Rachel's practice exercises for new parents are dead on. Especially this quote, "What? I said I'd get the baby."
And this description: "Every day, when you get into your car to go somewhere (anywhere), toss approximately 2 cups worth of crumbs over your shoulder and into the backseat."
What's training exercises would you offer for new parents? Add them to the comments on Rachel's post: Practice, practice, practice!.
"I want to order a drink from the well. I want to sit on naugahyde. I want someone to smoke. I don't want to smoke. I want people to make music right there in front of me. I want everybody to know the words."
Go read the rest at Sippican Cottage: I Want.
Read this post and wish all these things for yourself.
One day my friend Rachel sends me a note saying, "Wha? Ha? What's this FaceBook thing and how do I make it work?" Next thing I know she has more FaceBook friends than I do AND she has a blog.
What can I tell you about Rachel? Sophomore year at OU we shared a "common area" in O'Bleness hall, plus a slew of common friends. We also shared clothes and beers and I don't know ... other things ... like homework. Yeah, homework.
Rachel was the fellow party-goer I wrote about here. That was sophomore year. The next year, I took a year off from school. The year after that, I came back and she was taking a year off. Then during what should have been our senior year but turned out to be our junior year (you following me here?), we ended up working together at the same Sports Tavern. The story about how that came to be is a funny one too. I'll tell you.
I'd been bartending for a few years at that point, and my boss Shawn was always looking for decent waitresses. I said, "My friend Rachel's been waiting tables full time for the past year. She just moved back to Athens. You should interview her." He said, "Okay. Call her." And this is how the interview went. I stood behind the bar while Shawn and Rachel sat at the bar, and we all settled on a fair way to determine whether or not she should work with us: If Rachel could match Shawn beer-for-beer all night long, Shawn would hire her on the spot.
Back then (long before these past seven years of me being pregnant, trying to get pregnant or nursing), I could hold my beer. Still, on a good night, I'd maybe match Shawn one beer for every two of his.
So, this is the point in the story where you realize exactly why I haven't mentioned the name of the bar. Just in case there's an equal opportunity fundamentalist reading this blog. After all, there could have been a lightweight drinker or even (gasp) a non-drinker out there who may have wanted the job. Such an interview process would not have been fair to them. It was hardly fair to Rachel - but she held her own during my entire shift. Then we closed down the bar and walked to a few others where she continued to match Shawn one bottled Busch beer after the next.
I think she started working with us two days later (she needed at least one day to recover).
Of course, Rachel and I both eventually graduated, quit the service industry, moved on and lost touch. Until one day I was talking to our mutual friend Amy from my home in Princeton, North Carolina, and I asked about Rachel. Amy said, "Let me check my address book. I know she just moved. I think she's someplace in North Carolina too ... Okay, here it is: She's in Clayton, North Carolina."
Wouldn't you know it? Clayton was 15 minutes down the road, and right on my way to work in Cary. So I called her, and we got together, hung out, and eventually bartered lawn mowers for canoes. What? Isn't that what all good friends do?
Now she's in Charlotte and I'm in Ohio, and we both have two boys and mommyblogs. Boy, how life changes.
You might remember how excited I was when Sarah started blogging. Well, I'm still no good at predicting who will get the blogging bug next - but I'm thrilled to introduce you to another friend who's unexpectedly caught it. Go check out Rachel's new blog & leave a comment. Tell her Ali sent ya.
If you've taken the time to check out my updated blogroll over there on the right, you may have come across my new, corporate blog. So I've joined the ranks of oh, just about everyone else in the blogosphere and become a multi-blogger. You know, like multi-tasker. Another crazy fool who posts at more than one blog.
How do you do it?
Not only do I have two blogs but I have two technorati profiles, two profiles at social media sites (myspace and linkedin), two separate feed-reader accounts (bloglines and google reader) and two separate blog rolls. I feel like I have a split personality. I need a techno-therapist to integrate my multiple online selves.
How do you know what to blog where, which URL to use when you comment on other blogs, and when to cross-post or mention one blog on the other blog? How do you not just go insane or close down one blog altogether?
It shouldn't be that hard. No one's even reading my other blog. It hasn't been promoted. And the topics there most clearly do not overlap with the topics here. But still. I'm feeling so splintered.
Can anyone relate? How do you get past it?
[Gidge tagged me for this. Sick is boring this time of year, I know. But we're all still getting over the grunge so it's still top of mind with me. Plus, I had already written a few e-mails to friends and co-workers about this, so it was an easy post to throw together.]
I like to think I'm too tough to get sick, too dedicated to call off work, and too strong to need extra sleep during the day. But the truth is real moms get sick too.
Twice when Robey was a baby I was sick enough that I couldn't do it alone, that I was grateful for a support system that allowed me to spend a day in bed when I needed it. This time when I got sick, Moe was sick too and he needed me, and I had to be there for him in a way that nobody else could.
After three days of nursing a baby and ignoring my own health, I was so sick and so tired and so deluded with fever that I was ready to check myself into a mental institution if the emergency room wouldn't take me. Of course, I did neither. Instead, I got myself up and showered and on the phone to three different doctors on Monday morning, called off work, then loaded myself and Monroe into the car and on the road to the doc appointments after a night of shaking in bed with the chills and the night sweats and the feverish delusions of a sick, bone-tired, life-giving, nursing mother to an around-the-clock screaming baby.
When I finally showed up for my own doctor's appointment at 11am Monday morning, he listened to my lungs, said they were really full of fluid - and then said, "It's probably bronchitis, though, not pneumonia. You'd be a lot sicker if it were pneumonia."
I must really know how to mask sick, I thought, because I don't get any sicker than this.
See? Still acting though. Still not admitting to the doctor that I felt worse than I looked. So I ran to the pharmacy and the grocery store, came home and answered a few e-mails for work, swallowed an antibiotic and kept up the act a little bit longer. Then I finally crashed. I cried and called my mom and asked her to come take care of us all. I took Monroe to bed with me in the middle of the afternoon and slept for two solid hours - and it was the best sleep I'd had in weeks.
At least half of the blogs on my blogroll have been retired, renamed or redirected. And half the blogs that I read everyday aren't even on this list. The only way I'm ever going to make myself update the dang thing is if I take it down altogether and start over.
So here's the original AliBlog blogroll. Look for the new version in the sidebar soon. Er, eventually. Okay. I promise to get to it before this post drops off the page. Deal?
Does anyone even care?
(For the Queen of Spain. Actual body organs not required, so you can play along at home.)
So far, I've de-lurked at:
It's easy. You just say, "Hi. I found you through X and kept coming back for the Y." Or something like that. Now you try.
(I stole the little badge from Sarah who has hundreds of lurkers. Me? I think - maybe - I have two. But still, I'd love to know who you are.)
I'd like to propose the Lumpyhead Code Brown system as the standard, international system for classifying soiled diapers. Go read the post. You'll laugh out loud. Then you'll gain a whole new appreciation for the brown Lumpyhead masthead and brownish blog background.
And so is her "Lost" Discussion Thursday:
I'm still on the hedge about this season. We get a great scene, followed by a mediocre scene, followed by a confusing scene, followed by a completely useless flashback... I just don't know what to think. I'm not prepared to give up on the show yet, but I sincerely hope that some irate in-law gives one of the writers a good knock over the head with some fruitcake during a holiday visit.
(Also, I just downloaded this Typepad QuickPost tool, which is a near-solution to this need. If you all had any idea what I was talking about here, you would have told me about this cool feature a long time ago, right?)
You really have to love a preacher who discusses thermodynamics, uses the F word, and mocks both the scientists and the creationists all in one post:
If this upsets your theology, I know that’s hard. It’s always hard to change the way you think about God. But you need to let your theology flex and bend to fit our ever-growing understanding of the way the world works. I know that sounds like heresy, but our theology changes as our knowledge of the cosmos grows. It always has.
Listen! RLP is singing to the creator of the stars. I'd like to join the chorus.
Blog Appreciation #4
Originally uploaded by Sarah606.
He's appreciating the squad.
The smart folks over at ambivablog have been debating gay marriage for the past week in a discussion that has remained surprisingly civil through more than 100 comments on a series of nearly a dozen posts. I know the point of debate isn't always to declare a winner, but I've been rooting for "team amba" to win nonetheless.
Amba outlines the whole series of posts here. Go sample the comment strings - especially on amba III and this followup post - for a thorough look at the issue, and decide for yourself which side makes the best points. My vote for MVD (most valuable debater) goes to Tom Strong.
I am left with one question, however. Is it troubling that there aren't any homosexuals taking part in the conversation? Does it matter? Or is it akin to a bunch of white guys debating civil rights? (Call me on it if I'm overlooking something in my sporadic blog reading, but the only gay, lesbian or bisexual I see weighing in is Christopher, who makes one comment on this post that started the whole dialog).
I've been watching the weather predictions pessimistically for the last week or so, expecting nothing short of cold, rainy weather for the duration of this pregnancy.
Oh, I've been wanting to sit on the front deck and read during my lunch hour. I've been hoping to cover my belly with at least one of the spring maternity tops hanging in my closet. I've been yearning for a walk on the bike path or a short hike in the woods. I've been aching for an hour in the garden, transplanting hopeful flowers from one shaded spot to another.
But I've been afraid to get my hopes up ... until today. Today it was 65 degrees and sunny, and I sat on my deck and read blog posts from a book:
Midway through my lunch hour, Jeromy arrived home with the mail, which included Richard Lawrence Cohen's new book of fiction and other writings from his first year as a blogger: Only What Is.
"Do you know what this is?" I asked Jeromy. He didn't, of course.
"It's a book of blog posts," I explained, holding it up. "I've been so excited to read it."
He was happy for me but smirked anyway and rattled of a list of things that he'd much rather get excited about: a sale at Home Depot; a new rifle; an accepted bid for concrete counter tops.
I started to argue my case but decided instead to head outside and read.
And so I've been thinking this afternoon about the differences between books and blogs. I've been thinking, in particular, about the beauty of books. Their portability. Their flexibility. Their cohesion. Their contents. Their completeness. Their finality. I've been thinking how nice it is to take a pencil to their pages and mark favorite entries, to underline sentences and to star paragraphs. I've been thinking how different that is from reading a blog.
I subscribe to more than 50 blogs via bloglines, an rss reader that serves up content from my favorite bloggers and lets me save, categorize and mark favorite posts for future reference. But even when I have the best intentions of linking to one of those saved posts here on my own blog, the truth is, I rarely refer back to those entries once they've been saved.
With books, it's different. I often pull favorites from the shelf to search out marked passages, re-read entire chapters or recommend worn copies to a friend. It's simpler and somehow more available.
Cohen's book starts with a post from Dec. 13, 2004. I started blogging myself that same year in July but didn't discover Cohen's blog until mid 2005, so many of the entries in his book are new to me.
As I read, this brief post reminded me of the infamous art professor, Eldridge, at OU. These two paragraphs reminded me of Robey and his cousin Max - and yet they're about God and all the people on earth. From there, I continued marking.
You see how it's different, though. The pencil scratchings are effortless compared to the searching and linking and hyperconnecting that you do on a blog. Yes, there are benefits to sharing these ideas with you here online - and blogging makes that easy. But it's so much easier to sit on my porch and underline the words, "Why have I loved trees so much and learned so little about them?"
But then I can come downstairs and sit at the computer and try to tell you, as I'm doing now, the memories I discovered within that line. When I put my pencil to the page and marked a path toward the question mark, I recalled the sensations of climbing trees, longing for tree houses, writing poems for the dead and losing my way in the woods.
I can share that here on this blog in a way that I can't in a journal or even in the margins of a book.
So which is better, the book or the blog? Will I remember these things again someday when I look through the archives of this site? Or am I more likely to remember them the next time I pick up the book and re-read that line? And which form offers more room for the memories to roam before it's time to move on and follow another link or mark another passage?
I don't know. But isn't it amazing to know that the two can marry and bring forth a blook? That I can pay for that blook online and receive a signed copy a few days later in the mail? That I can sit outside at the end of March and flip through short passages that first appeared online? That I can mark my favorite lines with a pencil or pull up a Web page and find those same passages living online and waiting for comments? That I can link to those passages myself from this post and ramble incessantly about the whole experience?
Isn't it all extraordinary?
It used to be that I wouldn't bother with aerobics classes that were less than 90 minutes long. If I had to settle for a 60-minute class, I'd try to spend at least 20 minutes lifting weights or climbing the StairMaster beforehand. Back then, I made it to the gym at least four days a week and ran three to four miles on my easy workout days. Now, I'm lucky if I can squeeze in two days a week at the gym, and I'll settle for 20 minutes on the treadmill if that's all the time I can afford.
A lot has changed between now and then: pregnancies, motherhood, job changes, re-locations and various other stressors. Not to mention the toll that ten years or so can take on your body. And how does my body reflect those changes? With sore joints, cellulite, weight gain and stretch marks.
I know. It's really not fair for me to talk about weight gain when I'm nine months pregnant. And it's probably ill-advised for me to talk about my body image when my standard, non-pregnant dress size is smaller than most women's target dress size. And maybe nobody cares if I'm never quite satisfied with the way I look in a bikini. Because who ever is? Really?
But that's my point. Even back when I was working out daily and maintaining an athletic body fat percentage well below 20 percent, I still wasn't completely happy with my body. In fact, I'm not sure that I was any happier with it then than I am with it now: round, bloated, stretched, itchy and carrying around an extra 30 pounds.
Why am I writing about this? A week or so ago, Erin had a post about Barbie dolls. I started to respond with a comment that said some of these same things, but the comment became too long, so I decided to back out of that comment and write about it here instead. But then I got busy. Or lazy. Or bloated. Or something. I was reminded of it again today, however, when I read a touching post by Gidge that documents the things she admires about her friends' appearances.
I love that she takes the time to point out the positive traits in her friends, but why is it so hard to point out our own positive traits? Even when I was fit and trim and 25, I looked in the mirror and pointed out the negatives in myself.
So what's the trick to maintaining a healthy body image? I'm not sure, but I don't think it has anything to do with being satisfied with what you see in the mirror. That's too unrealistic. Except for the most narcissistic among us, we are all too pre-programmed to focus on the negative.
Instead, I think what's really important is to be satisfied with the fact that you'll never really be satisfied with what you see in the mirror. Let me say that again to myself: you will never be satisfied with what you see in the mirror. Accept it.
I'm not saying we should throw our hands in the air and give up completely on improving ourselves, but we should at least acknowledge that our expectations are unrealistic. And it doesn't have anything to do with Barbie. It's just in our nature to point out our own weaknesses physically.
It's hard for me right now when everything about my body seems too big for its own good, but I try to notice as many good traits as I do bad traits when I look in the mirror. Even if that means focusing on my fingernails and my eyelashes, it's what keeps me sane even on my worst hair days. I'll admit it doesn't always work. Especially when trying on bathing suits in a poorly lit dressing room. But most of the time, it makes me feel okay about this scarred, mottled, discolored body I call my own.
I mean, this soft, groomed, well-rounded body I call my own. There. Much better. Now you try.
I love to see bloggers get paid. And I'd really love to see someone I know get one of these jobs. Not only are they offering a monthly pay check - but free stuff too. Sweet!
In a post about depression, optimism and Sark, Ellen describes the realist's answer to the glass-half-full-or-half-empty question:
To me, an optimist sees the proverbial glass half full. A pessimist sees it half empty. And we realists say, "You know, somebody really ought to check and see if that water is contaminated with Guinea Worm parasites... "
That's funny, because I've always given the rationalist's answer to that same question, saying that first you must tell me the original state of the glass. If it started full and you drank it, then it's half empty. If it started empty and you filled it half way, then it's half full. End of discussion.
Now, about Sark. I tend to agree with Ellen. If I saw her books in their original, hand-drawn, art-journal format, I'd probably be impressed. But as published books, they always seem too flowery and colorful and gushy to me. Too one-dimensional. Too flat. In short, I think Ellen's right. They're too happy. Is anyone really that happy.
Using a playground as the metaphor, Ellen thinks Sark sees life as all fun and games, whereas Ellen sees it as a battlefield. And that's another question - regarding metaphors for life - that I used to answer differently. I used to see life metaphorically (and admittedly stereotypically) as an adventure. Then, after discussing this metaphor one night with Jeromy, I had a frightening dream about some drug-crazed lunatic piloting me and Robey across the country in a small, four-seater plane, and I realized that the way you see life can affect the situations you put yourself into in your everyday life.
Now, my metaphors for life are to see it as a gift and an opportunity and still as a journey filled with adventures - but primarily as a long, promising journey with something even better offered at the end. I know, these answers are still corny. But is there really any way to answer this type of question without sounding formulaic and simplistic? Maybe Mr. Gobely does it in this post about a cliff. In the comments I told him the poem sounded like a dream. But here's the question on that one: is it a bad dream or a good dream? You have to decide.
David, at True Ancestor describes what he calls the spiritual ecosphere:
The realm of the spiritual is its own ecosphere. Just as each species finds its niche and fills its role in a healthy ecosystem, so the realm of the spiritual always will -- always must -- have atheists, agnostics, fundamentalists, mystics and everything in between.
Plus, David and his sister, amba, are talking about doing a 'radio show' together to discuss religious views from every possible niche within this ecosystem.
Taking all types of spiritual quests into consideration, Tim at Pop Occulture proposes a heuristic for understanding the process of spiritual exploration:
I’d like to present my own fledgling map of personal internal growth. This model was created based on my own experiences - both good and bad - and those of countless people who I’ve interacted with through my website and in my life who walk the same roads as me. The most important thing to keep in mind is that this model is just that - a model. It’s designed to help people out on their own journeys of exploration. Use it if and where it helps you; throw it aside when you’re done with it. If you have any ideas about how this could be improved, please share them.
Richard Lawrence Cohen allows himself the freedom to interpret signs and maybe even the luxury to believe in something:
One thing that has always kept me from accepting any specific religion is that I think God is fundamentally incomprehensible to the human mind, and thus theology is mostly arrogant guesswork and culture-bound fantasizing. Nevertheless, I’ve felt, for equally long, that it’s guesswork and fantasizing about something real.
A Buddhist adage I like very much is that all religious doctrines are like fingers pointing at the moon. If we concentrate on looking at the finger, we’re missing the idea. (In modern terms, someone who looks at a finger instead of what the finger is pointing at is autistic.) We need to look at the moon.
But then, a person pointing at the moon can be beautiful ...
Robey, lately, is enamored with the moon. We don't see it much here in the wintertime, but he loves to look for it through the windows, through sleepy eyes and through long hours of driving on country roads. His searching is a joy to watch and his wonder each time he sees it - whether it's shining full in the afternoon sky or peaking through the clouds at midnight - is so authentic.
And that's the point of these Sunday Sparks: to understand the beauty in our searching for the moon and, of course, to try - in some small way - to understand the beauty of the moon itself.
This poignant metaphor explains why I'm still a registered independent and why - if I could - I'd register as a libertarian.
Scheherazade at Stay of Execution finds comfort - and more - at a new church:
And then the sermon. Oh my goodness. The minister softened me up by bringing Annie Dillard into it, and from then on I was toast. He hit me in my softest places. He painted pictures with his words and my eyes welled up and soon I was crying. He made me laugh. He touched my longing. Besides Dillard he brought in GK Chesterton and Winnie the Pooh, and, of course, Jesus Christ. He talked about wonder and adoration and fear. This is my place. I want to listen to this minister some more, I thought. I didn't even care if the attorney beside me could see me crying. It felt safe.
Rachelle at Notes from a Truth Seeker reflects on her chosen faith:
What does that say about me–that I knowingly and repeatedly choose this one? A baby in a manager. A carpenter king. A crazy man on a crowded hill. A dead man on a cross. Perhaps it means, in all honestly, that I am not too smart. Perhaps it means that I am deluded, overly emotional, too easily swayed by tradition and heritage. Or perhaps is means that deep calls to deep, that knowledge sometimes surpasses reason, that many decisions are made primarily by the heart.
These posts generated thoughtful comments as well, so you'll enjoy reading them both from top to bottom.
No dogma, no stress, no heels or neck ties. No pews or pulpits or preaching. No committees or careful concerns for "pretty Jesus words." Just simple lives of service, devotion and reading, and the asking among friends, "What do you want to do for God this year?"
The Real Live Preacher describes his dream church.
Where can I sign up?
Richard Lawrence Cohen is self-publishing a book based on his favorite blog posts of the past year.
I'm officially adding another item to my birthday wish list (I don't think it'll be available in time for Christmas).
Who's next? Amba? Mr. Gobley? Scheherazade? I'd buy theirs too!
A rant worth reading from David at True Ancestor:
And this is a big thing with me: you can argue politics all you want. You can argue about God's existence, or lack thereof, all you want. And you can be a Republican, a Democrat, a Libertarian or a Nazirite, for all I care. But take real care about how you are: how you treat others, how you carry yourself, what you give and what you leave behind.
From there, his criticisms are harsh but mostly on target. Be sure to read the whole post and the article it links to.
Melissa at Suburban Bliss ponders the significance of holiday giving:
Those are cute but homeless people don't need 'cute', they need warm. They don't need mittens either. They need a warm house and a job and a way to kick an addiction or a mental illness. They need mittens that can do all of that, and I'm not seeing that brand here.
Tim at Popular Occulture asks, "What's wrong with mega churches?" and elicits some interesting responses. I call them "big box" churches myself, because - when I attend them - I experience the same uncomfortable feelings of congestion and mass consumption that I experience at Wal-Mart. One commenter, James, makes a similar comparison:
Mega-churches aren’t bad. It’s the difference between seeing your favorite band play a small club vs. opening for U2 at the Hollywood Bowl. One is bound to be more intimate, and it’s usually the one where you don’t feel lost in a sea of people.
Finally, my latest blog obsession - checking in multiple times a day to read the comments about The Wounded Angel at ambivablog. I stand by my original interpretation, but I'm fascinated and amazed to "see" this painting through the eyes of so many other spiritual critics as well. Go check it out and add your thoughts to the comment section too.
David at True Ancestor meets a kindred spirit and a "free" soul:
She was beyond us. She had discovered truth. She was free. She was gone.
The water at waiterrant tells about the time his godfather lectured a room full of pro-lifers, saying:
“Let me tell you something about Hell,” my godfather says, “We know there’s a hell because Jesus said there’s one. But we don’t know if anyone’s actually in it ... What’s more,” he says, “Jesus never liked hypocrites. He once said, ‘They do not practice what they preach. They tie up heavy burdens and lay them on people’s shoulders, but will they lift a finger to move them? No! Every thing they do is done to attract attention!’”
Dave at Via Negativa muses on paradise:
15. Paradise is others. Paradise is the world in the midst of creation, which is on-going. The sabbath is not-yet.
Infision at Social Gospel today argues that the Southern Baptists are preaching the wrong message:
No, if the SBC is indeed declining it is not for lack of evangelistic zeal. It is declining because it has the wrong message. Jesus Christ is about more than saying a magic spell, getting baptised and refraining from pre-marital sex. As more and more Christians realize this, the SBC will continue to decline.
As a rule, I don't blog on Sundays. In fact, I try pretty hard not to go near the computer at all that day. But I've also been bookmarking favorite posts from faith-inspired bloggers for months that I'd like to share. So, I'm going to try something scheduling a weekly Sunday post with links to blog entries where I've found wisdom, guidance or simply an interesting point of view.
One thing you should know is that I'm pretty open in my definition of faith. Although I call myself a Christian, I learn from Unitarians, Pagans, Jews, Buddhists and assorted spiritual nomads - a lovely term coined by Amba.
The first installment of Ali's Sunday Sparks follows.
Rachelle at Notes from a Truth Seeker is saddened by people who choose conversion over conversation and doctrine over communion:
And it’s sad, very sad to me that people just cannot ... see past the fact that we don’t have a doctrinal statement; that we care more about conversation than conversion; that we see all of life as an invitation into relationship with God; that we don’t mind if you can’t call God ‘Jesus’, or’ the Trinity’, or even ‘God,’ as long as you, like us, are longing for connection to the Divine. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think that’s a way in, for me and for others around me—a way into the loving reality of God. And if I can provide that, in any little way, I’ll do it.
Mark at Better Living takes Pat Robertson to task for condemning a whole town in Pennsylvania:
Along with Jerry Fallwell and James Dobson, he's a straw man that skeptics, agnostics, atheists, and genuine inquirers into Christian faith can read about in their local paper, easily knock down or dismiss, and decide that Christians are every bit as legalistic, clueless, and venomous as your average Islamofascist.
Augustine Interviews God - Part Fifteen
Amba finds a sanity clause in at least one major branch of religion:
Catholics and evangelicals may have drawn closer together over life issues and the spirit of revival, but here's where they part company: Catholics, it seems, can open their hearts (and their Bibles) without losing their heads.
The Zero Boss argues that religious texts are not our sole source of religious inspiration:
The Bhagavad Gita is one of my favorite religious texts. Yet even it - like the Holy Bible, the Talmud, the Quran, the Nag Hammadi, the Vedas, the various Sutras of Buddhism, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, and even modern classics like Starhawk's The Spiral Dance - are riddled with the prejudices and errors of their otherwise gifted authors. Is it little surprise, then, that modern Americans are bypassing the wisdom of old, and going directly to the Source for their religious communion? It's evident that the writing is on the wall: most Americans would prefer to talk to the Divine directly rather than go through a mediator - whether that mediator be a man in a white collar or a stack of bound pulp.
In her lectionary blog, Dylan questions our culture's focus on family values:
One problem with our talk about "family values" is that it's just that: TALK. Pontificating about the standards to which all families ought to rise makes us like the Pharisees and scribes Jesus condemns unless we act to lighten the burden for others rather than merely condemning those who don't rise to our ideal. Got a problem with out-of-wedlock births? Want to reduce abortions? There's a direct correlation between rising levels of education and reduced rates of both. Wagging fingers and punishing women or their doctors won't lighten the burden, but making sure that every neighborhood school is safe and provides quality education – and that every neighborhood in the world has a school that will receive all its children – will.
Finally, Mr. Gobley extends a daily challenge to himself that we all should strive to achieve.
After more than a full day of voting, it's time to crown the Queens of Promapalooza and their courts.
In the "Best" Dressed category, the honorable mentions are Erin, Sarah, Alison and BIYF. The first runner-up is Bridgette.
The "Best" Dressed Promapalooza Crown goes to Ellen, appearing in a sequined mini with headband, hat and tuba, and in a black spaghetti-strapped vampire dress with a chicken.
In the "Best" Hair category, the honorable mentions are BIYF, Erin, Ellen and Alison. The first runner-up is Sarah.
The "Best" Hair Promapalooza Crown goes to Bridgette, a natural brunette whose feathered, bleach-blonde 80's look shocked us all.
Thanks to everyone who played and voted. Now, it's time to crown our winners with comments. Go congratulate Ellen and Bridgette at their sites.
Next up: Weddingpalooza? Uniformpalooza? Bikinipalooza? Togapalooza? Costumepalooza? Pregnantpalooza? Leave your ideas as comments, and we'll see what we can do to make it happen in January.
You've viewed the contestants. You've laughed at their dresses. You've mocked their hairstyles. You've coveted their sexy dates and accessories. Now it's time to vote - once in each category. Results should tally as we go.
I'm posting this a bit early because I think all the entrants are in and because I'm having a hard time setting up this rinky dink polling system. I think it's held together by duct tape and twine, so hold your breath when you vote and try not to tinker with the parts. The comments are open too if you feel compelled to defend your vote. Good luck!
Sherry at Stay of Execution had a great writing exercise on her blog recently that I'm hoping to turn into a blog meme. I finished reading her post and thought, "We-e-ell, I think I've been to some of those same parties." What kinds of parties have you been to? List them in the comments section here or put a longer list on your blog and let me know when it's up.
Here's the mood of some of the parties I've attended:
This is more fun than the Needs Game. I had to make myself stop.
Big hair. Puffy sleeves. Awkward hemlines. We know you're dying to share your old prom photos with the blogging world.
Here's your chance: join the first ever Promapalooza co-hosted with Sarah, Erin, Becky and Bridgette on Tuesday, Nov. 8. Voting for "best" hair and "best" dress will take place on Wednesday here at AliBlog.
Anyone can play. If you're a blogger, post your photo to your blog on Tuesday and let one of us know when it's up. If you're not a blogger, e-mail me your photo and I'll post it here along with mine.
Sarah's suggests fuzzying the faces of your dates unless you have their permission to post the photo, but I'm a little less inclined to worry about blog-inspired law suits. It's your call. If you think the ex has it in him to sue you for the posting of his likeness on a personal Web site, then black bar his eyes. If you think he'd be proud to be an inaugural member of the high court of Promapalooza 2005, then keep his face intact.
Who wouldn't be proud? I'm proud already, and I haven't even scanned the photos yet.
Ever since my coworker Barry met Rip Taylor at a bar in D.C., I've been telling him he needs to start a blog. I mean - if you had a photo of your proud self sitting on Rip Taylor's lap, with Rip looking strangely ill-at-ease in the background, wouldn't you start a blog just to tell the story?
Don't let him fool you, though. He's not that new to blogging. The two of us created an internal blog at work a few months ago, and he's been posting regularly. In blog years, I'd say a month equals at least a decade - wouldn't you?
I'd provide the link to our internal blog, but it's not public. And you wouldn't be interested anyway.
But you are interested in the Rip Taylor story, aren't you? I know you are. The photo is on Barry's blog. The story - or at least the version of the story I heard via e-mail - is below the jump.
This idea came from Becky's blog, Can I Buy a Vowel. Becky is one of Sarah's friends who also has twins. She searched around and listed other Beckys she found with blogs.
Here's what I found when I searched for other Alisons with blogs:
Alison's Running Blog: This seems to be one of the most popular Alison blogs. Or at least it came up most frequently in the searches I made. It's an exercise log for an Alison who likes to run way more than I ever liked to run even when I considered myself something of a runner.
Alison Sweeny's New Mom Blog: She plays Sami on Days of Our Lives, which I'll admit to watching back in grade school and junior high. She also has a baby son Ben. And - wait - it looks like she has another blog here too.
Alison Wonderland: This Alison is an artist - specifically a children's illustrator. Her blog is full of gorgeous photos and imaginative illustrations. I'm especially drawn to these images of children cycling through fountains.
Insights: Like me, Alison Davis works in corporate communications. While I write mostly customer comms, she focuses on employee communications. Still, a lot of her content is interesting and relevant for all types of communicators.
Crush and Burn: I think she just moved to L.A. And she's touring with a band. And waitresses on the side. I haven't read enough to figure out all the details. But I'm intrigued.
Ali Thinks: She's an American living in France who used to be a teacher. She has cats and kids and sometimes posts video blogs. She signed my guest map.
I like the variety of this list. And they're all blogs that I'd like to check in on again - might even become a regular reader at a few. Hope you like 'em too.
Right when I was beginning to worry that blogfriend Leigh had run completely out of ideas, she resurfaces with a new blog, warriormonkey, which promises something even better: "fiction, profiles of people i admire, pseudo philosophical blurs and memories."
Welcome back, Leigh. This corner of the blogosphere is looking forward to learning more about warriormonkey - and the comfortable, mature you ... sans veils.
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