See Lent 101 for the context in which these are written.

Gluttony

Fascinatingly, for medieval writers, this included alcohol abuse. (Food may be short, but booze rarely is.) Another “duh,” at least superficially, but the inverse skate is as insidious, and includes so, so many of us: When we’re obsessed with food in the midst of plenty, it’s also a form of gluttony. Dieting is gluttony; what one needs instead is to eat in a healthy manner without making yourself–and your friends and family–crazy. (Which is selfish; see above.)

Lust

Being a bitch at heart, sometimes when I see a family from any group with the stepstool progression of five or more kids, I think “Yo! Y’all need to get yourselves another hobby!” This goes for all the Lust cadets:

As soon as we got to this one, there was a lot of growling out there in the audience about “healthy, natural sexuality” and whatnot. The people who talk about Lust are kind of stupid. And mean. And not getting any themselves. Etc.

Sex is a part of our humanity, and the issue needs to be addressed in a healthy and non-harmful manner. True Lust is damaging: Sexual abuse; infidelity.  A more modern context includes sexual objectification and pornography addiction. (If you have homosexuality on your Lust list, I’ll see y’all later down in Pride.)

Yet there are deeper concerns with the modern anti-Lust mindset, which deserve examination:

There’s a huge misconception out there that men are naturally polygamous, while women are naturally monogamous; this last a confusing notion when you consider the vast array of cultural practices all over the world dedicated to keeping we ladies from scampering about.  (What amuses me is that the arguments supporting this are frequently drawn from other species’ behavior: Hey everybody, forget the bowling! Let’s all go over to Sid’s house and eat some lice!) Thus, the misleading word here is “natural.” (OK, now you get the italics.)

This is a dangerous, dangerous word. It’s “natural” to commit every Sin on this list, (which is kind of the point). But, far more importantly, it’s natural to defend your loved ones from harm, to feel perky when there’s nice weather, and to cry when you feel sad. It’s also natural to die in hideous agony, to shit when and wherever you like . . . you get the drift. A more useful way of looking at it is, well, whether or not it’s useful.

Having sex with anybody you want to is one thing, if you’re a middle-class white person, with cultural values promoting access to birth control, health care to handle STIs; and are able to afford and raise kids who lack attachment disorders and are given sufficient life skills and education for them to succeed. It’s quite another thing for the people whose culture has as a central feature the concept “baby daddy.”

Of course, some of you have identified the first group as the polyamorists: I am amused by the naivete of the idea that this is part of the Brave New World. In fact, the concept seems to be periodically um, invented every several generations: The Libertines. Free Love–which was at the turn of the century; the term was later co-opted by the Hippies. (Mrs. Patrick Campbell said that bit about “not caring what people did as long as they didn’t frighten the horses” back in 1910.) ‘Tis new to thee, campers. Garçon, a #10 can of get-over-it at this table, please?

While cheerfully conceding the consent point, note that seemingly the majority of the people who have assumed this as a self-identification have tied themselves into a subculture where perforce one’s primary definition is who–and how many–people with whom they have sex. Like many subcultures, this one is stifling. “Funny,” “smart,” “perceptive,” “giving,” “good at Scrabble” and whatnot are pre-empted by “puts out.”  (Really. I know scads of these people who have a lot of the qualities of the first part–and who at least seem to superficially appreciate mine–but because I don’t wanna have sex with them, I’m just not on the A list. Or even the Q list.)

Moreover–and what I personally find really annoying–in framing themselves as oppositional to the dominant culture, they have set up just as rigid a dogma; exemplified by a button I once saw reading, “Monogamy=Monotony.”  They are the new superior beings, and everybody else is unevolved and Doing It Wrong. *sigh* Some people just plain old want and are happy with monogamy.

How limiting. How sad. How obsessive with sex. How Lustful.

See Lent 101 for the context in which these are written.

Avarice (Greed)

It also encompasses selfishness, and is probably the “duh” for the basic no-argument-gotcha here. We know what this means. Unfortunately, the skate here is that of a superficial generosity, which is what Paul (#10 can, people) meant when he said, “If I give away all I have, and if I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.” (1 Cor 13: 2) That is to say, writing the check is not enough; not writing a check (i.e., time volunteering) is as–and often more–important.

Envy

“It’s not getting what you want, it’s wanting what you’ve got.”–Sheryl Crow, Soak Up the Sun

The “duh” here is, “keeping up with the Jones’.”  But there’s more to it than that. It often gets folded in together with Avarice, but they’re really two different things. Greed is holding on to the stuff you have, and refusing to share with others—-Envy is desperately wanting more stuff, and obsessing over the stuff others have.

The skate here is defining “stuff” as physical objects. But my use of “stuff” is deliberately vague here. For me right at the moment, I’m in a place of worry over a complex of things which (as so many do) partially involves money. And, boy oh boy, do I passionately envy the people who don’t have to deal with this.

I know that there are so many many people who have not walked barefoot through fire and brambles, and sometimes it makes me scream inside. It’s not fair; oh merciful God, it’s not fair. Why me? And that’s not the whiny/sarky way of saying it, but the one you sob into your pillow.

It’s hard to “want what you’ve got” when it seems that all you have is pain. But that’s when you have to reach deep down with all the discipline you have to see the things you’re grateful for. (Hey, you’re probably able to read, unless you’re using an assistive technology. Yay you!! A lot of people still can’t.)

Last, but far from least, so often we fall into the trap AA cautions against: Don’t judge people’s insides as their outsides. Sometimes that scruffy-looking guy with the funny nose has an indescribably beautiful soul–but in terms of Envy, it’s the other way around.

I know a wonderful couple who have money and two graduate degrees, but they discovered that the baby they adopted was autistic (not the Asperger’s kind, but the one that needs the protective helmets). They came to the US from South America specifically to get him the best treatment possible. I live at 88% of the US poverty line, but I have two brilliant, beautiful, and healthy kids. ‘Nuff said.

God, but I love my job! Or maybe I shouldn’t.

There is a brief passing reference to a supposed impact crater in Archimago which so far has only been used twice. In my original happy world, the boss powerful sorcerer at the time created it during a killer tantrum. I had envisioned an impact crater in Russia, which my extensive scholarly vague recall of National Geographic remembered as the Kamchatka crater. But (mercifully) I wanted a quick fact check . . .

• . . . and discovered to my dismay that this particular crater (Kamchatka) was actually a whole chain of them. So . . .
• I looked up impact/meteor craters in Wikipedia, and fished around until I found one with the right general parameters, but
• . . . it had already been marked by the local Native Americans, so . . .
• . . . the Crucio in question had to change ethnicity from Russian to Inuit, which meant that
• . . . he needed an Inuit name
• . . . which meant I had to look for one.
• So when I added it to my spreadsheet, I realized it was all teeny-tiny and spent a frustrating time trying to figure out how to get Numbers to change its row height (Mr. Inspector is Your Friend, as he is in Pages, duh!)
• And while I was noodling around with that, I came across my District page and . . .
• went looking (grr) for a (ya’d think?) US outline map that I could edit relatively easily, although the last time I did this some years ago, I couldn’t find one that was any good, and Photoshop and I didn’t speak for a few weeks, so I braced myself for a similar future conversation with Gimp, hoping that Photoshop hadn’t chatted with it about what an unreasonable bitch I am.
• But maybe the interwebs have evolved, because I found an awesome nifty one (see my links)
• However, the District page also has the Houses, so it occurred to me that . . .
• . . . this Inuit Crucio and company needed to be in a separate House (geography is destiny, campers–just play Civilization), which meant it also needed a name.
• After an estimated two and a half hours of poring through Inuit linguistics (which formed by far the bulk of all this afternoon), I came up with a name, but . . .
• . . . then I remembered that I also already had a House of  Western US Indians Continue reading →

After four hours of eating breakfast, getting dressed, etc., market research on a Bluetooth headset, other wandering around on the Internet, and getting all my desk supplies together, I am finally about to buckle down. And the crowd goes wild!!!

One of the many cool things I learned in AA is the Gratitude Game. You make a list of ten things you’re grateful for–even if they’re kind of dumb. And then you make ten more.

One of the riffs running through my head permanently are a couple of lines from a pot song. I have no idea who did this, and I’m too lazy to message the person who introduced them to me. They go (sorta maybe): “I had a real good day; I didn’t throw up; I didn’t get run over by a bus.” So that’s usually on my list, at least in my imagination; particularly since I had hyperemesis with my daughter and am thus a bronze medalist in one, and have way too nearly experienced the other.

Anyway, I have to go to court tomorrow morning on the supposed eviction charge, and I was in an incredibly bad mood this evening, compounded by missing choir rehearsal due to insufficient planning and awareness of the blizzard. I needed to bitch, so here I was.

Now, I have a lot to be grateful for, especially regarding this whole stupidity:

1) I have a lawyer, pro bono from Greater Boston Legal Services.

2) I’m not anywhere near in danger of actual eviction, particularly as I’m moving soon anyway (for happifying and unrelated reasons of ghetto escapage).

3) I have a prescription for some mighty fine tranquilizers.

4) The courthouse is really pretty. I like skylights.

5) Did I mention that I’m not in any danger of actual eviction, at least partially because I’m able to dredge up the back rent?

6) And here I’m starting to stall when regarding the court thing. But . . .nobody I love is sick or dead, including cat and weasels; I don’t have to clear off my car tomorrow morning because I don’t have one; I have enough food and clothes and heat and a bathtub and not one but TWO comfy couches and electricity and Internet–all of which I’ve lacked at some time in my life.

7) And nobody is mean to me, aided chiefly by my being divorced.

8) [which previewing shows is apparently what netspeak turns Number Eight into; I’m also too lazy to go into HTML and re-list this] I was able to replace my laptop before it got really really scary sick on me as did its predecessor.

9) I have a new game for my DS.

10)AND . . .

. . . there is the miracle of the free associative experience that is the Internet, at least for anybody with a shred of curiosity.

I Googled that quotation above, looking vainly for its author, and discovered it on a lyrics site, but without any lyrics. It attributed it to a Robbie Fulks. Well, off I went. I quickly realized that this wouldn’t be the song I was looking for, unless perhaps he was precocious; I’ll get around to getting more info from the above-mentioned friend; more as this develops.

But anyway, I browsed around Mr. Fulks’ site, if only for my being immediately taken with his prose style. I listened to some of his music, and now I am grateful for Mr. Fulks.

I have always had a sneaking delight in some country music, although completely on the downlow for a couple of reasons. For one, black folks/country has the same general popular connection as kitchen plunger/iPhone, and before I discovered people like the toothsome Darius Rucker (formerly lead of Hootie and the Blowfish), I would feel as though somebody would break into my house and plant one of those Confederate flags you see on some pickup trucks. For another, my being above That Line (which, by the way, is in Maryland, for those of you who thought it was in Georgia or something), it is SO unkewl.

That said, the delight is there, and Mr. Fulks is quite good at it. He is funny and talented, and he really sings, meaning he MEANS it: structure, as opposed to surface. (Urge to link that to Beyoncé suppressed. She’s quite good at what she is, even if I did have to surf up the HTML for her fricking e grave.) So not only am I grateful for Robbie Fulks, I am grateful for the other fine artists I browsed into tonight.

11) (Ha! You forgot this was a list!) I am also grateful for the stuff in my head that trots me along these random passageways in what is only the beginning of most likely the coolest toy in history. Who knows? Maybe someday somebody will chance upon this very post by the same process of random curious enjoyment.

12) And I’m grateful that I don’t have to be in court until 9:30, ‘coz it’s late, and I really need to go to bed now. Wish me luck.