This Thing I Do

Remember the old gang? The misguided papist preteens (probably graduated from high school by now—they grow old—but not up—so fast) from the Pacific Northwest—and at least one of their parents here every so often squiring sophomoric sophistries (sometimes soporifically) around as True Faith Words of God?

Morals are Absolute. God Said So. Relative anything was bad. Moral Relativists (whatever they are), like yours truly, were the Absolutistly Absolute Evilest of them all because we (I) were so slippery, for we denied our very selves in denying the existence of Absolutes in the first place.

It’s not easy being greenish.

It almost feels quaint these days, the back-and-forthing, the tilting at little kids whos were raised like family petmas to fight like catmas and dogmas and to slap labels on things as quickly as possible, a sort of old-school, pre-laser-barcode-scanner-at-checkout days thing where Lenny the stockboy could be found in aisles firing sticky price labels onto each can or box or bag in the store.

But now god speaks in less mysterious ways and is the lesser for it, and we have to ask, can diminution as applied to god Aquinus itself into something new? Or will the hoodies and bloghoggers of the world still capitalize god into God in the way they speak of him as Him as they unplug the powerstrips from the wall for those parts of their brains they no longer leave even on standby in the name of conserving energy in the name of Lord Jesus Christ and His Holy Roman Church?

Abortion doctors killed and anti-abortion extremists call it a blessing. No surprise. But it’s the anti-abortion moderates. The ones who are so far removed from ever having to ever be faced with the real life gritty choice of whether or not to terminate a pregnancy (mainly because they’re sexually repressed and male and pre- or mid-adolescent) that they can’t be anything but moderate on just about everything. You know the ones, viewing the world through sepia-tinted lenses….

They’re the ones who’ve finally surprised me. They can’t condone what the murderer did to Dr. Tiller. “Can’t condone”!

It’s one of those double negative beige-y, wimpy, sloppy, non-committal flibbertigibbety (at best) phrases that can’t even commit to itself that itself can’t even bother to close its gown or zip up its own fly, inviting in, setting up, waiting for…..a “but”.

Waiting for a butt.

Gays and repressed catholic boys from the Pacific Northwest and Hoody all waiting for a butt. Ok, ‘but’, but I’m making a butt joke and you know how anal those guys are, so it’s fun to poke at them.

(c’mon, these jokes killed in the Castro! Literally….wrecked ‘em!


These anti-abortion, anti-choice, anti-privacy, anti-woman, pro-state, pro-fascist folks “can’t condone” a murder. Do they ever use this language for those “murdered babies” that are the result of abortions, as they like to call ‘em? “We’re vehemently not condoning the murders of these unborn babies!”

Has a certain not-ring to it, no?

Wait, though, I’m not done.

These “moderates”, while they “can’t condone” the murder of another human being, the murder of Dr. Tiller, they “can’t condemn it, either”.

Anti-abortion people can’t condemn the murder of another human being.

Let that sink in to your heads.

A man walks into a church and murders another man, and a bunch of people who’ve convinced themselves that social, legal, personhood should be bestowed upon pre-born biologically human individual organisms not yet physically or mentally fully formed and therefore the termination of the continued development of those pre-born organisms is fully equal to Murder 1 can’t find it within themselves to condemn a cold blooded murder of a thinking, feeling man who has friends and family who love him and who has not acted illegally or extra-socially and who has, from a particular point of view, given helpful medical care to women who have sought it out.

Hoody? Little Bloghogging bastards? Anyone else who is anti-choice or anti-abortion or whatever you want to call yourselves on that side of the fence? Short of a full, riotous, impassioned condemnation at least equal to the fervor you display in your (IMHO misguided) rampages to make abortion illegal towards the killer of this Dr. Tiller, you are hypocrites to be reviled and judged as by me and every other thinking person as manipulators and hijackers of a cause (“Pro Life”) for personal reasons as yet undiscovered.

My advice? Stop the rallies and try therapy.

There are better outlets for rage or fear or repression than to attack others.

Ask Dr. Tiller’s family. They’ll tell you.


I just looked it up, and the traditional gifts for a 6th wedding anniversary are Sugar, Iron & Candy.

I shit you not.

Who thought up those things anyway? First anniversary is paper. The only reason I remember that is from a Will & Grace episode (Karen got a million dollars in cash for her first anniversary). And growing up we all learned about silver and gold anniversaries, but I thought those were just appellations and not to do with gift-giving.

I wander.

Sugar and candy seem mundane. Six isn’t a notchy number, not one that a slider in your typical app might stick to or one that a smaller knob might print a stop for. If you hear someone use the number six they’re being specific and not approximate. Isn’t it strange how the numbers we round to are also the numbers that are important? “About 10” is an approximate figure but 10th anniversary is a Milestone.

I list.

So today marks six, count ‘em, six years since I started this blog, and while I could single out any one year or quarter or day, for that matter in this blog as having any more or less impact than any other, it’s the very fact of this blog, the very existence of it that deserves the nod for having steered my life is so many very pointed directions. Not all good.

I’m on point, finally.

But at six years, enough time has passed that whatever sea-changes (thank you for the bazillionth time, William Shakespeare) have come from it are beginning to show themselves…

…And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where [it] has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.