Glob-a-log

Today, I’m not going to talk about Iran’s justice system…

… or the tempest in a tea cup row between Britain’s Prime Minister and the president of Pakistan…

… or about the first all-female crew to try and sail to Gaza…

… or rightwing Diggers…

… or the latest (fears of escalating) violence in Rwanda…

… and yet, in a way, I’m talking about all of these matters – or, to be more precise, it won’t be me who will do the talking, because, today, my ‘Thought For The Day’ is, luckily for you, not one of mine but something both more profound and articulate than I could ever manage – so take it away, Mr Rushdie:

“So we are paradoxical beings, both individual and social, both of our time and part of history’s flow. We are mortal but have, like Shakespeare’s Cleopatra, immortal longings in us; and contradiction is our life-blood. There are great social benefits in such broad definitions of the self, for the more selves we find within ourselves the easier it is to find common ground with other multiple, multitude-containing selves. We may have different religious beliefs but support the same team. Yet we live in an age in which we are urged to define ourselves more and more narrowly, to crush our own multidimensionality into the straitjacket of a one-dimensional national, ethnic, tribal or religious identity. This, I have come to think, may be the evil from which flow all the other evils of our time. For when we succumb to this narrowing, when we allow ourselves to be simplified and become merely Serbs, Croats, Muslims, Hindus, then it becomes easy for us to see each other as adversaries, as one another’s Others, and the very points of the compass begin to quarrel, East and West collide, and North and South as well.”

(Milking the immortal Cleopatra angle indeed…)

As T.S. Eliot – more or less – wrote:

“The Naming of kids is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a child must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey–
All of them sensible everyday names.”

Et cetera.

Enough with the poetry though; it’s time to climb that old soap box again.

So, far be it from me to question the wisdom of the New Jersey State Appeals Court but…

… oh well, whom am I kidding: They’re a right set of plonkers – as the following case shows:

“A US couple who gave their children Nazi-themed names, including “Adolf Hitler Campbell, have been denied custody by a New Jersey court. Their children – Adolf Hitler Campbell, JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell, Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell – have been in foster care since January 2009.”

Let’s first say though that I do think that the parents of these children are most probably unfit to raise dandruff, let alone kids but then they are hardly the first or the last ones you can say that about.

People being people, you will always have a fair share of those who, to use a phrase I’ve used before, would most probably drown in the shallow end of the gene pool.

You have your political nuts, religious fanatics and those who think their children will thrive on a strict diet of Big Macs and jumbo milkshakes. God or the ghost of Darwin knows how many children live(d) miserably blighted lives because of the idiocy of their parents…

… but I’m not sure it’s the state’s place to judge which set of potential parents can become actual parents with the judiciary’s blessing.

There are exceptions to this, obviously. The state should be there to actively frown upon parents who want to sacrifice their children to Baal or Jaweh, or those who mutilate their daughters’ genitals, or those who starve them, beat them or sexually abuse them.

We have, so to speak, been there, done that, bought the headlines – and yet I would say that the state should not interfere if the madness of parents does not directly threaten the well-being of the child and I’m not so sure naming your child ‘Adolf Hitler’ should count as reason enough to take that child away from the parents.

Still, these parents were easy pickings, I presume. They’re probably what’s so lovingly called ‘trailer trash.’ The kind of folks we watch and laugh at on the Jerry Springer Show.

I seriously doubt these kids would have been taken into care if their parents had been rich, or politically well-connected.

I mean, yes, to call your child ‘Adolf Hitler’ is insane and quite vile but not much more so than to raise it in the belief that God is an alien, all psychiatric help is wrong and women should give birth to their children in silence – while even aspirin supposedly interferes with ‘forming mental images’, so good luck with that last bit…

… but even if he had lived within their legal grasp, I seriously doubt the New Jersey State Appeals Court would have taken little Suri away from Tom Cruise.

Oh well, it was nice while it lasted:

“Twelve years after she converted from atheism, author of Interview with the Vampire abandons Christianity over its attitude to birth control, homosexuality and science.”

Now, I don’t want to carp but you know – well, where to start, really?

I mean, she wasn’t born an atheist. Okay, technically she was. Most of the newly born don’t confuse the business end of the birth canal with a couple of very bloody & slow-moving cathedral doors and a baby should have to be as quick-witted as an Einstein (MC) squared to appreciate that the ‘bit-of-wet’ hitting it in the face was just God’s way of saying, ‘Hi there!’

So yeah, babies are atheists till someone sells them a time-share in one of the world’s religions (or smaller sects.)

However, Ann Rice was raised Roman Catholic, before she became a born-again atheist, so to speak. What I mean is, she must have had some reason to do so, which, most probably, went a bit deeper than the dress sense of her local priest or the taste of the Host and the cheap plonk he served with it.

Anyway, so, she fell off the atheist wagon – as one does – but then it takes her another twelve years to think, ‘Hang on but wasn’t there something about this religion that I didn’t like?’

Oh yes! That was it: Birth control…!

… and homosexuality…!!

… and science!!!

Truly, is Anne Rice the only one who didn’t know the story about Galileo – or forgot about it, twice?!

Did she, more than once, think that all those men in their frocks, waving incense and chanting merrily, were like the best gay party she’d ever attended…

… and, more unlikely even: Did she never see – or worse: forgot she saw – that brilliant Monty Python song, in their ‘Meaning of Life’ movie?

Be that as it may or may not, this whole questionable and puzzling affair does leave us with one question that’s probably harder to answer than the one about the break-dancing angels on top of that pin, to wit:

Does the Pope rejoice more about this second straying than Richard Dawkins frowns upon the return of this prodigal lamb to the atheist fold?

(Could he be Sarko to her Bruni…?)

Okay, so first you have to recite stuff written by what some have called a tyrannic, mass-murdering pedophile.

Then, you have to wash some corpses…

… and then it’s time to slaughter a handful of chicken & sheep…

… all live on TV, of course.

No, it’s not (I’m a) Celebrity Big Brother (get me out of here) – and though there are as many tits involved, these ones are mostly covered and (try to) grow beards:

“Malaysia’s television search for its next religious leader using an X Factor style format came to a conclusion on Friday night.”

(‘Muslims in Space’ could have been a great Muppets episode…)

It seems the whole world and its blogging monkey is talking about the Pope’s baseball cap – and no, that’s not some weird rhyming slang for an even weirder sexual position (and more’s the pity…)

Truly, sometimes I do despair. Baseball caps? We’re talking the Pope here; Christ’s representative on spaceship Earth, who heads an organisation only slightly bigger than the US army and BP combined (with only a slightly less effective Management and PR department.)

So, why are we talking baseball caps here, folks, while there are so many truly important issues to be discussed?

What?

No, I don’t mean women priests.

Nope, nor condoms.

You’re getting colder – way colder: It’s not child abuse…

… or wait, perhaps it is, at that:

“Following in the footsteps of Madonna and Geri Halliwell, Pope Benedict XVI has written a children’s book.”

Okay, you’ve convinced me: It’s definitely child abuse.

(Human perfection & sacred values…)

You all remember Paul, of course: The octopus who became the prophetic star of the football world cup – as you, no doubt, have also come to know and love the president of Iran, Mahmoud Ahbutwedon’thaveanyhomosexualsiniranejad.

Now, the two of them are doing a duet of sorts, a nicely orchestrated song and dance routine for clown & cephalopod:

“Mahmoud Ahmadinejad accused the octopus of spreading “western propaganda and superstition.” Paul was mentioned by Mr Ahmadinejad on various occasions during a speech in Tehran at the weekend. “Those who believe in this type of thing cannot be the leaders of the global nations that aspire, like Iran, to human perfection, basing themselves in the love of all sacred values,” he said.”

Ah yes… Human perfection, no less – and sacred values. The ones immortalised by Shakespeare in one of his famous sonnets.

Okay, in one of my lesser limericks:

There was a mad goon in Tehran

who was irrepressibly drawn

to kill maidens and crones

with bullets and stones

and gay mass hangings at dawn.

Or, as Paul might well have predicted that Tolkien would write:

“One shit to rule them all, One shit to blind them,
One shit to judge them all and to their deaths confine them
In the Land of Mullahs and their Sharia lies.”

(The way things are going, they’re gonna deep fry me…?)

Among party games, the one called ‘What would Jesus have done?’ has always been one of my favourites.

Sometimes, the answer is straightforward, sometimes, less so – but let’s take this quote from Matthew…:

21  Then Jesus went thence, and departed into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon.
22  And, behold, a woman of Canaan came out of the same coasts, and cried unto him, saying, Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.
23  But he answered her not a word. And his disciples came and besought him, saying, Send her away; for she crieth after us.
24  But he answered and said, I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel.
25  Then came she and worshipped him, saying, Lord, help me.
26  But he answered and said, It is not meet to take the children’s bread, and to cast it to dogs.

… and use said quote to illuminate the following story:

“An Anglican church in Canada has become the focus of controversy after a vicar gave Holy Communion to a dog. The priest gave the Host – considered by Christians to represent the body of Jesus Christ – to an Alsatian cross called Trapper. St Peter’s Anglican Church in Toronto has since been deluged complaints from Christians all over Canada.”

So, would Jesus have given bits of His body to feed the dog?

Probably not – though, in the end, He did decide to help out that woman of Canaan.

Still, given His impatience with the forces of smug self-righteousness, as written down in Matthew 7:3, for instance, or John 8:7, it’s quite likely He would have admonished this multitude of moaning Mounties to get a fucking life already…

… and ending on a less Scriptural note: If Christ’s official body double is happy enough to invite the likes of General Pinochet and Tony Blair to the Vatican and break bread with them, I can’t see much harm in tossing a few holy crumbs to a blameless Alsatian cross either.

Jesus loves me! this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little doggies to Him come;
feeding on the Saviour’s crumbs.

Typical.

For months, you patiently, if aimlessly, wait for a nun – any nun – to show up and then, when hope has turned to anguish, like a pigeon turning on a spit, it’s sudden raining nuns (hallelujah.)

So, yesterday, I wrote about two eloping nuns under the subtle header ‘Canon Babes Run’ and today, this:

“A group of nun’s from southern France sign a record deal to release Gregorian chants on the same label as Lady Gaga, Elton John, Amy Winehouse and the Rolling Stones.”

Yay, singing nuns. Way cool.

My only complaint is about their repertoire. Not that there’s anything intrinsically wrong with Gregorian chants but it is a tad predictable.

Nuns doing chants is about as surprising as priests doing altar boys, so I would have liked to see these good sisters to be a bit more daring.

I mean, why sign a record deal with this particular label and not use its more famous connections?

Take Lady Gaga. With songs like ‘Christmas Tree’ & ‘Disco Heaven’, she’s almost an honorary nun herself – though it would also be rather sweet to hear a nice and rousing a cappella version of ‘Dirty Ice Cream’, or ‘Kandy Life’.

As for Elton John, what’s not to like about a medley of old favourites: ‘Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting’, ‘The Bitch Is Back’, ‘If There’s A God In Heaven’ & ‘White Lady White Powder’.

The Stones? Ah, so many records and so little time, though ‘Satisfaction’ would seem to be an obvious choice – and I suppose ‘Sympathy For The Devil’ would make one Hell of a summer hit.

One song they should definitely do though, to honour those two sisters who ran away to escape a faith worse than death – and that, of course, would be that famous Amy Winehouse song. You know the one:

“They tried to take away my habit
I said no, no, no.
Yes I wear black, but when I come back
You won’t know, know, know.

I ain’t got the time
And if the bishop thinks I’m fine
He’s tried to talk me out of my habit
I won’t go, go, go.”

(Blockbuster nuns, running to a theatre near you…)

I think this following story could make for a terrific Hollywood movie:

“Two fugitive nuns in their 80s have gone on the run in France to escape being sent to a retirement home by their Mother Superior. Sister Marie-Daniel, 86, and Sister Saint-Denis, 82, fled their nunnery two weeks ago after convent officials said they were being sent to a remote mountain retreat 250 miles away.”

Yes, more heart-wrenching than ‘Lassie, come home!’, more suspenseful than ‘Thelma and Louise’ and displaying more sexual tension than ‘Knight and Day’, this could become bigger than ‘The Sound of Music’ or, if you prefer, less tankable than ‘Titanic’.

Come to think of it, with a thankful nod to Kevin Costner, we could simply call it, ‘Dances with Nuns.’

Though I suppose ‘Canon Babes Run’ would also work.

Anyway, I guess that quite a few British Labour politicians who read this story would wistfully wish they could have disposed of their former two leaders in the same cavalier way as the Catholic church tried to do.

Yes, I can see all those Labour MPs in the Commons, breaking out in song:

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens
Brown & Blair sent up a mountain, tied up with strings
These are a few of my favourite things…”

(Beats ‘Transvestite mounts dog’ big time, baby…!)

It takes all sorts to make the world go round’, is a well-meaning but rather vacuous cliché.

Whatever wiped the dinosaurs off the face of the earth did, I’m afraid, not cause the slightest of wobbles in the earth’s rotation – and it would take more than a few handfuls of Dr. Strangelove specials to make a blind bit of difference too.

Still, it’s a nice sentiment. Very New Testament-ish – and, in a way, a close relation to that famous Matthew quotation, “And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?”

On the other hand, there’s motes and then there’s motes – or, more precisely, moats…:

“A transvestite had sex with a dog in the moat of an English Heritage castle. The cross-dressing man was caught with the animal in the dry moat of King Henry VIII’s Pendennis Castle overlooking Falmouth Bay in Cornwall. The 33-year-old mounted the pet after it chased him out of sight of its woman owner.”

Not exactly a sight for sore eyes, perhaps – and one that could make quite a lot of more Biblically inclined viewers almost nostalgic for those motes & beams.

Happily, a spokesman for English Heritage was soon rustled up to assure the public that this “was a very rare incident.”

Quite – though you can’t help but wonder if this kind of entertainment might not attract more snap-happy sightseers than yet another royal castle.

Yea and verily, the Internet teaches us that humps trump lumps of stone any day of the week, by a billion hits or so.

(To be honest, I don’t think the guy even asked…)