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I_dig_Freefall_Hamster
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Name: Sidra
State: Washington
Birthday: 12/28/1978
Gender: Female
Interests: making friends and not calling them...looking through the Stranger for cool shows and not going...Japanese hardcore
Expertise: French goat cheese, food neuroses, paying tens of thousands of dollars for a college degree I can't use
Occupation: Customer service/support
Industry: Retail
Message: message me
Member Since:
3/10/2004
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| So here's my deal--since when did something as special, reverent, arcane, mysterious, mystical, and deeply personal as God and the worship of God become cheapened to the point of WWJD bracelets, "cute" bumper stickers, and catchy billboards?
Case in point: this week, the marquee on the church next to my apartment reads "Believe in Jesus--Just Do It!"
Yeah, great. Nice Nike tie-in. Are they paying you? Is the Almighty gonna come truckin down the street in his new Air Jordans, pop his collar and give me the double guns like Isaac from the Love Boat?
This, I think, is one of the most subtle, yet potentially deadliest mistakes the modern church is making. In a misguided attempt to "reach the common man," purveyors of modern Christianity are taking their very GOD and their most treasured ideal (a personal relationship with God), and rendering them little more than a cheap pop-culture reference and a gimmicky appeal to consumerism.
When did God go from "omnipotent mystery behind the inner curtain of the temple" --whose visage, to look on, meant death--to "bumper witticism" and "snappy socio-political statement" ?
I think that people who are searching for truth and for God are looking for something more profound, more personal. If I were searching for God, all of this cutsey Jesus rubbish would completely turn me off; I'd feel like churches were just trying to sell me something.
Stop trying to make God "cool" and "hip"; it's cheating humanity out of the most fascinating, frustrating, rewarding, unsolvable mystery they'll ever know. | | |
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CONSUME
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Do you know what creeps me out? Riding on the bus...the silent bus, save for the mumbling crazies. Silent because everyone is plugged into their ipods, phones, mp3 players, blackberries, laptops--and oh wait, the mumblers aren't crazy after all, they're just people talking in their hands-free.
Unplug, people. You don't need all those fancy gadgets and widgets. The sad part is, we think they're making us more efficient; we thing we're saving time. But all we're doing is promoting this weird culture of isolation and extreme consumerism.
YOU DON'T NEED ALL THAT CRAP.
Unplug, and enjoy life as a simple, organic creature once in a while. Go somewhere, and leave your phone and all that shit at home.
Do you know what's sick? A part of me longs for some apocalyptic event that will throw us back into the Dark Ages again. Yes, it was a terrible, plague-ridden time--but people lived, for however long that meant. They LIVED. | | |
| To the girl who lives next door:
STOP HAVING SEX WITH YOUR WINDOW OPEN. Maybe you get off on making the neighborhood listen to your frequent sexual escapades, or maybe you have no idea that sound reverberates. Either way, the last thing I want to wake up to in the morning is an incessant barrage of weird slapping sounds and melodramatic bellowing. (I mean...come on, it's not that good. Let's stop pretending you're filming porn.) I shouldn't have to get up to shut my window, and in most cases I wouldn't have to. Which brings me to my second point:
PLEASE, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD--EFFING CLIMAX ALREADY.
I'm sorry, but there is no way you can carry on like that for more than fifteen minutes and not get the job done. Either you're FAKING (my vote), or you're some sort of exhibitionist, mercilessly forcing yourself into my consciousness as I cling futilely to the last vestiges of sleep.
In short, shut your frickin window or finish in two minutes like the rest of the vanilla world. | | |
| Hair Shirts on ParadePeople often ask me, "Hey, Sidra, I wouldn't be caught dead going to the Fremont solstice parade. So why do you take the day off work to go?"
The reason (this year) was realized in this image, forever burned into my mind: a man, presumably a Bacchus-esque figure, painted all in white and wearing a long-beaked mask. Growing weary of turning cartwheels and humping random parade participants, he decides to prance over to the children on the edge of the parade route and TEABAG THEM. Like, eight of them, right in their bloody faces. Looks of terror and screaming ensued.
And my favorite part? Not one parent stepped in to do anything about it as little Timmy's and Sara's sexual awakenings were irrevocably warped. You could see it in the parents' faces--"Oh, ha ha, you little scamp! That's our wacky SOLSTICE PARADE!"
We'll see how funny it is when they turn on Springer in fifteen years and see little Timmy in a pvc catsuit admitting that he likes to be fisted by hairy French mimes. They'll think it's REAL cute then. | | |
| Do you have an unwarranted sense of Entitlement? COME ON DOWN!Today's Players:
The Mannerless Hag, who sounds as if she's been chain smoking since primary school, and who for reasons unknown has quite a developed sense of entitlement
Me, the underpaid employee and freak magnet
(Scene: After helping the Mannerless Hag with some cheese, I have begun slicing meat for another customer. Mannerless Hag approaches, staring me down dully.)
Hag: (holds out a piece of cheese) I want half of this.
Me: (trying not to slice my hand off as I look up to read her lips, because heaven forbid she speak at an audible level) Half? Ok, it'll be just a minute. (takes cheese, sets on counter, and resumes slicing)
Hag: (stares dully while I continue to help the other customer)
Me: (returns to the slicer with another order from the same customer) Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about you.
Hag: (watches me slicing meat)
(another minute passes)
Hag: (with a slack-jawed look of irritation) What IS the hold-up?
Me: Uh, as you can see I'm WITH ANOTHER CUSTOMER. As soon as I am DONE helping THIS customer, I can help you.
Concluding Thoughts: (1.) Where the crap do haggard, gravel-voiced women who have zero concept of what's going on get these superiority complexes? Was this bitch for real; did she not SEE what I was doing? Did she expect me to drop everything to help her, or was she really that blindsided by her own ego? (2.) How do these people find me?
*******
So last night I decided to forego my usual evening of internet stalking and sober introspection to check out Bristle at the Funhouse. This was, of course, The Santos' idea; if it were up to me, I would probably never leave my apartment. As it was, this was my first show there since it changed names.
Notable details:
1. Bristle is some good ol' (old school) punk rock times. Something about Lonny makes me think of old Brit punks from the seventies, which makes me think of that dude from the Young Ones that was always breaking shit. Something tells me he wouldn't mind the comparison.
2. The lead singer from Go Like Hell loves herself a whole whole lot. As she shoved me out of the way like a piece of furniture and thrust herself into everyone else's conversations, I wanted to congratulate her on embodying the complete antithesis of punk--egotistic self-involvement and peer alienation wrapped up in a cute little package of bangle earrings and Hot Topic boots. Bravo.
3. The Mullet Lady is Risen! I thought she'd been reduced to clammy memory, but there she was, in all her androgenous glory. She's another scenester bitch, it's true, but if she's good for anything, it's ambiance.
The highlight of my evening, though, was the catfight that broke out right in front of me. I'm not sure what happened, but suddenly one chick had her hands in a vice grip around the throat of another, and was shaking her around violently. We're talking thumbs in the throat. The other chick was flailing about, trying to escape and invoke some harm on the first one. I was hoping it would come to blows, but to my disappointment, someone broke it up. And like true girls, they decided to stand there and talk about it for the next ten minutes.
Who does that?!
When guys fight, they punch each other until they get thrown out. Girls go for a round and then sit an analyze their feelings and talk about how the other person is making them feel. Then they cry together and learn a lesson. Lame!
I think it's time to catch a roller derby to restore my faith in my gender. | | |
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