I was forwarded an e-mail yesterday from one of my right-wing acquaintances here in Columbus (everyone I know, it seems, is on the left or right ... not in the lonely middle with me.) She's on a lot of TV and radio commercials that start with "Hi, y'all!"
Basically its an e-mail making the conservative rounds about how this cooing, giggling doll sounds like it says "Islam is the light" at some point and later says "Satan is king" or something like that. I, however, think it's a case of hearing what you want to hear or seeing what you want to see. People hear dirty words in "Louie, Louie," hear Satanic messages in Beatles records played backward and see the Virgin Mary in cupcakes. If you're looking for problems, controversies and things to get worked up about, you'll find them. And the e-mail points out that while the Snopes Web site discredited this story, Snopes is run by two people who are "Jewish -- very Democratic (party) and extremely liberal." Oh my God! Jews are on the Web now! First Hollywood, now the Internet!
And these right-wingers are mad about this doll. Never mind that Muslims don't exactly praise Satan. In fact, their version of hell is gruesomely and repeatedly depicted in the Koran, much worse than the description of Jesus' descent into hell in the Christian book of Nicodemus that they edited out of the modern Christian Bible. So if this doll is praising Satan and Islam, it's probably gonna need therapy when it grows up. Or it'll get beheaded by the Taliban or something. I don't believe all religions are created equal and some are more evil than others, but a doll is a doll is a doll. Unless they're inflatable.
As for the doll, I'm going to keep playing with mine despite its efforts to convert me to Islam and Satanism at the same time. I once had a Godzilla "action figure" and I somehow managed to resist its urging me to crush cardboard Japanese villages. And my Darth Vader "action figure" could not lure me to the dark side of the force. However, my Jimmy Buffett "action figure" did manage to talk me into a frozen margarita or two.
Judge for yourself in the video at the top of this post. I once sat through a 15-minute videotape when I worked at the Americus paper in which a reader kept showing us how you could see the Virgin Mary in the trees in his backyard.
This info comes courtesy of fellow Parrothead Pat Mitchell of Columbus:
Peter Mayer, guitarist/singer/songwriter for Jimmy Buffett's Coral Reefer Band since the very late 1980s, will be performing a Christmas concert Dec. 18 at North Highland Church in Columbus ... you know, the one with that massive prayer tower.
Mayer, whose brother Jim also is a Coral Reefer, does a good bit of Christian music in addition to folk and rock. His song "Suzannah" off the 1996 album "Green-Eyed Radio" is one of my all-time favorite tunes. His Peter Mayer Band had a hit with "Piece of Paradise" in the late ’80s, too.
The show, which is sponsored by Columbus Hospice, will, of course, feature a love offering, and Columbus Hospice is a very worthy cause indeed. I'm not exactly sure what my plans are for that night, and organized religion ain't exactly my cup of tea. But it would be interesting to see Peter Mayer perform in a setting quite different from the drunken debauchery of a Jimmy Buffett concert.
For bios, discography, tour schedule and to sample pretty much every song he's ever recorded, check out Peter Mayer's Web site here. His music is light and sometimes folksy or spiritual, so if you're expecting Parrothead-type music, you'll be disappointed. Although, many of the apparently close-knit Coral Reefers show up on each other's albums so there may be some familiarity.
In case y'all are interested, I'm building an ark. Sure, it may be merely the remnants of Tropical Storm Fay (apparently to be followed by Gustav), but I'm starting to get worried that God's in an Old Testament kind of mood ... you know where he had immediate buyer's remorse after creating humans and kept smiting them left and right.
I'm having a little trouble finding out whether these two ferrets are one of each sex, though. So, if I screw up, there may not be any ferrets reproducing when the rain stops. But, really, who needs ferrets? It's not like they're critical on the food chain or anything. Well, unless you count the Ferret on a Stick they sell at the Macon County Fair. Mmm.
And where the heck are "cubits" on this darn tape measure?!
This story is from the "some folks just need beating up" files. Some dude in Wales (that's a country, not a swimming mammal) dressed up as Darth Vader and attacked some guys in the Jedi Church. The guys in the Jedi church have turned the Jedi philosophies in the "Star Wars" movies into a religion — because God knows the world needs more religions.
It might not surprise you to find out the attacker — who repeatedly yelled "Darth Vader! Jedis!" — was drunk at the time and has a history of alcohol problems. Might not even surprise you that it was caught on tape because a couple members of the Jedi Church were about to film their light saber fight.
The surprising thing is that it happened in Wales. I've been in the journalism business since 1989, and I'm pretty sure this the first thing that has ever happened in Wales.
I got bleeped in my latest TV commentary. I've had columns pulled by editors a few times over the years, been told I had to change a word or two and had to yank paragraphs, but that's my first on-air bleep. It was a little surprising because it was a mere tongue-in-cheek comment referring to right-wingers' strange, overwhelming hatred for Hillary Clinton. I said it doesn't matter "if Hillary Clinton is Satan's daughter. Who her daddy is shouldn't matter at this point." The word "Satan" got bleeped. I didn't know Satan was a dirty word. You can catch my bleeped commentary here.
Speaking of censorship, I watched a great documentary from Britain's Channel 4 on YouTube today about the controversy surrounding Monty Python's "Life of Brian," which I think is the funniest movie ever made and is in my Top 10 movies of all-time. When I first saw it back in the 1980s, I recognized the brilliant religious satire was not something everyone can appreciate, but had no idea how upset religious zealots got about it in the late 1970s. If you tried to make that movie now, they would be even worse, though, because our society is so hyper-sensitive about possibly offending anyone. But as one of the guys points out in the documentary, if your religion can't handle having a little bit of fun poked at it, it ain't much of a religion.
I respect the Monty Python guys for having the guts to tackle it and George Harrison for funding it. It's evidence that sacred cows make the best hamburgers.
I usually hate weddings. The formality. The pretentiousness. The stress. The uncomfortable clothes. The chick food. The non-alcoholic punch in the church reception hall. Somebody's Aunt Gladys pinching my cheeks. Yeah, those cheeks!
But I went to a wedding Saturday that was different from any I'd been to before, and not just because it was 145 degrees with 110 percent humidity. My cousin Shane got hitched in Angel City, a bikers' haven in Unadilla. It looks like a Wild West town, except that the horses can go 120 mph and rattle windows when they get riled up. The wedding party had rented out Angel City for the whole weekend. Angel City is usually open only for motorcycle rallies, which are becoming more frequent.
The groom and about 20 other bikers, including the biker preacher, came roaring up to the altar Saturday night to the tune of AC/DC's "Hell's Bells." (When was the last time a little old lady on the church organ pounded out that tune at a wedding?) And any preacher who'll officiate a wedding that includes the song "Hell's Bells" is cool with me. Of course, the bride, Pam, walked to the altar to the tune of Kenny G's "Songbird," which I kinda like too. Hey, I like rock, smooth jazz and rowdy country, among other things. My musical taste is as eclectic as was this wedding.
Poor Pam was the only one dressed in uncomfortable clothes for this wedding. Perhaps that's why she was prettier than the rest of us, not that she had a lot of competition from folks like me in my khaki shorts and golf shirt. I was overdressed.
Actually, other than the motorcycles, AC/DC, Port-o-Potties, motorcycles and kids running through the swinging doors of saloons, it was a pretty standard wedding. I chatted with a lot of folks during and after the wedding, and a lot of folks just came to witness the unique spectacle. Ain't that a switch! Most folks go to weddings out of obligation. A lot of folks at this wedding actually wanted to be there. What a concept! A fun wedding! Everybody loved it. And most noted how it seemed like a traditional wedding ... what with all the prayin', procession, ring bearin', the standard reception food, the first dance, the father-daughter dance, the mother-son dance.
But the best part, as with anything back home, is being with "my people." Small-town folks. Nobody putting on airs. Everybody glad to see everybody. No rude humans. And it's not just because Rule No. 8 in Angel City's town ordinances is "no attitudes." No one broke No. 2 "no fighting" and not even No. 4 "no nudity," although it was so hot it didn't seem like such a bad idea. I didn't want to give somebody's Aunt Gladys any ideas, though.
There was a lot of family I hadn't seen in a long time. Heck, I hadn't seen Shane in nearly 20 years, when we weren't too far from tramping around Ideal, Ga., playing "The Dukes of Hazzard." He was Bo, and I was Luke. I'd talked to the real Bo Duke, John Schneider, more recently than I had Shane. They've both turned out well.
There were a good many folks I didn't recognize, even after they introduced themselves with the always aggravating, "You remember me?"
"Uh, uh, er, I'm not sure," I respond, or something like that.
"Fred. Fred Jenkins," or something like that they respond.
"Oh yeah. I knew that. You were one of those Jenkinses."
"Yeah!"
But I knew most of the old friends, although it would have helped if I'd have had my high school yearbook with me. I chatted with Cleveland and asked how his daddy's breakfast operation was going. The last time I saw his dad, he told me "the only problem is sometimes we get the orders a little wrong, but I tell 'em you just eat whatever I put in the bag because whatever I put in that bag is good." I guess his daddy's embraced that style of service because Cleveland said he had a sign that read: "Order what you want, eat what you get." I don't know if you can operate very long like that in Columbus, but he's been in business a couple of decades now.
My wife was glad that I didn't bump into any of my old girlfriends. It seems like every time we've been to Macon County or Americus since 1990 or so, we'd bump into some old flame. That really wasn't that hard to do. I didn't date hardly anyone more than two weeks. It's not that I was a playboy. Far from it. Ladies, look at me: Would you go out on a second date with this guy? I didn't think so.
I introduced myself to Mary Ellen. I hadn't spoken to her since, well, ever. She was a smokin' hot senior cheerleader and I was a freshman dork nearly 20 years ago. I knew my limitations. (I don't now, but I did then.) Talking to her could have gotten me run out of Macon County High School. She said she remembered me. I almost choked on my cocktail weenie. Man, I bet she'd lie about other stuff, too. At least I'm not a freshman dork anymore. I'm a 37-year-old dork now, by golly.
I chatted with the preacher in the Angel City Saloon after the ceremony and asked him about the dichotomy of officiating a "Hell's Bells" motorcycle wedding. He asked me, "Where would Jesus be?" It wasn't a rhetorical question. He wanted an answer.
"Um, here?"
"Exactly." He had a good point. I just can't fathom Jesus in a three-piece suit. I don't recall any "Sermon in the Saloon" either, but I agree that Jesus would likely be out there with the "one-percenters." The biker preacher was a great guy, and it was nice to see a Christian who's not the least bit judgmental. He said he was saved in 1986 and the Lord told him to get off his bike. Ten years later, the Lord told him to get back on the bike and spread the Gospel.
I chatted with Wayne, the co-founder of Angel City. They've got a slew of musical acts coming, and hopefully sometime next year they'll have city sewer service and the Port-O-Potties can hit the road. He encouraged me to come back, whether I've got a motorcycle or not. Maybe I can borrow my co-worker Brad's scooter. You can find out more about Angel City here.
I know a lot of folks with sticks lodged in unfortunate places of the body who would have felt terribly out of place on Saturday night. I never really felt like I fit in back home, nor have I ever felt like I fit in anywhere. Guess that's the price of being an anti-social loner. But I know this: I was damn homesick when I left Unadilla (and then the Huddle House in Montezuma.) I guess my wife summed it up best:
"Why does it seem like everybody's so much happier when we go to small towns?"
Maybe small town folks have got it all figured out. One thing I've learned for certain over the years, the bigger things get, the stupider they get: Government, colleges, businesses, corporations, cities, Rosie O'Donnell. I reckon we've been out of the small town too long. Maybe we could shrink Columbus. It would be nice. Politicians and business leaders embrace "growth" at all costs, even under the guise of "smart growth" and other such oxymorons.
I also know that the bar has been raised for the next wedding I choose to attend or get dragged to. And to Shane and Pam, here's hoping the rest of your life together has as much style as your wedding night.
Note, here are a couple of shaky videos of the groom arriving for the ceremony and one of the happy couple (And check out the photos in the following post):
I'm in the middle of Ron Powers' highly acclaimed biography of Mark Twain, who I'm glad to see was a deeply flawed individual. (It gives me hope.) I mean, I knew the dude had issues, but he almost makes me look normal and conformist. Almost. Of course, he also started his writing career as a journalist.
It's amazing how many toes he stepped on, and how that has been forgotten by the general public. If he were doing, writing and saying the same things today, he'd be skewered by right-wing zealots as a godless, anti-American, leftist wacko (as opposed to America's greatest writer). Of course, if he were doing, writing and saying the same things today, he'd be 172 years old, so maybe they'd cut him some slack. But I sure would love to hear his comments on the U.S. government, man's various religions and the education system of today.
I suspect his comments would make me look nicer than Mother Teresa.
I'm currently the director of communications at The Fuller Center for Housing in Americus, Ga.
I grew up in Oglethorpe, Ga., which literally has just one traffic light, and I remain a small-town boy at heart. I consider myself a "yupneck," which is half-yuppie, half-redneck.
I've written for the Columbus Ledger-Enquirer since 1997. I've also worked as a sports writer and columnist at newspapers in Americus, Valdosta and Montezuma, all in Georgia.
Ideally, I'd live out the rest of my days as a novelist living in relative seclusion somewhere on the beautiful Georgia Coast, dragging my kayak onto lonesome beaches and jotting down the occasional story idea.
