Proof God is a Woman…

Last night at the local “Theology on Tap”, biblical scholar Fr. Sean Martin reminded me of something we learned back in grad school.  Specifically, that Yahweh is often translated “I Am Who Am”, but is actually more along the lines of “I Will Be Who I Will Be”.   In other words, God is a woman, and reserves the right to change Her mind about anything without offering an explanation for Her actions. 

It actually explains a lot. 




Last friday, J.J. Abrams, the producer of Lost and the upcoming Star Trek flick, brought us the movie Cloverfield.  I like the lack of “the reveal” and the gritty feel of the footage. Hearkening back to Hitchcock and (more recently) M. Night Shyamalan, the trailer banks on the power of human curiosity and the terror of the unseen.  

Having seen it earlier today, I can say the movie doesn’t disappoint.  I enjoyed it, and *WARNING* I’m about to spoil parts of the movie, because a lot of the reviews I read on the web are plastered with misinformation.   

Contrary to certain reports, there is not footage at the end of the credits, though there is an audio clip which I could not make out.  I didn’t see the alleged UFO that some say is in the final Coney Island footage–and I knew to look for it.   Rumors of “Slusho” and a bad batch of beverage being the cause of the little monsters is a fabrication.  The little monster that bursts out of Marlena is clearly linked with the bite she suffers.  

I’m of the personal opinion that there were several “Cloverfield” monsters, and that in fact the military did wound or kill some (though perhaps that’s what I want to believe, for it would make a more plausible movie).  My reasons for this conjecture rely on the opening screen’s DoD text “multiple sightings of case designate ‘Cloverfield'”, the fact that the monster(s) look markedly different during three parts of the film, and that “cloverfield” could indicate that, like a field of clover where many plants spring up from one or a few, the monster splits and spreads swiftly.  

The initial monster that axes the Brooklyn bridge clearly has tentacles, while the massive beast bombed by the Air Force does not.  The mouths on several of them are also different, and some bodies are more bulbous, bloated, and many limbed than the last.   

I’d also point out the attack on the massive monster by the B-2.  It does seem to bring the beast down, and I contend that the body bursts, flinging a much smaller version of the beast away from the burning body of the original.  That is what collides with Rob & Hud’s chopper, and accounts for the beast that Hud captures up-close, right before getting eaten.  

It’ll be interesting to see if the sequel flops, or proves likewise innovative.  I recommend seeing this flick in the theater.    


robot-overseer.jpgPic caption: “Say my name, bitch!”

In my endless quest to chronicle all things apocalyptic, I bring you a dispatch from the wonderful world of science!  Today a group of researchers brought us the headline:  monkey’s thoughts move robotic death machine; End of World draws nigh!

Yeah, so I took liberties with the article’s title, but you get the point.  These happy bastards have brought us one step closer to the spawning of a Hollywood love-child. Imagine “Planet of the Apes” getting down and dirty with “The Terminator”, and you’ll pretty much see where we’re headed.

Will we be able to resist the nefarious assault of our robot-ape adversaries?Perhaps–I’m an optimist by nature.  If the first generation of robots is anything like this guy, we’ve got a shot.

The japanese have managed to create the first gay robot.  Which leaves us with a fighting chance.  On the other hand, when your average environmentalist can’t find their way out of a plastic tube, we’ve got problems.


My Bid to Become a Slum Lord…

On January 22nd I have the opportunity of a lifetime.   It’s the type you only have once…Next Tuesday the half-abandoned building across the street goes up for public auction.  The bidding begins at a modest $10,000, and everyone knows now is the time to buy, buy, buy.  

Of course, to make it a proper slum, I’d need to run down the property.  Under normal circumstances, I’d be in violation of city ordinances doing so, but I’m thinking with all the “Green” hype I can get away with it and actually get government subsidies in the process.  I’ll refuse to upgrade the plumbing and drywall, because tearing all that out and hauling it away would emit too much CO2 (gasp!).  

 I’ll put in some mud toilets, burn torches instead of  lightbulbs, dig a pit for a nice little cesspool (with the impending water crisis, we wouldn’t want flushing toilets making things worse)…   And once I’m carbon neutral, I’ll run some nasty hos up in there.   And by nasty hos, I totally mean prostitutes dressed like 80s cartoon characters.  Perfect cover from the authorities, especially since “Thundercats, HO!!!” is literally written into the theme song.    


50 First Dates…

I’m not talking about the Adam Sandler movie. 

I’ve been doing a lot of dating since September, in an attempt to “get back in the saddle” after having my best friend and the love of my life walk away from me (to become a religious sister).  I calculated that I’ve actually been on first dates with over 50 girls now (only 1 blind date).  Some people might consider that an accomplishment.  I do not. 

The last few months have made me aware that I can go out any day of the week and get a date, if I wish to do so.  I do not have to be alone, and in my moments of despair I’ve wondered if I shouldn’t take some of the girls up on certain offers.  Not the offers to sleep with me (I value my chastity highly), but I’ve considered seeing if making out would kickstart the feelings that just aren’t there.  

For centuries arranged marriages worked because certain physical actions could evoke biological pleasures and bonding.  Commitment can trump (and eventually bring about) attraction, genuine affection, and love.  And if you consider that God made and loves every human being, then there is something glorious and lovely (love-worthy) in each of us.  If a perfect God can love and die for sinful people, we can certainly learn to love each other. 

But I haven’t succumbed to the yearnings of the flesh.  I cannot bring myself to take that risk with another person’s heart and emotions.  I’ve been “lead on” (and gentlemen, if a girl EVER says to you “I don’t want to lead you on”, she probably is doing just that).  I’ve been used, and I’ve had my heart broken by girls who claimed to care.   I refuse to send messages that are not backed up by a personal commitment.  I refuse to toy with them in the process of “testing my vocation”.   Personal pain is never a valid excuse to use others. 

So, sometimes after 3 dates with a girl–recently after 7 with one–I’ve had to tell them the honest truth that the chemistry isn’t there.  Not like it was with her.   

The damnable thing is we had something that many people only dream of, and most probably never experience.  It was every bit as precious and rare as a religious vocation.  As my friend Kyle has said before, our world is in desperate need of good and loving marriages and families, (and in his view) maybe more than vocations to religious life.  She and I could’ve been incredible spouses and parents.  If it was up to me, we’d be that still. 

But just as I refuse to use other girls, I have to respect her choices. 

I’ve set up first dates with two more girls, and tomorrow I start plodding towards #60, hoping for a glimmer of God’s much vaunted mercy.   I love the Lord, I really do, but God’s time is not the same as ours.   It’s well and good to intellectually know that a human lifetime is a blip when compared to eternity, and a lifetime’s suffering nothing compared to eternal bliss, but we have little by way of experience in this fallen world to fathom that.  Love being one of the only gateways into that eternal kingdom that’s here but not fully fulfilled. 

I’m twenty-eight years old, and God likes the number 40.  Is that how long I’ll have to wait?  And why am I so weak this desert tests me so? 

“Your Hair” for $500, Alex…


While waiting with my students at a Red Cross bloodbank, I happened to see the end of Jeopardy. The “final jeopardy” question was perhaps the most ridiculous I’ve ever seen: “The 118th person to fly across the Atlantic”.

Unsurprisingly, not one of the contestants knew the solution. I would have expressed my indignation by writing “Who is ‘your mama’, Alex” as my final answer. Then I’d not only have the honor of being the most insane contestant in Jeopardy history, but also the only one to fight Alex Trebek. You heard me Trebeck. Your mama…

I’ll throw down anytime, anywhere. You better bring the pain!!