goodandevil

The Evil | Jehovah’s Witnesses That Take it Too Far

We used to have a limited defense against Jehovah’s Witnesses in out neighborhood, with a deed restriction that prevented soliciting. Now we are defenseless, and the issue isn’t so much what they believe - though refusing military military service and quoting the Bible with words that simply don’t appear in it is bizarre - but how they choose to spread their message.

Our particular batch is just too tenacious for its own good. Several years ago they came by, and I being of open mind sat and listened to their shpiel, but before they got too wrapped up and started handing me Watchtowers they were asked to leave.

Recently they came back, and without asking stepped foot in my home. They just went from the porch, to a body fully inside (I had to get out of the way because she was leaning and not stopping), close enough to smell her stale lifeless breath. They asked when they could come back again and I said while I didn’t mind so much that they were around, it wasn’t my house and that everyone else took them being there seriously. I recommended they not come back in order to respect those wishes.

Earlier this week I was out checking the mail and what looked like an old champagne-colored Chevy celebrity came pulling up ever so slowly. I didn’t think anything of it, and as I got closer to the house they were doing circles in my cul de sac. They stopped and I could’ve sworn the car itself was staring at me. I paused for five seconds in case the people were lost and turned around to return inside. Just then I hear hooting and screaming and the same woman from before starts hoofing it in heels over to me.

“I know you said we should be careful about coming around, but I wanted to provide you this loving message that answers some questions we all have about life and God, with messages from the scripture. You can follow along in your own Bible! Just please take a look at it.” Then she was gone.

I was feeling especially curious, not about God but about what they represent since most of what I know is from people who bash them. I looked at a question, then I looked at its answer. Really? That’s in the Bible? The same Bible I read growing up? No way. My memory’s not that bad. Why aren’t more Christians weird, then? So I pulled out a Bible - we have several, not just the King James - and the difference in wording was so strong I had to check three times to make sure I’d gotten the book, chapter, and verse right. No thinking and reasonable person could paraphrase what was there into the answer they got.

That’s not so bad. Changing words is the name of the game in religion. Usually it’s a translation issue, not an imposing will issue, though. The scariest thing is the stake-outs of my house to see who’s home, and the entering where I live uninvited. If there are any sane Witnesses out there they just got a little bit worse of a name for themselves thanks to these representatives.

The Good | Taking the Dog for a Walk

Coming out of this period of illness I’ve experienced some weird swings, both physically and emotionally. The past two days, smack dab in the middle of the day, I’ve had much of my energy removed to the point where I wanted to curl up and basically just exist.

That didn’t really happen, though, because it’s gorgeous outside and my dog who is rarely as walked as he’d like, seemed especially pathetic today. I can be angry or sad or any number of things, but regardless of how I’m feeling it will never require a great deal of effort to walk him, and it brings him more pleasure than just about anything.

I don’t smile as often as I used to. It’s not a happiness thing. I’m one of the happiest people I know; laughing and smiling is just something I’ve been coded to have in quality over quantity. In these moments where I’m feeling out of it, or down, one of the few things that makes me beam is seeing my basically retarded dog dashing around in a euphoria with his beady little eyes on his overgrown dandelion face.

That’s the simplicity of my message. Find the “dogs” of your life, and if it ain’t too much trouble for you, take them for “walks.” Sometimes going on a journey for someone is a gift, as you may have read or heard in a parable. Sometimes giving someone a journey is a gift as well.

The Evil | Stone Cold Solicitors

I took my dog for a walk around the block today, and saw something I’ve seen before but the sight again today made my blood boil enough to write about.

In my neighborhood someone drives around with little sandwich bags full of rocks. Not pebbles but full-fledged landscaping rocks. Next to the rocks they slip an advertisement for a service they offer, like windows or lawn work, what have you. and using the rocks as a weight they chuck the whole package into your yard.

It’s one thing if they stuck to the easement; technically that’s city property but I’m still responsible for keeping it clear, so that’s annoying. They throw it in your driveway, which means you could step on it or drive over it. Every time I see one I want to pick it up and slam it square under someone’s tire so they wonder what the heck is going on and call the number and flip out.

It just feels so invasive, it’s basically littering, and it’s a dumb business tactic because my first impression is that they’re not that bright and just out to make money as a first priority over treating their customer properly or providing a decent service.

Believe me, if I want my windows re-done or my lawn taken care of - I live in Florida, and those choices matter. I’ll find you or I’ll have heard of you without you needing to fling things at my house.

My other fantasy is a bit more obvious, and that’s to collect them all and dump them back in the yard of whoever they came from. It’s like the people that hang things on your mailbox or leave tickets and collars on your door. Trespassing isn’t something civil people do, and anyone but the mail lady putting things in my mailbox is? You guessed it, a felony.

Nobody likes being spammed in the physical world. If I meet you in real life I’ll treat you just like I intend to treat the guy that sits at home creating trojans and worms that take four hours to get off of your computer. I’ll give you a hint: his reproductive abilities will not be nearly as prolific as the viruses he programs.

The Evil | Heterogeneous Classroom Groups

Remember growing up, and being assigned to break off into sections with a handful of other students? How did that go for you? Probably horribly, and I have half an idea why.

Your teacher, either in her infinite wisdom, or the handed down wisdom she was forced to bring to order, divided you into populations with a little bit of variety. Usually this was organized by perceived intelligence, or demonstrated work ethic. Fantastic, she thinks, I have six groups, and about 10 kids who actually want to accomplish anything. I can’t have the slackers wasting time talking to each other, so as long as I seed the smart people properly, the remedial kids will be lifted up by those that surround them!

Foolproof, except that those kids are remedial for a reason. Being smart or playing the game to get good grades isn’t some elitist badge you wear, it’s a challenge and it serves an important purpose. You get in a certain mindset and your force yourself into a goal-oriented mode. Then you take whatever you’ve got and you apply it.

Let those kids stick with the others who understand them and accomplish things in the same way and they’ll come up with something really special, or at least be so busy and into their own worlds that they won’t bother you.

Let the remedials stick with each other. They literally have the same approach, and being amongst similar people means they won’t have an inferiority complex which will stunt their progress.

 The biggest part of being a remedial isn’t stupidity but laziness. One of two things is going to happen:

1. Someone has to arrive out of the bunch to save their collective hides and get something done, which is the same scenario as the heterogeneous groups except you’ve taken the burden and punishment off of the smart kids, or
2. They’ll realize they can each provide just a little which suits their laziness and adds up to a completed project, and generally speaking these kinds of kids are unmatched at group efforts as long as they’re around like minds.

Maybe one day when everyone has had to prove themselves to get somewhere, or reach some threshold that equalizes them, like being degreed or reaching a pivotal position in a department, then you can do homogenous groups and be satisfied. Things have to get done and they will. You can’t, however, rely on kids to do well what makes sense to adults. They simply aren’t cognitive, and it will only lead to resentment from the kids that actually serve you best.

My name is Victor Marsala, and after the fiftieth time I’ve done all the work for a presentation only to have a “partner” show up in pajamas and pigtails in community college (c. 2003) staring blankly at the back of the room and “umm”ing while getting angry at me for some reason, I approve this message.

 [Yes, the title isn’t original, but it was to me. One of those independently arrived at existing ideas. I just like wordplay enough to keep it.]

Stupid Move #1: Switching to single-ply toilet paper to cut costs.

Why You’re Stupid: I will use twice as much to regain control of my sanitary needs.

Stupid Move #2: Funding a bad movie everyone knows is garbage Why You’re Stupid: There is such a thing as throwing money away, and you doing favors for your friends isn’t nearly as important as where that money could’ve gone.

The Good | Who Says Meditation Doesn’t Cut Grease?

A thought occurred to me today while dishwashing. If I were to ask you which is the most powerful part of us, the mind or the body, which would you pick? You’d probably pick the mind, right? With the brain as its filter, it is the processor and it sends commands.

Consider this: For all but our most essential functions, the mind is dependent on something else to actually use any of that power. What is the something else? The body, of course. You mind needs stimulation, and it is the input of the body that provides it.

I could have a giant collection of knives and swords, but if I have nothing to cut, it’s just something cool to look at. I need something to cut to be able to cut, and knowing what I have to cut allows me to determine which blade to choose. Anyone witnessing the cut would surely say the object with the sharp edges is the dominant one, the villain of the situation, with the recipient as the victim.

The form defines the object in the sense that we know what it is. The severing defines the object so that we know its purpose. There is no severing without the thing severed.

It allows it to be what it is.
Taking this one step further, the thing severed can allow itself to be severed and in turn becomes a new thing. This new thing isn’t the old thing - it has properties all its own, and it too can become more new things. On top of all that, these all have different ways they react to being cut, and in turn have new ways of helping to define or even choose new blades simply out of necessity.

The dishes are done!

The Good | Counting Sheep, and by Sheep I, Again, Mean Blessings 

Did things ever go so consistently well for you that you became suspicious?

I’ve had people come up to me and tell me that they don’t envy me for the handful of major misfortunes in my life, but I have to say, even the bad parts of my life are pretty great for bad parts.

Consider this. My dad died when I was 11. He was a great dad, though, if a busy one. Some people get terrible fathers. Not only that, but I got a new dad a few years later, and he’s a fantastic guy.

My lung collapsed a year and a half ago. I lived a few miles down the street from one of the area’s best hospitals, they hauled arse to save me and I only spent six days there before I was good as new minus the wound from the chest tube. Even there, it healed quickly and cleanly and it didn’t scar much.

I have a terminal illness. Of the many mutations of the defective gene that cause my illness, I have one of the less severe mutations. People have been paying through the nose to keep me alive since I was little, I’ve only had to do extended hospital stays a few times, there are a ton of treatments considering how rare the disease is, it’s well-supported by charity, I look more or less like a normal person despite the damage done to my insides, and by the middle of next year a compound correcting the basic defect my broken genes have caused will be seeking approval.

I’m underweight, but I’m very tone and can eat whatever I like.

My eye bleeds and looks funny and is bruised, but I have outstanding vision. I recently developed a minor astigmatism but the doctor said a chance exists it could resolve itself.

I can’t run for long distances but I can run really flippin’ fast while I’ve got momentum going.

I was actually going to keep going but to already get to “sprinting” this soon is sort of a point in itself.

One day in the 9^th grade I was running late for school. I missed the bus and threw some gel in my hair, thinking I could comb it when I got to the bathroom on campus. It was an extremely windy day, and almost a mile walk. When I got inside and saw a mirror, the wind and cold had combined to set the gel in a swept crazy hairdo that was more trouble than it was worth to subdue.

I suspected this was going on while I was walking, and was about to curse the wind when I realized all the other times that I was glad for it. To everything there is a season, indeed.

The Evil Part of Good | Indulgence

People think more highly of me than they should, and as a result those same people think I’m above certain interests and temptations. I possess strong opinions, and perhaps I stick staunchly to my own little moral compass, but I assure you, much as I have difficulty accepting it, I’m human.

I’m really good at it, too. One major example of this is my sporadic inability to avoid sounding like a corporate shill.

Thing is, I love food. I love eating it, now I love making it, and I’ve always been a curious and experimental person. Which is why it’s nice to see a brand like Archer Farms going out of their way to both appease and amuse me.

For the seven people unaware, Archer Farms is the so-called “premium” line of packaged groceries sold at SuperTarget. While there may be a small literal premium on the expense of acquiring one of their products, I assure you the entertainment factor makes the experience valuable. Where other grocery stores might concern themselves with things like supply and demand, Target is simply out to make sure that every last preference on the planet is met.

Don’t believe me?

Basically, the formula for developing an Archer Farms product is this: First, pick a type of food you’re hungry for. Got it? Good. Now, imagine there was some flavor, some interpretation, some way you could treat that food that would be absolutely delicious, but you imagine you’ll never taste this dream concoction because no one’s going to go out of their way to make it for you. Done? All right, one last thing. Pick three equally tempting kinds of foods - no need to worry about chemistry, here - and blend them into some glorious, hideous cocktail.

If your answer was something like “buffalo-style macaroni and cheese with blue-cheese crumbles, Swiss chard, rosemary, thyme, and oregano,” you’re getting warmer.

If, however, you’ve come to the realization that the aforementioned product is an Archer Farms cookie, congratulations. You’re one of us now.

      Tonight I’m out of commission. I was prescribed a steroid to reduce inflammation in my lungs, and as is its nature it acted equally as an immunosuppressant and I felt much worse than I had just hours before. I decided to stop taking the medicine but am in the middle of dealing with the backlash since it doesn’t like to be cut cold turkey.

    For all the marvel they can bring, pharmaceutical substances still have too much power, especially over the mind. My thoughts turned from clarity to indecisiveness to clouds and dust in the span of a few hours. I literally couldn’t complete a thought. Now that it’s on its way out, I have fleeting feelings of detachment, depression, and mania.

    Fortunately I’ve been through these experiences before and can catch myself. Remaining self-aware in such a time is an effective way to keep less than healthy thoughts from snowballing into more of a problem than you originally bargained for.

    The good news is, while it’s slow, the alternately crashing waves of yuck feeling are receding. I foresee an awkward sleep, a welcome rest, and an even more welcome taste tomorrow of what it’s like to be normal again.

    As for anyone who’s keeping track of the side effects of Prednisone on Wikipedia, yes it takes away your ability to become aroused, and yes does increase your appetite –before attempting to starve you. This is of particular interest to me as I’ve always linked the two urges despite my life experience being restricted to nourishment of the culinary nature.