Some time ago, I heard a country song by Tim McGraw. The title was "Live Like You Were Dying". The song talked about how important it is to do the important things in life while one still has the opportunity to do so, because one never knows when life will come to an end. I think that's good advice. Having lost quite a few family members and friends to death during the past couple of decades, I grow more and more aware of such things with each passing day.
One of the most important things to do in order to achieve closure in life is to thank the people who have treated one with kindness and Christian charity along the way. So I've decided to use this blog post for that purpose.
Truthfully, the list of those who have treated me badly in this life is a lot longer than the list of those who have treated me the way they ought to have treated me. I don't want to sound like a whiner, but that's my candid assessment of the situation.
There are also people who, due to their inconsistencies, would rightfully show up on both lists.
In either event, it isn't my job to punish people for the wrong things they've done. I can tell them how I feel about the things they've done, and I can tell them why I believe they should have acted differently; and I see nothing wrong with doing so. But God alone will judge people for their sins in a manner which is beyond contention. I have resolved in my mind that I will therefore leave final judgment up to God.
I don't want to be guilty of focusing solely on the negative aspects of my life, so I want to be sure that I acknowledge the positive things which have occurred in my life. I want to offer recognition to the people responsible for those things, even if they haven't always treated me with as much kindness as I felt I deserved.
For example, both of my parents have grievously hurt me in the past. But my mother and father also did some things right in terms of the way they raised me.
Many of my best moral values came from having spent many hours sitting on the front pew and listening to my father's sermons when he served as a lay minister in the Methodist church. He could have gotten drunk every weekend when I was a young child, choosing to live only for himself, but he did not do so. He did eventually deviate from his righteous lifestyle, which is why he was an alcoholic by the time of his death in 1999, but I am thankful for the early foundation which was provided by the good example which he did provide to me for a limited period of time. Dad could have been far more consistent in terms of the extent to which he demonstrated love and affection for me, but he also could have been far worse than he was in that respect. I'm also thankful for the fact that he was concerned about matters of basic justice, particularly with regard to racial issues. He expressed that concern by serving as a Chairman for the Mayor's Commission on Human Rights in Springfield, MO during the late sixties. I admired him greatly for taking a principled stand against racism. I aspired to be like him in that respect. I still do.
My mother was a very positive influence on my life insofar as issues of personal morality were concerned. Her constant messages in opposition to alcohol and drug abuse might have seemed like indoctrination or brainwashing to some people, but they helped me to resist temptation in spite of the fact that I grew up in the late sixties, when it seemed as if most people in my age group were doing drugs. The role Mother played in providing me with a strong foundation in traditional Christian values should not be underestimated. She also made a strong effort to insure that I grew up in a home where expressions of love were frequent, whether those expressions took the form of delicious cookies and other baked goods, or whether they took the form of hugs before I went to bed at night. And of course, there were plenty of other examples as well, especially during the Christmas season.
It should go without saying that my grandparents also did loving things for me during the time when I was growing up. I am especially grateful to my maternal grandparents for the strong moral foundation they provided to me, and for the fact that they often went out of their way to provide me with fun and memorable experiences when I visited them in their home in St. Louis.
Over the years, I have known a number of other people who have exhibited the love of Christ in practical ways. Some of them will have to go unnamed, because I have forgotten their names. For example, I am grateful to the numerous people who kindly offered rides to me when I hitchhiked from place to place during the seventies and eighties because I lacked adequate money for a reliable car of my own. On several occasions, people I met during those adventures even offered me a comfortable place to rest my head at night so that I would not have to sleep on the side of the road.
I have been helped on a number of occasions by people who have given me substantial monetary gifts when I badly needed such help, or who offered other forms of help which were equally useful. A partial list of those people would have to include the following: Andy Pratt, a Christian musician who helped me with a gift of $500 when I was living in the Boston area; pastor Jordan Greely, who allowed me to freely use the piano at his Jamaica Plain, MA church for practice purposes, when I was desperate for a place to play so that my skills would not deteriorate; Jon and Debby Speckman, who allowed me to live with them several months rent-free during a very stressful time in 1992 when I had nowhere else to go; Joseph Hollingsworth, who has offered me numerous opportunities to earn extra spending money by doing office work for him; Paul and CeCe Ellingsen, who offered me an opportunity to earn extra money by helping them to paint a room in their house last year; Pastor Donald Abrahamson, who helped me with $1,000 from the church's Benevolence Fund (in late 2005) when I was facing possible eviction; Kenny Kissane, a fellow Christian blogger from the East Coast, who sent me $60 back in 2007 when I needed help; Jim and Marg Rehnberg, who offered a substantial monetary gift of $600 to me back in 2007, when I needed that gift in order to avoid eviction (and who also gave me the opportunity to earn additional money by helping Marg to paint her art studio); Chris Shannon, who gave me $800 in early 2008; my mother, who helped me financially last spring with a gift of $1,000, and with another gift of $300; Dywen Lauren, a Christian woman from Perth Australia, who sent me an incredibly generous gift of $2,000 even though she'd never met me face to face. I've tried to be reasonably complete, but there may be people who I've left off of the list, not out of lack of gratitude, but simply because my memory is less than perfect. (And, in one case, because a man who donated $500 to me in 2005 expressed a strong desire for anonymity.)
It's been said that it's more blessed to give than to receive, and I agree that that's the case. I've tried to be generous with my own resources during times in my life when I was presented with needs and when I was able to help. I picked up countless hitchhikers during the seventies and eighties, because I knew what it was like to need a ride, and I wanted to give as good as I got, even though it meant taking some risks. I once invited a guy I'd never met before to sleep overnight in my apartment in West Somerville, MA because he had no other place to sleep. And I have helped needy people with small financial donations on occasions. But I haven't been able to help people as often as I would have preferred, simply because I didn't have the resources with which to do so. That has been a disappointment to me.
I am not a self-centered person, or at least I don't think that I am, but I have had goals as a musician and artist, and those goals have involved the need to acquire expensive equipment which was, for the most part, beyond my reach financially. In some cases, I've experienced extended periods of unemployment (or, in some cases, underemployment), not because I didn't want to work, but because my search for a good job was not successful. That fact has influenced the level of generosity I've been able to exhibit in my own life. I know that God understands that I would have done more to help others if I could have done more. I also know that he understands that one of the reasons I want to prosper more in the future is so that I will need help from other people less frequently (if at all), and so that I can have the resources which I need in order to be as generous to others as I would like to be.
I don't know how much more time I have on this earth. God alone knows the measure of a man's life. But regardless of whether my remaining time here is long or short, I want to make certain that when I face my Maker, I will be able to honestly say that I was appreciative of the good things people did for me, and I want to be able to say that I was grateful for God's provision for my needs on those occasions when he provided for my needs.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
Farewell, Uncle Bob
One of the drawbacks of getting older is that one has to get used to the experience of losing various family members to death.
I just got an e-mail message from Sue Lawrence, a friend of my mother's. Sue told me that my mother's brother, Bob, had gone to be with Jesus on Sunday night, after a long battle with cancer.
Of all of my uncles, aunts and cousins, Uncle Bob and his family were the people to whom I felt the closest when I was growing up. When I was a child, I always looked forward to our visits to St. Louis so that we could spend time with Bob and his family.
Often, Aunt Sue, my grandmother and my mother would take me, my younger brother Matt, my cousin Karen and my younger cousin Cindy to places such as the St. Louis Zoo (a perennial favorite) or the Planetarium (just a few blocks north of my grandparents' house on Lawn Avenue). Often, we stayed with our grandparents, but there were also some occasions when we stayed for considerable lengths of time with Uncle Bob and Aunt Sue in their home in Kirkwood. They always did their best to make us feel welcome in their home. I still have fond memories of climbing the tree in their front yard.
I didn't see Uncle Bob as often as I saw Aunt Sue, Karen or Cindy, because Bob was usually on call, since he was a physician with a thriving medical practice. But I felt close to him nevertheless. He was a gentle man with a winning smile. In some ways, he was like a second father to me. He and my father seemed to get along fairly well. I remember a number of evenings when we would all get together in their family room at the end of the day and play board games such as Monopoly or Yahtzee! before going to bed.
During recent years, my financial situation has made it impossible for me to travel as often as I would have liked. I haven't even visited Mother very many times in her home in Springfield, Missouri. So I haven't been able to visit Uncle Bob and his family in Kirkwood, the way I would have liked to do. That made me feel guilty, particularly inasmuch as Uncle Bob and Aunt Sue helped me substantially on occasions when I needed financial help.
Regarding the deep friendship which I once had with my cousin Karen, it saddens me to say that we grew far apart after we had both become adults. I have hopes that I will be able to visit with her and with the rest of the remaining members of the family at some point in the future. But I doubt that I will be able to attend Uncle Bob's funeral, on account of my current tenuous financial situation.
I just got an e-mail message from Sue Lawrence, a friend of my mother's. Sue told me that my mother's brother, Bob, had gone to be with Jesus on Sunday night, after a long battle with cancer.
Of all of my uncles, aunts and cousins, Uncle Bob and his family were the people to whom I felt the closest when I was growing up. When I was a child, I always looked forward to our visits to St. Louis so that we could spend time with Bob and his family.
Often, Aunt Sue, my grandmother and my mother would take me, my younger brother Matt, my cousin Karen and my younger cousin Cindy to places such as the St. Louis Zoo (a perennial favorite) or the Planetarium (just a few blocks north of my grandparents' house on Lawn Avenue). Often, we stayed with our grandparents, but there were also some occasions when we stayed for considerable lengths of time with Uncle Bob and Aunt Sue in their home in Kirkwood. They always did their best to make us feel welcome in their home. I still have fond memories of climbing the tree in their front yard.
I didn't see Uncle Bob as often as I saw Aunt Sue, Karen or Cindy, because Bob was usually on call, since he was a physician with a thriving medical practice. But I felt close to him nevertheless. He was a gentle man with a winning smile. In some ways, he was like a second father to me. He and my father seemed to get along fairly well. I remember a number of evenings when we would all get together in their family room at the end of the day and play board games such as Monopoly or Yahtzee! before going to bed.
During recent years, my financial situation has made it impossible for me to travel as often as I would have liked. I haven't even visited Mother very many times in her home in Springfield, Missouri. So I haven't been able to visit Uncle Bob and his family in Kirkwood, the way I would have liked to do. That made me feel guilty, particularly inasmuch as Uncle Bob and Aunt Sue helped me substantially on occasions when I needed financial help.
Regarding the deep friendship which I once had with my cousin Karen, it saddens me to say that we grew far apart after we had both become adults. I have hopes that I will be able to visit with her and with the rest of the remaining members of the family at some point in the future. But I doubt that I will be able to attend Uncle Bob's funeral, on account of my current tenuous financial situation.
Monday, February 19, 2007
My Sexual Orientation
Some time ago, the mainstream media came up with a new slang word to describe heterosexual men who nevertheless were in touch with their "feminine sides". They were called "metrosexuals".
The "metrosexual" man was described as a person who spent a lot of money on ridiculously expensive designer clothing, and sometimes on completely unnecessary salon treatments designed to eliminate body hair and make the guy look like he never went through puberty.
Most "metrosexuals" were decidedly narcissistic and materialistic. And even though we were told over and over again that metrosexual men were straight, they were, at the very least, somewhat envious of gay men. Such men sometimes went on TV shows like "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" in order to get fashion advice. They undoubtedly got great advice, if their objective was to learn how to dress in such a way as to attract gay men. But if that was the case, I have to wonder if they were really straight after all.
When it comes to the issue of fashion, it should be clear that I'm no metrosexual. I tend to buy a minimum of clothing (usually at places such as Marshalls or Filenes Basement or Penneys), and then I wear it until I'm at risk of embarrassing myself because the things have become so threadbare that folks may think I get my clothing out of a dumpster. I guess it's the ex-hippie in me. (Or rather, the ex-Jesus freak.) I still remember a time when it was considered cool to wear blue jeans with fringe on the cuffs and lots of patches on them. Back then, materialism was considered to be decidedly uncool. Rich kids even went out of their way to dress as if they were poor kids. My, how things have changed.
I do concede that I probably could attract more women if I'd spend a little more money on my own clothes. But my income is very limited. If given a choice regarding how to spend my money, I'd rather spend it on books or computer gear or music gear or magazines or art supplies or office supplies or food or rent or basic transportation. Clothes are a necessity of life, but I prefer to spend as little time thinking about clothes as possible.
So like I said, I definitely am not a "metrosexual". But hey, never let it be said that I'm not trendy. I don't follow trends. I start them. I'm coming out tonight, baby!
What's my sexual orientation? I'm a retrosexual. And I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm not the only one.
Now, I'm sure that you know that "retro" is a term which is often used to describe old or vintage things. Like clothing from the secondhand clothing store. Or little things, like morals, that now seem to be going the way of the dinosaur.
A retrosexual isn't interested in sex outside of marriage. A retrosexual knows that fornication is self-centered and immature. A retrosexual knows that adultery is not only self-centered and immature, but also extremely destructive to families. (And no, I am not referring to those random collections of people liberals like to call "families". I'm talking about real, genetically related nuclear families in which no one has to go on the Maury Povitch Show in order to find out "who's the daddy". In a family comprised of retrosexuals, everyone knows who the daddy is, since the mommy and the daddy have never slept with anyone other than one another.)
A retrosexual is in possession of something which is considered in liberal circles to be obsolete. A retrosexual possesses self-control.
It isn't that the retrosexual wouldn't like to have sex. A retrosexual is not asexual. In the context of marriage, a retrosexual would very likely be an enthusiastic participant in the sexual act. But a retrosexual believes that God does in fact know a thing or two about the difference between healthy sexual relations and unhealthy sexual relations. The retrosexual knows that there are much worse things than self-denial.
A retrosexual knows that sex is supposed to be an act of love, not an athletic contest. A retrosexual has no interest in trying to compete with other men in terms of sexual expertise, for the simple reason that a retrosexual has no interest in marrying a woman who would be in a position to compare his lovemaking techniques with the lovemaking techniques of all of the many other men she has slept with.
A retrosexual does not envy or admire James Bond when it comes to sex. A retrosexual knows that such a Playboy lifestyle might seem superficially appealing at one point, but there will come a time when James will pay a price for his self indulgence.
A retrosexual has learned to be comfortable with the gender he was assigned at birth. A retrosexual has no desire to be the other gender. A retrosexual has no desire to dress or act as if he or she belongs to the other gender. A retrosexual has no desire to have sex with anyone who does not belong to the other gender. A retrosexual is not necessarily perfect. A retrosexual may have even experienced a brief period in his life when he flirted with one of these other "alternative lifestyles". But that is long in the past. A retrosexual is not too proud to ask for forgiveness and receive healing.
A retrosexual may have reached the age of 50 without ever "getting any". But a retrosexual is O.K. with that, because he understands that even though sex would be nice to experience, there are numerous negative consequences when people ignore God's advice pertaining to sexuality. A retrosexual is thrilled to be able to say that there is virtually no chance that he has ever contracted an STD or passed such a disease on to anyone else. A retrosexual has no guilt about having fathered a child he could not or would not take care of. A retrosexual remembers how painful his own parents' divorce was, and he feels extremely fortunate to have been spared the pain (and considerable expense) of divorce from a wife of his own.
A retrosexual can remember a time, not so long ago, when a rainbow was seen as a sign given by God to Noah in order to seal a promise that God would never again destroy the earth --- not as a sign that God was a senile old man who didn't care what people did in the bedroom.
A retrosexual knows that there will come a time when his sexuality is a moot point for all practical purposes. Eventually, provided that people live long enough, they all turn into nomosexuals, either because they're no longer physically able to have sex, or it just doesn't interest them anymore. (For the record, a "nomosexual" is someone who "doesn't get no mo' sex". It's a little joke of mine, rather like the term "retrosexual".)
When his life on earth is over, a retrosexual wants to be able to look back on his life without embarrassment, guilt or shame, knowing that even though he wasn't perfect, he made a strong effort to obey God in matters pertaining to sexuality.
The "metrosexual" man was described as a person who spent a lot of money on ridiculously expensive designer clothing, and sometimes on completely unnecessary salon treatments designed to eliminate body hair and make the guy look like he never went through puberty.
Most "metrosexuals" were decidedly narcissistic and materialistic. And even though we were told over and over again that metrosexual men were straight, they were, at the very least, somewhat envious of gay men. Such men sometimes went on TV shows like "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" in order to get fashion advice. They undoubtedly got great advice, if their objective was to learn how to dress in such a way as to attract gay men. But if that was the case, I have to wonder if they were really straight after all.
When it comes to the issue of fashion, it should be clear that I'm no metrosexual. I tend to buy a minimum of clothing (usually at places such as Marshalls or Filenes Basement or Penneys), and then I wear it until I'm at risk of embarrassing myself because the things have become so threadbare that folks may think I get my clothing out of a dumpster. I guess it's the ex-hippie in me. (Or rather, the ex-Jesus freak.) I still remember a time when it was considered cool to wear blue jeans with fringe on the cuffs and lots of patches on them. Back then, materialism was considered to be decidedly uncool. Rich kids even went out of their way to dress as if they were poor kids. My, how things have changed.
I do concede that I probably could attract more women if I'd spend a little more money on my own clothes. But my income is very limited. If given a choice regarding how to spend my money, I'd rather spend it on books or computer gear or music gear or magazines or art supplies or office supplies or food or rent or basic transportation. Clothes are a necessity of life, but I prefer to spend as little time thinking about clothes as possible.
So like I said, I definitely am not a "metrosexual". But hey, never let it be said that I'm not trendy. I don't follow trends. I start them. I'm coming out tonight, baby!
What's my sexual orientation? I'm a retrosexual. And I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm not the only one.
Now, I'm sure that you know that "retro" is a term which is often used to describe old or vintage things. Like clothing from the secondhand clothing store. Or little things, like morals, that now seem to be going the way of the dinosaur.
A retrosexual isn't interested in sex outside of marriage. A retrosexual knows that fornication is self-centered and immature. A retrosexual knows that adultery is not only self-centered and immature, but also extremely destructive to families. (And no, I am not referring to those random collections of people liberals like to call "families". I'm talking about real, genetically related nuclear families in which no one has to go on the Maury Povitch Show in order to find out "who's the daddy". In a family comprised of retrosexuals, everyone knows who the daddy is, since the mommy and the daddy have never slept with anyone other than one another.)
A retrosexual is in possession of something which is considered in liberal circles to be obsolete. A retrosexual possesses self-control.
It isn't that the retrosexual wouldn't like to have sex. A retrosexual is not asexual. In the context of marriage, a retrosexual would very likely be an enthusiastic participant in the sexual act. But a retrosexual believes that God does in fact know a thing or two about the difference between healthy sexual relations and unhealthy sexual relations. The retrosexual knows that there are much worse things than self-denial.
A retrosexual knows that sex is supposed to be an act of love, not an athletic contest. A retrosexual has no interest in trying to compete with other men in terms of sexual expertise, for the simple reason that a retrosexual has no interest in marrying a woman who would be in a position to compare his lovemaking techniques with the lovemaking techniques of all of the many other men she has slept with.
A retrosexual does not envy or admire James Bond when it comes to sex. A retrosexual knows that such a Playboy lifestyle might seem superficially appealing at one point, but there will come a time when James will pay a price for his self indulgence.
A retrosexual has learned to be comfortable with the gender he was assigned at birth. A retrosexual has no desire to be the other gender. A retrosexual has no desire to dress or act as if he or she belongs to the other gender. A retrosexual has no desire to have sex with anyone who does not belong to the other gender. A retrosexual is not necessarily perfect. A retrosexual may have even experienced a brief period in his life when he flirted with one of these other "alternative lifestyles". But that is long in the past. A retrosexual is not too proud to ask for forgiveness and receive healing.
A retrosexual may have reached the age of 50 without ever "getting any". But a retrosexual is O.K. with that, because he understands that even though sex would be nice to experience, there are numerous negative consequences when people ignore God's advice pertaining to sexuality. A retrosexual is thrilled to be able to say that there is virtually no chance that he has ever contracted an STD or passed such a disease on to anyone else. A retrosexual has no guilt about having fathered a child he could not or would not take care of. A retrosexual remembers how painful his own parents' divorce was, and he feels extremely fortunate to have been spared the pain (and considerable expense) of divorce from a wife of his own.
A retrosexual can remember a time, not so long ago, when a rainbow was seen as a sign given by God to Noah in order to seal a promise that God would never again destroy the earth --- not as a sign that God was a senile old man who didn't care what people did in the bedroom.
A retrosexual knows that there will come a time when his sexuality is a moot point for all practical purposes. Eventually, provided that people live long enough, they all turn into nomosexuals, either because they're no longer physically able to have sex, or it just doesn't interest them anymore. (For the record, a "nomosexual" is someone who "doesn't get no mo' sex". It's a little joke of mine, rather like the term "retrosexual".)
When his life on earth is over, a retrosexual wants to be able to look back on his life without embarrassment, guilt or shame, knowing that even though he wasn't perfect, he made a strong effort to obey God in matters pertaining to sexuality.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
In The Back Seat
Certain memories from one's childhood linger in one's mind. They can often take on extra resonance when one compares them with things which occurred later on in one's life. This poem describes such a memory from my own childhood.
In the back seat of my father’s old Ford,
I slept like a sailor at sea.
Knowing that I would be safe and secure,
for my mom and my dad cared for me.
Every Wednesday we’d come home from church,
after choir practice ended that night.
When we got home, carried straight to my bed,
I was certain that things were alright.
Oh, how I miss those days of my youth,
when my parents still loved one another.
Awful divorce; how I hate the vile word!
How it injured both me and my brother!
Long have I thought of those days of my youth.
Long have I wished they’d return.
Keep your commitments to people you love,
for love is not something to spurn.
To download additional Christ-centered poems I've written (stored online in the form of PDF files which can be downloaded from a public SkyDrive folder), visit this link, then select the poem in which you have an interest, and then click the Download button.
____________________________________________
In The Back Seat
© by Mark Pettigrew
© by Mark Pettigrew
In the back seat of my father’s old Ford,
I slept like a sailor at sea.
Knowing that I would be safe and secure,
for my mom and my dad cared for me.
Every Wednesday we’d come home from church,
after choir practice ended that night.
When we got home, carried straight to my bed,
I was certain that things were alright.
Oh, how I miss those days of my youth,
when my parents still loved one another.
Awful divorce; how I hate the vile word!
How it injured both me and my brother!
Long have I thought of those days of my youth.
Long have I wished they’d return.
Keep your commitments to people you love,
for love is not something to spurn.
____________________________________________
When my father would drive us home from weekly choir practices (at Oakland United Methodist Church), it was a long drive, so I would often lie down in the back seat and fall asleep. But I was seldom completely asleep. Usually, it was more like a groggy state halfway between fully asleep and being awake. I knew the twists and turns in the road by feel. When the car would shift in a certain way, I could tell instinctively that we were almost home, without having to sit up and look out the window. After pulling into the driveway, my dad would pick me up in his arms and carry me to my bed.
When I think of that time, it reminds me of how much I relied on my parents, and how much I trusted them. That kind of trust is a precious thing, and it should not be violated.
Regarding the line which says, "Long have I wished they'd return", it's pretty clear that those days will never return. My father passed away in 1999, and it had already been apparent for quite a number of years prior to his passing that our family would never be restored to what it once had been.
Nevertheless, when I wrote that line, I was trying to capture the feeling that I had, for a very long time after the divorce, that something precious had been lost when my father committed adultery, leading my mother to file for divorce. Even though I knew it was unlikely, I still hoped that my father would humble himself, repent of the things he'd done to hurt our family and reunite with my mother so that our family could be whole again.
*********************************************************************To download additional Christ-centered poems I've written (stored online in the form of PDF files which can be downloaded from a public SkyDrive folder), visit this link, then select the poem in which you have an interest, and then click the Download button.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Fillet of Soul, Anyone?
Kizoku is a sushi restaurant and lounge in Chicago, not very far from where I live. (I could probably walk there in a half hour.) Judging from the photos on the restaurant's website (http://www.kizokusushi.com), they have a very upscale decor.
But it isn't the decor, the prices or the food which have been getting a lot of press. It's the fact that they have a rather unusual way of presenting their food. One web site I visited referred to the practice as "“nyotaimori”, which apparently is a fancy way of saying that they serve sushi on the body of a naked (or nearly naked) woman. As if sushi wasn't already raw enough!
Kizoku charges a steep price ($500 for a dinner for four) for the privilege of eating dinner in a manner which would have pleased Caligula.
Of course, you won't find any pictures of "naked sushi" on the restaurant's website. After all, it's a "classy" establishment. You'll have to search the web via Google or Yahoo in order to find photos of one of their human serving trays with raw fish perched precariously on her breasts and other body parts.
At www.wtmx.com, in a blog entry by Kathy of the Eric and Kathy Show, we read the following:
Earlier, I wrote a blog in which I criticized the city of New Orleans on account of its well-earned reputation for carnality and the public celebration of the same. I even implied that the tragedy caused by Hurricane Katrina and the subsequent flood might have been an act of divine judgment. Well, all I can say is that it's a good thing for Chicago that our city isn't in the hurricane zone, because we seem to be headed in the same direction morally. We haven't reached rock bottom, yet, but we're headed in that direction.
No doubt, there are those who would call me "prudish" and "intolerant" for suggesting such a thing. There are those who would say that I'm "hung up" about sex. Well, folks, I've seen pictures of naked women, and I think they're pretty pleasant to behold. Sex is a wonderful thing. After all, God invented it, and when he did so, he called it good. There's not a person on the planet who doesn't owe his or her existence to an act of sexual intercourse.
Nevertheless, I've never experienced sexual intercourse for myself, since I believe in keeping God's commandments, which prohibit fornication and adultery.
Judging by the movie trailers I've seen, the "40 Year Old Virgin" of movie fame couldn't "get laid" even though he kept trying. Hence, he was rightfully regarded as a failure. But virginity isn't a failure if it's the result of a deliberate commitment to obey God.
In any event, regardless of whether or not you agree with the idea that people should wait until marriage before having sex, the "naked sushi" controversy is not about being ashamed of sex. It's about whether or not there are legitimate societal taboos pertaining to public acts, whether those taboos pertain to things of a sexual nature or to nonsexual things like farting or spitting on the carpet.
Inhibitions have gotten a bad rap. A society without inhibitions is a society in which people are indifferent to the effects of their actions on their fellow human beings, and that's just plain rude.
It seems to me that it's just a short step from serving raw fish on topless women to having sexual orgies in public. In fact, I read not long ago that there are actually bars, in Chicago, for people who go there specifically to have sexual orgies with one another. It's called "the lifestyle", thanks to the 1999 movie which celebrated what used to be called "swinging". So far, I've managed to avoid going into such an establishment, and I hope to keep it that way.
Now, some would argue that no one has to eat naked sushi, or visit a "swinger's bar", unless he or she chooses to do so. Therefore, they would argue, it's a "private" matter, and I should mind my own business.
That argument, it seems to me, is as ridiculous as saying that since most acts of prostitution only occur behind closed doors, society should exhibit an interest in such acts only if and when they spill out onto the streets. The trouble with both arguments is that they ignore the intrinsic social dimension of sex.
Acts of sex which take place in the context of the institution of marriage strengthen society (all other things being equal), because marriage affirms that sex is just one dimension of a rich, multifaceted relationship.
But there is an opposing dynamic, one which would weaken the family (thereby hurting children) by creating a mindset in which sex is just one more form of recreation, comparable to going to the movies or riding the rollercoaster at Six Flags. When sex becomes "just another business", it negatively affects the stability of families, which results in the need for a host of costly social programs which wouldn't have been necessary if people had just taken God's commands seriously. And that, my friend, is everyone's business.
Now, whether or not it is everyone's business to the extent that it should become a matter of law is debatable. I do recognize that we don't live in a theocracy, and I recognize that there are legitimate limits, in a pluralistic society, to the imposition of moral values on those who don't agree with those values. But even if this is a case where the law ought to "butt out", it seems to me, at the very least, that my civil liberties as a citizen include the right to speak out against what I consider to be harmful practices and trends.
Sex is wonderful precisely because it involves bonding with another human being to whom you are committed, and with whom you are willing to work hard in order to create a loving family. A committed relationship will endure long after the shortlived ecstasy of orgasm is a distant memory.
But we Americans tend to see things solely through the rose-colored glasses of consumerism, and we are increasingly oblivious to the necessity and wisdom of self-restraint. Hence, anything which stands to make a buck is tolerated, even encouraged. Who cares if those ignorant yahoos from the Bible belt are offended? For that matter, who cares if God is offended? Live for today, live for yourself, ignore little matters like morality and Judgment Day, and maybe, if you're lucky, they'll go away.
But they won't go away. God's laws are eternal. What's transient (and ultimately unsatisfying) is the pleasure which comes from disobedience to him.
How do I know? Because I have done my own thing more than once, and I've lived to regret it. Fortunately, I've discovered that the God who judges is also the God who forgives, provided that we are willing to humble ourselves and acknowledge that we need his forgiveness.
Many decades ago, in a culture in which some form of Christianity was generally taken for granted, it didn't take much courage to take a stand for Christ and for righteousness. But that is no longer the culture in which we live.
If you lack moral courage, and if you want to blend in with the crowd, then capitulate to the latest immoral fad, even if it means eating raw fish off the body of a naked woman. But there will come a time when you will pay a price for your self-indulgence and shortsightedness. Don't say I didn't tell you so.
But it isn't the decor, the prices or the food which have been getting a lot of press. It's the fact that they have a rather unusual way of presenting their food. One web site I visited referred to the practice as "“nyotaimori”, which apparently is a fancy way of saying that they serve sushi on the body of a naked (or nearly naked) woman. As if sushi wasn't already raw enough!
Kizoku charges a steep price ($500 for a dinner for four) for the privilege of eating dinner in a manner which would have pleased Caligula.
Of course, you won't find any pictures of "naked sushi" on the restaurant's website. After all, it's a "classy" establishment. You'll have to search the web via Google or Yahoo in order to find photos of one of their human serving trays with raw fish perched precariously on her breasts and other body parts.
At www.wtmx.com, in a blog entry by Kathy of the Eric and Kathy Show, we read the following:
Kudos to Tabitha. She's done more than 50 dinners and has gotten to be quite the pro. She prepares by not eating or drinking much beforehand and other than the occasional itch she's unable to scratch, has no problems for the 60-90 minutes she is laying there nearly still.Yeah, she's quite a "pro". She's not only good at suppressing the urge to scratch when she itches, she's good at suppressing the urgings of her conscience as well. Kind of like a whore who learns to deal with the dehumanizing aspects of prostitution by living in denial about the depravity of her (or his) lifestyle.
Earlier, I wrote a blog in which I criticized the city of New Orleans on account of its well-earned reputation for carnality and the public celebration of the same. I even implied that the tragedy caused by Hurricane Katrina and the subsequent flood might have been an act of divine judgment. Well, all I can say is that it's a good thing for Chicago that our city isn't in the hurricane zone, because we seem to be headed in the same direction morally. We haven't reached rock bottom, yet, but we're headed in that direction.
No doubt, there are those who would call me "prudish" and "intolerant" for suggesting such a thing. There are those who would say that I'm "hung up" about sex. Well, folks, I've seen pictures of naked women, and I think they're pretty pleasant to behold. Sex is a wonderful thing. After all, God invented it, and when he did so, he called it good. There's not a person on the planet who doesn't owe his or her existence to an act of sexual intercourse.
Nevertheless, I've never experienced sexual intercourse for myself, since I believe in keeping God's commandments, which prohibit fornication and adultery.
Judging by the movie trailers I've seen, the "40 Year Old Virgin" of movie fame couldn't "get laid" even though he kept trying. Hence, he was rightfully regarded as a failure. But virginity isn't a failure if it's the result of a deliberate commitment to obey God.
In any event, regardless of whether or not you agree with the idea that people should wait until marriage before having sex, the "naked sushi" controversy is not about being ashamed of sex. It's about whether or not there are legitimate societal taboos pertaining to public acts, whether those taboos pertain to things of a sexual nature or to nonsexual things like farting or spitting on the carpet.
Inhibitions have gotten a bad rap. A society without inhibitions is a society in which people are indifferent to the effects of their actions on their fellow human beings, and that's just plain rude.
It seems to me that it's just a short step from serving raw fish on topless women to having sexual orgies in public. In fact, I read not long ago that there are actually bars, in Chicago, for people who go there specifically to have sexual orgies with one another. It's called "the lifestyle", thanks to the 1999 movie which celebrated what used to be called "swinging". So far, I've managed to avoid going into such an establishment, and I hope to keep it that way.
Now, some would argue that no one has to eat naked sushi, or visit a "swinger's bar", unless he or she chooses to do so. Therefore, they would argue, it's a "private" matter, and I should mind my own business.
That argument, it seems to me, is as ridiculous as saying that since most acts of prostitution only occur behind closed doors, society should exhibit an interest in such acts only if and when they spill out onto the streets. The trouble with both arguments is that they ignore the intrinsic social dimension of sex.
Acts of sex which take place in the context of the institution of marriage strengthen society (all other things being equal), because marriage affirms that sex is just one dimension of a rich, multifaceted relationship.
But there is an opposing dynamic, one which would weaken the family (thereby hurting children) by creating a mindset in which sex is just one more form of recreation, comparable to going to the movies or riding the rollercoaster at Six Flags. When sex becomes "just another business", it negatively affects the stability of families, which results in the need for a host of costly social programs which wouldn't have been necessary if people had just taken God's commands seriously. And that, my friend, is everyone's business.
Now, whether or not it is everyone's business to the extent that it should become a matter of law is debatable. I do recognize that we don't live in a theocracy, and I recognize that there are legitimate limits, in a pluralistic society, to the imposition of moral values on those who don't agree with those values. But even if this is a case where the law ought to "butt out", it seems to me, at the very least, that my civil liberties as a citizen include the right to speak out against what I consider to be harmful practices and trends.
Sex is wonderful precisely because it involves bonding with another human being to whom you are committed, and with whom you are willing to work hard in order to create a loving family. A committed relationship will endure long after the shortlived ecstasy of orgasm is a distant memory.
But we Americans tend to see things solely through the rose-colored glasses of consumerism, and we are increasingly oblivious to the necessity and wisdom of self-restraint. Hence, anything which stands to make a buck is tolerated, even encouraged. Who cares if those ignorant yahoos from the Bible belt are offended? For that matter, who cares if God is offended? Live for today, live for yourself, ignore little matters like morality and Judgment Day, and maybe, if you're lucky, they'll go away.
But they won't go away. God's laws are eternal. What's transient (and ultimately unsatisfying) is the pleasure which comes from disobedience to him.
How do I know? Because I have done my own thing more than once, and I've lived to regret it. Fortunately, I've discovered that the God who judges is also the God who forgives, provided that we are willing to humble ourselves and acknowledge that we need his forgiveness.
Many decades ago, in a culture in which some form of Christianity was generally taken for granted, it didn't take much courage to take a stand for Christ and for righteousness. But that is no longer the culture in which we live.
If you lack moral courage, and if you want to blend in with the crowd, then capitulate to the latest immoral fad, even if it means eating raw fish off the body of a naked woman. But there will come a time when you will pay a price for your self-indulgence and shortsightedness. Don't say I didn't tell you so.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Some Thoughts About Bound Journals
During my free time, I enjoy visiting the Border's bookstore and the Barnes and Noble bookstore. Easy proximity to those stores is one benefit of living where I live.
Usually, when I'm in such a bookstore, I'll go through the magazine section of the store, as well as several book sections (particularly the sections containing books about art, photography, music and computers). After grabbing a handful of books and magazines which interest me, I'll sit down in the coffee shop (after buying a drink or some food, or both) and I'll spend several hours writing down book titles (plus information regarding the author, publisher, ISBN, copyright date, price, binding method and related notes), as well as useful information I find in various magazines.
I don't always carry my notebook computer with me. Therefore, I generally prefer to record the aforementioned information on the inexpensive 3x5-inch index cards I always carry for that purpose. I have thousands of these index cards at home, containing a lot of very useful information (which I periodically sort and organize according to topic). I guess you could say that I'm an "information junkie", which is why I find the Web to be so useful. As addictions go, I can think of addictions which are far more harmful, and far less useful, than an addiction to information.
Both of the aforementioned bookstores have a nice selection of beautiful blank journals (in a wide range of prices), with covers made from leather, wood, fabric and/or other materials. For a person who enjoys writing, as I do, these can be tempting.
Several years ago, I resolved that I would finally spend some serious time writing my thoughts down, in a beautiful leather-bound Cavallini journal I'd bought at Border's. I poured my heart and soul into that journal. As pretentious as it might sound, I think I had visions of being the next Anne Frank. I wouldn't want to go through the horrors she and her family experienced in Nazi Germany, but I had always thought that it would be wonderful to be able to write a journal which would eventually be published as a book and read by millions of people.
Alas, it was not to be. I mailed the completed journal to a close relative of mine, intending to share my thoughts with that person. That turned out to be a huge mistake. It turned out that the person to whom I sent the journal had no appreciation whatsoever of the fact that I had spent hundreds of hours writing in that journal. In fact, it seems in hindsight that the recipient must have resented the fact that I had found the time to record my thoughts in a journal. What else can explain the fact that she maliciously destroyed the journal by tearing it into pieces? (I never saw the torn-up journal. She voluntarily told me that she had destroyed it! Talk about cruel!) Destroying my journal must have taken a fair amount of effort on her part, since the book had such a tough leather cover.
When I was told that my journal had been deliberately destroyed, I felt as if someone had ripped my heart out, grilled it over an open flame, and eaten it with toast. I was already under a lot of stress to begin with, on account of severe financial problems caused by a prolonged period of unemployment. The news about my journal's destruction only made things worse.
A couple of years have passed since that time, and while I can't say that my memories are free of pain, I have survived.
Now that I've discovered the joys of "blogging", I can't help but notice that it offers some distinct advantages, compared with old-fashioned bound journals with paper pages. Specifically, one can instantly share one's thoughts with the world, without the expense of traditional publication or distribution, and without the need to persuade a publishing company that it's economically viable to publish and distribute the book. Unlike that Cavallini journal, there is little or no chance that anyone can maliciously destroy one's only copy of a blog. Yes, a hacker could theoretically destroy or alter the digital files residing on the file servers owned by the blog hosting company, but that's what backup copies (and occasional printouts) are for.
Still, I admit that there is a certain visceral pleasure associated with the act of writing one's thoughts down in a beautiful bound journal. Therefore, I may do so periodically in the future.
However, I have learned my lessons well. If I ever share such a handwritten journal with anyone again, I will photocopy or scan all of the pages first, just as a precaution. In some cases, I may also upload blog posts consisting of thoughts which were previously recorded in the handwritten journal. That way, I won't need to send the physical journal through the mail in order to share it with others.
Most importantly, I will never again send such a precious, irreplaceable thing to any person who has proved to be unworthy of my trust.
Usually, when I'm in such a bookstore, I'll go through the magazine section of the store, as well as several book sections (particularly the sections containing books about art, photography, music and computers). After grabbing a handful of books and magazines which interest me, I'll sit down in the coffee shop (after buying a drink or some food, or both) and I'll spend several hours writing down book titles (plus information regarding the author, publisher, ISBN, copyright date, price, binding method and related notes), as well as useful information I find in various magazines.
I don't always carry my notebook computer with me. Therefore, I generally prefer to record the aforementioned information on the inexpensive 3x5-inch index cards I always carry for that purpose. I have thousands of these index cards at home, containing a lot of very useful information (which I periodically sort and organize according to topic). I guess you could say that I'm an "information junkie", which is why I find the Web to be so useful. As addictions go, I can think of addictions which are far more harmful, and far less useful, than an addiction to information.
Both of the aforementioned bookstores have a nice selection of beautiful blank journals (in a wide range of prices), with covers made from leather, wood, fabric and/or other materials. For a person who enjoys writing, as I do, these can be tempting.
Several years ago, I resolved that I would finally spend some serious time writing my thoughts down, in a beautiful leather-bound Cavallini journal I'd bought at Border's. I poured my heart and soul into that journal. As pretentious as it might sound, I think I had visions of being the next Anne Frank. I wouldn't want to go through the horrors she and her family experienced in Nazi Germany, but I had always thought that it would be wonderful to be able to write a journal which would eventually be published as a book and read by millions of people.
Alas, it was not to be. I mailed the completed journal to a close relative of mine, intending to share my thoughts with that person. That turned out to be a huge mistake. It turned out that the person to whom I sent the journal had no appreciation whatsoever of the fact that I had spent hundreds of hours writing in that journal. In fact, it seems in hindsight that the recipient must have resented the fact that I had found the time to record my thoughts in a journal. What else can explain the fact that she maliciously destroyed the journal by tearing it into pieces? (I never saw the torn-up journal. She voluntarily told me that she had destroyed it! Talk about cruel!) Destroying my journal must have taken a fair amount of effort on her part, since the book had such a tough leather cover.
When I was told that my journal had been deliberately destroyed, I felt as if someone had ripped my heart out, grilled it over an open flame, and eaten it with toast. I was already under a lot of stress to begin with, on account of severe financial problems caused by a prolonged period of unemployment. The news about my journal's destruction only made things worse.
A couple of years have passed since that time, and while I can't say that my memories are free of pain, I have survived.
Now that I've discovered the joys of "blogging", I can't help but notice that it offers some distinct advantages, compared with old-fashioned bound journals with paper pages. Specifically, one can instantly share one's thoughts with the world, without the expense of traditional publication or distribution, and without the need to persuade a publishing company that it's economically viable to publish and distribute the book. Unlike that Cavallini journal, there is little or no chance that anyone can maliciously destroy one's only copy of a blog. Yes, a hacker could theoretically destroy or alter the digital files residing on the file servers owned by the blog hosting company, but that's what backup copies (and occasional printouts) are for.
Still, I admit that there is a certain visceral pleasure associated with the act of writing one's thoughts down in a beautiful bound journal. Therefore, I may do so periodically in the future.
However, I have learned my lessons well. If I ever share such a handwritten journal with anyone again, I will photocopy or scan all of the pages first, just as a precaution. In some cases, I may also upload blog posts consisting of thoughts which were previously recorded in the handwritten journal. That way, I won't need to send the physical journal through the mail in order to share it with others.
Most importantly, I will never again send such a precious, irreplaceable thing to any person who has proved to be unworthy of my trust.
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