Will the real Jesus please send me a Jag?

I got a new mailing from Saint Matthew's Church! I tried to discourage them the first time by sending back their "we'll pay for this, just send us money" envelope with a note on the donation form telling them I wasn't interested and they shouldn't bother sending me more (it may have said "Get me off your mailing list.") But no, they sent me their special "book," their Biblical Seed Harvest Plan, which is the size and shape of a Reader's Digest and filled with stories about and letters from people who followed the seed plan: whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. I couldn't read the entire thing, it was so repetitive, so I flipped rather randomly through it. With the infrequent exception of someone who sent money to this church and asked for prayers for her or a family member's health, most of the people quoted had asked for wealth of some kind - usually homes and cars. (My favorite was the woman who asked that members of St. Matthew's pray for her to receive a Lincoln, which she now owns - presumably because God prefers to provide stylin' rides.) I'm pretty sure Gal 6:7 is meant to be Golden Rule-ish, and is not a blueprint for churches to suck money out of the desperate, old, sick, and/or stupid.

The new mailing included two different pictures of Jeebus, and Scooter thinks they're not the same person:





I think it's hard to tell, but he could be on to something. Then again, maybe Jeebus just got a body wave before the second portrait.

Two things stand out in this mailing. Someone from Virginia wrote that "Some time ago I wrote to ask you to pray for me to get a home and a car...now, I HAVE RECEIVED THE HOUSE AND CAR...please pray for me and my family...please send me another [Biblical Seed Harvest Plan], I have used the other one up." Send me more magic wish coupons, I needs me a Harley!

And then there's this, at the top of their letter to me:



Translation: You haven't sent us any money, and we can't fathom why that is...perhaps you hate wealth? We're sending you another crappy, boring, poorly produced "book," and you should hurry up and send us money before God runs out of cash!

So I'll send back the postcard they enclosed - make 'em pay whatever the postcard postage is. They gave me space to write my first name, middle initial, and last name, in those neat little boxes, so I wrote NOT F INTERESTED. They can pray for insight into the middle initial. I look forward to my second copy of the Biblical Harvest Seed Plan.

Toddler Bliss is a New Pool

(On a sunny day.)

It's Shelley Duvall's Fault

If Scooter and I hadn't watched Darkness, (horrible, horrible, weakly written horror flick that deserved the 3% rating it got), we wouldn't have been comparing it to The Shining, which it clearly wanted to be, (Dad coming through the broken door, possessed by something, little boy sees dead kids in the hallway), and would not therefore have been stuck trying to get Shelley Duvall's name off the tip of my tongue and into my brain. (Isn't that a Billy Ocean song?) Yeah, the Netflix teaser states that the film is a "nail-biting exercise in supernatural horror," but I bit my nails only because I was bored and annoyed that I was that bored during a supposedly scary movie.

I finally got up to go take half an ambien (not good, running out) before my window on that option closed (Eryn up at 7:00, Mommy drugged sleepy; she might get strawberry instead of chocolate milk and then all hell would break loose. If I can believe what that entails based on Darkness, it will take me forever to wash the blood of my cooking range once I really wake up.) Of course, as soon as I made the decision to take the sedative/hypnotic, I remembered Shelley's last name, but I was up, now.

Fortunately, we have Alone in the Dark, with its stellar rating, coming up in our queue. I have a tough time believing it will be 3 times worse than Darkness. Really, even on the Bad Movie Scale (where Scooter gives most snake movies in Sci-Fi a "3,") this one was a 1.

Recognition

Eryn and I were at the library today, and she took off ahead of me to visit the big Peef the bear that sits in part of the kids' section, but she detoured into one of the aisles. I found her, already up on a step stool, hauling a book off the third shelf up, yelling excitedly "Aunt Shannon's book! Aunt Shannon's book!"



Link to Aunt Shannon's 17 other books.

And a further link to books written by Shannon Knudsen. (You out there, KK?)

Um,

Why would anyone make this?


(Found at planetdan.)

Dilemma

Okay, this is annoying. I have my eye on this office building that is going up, essentially in my neighborhood, as a potential place to open my therapy practice this fall. Look, it's nice:



It's intriguing because it's so close to where I live, and because the fact that it's being built now means (according to the website) that they'll customize a space for me. Perfect. So I called the number on the sign in front of the building and discovered it's being built by Manley Brothers Construction. So? So, the Manleys gave as much money as they are allowed to give to W in the last election, and one of them drives around in a Humvee with a "Manley" license plate.

All right, so my issue with Humvees isn't based on anything more than thinking it's obnoxious to drive around in a vehicle that screams "conspicuous consumption," but the campaign contributions bother me. Scooter put it this way: if I rent there, I'll be contributing to the personal fortunes of people who financially assist people who keep sending other people to fight in ridiculous wars, thereby ensuring myself a client base. There are lots of office buildings around, and maybe I have to pick one that isn't quite so pretty or quite so close to my home in order not to violate the principle that prevents Scooter and me from shopping at Walmart. It's easier with Walmart, because Walmart sucks, and we didn't go there much anyway, (but once we knew the executives' contribution behaviors, we chose not to go there, ever, even if it was convenient in the moment).

Pretty building. Dang Manleys.

Can't Blog

Playing War! Age of Imperlialism. It's Scooter's fault.

Say...Cheese?

I woke up very early this morning (meaning, the middle of the blasted night) with this word resounding in my head: marscapone. No associated dream imagery, nothing at all connected to it, just: marscapone. It was so weird, it woke me up more than it probably should have, and then I had trouble getting back to sleep. Every time I began to drift off, I heard it again: marscapone.

I can think of better uses of dream time. Really, I can.

Literary Genius

One evening this week, I was flipping through channels vainly searching for something entertaining enough to watch, and I landed on Stacked. (Uh, gag me.) I was there just long enough to hear this exchange:

Lame Guy: If you say "sex" one more time--
Skyler (Pamela Anderson): Sex!
Lame Guy: Skyler--
Skyler: Boobies!

Ah, yes, the intellectual stimulation.

I read a book.

Tired of Thinking for Yourself?

Then slap one of these on your car!



This has to be a hoax. Right? Please?

You know how property values automatically drop when, say, a kid on the block gets a dirt bike for his birthday? I'm thinking there's a corresponding effect with these car magnets and IQ points.

Monty Python on the West Bank

Adam Felber is pretty damn funny.

Best Shot of Eryn in a While

Freedom is on the March

Unless, you know, your church doesn't like your voting habits. Then you're screwed, because once you get kicked out of a church, you're going to Hell for sure.