Belated commentaries

Sebastian has started citing exact numbers of days since my last post, so I decided I should answer his accusations by returning to the blogosphere.

I often accuse Seb of seeing the world through Obama colored lenses, but I have to say that Clinton is starting to poli-tick me off. I'm just now catching Tuesday's MSNBC debate online, and she consistently uses the same lines which, in my (slightly more) unbiased opinion, are only diverting the conversation from the field of relevance. But who can blame here? Obama's winning there.

For example, she throws a fit about Obama's (true) claims that she wants to mandate the purchase of health insurance and keeps spouting out the (less clearly true) "15 million" claim, talking about people Obama will leave out. Then when they start going back and forth, she keeps repeating irrelevant claims like "Obama mandates health insurance for children." To which he responds, "Um, yes, I do. End of story."

As for the friendly debate in Texas versus the crazy mudslinging over the weekend, all I can say is Clinton is going negative and she's going hard. And I really don't think it's helping her with undecideds. She might be galvanizing her own forces, but she's certainly not swaying anyone from Obama. And as for those who haven't made up their minds, well, they don't like negativity.

One more thing: Clinton complains that she keeps getting the first question in the debates. In the Texas debate, at least, there was a coin toss. Obama won. It's not just the media... Obama clearly has God on his side.

More posts likely to follow as I continue to watch this stuff.

From the journal

Life is random significance. Ordinary moments that give us an extraordinary glimpse into a deeper meaning. Solitary walks on a beach at sunset, long talks in the dimly lit chapel lounge, the perfect song playing on the radio or even a smile at just the right moment. That's when life means something. Sometimes it's someone else. Sometimes it's me and God. And sometimes it's just me in a dark parking lot on a rainy night, watching my own life like it's a movie playing through a mellow montage. I feel there is a language to life, but I only speak a few words. I can pick up the cues of when to laugh or when to be sad, but I know there is an exact meaning that I do not recognize. We use our limited sight and understanding to try to qualify this meaning, but we usually just come up with guesswork and rough approximation. I hope Heaven means we finally get to learn life's language... I would like nothing more than to spend years pouring over these hidden significances and half-glimpses to finally translate and comprehend them fully.

Wish I could say #01

To every church-related job, committee or scholarship application ever:

My faith journey is private. Mind your own damn business.

Bible lessons

The other night I told my host parents that anthropologists who study international power dynamics say that the United States is nearing the end of its hegemonic power and that there will be a new superpower within fifty years. My host mom replied, "But we know that's not true because the Bible tells us the United States will be the last great power before the end times."
Good point.

Skype is a funny thing. I don't think I'll ever stop making fun of the people who appear to be talking to their computers (and hearing responses). Especially when they say things like "You just shouldn't have gone to the bathroom."

I am a big fan of my new friends. Like John the fast-talking friendly guy from Wisconsin or Max the well-read political expert from New York. Or the one girl with long hair whose name I don't think I ever learned, but who I've known long enough that I shouldn't have to ask her name. I trust she doesn't read this.

A 6.7 earthquake rocked Mexico from Oaxaca to Veracruz this morning. Somehow it failed to wake me, and I remain highly disappointed.

Thinking

Nobody gives a crap. People only like happy people, and the moment you hint that you might not be they disappear like the roaches in the kitchen when I turn on the light.

This is why I'm not a real person anymore. Real people suck. Isn't it so much more fun to pretend there's cake underneath all that frosting?

There's not. You're just going to get cancer from all the aspartame.

Also, the word "interesting" is my new least favorite word. It can be used for good, but when substituted for a complete sentence it usually makes me want to punch people in the mouth.

Do you care?

No.

Coming out

I've decided to publicize something I've been more or less willing to tell most people for quite some time, but which might keep me from getting future positions with the Church of the Brethren.

I am a Universalist.

I still consider myself a Christian, because Christianity is the finite language I learned to use to express an infinite God. It is true to me in the same way that English is true to me - It's my first language and it's definitely not wrong, but neither is it the only way to express a concept. I will tell stories from Christian tradition and use thoughts from Christian thought because they hold a relative truth that is true to me. Whether or not they are literally true is, in my opinion, irrelevant.

By most peoples' understanding, then, I am not a Christian. I've pretty much been keeping that from the Church because I've been afraid it could affect my job opportunities in the future, but for some reason today I just got fed up with letting people assume things about me that aren't really true.

I've learned that whatever I say here often manages to get spread around, so by writing this I am officially declaring that I am, I suppose, "out of the closet" as not being a "real" Christian. And whether or not anyone important in the Church actually gets a peep at this, it feels good to get that off my chest.

I'm probably not going to get some high-level job in the COB. Sorry, Dad.

Huelga! Huelga!

I have been in Xalapa since Monday night and have yet to attend class. University classes are set to start up either the 12th or 18th (even Rob isn't sure), while classes at the School for Foreign Students (EEE) were to start today, with registration and testing and such taking place over the last couple days. However, the entire university is on strike, and the entrances to all UV buildings are blockaded.

As such, I have been spending a lot of time doing next to nothing.

Last night Sara Beth and I dragged Mark and Shawn, two of our Canadian compañeros from last semester, to a bar with a large part of our BCA group to watch the US vs. Mexico soccer match. Knowing our record of winning handily, I convinced Mark to put 50 pesos on Mexico. This would be the year they manage to bring the game to a tie.

It's all for the best. As we lead 2-1 going into the second half, it suddenly occurred to me that we were conspicuously American, sitting in a bar entirely surrounded by drunk and rowdy Mexicans, watching a game between our team and theirs. By the end of the night I was rooting loudly for Mexico, hoping it would save my life later. They all seemed pretty happy with the tie, though, so all was well.

After that I allowed myself to be dragged kicking and screaming to Boulevard 93, a terribly noisy, pricey, elitist and generally awful club. I did get to spend some time with a couple of friends I hadn't seen in a while, but when the moment presented itself (someone being too drunk to be trusted to get herself home) I grabbed my coat and tore out of there like... well, like me out of a club. Our taxi driver didn't seem too amused when she threw up all over his back seat, but he was a pretty good sport about it, considering. He charged her extra for the clean-up and told me that he would still probably lose out on the venture. As payment, I allowed him to over-charge me when we got to my house (it was not a 25 peso drive) and didn't say a word.

I still don't know what's going on today/tonight, if anything. I'm content to read a book or watch some TV, personally.

Peace.

Hey Casey... you know what's really funny?

I intended to make this post with pictures, but since I no longer have a computer that's just too difficult. But there is a fantastic story that must be told.
Last weekend the BCA group went to Mexico City for the day with plans to visit La Casa Azul (the home of Frida Calo), the National Museum of Anthropology, and a bullfight. Stage B is where things started to get interesting.
We bought our tickets and entered the museum, but between the ticket area and the actual museum is a large courtyard of sorts with a sort of fountain/waterfall that forms a circular sheet of water around a pillar in the center. It looked like just the sort of fountain in which children love to run and play, and since Casey and I are totally children, we decided to do just that. I mean, it really looked like the sort of fountain that's designed for people to run through.
We unloaded ourselves of paper and electronics and sprinted through. FOOSH! through the first sheet of water into the eye of the storm, FOOSH! through the second sheet, and we were in the clear. And wet. And laughing hysterically. And a little cold. As we made our way back to our compañeros, we were waylaid by an angry-faced security guard.
"You have to leave," he said (in Spanish, of course).
"Is that not allowed?" I asked. "I'm sorry, we didn't realize."
"You have to leave," he repeated.
"Can I at least get my things from my friend?"
"No, you have to leave."
"Yes, but I need to get my things from my friend. She's holding them for me."
"You can't enter. You have to leave."
Realizing that this conversation was going nowhere, I decided to just do it anyway. So I walked over to Sara Beth, collected my things, and allowed myself to be escorted out of the building. As we were all but shoved out the door, we heard the guard tell the other guard at the door that we were not to be allowed back into the building.
And that is how Casey and I got kicked out of the National Anthropology Museum before we even got in.