What's All This Then?

It’s happening again. London is finding more bombs in its underground. There are guys (and girls) getting shipped to Afghanistan and Iraq to fight battles that are ultimately unwinnable. Really. I mean, how do you win? It’s not like a traditional war were you capture the opponent’s main fortress and take out the commander and the enemy is left with no recourse but to surrender. There’s no main fortress here. There’s no clear objective, even. We can’t even hope everyone comes to their senses; there’s enough hatred to keep the fight going indefinitely.

We live in a relativistic society that is being bombarded by the one thing relativism hates most: clear absolutes. Postmodern philosophy is everywhere. It’s no longer considered “politically correct” to judge anything, or to state that there is one correct view of anything. Whatever an individual feels is right for them to do, it’s cool; no one else has the right to argue with them.

If you want to worship a personal god and I believe in a non-personal force, well it doesn’t matter. They’re just different facets of the same truth. Even though they contradict each other on almost every conceivable level.

I once had a conversation with a friend who insisted that all religions were basically the same message; “just opposite sides of the same coin”.

Which side of the coin are the terrorists on?

According to our society, the terrorists are simply following what they believe and we have no right to judge them for it. If they believe that taking out as many people as possible while committing suicide is the best way to get glory in Heaven, what right do you or I have to say they’re wrong? All paths lead up the same mountain, right? It’s just the opposite side of the same coin, right?

I don’t think so. I don’t see how any reasonable person could look at what is happening and claim that it’s okay. There are some things that are just…wrong. Whether people want to admit it or not. There is such a thing as absolute truth.

Look at the world’s major religions. No, not even the religions; look at the world’s major world-views. They can’t possibly all be true. There is no way that anyone who studies them even a tiny little bit could come away with the impression that they all lead to basically the same place.

Let’s start with the obvious: atheism versus any religion that claims there is a god or god-like force. Clearly these two views cannot both be right at the same time. They are utter contradictions. You can say “Well, if I believe it, it’s true for me.” all you want – that doesn’t make it true.

Just because you claim to believe in something does not make it true. I wish it did – that would be way cool. Here’s a test for you: believe with all your might that you have a billion dollars in your hand. Unless you’re Bill Gates, all the belief in the world isn’t going to produce that money.

Belief does not create reality.

Next step: Eastern religious beliefs versus the whole Judeo-Christian-Islam-etc group. Buddhism and Hinduism believe that God is an impersonal force and, further, that our goal is to one day lose our individuality and join that force. The other group believes in a personal god, although they vary in multiple different ways as to the nature of the human dilemma and the way out of it.

These thought processes aren’t different paths up the same mountain; they’re on completely different mountains. If God exists, he is either personal or impersonal. He can’t be both. This is another clear-cut contradiction.

I’m out of time so I’ll have to continue this another day. But don’t be lazy when it comes to figuring out what’s going on in the world. And in the end, that’s all relativism is: a lazy way out of really looking at the real issues.

Mary Had a...Bicycle?

Krista recently had a post about Writer’s Doubt. This is a different animal than Writer’s Block; same species, different phylum. Or vice/versa – I can’t remember which comes first.

I was watching Sesame Street the other day (I have two toddlers, that’s why). This particular episode had the little skit where Kermit the Frog was trying to help that piano guy compose a song, but the guy just couldn’t get it right. Remember him? He was trying to compose a song about a girl named Mary who had a…something. He couldn’t figure out what. Despite Kermit’s attempts to prompt him toward “a little lamb”, the poor guy got continually frustrated when he couldn’t think of rhyming words. At the height of his despair, he banged his head multiple times on the piano keyboard.

That’s exactly how it feels some days when I’m trying to write, but the sentences and paragraphs that end up being typed onto the computer screen refuse to cooperate.

“I’ll never get it!” Bang bang bang.

Fortunately, the Sesame Street guy had a happy ending – he came up with a song that, although not quite the original, still had a good flow and plot and a nice twist on the end. Kermit was a bit put off, but I’m sure he got over it in time.

The same is true for Writer’s Doubt. Take a little time off, let some other people read it and tell you how great it is (your mother or siblings are often good for that kind of thing), then re-read what you have so far. This usually gets me refocused and back on track. Unless I’m feeling lazy or would rather be playing BF2 or something. But that’s an animal of a completely different class.

Sometimes, this process leads to one of those rare flashes of inspiration. Reading through old material with fresh eyes can re-ignite the imagination and lead you to places you never would have thought of before; and sometimes, that means the story becomes better than it would have had you never had your moment of doubt.

So, then, let’s all sing along:

Mary had a bicycle

bicycle

bicycle

Mary had a bicycle

And it was red as fire.

And every time she wanted to ride

wanted to ride

wanted to ride

Every time she wanted to ride

The bicycle had a flat tire.

Mary, Mary; flat tire!

What the...

Drove by the new house yesterday. That’s something we’ve been doing periodically ever since we found it; before it was to check it out “one more time”. This time is was to see if the work we had requested had been started yet.

Nothing major. The appliances in the kitchen hadn’t been hooked up yet; the fireplace needs a flue clip; the gate to the backyard needs to be raised (or the ground beneath it lowered) so it will open. Little things like that.

There was no sign of workers, but there was a car parked in the driveway and a mini-van parked on the curb. And a family of three walking around in the yard.

Perhaps there’s another explanation, but it looked for all the world as if our house was still being shown to prospective buyers.

We drove around the block and passed by again. Car still there. Mini-van still there. Family of three nowhere in sight, but the lock-box containing the key to the front door (the code to which the realtor had assured us is never given out unless they’re there to show the house) was open and empty.

Hmm…

We put down a deposit on Friday (it’s a lease-to-own) but they suggested waiting until the repairs we had requested were done and we had a chance for a final walk-through before we signed the lease. Now the wife is panicking, certain that the realtor is showing the house so they can sell it out from under us. We drive back home and she gets on the phone. (Note the subtle shift from past to present tense to heighten the tension of the story. ;) )

“We’d like to sign the lease today or tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m going on vacation for a couple of weeks. Can it wait?”

“No, the school needs proof of address so we can register our kids for classes.”

“Well, I’m not in the office. I’ll go there and look some things over and call you back.”

That might have been okay last week – it’s not anymore. Now the wife doesn’t trust the realtor. She digs up the copy of the lease we had them send over the week before, then we call them and ask if that’s good enough. It is. We sign it and fax it; after waiting a half-hour or so, they fax it back.

At the end of the day, we have the house.

I don’t know what, exactly, was going on with the mini-van family; perhaps some other realtor was showing them the house, unaware that it had been spoken for. Although I would think other realtors would have to check with the company who is selling the house before they just walk right in.

Perhaps we were panicking for no reason. The realtor has been affable and friendly so far – I’d like to think there was just a minor slip-up somewhere. But, perhaps the people we’re leasing/buying the house from are scum. I guess time will tell.

***

In other news, the evil people in my department here at work brought in a breakfast potluck consisting of virtually every single thing that I can't eat while I'm on this diet. I've spent the entire day resisting blueberry muffins and brownies and doughnuts.

They're evil, I say. At least someone brought in fruit (along with evil fruit dip), so I've had a few grapes.

I Hate Moving

We just bought a house and we’ll be moving in on July 30^th (so if any of you are available to help move that day…). It’s a nice house; four bedrooms – the 13-year old is ecstatic about getting his own room – so we can spread out a bit, a two car garage which will soon be stuffed full of anything but vehicles, great schools, decent neighborhood (even though we back up to condos), a fenced-in back yard…it’s not fancy, but it’s just what we need.

But that brings me back to the moving thing. We’ve already got two rooms disassembled and a heap of boxes in the garage, but it feels like we’ve barely scratched the surface of what needs to be done. I don’t think there are enough boxes in this city to fit all the crap the seven of us have accumulated.

On the plus side, we won’t have to move as much furniture as before; we held a yard sale of sorts and sold some of our beech-wood stuff because the wife decided it wouldn’t match the wood in the new house. We made a little over $200 – but now we don’t have a table to eat on.

Before we can move any of our crap, we need to do the one thing I hate more than moving – painting. The former owners, who apparently watched too much Trading Spaces, chose a dark brown for the kitchen and a deep burgundy for the master bedroom. There is wallpaper in the dining room. The design is kind of cool, but it’s definitely not us; besides which, they appear to have run out of wallpaper and finished the next section with a different pattern that really doesn’t match.

The worst part of the new house is that the boys will have to switch schools. The 13-year old has already been in 6 different school systems. The 10-year old hasn’t been moved quite that much, but it’s still hard. The six year old just finished Kindergarten and was traumatized at the news that we were moving.

“Me and my friends said we’d be together forever,” he said as tears streamed down his face. ‘Now we can’t.”

It was inevitable that such a pact would be broken eventually; it’s just too bad it had to be so soon. And unfortunate that it had to be us.

book quiz

got this link from tammy. i've never heard of the book -- guess i'll have to go get it.

although it doesn't really describe me. oh well, that's internet surveys for you...

You're One Hundred Years of Solitude!

by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Lonely and struggling, you've been around for a very long time.
Conflict has filled most of your life and torn apart nearly everyone you know. Yet there
is something majestic and even epic about your presence in the world. You love life all
the more for having seen its decimation. After all, it takes a village.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Update

Everyone I know in London has checked in; they and their families are safe. For now. My prayers continue.

That’s it for today – Tammy has some work for me to do.

Bringing London Home

I looked over my list of ideas for blogging today, but nothing seemed appropriate. How can I write about nonsensical things like writing or movies when London is at war?

The Internet is an amazing thing; I have friends in London. I barely had friends in my various neighborhoods when I was growing up, and now I have people I consider to be reasonably close in places like London and Sydney, Australia. It’s fantastic, most of the time; it’s heart-wrenching now. Meyhem (his gaming name, and no, it’s not misspelled) lives in London. His posts on the forum went from, “The Olympics are going to be only 30 minutes from my house!” to, “I haven’t heard from my mum.”

How’s that for a little perspective?

Five years ago I would have heard or read about today’s incident and thought, “That’s a pity. People are evil.” Then I wouldn’t have thought much more about it. Now it’s personal; now I have something real to fear.

Be careful over there, Meyhem and Merc. I’m praying for you.

Potty Break

The twins are three now. They’re past the “terrible twos”, although I must say that their twos weren’t so bad. A more accurate, if less alliterative title would be the “cute twos”.

Watching them grow has been a fascinating journey, as all of you parents out there already know. Every day we’re surprised by something one or the other somehow knows how to do or say. Every time I think they can’t get any cuter, they do.

Now if only they’d learn to use the bathroom.

That’s right, it’s potty training time. We’ve worked on it with them a little bit in the past, but we’re starting to concentrate on it a bit more now. So far, they’re okay with it; they try off and on, and are even successful sometimes. My wife got them some padded underwear, and they really like them, but now the boys have created the mindset that they don’t have to try to go potty if they’re wearing diapers.

I’ve been dreading this stage; can’t wait for it to be over. I’m hoping they’ll be more or less done by September (just as an arbitrary date). Since I have no experience with this sort of thing, I don’t know if that’s a reasonable time frame or not. Guess I’ll soon find out.