Month: March 2004

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In the MausHaus

I just landed in Orlando for the Parenteral Drug Association‘s annual meeting. It was my seventh flight this year. Fortunately, I don’t have any air-travel till June, when I head out to the BIO show. For some reason (possibly the coffee I had before the flight), I was pretty wired into the turbulence we had on takeoff and initial ascent.

But I mellowed out after a while, read most of Radiance, by Carter Scholz, and listened to the Pod for a little while. Boy, with Radiance, 100 Suns, and Intelligence Wars, you’d think I’ve started to pick up on a trend.

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Persian Perspective

The Brooding Persian writes:

O.K. I read your piece on The Passion a few times and was left needing more. You always pull back the moment I expect otherwise — sort of like the stiffness you described experiencing in the gathering of the practicing religious friends who wanted to make a (what was it, honest? real?) Jew out of you; or when you promised to let us know why you carried a suitcase around and never did.

I read and talk to people mostly out of curiosity about their take on matters I have my takes on. We read different things and move in different circles and that makes it all the more interesting. If I want to read theology, I read theology — there all gazillion different interpretations and I struggle with them as I presume others do as well. But why is it that this particular fellow I talk to feels the need to insist on this particular flavor of interpretation? What makes him tick? What does it do for him? What does his choice tell me about this particular individual who happens to have peeked my curiosity.

Take your eloquently passionate friend who argues that there are millions who believe they want to go to heaven to fuck 72 virgins. If in a bar, I might play along and have a few laughs. But do I really believe that millions make a million decisions a day really always thinking ultimately of fucking 72 virgins? I don’t care who she is, what religion she believes in, whether she is an actress, a construction worker, a writer or a stripper. I am after the impulses — that bundle of visceral reactions that make her choose to believe in this particular version of causation when observing religious disposition of a segment of humanity.

So then, the question for me; why is it you feel so pissed about this movie?

The planet is/has always been filled with ‘sects’ I take an interest in them, for sometimes sects are the most interesting things around and often the most dangerous. No cogent argument here for ignoring them.

Same goes for Mad Max on Theology. Do any of us really want to be always trapped within a particular role in our lives? Can’t we expect to break out and redefine ourselves?Transform ourselves and others? To move on and have others move on with us? Leave theology to theologians? I want the fucking theologians to stop having monopoly over theological issue . . . perhaps we all end up better/happier/safer for the move.

So give me that impulse. I think we all have it. I had a nightmare last night and woke up sweating. You know what it was? Me in a hood — the type pulled — all too often — over the head of the Afghans and the Iraqis. See, I might give you a thousands and one different accounts of why Bush really is pissing me off. But deep down it comes down to the hood. That is my honest, visceral take on the American campaign in the Middle East. I sit in my apartment each night expecting/waiting for the knock . . . but no nightmares. I have been shot in the face . . . attacked by a sword . . . plane accident, to no real effect. But I just can’t shake the goddamn hood even if it has nothing to do with me. What is it you can’t shake about this movie? Or am I simply just fucked up? (Hint: rhetorical-you don’t have to answer)

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Simple Things

Doesn’t take much to make me happy. The other day, my publisher and I were leaving a Thai restaurant in Nyack, NY, where we had pretty tasty lunch. We passed a little indy record store. My publisher stopped and looked in the window. “Hey! Hootie & the Blowfish Greatest Hits!” he said.

“Ooh!” I replied. “A new Zero 7 record!”

I hurried in to buy it. My publisher looked over the Hootie record and was disappointed to find that, of the 14 tracks, 8 of them came from the first album.

I, meanwhile, beamed over the prospect of hearing new music from Zero 7. Their first album is one of my faves of recent years, with a song that has muscled its way onto the non-permanent roster of my favorite songs ever (like the UN Security Council, 5 songs have a permanent membership, while another 10 songs get a temporary place on the list).

So pardon me if I chill out for a while.