Musings – Page 24 – bendingtheneedle

“Sending Prayers”

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If God is all knowing and all powerful, I suspect a single prayer is all he or she needs (or wants for that matter). Anything more than one is probably just noise to the almighty.

If there’s a God (there isn’t), I don’t imagine him or her saying “99 prayers… Damn! Just one short. Unfortunately, Aunt Bertha has to go”.

I understand the formulaic and informal nature of human dialog:

Person A: “My aunt is going in for surgery today”

Person B: “I’ll say a prayer”

I get that.

But I’m dumbfounded by people who think whispering upward actually makes a difference, or that there’s a correlation between the number of prayers posted on Facebook and Aunt Bertha’s chance of surviving an illness or medical procedure. To me, that’s delusional thinking.

I get annoyed by people asking for prayers on Facebook. I get agitated at the thought of “prayer posses”. Does that make me a dick? I kind of think it does. Why does it bother me so much when people solicit prayers?

I assume that anyone over a certain age and of minimal life-experience knows that prayers or “positive vibes” don’t do jack. Logically, if prayer worked, no one would get cancer, mass shootings would be a thing of the past, and Donald Trump would not exist.

After the first 100 prayers with no results, don’t all sane people come to a common-sense conclusion — that sometimes Aunt Bertha makes it — sometimes she doesn’t, and the outcome has nothing to do with praying.

When a friend or relative is in need, instead of offering prayers, maybe ask what you can “do”.

“If you want, I can bring in the mail and help pay the bills.”

“I can get your kids get off to school every morning and can pick them up from soccer practice”

“I’m preparing some meals for the family, just pop them in the microwave.”

“Don’t worry about house cleaning –I can come over on Tuesdays and get all that taken care of, just focus on getting better.”

“I can walk the dog on Thursdays and Saturdays and my kids can help walk her on the other days.”

These offers are infinitely more valuable than whispering upward.

P.S

You can still pray if you want (no help / no harm I suppose), but follow that prayer up with acts of kindness that help the person in need directly and in a concrete way.

You, me, Facebook and our dickhead President

Facebook friendships are tenuous things. Examine them closely, and you’re bound to notice some cracks in the foundation.

How many times over the past 3 years have you been stunned at posts from Facebook friends, wondering to yourself why the hell are we friends?
If you use Facebook regularly, you’re forced to reconcile the word “friend” with a fuck-load of posts that are diametrically opposed to the values you hold. Still, we hold on to our Facebook “friendships” – why is that? I suspect it has something to do with our relationship to the word “friend” itself and the social context it holds (outside the realm of Facebook).

In life, we’re taught that friends stick together through thick and thin. Being friends means accepting each other’s differences. We’re taught that friendships are a thing to value and that we shouldn’t dismiss them capriciously.

We’re hemmed in by the meaning of the word “friend.” We feel the weightiness of its definition and the social-contractual obligation that comes with being a friend.

So, we stick.

For a lot of us, our Facebook friendships are based on a shared high school experience. We became “friends” on social media because we shared the same teachers, coaches, classes, dances, parties, proms for four years. We suffered together, and we exalted together. So when Facebook came along, I guess we thought that sharing 3rd period Spanish some 30 years ago was a good enough glue and something we could build on.

Then, along comes Donald Trump, and with him, a strong need to express ourselves (both for and against). And now, when we read each other’s posts, we realize that 3rd period Spanish some thirty years ago is the only thing we have in common.

Nostalgia is pleasant, but it can’t bridge the gap between bigotry and tolerance, so let’s stop thinking it can.

I want to live in a country that welcomes the stranger and demands equality under the law, has a healthy respect for dissent, and always strives for truth. As a child, these values were instilled in me as “American values” and serve as the pillars of democracy. And because of that, these values became part of my “American identity.” Thus, these values are at the heart of who I am as an American.

When I see “friends” treat these values fluidly or as something to skirt around when they come in conflict with one’s politics or religion, it pisses me off. When President Trump employs fear and lies to chip away at these values to shake our citizenry’s confidence and divide us, it pisses me off even more.

The continued support of this President puts my “friends” in an ugly light. If I were to meet you for the first time today (as opposed to 30 years ago in 3rd-period Spanish), I would choose not to associate with you, and I certainly wouldn’t consider you a friend.

Americans who were paying attention in 2016 knew that Donald Trump was dishonest, morally deprived, and vacuous. That’s why most of us didn’t vote for him. But because of the electoral college and the help of a hostile foreign nation, we have a national security threat sitting in the oval office.

After nearly 4 years of this egotistical ass-hat, still no replacement for Obama Care, no progress on fixing our infrastructure, no bold initiative to combat climate change, and no relief or reform on the high cost of college education and student loan debt.

What we do have is 34 indictments related to Russian Interference in the 2016 election, overwhelming evidence of obstruction of justice, a tax cut for the wealthy that failed to trickle down to the middle class, a lot of cozying-up to dictators, thugs, and autocrats, an increase in hate crimes and white nationalism, a cabinet built on nepotism rather than competence, a divided nation, a dismembered Washington Post journalist, and a lot of brown children in cages.

What happened to us? Under this President, America has been transformed from that shining city on the hill to an unstable tenement house, its occupants at each other’s throats, all to the glee of a narcissistic, petulant man-child rapist.

The President is petty, dishonest, vindictive, unethical, and shallow. For the last 3 years, these traits have been on display for everyone to see. In addition, there is video, audio, and text evidence that the President is demonstrably uninformed and a shitty human being.

And yet, so many “friends” turn a blind eye to it all. As long as abortion rights are being restricted, immigrants are being punished, unemployment is low, who cares about character, truth, honesty, and integrity.

If you decide to vote for this President in 2020 because the economy is doing well, unemployment is low, and “USA, USA, USA!”, then you are no friend of mine.

I’ve never ended a friendship over politics – but let’s stop pretending this is about politics. It’s about values – decency, competency, and respect for truth, honesty, and integrity.

I won’t put friendship above these things.

That’s not compromising; that’s compromising my values.

Here today, gone….

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Embrace your temporariness.

All of us are about 2.5 generations away from true non-existence.

As the final memory of us fades to black and we transition from the warmth of humanity to the cold breathless inanimate, our existence gets relegated to the flat and dimensionless world of dusty photos, handwritten notes, and password-protected social media pages. Such is our fate.

We will not be reunited with loved ones on puffy white clouds — that’s a Peter Pan-level fantasy, and the sooner we let it go, the truer to ourselves we can be.

We are all short-timers, so lets seize that realization and use it as fuel for making a positive impact in the NOW — for caring and making the world a better place TODAY, so those who come after us, can have a happy and peaceful existence. Is there a more noble endeavor?

The Malleable Beliefs of Evangelicals

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What happens when your political idol’s actions and words diametrically oppose what your religion promotes?

Do you stand firm by your faith, or do you bend to political idolatry?

Is it worse to be ostracized by your church or shunned by your political, social group?

Oh, the pain and discomfort of internal conflict!

But wait, there’s another way!

With the advent of Republican Jesus, you can stand by your religion AND swear allegiance to a demagogue who espouses the opposite views of your lord and savior!

Isn’t America Great?

Republican Jesus is no less wonderous than the birth of Original Jesus (or Extra Crispy Jesus, for that matter).

People have been bending religion to fit their world and political view since the beginning of time. All gods are man-made. When you start with that fact, everything you see in today’s Evangelical community regarding politics makes perfect sense. And let’s face it, it becomes easier to bend and contort one’s religious views in a world where god is less visible than ever before.

Fuck being uncomfortable with contradiction; let’s be Christ-like and Un-Christ-like in the same breath! Once you start, it’s easy! After that, it’s a brand-new, all-encompassing, carpet-bomb-the-caravan-and-fuck-the-disenfranchised religious freedom!

Step 1. Cherry-pick your favorite bits and pieces from that book written in iron-age ignorance.

Step 2. Infuse it with a political ideology that suits your worldview.

Step 3. Well, you get the gist.

Before the first charlatan saw religion as a money maker and a kingmaker, religion’s primary purpose was personal and somewhat benign (at least initially).

Religion eased our fear of death and explained the unexplainable. In the hardware store of life, you could find religion in the aisle for caulking and other “gap fillers.”

Now that politicians know just how fluid the beliefs of Evangelicals are, they are taking full advantage. And the President is leading the way.

To politicians, malleable faith has become the low-hanging fruit of our electorate. Evangelicals’ susceptibility to authoritarianism and an innate fear of different people represents political opportunity, money, and votes at the ballot box.

Today’s Evangelicals are evolving (how ironic!) before our very eyes. In a swirling tsunami of hypocrisy and verbal gymnastics, Evangelical leaders dismiss adultery, kidnapping, and murder, so long as political bed-mates deliver favors unto them or to their America. And the Evangelical flock follows blindly. Their relationship with the President is like a loveless marriage – purely transactional in nature.

They give him support; he packs the court.

All the contradictions of the President’s behavior to their faith get dismissed or obfuscated.

I suspect, like the rest of us, Evangelicals understand if Donald Trump (or either of his sons) knocked up the help, there’d be an abortion doctor on the doorstep faster than you can say “fetus.”

But Evangelicals have struck a Faustian bargain with the Orange Devil, simultaneously turning their heads and supporting his un-christlike policies.

Anyone with an ounce of intellect (and intellectual honesty) knows Trump is less Christian than a salamander or a turd. Instead, Trump uses his relationship with Evangelicals in a quest for power and money.

To the skeptic and realist, all of this is as clear as day.

Our best hope for turning this shit show around are young people, who are generally less religious than their parents, and who see the marriage of politics and religion for what it really is, a marriage of convenience that benefits the few and endangers the rest.

Let’s hope they get out and vote because the longer this goes on, the harder it is to stop.

Tired of the AR-15 yet?

Memo to gun rights enthusiasts:

We’re not living in the land of the Walking Dead. We’re not trying to survive the Zombie Apocalypse.

If someone breaks into your house, it’s probably not a gang of crazies looking to kill and eat an entire family. It’s more likely a desperate schmuck looking for cash or something to hock. A decent home security system can provide the deterrence and protection you need in most cases. But if a criminal persists, I suspect a 12-gauge shotgun or a handgun is sufficient protection.

Do people really “need” their AR-15? Of course, they don’t. Any citizen who argues they “need” an AR-15 is full of shit. But here’s the thing – they LOVE their AR-15. They enjoy firing it, and more to the point, they enjoy the feeling they get when they fire it. They get pumped like John Rambo on crack when they fire their AR-15.

A round exploding through the barrel – the synaptic crackle and pop – the release of endorphins – the sense of control, the validation of masculinity, and the empowering dissipation of weakness and insecurity, all in one-fell-swoop.

Why would any law-abiding citizen give up all that pleasure?

I understand the tired argument that guns and ammunition are “inanimate objects,” in and of themselves, not dangerous. But if we know that one inanimate object is being used consistently in mass shootings and that banning the sale of that object would not cause harm to society, why the hesitation?

The NRA continues to use fear (nothing loosens purse strings like fear), patriotism, and (appallingly) God, to peddle guns and pad the bottom line of gun manufacturers.

The gun lobby fills the coffers of members of Congress to push the false message that the AR-15 makes citizens safer and that it’s a valuable insurance policy against tyranny. And let’s face it, ideologically ensconced, fact-challenged Americans don’t need much convincing from the NRA.

Combine NRA efforts with an American mentality of wanting what we want, when we want it (also known as the big “FUCK YOU, I LOVE MY GUNS!”) – and we have what we have today.

Will banning the AR-15 and similar weapons end mass shootings? Unfortunately, no. The mass shooting issue is complicated and multifaceted. We need to do more than regulate weapons to prevent these tragedies. But banning these weapons will mean less carnage and fewer casualties per shooting. I know that’s not much, but in my opinion, it’s a baby step in the right direction.

Feat of Feet

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The other day, I was thinking about feet as I slipped a pair of socks over mine.

I stared down and wondered about feet and death.

I don’t know how (or why) these disparate thoughts found one another, but I let them dance footloose and fancy-free inside my head.

I thought about feet at the end of a hospital bed — life’s curtain call.

I imagined sensing a final feeling of pins and needles dancing its way across the soles of my feet, mere seconds ahead of a fluttering pulse – the waning pitter-patter prelude to blood pooling and breath ceasing.

I envisioned my feet – blue, bloodless, and stone-like. Toes pointed upward, and heels resting on a cool coroner’s table.

Finally, I imagined the pant cuff of a neatly pressed suit, respectfully pushed up the leg, in a room so full of silence the walls bend outward — a faceless mortician, attentive and methodical, ties my finest dress shoes, tersely knotting them, before carefully evening-out the laces — for whom, I don’t know.

Feet are our passport to purpose.

All of us should stand up, push down, feel the unforgiving world press into the soles of our feet, and revel in the pain as we hike the hills of life.

Feel the crunch of crystalline snow through the soles of your boots, rise above fallen arches, and be thankful for blistered toes and calloused heels.

R.I.P Tom Petty

Some artists stick with you, through good times and bad, like a trusted friend you’ve never met.

I remember the first time I heard Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. It was 1979, and I was a junior in high school — the song was Refuge. As soon as I heard that song, it resonated with me. I loved the musical snarl and punch, Petty’s drawl and attitude, and everything about it.

It’s a curious thing how we connect to artists – musicians specifically. For me and Tom Petty, it was a convergence of things — a perfect storm of his aggressive-edged rock and roll and my teen angst, bottled-up energy, insecurity, and the malaise of adolescence.

When I first heard Refuge in 1979, it felt like a chemical reaction in my mind. For three minutes and twenty-two seconds, I felt clarity, like the song physically pushed shit aside in my head – so it was just me and the music – I remember there was something pure about the experience. I suppose that’s why I kept returning to Tom Petty for 38 years – and he never disappointed. That’s what was so special about Tom Petty – he grew as an artist and aged gracefully, which allowed me to grow with him – as much as I loved Refugee as a teenager, listening to that song as an adult was mainly a way of reconnecting to my youth. As Tom matured, he became a master songwriter, tapping into the complexities of human relationships – doing so with sparse, straightforward language – clarity.

When I heard Tom Petty had died, I cried — sitting alone in front of my laptop. With a conference call a little over an hour away, I got up, found my iPod, connected it to a Bluetooth speaker, turned up the volume, hit shuffle, and cried a little more.

Later that afternoon, I went into my son’s room. He was staring blankly at his laptop. I touched him on the shoulder, and he broke — we both did — had a real good cry – together.

From adolescence to fatherhood, Tom Petty was an integral part of my life; he was my go-to artist — always a drop of the needle away, a CD shuffle away, or an iPod click away — he never failed to lift me and help me through.

R.I.P. Tom Petty.

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Riffs, memory, and a sense of self

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I remember this day.

According to the timestamp on the video, it was more than six years ago. Two months shy of your 15th birthday.

It was late in the afternoon – I recall getting off the couch to the buzz of your amplifier… By the time I reached your room, you had already programmed the loop — I walked in with my camera, sat on your bedroom floor, and started recording.

You play for almost 12 minutes, at times oblivious to my presence — passionately engaged in the endeavor, beautifully lost in your music — but every now and then (as shown in this clip), you play a riff or come across a note that surprises and delights you.

I love that.

I remember posting the video later that day to YouTube — the entire 12 minutes — and how mad you were at me for doing so. I took the video down immediately. As I recollect, I was angry at myself — and I remember feeling agitated at how everything had turned out.

Looking back, I realize that day was a bit of a crossroads for us, a realization that you were coming into your own, and sharing that video without your permission was a clear case of parental overreach — an infringement on your sense of self.

I’m not sure I ever apologized in a meaningful way.

Sorry about that, Jake. 🙂

For years I had no idea where the 12-minute video was. First, I was disappointed at myself for misplacing it – an irritating reminder of how scatterbrained I can be. Then, I began to think it was gone forever, that perhaps I deleted it inadvertently.

Only a few weeks back, I came across the full video on an external storage device.

Thanks for letting me share a snippet some six years later, on your birthday.

Dad.

Free Play Gone

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Some 48 years ago, my parents (perhaps over a glass of wine and bottle of scotch) decided to move the family to Aquidneck Island — where I was raised, not far from the ocean, in a neighborhood of shabbily constructed raised ranches — where on warm summer days, squinty-eyed kids staggered zombie-like from their garages or front doors, pop-tarted, sugar-smacked, and ready to roll.

We played ball (whiffle, base, foot, basket, and stick) in our backyards or in the street — we rode bikes everywhere, we “red rovered, red rovered,” and kicked the can against a near-perfect backdrop of New England sunsets and warm summer breezes, to a generous and harmonious soundtrack of crickets, peepers, and nightingales.

We hunted salamanders in the woods and flash-lighted our way to collecting night crawlers for fishing expeditions at the town reservoir, to which we walked unattended by adults, poles over our shoulders, the sun warm on our backs, our conversations held together with lite laughter and kinship.

The entire summer, we hardly interacted with Mom or Dad except at dinner time, which was had around the dining room table without exception.

And so it was on Aquidneck Island I stayed, met my wife, and raised 2 good boys and 4 dogs — the latest, a pocket-sized pit bull, full of spittle and spunk, who envelops me in rhythmic doggy snores as I write this piece.

What strikes me most on this stroll down memory lane is the magnitude of change in parenting over a single generation. Our generation, handicapped by socioeconomic conditions requiring two working parents, and a feeling of fear and mistrust (largely unwarranted), the flames of which were fanned by continuous exposure to 24-hour cable news, which made us believe we could never leave our kids alone, that they had to be within earshot or eyesight 24 hours a day, less someone steals them away forever — and so it was by these phenomena, that free play, that priceless gift and ever-important ingredient in child development, was killed.

Gone are the days when kids gathered at a park or in someone’s backyard to organize on their own and “get a game going” — sadly, this has been replaced by regularly scheduled league games on sun-splashed well-manicured fields with perfectly chalked sidelines and clipboard-carrying, whistle-blowing, score book-keeping adults shouting out instructions while pacing in front of tight-jawed fathers in sunglasses and Bermuda shorts (newspapers tucked firmly under their arms), while antsy, floppy-hatted moms in folding chairs with cup holders, try to capture every moment of play on their iPads or cell phones.

We’ve forgotten the value of neighborhood free play on uneven surfaces where the end zones were marked by a rock and a tree. The sidelines were guesstimated according to natural or not-so-natural boundaries and, most importantly, where kids worked out the teams and the rules and addressed issues that arose without “expert” interference by adults.

As my children enter adulthood, I wonder about the absence of free play and the implications of an overly-scheduled, overly-structured, and, quite frankly, overly-parented childhood.

Cecile the Lion, the American Dentist, and Instagram

Let’s talk about trophy hunting.

I want to hear from the people who think it’s “OK” to kill animals purely for its sport. If you are such a person, I’d love to hear why you think it’s OK and what you enjoy about the experience. What do you get out of it? I’m not talking about a head – or a tusk – or a pelt – I mean, what do you get out of it emotionally?

I’m not being a sarcastic left-wing dick — I’m actually curious.

When I see a lion, an elephant, a leopard, or a rhino, my first thought isn’t, “man would I love to kill that thing .”To be honest, I can’t imagine ever thinking that way. But there are people out there who shell out serious coin to star in their own wildlife snuff film — and I just don’t get it.

Not being raised in a hunting culture, the thought of killing a living creature purely for the thrill of it — then posting pictures of the kill on social media — disturbs me at an elemental level. When I see these pictures flash across my TV, or when I see them online in stories about hunting — I experience a rush of anger, dismay, and befuddlement.

I know the person standing over that dead lion, elephant, leopard, or rhino is human like me. But the “common humanity” that would typically connect me to these people gets obliterated when I see these photographs. Suddenly, the person in that picture is not like me at all. On a purely human level, my connection to them evaporates.

Besides barbarism disguised as bravado, what I mostly see in these pictures of grinning humans standing over beautiful dead animals, is ego and entitlement. If I had to caption the image, I would surely use those two words. Moreover, the pictures exude an ideological view of man’s dominion over all creatures – you get a real sense that these people believe the purpose of the lion, the elephant, the leopard, and the rhino is to satisfy an evolutionary hardwired human desire to hunt and kill – a bloodlust.

I don’t see in these pictures our “higher” human qualities; decency and kindness; empathy and appreciation; respect and civility. And though I don’t know any of the people in these pictures, I immediately see them as lacking these higher human qualities. This can be dangerous because once that happens, it becomes easy to treat these people as less than human, leading to a social-media-mob-justice that we are witnessing in the Cecil the lion case.

My hope is that over time, we humans become a little less human and a little more humane – that more of us evolve towards the higher human qualities, where we finally put an end to the practice of trophy hunting.