Man Martin's Blog, page 127

Out-Takes of Transcendent Goodness

For in this wise, thou mayest collect time-and-a-half for overtimeTwo Buddhist monks came upon a woman standing at a riverbank.  She explained she needed to get home, but couldn't because the bridge was out.  The elder monk knelt and signaled the younger to do likewise, and so letting the woman climb on their backs, they carried her across the river.  The monks went on their way, and after a while, the younger monk said, "You know we are forbidden to touch a woman, and yet you had us carry across the river.  Why?"  The elder answered with a question, "Did you get a load of the jugs on her?"

Jesus told the multitude, "If someone has thee go a mile with him, go two miles.  For in this wise thou mayest collect time-and-a-half for overtime, plus a mileage allowance of twenty-five cents, not to mention the depreciation on your sandals.  It all adds up."

"Nonviolence is a powerful and just weapon," said Martin Luther King.  "It cuts without wounding and ennobles the man who wields it.  It is a sword that heals.  And if it doesn't work, you can always kick their butts later."

A poor man was driven to steal silverware from a priest.  When apprehended by the police, he claimed the priest had given it to him.  The police took the culprit back to the priest and asked, "Did you give this man your valuable silverware?"  "Why, yes, I did," responded the priest without missing a beat.  "And in fact," the priest stepped into the house and returned a moment later with two valuable silver candlesticks, "I wanted him to have these as well."  He bonked the thief on the head with the candlesticks and knocked him down and said, "Now give me back my stuff then toss this crooked bastard in jail and throw away the key."

Obnoxious Noise Awards: Commuter Division

Here are this year's nominees.  The winner will be selected by popular vote, so make your choice today!

Snurrk-snurkk-snurrrk: Sick child in subway train suctioning mucus back up into nasal cavity.

Screeee: Car greatly in need of brake pads coming to a full stop right behind you.

Wump-wumpa-wumpa-wump. Wump-wumpa-wumpa-wump: Audiophile with car radio volume and bass on max, sharing his back-beat with the rest of us.

Blamp-blamp: Idiot leaning on car horn as if grid lock would be remedied by a reminder to go.

Snappy Comebacks for Jeff Zwelling

Jeff Zwelling, CEO and cofounder of Convertro, a provider of marketing and advertising measurement, says he often turns to unique, and sometimes tricky, questions during job interviews so that he can get a better sense of who the candidate is.  For example, in the middle of the conversation, he often throws in this curveball math question: A hammer and a nail cost $1.10, and the hammer costs one dollar more than the nail. How much does the nail cost? - Jaquelyn Smith, Business Insider:I think you have much bigger problems if you buy nails one at a time.Good question.  Now here's one for you.  If there are four billion pompous assholes on the planet, and I kill one right now, how many would be left?Ooh goody!  A job solving third-grade math problems.  I thought I'd have to work.Is this a sneaky way of finding out if I'm gay?My last job interview they asked me what kind of animal I'd like to be.I've been unemployed for the last year and I'm willing to work for anyone.  But you.

Help! My Face Pareidolia Has Gone Haywire

Victoria Woollaston Daily Mail: Have you ever seen Jesus’ face on a piece of toast, or a vision of Elvis in your coffee? Don’t worry, it’s a perfectly normal reaction, according to a new study.  Seeing faces in inanimate objects is known as face pareidolia and although the phenomenon is common, little has been known about why it happens, until now.  Researchers in Canada analysed brain responses to seeing faces in patterns and discovered the recognition occurs in the frontal and visual cortex.
For years I've been one of those guys who'd see faces everywhere he looked.  A potato that was a dead-ringer for Spiro Agnew, a corn wart that reminded me of Miley Cyrus.  It was especially pronounced with toast: Jesus Christ in a piece of toast, David Hasselhoff on a piece of toast, Elvis Presley on a piece of toast.  "No worries," I thought, "that's just plain old Paredolia.  Lots of people have that."
But then it started to spread.  The dishwasher made a sound exactly like Ellen Degeneres.  And she was saying things.  Not bad things, nothing like telling me to go start fires.  Really it was mostly very upbeat and encouraging.  Occasionally, she'd tell me about the next guest or make a topical joke.  Then my car started doing it.  You know how after you turn off the engine, it makes this ticking sound as it cools?  Well, that began to sound just like President Obama.  Like the way he'll pause in the middle of a sentence as he weighs the exact precise word he wants to use next?  That's exactly how the ticking is - as it slows down, it's Obama pausing to grasp for the next word.  "The situation... in Crimea... can only be... ameliorated... if we..."  And at that point, the engine will stop talking (ticking) altogether.  It drives me crazy!
I thought I was having a breakdown.  The only way I could calm myself was running the dishwasher, because I always found Ellen Degeneres kind of soothing, or else I'd watch old Charlie Brown cartoons.  You know how the adults in those things talk in series of flat horn blatts that aren't even words?  Well, I can understand them now, and I tell you, those Charlie Brown teachers have some important things to tell us.  They're profound.
But that's not all.  I no longer just see faces in toast.  I now see toast in faces.  And it's not just toast, it's all kinds of breakfast bread products.  I've got a coworker that I see as a croissant instead of a human being.  I swear, there's another one who's a cinnamon raisin bagel.  And when I go to Church, Jesus' face looks like toast.  It looks like toast that looks like Elvis.  And then the hymn turns into "You Ain't Nothin' but a Hound Dog," and the incense smells like burning toast.  And Ellen Degeneres on TV has started sounding like a ringtone.  And the ringtone sounds like Sarah Palin.  And Sarah Palin is telling me I'm out of bread.  
Please, can someone help me.

Proving the Existence of God

No less a philosopher than Kierkegaard said the existence of God cannot be proven, and it seems hubristic even to attempt it; nevertheless, here goes.

It seems to me that when someone says he doesn't believe in God, what he really means is, he doesn't believe in a specific god.  For example, he doesn't believe there's a guy with a long white beard sitting on a golden throne, which is somehow perched on a cloud, and that he spends his time telling people to go to hell.  Well, that's okay, because I don't believe in that god either.  There's lots of gods I don't believe in.  For instance, I don't particularly believe in Odin or Zeus or Poseidon.

But without specifying whether God has toenails or what God's opinions are regarding the afterlife or Obamacare, we can have a workable definition if we simply say God is the supreme being, and leave it at that.  Surely there is a supreme being, right?  At any moment in your life, there is one thing, or principle, or something that takes precedence over all else.

Of course, for different people, the Supreme Being, God, is different things.  Who can deny that for some people, the Supreme Being is Money?  Or Fame?  Or Self?  I believe that for Marxists, if any still exist, the Supreme Being is the Future or maybe History.  It shouldn't surprise us that people have different gods at different times.  There have been times, and I'm not proud to admit it, my Supreme Being, my God, was my own belly.  I was so hungry, or thought I was, I set aside all good-will and human-feeling until I could cram some damn grub down my gullet.  Nancy and I once knew a teenager in the grip of bulimia.  I say "grip" because no one who knew her could help but see she was in the fist of a dark and invisible god.

Maybe that's true of all addictions.  Addicts are people who serve gods of heroin or alcohol or meth or whatever.  But you don't have to be an addict to acknowledge, by your actions if not your words, that for you there is a Supreme Being.  It's like that old Dylan Tune, "You got to serve somebody."

So what is the Supreme Being for an atheist?  I've thought about it, and I hope my fellow theists won't be offended, but I believe their Supreme Being must be Truth.  That has to be it, right?  Being an atheist takes effort; the path of least resistance is believing in a skim-milk kind of way, because everyone says so, and it's no skin off your nose one way or the other.  A lot of people believe in God that way, and I have less in common with them than the most adamant nonbeliever on the planet.  But an atheist has to think about it.  She has to weigh the evidence and accept the answer she comes up with.  And being an atheist publicly, even today, entails social friction.  Why would anyone go to the bother and inconvenience of being an atheist unless there were something bigger at stake, Truth.  The atheist has said, "I will seek the truth and speak the truth even at my own cost."  Clearly for them, Truth is the Supreme Being.

And truth to tell, Truth is not such a bad God to have.  It's certainly a lot nobler and finer than some other gods I've named.  I would be be a nobler and finer person if I served Truth more faithfully myself.  But as good a God as Truth is, I think I have a better one: Love.  What if John had it right, God is Love?  What if when we turn toward Love, we're turning toward God, and when we turn away from Love, we turn away from God?  Of course, we may not know as much about Love as we think, just as atheists may not know as much about Truth, but what if, at the end of the day, God is Love, and it was just that simple?

Maybe it is.

The Proud New Curriculum

CHEYENNE, Wyo. (AP) — Wyoming, the nation's top coal-producing state, is the first to reject new K-12 science standards proposed by national education groups mainly because of global warming components...Board President Ron Micheli said the review will look into whether "we can't get some standards that are Wyoming standards and standards we all can be proud of."In the new Geography Curriculum adopted by Rhode Island, it turns out Rhode Island is the largest state in the Union.  "I was always told I lived in a little puny state," says Bobby Mitchell, 11.  "But now I learn that Rhode Island is huge.  On the map, it's almost as big as the whole rest of the country put together.  I sure am glad I live here and not some wimpy little place like Texas or Alaska."Utah's new History Curriculum corrects the mistaken notion that George Washington was the nation's first president.  "Actually," says Governor Gary Herbert, "the first president was Joseph Smith."  Smith, the founder of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, commonly known as the Mormons, also discovered America and was the first man to walk on the moon, according to the new curriculum.Georgia is one of several states developing new standards to dispel the calumny of the so-called "Trail of Tears."  "What we should call it," says Mudridge County school board chair Bobby "Bubba" Meeks, "is the Trail of Happy Faces or the Trail of It's-OK-with-Me-I-Was-Planning-to-Go-Anyway."The Righteous Sword of Christ Preparatory Academy, a private K-12 school, has rejected any math standards connected with Arabic numerals.  "All that stuff's Muslim," Pastor Headmaster Freddy Faster explains.  "It's proved in the Bible.  And algebra's even worse.  Ciphering's bad enough without throwing a bunch of letters in there.  From now on, all the counting they got to do they can do on their fingers like God gave them."  In the new curriculum, girls will be able to add and count up to twenty, and boys to twenty-one.

If "Metamorphisis" Had Been Written By an MFA Student

One morning, 7:30 judging by the hands of the clock, one of which, the longer and thinner, pointed at the six, and the other, the shorter and fatter - though really, was it fatter, or did it just appear fatter because it was short? (Like poor Masha, Gregor thought sadly) was halfway between the 7 and 8, which was appropriate, because the time was also between 7 and 8, which he had no reason to think would be inaccurate, having wound it the night before, although he hadn't really wound the clock, he'd wound the key and carefully kept the clock still, just as his father, a used-shoe salesman, had advised him, "Wind the key, little Gregor, and hold the clock still," he always pronounced "wind" "vind," because he was from Leipzig, and "key" "wugamunk" because he was an idiot, but Gregor didn't mind, because it was his father and he loved him, and from the bed Gregor stopped looking at the clock, which was on the nightstand, and looked at the ceiling which was overhead, and was just like the floor except in the other direction, and then out the window which was placed on one of the walls, but not the wall leading into the hallway, but the wall that pointed outside, so he could see the sky or would have been able to see the sky except the curtain was down, and besides which, he wasn't looking out the window but still at the ceiling, or no, wait, it was the floor now, because he'd rolled over, and discovered he'd turned into a giant cockroach.

Rushing the Okra

Years ago, I began teaching myself to do magic tricks.  I think it had to do with having daughters, that I felt a few magic tricks was a skill I should have.  My pal Offut sums up my abilities this way, "he's too clumsy and rushy."  Rushy, the quibbler will say, is not a word in Websters, but Offut has me pegged.  I'm too fast, I want to get to the moment where - hey, presto! - there's a coin behind your ear.

The reason I bring this up is that Nancy and I planted okra.  And it all died.  The reason is the same reason I'm such a lousy magician.  We rushed it.  The ground wasn't warm enough, and the okra died.

We couldn't help it.  We make the same mistake every year.  We rush it.  But, to repeat myself, we just can't help it.  We plant stuff too soon, and then we have to plant it all over again.  But can you blame us?  Gardening is the ultimate magic trick.

Hocus Pocus - Yellow Crocus!

How to Become a Fiction Writer

The first step to becoming a fiction writer is pretending to be one.  Pretend to be distracted all the time by ideas and story-lines.  Never talk about "writing," always refer to it as "the craft."  Carry a little notebook with you, and pretend to jot things down in it.  It's not enough, though, to pretend to come up with stories and characters, you have to pretend to set aside time to write. Pretend to find a quiet time or secluded spot where you "won't be disturbed."  Now you can pretend to work.  This is where the pretend magic begins.

Pretend to write something down and then pretend to read over it.  Pretend to edit and revise.  This will give you something to pretend to think about the rest of the day when you should be doing other things.

After you've pretended to write an entire story, you can pretend to look for places to publish it.  Pretend to submit it.  Pretend to be disappointed by rejection, and pretend to keep trying.  One day you can pretend to be published.

That's how you become a fiction writer.  Your first fictional creation is yourself.

Asking Directions

There are many men who are afraid to ask directions.  Not me.  Sometimes, if I'm desperately, hopelessly lost I won't bother asking directions.  I figure the people around me won't have any better idea than I do.  It'd be like wandering down Peachtree Street saying, "Do you know how I get to Paraguay?"  But if I'm lost in just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill way, I'll ask directions without skipping a beat.

This ability to boldly step forward and announce my incompetence to a complete stranger is very impressive.  "I wonder where Forsythe and Klondike is?" someone in the car will say.  "Let's ask that hirsute gentleman with the sign reading 'Dead puppy's 4 sale," I suggest, and my companions fall into an awed silence.  How self-assured he must be, they think, how confident and unafraid of the world's opinion to so reveal his vulnerability!

Not at all.

The fact is, I've been lost so many times, asking directions is mother's milk to me.  I ask directions before leaving the house; it's nothing for me to go up to a clerk and say, "Where's the almond milk?" and he'll come right back and say, "Try Kroger.  This is the hardware store."

In short, this weakness has made me a better human being.

Now with GPS, of course, I don't need to ask directions.  The GPS gives them to me.  Whether I want them or not.  "Shut up, GPS!" I will cry.  "I know where I am now!"  The younger generation, growing up with GPS will not know what it is to be lost.  They will never have to face the incredulous contempt of a stranger when asking the location of the Disney Princess Outlet Store.  I pity them.