Egad! I’ve been up to my noodles in work preparing for this season. It’s just a wee trial of the big proper Comedy Festival season, but it’s here that the show will start to take shape and become the monster it was born to be. We have nearly got all the potentially-award-winning music down, and after so many weeks in rehearsal I can safely say that I am now well acquainted with the spiders in Scott’s shed. There’s like a million of them. Also, Nick’s writing is good. But that concerns me less than the spiders.
Bookings are open! Over here:
http://www.thebutterflyclub.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=24&Itemid=2
There are many roads leading from my place to Richmond. I drive on citylink when I want to get to Richmond really fast. I pay a toll, not to get to Richmond but to get there quickly. So if there’s a big fat traffic jam on the Bolte and it takes me twice as long on Citylink as it would if I’d gone via the backstreets… should I still have to pay the toll? I think not. The thing should be free. Or they should give me a present.
That’s my thought of the day.
Here’s something that really grinds my gears. I log on to facebook (because I have a pathological need to stickybeak into my friend’s lives) and I see a long status update from some friend-of-a-friend. The kind of person I met a couple of times and thought was nice enough then friended them, more out a secret urge to compete for the title of “Most Popular Non-Religious Icon On Facebook” than because I actually need more friends
Long statuses are always eye-catching because in this techno-savvy world, most people have learned to condense their complex human emotions into 140 characters or less. “I have just had an enjoyable evening with a gorgeous young gentleman of my acquaintance” can be shortened into, “WOOOHOOOOO GOT LAID!!” and “How are you faring since the unenviable and inevitable collapse of your dubiously-founded 7 year relationship?” becomes, “sup, dog?”
So when someone posts a freakin’ essay in the skinny column of text that constitutes the facebook homepage, the eye is drawn – whether it wants to be or not. An assumption is made that the story being told is so complex or important that cutting out any detail would diminish its considerable quality. Or that someone got insulted on public transport and they’re venting about it… which is hella funny.
I am always slightly dismayed, however when I begin reading a long status only to find lines such as “This month we remember everyone who…” or “In Kenya they can’t afford…” or “My friend’s friend’s son is in hospital with chronic…” This kinda thing pisses me off. NOT BECAUSE I DON’T CARE about Kenyans or hospital kids or anyone who ever did blah blah blah… but because I know what the second half of this message is going to be…
“Most of you heartless bastards won’t repost this because you’re haters, aren’t you? You want Kenyan babies to die. Not like me! I’m totally righteous because I took the 20 seconds to cut and paste this to my status bar at before going to work and forgetting about it. In fact, I was on the phone to Jesus this morning and he bet me fifty bucks that you wouldn’t repost this. He said that being an individual with their own opinions and methods of expressing them was more important to you that being seen to care about the “Human Suffering of the Day” on a vapid medium like facebook. Then he said you smell. So you’d better repost this or it’s stinky-person’s hell for you! Bitch.”
I care a lot about Kenyan babies, but damned if I’m going to be bullied into pointlessly reposting someone else’s grievance by some sneering self-righteous status which insults anyone who doesn’t instantly repeat their tear-soaked complaint. Reposting won’t save a single baby! And the act of reposting just accuses more people of being heartless – getting them offside and making them less likely to attend any actual baby-saving fundraisers you may stage in the non-cyber world.
The other one that always gets my goat is “Join this group so that Jimmy can buy his iron lung.”
“Doctors say Jimmy needs an iron lung. The Ukranian government has decided that they’ll sponsor said lung but only if Jimmy can get 20 million people on facebook to join this group by December 15th. Please join this group. Otherwise you killed Jimmy.”
Firstly, why is a Ukranian kid called Jimmy? Secondly, what kind of bastard Government would make a dying kid prove that 20 million people wanted him to live before they chucked him the lung that they apparently have lying around at HQ?! Maybe they only want popular people in the Ukraine. Maybe the plan is to market him as a tourist attraction. “Come see Jimmy! The REAL boy who lived! Only in the Ukraine!” Plus, of all the available methods they could possibly use to get the word out on this – medical journals, foreign embassies, Fox News – they choose the US teeny-bopperest one of them all. Most facebook users couldn’t locate the Ukraine on the map let alone fly there unaccompanied to see the kid they saved.
And the final icing on the cake? We never find out if it worked! Come December 15th Jimmy will vanish, like a red army sub in the black sea – and we’ll never find out what happened. There’s no follow-up recovery story, no memorial, not even a photograph so that we know he wasn’t a made up publicity stunt for a struggling, post-soviet, power-vertical economy.
Happily, very few of the people I count as Actual Friends in the non-cyber world ever post such nonsense to my wall. But there’s always someone who sneaks one through every now and then. I count this as cyber-bullying because it makes me feel angry… then bad because I feel angry… then angry because I feel bad… then annoyed that I’ve had all these emotions before my morning coffee. Next time you want to raise awareness about a topic, do it without the accusatory sting. Or go find a photo of Jimmy.
I feel sorry for my few Christian pals. In fact, I’m not even sure if I have any Christian pals. It’s one thing to have “christian values”, another to be an actual Christian. Most of the people I know who were born into Christian families mainly went to Church so that their grandparents didn’t disinherit their parents. Now that they’re old enough to schedule their own weekend activities it takes a lot more to impress them than daily bread.
I’ve seen a lot of people who start off as Christian develop their own spiritual course. They become conflicted by the bible’s outdated, corrupt, ultraconservative values, but still feel like there’s “something else” out there, looking after them. Then they motorbike through Cambodia, get a traditional luck tattoo, cuddle some orphans and spend all their money on cacao.
Having been raised functionally Atheist I’ve never had that Twilight Zoney we’re-being-watched feeling they describe, but despite my own lack of faith I don’t think they’re crazy for feeling it. Clearly, spirituality fulfills some primal need in humans – the need to be important (like Zaphod Beeblebrox in that fake universe thing), the need to not be alone, and most importantly the need to be less scared about your own death and the death of friends. Spirituality provides strength to some and denial to others about these inevitabilities of life.
So what drives people away from Christianity and into the dangerous world of Deciding For Yourself? Maybe it’s the fact that the bible itself declares thinking for yourself as evil:
SNAKE: “Hey Eve! Dig this apple. It’ll make you think for yourself.”
EVE: “Nom nom nom…”
SNAKE: “Ha ha! I can see your boobs!”
EVE: “Shit, well I’d better cover up. Now back to paradise.”
GOD: “No dice. Since you’re sooo self sufficient now how about I MAKE YOUR VAGINA BLEED EVERY MONTH!!! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT?!?”
EVE: “Dang it. Fig leaf tampons are scratchy. I’ll never think again.”
The bible frequently says, “don’t ask questions, just do what we say”, and this is from a book that tells me I’m an all-singing, all-dancing, magic rib brought to life by a guy who lives on top of the ozone layer. If I was asked to believe that along with my spirituality, I’d be conflicted too.
The bible condemns gay sex as punishable by death, while rape of a woman is frequently referenced as a minor plot point, a faux pas or even as a reward for its protagonists.
The bible tells us that if you to invade a foreign country and god’s on your side you should leave none alive – not even women or children – because they will hold the beliefs of the people you fought and you can’t risk another point of view being present in your country.
The bible tells us that Jesus called a Greek woman a dog and only agreed to help her sick daughter after she admitted that she was, in fact, a dog. “Now bark, Effie! Bark!”
The bible tells us that if you beat up a slave and he doesn’t die on the same day you beat him then it’s not murder.
For every “Thou shalt not kill” there’s an, “unless the person is a different race, religion, gender, sexuality or class to you.” And that’s hardly surpising, the writers were only human. Yep, human. Not gods or popes or angelic beings, they were uneducated farmers living thousands of years before trade unions, women’s rights or Judge Judy. And there’s some suggestion that a few of the authors were taking this mushroom while writing it. From my own experience with hallucinogens, if someone had told me “god” was the person I could see dancing in the ceiling fan, I probably could’ve written Revelations too.
The Christians who remain loyal after reading all the bigotry and magic usually wash it away by saying, “that stuff doesn’t apply any more. It was true then but it’s not true now.” Clearly forgetting the bit where it says “Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments, and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven” Matthew 5:18. Basically translating as, “We mean aaaall the stuff, even the bits you think we don’t mean.”
The few Christians I know probably wouldn’t kill a gay man, but they might use the biblical law as allegorical permission to deny him marriage rights. They probably wouldn’t rape a woman but they might be inclined to pay her less money than a male in an equal position. Discrimination is etched into the building blocks of their lives.
For the benefit of any confused Christians out there, I have an answer so simple I can’t believe no one’s done it yet: We expurgate the bible.
I’d be happy to do it! We could turn it from the monsterous half-Lewis-Carrol-half-Charles-Manson nightmare ride that it is, into something from Disney starring Oprah. Run it by some politically correct editors, chuck in a talking rabbit to help easter make sense and bingo! We can update it for the 21st Century:
“And Jesus did enter the McDonalds where the deep fryer had switched off and none could have fries and he did bless the fryer and, Yea, he got down upon his knees and did reach around the back to discover the cord had come out at the wall. Then he did plug it back in and there was much rejoicing. The franchisee did bow unto Jesus and cry “The people now have fries. How can I repay thee for thy efforts?” to which Jesus said, “Nay, I ask nothing for it is the Sabbath and I left my receipt book in the truck.”
Let there be tales of Jesus giving a leper a job at Centrelink, Abraham telling his first born son it’s ok to marry a black guy, Moses parting the red sea then inviting seven nations to a beach party in it… or even just one story where someone admits lesbianism is an actual thing!
It wouldn’t be the first time the bible has been edited. History tells us that once Christianity caught on in the Roman Empire a bunch of fat senators redrafted it with a heavy influence on “obeying thy superiors”. There is reason to believe that the Book of Judas and the Book of Mary Magdalene existed and were removed at various points in history. Even the King James bible was rewritten – ostensibly to correct errors but more likely so that the Christian archaic ideals didn’t get in the way of the Church of England’s love of divorce.
Once we abandon all the bigotry Christians can unashamedly embrace the whole book, rather than hypocritically picking the PC bits. In fact, it’d be more of a pamphlet than a book because how many words does it take to say, “Don’t be a douchebag to anyone, ever… this means you, Middle America. Aaaaand you, Wendy Francis!” The sooner we do this the happier we’ll be and the fewer people will start looking to Xenu for comprehensive spiritual guidance.
I’ve never blogged before. I don’t know who reads blogs and I don’t know what you’re meant to say on them but this seems like as good a time as any to get my blog on. It’s a month out from the election and I’ve just been called a bigot for considering voting for Gillard on the grounds that she is a woman.
Normally I’d try and weasel out of such an accusation because, let’s face it, no one likes being labeled a bigot. Even bigots don’t like it. They sit there in their whites-only golf resorts and declare that they’re not misogynists because they let their wife choose her own washing up powder.
But I’m going to stick to my guns on this one. I think Gillard’s being a woman is pretty much the only major difference between her and Abbott in terms of things that matter. I don’t care about the barren thing, the speedos thing, the red head thing or the fact that Tony scares babies with his demon face. When it comes to what they’re actually chatting about it’s all the same. We hate boat people! We’re kick arse at economic management! We’re concerned about the greenhouse thing but we’re not actually going to do anything about it! Australia doesn’t really have a choice on these issues. No matter which way we vote we’re not going to get refugees out of the sea and onto the dole any faster.
The only issue we’re really going to have a say in is the whole “are women any good at stuff?” question that’s lasted longer in this country than is courteous. Women get paid less and raped more. Most infuriating to me is the fact that women aren’t allowed to be funny on TV unless they’re fat or drunk or naked. A friend of mine told me that radio stations don’t allow two female hosts on at the same time because “the audience finds it confusing.” The media are slaves to what’s popular so this indicates that it’s the general public who think women are no good at stuff.
If you don’t think this is an issue then you probably already think I’m a bigot. What I’m really hoping for is an opportunity for the public to say “hang on, I reckon a woman can do this job.” If the public could put their trust in a woman to run their country then surely a little thing like being funny on prime time couldn’t be far behind. The ALP have done what no one in Australia has dared do before; offered us a chick. If we tick the chick instead of the dick maybe we’ll trick the public into picking more chicks. Ick.
Even though this is an unspoken thing, and Gillard herself has played down her own womanhood, it’s still a violently raging issue and one that we can put a voice to with our votes. In effect I’m not voting for her because she’s a woman, but because her party said “we reckon a woman can do this job.” Something the Liberals couldn’t bring themselves to do if the entire world’s supply of BMWs was at stake.