God's an Octopus

My sister Carla is a renowned linguist and widely published researcher. She works for a car dealership megastore based in Portland. She believes that God lives in a tide pool on the Oregon coast, outside a town called Lincoln City.

“Surly atheists always badger Christians about the translations and versions of the Bible. How challenging it is to translate Aramaic and filter these complex concepts through all of history’s languages and cultures,“ she said. “Yet the real issue is that God would never rely on words to convey meaning.“

I asked if God speaks American.

“It’s that mundane!“ she said. “Every author thinks they’re God, but only because they create and destroy at will. Gods or not, authors struggle when they discover that their text has been misinterpreted. Except for the lazy ones- that conflate ambiguity with artistic integrity- authors want to be understood. God wants to be understood.

“Why would a benevolent, all-knowing, all-powerful Creator rely on syntax, grammar, and evolving languages to share its message?

“What holy being would exclude the very young, the illiterate? Or force them to rely on the learned to connect them with the divine?”

I guess that she does not subscribe to the notion of the revealed word of God.

“God is revealed in the armored intricacies of a chiton shell or the malleable beauty of an octopus,” she said. "Not in symbols pounded into the tissue of trees.

”Plus, I can tell God is not an author, because God stopped publishing! Writers can’t help themselves,” she explains. “Once they have an idea, they just write it over and over again. We'd be up to 2000 Bibles by now.”

Trailer Finds in Trenton

Jeneane has always been a caring person.

Jeneane's Lost Years, the spamoir

More updates from my sister Jeneane and her ongoing collaboration with spambots. They are really getting her to open up.

Spamoir

My sister Jeneane is collaborating with spambots to write her memoir. She’s covering what our family calls “the lost years“ from when she ran away in 1984 at age 13 with our dog Franks till her triumphant return thirty years later. She showed up unannounced at Thanksgiving dinner with a deviated septum, a tattoo of the constitution on her left thigh and a new husband, an insurance adjuster from Boca named Murray Morris, who spoke so quietly we all called him Mur-mor the Murmurer. I’ve learned a lot about my sister reading these excerpts. Apparently there were a lot of diet pills. 

High Standards

My sister Claudine was recently setting up an online dating profile, after ditching her husband in a scuba accident. She enlisted the aid of our other sisters to identify the traits of her ideal mate. It quickly descended into a litany of complaints about men. I was privy to the whole, hurtful text chain.

What follows are the least desirable traits in a man.

Dainty Hands

A Sour Discharge- Alarmed, I sought clarification. "From anywhere."

Most -ISMs- Including sexism, racism, fascism, feminism, communism, frotteurism, evangelism. Voyeurism got some upvotes, but not as many as you all porndogs would have liked. Said Claudine, "I dated a feminist guy after college. It was his way of taking credit for me having a job and working my ass off so he could hang around all day smoking weed."

Blouses

Trump Boners- This includes, but is not limited to, erections possessed by actual members of the Trump clan. Also, "All those alpha-talking omegas on facebook who get wet for TopTroll." Messy gendered arousal metaphors aside, my sisters don't dig culty whites.

A Blogger Account

Penis Named After A Famous Actor- Joaquin Penix, Finn Wolfhard, Johnny Deep, James Peen, Chris

Can't-ilingus, Won't-ilingus

Power Playing

My sister Rox works as a femdom in St. Paul and is intimately acquainted in the quirks of power. She tells the best stories at family dinners.

"The National Rifle Association has five million members," she says. "Which sounds like a lot, but is not. There are 326 million people living in the United States. That means 1.5% of the population are active, dues paying members. That means one in every 66 people is a member. That's a lot of reach, I guess. But consider that 1 in every 22 people identifies as gay or lesbian and that almost 1 in every 8 is black, or that almost half of the country is made up of women, the power the NRA wields seems out-sized."

I asked her if it was because they were armed.

She laughed, but said, "No. It's the swagger. They walk around like they own the joint, so people think they do. It's not the size of the cock in the fight, but the size of the fight in your cock."

She laughed a lot after she said that.

By the way, Rox is armed, persuaded by our sister Kate to get a Glock 43X to defend herself because of the nature of her work.

"It's purple and lethal," she said. "But I've never had to use it or even show it. I walk around like I own the joint and my bitches see that."

Arm the Atheists

My sister Kate teachers Atheism at a community college in rural Alabama. "All the gods are phony," she says. "But not useless. Affiliation is the brightest mirror we have to reflect humanity's frailty. Every god ever known is exactly as angry and as bitter as the person who worships it. Their aspirations are our own; their insecurities echo through us."

Like most of the atheists I know, Kate is remarkably pragmatic. "Progressives should arm themselves," she says. "You can’t kill fascists with an NPR tote bag."

All of my sisters are fierce, but Kate is the fiercest.

The Pumpkin Dancer

My sister Dekker is a professional dancer in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She’s writing a memoir about her journey from the strip clubs in Portland Oregon to a prestigious contemporary dance company. She let me read this excerpt about meeting her husband for the first time at a friend's wedding.”He dominated the dance floor. It was like watching a pumpkin rolling down a hill: bouncing and weaving from side to side, seemingly out of control, always in danger of flying apart. A wonderful anarchy of thick limbs and arhythmic convulsions. It was the opposite of everything I had l trained so violently to control. It was terrifying and intoxicating. I wondered what such a reckless dancer would be like in bed and decided then and there to find out. Three drunken hours later I got my answer. Sweet Jesus.” Dekker is six feet tall and willow thin. Her husband is about five and half feet tall and almost as wide. The more he likes you, the more dangerous he is. His hugs can incapacitate. To be fair, his hugs did fix our Uncle Nesbit's lumbar displacement. He cries buckets during sad movies. I saw him beat up three guys by himself at a music festival. I still don't know why.

Why Your Business/Sports Team/Country Is/Are Failing

My sister Cleo lives in Boston and works as a HR and management consultant. She lived in Chiang Mai, Thailand for a year and makes a scalding green curry that can cure most diseases. She still writes letters on real paper and sends them in real envelopes.

Cleo has a theory, borne out by years of experience, that every business problem is a culture problem. And every culture problem is a leadership problem.

My consulting business is small, but when we run into problems, it's always cultural: people feeling undervalued, poor communication, disorganization, frustration. And at the root of all of those problems- if I'm being honest- is me. As the leader it's my responsibility to set the tone and solve the problems that come up. Sure, delegation is an important part of leadership, but a good leader knows what to delegate and to who, increasing the likelihood of success. Duke Ellington was a great leader; he knew how to work to the talents of his band members, which was ever-changing.

Cleo says managers get angry, hurt, and defensive when faced with this idea; they are generally hiring her to make their staff more efficient, effective, etc. They don't want to be the problem, even though that affords them the greatest gift, of also being the solution.

How to Compliment a Woman

In the MeToo era, it can be challenging for some men to know how to properly compliment a woman. My sister, Brie, who works as a flavor consultant with potato farmers in Idaho, gets a lot of attention from guys she works with. She suggested this as a guiding principle:
Dispense compliments as if you were getting them- in prison. 
Take any phrase you were about to say and imagine that were being said back to you by a very large and intimidating man, a known violent offender, the leader of a racist gang. (It doesn’t really matter which racist gang, so for now, just pick whichever racist gang makes you feel the most uncomfortable.) 
Wouldn’t it be satisfying to hear this brooding brute say, "Hey, you’re good with numbers. I’d like you to handle the bookkeeping for all my operations." That’s a nice compliment. If that's what you'd like to tell this woman you are so impressed with, Brie says- go ahead and share!
On the other hand, it would be a bit discouraging to hear the same dangerous fellow say, "You got a pretty ass. I want me some of that." Obviously, this guy is focusing on your superficial attributes. You have a right to feel diminished and uncomfortable- and worried for your safety. That's a bad compliment. Brie would like you to keep that shit to yourself.
Thanks, Brie!