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The Lost Soul


What sign of the Black Zodiac are you?
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posted at 1:42 PM

  A thunderstorm was moving in as I left work today; and the air was charged with anticipation - that heavy, oppressive wet gloom - right before all heck breaks loose. If you indulge your imagination just slightly it almost seems like the pre-cursor to the Apocalypse. Especially when you see dark storm clouds hovering over the Capitol and the roar of divine thunder in the distance. Whether your a fan of Dubya or Hillary, there's enough sin in this town to merit a righteous, Biblical cleansing.

Went to Mass today (hence the religious frame of mind.) It was really delicious to have a massive storm thundering outside the Church (St. Patrick's) during the service. At key points the priest would pause or be in the middle of ritual, and a righteous boom would echo from the ceiling. If you're looking to get your full religious experience on, this is the way to do it. There were only 20 of us, so it made a nice sort of end of the world tableaux: only a few worshippers left, as the world is given over to the idolaters.

Obviously, I don't believe this, but it makes for a nice story. Can't expect me to come back from kissing the Blarney Stone totally unchanged...

posted at 6:14 PM

  While walking down the street one day a female head of state is tragically hit by a truck and dies. Her soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.

"Welcome to Heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we're not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in," says the lady.

"Well, I'd like to but I have orders from higher up. What we'll do is have you spend one day in Hell and one in Heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."

"Really, I've made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven," says the head of state.

"I'm sorry but we have our rules." And with that, St. Peter escorts her to the elevator and she goes down, down, down to Hell. The doors open and she finds herself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a club and standing in front of it are all her friends and other politicians who had worked with her, everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet her, hug her, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at expense of the people. They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar. Also present is the Devil, who really is a very friendly guy who has a good time dancing and telling jokes.

They are having such a good time that, before she realizes it, it is time to go. Everyone gives her a big hug and waves while the elevator rises. The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on Heaven where St. Peter is waiting for her.

"Now it's time to visit Heaven." So 24 hours pass with the head of state joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before she realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.

"Well then, you've spent a day in Hell and another in Heaven. Now choose your eternity."

She reflects for a minute, then the head of state answers: "Well, I would never have said it, I mean Heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in Hell."

So Saint Peter escorts her to the elevator and she goes down, down, down to Hell. Now the doors of the elevator open and she is in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. She sees all her friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags. The Devil comes over to her and lays his arm on her neck.

"I don't understand," stammers the head of state. Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and club and we ate lobster and caviar and danced and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable.

The Devil looks at her, smiles and says, "Yesterday we were campaigning. Today you voted for us!"
posted at 1:28 PM

  So I'm in a bar the other day drinking Jack Daniels (the Devil's own HOV lane to intoxication) and chatting with tourists to our fair city. We're all having a good time. Everyone is buying rounds and I've established myself as a totally cool, fun guy.

One of the party, aged 40 and a well-established professional, announces that his goal is to retire and be a bartender in Flordia. Not a bar owner or to retire early, but to quit his job and just sling drinks.

I, tongue loosened by alcohol, announce that this is the dumbest idea that I've ever heard. Consider a career change, reassess goals, address burnout, plan for an easy retirement - yes - but to just give up everything and sling beers? No.

The conversation immediately takes a darker turn. "Who are you to judge," my former friends announce, "all that matters is being happy."

I reply that while happiness is bliss, there is more to life than just raw gratification. Clearly this man is talented, intelligent, with a string of credentials. There is so much more he could do not only with his life but for those around him. Even if he wants a lower stress position (no problem) it would be a waste of talent and a crime not only against the gift of life but to the community to not make more of himself.

The conversation takes a darker turn. The phrase "The only thing that matters is being happy" comes up repeatedly, as does, "I hate judgmental people."

I point out that if we really care about this guy (and in our drunken stupor we do) we should want the very best for him, even if that means calling on him to do and be more; to constantly strive for the best. (ala the Greeks on "the higher good")

The example comes up of our troops in Iraq - risking their lives (whether you agree with the deployment or not) for a higher cause. At which point, somebody mentions that the troops aren't really serving an important cause, they're just there doing what makes them happy.

I immediately sobered up and took a look at the gaggle of faces around me and realized that these people have no fucking clue. To them, mainlining heroin is an equally valid, equally moral choice to taking the vows or joining the navy; that volunteering in a soup kitchen is only of value if it makes you feel good about yourself.

I've read plenty of horror fiction but I've never understood the term "chilled to my very soul" until now.

As the conversation degenerated (one which in retrospect should never had been continued under the influence of drink) the slurs started flying fast and furious about Bush, Republicans and the War in Iraq. (You knew that was coming.) And I'm facing an oral exam from 4 irate drunks having to defend military and domestic policy in a non-stop round robin. (Doing quite well, I might add.) Apparently the embargo about being judgmental doesn't apply when the targets are Republicans or anyone who practices a mainstream religion; then it's OK. Because "we" all know "they" are "evil."

Finally, the accusation (wait for it) comes that I'm a Republican or work for the FBI and I have to whip out my ID's to prove that I'm a card carrying member of the ACLU and I work for Labor. Just because I want everyone to make the most of their life doesn't mean that I want to impose sharia law or legislate morality.

I believe that life is a gift and that we are called to seek more than just instant gratification. I believe that when we fail to develop to the fullest the whole community is lessened.

That evening is burned into my mind; I can't get rid of the memory. Given my background, I'm a very live-and-let-live kinda guy, but I've rarely ever reached a point where I would draw a line in the sand - one worth dying for. Management/Self-Help books talk blithely about "core beliefs." That buzz word does injustice to the depth of my feeling. I feel like my soul has been touched. I don't normally go around thinking of myself as having a soul. It's one of those abstract concepts that sounds nice in theory but irrelevant to daily life.

But if I do have a soul, on this issue it has made its presence felt. I have interests and, being from DC, positions on various issues, but I've never felt *passionately* about any of them. Having passionate positions on issues is something we mock down here as either the ramblings of zealots or staged PR to increase personal power or pass legislation.
posted at 9:45 AM

  To those of you visiting from the "Day by Day" cartoon link, welcome. This is not a political blog and is somewhat sporadically updated. Feel free to look around at your leisure as you please. Our common interest, I imagine, is that we are fans of "Day by Day" and feel it deserves wider circulation and publicity.

posted at 8:47 AM

  I was in the airport the other day, picking up a rental car while my own is in the shop, and riding up the escalator. A flight crew member was travelling the opposite direction and talking on a cell phone. Said crew members mouth opened, broadened into a smile, and proceeded to stare - even going so far as to rotate head on neck and continue staring after passing yours truly by.

This was not a "are you someone famous?" or "you look just like..." type of stare, this was a full on "let's do dinner at my place" eye lock.

My feet did not touch the ground for the next ten minutes.
posted at 8:43 AM

  If you haven't heard from me recently it's because I've been spending alot of my free time going out to bars and getting pleasantly buzzed. Must be a side effect from the Ireland trip, but I've become much more "bar friendly" than I have been in years...since say perhaps my wasted youth. It was just the alcohol, I could stay at home and have some beer with dinner, but lately, people have been giving me "the eye."

"The eye" is that appraising look that says "hmmmm...you'll do," and it's ego-boosting value is not to be understated. Either I'm completely unable to judge my gym progress without bias, or there's some serious progress going on. A couple of times, I've found myself making out with complete strangers in bars and when said strangers run their hands across my body they purr or say "yum."

That one word - "yum" - is like crack cocaine for my tortured soul.
I've been off the singles market for so long, I almost ceased to exist as a sexual being.
I could grow to like this.

In other news went to a physical therapist to have my knee looked at. His diagnosis: tendonitis from hauling around 50 pounds of luggage while running up and down Irish hills and stairs. Treatment: massage under my kneecap daily (yes, it is as painful as it sounds.), more ice and stretching.

Did I mention stretching? Apparently I'm missing about 90 degrees of flexibility in my hamstring. That means my legs are wound tighter than the springs in Inspector Gadget. Stretching is my new best friend. My mantra. My zen discipline.
posted at 8:39 AM