Facebook Folk Religion

This usually amounts to little more than the common chain-letter variant – “Like this (memey-image or pious-sounding statement) and repost it on your page if (you love Jesus, you’re committed to whatever holy cause this memey-image-statement-thing purports to represent, this sentiment speaks to your heart, etc.).”  I regularly ignore that kind of crap in the same way I used to ignore actual chain-letters.  None of that has anything to do with Christian faith; it has everything to do with some human being’s attempt exercise influence over others or to conduct a social experiment.  This same kind of bogus religiousity is probably also foisted by the same kind of jack-genius upon practitioners of any or all known false religions such as Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Wiccan.  Shoot, probably even practitioners of un-religions like Yoga and the various martial arts are also subjected to this kind of thing.

Congregational Facebook Page

Our congregation has a Facebook page where we post notices, sometimes a few photos, weekly worship service bulletins.  You have to ask to join it.  As one of a half-dozen or so group admins, I either approve or disapprove join-requests.  I routinely reject requests from accounts like “Jasmine-the-half-naked-Hottie”; sometimes the other admins approve requests and I don’t take note of who they are.  Our group has maybe five members who have had no in-person contact with our congregation, but whose profiles appear to indicate some doctrinal variables in common with our own.  No problem.  People all over the world listen to our Sermon Audio recordings.  Typically, the folks who aren’t or haven’t been part of or had contact with our real-world congregation don’t really post anything; I’m not sure what having joined the group means to them, but they’re not usually a disruptive subset.

Last Thursday, one of these online group-members, whose name I didn’t recognize at all (but whose “middle name” indicated he wants people to believe he is like G.Gordon Liddy or is or has been a federal employee or agent), posted what I would characterize as a devotionalistic harangue.  It consisted of about 15 or 20 statements from scripture that, on their face, appeared to have similar import.  At the bottom of this New Testament partial-verse mash-up was the question,.”Who do you know?”  Below the question was a picture of a big hand in space really close to and pointing right at a pretty green and blue Earth.  That picture was a link to the poster’s own Facebook page.

What I know, after 41 or 42 years a Christian, having participated in numerous online bulletin boards Christian and otherwise, is a troll (in the congregation or online) seeking to drive traffic to his own site and/or amass followers when I see one.  So, in a comment below the guy’s post, I called him out and told him I’d delete his post after I got home from work.  My wife, who saw my comments, thought them unduly harsh.  I deleted them later that day with the guy’s post, so I can’t reproduce them here.  My remarks were maybe a little more sarcastic than was warranted.

The real import of my remarks was that, as a congregation, we didn’t know the guy, but we do know the Scripture, and have no need for someone we don’t know to preach to or question us.  My thinking was simply this:  We didn’t invite this fellow to preach to our congregation in the real world knowing nothing about him, his doctrinal stance, or his character, so what standing could he possibly have to preach to us online?

Hobson’s Choice

I remember when, in the mid-1990s, I attended a Southern Baptist seminary in the South, I first heard other students and professors complain that the culture wasn’t listening to them and did not recognize their individual or collective authority to speak into the lives of people completely unknown to them.  They were shocked that their message did not vouchsafe them entry into the minds and lives of their targeted audiences.  They also expressed dismay that more and more people in the United States felt competent to make their own choices vis-à-vis religious matters.  I thought their attitude silly; I thought a lot of what they had to say had very little to do with Christianity as revealed in the Scriptures of both Old and New Testaments.  I didn’t listen to them, either.  Still don’t, for the most part.

When I got home, Thursday afternoon, my wife said the troll had responded to my comment.  This fellow posted some very creative, alliterative name-calling, complained that I obviously know nothing of Christian love (I actually do know nothing of what passes for pious Christian sentiment, but I don’t really think that’s love, anyway), told me that he knows the Scriptures, too, as evidenced by the many partial verses he used in his initial post, that he was a member of 72 (yes, 72) Facebook groups, and had never been accused of trolling.  He went on and on.  He did call me pompous and paranoid.

My wife said that sometimes I do seem pompous and paranoid.  Pompous?  Maybe a little, sometimes.  Paranoid?  I usually manage to keep the madness at bay.  I’m cautious in my own way.  But I am completely unwilling to accede to the demand that I unquestioningly accept, endorse, and permit the self-serving posts of a troll.  And I completely reject the idea that my exercise of discernment and choice is incompatible with Christian love, mercy, saving contact with the Living God in Christ, and so forth.

What’s Going On

A Friend Died in December

Not somebody I’d ever actually met, but someone with whom I’d corresponded frequently over the years, Rodford Simon Barratt.  We’d both contributed to the online forum at www.foldingkayaks.org – Rodford had an Alpaca Pack Raft and, if I remember this right, another folding kayak.  We and another forum member had collaborated on a ridiculous thread about trains, Chattanooga, dancing, The Great Powers, espionage, and so forth that got about 250,000 views before the forum’s owner made its sub-forum viewable only by registered users.  Rodford was a professional dancer on stage and in film; he went online with Men Who Danced, and for some reason included me in the mailing list.  Oddly enough, since childhood and like the Rex Harrison character in The Honey Pot, I’ve wished I was graceful enough to dance well and acrobatically.  Rodford additionally started other online groups – Paddler’s Liberation Front which morphed from a blog to a Facebook group, and another for inline skaters.  Rodford and I exchanged emails about fatherhood, athleticism through the lifespan, numerology (about which I think he published two or three small volumes), waterways of England, dance, bicycling, and other subjects of interest to us both.  I wish I’d had the chance to meet the man in person.  He died in late December 2015 and I learned of his passing in January 2016.  One of Rodford’s friends reported that he died at home of heart failure while exercising – not a bad way to go.  I’ve felt a little depressed since learning of my unmet friend’s death.  He was somebody I liked.

In April of last year, another friend died, but I haven’t wanted to write about it.

I Haven’t Felt Much Like Writing

Probably related to my depressed feelings about Rodford’s death, my annoying holiday illnesses and injury, and sometimes trying workplace, I haven’t felt much like writing so far this year.  I’ve been spending most of my energies in the workplace and with family.

I Haven’t Been Spending Much Time Using Facebook

Controversies and conversations I could join, memes to mock, statuses to comment, and I’ve mostly abstained; don’t recall the last time I updated my own Facebook status.  I do recall changing my profile picture to the Alternative Universe Good-At-Being-Evil Dr. Doofenshmertz.  I have a school-aged son and a Netflix subscription – we watch a lot of Phineas and Ferb together.  It’s probably the best kid’s TV show you can watch with a First Grader.  I like the Alternative Universe Doofenshmertz because he’s a competent evil professional.  In the event I ever go badly off the rails, I’d continue to shoot for competence even though the empire I envision ruling would be a lot more interesting than Doofenshmertz’s.

Since writing this post, I have updated my Facebook status.

WWJD

While driving to work on a Tuesday or Wednesday, a couple of weeks ago, I saw a bumpersticker on the back of a truck and noted the word, Jesus, on it.  I thought it would say something about Real Men loving Jesus or something similar.  For some reason, though, I looked at the sticker and read it.  It’s vulgar and irreligious message cracked me up; in fact, I laughed out loud intermittently over the next couple of minutes.  On audio CD in the car, however, I’d been listening to Matthew’s gospel and it had got to the second chapter – the part about Herod having the male children, age two and under, in Bethlehem slaughtered to ensure that he who had been called by the Magi “The King of the Jews” would never arise to threaten his reign.  The juxtaposition in my mind of vulgar humor over against the seriousness of the incarnation of deity gave me pause.  Instead of making a long blog post about all of this, I talked about it with friends at our congregation’s Wednesday evening meeting.  I’m finding that I’ve been interacting more this year with people face to face than electronically; it seems fitting to me.

Done with Iphone

I ditched my wireless telephony carrier data-plan to save some money – turns out I’ll save over $300 per year switching back to the provider’s 99-cent flip phone.  I’m wasting a lot less time now that I’m not carrying around a tiny, Internet-connected computer with me.  The change has resulted in decreased photographic effort, although the new cell-phone does have a camera.  Things I miss about the Iphone?  Alvio Cyclemeter, camera function (Iphone takes better pictures than the flip-phone and files are easier to transfer), ability to waste time with Facebook and email, weather reports when the power’s out at home, easy to manage reminders, calendar, contacts from any computer.

I bought another Pentax Optio W30 to replace the one I gave my son when he was four years-old and has since that time knocked about enough that shutter speed and a couple of other features are no longer what they once were when I bought it as NOS.  The factory refurb I got for about $44 will now accompany me on my adventures in the real world.  My Jamis bike came with a Planet Bike cycling computer, but I hate it.  I’m planning to get a Magellan Cyclo 315 to keep track of my mileage and to keep me from getting bad lost in Tennessee hills and Midwestern farmland.  Because  I don’t care about all that heart-rate-and-cadence-monitor hokum, I’ll get the base-model.  It should be compatible with some of the Magellan topo maps that came with the Explorist 710 I got (used) to try out as an all-in-one cycling computer, GPS, and camera.  I found the 710 unsuitable for my purposes and, because the unit I bought was defective, I sent it back.

The one-time expense approach to cycling and photography appeals more to me than the data-plan subscription approach necessitated by the Iphone.  My Iphone 4 now sits in a desk drawer sans recharge.  I think it’ll stay there for a long time.

Interesting Workplace

This semester, I’m doing an internship in the locked psychiatric ward where I did my practicum placement last semester.  I’ve pretty much gotten over my fear of the features or manifestations of mental illness.  A large number of our patients are very old, so I am also learning about the dementing process and various types of dementia.  I’m tired by the time I get home in the early evening; my coworkers tell me this is normal.  The work is largely enjoyable, and I like both patients and coworkers.

Upper Body Strength

Since I’ve had less time for cycling than previously, I’ve been trying to improve upper body strength with pull-ups, push-ups, dumb-bells, medicine ball, and so forth.  My hope is that increasing muscle mass will help burn more fat.  When cycling, here lately, I’ve pedaled with my son so he can get out of the house, too.  We both need to be outside and if I fail to take advantage of this time we have to spend together, we’ll both regret it as we get older.  For Christmas a few years ago, I got an Iron Gym and a couple of weeks ago, I got a Power Press push-up board.  I’ve redoubled my efforts with the Iron Gym and have taken to the Power Press with some intensity.  We’ll see if I start building muscle and shedding fat.

Thinking About Facebook

This week I had contact through Facebook with an old friend I haven’t heard from in close to ten years.  I was delighted, and sent a friend request that was accepted.  It will be pleasant to be able to see photographs from her life, and hopefully she will not be horrified by photographic documentation of my own life on earth.

I make it a rule to “friend” only those people I would be willing to spend free time with in person, to invite over to the house for coffee, lunch, or dinner.

This morning the Facebook “home” page presented me with the suggestion that I “friend” somebody I knew years before I reached my majority on the basis of the fact that we have (now had) two “friends” in common.  I looked at the individual’s visible profile and list of friends, and realized they were not people with whom I’d choose to associate, although a number of them were known to me from my less than idyllic youth.  And I realized that one of those two “friends” in common was somebody I wouldn’t make the effort to call or otherwise contact if I were in that person’s city of residence on a visit.  In order to better conform my electronic circumstances with the reality I inhabit, I “unfriended” the individual.

Simple truth set me free to act in a reasonable manner.

Brief Respite

I have been enjoying lurid entertainments

My brief respite from deadline related activity comes to an end Monday, and all I’ve done with the spare time is watch silent films on Netflix (currently Fritz Lang’s 1919 adventure serial Spiders) and had Thursday in for a 70,000 mile service that involved timing and serpentine belts, water pump, a hydraulic tensioner, and a problem with the circuit-board that controls the operation of the overhead interior lights.  That’s the most money we’ve spent on the 850 car since we got it in ’05 or ’06.

Cossentino's Figure 1 - Montessorian path to normalization. Cadged from COSSENTINO, J. (2006). Big Work: Goodness, Vocation, and Engagement in the Montessori Method. Curriculum Inquiry, 36(1), 63-92. doi:10.1111/j.1467-873X.2006.00346.x.

That’s not completely true – the other thing I’ve done during this deadline hiatus has been to spend every spare minute after work playing outside with Seventy-Six, or playing inside with him and his new tipi, as well as counting, singing, jumping, and reading books.  Outside activities include running around trees in the yard yelling “Oogah-Boogah,” blowing and chasing soap-bubbles, shooting baskets, playing catch, playing a game involving chasing the ball that is either kicked or thrown, running for the shear pleasure of running in the yard, drawing with chalk on the driveway, experimenting with very basic Montessorian activities like walking around a large chalk circle or on a long chalk line, various small child-powered vehicles, counting, and singing.

The mosquitoes are biting.

Thus, most of the time was well spent and may be considered redeemed to the extent that such can be said of ordinary human activity.

My mechanic has a 2000 Volvo Cross Country on his yard that a customer dropped off to sell.  We were interested in the car for Caution-Lady, but the owners are, according to Mr. Jim, insistent upon or “stuck at” their beyond Edmunds valuation asking price of $7,000.00.  I’d say the car’s worth closer to $5,500.00, so we’ll just keep the ’93 940T for a while longer.  We’ve had the 940 since 2002, and it has been a great car and a sold daily-driver.  It’s due for an oil service and needs sunroof adjusted, new driver-side carpet, and front brakes, but all that will come in at considerably less than $7k.

At work, two of my coworkers – one in my own office and one in another part of the state – have lost their spouses suddenly and unexpectedly.  It has been a sad time.  Last week, I returned to Cannon County on official business after an absence of about five years, on a hot day driving a car with no useful air-conditioner.  At Murfreesboro, I met the new hire who is replacing an old friend who tendered resignation last month.

In the electronic world, I’ve discovered that extreme privacy settings on Facebook are preventing people I actually like from “friending” me.  I’m going to have to monkey with that to see if the thing can be corrected.

Facebook Charity Challenge

Challenged by a friend on Facebook to have yogurt and green tea for breakfast this morning posting a photo of same in exchange for his donation of $10.00 to the non-political charity of my choice, I skipped my usual ration of oatmeal made with brown sugar, dried fruit, and boiling water, and strong black coffee. Not very filling, but it was for a good cause.

Facebook Breakfast Challenge 4/30/09

Stolen Images

Here’re a couple of images I swiped from a Facebook event page.  Pretty funny.  I thought they were funny.  Deadpool’s like a Spiderman gone horribly, but comedically, wrong.  Godzilla and the plastic monsters are plastic monsters with a plan.

Funny Guy

Plastic Monsters with a Plan

Christov Thinks Cortisone Injections Hurt Like The Dickens

My Eyes

Yesterday, I drove to Franklin in the morning for magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) of my painful shoulder, hoping the diagnosis would be something other than rotator cuff tear-through.  But first, the technician wanted to X-Ray my eyes.  Chin up, to the target, stand still, hold breath, done.  No metal shavings or bits of shrapnel found.

The MRI wasn’t bad.  I’m not claustrophobic anyway, and the machine used was one of the “open” variety.  The tech made me comfortable and immobile with foam bits, rolled cloths, sandbags.  Pretty easy to relax thus supported, and since I used to find the diesel clatter of my long lost ’79 Volkswagen diesel Rabbit comforting, I was easily lulled into semi-sleep trancelike state by the machine in which I lay still.

Time to kill between finishing the MRI and consulting with the doctor; two and half to three hours.  Helpful techs told me how to find Main Street, and I made my way to Binks outdoor store off the square.  400 block of Main St.  Parallel parked with ease to the apparent astonishment of staring lunchtime patrons sitting torpid outside a sham Irish pub.  One great skill acquired in my misspent Southern California youth.

No paddling gear whatsoever in this store

Binks has all of their sleeping bags and tents marked down 40%, which would’ve been great if they weren’t so high to begin with.  Absolutely NO paddling gear in the store.  Disappointed, I looked around for awhile eating some snacks I’d brought from home, and bought nothing.  Still hungry, I walked toward the square in search of something quick and light.  Stopped into one of those groovy, gritty bar/cafes catering to low-level, younger salesmen in ill-fitting suits who wish to see themselves as edgy.  Sol or Sol’s, I think it was called.  Mexican or Southwest theme.  Supertall blonde barmaid or waitress gave me a lunch menu.  I ordered a “broth-based, Mexican” soup with pork.  Not bad, it had a little too much thickener, which detracted from the otherwise palatable seasoning.

I sat at a table from which I could look out the front window at the Ben & Jerry’s Ice-Cream store or bar or whatever it is you call a place where the public buys and consumes ice-cream.  The store was closed.  Struck me as odd.  Sunny Thursday early afternoon people walking about, and the ice-cream store is closed.  I noticed a nondescript female enter and leave the building by the front door, locking it after her each time with a key she held at waist-level and close to her body.

I read part of a day-old Tennessean, mouthpiece of the local Democrat party, and particularly of the incumbent Democrat governor.  “Governer Bredesen Fires Back at Critics,” blah, blah, blah.

Time to go.  The agency that employs me has a facility in Franklin, and I drove over there to say hello to a colleague, but everyone there was out to lunch, so I stuck a note of greeting on the door and headed back to the doctor’s office.

I needn’t have been in such a hurry.  My appointment was at 2:00 pm, and I didn’t get taken back to an exam room until about 3:45.  Another 20 minutes or so before the doctor came back, and we were able to discuss the MRI.

Here’s an exchange from my Facebook profile – I’d changed my status to this blog-post’s title:

My younger brother said,

Dude . . . I had one in my elbow and thought I was going to come unglued.

My friend Cathie said,

Poor babies…try childbirth

My mom said,

Did you get one in your shoulder?

I replied, after awakening around 12:30 am with 7 out of 10 pain in my cortisone injected shoulder and wishing for Lortab or some other highly addictive pain-killer,

Yeah, my shoulder. Dr. F said he thought there might be, but wasn’t sure, full thickness tear in the r-cuff. Said if the cortisone didn’t completely clear it up to schedule surgery.

The doctor distracted me by asking questions about the slim but weighty volume I had with me – Englesma’s Common Grace Revisited. The acts of organizing and articulating my thoughts helped a lot.

Let me tell you, the pain of the injection is NOTHING compared to the pain that awakened me two hours ago and has kept me awake since. This pain eats Ibuprofen like a seven year-old eats Halloween candy.

With my right hand, I had to lift my left hand to the keyboard to write.

I was able to drive home from Williamson Co. with no difficulty or pain, but couldn’t stay awake past 8:30 pm. Woke up as noted above.

I rejoice to say childbirth is one pain I will never experience.

My friend K v K said (bee-sting? lucky guy)

I had a cortisone shot for my sciatica. It felt like a bee sting, but didn’t do a thing for the sciatica! Ugh!

Conservative T-Shirts That Mock Liberals, Oh My!

This morning I posted a link at my Facebook profile (search Facebook for Christov_Tenn) to the website of an online retailer of T-Shirts and other paraphernalia emblazoned with sometimes mocking and otherwise humorous or clever conservative slogans and/or designs. Heck, I didn’t even choose a mocking image to illustrate the link, just a simple McCain/Palin campaign T. One of my cousins, as far to the left as I am to the right, mocked back in the comment box Facebook provides. Other comments were posted. When I returned home from work, I drank about half a pot of black, room temperature coffee left over from this morning, soapboxed a wordy reply of my own.

Here’s the design that seems to have incited the Facebook exchange:

Is this offensive? Should conservative slogan-writers be required to produce what amounts to "comfort speech" for the left?

And here are my comments posted in response to those of my cousin:

creating an environment…” (cousin’s name removed), I’ve got to say, “Blah, blah, blah.” Political mockery is absolutely something that Americans of every ilk have always indulged in. If anything, it allows us to blow off steam and release tension.

We are never under any obligation to utter “comfort speech” to any group or person. Free political speech is a constitutional right.

I guess if you want to be scared over there on the left that some “lone gunman” might commit a crime upon the basis of the mocking replacement of sibilant with a labial stop, you’re free to express your fears in the same way those on the right are to express their fears about the possibility of some authoritarian, power-hungry socialist whip-cracker ceding national sovereignty to ideological brethren in the United Nations.

But c’mon, let’s have the courage to poke fun at all the asshats who imagine it is their divine right to impose their half-baked ideas and wills upon us.

Adds a final blah, steps off soapbox

And a little while later, after I realized my mistake:

Hey, but the reason I posted this link in the first place was to give my own ideological brethren (which at this point means those willing to press McVote touch-screen-happy-meal button for “Anybody but Obama”) a source for McCain Palin T-shirts since the local Republican headquarters are all out of them.

Sibilant & stop I got mixed up, supra. Actually the unintended meaning in re: the aspersion cast is pretty funny in itself.

I thought it would be interesting to bring it out here into the blogosphere.

Have a look at some of the T-Shirts and stuff at MetroSpy, then tell me whether they scare you, whether the people who find them amusing scare you, whether you find them amusing, or whether they make you want to burn thing and throw stones outside embassy gates…

The poll’s skin is a soothing pink bearing the image of a buttlerfly, a universally recognized symbol that bespeaks change and peace, intended as comforting framework within which to meaningfully express by clicking true sentiments in the safe online world of Mr. Christov’s WordPress blog.

I Liked This Picture

UPDATE 11-7-20 – I just checked the Six-Dollar T-shirt site and was unable to find the shirt designs that so entertained they motivated this blog post.  Now I’m sorry I didn’t copy the images to my hard drive and post them from there.  Bummer. 

I clicked on a Facebook “sponsored” link that took me to http://www.threadpit.com’s Facebook store. Saw some T-Shirt designs I thought must’ve arisen out of some intellectual and developmental impairment, but saw a couple I really liked.

Here’s one – Dropping the F-Bomb – cracked me up when I first saw it.  I hate it in that green color, though.  Makes it look like something a pot-head would wear – you remember those kids who left campus to smoke behind the library at lunch-time.  Wore washed out looking browns, blacks, greens with mismatching colored jackets, dingy white socks, dirty hair, as if pot-smoking killed the color-sense center in their brains.  Maybe it did.

Droppin’ the F-Bomb

And here’s one I liked even better:

Acting My Shoe Size

Facebook?

Yep, if you didn’t already know it, I’ve been messing around with Facebook. The thing that annoys me most about it is that it seems all too easily devolve into a never-ending online brag-letter, like those irksome missives distributed at Christmastime in lieu of a pretty card.

But it is addictive. Like blog-stats on WordPress, only so much more immersive, so detail-rich.

I gotta turn this machine off and work-out.