In defense of Drunkenness (and hypocrites)

It's supposedly common knowledge that the world is full of hypocrites. Very few people actually "practice what they preach." Incidentally, it's thought that the church has an inordinate number of hypocrites. When in fact, what the Church has is an inordinate number of people who have something to preach.

Now would be a good time to explain that I mainly chose this title for the sake of sensationalism. You can relax, I'm not really going to defend drunkenness. In fact, no one is. Out of all the inebriates this stressful world has produced, I have never heard of one of them defending their drunkenness. And this brings me to my real point. For those outside of the church, if they can't preach what they practice then they have nothing to preach. There's no standard beyond their own lifestyle. Hypocrites don't even make sense in this context.

So, let's hear no more of this nonsense that the Church is full of hypocrites. The Church is full of saints, and the hypocrites are there because they want to look like them.

"Empty spaces fill me up with holes" - stupidest beginning line ever (courtesy of the Backstreet Boys)

I sent some e-mails to myself and they ended up in my junk mail. What up with that, huh?

What I think. . .

Say all the bad things you want about McCarthy, but he's got his own "ism" and his own "ites."

(By the way, this is the sort of thing that would usually go onto facebook as a status message, but I recently deactivated my account. So there might be some "status-ish" posts. I hope you don't mind).

Language in Heaven

I remember someone in my class asking Magister Griffith, my NSA latin teacher, what he thought the best language was (and it was assumed this ultra-language would be the primary language of heaven). Instead of saying latin, as we halfway expected him to, he said that no single language can be called "the best". Therefore, we'll just have to learn all earthly languages in heaven.

Sounds like fun; I'm going to learn Icelandic first. You see, there are so many things I would like to do but for which have neither the time nor the energy. One such thing is to learn an absolutely useless language, such as Icelandic. I will probably never run into an Icelandic person. There are no scholarly writings in Icelandic (that I know of, who knows?). Oh, but it's such a beautiful language. Just listen to some Sigur Ros and you'll know what I mean.

Next I would probably learn all the languages of Africa. After that, probably all the native American tongues. Then I would move on to the remaining dead languages that NSA couldn't cover.

So there you have it. That's what I would do in my spare time, in those first couple days in heaven.

The mole named Clarence

If I hadn't been sick I would have given this declamation yesterday. The assignment was to write a fable. Here 'tis:

There was once a mole named Clarence. He was a fat, nearsighted (but not quite blind), ugly mole. And when he talked (as he was wont to do) he whistled. In all of these respects, he was quite like his other mole friends. None of them were particularly good looking, but that didn’t tend to matter. The only peculiar thing about him was that he was afraid of being underground. Human psychologists would say that he was claustrophobic, but the moles, who had never encountered such an illness, just thought that he was odd. One day Clarence had enough of being afraid, and he started to dig up rather than down. He did not spend long in this endeavour before he found himself, for the first time, above ground. It was ecstasy finally being in the fresh air, and for a few moments he was truly happy. Unfortunately, being so nearsighted he inadvertently wandered into the busy highway next to his hole. I’m sorry to announce that Clarence died. The moral of this story is that there are usually far worse things to be afraid of, so mole up.