•June 25, 2008 • 1 Comment

I try to think about childbirth as little as possible.  I’m happy to make babies.  I’m happy to raise babies.  But actually pushing babies out of my body sounds as jolly as a picnic in Guantanamo Bay.

Other people seem to enjoy it however, so much so that they share all their childbirth pictures on Facebook, where I’m compelled to look through them since they’re sitting right there and I have lots more pressing matters I’d rather not tend to.

I’m ambivalent about this practice (and of course it’s a matter on which one should take a firm stand).  Pictures of clean and dry babies in the arms of beatific mothers are one thing.  (All for it!)  But pictures of slime-covered babies with their umbilical cords dangling and tiny dicks waving may be another.  On the one hand, I’m devoted to technology and will surely blog eloquently about my child’s first hiccup.  On the other hand, I know newborns who have their own Facebook accounts and are tagged in 500 more pictures than I am.

I’m imagining these newborns 13 years from now, suddenly finding their prepubescent young friends making comments on all of the bath shots their mom tagged 10 years ago.  I willingly put my life on the web for all to see, but if these tiny beings had a voice they might ask their mommies not to record every diaper change for posterity.  Everyone’s a celebrity now, and as any tween star could inform you, nude internet pictures can be difficult for celebrities to erase.

My Lysol Cloud Epiphany

•June 17, 2008 • 2 Comments

Adulthood means scrubbing a toilet of your own free will.

This epiphany came to me as I stooped on my knees scrubbing months worth of gunk from my first real apartment, after I realized that this was the very first time in my life I’d taken Lysol in hand and cleaned a bathroom without anyone pressuring me to do so.

I’ve cleaned toilets under parental duress and at housemate urgings. I’ve applied my roommate’s toxic homemade bleach cocktail to bathtubs before room inspections while my brain cells slowly choked from the fumes and died. But this was the first time I’d seen something dirty, said “This is my job because this is my home,” and cleaned it without anyone suggesting I do so.

There’s a moment when adulthood hits you and you realize that you have, for perhaps the first time in your life, made a mature, adult decision with no external coercion at all. For those who clean toilets freely and embrace responsibility at a tender age, the moment may be different, and it may come before the age of 23 and sooner than a year after graduating from college. …

To read the rest, click here.

i (don’t) <3 u … ;-)

•June 12, 2008 • 3 Comments

Nevada governor Jim Gibbons finds himself caught up in a controversy that captures the nuances of political scandal in a modern age. The governor, whose marriage is in disrepair, used his state-owned cell phone to send 867 text messages over several weeks to a woman he claims is just a friend and his wife claims is their source of disunion. Sadly, the state cell phone plan does not cover texting, so the governor footed a $130 texting bill.

My first question: Exactly how many text messages add up to “infatuation”? If he had sent only 433 texts over one month (an average of 14.4 texts per day) could he legitimately claim they were really “just friends”? The governor said text topics ranged from matters of state to her kids to “what was the latest issue with her dog.” Is discussing a child more intimate than discussing a dog? If he sent 652 dog-related messages and only 215 child-related messages, could he still say they were only friends? Or do dog-related messages reveal a knowledge of the mundanities of someone’s everyday life that clearly signals a far-more-than-casual intimacy? Should a serious examination take emoticons into account?

My second question: What kind of state cell phone plan does not cover texting?

Why I will burn with Vivienne Westwood in hell

•June 10, 2008 • 13 Comments

Well, count me among the Christians who relish sexual perversion — the “less conscientious adults” who don’t “take the call of Christ seriously” and listen to the “satanic counsel” and “slick words” of Christianity Today.

I watched, and liked, Sex and the City.

This means I should, according to Ted Slater’s astoundingly sanctimonious Boundless column, repent before I burn in a hellfire stoked with Carrie Bradshaw and all her Manolos. But I side with CT’s Camerin Courtney instead:

Most of the few Christian voices speaking to the growing single segment of the population offer ten easy steps to find our soulmate. … Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda, however, show how challenging it really can be for intelligent, accomplished, and admittedly neurotic women to find lasting love. They, unlike many Christians, don’t insult my intelligence. Instead they speak to the complexities of relationships in a postmodern age—addressing baby lust, the mommy wars, sexual temptation, dating outside your “class,” commitment-phobia, the reluctant desire to be rescued by a man, and the simultaneous fear that you’ll lose your own hard-won identity in the process.

My friends and I — all intelligent, accomplished and absolutely neurotic women — watch that show when the evangelical subculture in which we live gets a bit too suffocating, when other Christians take for granted that our careers are only a way to mark time until marriage and motherhood, when true love waits (“And wait. And waits.”), and yeah, when we crave the sight of Givenchy and Dior.

You see, some Christian women actually live in the twenty-first century and share the SATC women’s struggles. The show may not always give the right answers, but it doesn’t pretend to. And sometimes unlike the church, it always treats those struggles realistically, humorously, and hopefully.

HT: Alissa.

Huck Helps Guy Up-Chuck!

•June 9, 2008 • 6 Comments

In the mainstream media’s speculation over whether Barack Obama is an enlightened being with a “powerful luminosity, a unique high-vibration integrity” and “a Lightworker, that rare kind of attuned being who …. can actually help usher in a new way of being on the planet,” it is, of course, displaying its bias again.

What about Mike Huckabee as Messiah?

In an underreported miraculous act at a luncheon last weekend, Huckabee yanked a state senator from the grip of death just by touching the man. The raised man went on to spread the news about him all over that region. He testified to the Palmetto Scoop, “We all know that [Huckabee] is pro-life, and once again he has lived up to it,” and bore witness to the, “To me this is just typical Mike Huckabee … He’s just a decent fun guy who cares about people.”

Huckabee’s daughter cried out in the wilderness that this is not the first time Huckabee has stretched forth his hand and saved lives, proving a gross understatement the Free Republic’s naming of Huckabee as “savior to at least one.”

And we esteemed him not?

HT: Recherche