El Gringoqueño

All a man needs out of life is a place to sit ‘n’ spit in the fire.

Page 36 of 51

The Big One: Sin

November 16, 2005 /

I: (Clapping)  Welcome back to our show.  We’ve got a real doozy scheduled here today.  Since it’s November sweeps, we’re finally going to have the show that you’ve all been waiting for.  Jesus is here to give us the low down on what the bad stuff is?

J: What would that be?

I: Why, sin, of course.

J: Oh, that.

I: So, Jesus, would you like to tell us what it’s all about?  What is sin?  What are we not allowed to do?  What do you consider bad stuff?

J: Hmm.  Well, you’re all sinners, and you’ll never hope to not be.  Got it?  Okay, good, that’s our show.

I: (sweating) Umm, Jesus, don’t you have any more than that?  We’ve got a half hour to fill here.  I thought there would be more.

J: (smiling)  A-ha, gotcha.  I had you going there, didn’t I?  Sorry, that’s my slightly impish human side coming out.  Sorry, really, I’m sorry, but there’s some truth to what I just said.  Sin is simple, and there’s nothing necessarily wrong with it, in that it is a state from which there is no possible escape.  Sin is your natural state of being.

Now, before everybody despairs, I just want to say, it’s okay.  The test is graded on a curve.  Sin is relative.  Since nobody is perfect, everybody is imperfect, and since everybody is imperfect, you only have to do the best you can.

So what is the best I can?

I: That’s what we all want to hear.

J: I got an email the other day.  It’s pretty typical, really.  It’s one of the multitudes of morally righteous, outraged, “Our society is going to hell in a hand-basket if we don’t corral these wicked people”  style diatribes.  The basis of the email was indignation at the Georgia Tech’s hosting of some sort of Gay and Lesbian fair.  It detailed all the typical propaganda points of distasteful ways in which this group of society lives its life:  Anal sex, condom use, partners, piercings, flamboyant dress, everything that could possibly offend the conservative portions of society about how “bad” and “evil” and “distasteful” these people are.  It detailed how superior are the good and God-fearing among you.  How could you not be good?  You’re offended by this perversion.  Bravo, you are special.

I: I’m sensing sarcasm.

J: You bet your sweet ass!  Nothing irritates me more than this form of moral superiority.  Look how bad and corrupt these people are.  Look how great and good and pure I am because I’m not doing those things.  In fact, I’m defending the “righteous” way, but telling everyone how bad these people are and warning them to not send their children to such a corrupt and despicable school.  Imagine, trying to understand our fellow humans, bridge a cultural gap, and bring one another closer in brotherhood.  The nerve.

No, sin, is a state in which you all live.  It’s not bad per say, but sin is something that refers to a lost opportunity, a  lost opportunity to do something good, not not doing something bad.  Purity isn’t abstinence.  Purity isn’t temperance.  Purity isn’t what you don’t do.

Example:  instead of judging gays and lesbians and any “other” that offends you, why don’t you go with love and get to know them?  A lot of people in this outcast community live difficult lives.  They either have to hide who they are, or live it out in the open, in your face style.  They are starved for love and acceptance and have been burned so many times they attempt to beat you to the punch, so to speak.  I reject you before you reject me.

Why not do the contrary thing?  You are trying to offend me, but I love you anyway.  I accept you.  Let’s find common ground.

Sure, a promiscuous lifestyle isn’t very good for you, health-wise or emotionally, but neither is being fat, an alcoholic, or intolerant.  Sin is the thing over which you trip, but not tripping in an of itself isn’t the point.  Show me a person who never tripped in his life, and I’ll show you someone who didn’t do anything.  I’ll show you a person who wasted his life.  Now that is what really offends me.

Want to know what offends me?  Go to church every Sunday, live a quiet comfortable life without offending anyone, without helping anyone, without taking any risks.  Live a good life of piety and with the self-satisfaction that you are a “good” person because you’ve done no wrong.  That offends me.  Bigtime.

Show me a gay man who has gay sex with his partner and marches in a gay pride parade and works in the Mission District of San Francisco in his free time, who fights for the rights of AIDs infected children to be adopted by loving gay couples, who is kind to strangers and invites them into his home, and I’ll show you someone who’s doing what he should be doing.  He loves his significant other.  He’s committed to love and  inspired by it to reach out to others and help them.  He doesn’t worry about himself and what people will think, or what the laws say about his rights with his significant other, or what laws say about gay couples adopting, or the multitudes of slights both big and small that he has to deal with every day by virtue of being a minority.  Does he have love in his heart?  Yes?  Well then, forget the fact that his lifestyle offends you.  Get over it.  It doesn’t bother me, why should it bother you?

I: But, Jesus, not to disagree with you, but are there some things that are absolutely right and absolutely wrong?  I mean isn’t moral relativism the slippery slope to decay and decadence and ultimate destruction?

J: (big booming God voice) Yey, verily, I shall rain fire and brimstone upon your sinful cities and wipe them from the face of the earthly kingdom.  I shall purge your wickedness so that I may be satisfied.

I: (silence)

J: (haha) Got you again.  *reaches for the bowl of cocktail nuts and pops a few* No, dude, that’s Old Testament stuff.  *munching* Look, the Divine Creator got a good healthy dose and appreciation of sin when he sent me.  Dad, just couldn’t figure out why you guys keep running around in the dark beating on each other when you were scared.  He said to me once, ‘Son, I created them.  I used the universe to breathe life into that which was devoid.  They didn’t have any right to exist, but I gave them a gift.  Why do they wail and gnash their teeth so?  Why do they not give thanks to the cosmos for birthing them?  Why does this not inspire them to greatness?’

And I said, ‘Dad, you don’t understand sin, do you?  I think I need to experience what the universe is through their eyes.  I need to feel their pain, their doubt, their limited state of being.’

So, I did.  I experienced it all: doubt, fear, and death.  I think I get what it’s like, which is why I’m here today.  Don’t worry about sin.  It’s your perpetual state of being.  It’s simply a condition under which you all live.  If it is a universal constant to the human condition, that is, it applies to EVERYONE, it is irrelevant.  Sin doesn’t matter.  Forget about it.

So, parents, if you want the best for your children or yourselves, embrace those that offend you.  Get to know them, take the opportunity to share in love with those that might be having a tough time.  Purity isn’t “not drinking” “not having sex before marriage” “not doing drugs” “going to church” and “not being gay.”  What I want for you is for you to be honest with yourselves and try as hard as you can to love the other no matter how much they offend you.

Love them EVEN when they are trying to kill you.  I mean, really really really LOVE them.  Feel it down in your bones, not as a sacrifice, but as a joy.  When I got nailed to that cross and I said, “forgive them Father for they know not what they do.”  I wasn’t saying that for my sake, like, ‘Look how holy I am, I can forgive those that would kill me.’  No, I was making a plea to the Father for them to feel just for a brief instant in their lives the love I felt for them at that moment.  For if they could feel it just for a second, if they could feel the rapture of it all, then they would realize that sin is irrelevant, and that before they got to know me, their lives were wasted on fear and hate and idle gossip, pettiness, and intolerance.  If they could have just for a second accepted that love and allowed themselves to be remade by it, then there would be no thing too hard, no mission too difficult, and nothing in the universe that did not bring them joy.

Peace out, my brothers and sisters.  I love you ALL.

Jesus on Steroids

October 30, 2005 /

I: Welcome back everyone.  We’re here with Jesus in our studio for our continued discussion on topics of the day.  He’s agreed to speak candidly with us on a variety of subjects.  So, without any other introduction, let’s begin shall well?

J: Sounds good to me.  Lovely to be back.

I: Lots of things have changed since back in the day.

J: Yeah, why back in my day, we didn’t have all this stuff that you have today.

I: Do you think the nature of sin has changed much?  I mean, are we tripping over the same stuff that we tripped over before.

J: Well, sin hasn’t changed at all, not one bit.  In reality sin is just a missed opportunity.  I’ll leave it there for now, because I think we have sin scheduled for a later show, right?

I: Yeah, that’s next I believe.  Really looking forward to it.

J: But no, sin has not changed just the stuff you trip over.  You could say the vocabulary is different, but not much else.

I: Okay, then one of our viewers wrote in with the following question: “Dear Jesus, I think you are the bomb.  Yo.  I am a high school student and I play football.  I have been pressured to use steroids.  I told them I wouldn’t do that stuff, but I’m not very big, and everyone else is doing it.  What should I do?”  Travis from Ft. Worth, TX.

J: Oh, man, dude, that sucks.  I really feel for you.   I know how Texans love their football.  Well, you know my advice is to not do the ‘roids.  That’s an easy one.  But how do you justify it?  “Why?” is the bigger and more important question.  Let me pull out the tactic of one of the guys with whom I had/have the most fun, Socrates, and begin with another question.  Why do you play football?  And since Travis isn’t here, I’ll direct the question to our studio audience.  Why do you play football, baseball, or any game?

I: Okay, you there sir, in the back.  Stand up and say your name and where you’re from.

Guy:  I’m Steve from Orange County.  In the words of Vince Lombardi, you play to win.  That’s it.

J: Steve, you are right, Vince did say that and you know I always hate to disagree or directly contradict any of my children, but in this case, there’s no way around it.  Vince was wrong, and so are you.  Sure, winning is fun.  When you compete in a sport, winning feels better than losing, sure.  I know that.  But my question, was, why do you play football? Err, sorry, emphasis should be on the word “play.”  Why do you engage in the activity of football.

Steve: Hmm, I’m not sure I understand the question.

J: Not many people do, Steve, not many people do.  Let me do my best to communicate what the point of all this is, what the point of all games, competitions, jobs, roles, anything and everything that you could possibly do in your life.

Let me re-ask the question.  What is the point of playing baseball?  The correct answer is the simplest.  “To be the best baseball player I can be.”  What is the point of playing football?  “To be the best possible football player I can be.”

So, what does that entail.  Does that entail taking steroids?  Are steroids prescribed by the commissioner of baseball (well, he sorta did, but I’m not gonna go there).  They are not part and parcel to the sport of baseball, not part of the public persona, not an acceptable part of being a baseball player.  If you take steroids, you must hide it.  You can’t owe your home runs to HGH, or whatever.  You can’t say, my league leading sacks were a result of the extra pure steroids that I got from my pharmaceutical company.  Thank you Jesus, and thank you Pfizer, for making me this year’s home run king.  You don’t wear their logos on your uniforms proudly detailing all your drug enhancements.  Now, would you all agree that that’s not acceptable?

So, what do we have then?  Baseball and football players who are hiding who they are, lying to be better at a sport that they have no interest in truly playing, that they have no true interest in being.  They want to be winners or rich or superstars, not baseball or football players.  Let’s be clear about that.

It is as stupid a question to ask: What is the point of the game of baseball? and answer “winning” as it is to ask: What is the point of life? and answer it with “dying.”  Dying is not the point of life, but it will come to you.  Winning or losing is not the point of baseball.  But they will come to you.  Forget about death.  Forget about winning or losing.  They are all limiting, irrelevant conclusions to that thing which you do and do with gusto.

What is the point of life? What is the point of being born?

The point, my friends… wait for it, wait for it – is to be fully alive.  To be what you were meant to be, and be it, fully and completely and wholly.  If you are gifted with the talent and determination to play baseball, be it.  Play baseball, be that player that practices his heart out, that runs out the infield grounders every time, to be at second base before that outfield fly is caught, to hustle, and play every out whether it’s the beginning or the end of the game, whether you’re behind or not.  The purpose of being a baseball player is to play. If you lose your way and believe that winning, or earning, or spending, or getting, or beating, or any other -ing that isn’t being is the point, then my friend, you’ve lost your way, and you will not find fulfillment in anything you do.  It saddens me, for sure, when I see Rafael Palmero losing a few steps and resort to steroids.  It saddens me when he forgets he’s a ballplayer I loved to watch.  I’m there at every game, by the way.  I love baseball, which is why I’m answering Travis’ question with baseball instead of football.  Sorry, I’m a baseball fan, and if you have any doubt about it, I have only two things to say.  Red Sox.  White Sox.  My own little brand of humor.

Anyway, I love to see and feel the joy of you doing what you do.  I came to see ballplayers playing ball, and it saddens me when I only find winners or losers or Yankees…*chuckle*  I’m kidding, I’m kidding.  I love the Yankees too, but they need some ballplayers for sure.

You’re all winners to me when you’re doing what you were meant to do.

So steroid use? Yeah, sure there’s nothing inherently wrong with steroids or that stuff, but I have to ask you:  Why don’t you love the game of baseball?  If you think that you have to cheat on a test to get ahead in school, or because everyone else is doing it, I ask:  Why don’t you love learning?  If you think that you have to fudge the numbers on your sales report to impress the boss and get a raise, I ask: Why don’t you love your job?  If you steal or cheat or lie or any of the multitude of small things you can do to get a leg up on your competition, I ask you:  Why don’t you love your life?  What have you got against being fully alive?

It’s okay, really, my only true wish for everyone is for them to be truly, madly, stunningly, deeply, passionately, and crazy in love with what they do.  Don’t do something for the result you might get out of it.  Don’t do something because you want to win.  Do that thing because, and only because, you love doing it.

The outcome will take care of itself.

Peace out, my brothers and sisters.

Revenge is a Dish

October 27, 2005 /

"Oh, I’m sorry Doggies.  I forgot to feed you earlier.  Well, let’s get you some foodies," I bantered to our two beautiful mutts, Jessie and Billy.  I always talk to them, and I swear they understand.  I measured their servings and stepped out to the patio, the two of them dancing around me excited and impatient.  I spied their bowl, but it still had food in it from yesterday.  Hmm, what’s up with that, I thought?  Moving, undulating in the darkness of night, I spied something amiss, something sinister.

ANTS, big biting ones, were swarming over the food and around the bowls.  I reached in to see if I could it pick up to move it away or something.  Ouch ouch ouch, I got bit all over, stupid, argh, ouch, damn you, ants!  That’s gonna leave a mark.  I am continually fascinated with ants and how they collaborate, find, and devour, but this time they had gone too far.

Now, being who I am, I hate to waste perfectly good doggie food, but how to separate it from the ants without being eaten alive.  Jessie, impatient, circled her bowl looking for an opening.  The poor dear must have been so hungry.  Will you ever forgive me?  She decided to risk it and before I could shoo her away, she tried to take a bite and recoiled instantly.  Ooo, you bit my dog, you bit my dog.  For that YOU SHALL DIE! I practiced my action hero voice.  "One man, two dogs, a swarm of ants — this time it’s personal.  COMING SUMMER 2006"

Bring in the nukes.

I ran inside, grabbed a plastic seal-able container and quickly transferred the ant/food contents to it.  As I was fumbling around in the kitchen, Jessie and Billy were barking in their typical communicative fashion.  "Are you done yet?" 

"No," I answered. "Just a second, I’m almost done.  Hold your horses."  They’d wait 15 seconds patiently.  This is considered a great feat in the culture of the dogs, an eternity for their kind, an honor bestowed only upon the bearer of food. 

"Arf, arf arf.  Now?" 

"Just a second."

15 seconds of silence.

"Arf arf arf?  Now?"

"Almost there, just a sec."  I opened the door to the microwave, placed the angry angry swarming ants inside, and pressed start.  One and half minutes later I was met with the smell of fresh ant surprise, a mini lobster dish for my doggies, in fact a gourmet meal, not a dish served cold as proper revenge dictates, but a dish served hot, flavored with the succulent bodies of our former adversaries.

The microwave beeped completion, and Ms Jessie and Mr. Billy could no longer contain their gentile behavior.  All bets were off.

"Here I come," I said, as an explosion of frantic leaping and spinning ensued.  "Now you enjoy that.  I’m sorry for the inconvenience.  I’ll not let those ants get you again.  You just feast on their carcasses.  Buen provecho."

You Don’t Need Eyes to See, You Need Vision

October 26, 2005 /

I picked Olaia up from school today, and this song came up in the rotation.  

"You don’t need eyes to see, you need vision," she parroted from the back seat.  "That’s right, Daddy, right?  You need vision to see, right?"

"Yeah, but the song is making a play on the word ‘vision,’ Olaia.  You see vision is like perspectiva in Spanish, I guess.  I don’t know.  Hmm, it’s like an outlook, a way of looking beyond what is there and seeing… er." I was struggling to define the word vision, trying to use vocabulary appropriate to a 7 year old.  It was tougher than I thought.  "Okay, vision, is like this. I have a vision of a world full of peace, where people are happy, where no one hurts, and where everyone finds love.  It’s like a dream, but it’s not just a dream.  It’s something you make with hard work, effort, and persistence.  Yet, it’s also like a dream, in the sense that it’s an ideal, something great, something beautiful.  I don’t know.  Does that make any sense?"

And then without any effort whatsoever, this little sage said, "Oh, so, vision is imagining things to become true."

"Exactly, little girl.  I couldn’t have said it any better."

And I really couldn’t have.

Why They Hate Us, Part II

October 21, 2005 /

Well, not that I’m happy or anything, but I was figuring that since the hurricane was going to rape and pillage the Yucatan Peninsula, I’d hear the stories of the folks that live there.  I thought I’d get to hear of their plight.  I was wrong… again.

I forgot about the "American" angle – *smacks head* tourists in Cancun.  Can we at least just hear about their waiters, maids, and hotel staff? hmmm? Is it too much to ask?  Did one of them trip over a beer can or something?  ANYTHING?!

Florida Keys Evacuated Again. Wilma Bears Down

October 19, 2005 /

Evacuated again?  Hmm, let me have a look.  Oh, will you look at that.  What a storm.  It’s bearing down on – hmm, what’s that tiny insignificant spot of land? – oh and that other one.  I thought the Florida Keys were small.  That looks too damn big to be the Keys.  Did CNN, MSNBC, and FOXNEWS get it wrong.  Perhaps I should write them that THE FUCKING YUCATAN PENINSULA AND CUBA ARE RIGHT SMACK IN THE PATH OF HURRICANE WILMA, THE BIGGEST DAMN HURRICANE TO COME ALONG SINCE, WELL, EVER!

You know what, I finally have a crystal clear vision of why the world hates us.  I mean I always kinda knew, but it’s never been quite so apparent. 

I Submit the Following, Your Honor

October 14, 2005 /

"I don’t wanna take a nap!  I not tired!" Jaimito whined.

"Yes you are, little boy.  You’re crying, and that means you’re tired.  When you cry, you’re telling me you’re tired."

 "I not tired.  I not tired.  I don’t wanna take a nap."  Jaimito looked desperate, how was he going to get out of this?  He did not want to take a nap.

"Little boy, sometimes your mommy and daddy know what’s good for you.  We think you’re tired.  We know you’re tired.  You’ll feel better after a nap, I promise."  But, Jaimito continued to wail like a banshee.  "Well, here’s the deal," we told him, "You get to stay in here whether you’re taking a nap or not.  You have to stay in mommy and daddy’s bed."

Soon, the wailing came to an end.  Curious, we peeked in and…

Jaimito_Conked_Out_0002.jpg 

he’s passed out like a frat boy, complete with drool.  

So, we remember this day, when mommy and daddy were right, when mommy and daddy knew best, and we submit, your honor, exhibit #1 as evidence for future prosecution. 

Gil The Jenius: Education For Us

October 7, 2005 /

The other day, Gil Schmidt, summed up something I think I’ve trying to say for the past few years. I say "trying" because I’ve been clubbing the damned thing for so long, I don’t even know what it looks like any more. Gil’s come along and said to me, "You know that thing you’ve been bashing, that you forgot what it was? Well – it’s this." And he laid it bare to me again. I now know what my prey looks like, and my hunger induced insanity melts away to reveal new resolve.

Gil The Jenius: Education For Us

The global economy of this century is not a preserver of status quos; in truth, it destroys them with chaotic speed. A nation educated to bow to stasis, to "follow the lunkhead" misery is not now nor ever will be a true global economic player. But a nation is not an entity: it is a collection of individuals united by common characteristics and sharing, often unconsciously, common vision and goals. To develop the nation, develop the individual. To develop the individual…well, that’s Our job.

It’s funny, but I never knew how the masses could be inspired to revolt in Latin America. What could someone write or speak that would bring new focused clarity to their plight? I just didn’t see it. Maybe now I’m starting to get an inkling.

A Page Out of the Book of Chris

October 4, 2005 /

I was on the road early this morning, out and about on my bicycle to pick up milk, eggs, and bread.  I still have my Rob Beckman bags and Bruce Gordon rack that I bought 10 years ago.  Those bags and rack have been through it all with me.

Anyway, I’m merging across lanes of traffic to make a left and a little Toyota comes up honking and carrying on.  Christ, people!  Cut a bicycle some slack.  They scream by honking and cursing.  Sigh.  But, as with all stupid metallic beasts, their haste has caused them to err.  Their failure to plan ahead has left them trapped at the light making the same left as I am.

We’re gonna be best pals now, together at the light, hanging like old friends, chatiando como locos.

"How’s it going, fellas.  I’m James.  What are your names?" I say to the three college aged kids in the car.  The driver looks stunned and says nothing.  I smile and address the kid in the back seat.  "It’s a nice morning, huh?  You guys on the way to school or work?"

"Work," he replies amicably.

"Ah, well, it was a pleasure to meet you.  Have a nice day!"  I smile and ride off.

I made my U-turn and headed out.  They smiled and waved from the car.  Guess I made some friends today.

It’s funny, but ever since my brother-in-law Chris told me a great story about an experience he had (that he still needs to write about – ahem), I’ve been channeling him when I’m on the road.  Road rage is for idiots. 

Road comedy is where it’s at, man.  Thanks Chris.

Wifi Drivers for Linux PPC

October 3, 2005 /

Let me get geeky for a bit.  I recently decided that I was not going to be the last person on earth without wireless access, so I marched off to CompUSA to buy a wifi card for my G3 Powerbook (Pismo).  I know, I know, I should have checked the hardware compatibility lists, but ever impatient, I thought, how bad could it be?  I’ll buy two and if one doesn’t work, I’ll stick in the other. 

Neither worked.

Bah!  Curse my passionate self.  I erred in the predictable fashion.  I fell victim to the classic blunder, the most famous of which is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less known is this: with Linux you must research.  With Linux on the PowerPC, you must research and pray.

So, first of all, the Broadcom family of chips (Apple’s Airport, Motorola, and a bunch of others will not work with Linux on PPC).  With Linux on Intel, you’re okay, because you have ndiswrapper with which to run your Windows drivers in Linux.  However, with PPC you will have no such luck, as ndiswrapper is strictly an Intel x86 endeavor.  No, with PPC your best bet (as I later found out) is to buy one of the D-Link family of products.  From what I can tell, they have native support across the board in Linux (my own card, a DWL-G630 – 802.11g, works flawlessly). 

To get it working, you first have to install the drivers from the madwifi project (your distro should have it available for installation), make sure you have PCMCIA drivers installed, and you’re now spilling coffee on your keyboard at one of the many nationwide Starbucks locations. 

The biggest challenge was figuring out which brand of wifi card supports Linux natively – because NONE of them say so.  They all say "Windows 9x, 2000, XP, and 2003."

After two trips to CompUSA, I now have a D-Link card and my working laptop.   Remote X works, and I get about 1 megabyte/sec transfer rate through the concrete walls of my home.  

And now you know the rest of the story.  D-Link, D-Link, D-Link!

« Older posts Newer posts »

Archives

© 2026 El Gringoqueño

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑