31 March, 2012

27 things the pope probably doesn't do

I was pondering what it must be like to actually be a pope. And the first thing that occurred to me is that there are a large number of things that one probably does not do once becoming pope. Here are 27 of them.

1. Parallel park
2. Make scrambled eggs
3. Bowl
4. Hot tubbing
5. Dance
6. Take a ceramics class
7. Angry Birds
8. Scuba diving
9. Go-Kart racing
10. Plunge a clogged toilet
11. Prank phone calls
12. Shop at Trader Joe's
13. Hot yoga
14. Cross dress
15. Watch "The Three Stooges"
16. Volunteer at a cat shelter
17. Buy things from Amazon.com (Shipping Address:  "The Pope, 1 Vatican City")
18. Call 911
19. Eat potato chips
20. Pay for healthcare
21. Air guitar
22. Wear rock-and-roll t-shirts
23. Say "It's all good!"
24. Log his vacation time
25. Facebook
26. Collect baseball cards
27. Mail stuff

01 March, 2012

Something to say every day

Could I commit to saying something every day?

There's "the yoga blog" where I write every time I take a class, which is nearly every day. But the channel is pretty narrow. The purpose of that was to journal an experience. To journal a journey. It's less creative than reflective and documentary. The eclecticity (to fake a word) of this blog has always been sort of the epitome of "me." I don't know what I will have to say, from one day to the next. It has turned out, from time to time, that I have been either prolific or tapped-out, clever or obvious, angry or grateful, tactful or divulging. 

It's all over the place. 

In recent years, much of that bipolarity has been dampened. I thought of it as "losing my creativity" or "losing my edge" but the truth is, it might be more a case of me just settling into my place in this life. There's less anger. Less indiscretion. Less of the need to be clever or to belabor the obvious. And all of that seems to manifest itself as, what at least feels like, a dulling down. 

But it doesn't have to be that way. There are still things to say. It's just perhaps going to be less spewing and more saying. Is it bad that I'm not angry anymore? Is it bad that I am not resentful of the world? Is it bad that I am actually quite apathetic about such affairs as the Republican Primaries? It just doesn't feel important to me anymore.

Last week, I was at dinner with friends, and I started a rant about Romney. I asserted that it's hard to believe this country would elect a Mormon. My friend, who is not religious, and definitely not a Mormon supporter, jumped on me and stated that it's completely asinine to discredit a candidate because of his religious affiliation and, to suggest that Romney would try to favor the cause of the Mormon Church was also ridiculous. I wanted to get defensive. I wanted to push it. But the fact is, he was right. Who cares what religion the guy is? And who even cares if he gets in office and attempts to further the cause of things that he cares about, even if one of those things related to religious organizations? It's no different than the kind of special-interest pandering that occurs with corporate interests. How is it any different? And we get mad about that too. But why get mad?

I am starting to spin into a rant. But my point is that my friend, who has always been more liberal than conservative (and still is, as far as I know), called me out on being a hot-button liberal, looking for any reason to jump on the right for their questionable causes. He's showing me that, if I want to rant about Ann Coulter (which I have been known to do in the past), I should probably not walk around yapping like her Bolshevik counterpart.

So, rather than get mad, or defensive, I agreed with him, and decided to rant about how it's horrible that multimillionaires always seem to be running everything, instead.

But secretly, and not-so-secretly, I still believe it's complete bullshit that this country would even consider electing a Mormon (there, I got the last word).