The atheistic rallying cry appears most strongly at a time of religious celebrations like Easter and Christmas. That’s when they come out of the woodwork. This is a season when you can see them hawking their wares on TV, on YouTube and read what they have to say on editorial page columns, on blogs and among the punditry.
I’ll come clean — the atheist mindset twists my shorts. It isn’t their belief itself, but the unspoken superiority of that belief, which contains strong currents of ridicule towards those who believe in God and believe that there is more to our earthly surroundings than our earthly surroundings. It’s usually called faith.
Atheism wants to destroy that faith, which is living aspect of our cultural tradition. Fully entitled to their belief, atheists hope to worm their particular point of view into the national psyche. It’s a tough task, pissing into the wind as it were, but they keep trying and are certainly making some inroads. Many of their objections have been localized across the nation, but last year a digital neon sign that reads ‘Take the Christ Out Of Christmas’ with a cross-out line through Christ decorates Times Square. The media, always on the lookout for raw story meat, gave the sign national attention. We’re left to understand that while the religiously inclined are celebrating Christmas, atheists are celebrating “Mas.” Okay, go with God.
To steal from a Seinfeld episode — Atheism! What is it good for?
Atheists mock the stupidity and frailty of those who place their faith in what is a scientific unknown. They suggest that believers delude themselves by paying homage to an unknown Creator. How pathetic, they smugly imply (or say). How unrealistic to have faith in what can never be proven through science of some kind.
We’re in the holiday season and the perennial disagreements about religion, atheism and Christmas flood the airwaves. Advocates of all persuasions are invited onto talk shows to promote their beliefs or are challenged about them.
Full disclosure! I’m a traditionalist. Tradition nourishes a culture and helps shape a national psyche that gives its people a sense of who they are and how they got there. This is true of all cultures, races and nations. It is part of the collective DNA. Some of those groups honor tradition more, some less, but it is always there and should be celebrated as part of the glue that holds a group together. It should not be denied or eliminated, rather celebrated.
Christmas is a tradition. We revel in it and our families gather to celebrate it. Many movies and songs and stories have been inspired by it. Many of us partake in its religiosity. Many just like the jingle bells and gifts. But at its foundation is the birth of a man named Jesus Christ, who has been the driving force of this celebration for centuries. Even though the “jingle-bellers” emphasize more the secular trappings of the day, I bet they’re still aware of the day’s religious significance – the birth of Christ.
Some literalists argue that Christ was really born in April, or that we really don’t know what day He was born. So what!? Historically, He WAS born. Our questionable knowledge about the exact date of His birth doesn’t diminish its importance. He WAS born. The wholesale and deliberate changing of “Merry Christmas” to “Happy Holidays” destroys a part of our cultural and national identity and is an insult to those who believe in the Lord.
Johnny Manziel Suicide Story
Despondent after his dismal debut against the Bengals, Cleveland’s much heralded quarterback, Johnny Manziel, couldn’t shake his depression and wrote a suicide note. When finished, he left his home and went to Cleveland’s Euclid Avenue and stood in a bus kiosk with several extremely disappointed Clevelanders.
As a bus approached, Manziel took a deep breath, and threw himself in front it …. but missed. He landed on the far side of the bus as it passed.. His tremendous athletic ability got him out of trouble. Again! Of course, Manziel , didn’t consider it trouble, just a temporary setback.
Still determined to end it all, he walked down the busy street and took a cyanide pill out of his pocket. Ever the showman, Manziel chose not to just swallow it. Instead, he tossed it up, opened his mouth and waited for the pill to drop into it. However, a passer-by, Marvin Lester, intercepted the pill before it reached his open lips. “Hey, Johnny,” said Marvin, who later explained that he was just passing by, “fast hands, huh?” Lester claimed he saw the opportunity and took it, asking Manziel to get him a tryout as a Browns cornerback.
Manziel continued and contemplated alternatives. He walked along South Roadway and came upon the the Sailors and Soldiers Monument. Pretty tall. It should do the trick. He ran toward it with the intention of climbing it and then throwing himself, head first, into the concrete below. Even if he got a concussion, so what!? As he ran to the statue, a troop of Boy Scouts on a park tour were so excited to see Johnny Football, they swarmed him and in the hubbub, he was thrown to the ground. A sack! He graciously signed autographs all for them and wrote on each one, “This will be a collector’s item by the end of the day. You wait and see.”
From a piece published in PLAYBILL magazine.
PlayBill – Casey Stengel
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MY NAME ON A MARQUEE
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Fluffy the Easter Bunny
We are coming to the end of another Easter season and the politically correct, leftist, Godless crowd known as progressive leftists (or something) are out in full force. And not Islamists are making a fuss in Dearborn, Michigan.
So much tradition has been associated with Easter, the holiday that defines the Catholic Church. We have Easter bonnets, Easter Seals, Easter Sunday, Easter baskets & cards, the great MGM film The Easter Parade — movie and song (written by a Jew, the great American, Irving Berlin.) He gets it and he wasn’t even born here.
A few years ago, a victim of the predatory, secular left was the Easter bunny. See, these people have nothing in their lives except to stick their whiny buckets into their reservoir of complaint and come up with something else to piss people off. Since 2007, they’ve been trying to replace the Easter Bunny with the Spring bunny because the Easter Bunny might offend some people. Easter eggs have been redesigned as “spring spheres.” You can find dead Easter bunnies in Walnut Creek, Ca., St. Paul, Minn and the Shops in Plano, Texas, where the Easter holiday is now the Spring holiday. More Easter bunny deaths are expected.
These holiday name changes are getting harder to keep track of than all the places renamed after Martin Luther King.
It will take awhile before people start calling this furry little rodent the Spring Bunny when Easter time rolls around. First, the President will have to change the name of it’s traditional White House egg hunt on their lawn to the Spring Egg Hunt or the Holiday Egg Hunt. The former name is preferable so as not to confuse this holiday with the holiday we hold in December.
A current story making the TV rounds is the upcoming premiere of “Friday Night Tykes,” a reality show that’s basically a boot camp for young Texas wannabe football players. The kids are as young as five or six and they’re put through grueling exercises that seem beyond their capabilities. Some cry, some crawl to the goal of a particular exercise under the urgency of a coach (think Marine drill sergeant) screaming at him.
TV pundits and talk shows are up in arms about the show. Many excoriate the show and the coaches for child abuse. (Incidentally, parents there are all for it.) Others say that the regimen instills in the kids a needed sense of accomplishment through ordeal, a growth in their journey to manhood.
In relation to this, I offer a piece about “masculinity” I wrote on this blogue back in 2009. It takes no sides, but it offers an understanding from my POV of how gender differences have been morphing over the past five or ten years. I think the morphing has reached a new level.
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It’s being reported that Senate Democrats will block a resolution to honor Margaret Thatcher.
If so, I’m asking whether there is a limit to their pettiness. What a churlish, smug, unfeeling bunch they are. They are so bewitched by their cultish agenda that they have no room in their shriveled souls for decency. They have lost whatever capacity they may have had for humanity.
When talking about these hypocritical, soulless, agenda zombies I’m reminded of a young lady I dated when I was a young man living and working in New York. She lived on the Upper West Side, which is a coven of liberalism. Her mother went marching for Chavez on a couple of times I visited them. She was ardent, almost hysterical in her support of Chavez. She refused to buy grapes … even grape jelly. What a committed heroine to the cause she was.
And yet, I many times witnessed her treating her Hispanic maid like shit, with no courtesy, kindness or consideration. She used her authority like a cudgel, insisting she work extra hours when she had a whim to include a never-before-mandated chore, preventing her from going home to prepare a meal for her family. She humiliated her in in my presence a number of times and then headed out for her cause, her love of Chavez and her hatred for grapes.
This is how I view todays Democrats, or liberals or progressives or whatever they call themselves — anything but Socialists or Marxists.
They are totalitarians, brooking nothing they disapprove of.
As Denis Prager said, ‘The right thinks the left is wrong, very wrong. The left thinks the right is evil.’
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St. Barack Of Ward 42
In a stunning announcement, Pope Francis has declared that he will make Barack Obama a saint, glorifying this clean, articulate young President as the Church’s two thousandth six hundred and forty-first saint and the only one sanctified while still alive.
His official canonical designation will be St. Barack Of Ward 42. The Vatican’s holy people are consulting with the President’s holy people to determine what he’ll be saint of. Current speculation is that he will be named the Patron Saint of Celebrities.
Pope Francis first learned about Obama’s saintly qualities some years ago when rumors of his miraculous effect on people began to emerge after his trip to Europe.
“These were indeed wondrous stories of transformations,” said Vatican spokesman, Cardinal Annuncio Proclamma. “People in his presence came away in ecstasy, their minds clouded with ardor and blankness.” He added, “few people have the holiness to cloud men’s minds. Only The Shadow did that.”
Others were so frenzied they endlessly repeated the name Obama, often speaking it in tongues — Obama, Ojamba, Jamabun, Mabamba, Balloona, Ombajaba, Pahjamah, Behnihanah, Cinnabonna, Kakadoodie, Bubonah, Kokomomah, Peckinpaba, Cahwahbonga and Jub. It was wondrous to hear the babble of his followers.
Soon after the initial reports of Obama’s fervent hold on the blank minded, stories of individual miracles began to emerge. Gunnar Schmidt of Munich said that after Obama walked past Schmidt’s Mercedes, the car started getting sixty-three miles to the litre — in city traffic. A woman who requested anonymity claimed that after fifteen years of being unable to bear children, she now likes them a lot. She plans to open a day care center in her village.
November 17, 2008
This past weekend, I drove my nineteen year old son, Mario, and his friend, Brian, from Durham, NC to Glenside, PA. to see Brian Wilson in concert at the Keswick Theater. My son has had a passion for the Beach Boys and Brian Wilson for years, the kind of passion I felt at his age for an opera singer named Mario Del Monaco, after whom my son is named, incidentally.
Wilson’s new album is Lucky Old Sun, and while I didn’t attend the concert, I have heard the album. How could I not? Mario plays it constantly. And in my own geezer fashion, I was drawn to it because Lucky Old Sun was one of my favorite Frankie Laine recordings way back when.
While I don’t have the emotional and musical connections to Wilson and the Beach Boys that my son and other fans have, even I can hear that this album is special, extraordinary – maybe not Smile, but damned good.
Which is what brought me to the minor incident that inspired this little post.
After dropping them off at the theater, I had a brief dinner with a student of mine who happened to live nearby. I then showed up at the Keswick Theater about a half hour before the concert ended and decided to wait for Mario and his friend at a small micro-brewery pub across the street. As I walked past the theater I heard some very loud guy, age maybe forty-five or fifty, shout to someone, “They’ll do four encores after they finish that piece of s**t new album.”
Well, Lucky Old Sun might not be Smile or Pet Sounds, but a piece of that stuff, it ain’t.