July 2008


[Bonus to anyone who knows what this picture is about.]

When I was little, my mom used to laugh at me.  Not out of spite (though I was a pretty awkward child) but because I had an uncanny ability to notice things no one else did. From the backseat of my parents’ car, I could pick a plane out of the sky in a thunderstorm. When mom took me shopping at the mall, I’d usually always leave with at least 75 cents in my pocket from change I’d find on the floor. Dad lost his watch? I’d spot it under the pile of papers on his desk despite his looking there twice already. And don’t get me started on how boring the Where’s Waldo? books were. But in all that time of spotting the unspottable, I’ve never seen a UFO.

To be fair, I don’t really have much faith that I’ll ever see one, which is probably why I haven’t yet. But now, thanks to the recent decision on the part of the Anglican Church, I know I never will. In one foul swoop the church has done away with Flying Bishops, thus eliminating my chances of encountering what I have taken to calling the Unidentified Flying Ordained.

For those who don’t know, Provincial Episopcal Visitors, or Flying Bishops as they were popularly known, were the Anglican answer to all those stuffy old men who couldn’t stomach seeing a woman in charge of their parish. Rather than accepting the idea that penis possession is not a necessary requirement for ordination, individual churches could petition the General Synod for one of the male flying bishops to replace their vaginally inferior leader. As of the decision rendered on July 7 by the Synod, that option has been eliminated.

What has been interesting to me throughout this debate is the enormous amount of sympathy being given to the opponents of this decision. Apparently, those who have suffered most are not the countless numbers of women who have been ostracized, avoided, and pushed out of the priesthood. No, it’s the boner-toters that have endured unimaginable pain and anguish being forced to look a woman in the face and say, “Yes ma’am. Maybe G-d can speak to you, after all.” Oh the humanity.

Maybe it’s just me but hasn’t this happened before? Didn’t we already go over this during a little thing called the Civil Rights Movement? Although at this point the reaction is much smaller in scale, I can still hear echoes of white whiners after the Brown v. Board of Education ruling was handed down: “What?! They expect us to recognize racial AND gender equality? It’s a conspiracy, I tell you. An anti cockasian conspiracy. Let’s leave. Or shoot something. Or both. That’ll show ’em.” It’s this very special brand of stupid that makes me stutter when people ask: So, are you a christian?

And may I just say, the Catholic Church’s response just makes me laugh. Apparently, this decision to allow women into the priesthood is the proverbial straw that will obliterate any chance of Anglican/Catholic harmony… cause the last 500 years of church history was just water under the bridge. True, the Church of England may have helped start a civil war and changed the face of English government…but chicks of the cloth?! Oh no you didn’t…

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I don’t know how to start this thing, this whole blogging business. Being a lover of fine linen paper and black ink pens, not to mention privacy, I’m not sure I’m entirely on board with this kind of electronic exposure. But as my friends (both of them) have insisted I give them something to help procrastinate their work days away, and bearing in mind that I am compulsive in my need for people to like me, I have obliged them. Plus let’s be honest, who’s really gonna read this anyway?

So now the task at hand. With some fresh air, a cup of tea, and blank notebook before me, I can’t quite decide how to write a first post. What to say? An introduction? “Hi everyone! My name is Dani. I’m a waitress and I like long walks zzzzz…” Uhm, no. I could give an explanation of what I hope to write here: “This will be a collection of stories and thoughts about blah blah blah…” Who cares? Just get to it, right? Whatever this first post is, it needs to be original, in no way resembling an introduction yet somehow able to communicate what’s about to happen.

Just then, I am interrupted by a moment of clarity.

“You wanna suck my dick?” the question asked by a thin, glittery, hipster chick to a portly, trucker-hat wearing, skater dude sitting across the patio from me at my local Sbux.

“You wanna whip it out for me?” his clever reply.

Yep. It is on that note, dear reader, that I want to begin. I mean, come on. Blogging as a form of self-expression really isn’t that far removed from other forms of <ahem> attention getting. It’s navel-gazing with an audience. Or better, it’s exhibitionism at its nerdiest. I could try and convince you that I’m whipping writing to make sense of my craziness or to practice my story-telling in hopes that one day someone might be interested in anything I had to say. But really at the end of the day, you can boil this entire endeavor down to, well, you know.