It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

This American Life did a piece called "The Cruelty Of Children." It's an hour long, and well worth the time. Act One is light-hearted and funny (for a story about taunting, anyway), and Act Two is particularly chilling. Act Three goes into a new idea that should be implemented in every kindergarten class if we want children to grow up to be kinder and less elitist adults.
Take a free hour and give it a listen.

I'm asking for it on this one, but damnit, these people piss me off.

The Religious Right is scary.
Put the Bible down before your fundamentalist tunnel vision sends us all reeling into World War III.

The Christian Coalition

Defending yourself against fundamentalist Christians (very well-written)
Fundamentally Unsound - A Scary Bestseller Becomes Political Justification?
PFAW - The Radical Right
The Radical Religious Right - Links

The phone:

It doesn't work sometimes. It rings; in that loud, muffled, and yet high-pitched gurgle - like a screaming, suffocating baby with milk in its throat. After the ring though, it's practically useless. It has a temperament that demands that you hold it just so. It has to be cradled. Pinch the top and push the plastic backing 5 millimeters to the left. When you don't, it silences everything. Through it, you can hear voices, but they come and go - like you're driving through groups of people, conversations sprouting up and fading. Usually though, it just tires your hand. That's when you don't care what the voice in the phone is saying. It's hard to care when your hand starts to cramp.

"I have to go. I'll call you back."

Sometimes that's not a lie.
Sometimes it is.

Seriously?

{Pause for ironic effect... Outburst of uncontrollable laughter.}

Now there's a briliant humor site.

And now, ask yourself why.
And whether or not it makes you happy.

Because that's the only thing that matters.

And speaking of schizotypal ... (What kind of a way to start a post is that, Jenny? ...Hmm) Speaking of schizotypal...

A few days ago I checked out a book titled The Nightmare by Ernest Hartman. Around page 107, he comes to a conclusion about people who have frequent nightmares (moi!). Listen up, my nightmare people.

"Is there an overall description that we can use to characterize these people with frequent nightmares?

First, there is evidently more pathology or mental illness in the nightmare group. The pathology is in the direction of schizophrenia, though most of the subjects at the time of the study could not be diagnosed as such...

They are not 'armored'; they are vulnerable in many respects. ...

Nightmare sufferers appear to be unusally sensitive in a number of different meanings of the term. A few of them described themselves as being perceptually sensitive - unusually aware of and disturbed by noise, light, etc. that others were less affected by. Almost all described themselves also as sensitive in the sense of being easily hurt and emotionally fragile - letting things 'get to them' easily. ...

They do not keep things pigeonholed between rigid partitions; they 'let things through.' ... Their dreams are not bounded in the usual sense: the nightmares themselves can be seen as a failure to keep dangerous and frightening material out of dreams in a way that most of us are able to do. ... Ego boundaries can be considered thin in that these people allow sexual and aggressive material to enter into consciousness more than most of us. ...

I believe that the frequent nightmare sufferers - vulnerable, open, and sensitive persons with thin boundaries - constitute a group specifically vulnerable to schizophrenic illness [woohoo!]."

And there you have it... {Exit with flourish.}

Okay, so the results of my Bloginality test-taking experience are nothing new. Either you're an extrovert or an introvert. Feel free to take a guess on which one I am. (Hint: It starts with an 'I'.) Entirely unsurprising.

Certain quizzes and personality type tests, however, are pretty accurate and informative. Like this one that I took a while ago. Who would have guessed that I was schizotypal? Heh.

Ever call in sick to work and yet, some time during the day, have to drive by the very place that your supposed to be working diligently at?

Yep. Quite a dilemma I have here.

Today I pick up my graduation application and send it packing to the Liberal Arts college for a final nod of approval from the powers that be.

It frightens me to think that the days of my last summer vacation from school are zipping away...
"Like sands in an hourglass," they say. Wait. (Jenny pauses to think about the absurdity and uselessness of soap operas. .... .... .... Realizing that she's being watched, she returns to her babble.)

Maybe I should just become a professional student - though I've never quite understood that term. Does that mean that you can be paid for going to classes? Or does it just refer to people who delude themselves into thinking that never letting go of the scholastic experience qualifies as a career?

Hmm... evading jobhood in any way is a good thing. Perhaps I'll just keep registering for classes I don't need...
It has to be better than a soul-sucking 9 to 5.

Personally, I consider the whole PC vs. Mac debate to be about as fruitful as a redneck Ford vs. Chevy debate. It really all depends on what you're trying to accomplish, because both perform slightly better at some things than their counterpart. So when I first saw the new "Switch to Mac and change your life" commercials, the first word that shot into my head was "pretentious."

Fuck your Macintosh Lifestyle

Tax Havens For The Rich

One comment on this forum pokes at the diseased heart of the country's problems -
Dan Eckham says, "It's up to the public, through the apparatus of government, to make sure…corporations serve the public interest at the same time as they feed themselves."

"Through the apparatus of the government." Now there's a funny phrase. We all saw how well the well-lubricated machinery of the government was working after the 2000 election. We're seeing it again as the "apparatus of the government" intends to pass bills that bestow more unchecked power upon the executive. And no, you don't get to vote on that. (Even though, and as if this needed restating, voting at this point is merely symbolic.)

Even if American democracy worked as it should, could the American populace even be trusted to use the power of suffrage to better the country and in turn their own lives? The short answer, my friends: No. Case in point, the majority of people polled in my hometown don't even recognize the names of local politicians. The fact of the matter is that either:

(A) Americans, as a whole, are too ignorant to handle the affairs of their own government. Raised and bred on super models and N*Sync, the general populace equates beauty with goodness and charisma with substance. It's no wonder that our current president is an insider trading, drunk driving, near-illiterate with about as little foreign policy knowledge as a second grader.
(B) We're too busy working 40 to 50 hours a week just to scrape crumbs off of the floors of our capitalistic prisons (AKA, jobs) trying to achieve the false, empty shell of what we call the "American Dream." (Oh, or a cookie-cutter home in the suburbs, if you prefer.)
(C) We realized long ago that the pigs are in control and we lower animals can do nothing to change that.

In any case, it simply doesn't work.
Any flag-waving, "under God" uttering, robot that tells you otherwise, is lying. Or more likely, they're just too blissfully ignorant to care about the truth.

William D. Lutz writes:

"In 1982 the Republican National Committee sponsored a television advertisement which pictured an elderly, folksy postman delivering Social Security checks "with the 7.4% cost-of-living raise that President Reagan promised." The postman then added that "he promised that raise and he kept his promise, in spite of those sticks-in-the-mud who tried to keep him from doing what we elected him to do." The commercial was, in fact, deliberately misleading. The cost-of-living increases had been provided automatically by law since 1975, and President Reagan tried three times to roll them back or delay them but was overruled by congressional opposition. When these discrepancies were pointed out to an official of the Republican National Committee, he called the commercial "inoffensive" and added, "Since when is a commercial supposed to be accurate? Do women really smile when they clean their ovens?""

If you're a Republican, could you do me a favor right now and smack yourself for me? Thanks.

He was wearing an olive green button-up dress shirt. If I could have gotten a good look at his eyes beneath those round-rimmed metal framed glasses, I think they might have matched the shirt. I fiddled with pens that lay on the shelves of his cubicle and took a last look out the window - so high in the air.

My attempts to entice him with thoughts of being outside in the crisp New York morning air were failing. So I decided to use a different tactic.

    "But don't you think we should go get coffee? Coffee sounds perfect right now," I half-pleaded, thinly veiled and desperate now.
    "I need to get this work done."

Neil was oblivious. And why shouldn't he be?

It was 5:45 AM. My own sense of urgency and responsibility was growing. Somehow, Neil would leave the building with me. Somehow, I had to make it happen. For some reason, I cared more about this stranger than I cared about most daily occurences. I didn't question how I had gotten there, or how time had been reversed; I just knew that I had to change it.

Why Neil? Why Me? I don't know that either.

I stared once more at his back-turned figure and his early-morning work-dedicated hair, dissheveled and dirty blond. He recommenced typing, more annoyed at my presence than at all aware of the dire situation now pulling Fate in two directions.

    "Okay, Neil. Anything you want. I'll pay. Let's just take a little break from work, please." I was beginning to realize that sooner or later I should start caring about my own safety as well.

He stopped typing for a moment. Maybe he sensed my urgency. Maybe coffee really did sound perfect. Maybe my subconscious was throwing me a bone. For whatever reason, and with a slow, thoughtful determination, he spun his office chair to face me and looking up through those fluorescent-tinged glasses said, "Okay."

The next second, we were walking through an artsy district blocks from the buildings - reds and blues and purples on all shapes of artisan shops. Green-shirted Neil was by my side.

I don't remember if I even felt a sense of accomplishment. It was simply a feeling of things being set right. I smiled.

Before we said another word to each other, I was gone - in another place and another time, facing my own demons, saving myself.

Should I be concerned that during my attempt at meditation tonight the only image I could receive was that of a decomposing skull?

{Jenny pauses for dramatic effect as a cold chill sweeps the room...}

Hmm...
Seems no matter where my psyche tries to hide, it ends up running into our old friend Death.

Geocaching makes me want a GPS device...
Just thought I'd share that. Feel free to get me one. :)

PETA says, "Animals are not ours to eat, wear, experiment on, or use for entertainment." Now, I have great respect for PETA, and I think that anyone who supports things like bull fighting, big game hunting, or any other kind of atrocious acts that cruelly manifest man's overgrown superiority complex deserves a frontal lobotomy. I do, however, think that PETA would do better in the way of keeping the general public involved if they didn't negate one of the most basic systems on planet Earth: the food chain. Saying that we don't have the right to eat animals is like saying that we're akin to aliens or gods, just dropped from the sky to observe things.

Here are the basic facts:
The human is an animal.
Animals must eat to survive.
Some animals are herbivores. Some are carnivores. Some play both fields as omnivores.
The human, as an omnivore - since mankind first took its fledgling upright steps - is thus entitled and expected to eat plants and other animals, just as any other animal is.

This, of course, doesn't mean that mankind also has any right to perform this act of survival by cruel means. But separating us out of the planet's food chain is just egotistical. Saying that animals are "not ours to eat" is as humanity-centric as saying that animals are only here for our benefit.

If PETA wants to appeal to general population and actually further their cause for the good of all animals, they need to reexamine their stance on one of the most fundamental aspects of living in the animal kingdom.

I've been waiting, but Fate was supposed to be here hours ago. I'm still waiting, but I'm losing hope. And these bags are getting too heavy to hold. Maybe if I walked down the street... maybe to see if Fate's coming up the road... No, I'll stay here and wait a little longer. Maybe I just need to tighten my grip a little, hold a bit tighter to all these bags. It'll be time to go in no time at all.

Well it's been confirmed.

Magic Eight Ball Question: Will today continue to be a bad day?
Magic Eight Ball Answer: Yes.

There you have it. Prepare yourself for a long, painful day.

Time: Nearing my bedtime
Accomplishing: As little a possible
Current repressed emotion: Complete and utter boredom
Hearing: The soft hum of modern life
Craving: Chinese food... mmmmm.....
Imbibing: Fabulously taste-free water
Wondering: Why the night flew by so fast...
Pondering: Who invented donuts?
Spur of the moment decision: Sleep. Now.

Beach ball remains in a deflated state.
Giving up attempts to inflate.
And no, I didn't mean for that to rhyme.

So, I'm sitting here attempting to blow up this beach ball. [Which, by the way, is surprisingly much harder than it at once seemed.]

Equipment:
standard white, yellow, red, and blue beach ball
two lungs
lips
empty packaging beach ball packaging

As I'm taking a third unsuccessful blow at the thing, I notice the insert in the empty package sitting in front of me. This is what baffles me: on the bottom of this picture in the packaging, there is some fine print that reads, and I quote, "Decorative items used as photo props are not included." Okay,who's the genius that threw this gem on here? As far as I can tell, the only non-beachball items in aforementioned picture are water, rocky landscaping, and a little girl. Soooo...

Little Girl = Decorative Item
Decorative Item = Photo Prop
Therefore...
Little Girl = Photo Prop

Heh...

I have far too much time on my hands.

Another day of work ahead.
I'm not cut out for this working every day thing. I'm really not. Yesterday, after this week of having to work every day (except Wednesday), I was ready to plan on being sick today (cough cough). But everyone tells me, "Just look at it this way. At least you'll be getting more money." Fuck that. How am I supposed to appreciate having more money if I'm spending all my time working?

(complain complain bitch moan whine)

Sigh.

You've had one of these moments before. If you haven't, you're either lying or soulless.

I find myself feeling the weight of an incredible emptiness, one that can't be teased away by social coaxing or introspection. How do you rid yourself of nothing?

I hear other people talking, but I can't bring myself to care. I just snuggle deeper under my suffocating apathy quilt.

Maybe I'll stop breathing soon.

Here I am, expecting just a little bit
Too much from the wounded.

And I wanted to say "yes," but I said "no,"
And you just said "okay."
Just like that, without a fight.
You could have risen to meet my challenge.
You could have thrown that fist,
That I knew you wanted to throw.
But you didn't
when I didn't,
And that's how nothing happens.

  "Running on empty at this point," she says.
  "No, it's all just in your mind," he retorts in that cold analytical stocism he owns. "You're taking a bad day and making it bigger than it should be."
  "Maybe."
  She watches a single hair float to the floormat.
  "Maybe."

A search for "Wait, what is it you really want?" on Google turns up this result...
I like.

{insert revelling in the joy of procrastination here}

I nearly procrastinated myself out of a graduation. Applications for December graduation are due August 1. By the time the registrar gets my file in order and all that nonsense, it will be July 29th, and then off I'm wisked to hand off the little creamy application to the liberal arts college. If all goes well (nonsensical, fervent finger crossing goes here), I'll be shoved forcefully into the depressing real world this December.

Yay.
Sigh.

{Jenny gets up off of her slacker ass to finally slide back into communication with the world.}
And hello.

Today's lesson: What Jenny Learned On Her Trip To San Diego

1. For people living outside of "America's wasteland," Summer is actually a good thing.
      I never understood the connection of the words "Summer," "fun," and "outside" all in the same sentence. When it's ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE degrees outside (as it was here while I was luckily gone... heh) and you can look to your left and see the sun walking down the street, no one should piece together those three words. Summer has always meant more time indoors. And yet, somewhere, hundreds of miles west southwest, there's a place where people just mill about in the cool 75 degree air of parks and don't melt as they do so. That's astounding.

2. Low on change? Have your kids play a game of "Hunt For Quarters In The Park Fountain!"
      In Balboa Park, we watched as some mousy little girl of maybe six or seven, skirt held up in one hand, stalked through the fountain, snatching up coin after coin. Well, hey, why not? [And I have video footage. Don't make me whip it out.]

3. California hates efficient traffic layouts.
      Why the obsession with one way streets? Why??

4. California also hates easy-to-find supermarkets.
      Don't ask me why, but apparently, there's some rule in California that prohibits supermarkets from being placed in any logical or easily reachable locations. Luckily, after emerging from an almost-as-hard-to-find mall downtown, my keen eyes spotted an inconspicuous Ralph's sign pointing to an underground parking lot. (As a sidenote: From this excursion into California shopping, I also learned that having people mover walkways from a parking lot to the main entrance of a supermarket increases that store's badass rating by 4 points.)

5. People pay far too much for gasoline these days and don't even seem to mind.
      Case in point: I'd like to submit Exhibit A for examination. This shocking piece of visual violence comes to us courtesy fabulous downtown Baker, California, population 600 and home of the "World Famous World's Tallest Thermometer." (Unfortunately, Baker's only true claim to fame, said thermometer, located in the parking lot of the fine dining Bun Boy establishment, was malfunctioning this time through.) Exhibit A clearly shows how silly gas prices have gotten in our lovely neighbor state. As we pumped the costlier-than-crack gas, Tony remarked, "Do you see these prices?!" A friendly native that was refueling next to us chimed in, "Aww, this isn't that bad at all."

6. This. And, oh, how enlightened I feel.

7. And lastly, but not leastly, do not breathe in while kneeling directly downwind of hydrochloric acid. ...Don't ask.

You are now dismissed.

In about six hours, I'll be driving toward "the birthplace of the summer": San Diego. So to the rest of the world out there, I'll see you again on Sunday night.

Mark one more victory for the little man.

Today my father went up against all the odds in a court case in one of the most corruptly policed little cities in the Southwest. "Failure to pay attention" was the $450 moving violation he was faced with, and everyone, even my dad, thought that he was going to lose. But with integrity and self-written statement in tow, he refused both the monetary deals they offered, because, "Why pay them more money when they're asking me to lie that I did something I didn't?" Acting as his own lawyer and with nothing but his own word against the officer's, he actually won. "The burden of proof lies with the D.A," the judge announced in his verdict. "And that failed to be supplied."

I'm just shocked. Against all my better knowledge and cynicism, the judicial system actually worked - for someone without deep pockets - and in a city notorious for its questionable police practices. Brilliant.

It almost inspires me to take up optimism.

Reading the dying words of others, names that seem eternal, reminds you that, yes, you're going to die.

My last word will probably be, "No."

But I don't want to think about that right now.

I apologize for the incessant quiz taking that for all intents and purposes I think is inane... but this one... just made me smile.



What's Your Inner Demon?
this quiz was made by Melissa

So, I don't know what this is or where it came from, but I'm beginning to be more and more convinced that the entire "manly, macho, football playin', truck drivin', breast-lovin'" species is obsessed with their own repressed homoeroticism.

What we can immediately see about this picture:
    It's signed by someone named Royo. Let's make the easy assumption for the sake of argument that this Royo is male.
    What's more readily apparent, however, is that upward-thrusting silver shaft right there, center frame. Note the fact that the sword is held so that it rests against the pelvic bone, and thus conveniently extends out and up at a (coughcough) appropriate angle. The artist (Mr. Royo, we suppose) has accented the blade itself, textured with a centered swollen vein of steel, with a shining spot of light. Of course, the sun is clearly setting BEHIND the man and his long sword, so this gleaming light is a misplaced artistic error, but that's not the point, is it? The light is there to draw your attention to the sword (as if you needed help). The artist wanted to ensure that this sword was the focal point.
    Valiant (as the title in the corner so boldly informs us) is quite the rugged man, right? Rippling muscles, pronounced arm veins, a fine oily sheen, and that rugged man ensemble all proudly proclaim, "That's right, I have a big sword." He's obviously meant to be a paragon of testosterone. ...And he's been brought into existence by Mr. Royo. Manly Valiant is a celebration of machismo by a fellow man. Valiant's assets don't stop at his blade and sheen though. For the breast men out there, Mr. Royo has endowed his creation with quite a rack. Attraction piled on mixed attraction - how could a warm-blooded American male resist it?
     Next, let's count all the thinly veiled phallic and sexual symbols, shall we?
      -1- Most obviously, aforementioned manly sword. We'll leave it at that.
      -2- The scabbard hanging there between his legs, willing and waiting for insertion of that big sword.
      -3- Boulders on the right hand side of the picture - I'll say no more about that.
      -4- The valley cleft in the background mountains / the parting clouds overhead.
      -5- Finally, and pretty importantly, note the handle of a second blade jutting out from behind our hero "Valiant." The placement of this second weapon, with the rocks being conveniently concave there to allow maximum visibility of the handle, is a glaring signal. Sword in front; sword in rear... logical conclusions anyone?

I'll go one step further in our little visual experiment. This kind of revelling in the exaggerated aspects of one's own sex isn't limited to the male gender. For kicks, go to your local supermarket, buy any assortment of munchable items you'd like (because why not? right?), and as you're standing in line, look around you at the obligatory women's magazines. You'll see more heaving breasts and barely-there clothing than can be found on the average 16 year-old boy's walls. And these are marketed toward women. We're taught at a young age to worship our own forms and yet are pressured by society (in general) to regard homosexuality as immoral and unnatural.

Take one last look at Royo's Valiant. Did you notice his left hand the first time around? That's right. Resting there on top of his sword, his hand pushes down ever so lightly on that rising symbol of masculinity. It's this attempt to repress all that his own existence and celebration embodies that reminds us that our's is a mixed-signal culture.

Or as a fellow Jenny once intelligently blogged, "Men are perverts and women are lesbians."

I hate my bed.
For everything it embodies...
Well.
Nearly everything.

...But still, more often than not, it finds me alone. With an eye-straining book, the uncomforting TV and a boxspring hailing from the invertebrate family....

Saying "Goodnight", for me, means dragging my consciousness to the breaking point - until I can no longer keep my tired limbs and lids moving and until the lonliness of the digital void grates my tired nerves. So I give in to the call of my body for a bed, spin the chair and fall into that groove my worn boxspring has made in my mattress. And I'm still alone.

"Goodnight" sounds like a deathbed "goodbye."

And so I've ended up despising an inanimate object and a phrase...
My bed.
And "Goodnight."

What is it about TV that just sucks little minds into a numbing vortex?

I watch the wave of complacency just wash over their faces and any trouble they might have had just evaporates into mouth-breathing ignorant bliss. Channel surfing, for example, has got to be one of the most soul-sucking of all modern man's "leisure" activities. Eighty percent of the time, the "surfer" is passing by some badly written, horribly acted commercial - the remaining time is spent staring at shows with even worse writing and actors who were obviously hired for their physical "gifts" and nothing else. Case in point: anything on TBS. Yet time after time, the TV slave will absorb it all, watching intently to things that, in a normal frame of mind, any intelligent person would laugh at and run away from. Quickly.

Try as I may, I just can't replicate the kind of self-sacrifice necessary for TV worship.

Note to those sharing my frustration: Turning the appliance off will only anger this couch-dwelling species, and like a cornered animal, they will attack: accusing you of trying to destroy their little piece of happiness. Moreover, explanations that you're only trying to free them from their "happy" bondage will fall upon deaf ears.

Another gem from the "Damn, I wish I had had my camera with me" files:

Earlier tonight, after struggling free of the grasp of Tony (who for some reason or other was determined to avenge his wrestling defeat against me by licking my face), I ran laughing down the hallway at full speed and stopped where the living room opens into the kitchen. There on the other side of the sea of kitchen tile was my cat Bug, who upon seeing me burst from the hallway, had been startled to her feet - think black Halloween cat, arched back and all that. She recognizes me, sits down, and lets out a "meow?"

And yes, it was a question, as in, "What the hell?"
It was hilarious.

Okay... so I suppose you had to have been there: exactly why I wish I had had my camera.

As I rummaged through forgotten files tonight, I rediscovered a fumbling (yet still interesting to read) piece from my early college career - an explication of the last line of e.e. cummings' "next to of course god america i." With Dubya looking to move forward on another dollar-eyed tirade into the Middle East, I thought that both the following and my attempt at an explanation of it would prove of timely interest. [And for those wondering what English majors waste their time doing, be sure to check out my multi-paged interpretation of a single mark of punctuation. Feel free to rip into it.]

----------------------

e.e. cummings - [untitled]

"next to of course god america i
love you land of the pilgrims' and so forth oh
say can you see by the dawn's early my
country 'tis of centuries come and go
and are no more what of it we should worry
in every language even deafanddumb
thy sons acclaim your glorious name by gorry
by jingo by gee by gosh by gum
why talk of beauty what could be more beaut-
iful than these heroic happy dead
who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter
they did not stop to think they died instead
then shall the voice of liberty be mute?"

He spoke. And drank rapidly a glass of water

-------------------------------

Sitting here in my shirt that boldly proclaims "Unamerican."
My mother has the frame of mind in her 11PM pre-coma state to throw me a burn-at-the-stake stare and ask...
"What does that mean?"
I answer, "It means I refuse to stand behind a government that doesn't work for its people."
"Would you rather live in a communist state? Or a socialist one?" she grills.
"It would be better than this," I answer in a haphazard, abstract way.

With her following scowl, the conversation ends.

"And we now return you to your regularly scheduled summer blockbuster schedule..."

My latest excursion into the movie world proved fairly fruitless. With the kind of lined-up-around-the-theater crowd you would expect for the return of one of the more memorable summer blockbusters of the recent past, I witnessed the failing of a sequel. Men In Black II proved nearly witless, and presenting the audience with a shell of its predecessor. Like so many sequels, you can see MIB II tripping over itself to be as clever, and it falls on its face. I'm not exalting the original as a paramount movie-making, but it did have some snappy edge to it, a fresh wit. MIB II though had Smith trying to pull humor out of one word lines like, "Frank!" and "Jeeb!"

Maybe I'm just in a bad mood.
It's my birthday now...

Yay.
...

Now here's a quiz that know's what it's talking about: Religion Selector.
You have to love a society that offers up such easy five-minute solutions to man's greatest philosophical and moral questions.

And amazingly, this is a quiz that actually pegged me dead on for my pagan ways... beautiful.


My Results:

1.	Neo-Pagan (100%)   Click here for info
2.	New Age (91%)   Click here for info
3.	Unitarian Universalism (90%)   Click here for info
4.	Reform Judaism (87%)   Click here for info
5.	Sikhism (85%)   Click here for info
6.	Mahayana Buddhism (82%)   Click here for info
7.	Liberal Quakers (81%)   Click here for info
8.	Jainism (79%)   Click here for info
9.	Bahá'í Faith (73%)   Click here for info
10.	Theravada Buddhism (70%)   Click here for info
11.	Orthodox Judaism (66%)   Click here for info
12.	Hinduism (65%)   Click here for info
13.	New Thought (64%)   Click here for info
14.	Scientology (62%)   Click here for info
15.	Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (59%)   Click here for info
16.	Islam (56%)   Click here for info
17.	Secular Humanism (51%)   Click here for info
18.	Taoism (44%)   Click here for info
19.	Orthodox Quaker (41%)   Click here for info
20.	Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (36%)   Click here for info
21.	Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (35%)   Click here for info
22.	Jehovah's Witness (28%)   Click here for info
23.	Nontheist (27%)   Click here for info
24.	Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (19%)   Click here for info
25.	Eastern Orthodox (17%)   Click here for info
26.	Roman Catholic (17%)   Click here for info
27.	Seventh Day Adventist (16%)   Click here for info

What I miss more than words can say...

      

Tony's lack of any birthday traditions has me thinking again about the differences in us all - everything that separates and alienates every single person. My birthday drips with tradition (being situated conveniently on a national holiday ensures that), so the way he casually accepts the coming and going of a birthday without being surrounded by friends and family - not to mention the absence of any kind of candle-dressed bakery products - has me baffled. It's simply another day to him. Until this year, I would never have been able to understand how a person could think of their birthday like that. Of course, my lack of enthusiasm about this year gives me slight insight into his easy calm in the face of an ordinary-day-birthday. It still doesn't negate the fact that until this year he and I differed in every way on this point. Separation and alienation. I suppose that's all I have to offer. [End incoherent babbling. Hit the lights.]

These lyrics...

"Hopefully you'll forget any words that I put in print.
My luck, you'll change... have strength enough to walk away."

I like that.