Welcomes for the week of 10/21

Monday, October 21--I attended my first Catholic wedding last weekend and is was very nice. Being brought up Presbyterian (which is kind of like Religion Lite: all of the redemption and none of the guilt) I was never really clued in to the cool ceremonial aspects of worship. At this wedding, the Groom's half of the congregation obviously wasn't either. The bride's side of the aisle, on the other hand, knew the script pretty well. (Now I know why the audiences at midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show are always yelling back at the screen.) What stuck out was the subtle difference in the Catholic version of the Lord's Prayer and the one I learned in Sunday school. The contrast between "trespassers" and "debtors" not being lost on me, I spoke with the priest at the reception suggesting that for thousands of years it seems the Presbyterians rented and the Catholics owned. He was not in the least bit amused and now I think I have to confess something or other.


Thursday, October 24--Let's just give up. There's no way to protect any of us from anything, I'm convinced. I was traveling through airports this week and had to listen to the endless tape loop of "Security Alerts" played ad infinitum over the terminals' P.A., and had to answer the same inane questions over and over (did anyone you've never met ask you to carry something aboard the plane?). The worst part is you can't make jokes about this hysteria or they'll throw you in jail, where the food is reportedly even worse than on the planes. It took the tragedy of Flight 800 to finally instigate background checks on baggage handlers (duh!). Last week I read some whacked-out "militia" men bought floor plans to local federal government buildings they intended to demolish from a fireman (telegraphing to the world that fire houses contain such documents in the event of emergencies). Firemen? Baggage Handlers? Ma & Pa on a weekend trip? Everyone is now a suspect and somehow I don't feel any safer.


Weekend--Hi. How'r'yoo? This is Billy-Joe-Don-Bob reporting from the green hills of Kentucky. Great news for those of you who just hate varmints and love firearms: the carrying of concealed weapons is now A-OK in the Bluegrass State. Now before you go and get all excited, let me tell you about the catch. You gotta be able to prove you can use your gun before you get a permit. Dang, a test of skill. You've got to land your bullets square inside the target eleven times out of twenty tries or it's back to the practice range Cletus. What makes me a little nervous, though, is that the target isn't your garden-variety bull's eye, but an outline of a human being. That's right, let's just be sure we're straight about what we intend to shoot at. No abstraction here. . . just make sure eleven shots stay within the "sweet spot" and you're all set to pack heat. Is it just me, or does anyone else think this may not be such a great idea in a state that consistently ranks between 48th and 49th in education? Maybe I'll come out with a line of bullet-proof overalls.


Wednesday, October 23--Sometimes I feel old, and other times I just don't care. I was invited to a party of 23 and 24 year olds and figured I was going to be hopelessly out of touch. It was a theme party, and folks were supposed to dress up in the style of the 60's (which wasn't hard for me since I still have all that stuff). The girls showed up all decked out and the guys just showed up to drink. What was a revelation to me was that the women were looking and acting a decade older than their chronological age, while the guys were (and I'm not making this up) talking about comic strips and comic books they'd read lately; trying to fit the words of the Gilligan's Island theme song to various classical melodies and playing Rock, Scissors, Paper. The women were discussing their recent trips to Europe, food in France and the authoritarian anality of German men. I guess it's true what they say about girls maturing sooner than guys. I've never been more embarrassed for my gender, or happier that I'm in my forties.


Tuesday, October 22--Some would say, "Self-Made Woman." I would say "Time Bomb." I'm watching my best friend's marriage of five years explode because his 34 year old, self-made and very successful wife is. . . "not happy." She and her peers are among the first generation of women in this country who can control if and when they get pregnant (Hello Mother Nature!) and can pursue any career they want. Since my friends' wedding day these two have amassed every yuppie convenience you can name, including color teevee and surround sound in the bathroom! But no child, which comes back to the "not happy" part. Could it be that evolution and natural biological programming are not fooled by material success and two microwave ovens? Are natural urges to reproduce being channeled into an endless yearning for yet another leather couch? I wonder. In the meantime, I'm watching yet another unfortunate end to a relationship because people forgot they are human beings, and that happiness isn't in The Sharper Image catalog.