Do not anger the disc golf gods, part two. By shaving 16 strokes off his score from last Sunday, and by me adding 12 strokes to my score from last Sunday, Pablo and I tied at plus four this afternoon. I will be praying to the disc golf gods tonight for vengence.
---
Why I shall never be Catholic, most likely. I will try to be kind. My problem with Catholicism goes further than any specific belief — transubstantiation, the Immaculate Conception, infallibility of Mr. Pope, birth control. In fact, I've come to this conclusion: if I believed every bit of dogma set out in the Catholic Catechism, I might still not become Catholic.
I will term the issue I have with Catholicism as Lack of Individual Intellectual Epicurism. (Oh please: you can at least make it through this graf before you fall asleep.) It's an a aesthetic problem, really: Because the Catholic Church's dogma is completely set out in bound book form, while there is an opportunity for getting closer to God emotionally, there's no opportunity for an individual to get closer to God intellectually. In the Catholic Church, the academic basis of your belief has been written for you. Example: Let's say you are a Protestant. You wonder, "Hmm. Was Mary born with sin or not?" You read the Bible. You read commentaries about the Bible from people smarter than you. You pray. You put on a puppet show that shows in graphic detail Mary being conceived. And then you come to a decision: Yes, she was born with original sin. No, she was not born with original sin. You might change your mind later. You might decide that you have no idea. You might decide that this is peripheral to your faith, and you see no need to think about it at all. Great. This is how you are intellectually getting closer to God.
Let's say you are a Catholic. You wonder, "Hmm. Was Mary born with sin or not?" You read the Catholic Catechism and see that no, Mary was not born with sin. You think, "But what about the fact that Mary...no, wait, what am I doing? She was born without sin, because the Catechism says so. I may not understand why she was born without sin, but she was, because people smarter than me have said so, and the Church requires me to believe that." Rather than a process of discovery, it becomes a process of memorization.
Probably because I'm too smart for my own good — thanks a lot, Mom and Dad's genes! — I don't approach religion in the emotional or passionate way that most people do. No, I approach it in what is probably the wrong way: logically and dogmatically. Strangely, while I'm a feeler when it comes to interactions with others (the F in INFJ), I'm a strong thinker (T) when it comes to my relationship with God, probably because my F comes from a ardent desire not to hurt people, and I, uh, generally can't see the hurt in God's/Jesus's/the Holy Spirit's face. (Crikey, ain't that a depressing thought.)
Anyway, my approach to God is analytical, and the Catholic Church has done all the analysis for me, thank you very much. So, uh, what fun is that? I'm serious: How could I get anything out my approach to God within the structure of the Catholic Church? I couldn't: There'd be no need to think about God. I'd just need to feel him. This, I think, is why the Catholic Church is so popular: it's lack of dogmatic discourse makes it's perhaps the most emotion-centric of the Christian denominations. And people love that. Most people. People who aren't me. I have no trouble going to Mass in that environment — doctrine rarely comes up in homilies — and I have no issue directing a bell choir with people who share that belief, because these are people I like, and because only one of our members is interested in sputtering Catholic dogma. (Hi, Ken!) But regardless of whether the Catholic view of God is the most correct, what I perceive as anti- intellectualism through lack of free will ("you must think what we tell you to think") will always keep me too far from the Church to convert.
There's one other choice. I could be like most other Catholics and retain most of the Catechism but actively reject specific beliefs that I find repugnant or stupid. (Most Catholics use condoms or The Pill rather than Natural Family Planning, for example.) I don't see why, though: if your church leadership is telling you that you must Natural Family Planning, and that not using Natural Family Planning is an affront against God, and you don't believe that you need to use Natural Family Planning, and you think God would be just as happy if you just stuck in a diaphragm, why would you want to be a part of that denomination, logically? I can think of many emotional reasons why, but no logical ones. As I've said before, I doubt most Catholics believe in Transubstantiation and that most are Consubstantiationists at best. As the church believes that any view of the bread and wine less than Transubstantiation is a heresy, why would you logically want to be part of a Church that believes you're committing a heresy every week with communion?
Kim says that there are certain things that need to be accepted on faith in the Catholic belief, and for her, Transubstantiation is one of those things. She doesn't understand it, but she doesn't feel that she needs to understand it. Many days, I wish I could just do that. Many days, I wish God had built me that way.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 13.
This is why one should never promise. I have a good excuse why this is one day late, but it's a lie, so let us just get to the diary, no?
All is written now the way I wrote it then in fourth grade, including misspellings and, um, things I don't quite understand. Please query regarding any confusion.
---
5-6-87 Dear Diary,
I had fun during recess, I guess. Like, is was fun, but I was all tired out by the recess. The thing I want to happen is Math-Man to win! The number of the day is 3,476,458. (2)
5-7-87 Dear Diary,
Today at recess was differnet. The first two resesses I played tag and was it, but the last resess I played ball tag. The number of the day is 5,817,462 ((3))
5-11-87 Dear Diary,
Today at gym we did the 50 and 100 yard dashes. I had 12 sec. on the 50 and 25 se. on the 100. The number of the day is 7,576,344 (4)
5-14-87 Dear Diary,
Today I played soccer at resess. We also finished our scince book. The numer of the day is 7,434,595 (5).
5-19-87 Dear Diary,
Today at resess, I played soccer. I scored 0 goals but had 2 assists. The number of the day is 6,182,430 (6).
May 20, 1987 Dear Diray,
Today I played soccer, but I played on diffent fields. Today I found out my band ins. is the baratone. The number of the day is 3,514,217 (7).
5/22/87 Dear Diray,
Yesterday I went to Project share. I saw many projects. Then we had the dental parade. The number is 6,432,408. (8)
5/27/87 Dear Diary,
Today at resess was boring. The 5th graders were at at track thing, so no soccer. The number of the day is 7,389,936. (9)
5/28/87 Dear Diary
One week of school left! And tomorow we'll be going to Boyt's. The number is 5,764,320. (10)
---
A few things:
1) No, I did not spell "recess" or "diary" consistently right or wrong.
2) I do not know what the number of the day is.
3) Boyt's was a luggage manufacturing business in Iowa Falls.
4) Mathman was a character in PBS' "Square One."
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 2.
Okay, now this is tres cool. Get ready to bookmark...now! ("You could say the Rapture [I]ndex is a Dow Jones Industrial Average of end time activity...")
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 4.
Matthew's new rule of three: When three people send me AOL Instant Messages that imply that they believe my AOL profile, I'm replacing the profile. I reached number three on my Associate Archbishop of Juneau (Alaska) profile yesterday -- a dude from the Carolinas who said in his profile that he was (a) Roman Catholic and (b) was planning to go into the priesthood -- so it's gone. Now, I am Maxine Smith, assistant basketball coach for the WNBA's Washington Mystics.
---
The winner is... ...the diary, with 2½ votes. Per Ed's suggestion, I may write on one of the two runners-up (Catholicism and farting) today or next week.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
Six-to-twelve shampoos? Whatever, hair dye-inventer dudes and dudettes. I am at shampoo numero dos on my "darkest brown" hair, and much of it is already beginning to return to my original medium brown color. My in-laws -- who are coming to visit around the Fourth -- won't even get to see my new hair color. I demand a refund of my four dollars!
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A new feature to Prinsiana City that will probably only last two weeks, if that. Fridays at Prinsiana City have now been deemed Choose What Matthew Will Write About Fridays. For Choose What Matthew Will Write About Fridays, Prinsiana patrons will choose what Matthew will write about on Fridays. I hope that is not confusing.
Your five choices for tomorrow:
(a) The biggest reason Matthew will probably never become a Catholic.
(b) A poem about office supplies.
(c) Why Matthew agrees with the Pledge of Allegiance court decision, kind of.
(d) A flash fiction story that ends with the line, "He drove home silently, thinking about those farts."
(e) An excerpt from my fourth grade diary.
(a) You have five buffalo! A bad, bad man steals two of your buffalo! How many buffalo do you have left?
(b) Spell "buffalo." Feel free to use a dictionary or this journal as a resource.
(c) If you were a buffalo, would you be a happy buffalo or a sad buffalo? Write a short poem about the kind of buffalo you would be.
(d) For positive integers x, y, z, and buffalo, prove that xbuffalo + ybuffalo = zbuffalo can only be true if buffalo = 1 or buffalo = 2.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 3.
The return of Prinsiana's quiz-of-the-week!
(a) You're on the game show, "It's Your Choice, Dummy." You've made it to the final round, and the host, Bobby Roberts, has three envelopes in his hand. He says, slyly, "These three envelopes have different amounts of money in them. The envelope with the most amount of money in it has twice as much money as the envelope with the middle amount of money; and the envelope with the middle amount of money has twice as much money as the envelope with the least amount of money."
"Pick an envelope and open it," Bobby says. You randomly pick one and tear it open. Inside is a check for $10,000. "You can either keep that envelope or exchange it for one of the other two," Bobby says. "It's your choice, dummy."
You start to think. "If this envelope has the least amount of money, and I switch, I have a 50 percent of $20,000 and a 50 percent chance at $40,000, or an average of a $30,000 take.
"If this envelope has the middle amount of money, and I switch, I have a 50 percent chance at $5,000 and a 50 percent chance at $20,000, or an average of a $12,500 take.
"If this envelope has the most amount of money, and I switch, I have a 50 percent chance at $2,500 and a 50 percent chance at $5,000, or an average of a $3,750 take.
"Since all these have an equal chance of happening -- one in three -- my expected value if I switch is one-third of $30,000 plus $12,500 plus $3,750. That'd be an expected value of $15,416.67, more than $5,000 than if I keep my original envelope!
"But wait. How can I know that I should switch envelopes if all I did was see how much money was inside?"
How did you go wrong? Or did you, dummy?
(b) Essay: Write a four-line, rhyming poem in iambic pentameter with a secondary anapestic foot. (Meterically, that's "dum DUM dum dum DUM dum DUM dum DUM dum DUM.")
Kim, Von: Shut up. Those of you who are not in Richmond do not know that I did something yesterday that I am not proud of -- a bit of self-mutilation, let's say. The first person to guess what I did who isn't already aware of the act will get a shiny, new Iowa quarter. When they come out in three years.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 16.
Oh dear. Q: Matthew has found a small grammatical error in a post from, oh, let's say about a week ago. Should he:
[ ] Leave it alone, saying nothing.
[ ] Fix it, saying nothing.
[ ] Fix it and say something snarky like, "Hey, why didn't any of you stupidheads find that mistake? Huh? You are the stupidest stupidheads that ever stupided."
[ ] Fix it and say something self-depreciating like, "I am such an idiot for making a mistake as dumb as that. You should all hate me. Do not allow me to write further. Please. Look. I am on my knees, begging for you to pilfer my keyboard, so I may write no more."
[ ] Quiz Prinsiana readers on what to do about the error.
I'm not one for talkin' bad about people, but... So I was over at a store for work. Let's call it Eciffo Xam. At Eciffo Xam, I needed to pick up a PS/2 extension cable. (If your computer is less than three years old, and you plug your mouse and keyboard into circular ports in your computer -- yeah. Those are PS/2 ports.) I had just made it to the appropriate rack at Eciffo Xam, looking for the extension cable, and along comes a clerk. This is the actual conversation within a few words.
---
Can I help you?
Um, yeah. I'm looking for a PS/2 extension cable.
PS/2, PS/2. [Pause.] Here we go. [Points at basic six-outlet power strips.] Here are our PS/2 power strips.
What?
Here are our PS/2 power strips.
No, no, I...um, I mean, uh, what I need is an extension cable for a mouse or a keyboard. For newer computers, but not a USB extender.
[Long pause.] Do you need a new mouse?
What?
Do you need a new mouse?
No. I have a mouse. I just need to make it reach the computer, which is why I need an extension cable.
[Long pause.] Would you like me to show you our mice?
[Long pause.] Uh, yeah. Sure.
---
So I went with him to the mouses, and he incorrectly explained some of the mouses' features -- he thought that an optical mouse meant it didn't have a cord. I couldn't get away from him soon enough.
The moral: Look. I don't care if you have no idea what a PS/2 extension cable is. Most of the people reading this post won't. But man, if are a salesperson and you don't know something, please admit it and find someone who does, please? Don't waste my time, por favor.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 3.
No me gusta verano. Anyone who considers summer to be their estación favorito should immediately attend a medium-sized (one that is small enough to be personalized, but large enough to have the necessary apparatuses and preparation) mental institution. Stat. There are many of you summer-lovers, no doubt, but y'all are sick, sick, sick. Ninety-three degrees is the mean, median and mode for Richmond's next five days of temperatures. Do you know how hot ninety-three degrees is? Here are some appropriate answers:
1) Ninety-three degrees.
2) More than ninety-two degrees, but less than ninety-four degrees.
3) It's hot. It's hot. It's too darn hot.1 4) So warm that Matthew is not going to play disc golf until the weekend unless he goes out some evening.
5) Matthew, I would appreciate a more original method of stating a large number of potential rejoinders to a query than this tired technique taken to this tedious and tremendous termination.
6) Also, Matthew, I'd would prefer less alliteration, and while we're at it, if you wouldn't mind not talking to yourself through a faux third-person individual you've created to make this list more appealing, that would be agreeable, too.
Autumn is the loveliest season by at least five fathoms. Maybe six.
I would always like a bud or budette to accompany me in my disc golf outings. The three last times I've been disc golfing with one other person rather than alone (or in a larger group), I have set a personal record for myself at that course. Pablo had been wanting to try out disc golfing, so we went this afternoon; we will not divulge his score (I am not that horrid of a person), but I got a -8, thrashing my old record at Dunncroft by four strokes. I believe I do better because I, um, actually have time to think about shots before taking them, as opposed to during lunch, when I'm mostly trying to finish as quickly as possible.
Please come visit soon, Ed, so I may play with you. Or Von or Lynn, would you like to play with me? Ken? Annette? Dr. Williams? Richard Q.?
---
MeganSweet19f156 has sent me an instant message. How lovely of her. I have been having an influx of new people trying to instant message me! How cool is that? I used to only have three AIM buds -- Von, Lynn, and Pablo -- but now, now I have become a very popular guy!
In fact, strangely, most of these new friends of mine seem to be young women -- turned on, no doubt, by my sexy AOL profile.1 Here are some sample messages they've sent me:
"Hey I've just created a sexy new webpage I'd love for you to check out. Click here baby."
"Hi I've created a erotic new webpage I'd like for you to take a look at. Click here sexy."
"Hola creé un webpage atractivo tengo gusto de tu mirar a. Chasque aquí bebé."
Ahem. Anyway, I was feeling pretty special with all these 18 and 19-year-old chicks -- including a Latina! -- wanting me to go to their websites, even if all their posts seemed eerily similar. But I don't just go to a young lady's website without talking to her a bit. Here's my conversation with the first woman:
MeganSweet19f156: Hey I've just created a sexy new webpage I'd love for you to check out. Click here baby.
mdprins: Hey, that's pretty cool!
mdprins: I've created a webage, too. Would you like to see it?
mdprins: It's neat, I think. It's at www.prinsiana.com.
mdprins: Hello?
mdprins: Are you still around?
mdprins: Just to let you know -- you're probably new here -- when you leave AIM, you should say something like BRB so that people will know you've gone for a bit. I just thought you should know.
mdprins: [Twiddling thumbs.]
mdprins: Hello?
mdprins: It's been 20 minutes, and you're still not back. Did you want to chat with me or not?
mdprins: This isn't very polite, you know.
mdprins: You sounded like a really nice person, too. I thought we could get to know each other, share some thoughts about society, laugh about each other's foibles -- I thought that this could turn into a real friendship.
mdprins: I HATE YOU! YOU SAY, "OH, I'D LOVE TO CHAT WITH YOU, SEXY," BUT DO YOU MEAN IT? NO! I'M CRYING NOW. DID YOU KNOW THAT? YOU'VE MADE ME CRY, AND NOW MY CHEEKS ARE GETTING WET, AND...AND...I JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO! I HATE YOU, AND I AM NEVER SPEAKING TO YOU AGAIN.
mdprins: I'm...I'm sorry for yelling. It's just that I don't have very many friends, and I thought...you sounded so sincere. You seemed so different than the other young women who have asked me to look at their webpages. They all seemed like ditzes, but you aren't like that. Or you don't seem like that. I think you have a head on those shoulders. Yes, you might be a bit of a flirt, but smart people can be, you know? And I don't mind that. I'm not bothered by that.
mdprins: But, I don't know, maybe you have another friend you're chatting with right now, or maybe a boyfriend. Yeah, maybe you're breaking up with him right now. He's a jerk, you know. Or at least I imagine he is. He just likes you for your body. He doesn't know the real you, not the way that I do. I understand you. I get you. I know you're hurting inside. I can see the pain. Maybe a divorce in your childhood, lots of boyfriends that never treated you right, friends who were always taunting you behind your back? I can see that. Do you think your boyfriend sees that in you? All he sees are those legs on up, stopping at the neck.
mdprins: But who do you choose, huh? Do you choose the nice guy who is smart, just like you, who has real feelings about you, who views you as a person and not a sex object, who has a really connection to you, and don't pretend that you don't feel it too, because I know you do, I know you do. There's something about us -- my heart and your heart, your heart and my heart -- and they're beating together right now, you know. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. Don't ignore it. Stop ignoring it. Listen. Listen to your heart.
mdprins: I love you. I've only said that to three other women before, but it's true. I love you. And I know you love me, even if you don't realize it. You will. I know you will. I hope you will. I pray you will.
mdprins: I...I just don't understand you. I don't know why you're not listening to me, or why you are listening to me but not saying one freakin' thing. Stupid passive-aggressiveness -- it's always this, "Are you okay? No really, are you okay? Why aren't you talking if you are okay?" I hate that. I can't stand that. I'm gone. I'm never coming back, you slut. Have your idiot boyfriend with the biceps.
mdprins: Bye.
MeganSweet19f156: hello?
MeganSweet19f156: i really liked some of those things you said, about love and my real feelings. i'd like to talk, if that's okay.
MeganSweet19f156: hello?
MeganSweet19f156: hello?
---
1 This is my actual AOL profile:
Member Name: Associate Bishop Maxwell A. Smith, Diocese of Juneau (Alaska)
Location: Juneau, Alaska, of course
Sex: Male
Marital Status: Married to the Catholic Church
Hobbies: I do a lot of counseling, which I hope does some good. I enjoy doing it. I play bridge with Bishop John, Father Larry and his friend Cynthia every week, and that's fun. I just got a digital camera, and I've taken some fantastic pictures of the Pacific!
Computers: I have one (Dell) in the rectory, one (Gateway) in my church office, and I hope (fingers crossed, praying to God) for an iBook.
Occupation: I am the Associate Bishop for the Diocese of Juneau (Alaska). In that role, I do a lot of paperwork and busywork -- bleah!
Personal Quote: "I am the Lord Thy God. Thou shall have no other Gods before me." That's the first commandment, and every time I hear it, I get chills. Our God is such a great God! I am so glad that he chose me to carry on his word to Alaskans east of Anchorage!
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 5.
Well, uh, yeah, okay, so, um, hmm, so yeah, so that's pretty weird. Mr. Martin Roth and his loyal subjects have taken pity on unennobled Prinsiana City. How peculiar and cool. I won't even mention that Bene Diction misspells Prinsiana twice in two different ways.1
Gosh. Now I feel I must write profoundities for my oh so interimistic patrons. We'll see if we can work something up for this afternoon.
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1 Um, oops; guess I just did. Sorry, very nice dude who linked to Prinsiana.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 3.
Me be stoopid. So, I was checking Travelocity for flights from Richmond to Des Moines, and what do I type in the "from" field instead of Richmond?
My major question: If someone were searching for "seventeen sexy japan" for the reasons I assume they are searching for "seventeen sexy japan," why would they have clicked on what is obviously a haiku contest?
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New contest. On June 28th, whoever comes up with the strangest (ahem) clean search at Google that lists a page at Prinsiana among the first twenty returns will be allowed to read my fourth-grade diary, discovered earlier this week while cleaning. Write your entries in comments section of this post. The grading system: 86 percent is based on creativity, 11 percent is based on how high Prinsiana occurs in the Google search, and 3 percent is based on how much I like you.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 8.
"Why, it's the Model T Ford made the trouble. Made the people wanna go, wanna get, wanna get, wanna get up and go seven, eight, nine, ten, twelve, fourteen, twenty-two, twenty-three miles to the county seat. Yes sir. Yes sir." Supposition: "Rock Island" from The Music Man was the first ever rap song. Defend or attack.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 6.
Dear politicians who are running for office in my part of Henrico County, Virginia: Hello. My name is Matthew Prins. I am 25 years old and a voter in your district. You are probably wondering, "How can I get your vote, Matthew Prins?" Well. That is what I am going to tell you. How to get my vote. I hope this is helpful to help you be helped in getting my vote.
If you are a Republican, you must state publically one of the two following positions:
1) "I believe that the District of Columbia should receive some sort of representation in the United States Senate and in the U.S. House of Representatives. And we're talkin' voting representation, not this 'Oh, I'm the Senator from the District, but I can't vote' crap that's in effect right now." There is no reasonable reason why D.C. doesn't have voting Congressmen, and the only reason that Republicans are against it is because for the next 575 years, every Congressman from the District would be a Democrat.
2) "I believe that the flag-burning amendment is the stupidest potential amendment to the Constitution ever, and I truly cannot believe that four of the nine Supreme Court justices don't believe that flag-burning is protected by the right to free speech." Word to the anti-anti-flag burners! I really, seriously, utterly do not understand the people who are for this amendment.
Controversy pays. There were a lovely 23 unique visitors to Prinsiana yesterday, only two off the record. You people are sick. If I don't have 23 people I can call friends and close family -- and I'm a couple off -- then there should not be 23 people visiting my personal website. (Okay, all right, I suppose technically it's mine and Kim's, but what has she ever done for Prinsiana? Huh?)
Just as comparison: In the heyday of Steve Taylor Campaign Headquarters1 -- gosh, that seems so long ago now, even if it was only in '96 -- we were getting about 5000 hits on the homepage each month, which'd work out to, um, maybe 170 a day. The number of uniques was maybe half that, I suspect. And this was when the Internet was nothing, when Mosiac and Netscape were battling it out for supremacy. I was an Internet pioneer, I tell ya.
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1 Von and others who met me after college: You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? I'll have to spin that yarn on here sometime.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 13.
Y'know, maybe I should explain the new commenting system. So, uh, at the end of the post, by my name, there's a new line that says something like "one lovely comment" or "please write a lovely comment." Yeah. You might want to click there.
I put in the new commenting system specifically for this post, you know. Both Ed and Kim (who needs a cool nom de plume, si'l vous plaît) believe my reasoning on why some gays join the priesthood is a bit...well, if not mendacious, then maybe just unwarranted. Kim points out that, particularly around the time of World War II and the Korean War, getting into the priesthood was a very, very honorable profession1, and no doubt many young adults at that time chose the priesthood for that reason. I accept that, and I constrain my points to men who have become priests post-Vatican II (which, ironically, coincides with post-sexual revolution2).
She would also probably agree with Ed, who writes:
I believe you are mostly correct regarding the gay priests thing. I'm not sure you are correct regarding why homosexuals become priests, though. I've always figured that devout [C]atholics who are also gay would be more likely to accept chastity as a condition of the priesthood (since they are already required to be chaste anyway). I never figured there was some sort of motivation beyond that. Gays just have greater opportunity since they don't have to give up something they don't already have to give up.
I might accept Josh's argument except that many gay priests clearly aren't giving up what they ought to be giving up anyway.3 If you think I'm disingenuous, this fascinating National Reviewarticle goes one step further:
"In his new book, Goodbye! Good Men, Michael S. Rose documents in shocking detail how pervasive militant homosexuality is in many seminaries, how much gay sex is taking place among seminarians and priest-professors, and how gay power cliques exclude and punish heterosexuals who oppose them. 'It's not just a few guys in a few seminaries that have an ax to grind. It is a pattern,' says Rose. 'The protective network [of homosexual priests] begins in the seminaries.' The stories related in Rose's book will strike many as incredible, but they track closely with the stories that priests have told me about open gay sex and gay politicking in seminaries. The current scandal is opening Catholic eyes: As one ex-seminarian says, 'People thought I was crazy when I told them what it was like there, so I finally quit talking about it. They're starting to see now that I wasn't.'"
Both Rose's book and the National Review article are biased toward the anti-gay priest camp, but this Kansas City Starreport from 20004 is both more progressive and more compassionate while still arguing (through inferences) that gay sex is quite common among priests.5
Are you saying that celibate gay men should not be allowed to be priests?
No, I'm not. They should be allowed. They should be allowed to minister at all Christian Churches, in fact, except for in United Church of Christ denomination, where they should be required to be in an active sexual relationship.
That last part was a joke, right?
Um, yeah.
Then what do you suggest? You certainly don't seem to be pro-status quo.
I'm not, and to a degree the sexual-centricity of this discussion isn't really appropriate. Celibate priests sin in other ways. Non-celibate priests do good work; one article -- which I can't find, alas -- argued that priests in sexual relationships were actually better priests, because they did more good works to try to rid themselves of the guilt they have.
I don't quite buy that.
Neither do I, but I don't think that sexually active priests are necessarily worse priests, either. Nor do I think gay priests are bad priests: The best priest I've ever had was likely gay, based on his effete demeanor (which doesn't necessarily mean anything) and his oft stated call for compassion for gays (which probably does).
So what are you saying, then?
I'm saying...I guess I'm saying if there are a large number of gay priests in the priesthood -- and all signs point to the "yes, there are" billboard -- then the Catholic Church needs to figure out why there are so many and figure out ways to specifically minister to these gay priests. I do honestly believe that many of them have come to the priesthood hoping that doing good deeds would fill up that romantic/sexual hole in their lives, and when it doesn't top off the gap, there are going to be temptations. (Except for that priesthood part, the same goes for gay Christians trying to remain chaste, or for that matter, straight unmarried Christians trying to remain chaste. Us straight people, however, have the advantage of hope; even if we are remaining chaste until marriage, and even if we don't have a current significant other, there's always hope that one will come around, followed by some honeymooning bada-binging. Gay6 Christians who choose to remain chaste -- a small minority, I suspect, though many gay Christians don't have a dogmatic issue with gay sex -- do not have that hope, and I think we forget that sometimes.)
Um, you're rambling just a bit there, good buddy.
That's because I'm not quite sure what I should say.
---
1 It's not dishonorable now, mind. Or at least it wasn't six months ago.
2 I bet Carman7 would find importance in that coincidence.
3 Obviously, some heterosexual ones aren't, too, and male and female ministers in non-Catholic churches are having affairs -- hey, maybe even with each other! -- and nuns of all sexual preferences are breaking celibacy vows -- hey, maybe even with priests! It's all good. Er, bad.
4 Also the year I initially read it.
5 Based on the reporting, I suspect the Star writers would prefer that (a) priests be allowed to marry and (b) gay priests be allowed to have open romantic relationships. That's the mainstream liberal view, so no surprise there.
6 This is a bit late to be mentioning this, but when I say "gay," I really mean "homosexual," or "gay/lesbian." I've been told before that "gay" is generally considered by the GLBT community as a male-only word, and I don't mean to exclude lesbians, bisexuals, and, uh, transgendered individuals from this discussion.
7 To bring it all full circle: as a gay friend in college pointed out to me, Carman's videos are even more fun once you accept the hypothesis that Carman is gay; the kitchiness, the shirtless muscular men, and Carman's inability to realistically portray an attraction to a woman all begin to make sense.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 2.
I need to change my appearance. I have an urge to look different. I've had the goatee for about a month now, and I'm not sure it's doing much for me; I've done the goatee thing so many times in the past that it's become a Matthew cliché. I was also thinking about the previous post, and you know what? I do not look smart enough. I need a pencil protector, or glasses taped in the middle, or perhaps just a tweed jacket. I'm not sure.
Here are some possibilities:
One of the new folks at work, who tried to dye her very dark hair red last weekend, thinks that my light brown hair would be perfect to be dyed red. I think that if I am going to dye my hair, however, I am going jet black. Put together jet black hair, sunglasses, and Kim's Firebird (with the T-Tops off, of course), and I'm on the edge of coolness.
I have always wanted to find a pair of Clark Kent glasses: cool-looking glasses with no corrective power.
Every summer when I was in elementary school -- Mom can correct me if this is wrong -- I'd get a buzz cut. How would I look with a buzz cut today? Horrid, I suspect, but can I really know without trying it?
Nose job. I don't have anything against my nose, but why not?
I never should have supported her. Beth-Annie is already attempting to one-up me in her Weblog, eschewing the emotional distance spawned by the cleverness and obnoxiousness of my journal and instead writing about a major personality trait of hers, one that will be regarded by some as a negative. (I do not view it negatively.) Lovely. Gee, thanks, Beth-Annie, as we all know that the only reason you made that obsession confession is to make my journal look pedestrian and unemotional in comparison! C'mon! Admit it!
You see, now I feel I must make personal confessions to keep up with my sister-in-law. This is not good. Given how poor I am with the private admission schema, soon Prinsiana will stop being "The Simpsons" and start a new life as "Full House," with a lesson to be learned every day:
Monday: Be open with your emotions. Do not hide them from your friends.
Tuesday: Eating ice cream twice every day is not a good way to become svelte.
Wednesday: That "living every day to its fullest" thing? I tried that for a week, and I was overwhelmed by the end of the week. Carpe diem is crape.
Thursday: If you kill someone with a gun, be sure to wipe off the entire handle, including the little piece at the bottom.
Friday: Eating snot twice every day is not a good way to become svelte.
Oh well. I suppose to compete, we must get into some self-flagellation. Let us go with "[S]he's quite cute with those smart-girl specs," which, if you will recall, is from one of the "personal, private" messages from Saturday's post. Now, let us take that specificity and make it a general, true statement: I generally find females who wear glasses more attractive than females who do not wear glasses. (For the strange record, I have never had a girlfriend who wore glasses regularly and quite honestly, I can only think of one girl I've gone on a date with who wore glasses regularly; however, since I was generally the askee and not the asker on these dates, I'm not sure that any conclusion can be drawn.) Anyway, because you have likely forgotten after that long parenthetical, I do frequently find women who wear glasses prettier than those sans.
Why would this be? It is for the same reason that I generally find women with dark hair more attractive than women with blond hair (and much much more than women with dark hair who dye their hair blond): it is because I am stupid. More specifically, it is because I am stupid and make brash judgements on a woman's intelligence based on how she looks. I am smart. I want a smart woman. Dark hair plus pale skin plus glasses equals smart! Blonde hair plus tanned skin plus no glasses equals stupid! Perceived intelligence can be just as alluring as actual intelligence -- who knows if I'd ever have gone out with Kim if she looked like, say, Anna Nicole Smith.
That's right. I am as bad as the high school quarterback who is drawn to the cheerleader at the top of the pyramid.
Too much serious thinking dulls the brain. I have a half-finished column regarding some comments I received about that gay priest post, but I do not feel like finishing it right now. (I aim for Tuesday.) Instead, I will continue with more pressing matters, such as:
The Hierarchy of Drinkable Liquids! I have given this much thought -- not really, although I have given it more thought than it deserves -- and I have decided that I while I cannot rank my top ten drinkable liquids, I will sort them into This List Has My Five Favorite Drinkable Liquids and This List Has My Five Favorite Drinkable Liquids As Long As You Forget About That Other List. In coming up with these lists, I have set two ground rules:
1) The liquid must be sufficiently liquidy. Shakes and malts are not allowed.
2) The liquid must be publically available or the ingredients to make the liquid must be publically available. I do not know why I added this rule, as it makes no difference in my lists, but it makes it look like I have a secret cache of specialized drinkable liquids that only I can drink, and that helps me feel both important and cool.
So.
This List Has My Five Favorite Drinkable Liquids
A&W Root Beer from the tap at an A&W. Anyone who does not have this on their list cannot be a friend of mine.
Minute Maid No Pulp Orange Juice, either with or without those special vitamins they sometimes add, in a 96-oz. orange plastic container. This is my staple drink. I have it with pizza, hamburgers, ice cream, pasta, mints. Everything.
Kiwi Strawberry Snapple, in a 16-oz. glass bottle. This would probably be my staple drink if it were not so expensive.
Strawberry Italian Soda made with 10 oz. seltzer water and 2 oz. Gloria Jean's strawberry syrup. I have never had an Italian soda made elsewhere better than the ones I can make at home. That is why I have given you my secret recipe.
Lemon-Lime All-Sport with carbonation in a 32 oz. plastic bottle. It's still kinda publically available if you (a) look hard enough and (b) don't mind that it's gone past its expiration date. Will switch lists with Orange Julius after I come to grips with that fact that only the non-carbonated beverage is really, truly available.
This List Has My Five Favorite Drinkable Liquids As Long As You Forget About That Other List
Orange Julius from an Orange Julius stand.
Dr. Pepper from a two-liter bottle.
Vanilla Coke made from a fountain Coke and vanilla syrup -- not that ho-hum crap Atlanta corporate is trying to pass off as "Vanilla Coke" to uneducated consumers.
IBC Cream Soda from a 12-oz. bottle.
Minute Maid Grape Juice made from those frozen 12-oz. cans.
If you know my drinking habits well enough to believe I have forgotten something, please let me know. This is oh so very much tremendously important.
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Well, duh, Matthew. Of course that was going to happen. First two rounds at my home disc golf course post-tournament: minus four and minus three. My best score at that course before those two rounds: minus two. Yes, yes, I was destined to play my best golf after the tourney. How did I not suspect that this would happen?
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
You don't really want to see this, but whatever. Okay. Here's a bunch of Alaska pictures. It is unorganized and boring. If you click on every single picture, you are a freak, but I guess if you click on only a few, that's okay. If you are Beth-Annie's parents, please do not fall asleep.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
Personal, private message to Beth P.: One post does not constitute a journal. If I can write every day, you can write every day.
Personal, private message to Julia R.: You look much more attractive when you smile. Why did you not smile very much in Ocean's Eleven? When you do not smile, I start noticing how weird your face is, and I don't like to notice that. I hope very much your next movie is called The Woman Who Smiled and Smiled and Smiled Until the End of the Movie.
Personal, private message to Mom P.: How can you get a plus 8 on that disc golf course when on my one attempt I got a plus, uh, 18? 19? You must play at the Iowa Games now, you know. Let Dad win for Fathers' Day tomorrow.
Personal, private message to Devon G.: Can you e-mail me directions to your house, and let me know which window leads to your bedroom, and let me know where the diary is in your bedroom, and let me know when you and everyone else in your house will be gone, and let me know how to disable your burglar alarm? This is not for any specific reason. I am just curious. Thanks heaps.
Personal, private message to Tino T.: Okay, I know that Tish K. can sometimes be a little...commanding, but she's really nice, and intelligent, and witty, and I think she's quite cute with those smart-girl specs. You should ask her on a date sometime -- not with Carver D. and Lor N. along, just you two. I think you'd make a cute couple.
Personal, private message to Dad P.: Make sure Mom lets you win at disc golf tomorrow.
Personal, private message to Erika N.: Why am I writing to you? Your computer's not working, and anyway, you can't get on to stupid Prinsiana because of stupid AOL. So never mind.
Personal, private message to Dick C.: I love watching you on those press programs. You are so much cooler than George B. I would like to meet you someday. I am only two hours from Washington, so maybe we could schedule a late breakfast or something. Hope to hear from you soon.
Personal, private message to Paul S.: It was quite unfair last evening that you read Devon's Balderdash slam against me three times, but you only read my same-round Balderdash slam against her once, dismissing it in later read-throughs as "Matt's answer." That goes directly against the freewheeling spirit of the game, and I am certain that Mr. Balderdash would agree with me. I hope that you reread the rules and Mr. Balderdash's biography before our next game night.
Personal, private message to Josh P.: I think that you may be right on the best test for extroversion is not simply attending a party, but one's willingness to initiate conversations with people one doesn't know at that party.
Personal, private message to Aimee M.: In your song "Mr. Harris," are you being sincere in promoting a relationship between a retiree and a woman 30 or more years her younger? I used to think you were being serious, but last time I heard it some of the lines -- "The day I met him he was raking leaves in his tiny yard," "[My mother] tries to tell me a father figure must be what I want" -- seemed to have a subtle Weird Al-ish tint to them. I have no issue with most intergenerational marriages, and the four couples I've known in them seem to have gotten along very well (probably because of the crap they get from others; knowing what's coming, only a couple very secure in its love would go through with it), but I'm confused by the song now, and I know you're originally from Richmond, so maybe you'll help me.
Personal, private message to Kim P.: I cannot believe you won both of the games during our bell choir game night. Has this ever happened before for you? You were on such a roll that we should have played Nerts.
Personal, private message to Richard Q.: Aha! I don't actually know any Richard Q.'s, so whomever you are, you should certainly not be reading a personal, private message to him! You are only supposed to be reading your own personal private message, and just because we are using the honor system here at Prinsiana rather than a secure messaging site doesn't mean that you have any more of a right to read messages posted specifically for others. What type of immoral person are you? I cannot believe the awful thing you have done.
Personal, private message to John P.: I just want to assure you and your chums in Vatican City State that I am not actually the Associate Bishop of the Diocese of Juneau. That is just a joke in my AOL profile. I hope that doesn't cause you all too much confusion. I am actually married, so I couldn't really be an Associate Bishop, and also I am not Catholic, and that could be a problem, too. I think you have that I am a married non-Catholic in your files from when I married Kimberly W., so you can probably look it up and confirm it. My social security number is 515-64-8419, if that helps you. Also, I am sorry about my gay priest post. Please do not tell Jesus to keep me out of heaven.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, 3.
All, all is right in the world. Please cheer on Beth-Annie. Next up: Posting Von's diary to the Internet! (Hey, was I the one who suggested it?)
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
And you thought Prinsiana had no scruples! I have in my possession a patently ridiculous document, a document which I obtained through legitimate and even altruistic means. It's a...and...um...yeah.1 Anyway, it's the kind of item that would be perfect for the half-snarkiness, half-sincerity2 that is Prinsiana because the solemn tone of the document is at such strange odds with the [adjective removed] vernacular, which are both at strange, strange odds with the type of document it is.3 No one who reads Prinsiana (except Kim, barely) knows the guy who gave it to me, probably no one who reads Prinsiana (except Kim, barely) knows anyone who knows the guy who gave it to me, and it's relatively safe to say that no one who reads Prinsiana would be offended by its inclusion.4
Given the median I.Q. of regular Prinsiana readers is above the Mensa requirement 5, I don't need to tell you that I won't be printing the document. But I will anyway. Readers, I would just like to tell you that I will not be printing the document. I hope that does not come as a shock to you. My reasoning:
a) Even if I can have overly strict definition of the word "friend," the dude who gave this to me is no way no how a friend of mine. "Acquaintance" would be the perfect word. For some perverse reason, that makes it more difficult to do this, not easier.
b) I'm gun shy from, uh, past journal statements that I am being sued in magistrate court over (or will be once the paperwork goes through).
c) Reason I can't mention pertaining to the text of the document. 6
d) While this is not a private document per se, it's not going to be available on loan at the Henrico County Library, you know?
e) I just read an article about "Crank Yankers", and I feel a bit of correlation between their embarrassment of random strangers and my embarrassment of, um, who I would be embarrassing. (Just to clarify: It would be a group of people, not a specific person.) And because I hate shows like that, I'm going to be good and restrain.
I am so much fun.
---
1 I have tried to write no fewer than five sentences in this space giving a hint to what this paper is, but each of them comes too close to revealing the nature of the document. That is why there is a lame, space-filler sentence.
2 More like 70/30, really.
3 Even with the removal, that sentence may reveal too much, quite honestly.
4 If I do post it, however, someone could very easily happen upon the page through Google, so there's a con right there.
5 132 on a test with a standard deviation of 16. I'm serious about that statement, too: There are about a dozen regular readers of The Journal at Prinsiana, and I can name at least five who'd be in or be awfully close. 7
6 This is starting to become like the MTV version of the (lame, overrated) Nine Inch Nails video for "Closer." (I've seen both versions, and I think the censored one is freakier.)
7 I need to do a column sometime about me considering joining Mensa about two years ago. Someone remind me of that in a few days. 8
The most perverse combination of product and spokesperson ever: Please, Mr. Denny: Miss Piggy should not not not be purchasing three Grand Slams, each of which -- as the commercial on the radio just told me -- has two eggs, two hotcakes, two strips of bacon and two sausage links. (The final line by Kermit -- "I'm a frog. I don't do French [food]." -- just points out Miss Piggy's grotesquerie.)
As the nadir, this supplants the horrible ad campaign that Chick-fil-A's been using for years: having cows trying to sell chicken sandwiches so that the cows can save themselves from being eaten. (Where is the animal camaraderie, you bovines? Where is the camaraderie?)
I do not like the personification of food. Now would be a good time for PETA people to lure me to their less delicious side.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
"Square One" was an awesome show. I liked "Mathnet" the very, very best. I have no issue with the gist of this article about opportunist idiotface John Edward, but author Shari Waxman mustn't have passed her probability and statistics class:
"[The summation law of probability] states that the calculated probabilities of events that are independent (i.e., the occurrence of one event has no effect on the probability that another event will occur) may be added together. In symbolic terms, where A is the first event, B is the second event and P stands for probability: P(A) + P(B) = P(A or B)
"For example, if you roll a six-sided die betting on a 3, your chances for success are 1 in 6, or 17 percent. Roll the die six times, and you are almost guaranteed to see a 3 (17 percent x 6 = 102 percent). Lucky for Edward, most audience members on his television show, "Crossing Over," are too hopeful and trusting to pull out a calculator and expose the charlatan behind the prophet."
Alas, Ms. Waxman missed one little tidbit about the summation law of probability. The events don't have to be independent. The events have to be mutually exclusive1. For example, if RunRunRunBabyBabyBaby has a 1 in 5 chance of winning a race, and IAmASlowHorseBecauseILikeGrassTooMuch has a 1 in 20 chance of winning the same race, one adds 1/5 + 1/20 and volia! there is a 1 in 4 chance of either of the two horses winning the race.
In Ms. Waxman's example, however, while the events are independent, they are not mutually exclusive; one could roll a three with toss number two and with toss number four. So we have to use a different formula: the double inverse multiplicative law of probability. (It probably has a proper name, but I'm sure I like mine better.) This formula says that when you have independent events with probabilities A, B, C, ..., Z, the probability of at least one of those events occurring is:
1-(1-A)*(1-B)*(1-C)*...*(1-Z)
I could tell you why this works, but I won't.2 Anyway, using this law, with A=B=C=D=E=F=1/6, we get a 66 percent chance of at least one three, not -- ahem -- the ludicrous 102 percent.
I'm sorry for this unfun diversion, non-math people.
---
1 Fun fact: By definition, mutually exclusive events cannot be independent.
2 Okay, I will, but only in this footnote. To get the chance of all of a series of independent events occurring, one simply multiplies the probabilities: A*B*C*...*Z. One step further: to get the chance of all of a series of independent events not occurring, one multiplies together the chances of each of the individual events not occurring: (1-A)*(1-B)*(1-C)*...*(1-Z). And because having at least one event occur in a series is the opposite of having no events occur in a series -- one of those two statements has to be true, one just takes one minus the...oh, forget it. None of you care about this. Y’all just want more booger and poop jokes.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
I cannot believe how brazen these priests are getting. Ed sent me this, from a caption of a picture taken by the AP:
"Horace Patterson, center, of Conway Springs, Kansas, holds a photo of his son Eric that commited suicide after being molested by a priest during a news conference by the Survivors Network of Those Abused by Priests in Dallas, Wednesday, June 12, 2002."
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A retraction: Kim tells me that I should not dislike her anymore. So I shall not.
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For the two of you who have already queried about Prinsiana Gold: I only accept money orders in Algerian dinars that are made out through an Liechtensteinian bank. (Currently it is 78 dinars to one dollar.)
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
Okay, so here is the real reason I've been posting so much. I've been wanting to keep this a surprise until all the technical bugs were worked out, but I think we're ready to make the announcement:
Welcome to Prinsiana Gold!
For only $9.95 a month (or $89.95 if you pre-pay the entire year), you will get special features not available to freeloading Prinsiana viewers, including:
Access to Matthew's other private journal, where all his dreams, loves, and wishes will be on display for your amusement!
Exclusive read-only access to Matthew's e-mail account -- view e-mails from his friends before he does!
The webpage Matthew doesn't want you to see -- a secret list of every girl Matthew has ever had a crush on, including when the crush began and when it ended!
Webcams in the Prins' living room and kitchen! (Bedroom cam also available for additional cost; please query for further details.)
Is Matthew really an INFJ? Find out the truth!
Matthew's full Hierarchy of Drinkable Liquids, a list Matthew claims doesn't even exist!
An opportunity to be "Matthew for a Day," where you can write whatever you would like on his public journal!
The real reason Matthew hasn't updated his haiku contest!
Secret recipes for pasta, pizza, and French silk pie!
And much, much more!
Have your credit card ready and call 1-888-PRINSIANA to get personal access today!
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"Everybody's doin' a brand new dance now..." Everyone needs to e-mail Beth-Annie about two dozen times (using different rogue Hotmail and Yahoo accounts) to convince her to start her own online journal. I think she would be quite interesting to read.
---
Why yes, I am completely wrong here. Ed doesn't quite agree with me on the gay priest issue. Hopefully, he'll allow me to post some of his disagreements.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
WARNING WARNING. Matthew enters earnest, serious mode. WARNING WARNING. Prior to the sexual scandal that's rocking the Catholic Church (a scandal primarily of ephebophilia1 and homosexual behavior, not pedophilia), I had no issue with chaste gays in the priesthood2. Why should I have an issue? If I accept the belief that one's sexual preferences are pretty unchangeable after puberty, which I do, I can't reasonably believe that simply being physically attracted to a member of the same sex is a sin.3 It's acting on that attraction -- whether in the flesh or in the heart -- that's the issue, and any priest who is able to keep his mind pure and his zipper zipped is a-okay with moi on the issue.
But it was only this morning that I'd finally heard of a hetrosexual side to the scandal; without fail, every other case that'd reached my ears was either a gay priest and a young male adult or a gay priest and an older male adolescent. I've been thinking about why this might be, and I had come up a few theories:
1) The media finds man-man priestly lovin' more exciting to report on than man-woman priestly lovin'.
2) Because the first few prominent cases to, ahem, come out regarded gay sex, it's more likely that males who had sex with priests (either consensually or non-) are going to come public than women who had sex with priests (either consensually or non-).
3) Since much of what is being reported in the media is hush payments to victims, perhaps the Catholic Church is more likely to give such money to men than women, since they would rather see a priest's affair with a woman be publicized than a priest's affair with a man.
4) I suspect priests with, um, girlfriends are more likely to leave the priesthood to get married, etc., than priests with, um, boyfriends. No real controversy there.
And I believe that all of these are true to a degree, but I don't think any of them are the major reason. The major reason, alas, deals with the reason why gays join the priesthood. (I may come off condescending to gay priests here; if you know any gay priests who read Prinsiana, tell them to skip this journal entry.)
Okay. A heterosexual who becomes a priest seems a bit perverse to me.4 Even if I were Catholic, I couldn't do it; I couldn't give up the chance of finding the woman of my dreams just to, you know, serve God. Do I really owe Him that much, anyway? (Uh, sorry Dude.) So why would a heterosexual become a priest and thus never ever his attraction to women?
a) He really, really, really feels a calling from God, a calling from God so huge that it overwhelms his romantic and sexual desires, and thus he feels he has no choice but to accept God's plan for him.
b) Maybe he doesn't have many romantic and sexual desires -- some people don't, I've been told -- and so the chastity part of calling from God isn't such a big deal for him.
c) Um, I dunno. There are probably some small individual reasons -- a priest saved him after he had fallen in a well, etc. -- but I think those first two cover the majority of cases.
Obviously, those three reasons hold for more than a few gays who join the priesthood, too. But there's a fourth reason, a reason that I suspect is motivation for a plurality of homosexual priests:
d) He believes the Catholic dogma that homosexual behavior is wrong, but yet he has these impulses and wants to act on them. He thinks, "Okay, let's think about the priesthood. The chastity issue isn't a problem for me, because I'm not allowed to have sex with who I want to anyway under Catholicism's rules. And I do want to obey Catholicism's rules, I really do, so maybe by becoming a priest, God will fill up this gay-romanticism void in my life with his love and mercy, and I will feel complete. By being more like God, his rules5 will become easier to follow, and maybe these urges I have will start to fade, fade, fade away."6
I was worried about that sounding condescending because it is: it implies that our Mr. Future Priest is a Mr. Future Priest for egomaniacal reasons rather than because he wants serve God. "...I will feel complete." "...[T]hese urges I have..." "...[V]oid in my life..." I'm sure he wants to serve God, too -- I don't see a rash of gay atheists converting to Catholicism, then becoming priests -- but I wonder if he feels a calling, a real calling from God.
And we all know where this is heading. Becoming a priest will not reduce his longing for male companionship, and since he neither feels the difficult calling of the priests in (a), nor the lack of romantic and sexual desire in (b), he will be severely tempted. Some will resist temptation, some will not, and some who do not will get caught.
1 An sexual attraction to a postpubescent or late pubescent adolescent; compare/contrast to "pedophilia," which is a sexual attraction to a prepubescent child.
2 Some American bishops and Vatican officials have said otherwise, I should note. I feel so...progressive.
3 Ditto with me being married and still finding, say, Janeane Garofalo attractive.
4 Great. Now I'm going to tick off all priests. Lovely.
5 As interpreted by the Catholic Church, of course.
6 Our hypothetical priest would probably not use the word "fade" three times in a row. That was dramatic license. I oh so apologize if that confused, confused, confused you.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
How can I write this much yet still break my journal promise? I never did talk about the disc golf tourney, did I? Oh dear.
Here are the official results from the bottom of the intermediate amateur bracket:
17th Michael Cabral 268
18th Fredrick Bingham 272
19th Matthew Prins 291 20th Richard Doucette 318
21st Chris Kowalski DNF
So I was 19 points out of 18th place, yes, but at least I was a full 27 stokes out of 20th! (That means I must have beat Richard by 16 strokes in the final round -- which was probably also my best round -- since I was only 11 ahead of him going into it.)
What did I say my rating was going to be after this tourney? 820 to 850? Um, that wouldn't have been too bad of a guess if I could just use my scores in the two short rounds (about 18 to 20 strokes above the pro leaders); however, my scores in the long rounds were, um, less lovely (30+ strokes up), so my actual rating will be in the neighborhood of 750, I suspect. (With a 181, the winner of the pro tourney was Larry Leonard, who is ranked 8th in the world with a 1023 rating.)
I suppose I should disclose a few lessons gleaned from the tourney:
a) I need to learn how to throw forehand. Even the dude who finished 27 strokes behind me can throw forehand. (Ed, can you?)
b) I need to learn to drive straighter. Eighty percent of my drives still have a nasty leftward hook.
c) I need to put some power in my putts. I made some nice 15- and 20-foot shots in that last round after I decided to intentionally try to overshoot the hole. It worked.
d) I need to, uh, stick with the parts that work. My patented hammer approach shot was a lot more accurate that the backhand and forehand approach shots that the people I'd played with tried, so I'm not gonna ditch it.
e) I need to forget all notions of ever being a professional.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
I do not like my wife. or
I need to be smarter about what I write in this journal. Kim took my Danielson Famile CD out of my car without my permission! How dare she! I am nice to her and I let her have my air-conditioned Accord on Sunday while I take out her hot-as-Hell-if-Hell-is-having-a-sunny-day Camero with no working air during what was not a wintry afternoon by the way, and this is how she repays me? I do not know if I want to weep or move her picture from my desk into the can o' trash.
(I don't have a problem with you taking it, Kim. I really don't. Really. I mean it. NOW GIVE IT BACK NOW! I NEED IT! Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice. It's just that I want to hear just the littlest bit of "Let Us A.B.C.," just the part where the 3/4 rhythm of the song grinds against the 4/4 and 5/4 snare drum beats and the tight harmonies start to...I CAN'T TAKE IT! WHERE DID YOU HIDE IT? WHERE?!?)
---
In fact, I do not like anybody. Context: Beth-Annie is talking about how much she likes San Fran, but that it's too expensive, there's earthquakes, blah blah blah, so she and Ed would never move there. I say something sarcastic (and relatively non sequiturish) about that if Ed found a job that paid more than $250,000 in that hilly city, she'd move there regardless of any earthquakes. Here is her lovely reply:
"Show me anywhere Josh can make $271K and I'll move there faster than you can embarrass yourself in a disc golf tournament."
Don't say something about a hierarchy of drinkable liquids unless you really, really mean it. Two of my readers have requested that I divulge the aforementioned hierarchy, from top to bottom. Given the number of unique drinkable liquids that I have consumed in my life -- in the thousands, I'd suppose, if drinks such as a vanilla Dr. Pepper and a beverage consisting of half Barq's Root Beer, half Coke count -- I won't do that. However, if a third person is really curious, I guess I'll come up with a top ten or something.
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Matthew's test for introversion. Having given the Myers-Briggs test (okay, the Keirsey Temperament Sorter) this weekend for the first time in a year or so, I was reminded how crappy the introversion/extroversion questions are on Keirsey's exam. (Recall that I am an introvert, even if I can fake extraversion pretty well.) To wit:
36. Does new and non-routine interaction with others
a. stimulate and energize you
b. tax your reserves
Compared to routine interaction with others, um, yeah. I'd rather talk with someone about something new and different than hear the same "How was your day today?" soliloquies. A routine v. non-routine query -- which, against Keirsey's intent, this has become; he should have focused more on the "new" adjective -- goes into the P/J slot, not the I/E slot. (I still answer the question wrong for my type, but I'm such a borderline J/P that one more vote for a P ain't too surprising.)
57. When the phone rings do you
a. hasten to get to it first
b. hope someone else will answer
Kim is an extravert, I am an introvert, and I answer the phone at home. It's just habit. And don't know about you, but when I've had girlfriends who'd call, I've gotten to the phone pretty quickly when it rang. (Thinking about it more carefully, perhaps not until college; I think my parents picked up most of the time my first girlfriend in high school called.)
That's two very crappy questions out of only 10 questions in the section. (The other sections all have 20.) That means it has a crappiness rating of 20 percent! How are borderline people on this question -- such as Kim -- supposed to know their type? It's crap.
Did I say it was crap?
Yes, I see that I did.
[Ed.] And can you do better?
Yes. I can name that introvert in...one question.
71. Are you an
a. Extrovert
b. Introvert
Ha ha ha. No, seriously this time:
71. You're at home at 5:00 p.m. after a relatively taxing day at school, work, or Internet surfing. All the other members of your household are out of your adobe and won't be back until 10:00 or maybe even 11:00. Your significant other and most of your friends are out of town for a couple days. You see that there is a message on the answering machine. It is from a good friend, but not your best friend -- perhaps your third or fourth closest friend, if you'd like to think of him or her that way. "Hey," your friend says, "Just at the last minute I've decided to have a little get together with [names two friends of yours who aren't quite as close] and [names two people who you know and certainly don't dislike, but whom you wouldn't consider friends] and two of my friends from out of town that are pretty cool, I think. It's a little late, I know, and I don't expect you to come on such short notice, but if you do come, that'd be great. Hope to see you." Do you
a. go to the party
b. stay at home and read, or watch television, or surf the Internet, or do something else at home that you enjoy?
If anyone answers this question differently than their personality would have me suspect, I'd like to hear about it.
---
This can't last long. Can it? Because of me being so prolific, and because temperatures will be in the mid-90s all this week (which will lead to me doing this over lunch rather than disc golfing), I've (temporarily, I'm sure) increased the number of posts on the main page from five to ten. How nice of me.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
Misdirection of the week. This, from an article about "The Vagina Monologues" not being allowed to advertise the name of the show in a Birmingham newspaper:
"'The Vagina Monologues' has appeared in other conservative cities, [tour engagement manager Tom] McCann said, such as Raleigh, N.C.; Baton Rouge, La.; Salt Lake City, Utah; Iowa City, Iowa, with no problems from the print press."
Iowa City might be the most liberal town in the entire Midwest. Jeepers, they elected a Socialist -- a real, breathing, card-carrying Socialist -- to one of their local offices perhaps ten years back. I can't decide if McCann is stupid, if he thinks the entire Midwest is backwards, or if he just couldn't think of a fourth conservative city that's played "Monologues." (Hint to McCann: I live in one. It’s more conservative than Raleigh, even.)
Will this help Prinsiana get filtered by the Henrico Public Libary? Somehow, I doubt it. "Vagina" is just too clinical of a term to set off warning lights.
Thou shalt not anger ye disc golf gods. So I write my conceited little piece, and what happens?
a) The dude I beat by three in round one beats me by 10 in round two.
b) Round two taking 3 1/4 hours.
c) Round two wearing me out so that for about four holes, I stopped caring about my score.
d) And now I hurt.
e) And I still have one day to go.
f) My word.
g) I'm still not in last place in my division -- I was 19th of 21 in the first round, and now I'm 20th.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
Can you see my butt, last place? Can you even see my butt? Okay, so perhaps I'm not that far ahead of the losers [1] at the bottom of the standings, but I'm doing respectable: I finished third in my foursome (three strokes ahead of fourth, eight behind second, many many behind first). I'd even put even odds on me being stuck in only the second-to-last of the eighteen foursomes instead of the last one this next round. Hooray for me! Eighty-fourth place, here I come! Soon, I will start getting conceited and obnoxious about my unbelievable playing ability!
Okay. I must leave the library to play round two now.
[1] They are only losers until I join their ranks; then, they become simply "victims of bad luck."
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
Three unrelated notices, to which I cannot come up with a catchy heading: 1) Is there any worse song in the world than the UB40 version of "Red Red Wine?" [Long pause.] I thought not. (Recall that I kinda like both "I'm Too Sexy" and "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles).")
2) While I don't get points for playing in the tournament, it does look like I get a rating, which is all I care about. One more check in the column labeled "pro," I suppose; it's getting harder and harder to turn this down. My predicted rating, if I play: somewhere between 820 and 850. (That'd be about one stroke per hole worse than the best professionals in the world which, when you think about it, isn't too bad.)
3) The most exciting and simultaneously depressing news from my Alaska vacation: All Sport, the greatest sports drink in the history of greatest sports drinks, lives! They still make it in the Pacific Northwest! (First antecedent in the previous sentence is employees at the Monarch Company, which bought the drink from Pepsi.) Alas, they make it without carbonation. I had about a half-gallon of the "improved" All Sport in Alaska and in the Seattle airport, and while it does survive surprisingly well without carbonation -- emphatically well compared to the watered-down urine that is PowerAde and the watered-down water that is Gatorade -- it's not the same. I may have to move it down a few spots in Matthew's Hierarchy of Drinkable Liquids.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
"That's not how you spell 'dumbening.' Wait, 'dumbening' isn't even a word!" According to the illegal copy of the Intelligence Master 3500A (Genius Edition) on my home computer, my I.Q. has gone down 25.3 points since returning from Alaska. Perhaps not, but I feel like it: Because of lack of sleep, I'm sure (yesterday was my second bad night in a row, breaking my streak), my mind is sluggish. Thoughts have to traverse through my feet into the ground and make two passes around the globe before making it to my mouth or fingers. It's annoying. I don't like it.
I tell you this for two reasons. First, that's one of the reasons I've been so prolific recently. By writing, I'm trying to get the cerebellum juices flowing again. Second, I do not feel qualified to make major decisions in my life right now, so I was hoping that y'all might help me. Here is the decision:
Q: Should I or should I not make a fool of myself at a disc golf tournament tomorrow and Sunday?
Con arguments: a) It's $25. That's, like, three new discs.
b) Out of 90 people likely to participate (so I've been told, at least), I will finish about 87th, beating out a 85-year-old great-grandfather, his 9-year-old great-granddaughter, and their dog. This is not because I'm a bad disc golfer -- I'm an above average casual player, I'd guess -- but from what I hear, the majority of participants will be (a) touring professionals and (b) amateurs who are playing 17 rounds a week. I can't compete with that. If not like golfing with Tiger Woods, it's like golfing in the same tournament with John Daly or Tom Kite. I will admit that I'm a bit nervous about being discomfited.
c) This isn't an argument, but Ed, will you tell me the score you got the time you played in Richmond with us? Minus 18, 19, 20? The first of the four rounds will be from white tees on that very course, and I want to see how you compare.
d) I'm a bit out of practice right now; with losing my Cyclone the week before Alaska, then Alaska, then it being interminably hot in Richmond this week, I've only played 27 holes in the last 19 days. I'm planning to play 36 more today for practice, but still.
e) I'm guessing it'll take up at least four hours each of those two days, maybe more. I could be working on my novel (ha!) or catching up on the haiku contests (ha! ha!) during that time.
f) Since I'm in the novice division of the PDGA, I don't even get any points.
Pro arguments:
a) I can burn off those three pounds I gained during my lethargy in Alaska. (Cruises, bus tours, driving makes for a passive vacation.)
b) I'll no doubt learn something by watching golfers so, so, so much better than me.
c) Everyone who I've talked to thinks I should.
d) This is the only tournament this year in Richmond. (There are a few about an hour away, though.)
e) It is like golfing in the same tournament with John Daly or Tom Kite, which is kind of cool.
f) It'll likely be fun, even if I have to meet 88 strangers and one dog.
I will be accepting both public and private suggestions. At 10:00P sharp tonight (unless, you know, I'm out seeing an Iranian film or something), after ignoring all your e-mails and posts, I will likely wimp out and decide not to set the alarm earlier. But you can try to persuade me otherwise. I suppose.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
As Orwell might say: One day good, two day bad. For the last six days now, I have gotten into this obscene sleep pattern whereby I sleep well the first night, sleep horribly the second night, lather, rinse, repeat. In those three bad days, I've gotten ten hours of sleep. In the three good days, I've gotten at least eight hours each.
My working theory: After a good night of sleep -- and thus not having any unreasonable sleepiness -- my body reverts to wanting to sleep at 3:00 in the morning Eastern (equivalent to the 11:00 in the evening I was getting to be in Alaska). After that poor night of sleep, my body is tired and is willing to take a nap whenever I'll allow it to. After that good night of sleep -- and thus not having any unreasonable sleepiness -- my body reverts to wanting to sleep at 3:00 in the morning...etc.
I am not immediately sure how to fix this.
----
Yes. I do know why I've been so prolific this week.
----
No. I will not tell you why.
----
Maybe. Actually, I might, depending on who you are and the niceness with which you ask.
Hi, my name is Matthew, and I'm an Danielson Famile-aholic.
Hi, Matthew!
Tell us how it all started, Matthew.
It was about four years ago, and there was good press about this band called the Danielson Family. It ended with a "Y," then, not an "E." So I was at a used CD store, and I saw an album of theirs called Tell Another...
Joke at the Ol' Choppin' Block!
Yeah, you guys all know. Um, so yeah, I bought the album, and I listened to the first few songs, and I just found Daniel's voice unbearable: an outré falsetto that couldn't even stay in tune most of the time. It was like listening to the Chipmunks as performed by Kermit the Frog, you know? But then there was that annoying catchy outro to "A No No," the "I love my Lord" bit...
[Singing] I love my Lord, I love my Lord, I love my Lord, I love my Lord. Break it down, now! Love my...
Stop! We are here to break our obsession, not revel in it. Please, Matthew, don't quote any more of the Danielson Famile's lyrics.
I'm sorry.
Please continue.
So, um, so I really started growing attached to that song, and I starting listening to the rest of the album, too. But it wasn't an obsession. I was just a casual listener. I wasn't addicted or nothin'. Lots of people do a little Danielson and are able to control it. I even got Tri-Danielson: Omega and it didn't have much of a physiological effect on me. But...
Yes?
But then I got Fetch the Compass Kids, and that was it. It was kind of like Choppin' Block at first, or at least my reaction was. Kinda cool in places, more annoying falsetto, not as catchy as Choppin' Block. Pretty okay, basically. But then, then, I just, then, I wanted... [sobs]
We all know your pain, Matthew. You can be open with us.
I couldn't stop playing it! I couldn't! I wanted to, and I'd eject it from my CD player, but then I'd want to just hear the Les Mis-esque ending to "Let Us A.B.C.," or hear Daniel sing "gen-er-ay-c-on" in "Sing to the Singer," or the spoken, "Calm down, Dan!"
What?
Calm down, Dan!
What who?
Calm down, Dan!
What who ha?
Stop it!
Stop it!
No, really, I mean stop this! We need to be clean of this music!
I'm...I'm so sorry about starting this again. I didn't mean...but so, okay, so I went to Alaska for a week, and I didn't bring the album with me. And when I got back home, I removed it from my car. But, I mean, in a couple days, I don't know, it was in my car again. I don't know how. I mean, no, that's not true, I do know how, it was me, I did it, I needed to listen to the end of "Who The Hello" again, I needed, I needed it, and it felt so good, so so good, and I know it was wrong, in my heart I know it was wrong, and my wife had heard it so much that she was threatening to leave me, and I wanted to stop, I so wanted to stop, but I needed it, I needed it, I needed it...[sobs]
[All huddle up in a group circle.]
You'll be okay, Matthew. You'll be okay. That's why we are here. We will be your support. We will be your parachute.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
My arm already hurts. I may be playing in a four-round, PDGA-sanctioned disc golf tournament this weekend. More information to follow. (Or, uh, given the inverse-chronological nature of this page, more information to precede.)
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
Gray clouds. I will not publicly divulge any more of her personal life -- unless I get a nice juicy tidbit, of course -- but let it be said that while Von (née Devon) and Pablo have not been dating since she was in her mother's womb (as I had said), it has been going on for longer than the week-and-a-half since I've seen them both. Again, I am oblivious. Kim could have an affair, and I wouldn't notice until there were three people in our king bed every night.
Also, Von would like to "thank" all the "fine folks" who visit Prinsiana for the "vast amounts of cash" donated to her diary/journal campaign. I believe she might have been a bit sarcastic there.
oh so lovingly written by
Matthew |
these are comments, absent.
Why I will fall asleep at work this morning. I thought I had escaped jet lag coming back from Alaska. Getting 90 minutes of sleep in 36 hours (from 11:00A Eastern on Saturday to 11:00P Eastern on Sunday) and then going to sleep for 10 hours afterward left me quite refreshed on Monday after a bit of waking up. However, my eyes said to me last night, "Matthew, we would prefer to remain open until 3:00 in the morning. I hope that is not a problem for you."
And then I said, "Why yes, Mr. and Mrs. Eye, that is a problem for me, as I need to be up at about 7:00 in the morning to go to work, and if I get only four hours of sleep tonight, I am going to be groggy and ill-tempered at work tomorrow."
And then my eyes said, "So which one is the male eye and which one is the female one? Also, isn't it a little strange to have a conversation with your eyes?"
And then I said, "Well, yes it is, but if it gets you to close at 11:30P -- which is when I want you to -- rather than 3:00A -- which is not when I want you to -- then this whole perverse conversation is worth it."
And then my eyes said, "Yeah right."
And then I said, "Now you listen here, you niggling little ovals. You will close this instant, and if you do not close this instant, I will subject you to watching an entire episode of 'Fear Factor.' I will stand with my pupils directly facing a smoking charcoal grill. I will take a shower and not care where the shampoo falls on my face."
I am a bit disappointed. I am at the Henrico County Library on a "filtered" computer. Despite all the racy innuendo that Prinsiana is known for, not a single page on the site seems to be blocked. Not even the page that mentions M. Night Shyamalan's nudity. This cannot stand.
Let's try a few jokes and see what happens.
Kim and I have decided to abstain from sex until we have our first child.
Why did the naked man cross the road? To buy some clothing.
Why did the naked woman cross the road? Again, to buy some clothing.
Why did the naked dog cross the road? Because that's where the fire hydrant was. (That is why all dogs, clothed or unclothed, cross the road.)
There's five sexual references within, oh, maybe 200 words. That ought to do it.
Those who believe in a static universe need only go on vacation. How my small world has changed in one week, from least strange to strangest:
1) Unless they are both lying on their AOL bios, or if they are dating other individuals with the same first names (unlikely, given the oddness of one of their first names), two of my bell ringers are, ahem, b/f and g/f. (Regular readers know that I snub Internet abbrvs. like those, but considering the source of this news, it seemed apropos.) Knowing my lack of acuity in uncovering romantic relationships sans overt PDA, they've probably been together since he was one and she was a fetus, and I just never knew. (Ask Kim about my office's 1999 Christmas Party sometime, or about the married couple at church that I knew for two years before I knew they were "an item," if you can call a long-married couple that still.) But as NBC once loved to say, it's new to me. As an individual event, this isn't particularly exciting -- no offense to Von and Pablo, who no doubt believe that the axis of the Earth now strikes through their romance -- but we're only at the bottom of the pyramid of revolution...
2) I have been scanning my memory to recall the last time we had a new employee at my 12-person office. I'm guessing about nine months ago, perhaps a year for a full-timer. Today, we had three. That's three employees. Three new employees. (I admit it: I just wanted to bold every word.) That's an increase of 25 percent in the four days I was gone. Further, because of this, three other people have changed offices, another rearranged hers, and I am confused as a billygoat in a skyscraper. And yet, that is not the biggest news, because...
3) VON AND PABLO ARE ELOPING IN LAS VEGAS NEXT WEEKEND!!!
4) No, no, that was a lie. I'm so sorry. It's actually the last weekend in July in Newport News.
5) Oh dear. That does not seem right either.
6) I think I have it. MY PARENTS BOUGHT A NEW HOUSE!!!!! (Regular readers know that I snub multiple exclaimation marks like those, but considering the enormity of this news, it seemed apropos.) As the sanitized version of Janice's catchphrase goes: Oh. My. Golly. I have only three or four memories of the first house I ever lived in before we moved out when I was two and a half months old1, and beyond that, they've only lived in two houses for 25 years; they had one in Iowa Falls for about a decade and a half, and their current house in Ames for the last ten. And while they had mentioned potentially moving on a couple occasions recently, it seemed like my dad looking to buy a PT Crusier: fun to think about, but ain't never gonna happen. The first word to my brother, who relayed the news (to my mom's dismay, as she wanted to tell me), was, "What?" and I believe the next three were, "Are you serious?" How cool, though. I can't wait to see it.
7) No, it's late September, and it's somewhere in the Hampton Roads area, but not in Newport News.
---
Las predicciones de Mateo: uno por dos
C'mon, though. Who figured the Kings would take them into overtime in game seven?
i sincerely do not know what you are doing here. are you lost? were you
looking for your delicate calico cat, and did you follow her up two flights of stairs
to this room? she is not here. she was here, yes. we gave her a warm bowl of milk, we talked with her about campaign finance reform for a time, and then she bid us good day. i believe she was
going to the post office two blocks down, but i don't quite recall.
for surely you did
not find your way from prinsiana, the least traveled site on
the internet. if you did, though, perhaps you are looking for humor. perhaps you are looking for profundity. perhaps you are looking for answers.
i'm sorry, but you shall go naught-for-three.
