Admittedly, taking one’s theory of reality from a fictional work, and a comic satirical one at that, does not speak highly of that person’s attachment to consensual reality. Then again, the majority of folks in US probably think anyone who does not fall hook line and sinker for the myth of the Virgin birth in the stable culminating with apocalyptic horses and seven horns blowing and the raising all dead in a twinkling (wouldn’t they smell some after all these millions of years?) and the ultimate retreat to an Emerald city in the sky (pay no attention to the man behind the curtain)… and they mock Muslims who believe in the ultimate reward of a passel of virgins?
I do wonder about those virgins. Once the good dead Muslim has them, they are no longer virgins. So does he get an endless new supply? Or does he have to stick with the original virgins? Now that hardly seems fair. Do good dead Muslim women get virgins too? I sure would prefer a man with some experience. Or at least be allowed to keep the virgin long enough to teach him a thing or two about female anatomy.
Actually, I read somewhere that the more accurate translation for what’s been come to be known as the “reward of virgins” is a reward of some sort of delectable FRUIT. Being from Key West, this can take on all sorts of interesting connotations, but as it comes from a culture that beheads men who…I can’t help myself…give head…sorry…just plopped this blog into R rated valley of oblivion forever. But really, much more practical a reward for good clean Muslims, just not as enticing to young hot-blooded warriors who might be willing to suicide for glory and virgins but not for glory and fresh dates no matter how sweet n juicy.
But what I’m coming to realize is, it’s not WHAT you believe that matters, it’s THAT you believe. Believe in something. Ayn Rand may be one of our most notorious atheists, but she, in a way, worshiped the fully actualized creative potential in the free and fearless human spirit.
What was I saying, oh dear, tangent alert again.
Monday early morning I hear birdies, I may take advantage of early morning and sleep during day like smart tropical folks always have. Can you say siesta? Makes perfect sense.
To get a view of the forest.
Not just be mucking around in the trees. Not that I don’t need to zip down to the trees to take care of things. The trees are the details of my life, like taking my medications, making sure they don’t run out, keeping the lights on and water running, making sure I have at least one clean outfit to throw on before I make my semi-weekly foray out my front door and into civilization.
Oh, goddess, library. I have library books lost (I have the replacements) but they’ve been lost for over a year and the fees will bankrupt me. I feel like Al Bundy, you know the episode, where he had the most overdue book in the history of the Chicago Library? And he got nailed for trying to sneak it back on the shelf without paying the fine? Which was like $2,573.53?
do I dare???
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I mean, how far should tolerance extend? I eyeballed the family with the screaming child. They were ENCOURAGING the child (about 2 years old) to scream. Laughing back at him, responding as if he were communicating appropriately. I often watch wistfully European children in restaurants. They are not silent. They are animated and being paid attention to by the adults. They don’t have to shout. They are part of the conversation and this allows mutual respect and plain good manners. While Americans desperately try to appease their children so they’ll shut up and let the grown ups talk, or else take the whole table down to Pee-Wee’s Playhouse where the funnest thing is, when you hear the secret word, you SHOUT IT AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS.
But here’s the tricky part. My white liberal heart strings are tugged because the family happens to belong to a group of recent immigrants (Haitians) who are particularly low on the pecking order of pre-judgement, even in this relative oasis of tolerance, a city whose official motto is “One Human Family”. (Is it official? If bumper-sticker votes count, it’s a landslide. Although I myself must be a touch unique–beneath my “One Human Family” obligatory bumper-sticker on my Big Greenie Meanie Trash Can is a slightly hand-doctored sticker reading: “One Feline Family”)
NTS: Get a picture.
Also a color-coded system for tracking my ideas: Since Homeland Security doesn’t want their old color system, I’ll re-use it (how GREEN of me) and apply it to my writing so I know when I’m writing myself into the danger zone. Or when I simply need to be extra vigilant: BE ALERT for odd requests, like, asking to learn to FLY a commercial jet but no, we have no MONEY nor TIME to waste on learning how to TAKE off or LAND…cash. Done deal.
I just realized what I wrote: Be alert for ODD REQUESTS? In KEY WEST Florda?! ROTFLMAO!!
What would entail an odd request in Key West? A request for a snow shovel. A request for white bread. (We’re very artisan chic down here)
Spirit chose the topic for my book, and I’m sticking with it. So there.
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…gets you an annoyed flick or an amused click…go 4 it AnnaoAna