Eschatology Shmeschatology, Oy!

mood: Penitent
music: Jars of Clay

BOYCOTT SONY PICTURES
SONY Pictures Entertainment has put up big bucks to produce films of the "Left Behind" series of books. If you're not familiar with these xenophobic, anti-semitic, radical right-wing pulps, Michelle Goldberg of Salon.com provides a critical and thoughtful examination of this hatred-filled shit.

In short, the "Left Behind" anthology is a collection of best-selling titles geared toward kind, decent, god-fearing, Jew-Catholic-Arab-haters. The books are your run of the mill Antichrist, end-of-the-world thrillers filled with predictable plot twists -- you know, like when all the Jews realize their error and convert to Christianity before being tossed into Hell. Like we didn't see that coming...

Now you can see it all depicted in widescreen technicolor in feature films starring Kirk Cameron, Lou Gossett, Jr. and million-dollar CGI effects. Coming to a church near you! There's even a children's series of books. Nothing gets kids more inspired than a few stories about rapture. I can't wait for the animated series.

Some leaders in the Jewish community had issues with Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ for it's portrayal of Jews as the gang-bangers of the Notorious J.H.C. But the "Left Behind" series doesn't just damn the Jews. The Antichrist bares striking similarity to the Pope and Arab nations get their asses kicked by Jews who eventually convert to Christianity to save their souls. Did I mention a Democratic American president is also in cahoots with the Antichrist? Let's not forget about those hedonistic liberals. They can go to Hell, too.

Many readers of the "Left Behind" series believe that the end really is near. Violent weather, floods and terrorism are just a few of the signs pointing to the impending Tribulation. Forget about deregulation of environmental protections, destruction of wetlands and conflagratory foreign policy. It's definitely the gays and family planning centers causing record numbers of hurricanes. I'm a believer in chaos theory and all, but that seems a bit far-fetched. If a drag queen flaps his wings in Miami Beach, will it rain in Salt Lake City?

SONY is clearly exploiting the Evangelical market in producing these films. Let's face it, there's big money here. Just think of the merchandising opportunities. Antichrist Christmas ornaments and Fire-and-Brimstone Yulelogs are already available for pre-order at the online store. For the time being these films will only be played in churches, but I can only assume that these pictures are soon destined for mainstream theaters.

I thought I would funnel my rage by encouraging a boycott of SONY. So I did a quick Google for "SONY boycott" in hopes of finding others already united in my cause. Turns out a lot of people are already pissed at SONY.

Like this guy who's ticked because his SONY playstation never worked right. Or this guy who just wanted to post a blog about Ken Jennings. This activist is upset about emulation suppression, whatever the hell that is. And these homeys are furious that SONY stole Rolando's track. Those bastards.

OK, maybe it's a weak coalition for now. But I think it's a start. Meanwhile, the next time Growing Pains or Iron Eagle is on, I beg you to please change the channel.

Dial "L" for Life Sucks

I’m lucky to have a relatively comfortable office at work with a few windows and enough sunlight to grow a couple neglected plants. Whenever possible, I leave my door open so that co-workers can drift in with a friendly “hello,” a “quick question” or the occasional “did you jam the printer and walk away, again?”

The only real downside to my office – besides the daily deposits of mouse droppings on my keyboard – is its location. Just feet from my chair, the building’s reception desk rests directly outside my door. A constant din of ringing phones, buzzing doors and colliding delivery carts punctuates my workday. Add to that a steady flow of conversation and gossiping and it often feels like I’m working in the downtown bus terminal. Despite all this ruckus, our veteran receptionist has kept everything in the building running smoothly for nearly 32 years.

Our receptionist is a round, friendly woman in her 60s. She has a kind, patient demeanor and a subtle authority in her voice that politely alerts you she aint gonna take shit from nobody. For over three decades, she has been the first person everyone met when they came into the building and the last person they said goodbye to when they left. Because she was the company’s receptionist before the current offices were built, I’m convinced the masonry was erected around her. If people could be load-bearing walls, she’d be 12-inch cement block.

She has been a matriarch to many of us – inviting us to her home for holiday dinners, sharing advice on career and family and bringing in freshly baked cookies every Monday morning. She has always remembered everyone's birthday, selecting the perfect card and getting it signed by everyone in the office. And when you weren't looking, she has been there at her desk taking care of the little things that no one else bothered to notice.

She’s always been fully aware of everything and everyone in the building – seeing who came in late and who left early or intercepting calls from flirtatious interns trying to reach married executives. Watching the outside video monitor she has observed the kind of behavior that people only exhibit when they think they’re out of sight. In short, she has seen where all the bodies are buried. Her presence has been omniscient. That is until this past Friday.

At 4:30 on Friday afternoon, our loyal receptionist was called into the executive offices. She sat down and they informed her that layoffs were being implemented. As had been standard procedure in the past, she assumed they were about to inform her of the individuals that were being laid-off and that she should no longer buzz them in or transfer their calls.

Instead, they told her that in addition to the several positions being eliminated, she was also being let go. The company would go without a receptionist. (Ironically, without a receptionist absolutely no one can get buzzed in or have their calls transferred – not even the people that supposedly still work there.)

I can only imagine her shock. In 30-plus years she had undoubtedly seen countless rounds of layoffs. But she had dodged them all. Now, mere months from her retirement, she had become expendable.

She was asked to turn in her key and handset and told to leave the building immediately. A folding cardboard banker’s box was conveniently waiting at her desk when she returned. (Some folding and assembly was required. Those boxes are hard enough to put together as it is. Imagine trying to figure it out as your mind races, moments after losing your job.)

None of us saw this one coming. Before we could react to the news, she was gone.

The next day I came into work to see her cubicle was dark and her chair was empty. The phone rang unanswered. Taped to her window was a paper sign that read: “Welcome! Please use the phone to your right to call the party you are visiting.” There was a clipart graphic of a ringing phone and everything. It took someone at least two minutes to make it – ten if you count the time it took them to clear the paper jam I left in the printer.

Just one sheet of letter-size paper is all that was needed to replace an entire person – her self-worth and sense of purpose. It was a Hammermill tombstone to human dignity.

I can only assume that someday my career and personal dedication to the company will be conveniently replaced by a slip of paper taped to my door. Hopefully that’s a little further into the future. Maybe by then, we’ll be able to reduce people to just an index card. In the meantime, I can’t help but wonder what clipart they’d use for me.

Drive Safe!

It poured all weekend. The rain was relentless and driving was a nightmare. There was torrential rain, blinding road spray, localized flooding and the occasional biblical deluge. But I drove back and forth to both DC and Philadelphia this weekend without incident -- thank God. There is no doubt I owe great thanks not only to my Maker, but also to all my well wishers: "Drive safe!"

I must have heard it a hundred times this weekend from friends, my parents, co-workers and even my parole officer. "Drive safe!" they'd say. I even caught myself saying it to other departing drivers.

"I was just out there and the roads are pretty bad. So drive safe!" I'd caution.

Does such a warning really have an impact on other drivers? Does a concerned "drive safe" really impact my driving? As I'm weaving down I-95 at 80 mph on the shoulder does my co-worker Jerry's voice resonate in my head? "Jerry said to 'drive safe.' Maybe I should slow down now and take it easy. I wouldn't want to disappoint Jerry."

Why do we do this? Why do we say "drive safe"? If I got into an accident, would Jerry stand by the water cooler Monday morning shake his head and say, "I told him to drive safe. I really wish he'd have listened."

Well get this Jerry. No one cares more about my safe driving than me. No one could possibly care about the well-being of my body and my car than me. So zip it granny and worry about your own safe driving so you don't crash into me!

And to Mom and Dad: We made it home safe, so stop worrying already!

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da

PHOOEY

In May, when my hometown Philadelphia Phillies came to Baltimore, I tried rooting for the Orioles. It didn't come naturally, but I wanted to give it a shot. The Orioles were currently in first place while the Phillies already floundered below .500 in the young season. I wasn't shifting my loyalties. I just knew as a lifelong Phillies fan that they weren't going anywhere this year. I thought my energies could be better focused on a first-place team with a shot at the post-season.

Now I know, of course, that my instincts about the Phillies were exactly right. They would be destined for yet another dead-end season. (So would the Orioles. Oops!) But this year was a little different, in that the Phillies were able to hang on and tease their fans for another few months. By August they were back in the race. And until the last day of the season, they were flirting with a late-season miracle.

That miracle never came. Had the season ended at 3:45pm this afternoon, with the Phils leading the Nationals and the Cubs leading the Astros, that miracle might still have happened. But the season ended about an hour later in the usual disappointment.

The Phillies missed a National League Wild Card berth by one game and the Eastern Division by two. That's a pretty narrow margin. So narrow, you could probably identify the single factor that separated this team from it's post-season fate. Which leads me to the question of who to blame? (Or in Philadelphia terms, who to boo the loudest when starting lineups are announced at Opening Day 2006.)

One could easily blame beleaguered reliever Tim Worrell, who blew several games early in the season before taking leave for "personal issues." I have to wonder if his "personal issues" was his own difficulty in confronting his own suckiness.

One could surely blame manager Charlie Manuel. It's always the manager's fault.

One could blame without question thirdbasemen David Bell. On September 7, in the heat of the Wild Card race, with 2 outs in the ninth inning, he booted a routine grounder that would have ended the game. Instead, his error led to the go-ahead run that gave the Houston Astros the win. That one play represented a two-game swing in the standings with the team that would eventually keep them out of the post-season.

But I'm going to blame Bill Dancy. Bill Dancy is the Phils' thirdbase coach. My brother doesn't like him and I don't blame him. First of all, Dancy doesn't wear the uniform well. The pinstripes accentuate the sag in his pants. Secondly, he sucks as a thirdbase coach. He got more runners thrown out at home than any coach since Brady "Shakes" Calhoun for the 1887 New York Metropolitans. Thirdly, he's a good a target as anyone else, I guess. And I'll proudly be the one guy in fans booing him mercilessly next season during the pre-game announcements.

But I guess the only person I should really blame for the disappointment is myself. I should have known better. But come next April, I'll be the same idiot rooting for the Phils. No doubt.

IT'S NOT JUST A GROCERY STORE
On a brighter note, the Hunt Valley Wegmans opened today north of Baltimore. If you're not familiar with Wegmans grocery stores, I have no need for you here. Please leave.

This afternoon, I donned my University of Rochester t-shirt and dug out the Wegmans shoppers card I signed up for as a freshman in college 10 years ago. It hadn't been used since the last millennium. My wife and I hopped in the car and drove to Wegmans for the first time as a married couple (we've been married over four years).

The place was mobbed. And I mean mobbed. You'd think there was a snow storm coming and they were giving away free toilet paper. The store was a gridlock of shopping carts and screaming children. It was heaven. In preparation for the big opening, Wegmans had added hundreds of employees and for the day became one of the largest employers in Maryland.

While walking the oddly-decorated aisles, I overheard one man saying to his wife, "It's not Disney World, it's just a grocery store." Just a grocery store? I quickly spun around and responded, "Go the hell back to Shopper's Food Warehouse, you troglodyte!" Danny Wegman would have been proud

The store was everything we hoped it would be. Great selection. Friendly help. And despite the 14,000 eager shoppers, there was no wait at the checkout. All that, and it's only 15 minutes from home. Welcome to the neighborhood Wegmans. I'm glad you're back in my life.