This is an ode to nuns.
Nuns have been all over the news lately. Mostly as the target of Vatican condemnation. Aside from the sister that wrote "Just Love," the Vatican has also been upset recently that nuns aren't focusing on fighting birth control and homosexuality.
So here's why I love nuns.
Nuns give up everything to be nuns. Priests and other clergymen get to keep all their things and they get power and an audience as well. It seems that the higher up you get, the more you get. Which is similar to any business, in their defense. But nuns decide that they're going to give up all their worldly possessions to live how they think God/Jesus wants them to. Or whatever their reasoning is. But they don't want anything back for it. They don't get power, they don't get paid, and for the most part they don't get any recognition. They just do what they do cause they think it's the right thing. And that is badass.
Nuns do good things. Now, for the most part, I don't really know all that much about nuns. But it seems that their response to the Vatican saying they don't focus on birth control and homosexuality enough is, "Sorry, Popey-pope, too busy takin' care of the sick and needy. We'll let ya know when they're all taken care of and then we'll focus on the more frivolous things." Or so I imagine. Which, at least in my imagination, is badass.
Nuns cover their bodies. I don't really care how nuns choose to dress, but after seeing all the Muslim women in Morocco covering their bodies and hearing their reasons why, I have a new respect for people that choose to save their physical features for God/their husband. If only America could make the connection that neither nuns nor (Moroccan) Muslim women are forced to veil themselves. That would be badass.
So there you have it - my ode to nuns. I don't particularly care for the Catholic church or it's hier(patri)archy, but as far as nuns are concerned, they are the cream of the crap to me.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Prima Ballerina
Being a high school graduate doesn't make you special.
If you haven't heard about the commencement speaker (and English teacher at the school) who gave the "You're Not Special" speech to a graduating class, you can watch it here.
Essentially, the speaker is saying that just because you now have a high school diploma, you are not spectacular. There are millions of other people with high school diplomas. So how will you go from here to make yourself stand out?
"Across the country no fewer than 3.2 million seniors are graduating about now from more than 37,000 high school. That's 37,000 valedictorians... 37,000 class presidents... 92,000 harmonizing altos... 340,000 swaggering jocks ... 2,185,967 pairs of Uggs. But why limit ourselves to high school? After all, you're leaving it. So think about this: Even if you're one in a million, on a planet of 6.8 billion that means there are nearly 7,000 people just like you."
Some people are offended by the speech. Either because there are some that never get to graduate high school, because it is an achievement to graduate high school, or because someone told them that the world didn't owe them anything just cause they passed algebra.
I find the speech amusing to say the least, and didn't really think much about it beyond, "Right on, brother! You got people to remember something about a commencement speech."
But THEN I read this article. And I liked it.
So it got me thinking about how I was raised. My parents have always been supportive and loving, and always worked very hard not to miss a chorus concert, soccer game, volleyball tournament, honors night or anything else I've ever even hinted that they should attend.
So this is not to say that my parents aren't supportive, but they don't tell me I'm the best. At least not at everything. They tend to avoid negative words, but they aren't known to fabricate encouragement for the sake of my fragile psyche.
For example: In 6th grade I was in the play "Oliver Twist" as an orphan. I marched in down the aisles amongst about 30 other orphans. We were all dressed in the same grey, intentionally mangled sweat suits, carrying identical bowls of "gruel." I was the literal opposite of a stand-out.
Now I carried that bowl like a champ, but it was known that I was not the star. So mostly my parents and I talked about the making of the play, the different songs, the sets, etc. There is a way of being supportive without fawning over your child's every move.
Example 2: After my high school volleyball team won the state championship my junior year, I decided to hang up my knee pads and pursue other endeavors. So I joined the church choir (a mediocre second soprano) and started taking hip-hop classes.
Now I wasn't allowed to join the advanced dance class (an obvious mistake on the part of the dance company), so I joined the intermediate class. So here I am, 18 years old, 5'8", 140 lbs., joining in a dance class where the next-oldest person is 12, standing at about 5 feet. The little girls would stare at my keys when I walked in and ask what it's like to drive. When we got fitted for our costumes I had to get XXXL pants because the sizes were kids' sizes and they didn't make pants for people with 36" legs. You get the idea.
So when the year came to an end, my parents (and friends who had figured out I was having a recital and therefore attended to gain ridicule rights) not only came to my recital, but sat through the endless numbers of 2-10 year-olds spinning in tutus to see me dance to an edited version of "Sexyback."
After the debut of my artistry, I met my friends and parents outside the theatre in anticipation of a shower of roses followed by countless offers from Broadway scouts.
"Oh, I'm so flattered, but no thank you. I'm dedicated to my studies and have always dreamed to go to college, dance is just my gift, that I must now re-gift to the world," I would say in my smokey, old-Hollywood voice.
But, alas, I didn't actually expect any of this to happen because I knew I was bad. And so did everyone else. My parents had laughed with me every week when I came home and told them how class went, so they knew I'd be no good. They had acted impressed when I told them that our number started off with me jumping over one of the girls' head, but then did their best not to laugh when I told them that said-girl was only 4'2".
My parents did not praise me the night of my recital. They probably asked if I had fun and said they enjoyed the show, which in-itself is no more than a half-truth. Telling your kid they're the best at everything they do isn't fooling anyone. Especially not your kid. So if they do something terribly, tell them it wasn't their best and a little hard work will make it better next time.
The point of all this is, very few people are special. That's what special means. And it's great to tell you're kid how special they are to you, or how good they are at math, or how much potential they have. But don't get all cranky when someone tells your kid that in order to be outstanding, they need to make themselves stand out. Like I would have if they'd just put me in that damn advanced class.
If you haven't heard about the commencement speaker (and English teacher at the school) who gave the "You're Not Special" speech to a graduating class, you can watch it here.
Essentially, the speaker is saying that just because you now have a high school diploma, you are not spectacular. There are millions of other people with high school diplomas. So how will you go from here to make yourself stand out?
"Across the country no fewer than 3.2 million seniors are graduating about now from more than 37,000 high school. That's 37,000 valedictorians... 37,000 class presidents... 92,000 harmonizing altos... 340,000 swaggering jocks ... 2,185,967 pairs of Uggs. But why limit ourselves to high school? After all, you're leaving it. So think about this: Even if you're one in a million, on a planet of 6.8 billion that means there are nearly 7,000 people just like you."
Some people are offended by the speech. Either because there are some that never get to graduate high school, because it is an achievement to graduate high school, or because someone told them that the world didn't owe them anything just cause they passed algebra.
I find the speech amusing to say the least, and didn't really think much about it beyond, "Right on, brother! You got people to remember something about a commencement speech."
But THEN I read this article. And I liked it.
So it got me thinking about how I was raised. My parents have always been supportive and loving, and always worked very hard not to miss a chorus concert, soccer game, volleyball tournament, honors night or anything else I've ever even hinted that they should attend.
So this is not to say that my parents aren't supportive, but they don't tell me I'm the best. At least not at everything. They tend to avoid negative words, but they aren't known to fabricate encouragement for the sake of my fragile psyche.
For example: In 6th grade I was in the play "Oliver Twist" as an orphan. I marched in down the aisles amongst about 30 other orphans. We were all dressed in the same grey, intentionally mangled sweat suits, carrying identical bowls of "gruel." I was the literal opposite of a stand-out.
Now I carried that bowl like a champ, but it was known that I was not the star. So mostly my parents and I talked about the making of the play, the different songs, the sets, etc. There is a way of being supportive without fawning over your child's every move.
Example 2: After my high school volleyball team won the state championship my junior year, I decided to hang up my knee pads and pursue other endeavors. So I joined the church choir (a mediocre second soprano) and started taking hip-hop classes.
Now I wasn't allowed to join the advanced dance class (an obvious mistake on the part of the dance company), so I joined the intermediate class. So here I am, 18 years old, 5'8", 140 lbs., joining in a dance class where the next-oldest person is 12, standing at about 5 feet. The little girls would stare at my keys when I walked in and ask what it's like to drive. When we got fitted for our costumes I had to get XXXL pants because the sizes were kids' sizes and they didn't make pants for people with 36" legs. You get the idea.
So when the year came to an end, my parents (and friends who had figured out I was having a recital and therefore attended to gain ridicule rights) not only came to my recital, but sat through the endless numbers of 2-10 year-olds spinning in tutus to see me dance to an edited version of "Sexyback."
After the debut of my artistry, I met my friends and parents outside the theatre in anticipation of a shower of roses followed by countless offers from Broadway scouts.
"Oh, I'm so flattered, but no thank you. I'm dedicated to my studies and have always dreamed to go to college, dance is just my gift, that I must now re-gift to the world," I would say in my smokey, old-Hollywood voice.
But, alas, I didn't actually expect any of this to happen because I knew I was bad. And so did everyone else. My parents had laughed with me every week when I came home and told them how class went, so they knew I'd be no good. They had acted impressed when I told them that our number started off with me jumping over one of the girls' head, but then did their best not to laugh when I told them that said-girl was only 4'2".
My parents did not praise me the night of my recital. They probably asked if I had fun and said they enjoyed the show, which in-itself is no more than a half-truth. Telling your kid they're the best at everything they do isn't fooling anyone. Especially not your kid. So if they do something terribly, tell them it wasn't their best and a little hard work will make it better next time.
The point of all this is, very few people are special. That's what special means. And it's great to tell you're kid how special they are to you, or how good they are at math, or how much potential they have. But don't get all cranky when someone tells your kid that in order to be outstanding, they need to make themselves stand out. Like I would have if they'd just put me in that damn advanced class.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Nuns and Atheists
As I've mentioned before, I'm a big fan of the CNN Belief Blog. It combines religion, journalism and controversy; which, to me, is the perfect storm of delight.
My favorite writer for the blog is Stephen Prothero, a professor at Boston University. He is my second-favorite CNN employee (behind Anderson Cooper, of course), and he has recently been covering the Vatican's condemnation of Sister Margaret Farley's book, Just Love. Click here to read more about it, it's pretty interesting.
So there are two sides to this: 1) I agree with a lot of the things her book says, so therefore I think she's a badass nun. I also like the idea of people being individuals and thinking for themselves. You go, girl! 2) Nuns are Catholic. Catholic teachings are pretty strict. If you don't want to follow the Catholic teachings, don't be a Catholic (much less a nun).
Anyway, then I read a follow up article (again, by my love Prothero). And of course I love most everything on the Belief Blog (even/especially articles I disagree with), but sometimes what's better than the writing is the comment section.
I've grown strong in my belief that when someone makes the decision to be an atheist, they have to also adopt the "I am right, you are wrong and dumb and below me" attitude. At least for the atheists on the Belief Blog. It seems that atheists flock to this blog to make negative comments about any and every article.
Usually it's annoying. Like almost always. But every once in a while, a well-spoken atheist flitters by and makes a good point.
Like Atheist commenter "Colin" for example. This is his letter to Catholics from God, and whether you choose to believe them or not, he makes some interesting and at the very least entertaining points.
"Dear Catholics:
God here.
First, I do not exist. The concept of a 13,700,00,000 year old being, capable of creating the entire Universe and its billions of galaxies, monitoring simultaneously the thoughts and actions of the 7 billion human beings on this planet is ludicrous.
Second, if I did, I would have left you a book a little more consistent, timeless and independently verifiable than the collection of Iron Age Middle Eastern mythology you call the Bible. Hell, I bet you cannot tell me one thing about any of its authors or how and why it was edited over the Centuries, yet you cite them for the most extraordinary of claims.
Thirdly, when I sent my “son” (whatever that means, given that I am god and do not mate) to Earth, he would have visited the Chinese, Japanese, Europeans, Russians, sub-Saharan Africans, Australian Aboriginals, Mongolians, Polynesians, Micronesians, Indonesians and native Americans, not just a few Jews. He would also have exhibited a knowledge of something outside of the Iron Age Middle East.
Fourthly, I would not spend my time hiding, refusing to give any tangible evidence of my existence, and then punish those who are smart enough to draw the natural conclusion that I do not exist by burning them forever. That would make no sense to me, given that I am the one who elected to withhold all evidence of my existence in the first place.
Fifth, I would not care who you do or how you “do it”. I really wouldn’t. This would be of no interest to me, given that I can create Universes. Oh, the egos.
Sixth, I would have smited all traditional Catholics, (and evangelicals and fundamentalists) long before this. You people drive me nuts. You are so small minded and yet you speak with such false authority. Many of you still believe in the talking snake nonsense from Genesis. I would kill all of you for that alone and burn you for an afternoon (burning forever is way too barbaric even for me to contemplate).
Seventh, the whole idea of members of one species on one planet surviving their own physical deaths to “be with me” is utter, mind-numbing nonsense. Grow up. You will die. Get over it. I did. Hell, at least you had a life. I never even existed in the first place.
Eighth, I do not read your minds, or “hear your prayers” as you euphemistically call it. There are 7 billion of you. Even if only 10% prayed once a day, that is 700,000,000 prayers. This works out at 8,000 prayers a second – every second of every day. Meanwhile I have to process the 100,000 of you who die every day between heaven and hell. Dwell on the sheer absurdity of that for a moment.
Ninthly, had I existed, do you really think my representation on Earth would have such a history of corruption, retardation of science, financial misdeeds, political intrigue, outright criminal behavior and sexual misconduct, including pedophilia, as the Vatican does. I mean, come on! As a CEO, I would be fired for allowing my organization to run amok century after century.
Finally, the only reason you even consider believing in me is because of where you were born. Had you been born in India, you would likely believe in the Hindu gods, if born in Tibet, you would be a Buddhist. Every culture that has ever existed has had its own god(s) and they always seem to favor that particular culture, its hopes, dreams and prejudices. What, do you think we all exist? If not, why only yours?
Look, let’s be honest with ourselves. There is no god. Believing in me was fine when you thought the World was young, flat and simple. Now we know how enormous, old and complex the Universe is.
Move on – get over me. I did.
God"
All that being said, the beauty of faith is that it doesn't have to be justified. I find his list amusing none the less.
My favorite writer for the blog is Stephen Prothero, a professor at Boston University. He is my second-favorite CNN employee (behind Anderson Cooper, of course), and he has recently been covering the Vatican's condemnation of Sister Margaret Farley's book, Just Love. Click here to read more about it, it's pretty interesting.
So there are two sides to this: 1) I agree with a lot of the things her book says, so therefore I think she's a badass nun. I also like the idea of people being individuals and thinking for themselves. You go, girl! 2) Nuns are Catholic. Catholic teachings are pretty strict. If you don't want to follow the Catholic teachings, don't be a Catholic (much less a nun).
Anyway, then I read a follow up article (again, by my love Prothero). And of course I love most everything on the Belief Blog (even/especially articles I disagree with), but sometimes what's better than the writing is the comment section.
I've grown strong in my belief that when someone makes the decision to be an atheist, they have to also adopt the "I am right, you are wrong and dumb and below me" attitude. At least for the atheists on the Belief Blog. It seems that atheists flock to this blog to make negative comments about any and every article.
Usually it's annoying. Like almost always. But every once in a while, a well-spoken atheist flitters by and makes a good point.
Like Atheist commenter "Colin" for example. This is his letter to Catholics from God, and whether you choose to believe them or not, he makes some interesting and at the very least entertaining points.
"Dear Catholics:
God here.
First, I do not exist. The concept of a 13,700,00,000 year old being, capable of creating the entire Universe and its billions of galaxies, monitoring simultaneously the thoughts and actions of the 7 billion human beings on this planet is ludicrous.
Second, if I did, I would have left you a book a little more consistent, timeless and independently verifiable than the collection of Iron Age Middle Eastern mythology you call the Bible. Hell, I bet you cannot tell me one thing about any of its authors or how and why it was edited over the Centuries, yet you cite them for the most extraordinary of claims.
Thirdly, when I sent my “son” (whatever that means, given that I am god and do not mate) to Earth, he would have visited the Chinese, Japanese, Europeans, Russians, sub-Saharan Africans, Australian Aboriginals, Mongolians, Polynesians, Micronesians, Indonesians and native Americans, not just a few Jews. He would also have exhibited a knowledge of something outside of the Iron Age Middle East.
Fourthly, I would not spend my time hiding, refusing to give any tangible evidence of my existence, and then punish those who are smart enough to draw the natural conclusion that I do not exist by burning them forever. That would make no sense to me, given that I am the one who elected to withhold all evidence of my existence in the first place.
Fifth, I would not care who you do or how you “do it”. I really wouldn’t. This would be of no interest to me, given that I can create Universes. Oh, the egos.
Sixth, I would have smited all traditional Catholics, (and evangelicals and fundamentalists) long before this. You people drive me nuts. You are so small minded and yet you speak with such false authority. Many of you still believe in the talking snake nonsense from Genesis. I would kill all of you for that alone and burn you for an afternoon (burning forever is way too barbaric even for me to contemplate).
Seventh, the whole idea of members of one species on one planet surviving their own physical deaths to “be with me” is utter, mind-numbing nonsense. Grow up. You will die. Get over it. I did. Hell, at least you had a life. I never even existed in the first place.
Eighth, I do not read your minds, or “hear your prayers” as you euphemistically call it. There are 7 billion of you. Even if only 10% prayed once a day, that is 700,000,000 prayers. This works out at 8,000 prayers a second – every second of every day. Meanwhile I have to process the 100,000 of you who die every day between heaven and hell. Dwell on the sheer absurdity of that for a moment.
Ninthly, had I existed, do you really think my representation on Earth would have such a history of corruption, retardation of science, financial misdeeds, political intrigue, outright criminal behavior and sexual misconduct, including pedophilia, as the Vatican does. I mean, come on! As a CEO, I would be fired for allowing my organization to run amok century after century.
Finally, the only reason you even consider believing in me is because of where you were born. Had you been born in India, you would likely believe in the Hindu gods, if born in Tibet, you would be a Buddhist. Every culture that has ever existed has had its own god(s) and they always seem to favor that particular culture, its hopes, dreams and prejudices. What, do you think we all exist? If not, why only yours?
Look, let’s be honest with ourselves. There is no god. Believing in me was fine when you thought the World was young, flat and simple. Now we know how enormous, old and complex the Universe is.
Move on – get over me. I did.
God"
All that being said, the beauty of faith is that it doesn't have to be justified. I find his list amusing none the less.
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