Whistlin' Past the Graveyard

Going to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show at a theatre on the night before Halloween. I'd never gone to one of those events before, and I went with my mother. My immediate reaction was, "I have found my people." It was hilarious, fabulous, the live cast was great, and it was a good release valve for stress going on in my life. Also, I did the Time Warp in a theatre full of people and didn't feel even an iota of embarrassment. That was an unusual and pleasant feeling.

Well, finally a substantive post about something I've been thinking a lot about over the last several months. For the last few weeks, it's occupied a more significant amount of brain time than usual. This means I now need to Write Stuff Down, and it's late enough and quiet enough around here that I think I can express my thoughts in a fairly coherent manner. And the rough beast that is slouching towards this blog post is religion. It's okay; there's no angst or drama lurking behind anything I'm going to say. Really. I've worked all of it out already. This is simply a progress report, if you will.

I'm fairly certain I don't need to fill in any excruciating details about my religious history. A quick summing up will do. The two or three of you who read this know I've been Catholic, Buddhist, some sort of vague pagan, some sort of Hellenic pagan, and an agnostic Hellenic pagan. That list alone should point to the fact that I have trouble with faith, namely that I can't sustain it. I've said before that whatever I happen to be calling myself at any given moment, my default philosophical position is agnostic. This makes sense to me and always has. There are no conclusive arguments for the existence of any god, and since you can't prove a negative, there are no conclusive arguments for the nonexistence of any god.

But every time I've tried to go beyond that to believe in anything religious, no matter how much I think I've finally got a handle on it, logic comes along and jumps on my fingers (thank you for the paraphrase, Terry Pratchett). This used to distress me. I thought my inclination toward logic and reason was somehow holding me back. I wanted desperately to believe in something, and I felt deficient as a human being for my inability to believe in a religion unreservedly and in the long term. Part of that sense of deficiency might have been heightened by the fact that I have an anxiety disorder, but that's not the origin of it. I've felt it all my life. Even when I was a kid sitting in church listening to Father O'Hara or Father O'Connell perform the Mass, I envied people who could believe in it. And much later on when I realized faith was a Complicated Thing, I envied people who could work through their doubts and still come out believers. I've always gotten mired in doubt, and I envied religious people because I was sure they had something in their lives that was beautiful and transcendent and uplifting that I would forever be denied.

I was wrong. Not about religious people having those things in their lives--they surely do. But I was wrong to think that just because my brain apparently isn't wired for faith, I could never experience anything similarly uplifting. I'm realizing that it's entirely possible to find the universe beautiful, wondrous, awe-inspiring...all without the need to find an explanation for it in religion. Carl Sagan has said so many times (and much more eloquently than I ever could), and I think it's finally beginning to sink in. I've never been a creationist, but I always wanted to believe there was Somebody out there behind the curtain. But I feel like a light bulb is flickering on, albeit slowly. I don't feel so bad anymore about not being able to take that leap of faith.

So now it's experiment time. I've tried all my life to be religious and it hasn't worked. The old pattern: I find something I hope will fulfill me, I try my hardest to make it so (sometimes for years), doubt sets in, angst ensues, and I fail. The new experiment: I'm going to abandon my search for religion and God because it's clearly not gone well. I'm going to try to get those coveted feelings of wonder and awe from nature, from science, from the vastness and complexity of the universe, from the diversity of humanity. I think "agnostic" will continue to work as a label while I try on atheism and see if the secular humanist trousers fit. I'm not in a rush this time. I don't need to be something right now.

And in case anyone's worried--although you people know me, so I doubt you are--you won't hear any vicious screeds from me against religion or the religious in general. I may react to related news stories that incense me, but I've always done that. And I'll even do it without being a dick (thank you for that paraphrase, Phil Plait).

When I was a teenager and still sort of religious, a fundamentalist Christian asked me if I worshiped Satan. While I was wearing a Celtic cross. I had to restrain myself from answering, "Why yes, I've got Anton LaVey on speed dial."


There are substantive things I could post about, sure. Instead I'm opting to ignore them for now, but I will update you on a previous post by saying that yes, The Da Vinci Code thoroughly irritated the fuck out of me. I finished it because it was fast-paced enough to keep me reading. I could not, however, turn off the part of my brain that kept going, "This is patently ridiculous." I'm usually pretty good at suspending my disbelief--I like science fiction and fantasy, fer Chrissake--but not this time. And that pretty much ruined it for me. Well, that and the recurring thought that Dan Brown is not a particularly talented writer.

I'm starting off this election year by reading Catch-22. It seems rather appropriate. I'm not far enough into it to have much of an opinion yet, but I now have a perverse desire to ring people up, say "T.S. Eliot" and hang up without identifying myself.

I am occasionally taking a break from the more serious reading by trying out The Da Vinci Code, mostly because I finally want to know what all the to-do was about. The little "Fact" section before the first chapter has already vaguely annoyed me by saying that the Priory of Sion is a real organization (which it isn't--the documents Brown mentions are about as genuine as the Hitler diaries or the Protocols of the Elders of Zion), so that doesn't bode well for my enjoyment of the rest of the book. I'm trying to like it as pure escapist fiction, but...we'll see.

The Red Dwarf boys pointing at the camera. THIS, in other words. I used to have a promo poster for the new Fright Night up, but word of a new series of one of my favorite shows made me break out the RD wallpaper again.

I've never actually thought about it much, and I suppose it's sort of a moot point. I'll be gone, so I won't really care one way or the other. But I think I'd prefer to be cremated. I'll take up less space, it'll probably cost less than burial, and I don't have any special beliefs about needing my body again in the future (cf. the quote from Ulysses I posted a while back; Joyce pretty much sums up my feelings about that).

Dammit, now I have that song stuck in my head.

Also the king of all things strange and wonderful. Until I get to the important post, which has been derailed by the possibility of a Quantum Leap marathon (wow, geekery and cool as hell musical obscurity make it into the same post!), I thought I'd post the lyrics to one of my favorite Tom Waits songs. A line from it will soon be the subtitle of my journal (the actual title is now the title of another Waits song), and since I figured I'm the only one here who will know, I should let you in on it.


"Tango Till They're Sore":

Well ya play that Tarantella
All the hounds they start to roar
And the boys all go to hell
Then the Cubans hit the floor
And they drive along the pipeline
They tango till they're sore
They take apart their nightmares
And they leave them by the door

Let me fall out of the window
With confetti in my hair
Deal out jacks or better
On a blanket by the stairs
I'll tell you all my secrets
But I lie about my past
So send me off to bed forever more

Make sure they play my theme song
I guess daisies will have to do
Just get me to New Orleans
And paint shadows on the pews
Turn the spit on that pig
Kick the drum and let me down
Put my clarinet beneath your bed
Till I get back in town

Let me fall out of the window
With confetti in my hair
Deal out jacks or better
On a blanket by the stairs
I'll tell you all my secrets
But I lie about my past
So send me off to bed forever more

Just make sure she's all in calico
And the color of a doll
Wave the flag on cadillac day
And a skillet on the wall
Cut me a switch or hold your breath
Till the sun goes down
Write my name on the hood
Send me off to another town

Then just let me fall out of the window
With confetti in my hair
Deal out jacks or better
On a blanket by the stairs
I'll tell you all my secrets
But I lie about my past
Will you send me off to bed forever more?

Fall out of the window
With confetti in my hair
Deal out jacks or better
On a blanket by the stairs
I'll tell you all my secrets
But I lie about my past
Send me off to bed forever more
Send me off to bed forever more

I'm fresh from seeing the new Fright Night. How fresh? I walked in the door five minutes ago. My official review is, quite simply: it's fucking fabulous. And you can quote me on that. It's one of the few remakes that I really, really enjoyed.

My favorite things about it (pretty much in order):

1) David Tennant as Peter Vincent, reimagined as a Las Vegas magician. He steals every scene he's in. And sweet Jesus, he does look good in leather and eye liner. Plus he has a stake blessed by St. Michael that has special powers. You know what this means, folks: Peter Vincent has a sonic stake.

2) New Jerry (Colin Farrell) killing old Jerry (Chris Sarandon). I recognized Sarandon immediately and gleefully had to inform my mother. This came complete with rather excited finger-pointing at the screen. I refrained from bouncing up and down in my seat, though. Well done cameo, guys.

3) The original's sense of humor is intact ("When a vampire's on fire, he isn't thinking clearly"), but there's more gore and horror and less camp.

4) Some geek service. There is a Farscape reference. Oh yes, there is. How often does that happen? I was also amused by the news headline "Peter Vincent: Vampire Slayer" and by Vincent referring to Charlie and Amy as the Scooby Gang.

So I currently have a bastard of a headache. I feel like I've been lost-weekending under the volcano with Withnail and I. Just for the sake of clarity, I haven't. But I've found something that's distracting me a little:

I had no interest whatsoever in going to see the remake of Fright Night, which is one of my favorite vampire flicks. (Colin Farrell as a replacement for Chris Sarandon? Uh, no thanks.) Until I found out that Roddy McDowell's role of Peter Vincent is being played by...David Tennant. There are no adequate words to describe the squee of geeky delight I emitted upon hearing this.

HERE is a trailer for the film with Tennant in it.

And HERE is a Peter Vincent-centric trailer introduced by Tennant himself. I still sort of see him as the Doctor. Even with the leather and the eyeliner. Maybe it's the way he says, "Weeellll."

I was almost expecting Clarkson, Hammond, and May to be involved in this somehow. But in the absence of a Top Gear challenge, where else but Monte Carlo could this happen? A blonde in a Bentley Azure managed to crash into a Mercedes S-Class, a Ferrari F430, an Aston Martin Rapide, AND a Porsche 911.

I want to cry, just a little. Mostly for the Aston.