NPDemers.net

Seriously, what the hell?

Sunday was quite a full day of volleyball. A reffing clinic around noon, then dropping in to Intermediate 1 (I figured I’d have a good shot, since lots of people would be away for the long weekend), then my usual Intermediate 2 play. There was also a beginner reffing clinic between I1 and I2; I’d already taken it, so it gave me a chance to go grab a bite to eat.

Okay, I wasn’t going to write about Falwell’s death… but then I thought, what the hell, all the cool kids are doing it. Let’s start with a stirring eulogy by Christopher Hitchens:

They say confession’s good for the soul, so here goes:

I’ve read The Celestine Prophecy.

Yes, that’s right. Me, the hard-nosed skeptic. Well, that wasn’t always the case. There was a time when I was a bit more interested in the woo-woo side of things. And in my defense, I didn’t really know what the book was about until I actually read it.

I went to the PNE last night, for the first time in a couple of years. Amongst the numerous vendors of household implements, cheap wallets and miracle stain removers at the marketplace were a few psychics, promising insight on your future, love life and financial situation for a modest fee. And, a Dianetics booth.

There was a bit about sharing tracts in the old Rapture movie I reviewed a few days ago, (just about 6 minutes in) and that made me remember my own small collection of missionary tracts. I picked them all up one night many years ago, while waiting for the bus in downtown Vancouver. They were scattered all over the bus stop bench so I collected them (out of a dislike for littering, both physical and spiritual), and have kept them to this day (out of morbid curiosity and historical interest).

Exhibit A: an ancient, horribly low-budget film about the Rapture.

Exhibit B: They’re making a video game based on the Left Behind movies.

I confess, I’d never been to a creation/evolution debate before. Oh, I read up on a few big ones, and of course I’ve done my share of arguing on the Net. And I did attend a talk, way back when, at Ottawa U, on scientific evidence of design in nature pointing to the Biblical God. I was probably still going to church at the time, and had never read any creationist literature before, but I could already tell this twisting of science, logic and Scripture, was pure crap.

I’d put the Journey of Man DVD on my Xmas list, but it seems Santa didn’t think I was good enough last year. So I ordered it for myself and finally got around to watching it this cold, rainy Easter weekend.

In brief, this documentary describes an attempt to reconstruct the human family tree and trace the migrations of human populations as they left Africa fifty thousand years ago, using cutting-edge genetics—specifically, analyzing markers on the Y chromosome, taken from many thousands of men all over the planet, hence the title.

Just when I think I’ve seen everything, along comes a Web site so unique, so startling, so fucking ridiculous that I instantly feel humbled and relieved. Because there are whole dimensions of crazy and stupid out there, and if I searched for a lifetime I could only scratch the surface. Gawd bless the Internet.

Oy.

That kind of crap really makes my blood boil, it does, and not just because I’m firmly pro-choice. Leaving aside my views for the moment, this is more evidence that the anti-choice movement was and still is driven by sectarian, dogmatic principles. Because, honestly: how is this billboard not shameless religious propaganda?

Last night I was over at a friend’s house (we’ll call her “S”) for dinner. At some point (I forget how) the conversation wandered over to Edgar Cayce. S told a brief story in which Cayce was about to enter a crowded elevator but, seeing that all the occupants’ auras were dead or dim or something, decided to wait for the next one. The story concludes with the elevator falling, and everyone inside dying horribly. But Cayce was safe, ’cos of his second sight.

So I’m driving to work this morning, grooving to La bottine souriante, when a car pulls up next to me at a red light. I don’t really pay attention, until I see the guy in the front passenger’s side pulling down his window, specifically trying to get my attention. What the hell? Do I know him? A quick memory scan turns up negative. Has he spotted my rainbow flag bumper sticker and now wants to cruise me? He’s cute, young, with a nice smile and dark spiky hair… and wearing a huge-ass, gaudy gold crucifix, which he’s holding up with a hand graced by an equally huge-ass, equally gaudy gold ring. Get down with your gangsta self, white boy!

Though I’ve been an atheist for a number of years, it’s not something I usually think about. It doesn’t come up in conversations much. It doesn’t influence my day-to-day life, my job, my choice of clothes, my choice of friends. There are no churches to go to, no holy books to read, no rituals to perform. In a perfect world my lack of faith in deities wouldn’t be any more of an issue than my lack of faith in space aliens or Santa Claus.