March 15, 2016

Short-fingerd Bulgarians

So of course I'm obsessed with setting my friend "R" right on Trump. Not. my. job. So not my job on so many levels given that politics is next to nothing compared to spirituality, for one thing.  Not to mention successfully convincing him is as likely as manually reversing the ocean tides. I ended up with telling him both Repubs and Dems desperately want to lose, as evidenced by putting up two deeply flawed candidates.
Calm and steady Brian Lamb
a lonely nation turns its ears to you
I break the Trumpine pattern
and podcast my commute home
sighing with civilization.
Kasich was asked what was the cause of the dispiriting incivility in the campaign he said it was simple: insults draw eyeballs, eyeballs draw money for the media. He said everything has changed in the media environment and the media is still in the process of discerning its calling. Is it merely to get the most eyeballs? Or should it balance that with a need to educate the public?

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At a Byzantine liturgy not long ago there was a reading from Proverbs 17 and 18. And it contained a decent bit of comeuppance for me: “The foolish have no interest in seeking to understand, but only in expressing personal opinion.” I do have an awful lot of personal opinion expressing going on, especially re: Trump.

Another verse: “The discerning person looks to wisdom, but the eyes of a fool to the ends of the earth.”. Other translations: “The intelligent has wisdom there before him, but the eyes of a fool range to the ends of the earth.” (NJB). And “The perceptive find wisdom in their own front yard; fools look for it everywhere but right here.” (Message)

Goodly reminders!

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It was all sweetness and light when I got home and Daylight Saving Time paid off with a therapeutic 20-minutes spent in the sun (at 6:10pm) listening to the old chune Crimson and Clover. Over and over.

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Love this, from a Charlotte Observer columnist on yoga pants:
They are not for the purpose of running errands… You’re wearing the equivalent of pantyhose. Keep them out of the school. And out of Starbucks. Which is where I learned this lesson, when I scooted in line for coffee after yoga and the guy behind me said, “I like it when girls wear yoga bottoms as pants. I wish they did it all the time.”
Really? You do? Is it because they make us move faster through the Starbucks line? I’m guessing that’s not it, but thank you for making the distinction between bottoms and pants. And a case for a full-length coat.
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And kudos to actress Debra Winger on her lack of plastic surgery:
'Never say never, but the thought of electively cutting oneself is beyond my grasp,' she says, 'and I also object to it politically. Denying the lines on our faces makes a comment about age and wisdom I don't care to make.
    

'I think when it comes to Botox and surgery, actresses should do it or not do it, but be honest about their choices. I think it's a little irresponsible for women who choose surgery to then say they can portray the average woman on the street, because if the average woman can't afford those treatments, then she's going to say, 'I'm 53 and I don't look like that', and start thinking she's ugly or inadequate. We do need to assume some responsibility for our choices.'

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Listened to Jennifer Fulwiler on Sirius interview Marcus Grodi on radio. I loved how he said how he is a terrible friend because he's so introverted, and how he's trying to do better in that department.  And funny, he was a beer-drinking champion in his college fraternity. While I wasn't a beer drink champion, I was likewise in a fraternity so I feel some kinship there (introverts in fraternities unite! But not, like, in a room together. That would be awkward).

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I thought about how so often I say, with the old Catholic song, “Take our bread, we ask you, take our hearts, we love you, take our lives.”

And it occurred to me for the first time today that these strippings are not really strippings at all. “Take our bread,” we pray so that God will give us Communion. “Take our hearts,” we ask, that Jesus might remake them into something beautiful. “Take our lives,” we bed, so that God may give us real life, in Heaven, with Resurrected bodies. So much of what I think of as loss is really gain for us.

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At Communion on Sunday I notice something unexpected. A mentally retarded youth wearing a pink t-shirt with “TRUMP” in giant letters. I blink, and think it must surely be an anti-Trump shirt, so I make out the smaller print under the name: “Make America Great Again”. Wow. Didn't he make fun of a disabled man?  Then I see her father coming up behind and there, big as life, is a huge Trump button on his lapel.

I happen to look to my left in my pew and the woman whose husband is between us, and she is rolling her eyes at her husband, obviously seeing the same thing I'm seeing. I roll my eyes in sympathy at her. What's interesting to me is how wearing this to church reflects Trumpism in its purest form: gauche, inappropriate, and utterly (thrillingly?) lacking all introspection.

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