Christian indoctrination

Posted on March 4, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

I’m not going to delve too deeply into this because I don’t want to offend anybody. It’s sensitive stuff and I don’t want to hit any raw nerves.

I attended a parochial elementary school but left the church when I became an adult. There are many Catholic teachings that I disagree with and I gradually distanced myself. It took a long time, but I found that Buddhist teachings speak to me in a way that Christianity never did. No disrespect meant to my Christian brothers and sisters.

Mrs. Wife takes The Daughters to church every Sunday. Because she attends a public school, 8-Year Old Daughter also participates in a religious education class 1x per week at the church. Although I’ve rejected Catholicism, I think it’s a good idea to get the kiddies involved in church. It’ll stimulate the idea of spirituality and make them feel part of a community. Later in life, I’ll make my feelings known and they can either embrace what they’ve been taught or reject it (as I did). That’s how my mom ran the show and I approve. Aside from that, it’s important to Mrs. Wife and, hence, it’s important to me.

These…

…are Silly Bands. All the cool kids are wearing them. They’re rubber bands (elastics) in fun shapes that are worn on the wrist, 20-25 at a time. My daughters gave me these two because they know how much I love music and how much I love to abuse my guitar.* I wear them on my right wrist and will probably never take them off.

8-Year Old Daughter has a few Silly Bands that are shaped into Christian icons. Angels. Crosses. Crowns (i.e., King of Kings). I saw one that was shaped into a white apple with a bite taken out of it and said, “Oh, that’s the logo for Apple Computers!” She said, “No, Dad, that’s an apple to remind us that we are all sinners.

I was taken aback. Stunned. It made me so sad. I hate it that my pure, innocent little 8-year old girl is having that “you’re a sinner in God’s eyes” shit pumped into her head. To me, it’s the dark side of what she’s being taught. You tear ‘em down to build ‘em up. It’s what I went through in boot camp. It’s the oldest method in the book.

* * *

Hell is other people.
Jean-Paul Sartre

Hell is a dead cell phone jammer.
The Unbearable Banishment
* My all-time favorite critique regarding my abilities as a musician: Daughter opens the door, pokes her head in and says, “Dad. We can’t hear the TV. You’re playing too loud.”

Central Park snowstorm photo blast

Posted on March 2, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

It has since turned into a blackened, half-melted mess, but last weekend a fresh blanket of snow fell on Central Park. Here are a few indulgent photos.

The stone bridge near the 59th St. + 5th Ave. entrance.

This snowman is from the Tim Burton school of design. The eyes are pitch black and set deep into the snowman’s head.

Miró. In the snow. [Ha. See what I did there?]

More snowmen. Clearly, these were made by adults.

A wedding. I like her shoes.

The elegant Plaza Hotel.

I like the contrast between the bottom half of this photo, with its natural beauty, and the top half, which couldn’t be more urban.

Yes, the snowgirl has nipples.

The quality of his playing didn’t seem to be compromised by his cold hands. He told me he picked up a violin just seven years ago and taught himself how to play. He was pretty good!

Who hacked off Christopher Walken’s hand?

Posted on March 1, 2010 by Exile on Pain Street

When he was 17 years old and living in Spokane, four “hillbillies” grabbed him and, for no apparent reason, held his arm down on a railroad track. A freight train came by and amputated his hand. The hillbillies took the hand with them and used it to wave good bye.

He spent the next 47 years looking for his hand and those four hillbillies. He eventually found the hillbillies and removed their faces, but he could never find his hand. He knew it was folly to look for it—it couldn’t be reattached—but it was his and he wanted it back.

Photo: Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

A girl and a boy, young street hustlers, said they know where his hand is. They want $500 for it. The three meet in a seedy hotel room to exchange the cash for the hand.

This, believe it or not, is a comedy. And a damn funny one, at that.

Behanding-in-Spokane Irish genius playwright and lunatic Martin McDonagh’s new play is A Behanding in Spokane. The four actors are all fine but Christopher Walken gives one of the most enjoyable performances I’ve ever seen. Ever. The play really comes alive when he’s on stage. When he delivers his lines, with his wonderful invented cadence, you hang on and absorb every word. His comedic timing is impeccable, but he can switch to sinister in a split second. Towards the end of the play there’s a dialog between Sam Rockwell and Walken (Walken pointing a gun at Rockwell) that works so beautifully that I wish I could sit through it again.

The play unfolds in real time. It’s an interesting device that I can’t recall ever seeing before. What other play has done that? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Like all of McDonagh’s plays, this isn’t for the general masses. It’s violent and profane and I wouldn’t recommend it for everyone, but there are a few people I’d love to drag in to see this. [Mr. Jimmy, consider this an open invitation if you and Mrs. Hen happen to be in town. My treat.]

I saw McDonaugh’s last play, The Pillowman, which is also a black comedy. That one is about a child murderer and torture. The audience was filled with unsuspecting innocents who hadn’t done their homework. It starred Billy Crudup and Jeff Goldblum and I think a lot of tourists thought it would be a big thrill to see some movie stars in a play. You should have seen the looks on their faces when they exited the theater. They looked like they just got mugged. Not all theater is sissy stuff.