Doldrums

Spill Thy Blood

Big Love

Note: The title of this post was chosen at random by flipping through The Portable Arabian Nights and randomly pointing out a single line from the book. In no way is it meant as an attack on the people I’m about to talk about. You got that?
“Unbeknownst to much of the general population,” writes the author A.M. Homes in her memoir, The Mistress’s Daughter, “the reason the Mormon Church has such wonderful genealogical records is that they’re collecting people–they hope to determine the genealogy of everyone in the world to prepare them for posthumous conversion. Basically they’re making Mormons from the dead–baptism by proxy.”

It struck me the other night that Mitt Romney is a Mormon. Not that there’s anything wrong with Mormons. Mormons, as people, are an okay bunch. They’re fun-loving (within limits), and know how to have a good time without substances (which I respect). So what if they don’t drink soda. So what if they’re parties are lacking in caffeinated drinks. So what if I can’t ever have an espresso with one of them. So what if Mitt Romney is a Mormon. Just like not all Muslims are Jihadists, not all Mormons are douchebags like Mitt Romney.

But we’re not talking about Mormons as a people here, at least I’m not. What started bothering me about Romney’s Mormonism is their habit of posthumously converting the dead–even though they did say they stopped all that jazz after some family of Holocaust victims and survivors learned their dark little secret (yeah, they stooped that low, apparently). Even though they agreed to stop in 1995, the church continued to baptize by the dead as late as this year with Holocaust survivor/Jewish rights advocate Simon Wiesenthal. Anne Frank has been baptized several times and now belongs to the same religious organization as the man responsible for her death. Yeah, Hitler‘s there, too. Not fumed enough? In 2009, the Mormon Church baptized Stanley Ann Dunham, President Barrack Obama‘s mother who passed in 1995–the same year the church agreed to stop all this nonsense.

It’s a shady business the Mormon Church is running. One that makes me shudder to think about posthumous voting. The GOP is already notorious with fixing elections (see Fox News, Decision 2000, George W. Bush, Florida, and Texas GOP calling for the repeal of the Voting Rights Act of 1965–this has Ron Paul written all over it, by the way), so who knows what methods of chicanery the two of them will cook up for winning the election this November.

Once again, I’m not out to bash Mormons. I regard the religion like I do any other. The people I know are friends first, Mormons on their spare time (just as I like to believe they think of me as a friend first, and an asshole on my spare time). As a people, they’ve been nothing but nice to me. They’ve respected my beliefs (no matter how offensive I get sometimes), and I, in kind, pay them the same respect. But like any organization, religions can have a corrupted core. It doesn’t reflect on the people who are a part of it–as I don’t believe all Catholic priests are pedophiles, I don’t believe all Mormons are out to baptized my ancestors. It’s just that corruption breeds corruption. And if a church continues to betray people of other beliefs, then it should be held in suspicion.

If you asked me, however, I’d say that religion should play no significant role in electing a president. And if you believe differently, then you’re to blame for how shitty this country has become. End of discussion.

Doldrums

“My Love is Braver than You’ll Know”

“Tell me, will it grow?”

There aren’t many things I remember, but I do remember my first crush happened in kindergarten. When most boys were avoiding the cooties from their female counterparts, I adored a classmate. I woke up every morning just for her. I’ve only admitted this once in the past. Like Carly Simon, I’m gonna keep this one close to the vest.

You Know I Told You I Couldn’t Stop

I can’t say that I remember a time when my household was a happy one. Sure, there were good times. There were many great times, actually. But we were far from the picture-perfect, all-American family that you grow up watching on television. It’s sort of like what Chuck Klosterman describes as “fake love.” We’re conditioned by the media to expect certain things in life, love, and family. We’re sorely disappointed when we learn the truth. That is why nothing will ever completely satisfy me.

My father was absent for a greater chunk of my life. He blamed my mother for this, but she never once kept us from him. He just decided not to show up. He’d come around every once in a while to make some promise or other. He never kept them, so I guess that can be considered an effort on his part. Most absentee fathers don’t even give their children that, right? Once, my father gave me a pistol. Not some plastic toy that you pick up at the convenient store, but an actual pistol. Six chamber. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Mom made me give it back. I was probably nine when this happened, so I don’t begrudge her for making me give it back.

I’ve talked about Javier in the past. Here’s a recap: My father is a drunk. He is the reason that I detest people who drink for recreational purposes. The reason I had weak-minded people who become addicted on substances to feel like their living.

He is also my first example of a man. Like most fathers, Javier was a blueprint. My grandfathers were greater men. My time with them, however, was short. My maternal grandfather died when I was only eight. Three years later, my paternal grandfather passed away. The little I knew of these men filled in the gaps.

My Favorite Game

I don’t think I’ve much experience on the relationship game. Even when I roll the dice and win, I’m losing. I sit here recapping my entire life, wondering where I turned into the man I avoided being.

Rather than blaming my own shortcomings, I like to blame the world around. I don’t think I’ve ever been exposed a solid relationship. My parents separated shortly after my existence. My brothers’ relationships were built upon faulty foundations.

And I build and build and build only to crash into them. Rinse. Repeat.

I’ve managed to destroy every relationship I ever held dear. I even managed to time travel and stomp on the first girl I ever noticed. Life’s a bitch. And I’m the asshole who holds her leash.

Books · Music

What happen to us?

You were phenobarbidoll

It seems every one I work with is reading Fifty Shades of Grey, as if it’s some tour de force of literary prowess. It’s not even a decent erotic novel. It’s smut for people who don’t know anything about smut. It makes the cliché pornographic movie look like The Social Network. Yet, somehow, it has hit bestseller lists, wowed critics, caused controversy, and invaded libraries across the country. Like anyone, it piqued my interest. Never before has a book dealing with this subject been in the spotlight, let alone mentioned without a slight blush or in hushed tones.

So what is it about this book that’s got people salivating at the mouth like Pavlov’s dog. Is it hype? Because it can’t be its literary worth. Not even the style. The writing is atrocious, and a joke to the erotic community. Well, at least, it should be.

So what happened to us? When did illiterate drivel become literary masterpieces?

And it’s not just Fifty Shades of Grey. And it’s not just books. It’s everything. Everything has been dumb-down. The Paranormal Activity franchised proved you can bore an audience for three-quarters of a movie and still get them back for two more sequels.

Hordes of homosexuals flocked to Lady Gaga because of the so-called messages in her songs. However, those messages only appeared after her rise to fame – thanks to the homosexual population. Her concept of “born this way” is moneymaking. The more she appeals to the disenfranchised, the more records she sells. It’s not about caring, no. She found her market and she’ll milk it for all its worth. All those fighting for equal rights. All those rallies. The moment they drop her for the next big thing, they’ll fade away into memory.

So why is it that we’ve lost the ability to think for ourselves? Is the next step in our evolution? Are we headed toward the grim future promised to us by Mike Judge? When has the number of sells define the worth of a motion picture, a book, a musical artist? We must reinvent the wheel, as they say. We must start by actually making sound opinions on our own.

Added Bonus

The following is a list of books that are 50x better than Fifty Shades of Grey: