathroom with her mother and husband in the next room. And the husband shouldn’t then die months later of the same cause. But it did happen, so now what?

The husband, Simon, was (by most of these accounts) not a terrific person. He had the gift of overwhelming charisma, and when that was combined with a lack of character and/or morality, he became a very dangerous influence. It’s hard to know what was true, because he so rarely was honest. He had 2 children that some of those purported to be closest to him found out only in this documentary. He was ridiculously controlling, isolating both Brittany and her mother, Sharon, making all decisions on all matters, big & small, personally & professionally. Probably, if Brittany Murphy was married to a different person, she would be alive today, but she wasn’t. She was married to this one.

I loved Brittany Murphy in all of the films I saw (of course, nobody saw all of her films, her later work was far beneath her talent). I found her electric and engaging. As we all saw her wasting away in front of us, a victim of anorexia and drugs and whatever else contributes to a woman’s public disappearance, we mourned well before the news reports. The story starts as an uplifting, hopeful comedy, but is quickly revealed as tragedy, and that’s just the worst – not because she’s a celebrity, or because we loved her, but because she was a human being in a world that wholly consumed her.

So, what really happened?

I’m thinking how we all have our self-destructive impulses. Drugs aren’t mine, and neither is anorexia, but maybe they’re yours. No matter, we have buttons of insecurities and inadequacies. We have fears and voices in our heads that whisper some of the nastiest things anyone has ever heard. We aren’t celebrities whose every choice and picture is eviscerated by armies of Perez Hilton’s, but if we were, maybe we’d live in a filthy apartment and swallow handfuls of pills and not go to the Dr. Or maybe it would be something else. Maybe we’d drink bottles of wine all day. Or eat m&m’s on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through TikToks. Or run for miles and miles, never escaping the pain & pressure of staying alive, never dodging the arrows. I think it’s mostly the height of arrogance to think Brittany Murphy is so different from us. Maybe we had relationships that were unhealthy, where we changed so much we didn’t recognize ourselves. Maybe we’d go a little crazy, too, lonely & small without a community of people to love us in real life (instead of on screen). Maybe it’s just by the grace of God that we are here and she’s not.

What happened is heartbreaking, but not so strange. What now, then?

Kathy Najimi said, through tears, that she wished she’d have gone over there and pulled her out, called the police. Even if Brittany Murphy hated her afterwards. And Kathy Najimi is right. We all wish she did, too. But we all figure we wouldn’t have, either. Maybe minding our own business, pretending everybody is so divided, isn’t the answer. Maybe it never was. Maybe we should start to know our neighbor’s names and stories, to laugh with the comedies, and call the police in the tragedies. Maybe we can reach out, and maybe we can show up. Maybe it’s a cliché, but loving each other might be the answer. Maybe not, too, but it’s worth a shot. We’ve tried the others for way too damn long and they haven’t worked, even a little bit. Maybe it’s time for a revolution.

Luxury Living — June 10, 2024

Luxury Living

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The site wants to know what luxury I can’t live without. The definition of luxury is “the condition of abundance,’ so I suppose that’s The Angel. She is a walking, talking, smooching illustration of the abundant blessings that have rained on my life. The definition also says, “…that isn’t necessary,” but she is, right? Not everyone is married to The Angel, just me, and lots of people live wonderful lives without her. Maybe they have their own The Angel, and that’s probably their luxury, whether it’s a job or car (though I certainly hope it’s not), or a Sally or Kristen or Helen. We all hopefully have our own Angel.

In my marriage book, Be Very Careful Who You Marry, I talk about an Angel Paradigm. The idea is that I love marriage – the idea of, as well as the actual manifestation – but is that because I have The Angel and, of course, anyone who is married to The Angel would love it?

Well, yes and no. The anyone who is married to The Angel is me, and I didn’t have such a high opinion before her, when I was avoiding any hint of marriage as a reality. So, yes. But no, because nobody else has this particular Angel. But everybody has the opportunity to have their own, and work like crazy to build their relationship in a beautiful way (like we did.) So, no with an asterisk.

Of course, it’s a little dangerous to write in such a way about a great anything. JLo and Ben Affleck told everyone who would listen about their great, persevering Love. And, according to celebrity gossip, after a little over a year, that great Love isn’t persevering the way it once did. If you gave a lecture on how to be a rad salesperson, and then 2 weeks later were shown the door, how would that lecture sound in hindsight? Or if you wrote a marriage book called, say, Be Very Careful Who You Marry and then a thousand posts on abundant blessing in marriage…then, that spouse got wise to the undeniable fact that she married down and took off, then what? The man who wrote those many things might not feel so terrific about them.

But, so what? There’s nothing embarrassing or shameful about a failure. I watched this silly documentary about a trek across the Amazon, called Expedition From Hell, that purported to be the account of a maniac who led regular people on a walking tour across the big part of South America. About halfway, he was arrested and contracted dengue fever, and took a secret solo pathway (without cameras) to avoid the authorities. He, then, reappeared in Guyana for the final leg (with cameras). So, he did it, and loudly proclaimed his success. As it turned out, he lied his buns off and the secret solo pathway was a flight back to Florida for a few months before flying back to Guyana. When the producers confronted him, he continued to dig his feet into the deception.

A guy that the lying wildman earlier kicked off the tour said (something like), “So what? It doesn’t make him a failure. He tried something awesome and that’s never a failure.” And he’s totally right. JLo, Batman, The Angel & I are trying something awesome, and that something is hard and doesn’t always work out. (Maybe it could, but that’s not what we’re talking about today.) Our luxury is love and, on second thought, it IS absolutely necessary. We take our gear into some treacherous terrain, commit 100%, see if we can survive, together, and if we happen to make it, we know what abundant blessing it all is.

Why I Hate Politics — May 31, 2024

Why I Hate Politics

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I don’t actually hate politics. Politics is simply the way we organize ourselves, how we enact & legislate rules of law, how we govern ourselves. There isn’t anything distasteful about that at all. In fact, it’s a beautiful responsibility/opportunity to build a free society. But it’s a little like socialism. Socialism is the distribution to each according to their needs, everyone gets enough, which sounds like the Biblical Church. We take care of each other, right?

The breakdown, in socialism as well as in a democratic government (or, more accurately, a republic) or any other political system or organization, is the people in that system: the politicians.

First, as you know, I am not a political scientist, or a social studies teacher. I have business & ministry degrees. But I am interested in people, generally believing in our inherent goodness. My solutions are dreams, and I usually keep them to myself. But a seismic event occurred yesterday that I do feel compelled to offer my skewed commentary.

I am part of a generation that has never trusted our government. We were too late for Camelot or the faith in an elected official to fix anything. We were raised to Rage Against The Machine – all machines, especially in Washington D.C. We saw our government arm enemies of enemies (using the woefully misguided philosophy: the enemy of my enemy is my friend), then lied about every bit of it under oath as those ‘friends’ traded places and became the new enemies. Nations & people get very rich in a machines of war. We didn’t believe when we read lips that promised “no new taxes,” so we were never surprised.

When President Clinton was involved in, um, extramarital activities, as he was his entire life, we didn’t care. But when an intern’s dress became public record, we pretended to care. Ok, we didn’t, but the opposing political party sure did. To them, character became the most important requirement in a politician. We immediately knew that was bullshit. Clinton’s party defended him by minimizing marital integrity. What does that matter in running a country? We knew that was bullshit, too.

I’m using Clinton & Trump as examples, not because there is a limited number of illustrations I could make, but because it’s so obvious. This is the normal violent dance of politics. Each side flips to suit their interest right now, and respects the citizenry (you & me) so little that they flip right back when the names and the now changes.

Donald Trump is at least as much as a womanizing heel as Clinton, caught on tape demeaning and sexualizing any and all women. He is now a felon, convicted of paying to quiet a porn star with whom he had sexual relations. This won’t hurt his campaign in the least, and if you think it will, I don’t know what to tell you other than I admire your sweet naïveté.

The parties play musical chairs, to switch sides, and the donkeys hide their faces and act appalled at his lack of character, and the elephants don’t even try to manufacture any conscience. We don’t believe any of them. Can we elect a person who is in prison? WIll he pardon himself? Who cares? It’s just the next act in the circus.

Yesterday I wrote about authenticity, and that’s what I meant when I totaled this essay “Why I Hate Politics.” There’s none here, they’re all such bad actors. My dream is that we wake up to the disdain these people have for us, how little they think of us, and begin again. Clear the board.

They lie because they think we are as crooked and dumb as they are. So far they’ve been right, but that can change anytime we decide to stop settling for so much less than we deserve. We are absolutely not slimy and we’re undoubtedly not ignorant. It seems to me that we can start to let them know we’ll stop playing down to their expectations. I don’t know why we started to accept this sort of behavior, but we don’t have to anymore. We can have a revolution of the mind and soul. And we can do this today, and forever after.

The Best All — May 25, 2024

The Best All

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Today, the blog website is asking, “What does ‘having it all’ mean to you? Is it attainable?” I can’t say that I’ve ever considered this, even as the phrase “have it all” has been used in songs and advertising campaigns pretty much forever. It reminds me of that other mindless, subjective cliche, “live your best life.” What is this best life? Doesn’t that sound like having it all?

So. What is this ‘all?’ Is it money? How much is enough? Does anyone actually have enough? I heard a statistic once that, when people were asked how much money they needed to be comfortable, everyone, regardless of income, answered 10% more. Greed (or the lust for more) is a wild contrast with the process of transformation (or the desire for growth.) Success? What is that? Is it a great job? Is a great job one you love or one that pays very well? Great is awfully subjective, too. Is ‘all’ marriage, children, pets?

Marriage and children is fairly controversial now, I guess, but pets aren’t. Do I need a pet to have it all? And will a fish do? Or a guinea pig? A nice car? Hot tub? White picket fence? Perfect white teeth and washboard abs? Do other people have to envy me? Does this have anything to do with anyone else? Is this concept of all, or best life, universal? Or is it as individual as we are?

What about spirituality or education? Or mental & physical health? Is it as simple as having out needs met? But in this country, do we even know what we need? Or is it a matter of want? Or have we completely conflated the two? Is there a practical difference? Significance, meaning, purpose, connection…do these things matter?

If these prompts are designed to spur thought or conversation, this is a fantastic success. I suppose everyone’s answer is unique, but what probably isn’t is a sense of gratitude & contentment. It doesn’t really matter what the what is, it’s how we hold it. If we wrestle our lives and aspirations, squeezing them into submission, as we continue to climb higher and higher, desperately looking for the next rung, or mile-marker, nothing is (or will ever be) all. But if it’s what we have, here and now, and we can hold what we have been given with soft careful hands for as long as we have them, those things become treasures that are absolutely priceless. We become the kind of people who fall in love with all of this beauty, and that sounds exactly like a best life, if you ask me.

One Small Step — May 13, 2024

One Small Step

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What’s one small improvement you can make in your life? That’s the site prompt today, and probably deserves an answer.

I watched 2 documentaries and a movie this weekend. I’m still recovering from a cold that I am getting more and more resigned to carrying for the rest of my life. And it was raining, so it was a perfect weekend to climb under a blanket and watch something other than the NBA playoffs.

Finding Andrea is a 3 episode series following the disappearance of a woman in Kentucky who, incidentally, belonged to an organization that searched for (and was instrumental in finding) missing persons. She was complex, hiding the many facets of her life to the point that very few would claim to have actually known her. She died having lived a mostly dishonest, inauthentic life with lots & lots of secret compartments. She was probably killed by her sister and her boyfriend (at least that’s the implication I took from the doc). I don’t imagine we’ll ever know, because Andrea wasn’t the only one in the family who wasn’t interested in honesty. Her own dad would rather protect the possibly guilty daughter/boyfriend (who didn’t participate in the film) than be further torn apart by the truth. I guess I can’t blame him, who knows what I’d do in his place??

Max Joseph was a co-host of the Catfish TV show, and created a documentary called 15 Minutes of Shame with Monica Lewinsky. Lewinsky knows of what she speaks, as her life was torn apart by a series of very public poor decisions and behavior. This film looked at a guy who tried to sell and sanitizer at a ridiculous price during COVID, a woman who sent an ugly joke on Facebook and became the object of national scorn, and a man who was “cancelled” over a mistaken hand gesture in a company van. We think we know these people based on 1 small aspect of their personalities or an isolated incident, sometimes misunderstood, always without any shred of context. I don’t know Andrea’s dad, and to assume I know his motivations based on 2 or 3 clips is the height of arrogant condescension. Of course, he seems like something, the hand sanitizer guy seems like a scumbag, the woman seems heartlessly callous (as do the political pundits who condemned her). The hand gesture guy is obviously pretty silly, and the product of a culture gone power-crazy. But how do we actually know? I bet I seem all kinds of ways, based on extracted phrases in any one of these posts, or in overheard conversations at my dinner table.

The movie was My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and was absolutely as great as I remembered. It’s funny and feels good. But what’s notable is that no one is played as only a fool. Everyone acts like a fool at times, everyone is embarrassing in moments, but they all just seemed like “normal people.” Sort of. Admittedly, most are caricatures, but the caricatures leaned towards a positive, good nature rather than the mean, minimizing, debasing cartoons we are usually fed. I would guess that Ms. Vardalos sees the rest of us, sees “normal people,” through beautiful lenses that believe the best. I would guess that she likes us. That her idea of “abnormal” is abuse, betrayal, and violence. I believe the same.

We are made to walk together, to hold hands, and to love each other, and I’ll never be convinced otherwise. Maybe the shamed examples in 15 Minutes weren’t sorry they were caught as much as they were heartbroken they were led down a path so antithetical to their design. I thought the fiction of the movie was far closer to truth than the documentaries, because it showed the world in which I live, where the overwhelming majority are like you, trustworthy and awesome. Monsters exist, but in such small numbers, they stand out like neon signs at midnight. We’ve just bought lies for too long, choosing to acknowledge the missteps and failures as complete pictures, that we stopped seeing the beauty in each other.

I don’t know who Monica Lewinsky is, no matter how many pages I can read on the internet about her. And I’ll say the improvement I can make is to stop pretending I do.