I'm rubbish at writing full-length fictional stories (all that plot and character development and dialogue, ugh!), but my wild imagination loves showing me little scenes that I sometimes feel the need to write down. My father wrote Lovecraft fanfic before fanfic was a thing, so while I'm terrified of things that go bump in the night, I'm also somewhat fascinated with them. I present a little horror scene that's been knocking about my brain for a few days -- this is as long as it will ever get, and it's unlikely I'll ever write enough for a compilation, so this seems the best place for it. I hope someone out there enjoys it.
*****
I heard the familiar sound of his truck pulling into the driveway as I was putting away the dishes. He walked in the back door and paused for a quick hug, kiss, and how-was-your-day while rummaging in the fridge for something to nibble on. I told him about my coworkers' latest antics while he scarfed down a bowl of leftover soup and a handful of crackers, and then he bounded up the stairs to take a quick shower.
I gave his soup bowl a rinse, heard the shower start, and was about to go curl up with a book when I heard the familiar sound of his truck pulling into the driveway... again. I watched him walk in the back door and set his lunchbox down on the counter. His eyes met mine, noticed the slightly panicked stare, and he cocked his head to one side in silent inquiry.
"Are you the fake, or is he?" I asked, pointing in the direction of the bathroom, whence came the noises of both running water and slightly off-key singing.
He smiled, displaying teeth that weren't quite human.
Friday, February 14, 2020
Saturday, February 1, 2020
Flight Canceled
I watch a lot of homesteading videos these days, and it seems all of these vlogging 'steaders have drones so they can get aerial shots of their farms. One even used his drone to help find a neighbor's missing cow! Now, our little urban patch of earth isn't worth taking many pictures of, but our next one will be, and I was toying with the idea of picking up a little $30 toy drone to learn on before deciding whether to get a beefier model for when we move to the new place in a few years.
Then I started reading up on the laws and ordinances relating to drones, most of which seemed pretty sensible: maintain line of sight, don't exceed 400 feet, don't fly over anyone else's property without their written permission, and so on. There's also one about not operating a drone within 5 miles of an airport without contacting the control tower for permission first.
That one's the kicker, because I live less than two miles from an Air Reserve Base. So I did a little more research, and found a map of restricted airspace in the US, zoomed in on my neighborhood... and it's a no. Zero-foot ceiling, no-fly zone. It's possible that, depending on the day and time, I might be able to get authorization for a short flight from the base control tower, but first I'd have to apply for, test for, pay for, and receive an FAA-issued UAV pilot's license (with re-tests every two years), and then use an app that pings the tower for permission on my behalf every time I want to fly.
That seems like a lot of work to get a $30, 6-ounce, 5-minutes-of-battery-life piece of plastic to hover at roof height for kicks (or to inspect my gutters without having to get out the extension ladder, y'know, if I want to pretend it's for something practical). I guess I'll wait until I move out of the no-fly-zone before I splurge on that new toy.
Then I started reading up on the laws and ordinances relating to drones, most of which seemed pretty sensible: maintain line of sight, don't exceed 400 feet, don't fly over anyone else's property without their written permission, and so on. There's also one about not operating a drone within 5 miles of an airport without contacting the control tower for permission first.
That one's the kicker, because I live less than two miles from an Air Reserve Base. So I did a little more research, and found a map of restricted airspace in the US, zoomed in on my neighborhood... and it's a no. Zero-foot ceiling, no-fly zone. It's possible that, depending on the day and time, I might be able to get authorization for a short flight from the base control tower, but first I'd have to apply for, test for, pay for, and receive an FAA-issued UAV pilot's license (with re-tests every two years), and then use an app that pings the tower for permission on my behalf every time I want to fly.
That seems like a lot of work to get a $30, 6-ounce, 5-minutes-of-battery-life piece of plastic to hover at roof height for kicks (or to inspect my gutters without having to get out the extension ladder, y'know, if I want to pretend it's for something practical). I guess I'll wait until I move out of the no-fly-zone before I splurge on that new toy.
Sunday, January 26, 2020
Eye of the Beholder
A friend and I went to a modern art museum that was having a free-admission day yesterday. I almost canceled the outing, because modern art isn’t really my cuppa, but I went anyway, and I'm glad I did. I learned that my friend has the same feelings about modern art that I do, so we spent the day playing curators, deciding which pieces we’d keep in the museum and which should be sent back to the artists.
There were some stunners in the museum’s collections. I swooned over some large-format pieces that looked like black-and-white night-time photography but were actually charcoal on paper (and I had to get to within inches of the piece to begin to see the proof of that). There were two pieces with blown glass that we both loved, one that needed some work (a slow-motion film about fire being projected through blown glass bubbles that made their own fire/nebula-like patterns on the screen – we loved the concept but hated the film itself) and one that was perfect as it was (a huge glass bottle shaped like George Washington’s head, with grog dregs inside, lying on a carved granite pillow). An installation with indigenous American ceremonial garb made out of gaudy man-made fabrics (neon yellow organza, iridescent silver lamé, turquoise paracord, and the like) spoke to our respective native ancestry and the stripping of dignity and depth from rich, complex cultures.
Then there were the pieces we rolled our eyes at. A convoluted video installation was painfully pretentious and over-wrought. A series of banners with sloppy stitching looked like an elementary school project and insulted us with their simplistic messages. Something that looked like black building blocks getting knocked over again and again was trite and boring. Monochrome, screen-printed t-shirts with aphorisms on them looked like they belonged in the gift shop rather than a gallery.
We could respect (if not rave about) some of the pieces that clearly took skill to create (like a series of gigantic concrete sculptures about death and reverence), but the ones where it took no training, no practice, no actual artistic skill whatsoever to make them should not, in our opinion, have been allowed to take up space in a museum. That is the fundamental problem with modern art – anyone can think they’re an artist, know someone who knows someone who can get in touch with a curator, and these sad, sloppy, shallow pieces get to spend time in a place where they don’t belong.
I’m not saying these people aren’t heading in good directions, but their work isn’t museum-quality yet. Some of them need practice in their chosen medium. Some of them need more life experience to help them refine their messages. Some need to abandon whatever medium they’ve chosen and try something different that might convey their message more effectively. The curators should be looking at an artist’s work before committing to hosting it, and having an eye for quality rather than just political/cultural relevance or novelty.
Despite the drawbacks, I’m not going to abandon modern art museums. The few amazing pieces are worth the admission fee, and I can keep hoping that curators will up their game so that every piece they display has a valid reason to be there... but I think I’ll hit up a natural history museum next, to cleanse the palate.
There were some stunners in the museum’s collections. I swooned over some large-format pieces that looked like black-and-white night-time photography but were actually charcoal on paper (and I had to get to within inches of the piece to begin to see the proof of that). There were two pieces with blown glass that we both loved, one that needed some work (a slow-motion film about fire being projected through blown glass bubbles that made their own fire/nebula-like patterns on the screen – we loved the concept but hated the film itself) and one that was perfect as it was (a huge glass bottle shaped like George Washington’s head, with grog dregs inside, lying on a carved granite pillow). An installation with indigenous American ceremonial garb made out of gaudy man-made fabrics (neon yellow organza, iridescent silver lamé, turquoise paracord, and the like) spoke to our respective native ancestry and the stripping of dignity and depth from rich, complex cultures.
Then there were the pieces we rolled our eyes at. A convoluted video installation was painfully pretentious and over-wrought. A series of banners with sloppy stitching looked like an elementary school project and insulted us with their simplistic messages. Something that looked like black building blocks getting knocked over again and again was trite and boring. Monochrome, screen-printed t-shirts with aphorisms on them looked like they belonged in the gift shop rather than a gallery.
We could respect (if not rave about) some of the pieces that clearly took skill to create (like a series of gigantic concrete sculptures about death and reverence), but the ones where it took no training, no practice, no actual artistic skill whatsoever to make them should not, in our opinion, have been allowed to take up space in a museum. That is the fundamental problem with modern art – anyone can think they’re an artist, know someone who knows someone who can get in touch with a curator, and these sad, sloppy, shallow pieces get to spend time in a place where they don’t belong.
I’m not saying these people aren’t heading in good directions, but their work isn’t museum-quality yet. Some of them need practice in their chosen medium. Some of them need more life experience to help them refine their messages. Some need to abandon whatever medium they’ve chosen and try something different that might convey their message more effectively. The curators should be looking at an artist’s work before committing to hosting it, and having an eye for quality rather than just political/cultural relevance or novelty.
Despite the drawbacks, I’m not going to abandon modern art museums. The few amazing pieces are worth the admission fee, and I can keep hoping that curators will up their game so that every piece they display has a valid reason to be there... but I think I’ll hit up a natural history museum next, to cleanse the palate.
Sunday, January 12, 2020
Smash The Patriarchy
I’ve noticed a trend among younger equality-minded folks who are trying to challenge our patriarchal and shallow culture. They take words that can feel like weapons (beautiful, ugly, masculine, feminine, fat, skinny, and so on) and attempt to challenge their definitions – everyone is beautiful, respect everyone’s pronouns, be body-positive, and such.
The trouble with this approach is that it doesn’t address the root of the problem. Descriptors like ugly or feminine or skinny don’t need to be redefined, they need to not be used as weapons to attack someone’s worthiness as a human being. We don’t need to call everyone beautiful, we need to invalidate the idea that beauty is tied to worthiness. We don’t need to develop a dozen new gender expressions, we need to recognize that gender is nothing but an arbitrary social construct that has no inherent meaning or value. We need to prioritize health over beauty, and stop glorifying unhealthy people.
This is becoming increasingly problematic in trans spaces, where some trans people are so desperate to lay claim to their new-found gender identities (especially, it seems, MtF types) that they’re flinging insults like “TERF” (trans-exclusionist radical feminist) at women who are trying to point out that trying to re-define womanhood is causing damage to our ongoing fight for equality.
When someone who was brought up male in a patriarchy suddenly steps into a female-only space and claims it as their own, they’re doing so without regard for all the women who have been fighting for women’s rights for centuries, and they’re disrupting the progress we’re making. I’m not saying they’re still male, but rather that the male privilege they were given by the patriarchy at birth and conditioned to think they deserved by our flawed culture is following them into female spaces whether they intend it to or not, and they’re not taking responsibility for that.
Trans folk are in a difficult position, and they certainly have battles to fight, but one of those battles should not be for ownership of “male” or “female” as a label. It should be to render those labels invalid for determining one’s worth. A trans woman is not the same as a cis woman, and that’s okay. She doesn’t need to be. It’s not a contest, nor should it be. The patriarchy encourages that kind of conflict to maintain the weaponization of gender constructs, and that is what we all need to be fighting against.
It’s an issue with body positivity, too. With weight-related conditions like diabetes and heart disease at epidemic levels, with 2/3 of the country overweight and 1/3 of it obese, why on earth are we going out of our way to call obese people beautiful? It doesn’t address the weaponization of the word “fat,” it just encourages people (especially children who see this in their entertainment) to think that being overweight or obese is okay as long as you know how to apply makeup and wear nice-looking clothes. Fitness instructor Jillian Michaels said something about this the other day and was raked over the coals for it, and while I think she could have phrased it more tactfully, her point is still valid: health matters more than superficial appearance, and obesity isn’t beautiful, it’s dangerous.
We’re still so hung up on this idea that being able to call ourselves beautiful is important that we’re missing the point: beauty has nothing to do with one’s worth. Obsessing over who can/should call themselves beautiful is an inherently patriarchal behavior, because it supports the idea that beauty equals worth.
Let’s stop fighting over things that don’t matter, because it’s keeping us from the real work. Your weight, bone structure, chromosomes, curves, genitalia, etc. don’t determine your worth as a human being. Your character does. Start there, and we can make the world a better place.
The trouble with this approach is that it doesn’t address the root of the problem. Descriptors like ugly or feminine or skinny don’t need to be redefined, they need to not be used as weapons to attack someone’s worthiness as a human being. We don’t need to call everyone beautiful, we need to invalidate the idea that beauty is tied to worthiness. We don’t need to develop a dozen new gender expressions, we need to recognize that gender is nothing but an arbitrary social construct that has no inherent meaning or value. We need to prioritize health over beauty, and stop glorifying unhealthy people.
This is becoming increasingly problematic in trans spaces, where some trans people are so desperate to lay claim to their new-found gender identities (especially, it seems, MtF types) that they’re flinging insults like “TERF” (trans-exclusionist radical feminist) at women who are trying to point out that trying to re-define womanhood is causing damage to our ongoing fight for equality.
When someone who was brought up male in a patriarchy suddenly steps into a female-only space and claims it as their own, they’re doing so without regard for all the women who have been fighting for women’s rights for centuries, and they’re disrupting the progress we’re making. I’m not saying they’re still male, but rather that the male privilege they were given by the patriarchy at birth and conditioned to think they deserved by our flawed culture is following them into female spaces whether they intend it to or not, and they’re not taking responsibility for that.
Trans folk are in a difficult position, and they certainly have battles to fight, but one of those battles should not be for ownership of “male” or “female” as a label. It should be to render those labels invalid for determining one’s worth. A trans woman is not the same as a cis woman, and that’s okay. She doesn’t need to be. It’s not a contest, nor should it be. The patriarchy encourages that kind of conflict to maintain the weaponization of gender constructs, and that is what we all need to be fighting against.
It’s an issue with body positivity, too. With weight-related conditions like diabetes and heart disease at epidemic levels, with 2/3 of the country overweight and 1/3 of it obese, why on earth are we going out of our way to call obese people beautiful? It doesn’t address the weaponization of the word “fat,” it just encourages people (especially children who see this in their entertainment) to think that being overweight or obese is okay as long as you know how to apply makeup and wear nice-looking clothes. Fitness instructor Jillian Michaels said something about this the other day and was raked over the coals for it, and while I think she could have phrased it more tactfully, her point is still valid: health matters more than superficial appearance, and obesity isn’t beautiful, it’s dangerous.
We’re still so hung up on this idea that being able to call ourselves beautiful is important that we’re missing the point: beauty has nothing to do with one’s worth. Obsessing over who can/should call themselves beautiful is an inherently patriarchal behavior, because it supports the idea that beauty equals worth.
Let’s stop fighting over things that don’t matter, because it’s keeping us from the real work. Your weight, bone structure, chromosomes, curves, genitalia, etc. don’t determine your worth as a human being. Your character does. Start there, and we can make the world a better place.
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
Game of Nope
On paper, Game of Thrones seems like a show I would enjoy. It’s medieval fantasy with complex political intrigue, and a large cast that, in theory, gives me a lot of opportunities to find characters I’m interested in. But there was something about the look of it and the reviews and the MASSIVE fandom that made me wary. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it (apart from a general dislike for all things trendy), but it took me until the series was finished to finally be willing to give it a shot.
I made it through two episodes before giving up. Actually, five minutes into the first episode I was pretty much done, but I gave it two episodes worth of opportunity to claw its way back from that awful first impression, and it only got worse.
If I want to see rich white men rape and murder their way through their privileged lives, I’ll turn on the news. That’s not entertainment for me, no matter how you dress it up. I need to see virtuous characters, complex characters, diverse characters… I need a cause I can believe in, someone I can cheer for, so I have a reason to keep watching. None of that showed up in the first two episodes.
I especially want female characters I can relate to – ones who don’t stoop to male vices or methods, ones who see the horrors of the world for what they are and try to change things for the better. Instead, GoT offered: an incestuous, adulterous harpie who condones murder to cover up her incest/adultery and over-parents her spoiled brat of a son; a probably-incestuous shell of a person who allows herself to be used as a political pawn and repeatedly raped, and then… tries to please her rapist; a long-suffering worrywart who takes up doll-making (a light form of witchcraft?) as a coping mechanism for her son’s near-murder; a young tomboy who’s sort of on the right track but is in that can’t-help-but-be-obnoxious phase that children go through; myriad whores who are, as it happens, the only female characters I even marginally like in this show because they’re the only ones who seem to enjoy their lives. None of those are women I can get emotionally invested in – their personalities fit tired, over-used tropes, and they were so clearly written by men that I can’t identify with them.
Then there’s the men. An adulterous, gluttonous asshole and his also-adulterous lap-dog, an angst-ridden bastard who seems to buy the idea that he’s no good to anybody except as a sacrifice, an erudite dwarf who seems to have dedicated his life to exploring every vice known to man, a stoic “exotic” rapist, an incestuous wastrel, a spoiled brat… and not one of them a compelling character for me. If the rest of the story were better, the rest of the cast more interesting, I might have stuck around to see what the dwarf gets up to, but he alone can’t carry the show.
The whiteness of the cast is boring (the world is completely made-up... why make it whites-only?), the petty motives are depressing, the gratuitous female nudity feels pornographic, and the story is too much like current-day politics to be worthy entertainment. The show is clearly targeted to teenaged boys, and it confuses me how so many people who don’t fit that demographic watched the first two episodes and decided they wanted more. What does it say about our culture that this show is so popular?
It probably didn’t help that I watched this shortly after getting caught up on two fantastic series: The Man In The High Castle, and The Expanse. Both of those have diverse casts, complex and compelling characters, a far better balance between virtue and vice, interesting plots, and underlying themes that I can relate to and want to see more of. Even in the medieval fantasy realm, The Last Kingdom and Vikings both did far better at drawing me in (though Vikings, with its purple faux-fur, eventually lost this historical costumer’s interest) by having characters whose motives were more relatable than “gotta f*ck my sister.” Game of Thrones feels like poorly-written fanfic by comparison – nothing but a masturbatory aid for hormonal boys – and that’s not worth my time.
I made it through two episodes before giving up. Actually, five minutes into the first episode I was pretty much done, but I gave it two episodes worth of opportunity to claw its way back from that awful first impression, and it only got worse.
If I want to see rich white men rape and murder their way through their privileged lives, I’ll turn on the news. That’s not entertainment for me, no matter how you dress it up. I need to see virtuous characters, complex characters, diverse characters… I need a cause I can believe in, someone I can cheer for, so I have a reason to keep watching. None of that showed up in the first two episodes.
I especially want female characters I can relate to – ones who don’t stoop to male vices or methods, ones who see the horrors of the world for what they are and try to change things for the better. Instead, GoT offered: an incestuous, adulterous harpie who condones murder to cover up her incest/adultery and over-parents her spoiled brat of a son; a probably-incestuous shell of a person who allows herself to be used as a political pawn and repeatedly raped, and then… tries to please her rapist; a long-suffering worrywart who takes up doll-making (a light form of witchcraft?) as a coping mechanism for her son’s near-murder; a young tomboy who’s sort of on the right track but is in that can’t-help-but-be-obnoxious phase that children go through; myriad whores who are, as it happens, the only female characters I even marginally like in this show because they’re the only ones who seem to enjoy their lives. None of those are women I can get emotionally invested in – their personalities fit tired, over-used tropes, and they were so clearly written by men that I can’t identify with them.
Then there’s the men. An adulterous, gluttonous asshole and his also-adulterous lap-dog, an angst-ridden bastard who seems to buy the idea that he’s no good to anybody except as a sacrifice, an erudite dwarf who seems to have dedicated his life to exploring every vice known to man, a stoic “exotic” rapist, an incestuous wastrel, a spoiled brat… and not one of them a compelling character for me. If the rest of the story were better, the rest of the cast more interesting, I might have stuck around to see what the dwarf gets up to, but he alone can’t carry the show.
The whiteness of the cast is boring (the world is completely made-up... why make it whites-only?), the petty motives are depressing, the gratuitous female nudity feels pornographic, and the story is too much like current-day politics to be worthy entertainment. The show is clearly targeted to teenaged boys, and it confuses me how so many people who don’t fit that demographic watched the first two episodes and decided they wanted more. What does it say about our culture that this show is so popular?
It probably didn’t help that I watched this shortly after getting caught up on two fantastic series: The Man In The High Castle, and The Expanse. Both of those have diverse casts, complex and compelling characters, a far better balance between virtue and vice, interesting plots, and underlying themes that I can relate to and want to see more of. Even in the medieval fantasy realm, The Last Kingdom and Vikings both did far better at drawing me in (though Vikings, with its purple faux-fur, eventually lost this historical costumer’s interest) by having characters whose motives were more relatable than “gotta f*ck my sister.” Game of Thrones feels like poorly-written fanfic by comparison – nothing but a masturbatory aid for hormonal boys – and that’s not worth my time.
Friday, July 5, 2019
Earth-Shattering Kaboom
Where I'm living right now is the most urban place I've ever lived in. I can cope with most of the downsides, but this week has been especially trying. Turns out this is a terrible place to live if you don't do well around fireworks.
There are about ten town centers within ten miles of here. Each one of them does their own fireworks display for Independence Day, and they don't all do them on the same night. So evenings this week have been loud and anxiety-ridden, and sleep has been hard to come by. If it were just the municipal fireworks, I might be okay, because they generally wrap up by 10:30pm, which means I have a chance of falling asleep by midnight... but then the neighbors get started, and there's no point calling the cops because they won't arrive before the neighbors pack up for the night. One neighbor was up 'til 1:30am setting off fireworks Wednesday night, which meant I got no sleep at all.
You'd think with all the veterans' groups spreading the word about PTSD and the animal shelters talking about noise-sensitive pets, that people would get the message and stop using the extra-loud kind of fireworks... but no, this is 'Murica, land of over-the-top everything.
I miss Vermont.
There are about ten town centers within ten miles of here. Each one of them does their own fireworks display for Independence Day, and they don't all do them on the same night. So evenings this week have been loud and anxiety-ridden, and sleep has been hard to come by. If it were just the municipal fireworks, I might be okay, because they generally wrap up by 10:30pm, which means I have a chance of falling asleep by midnight... but then the neighbors get started, and there's no point calling the cops because they won't arrive before the neighbors pack up for the night. One neighbor was up 'til 1:30am setting off fireworks Wednesday night, which meant I got no sleep at all.
You'd think with all the veterans' groups spreading the word about PTSD and the animal shelters talking about noise-sensitive pets, that people would get the message and stop using the extra-loud kind of fireworks... but no, this is 'Murica, land of over-the-top everything.
I miss Vermont.
Saturday, April 27, 2019
One Thing Leads To Another
Being someone who's curious about all sorts of things and loves to learn, I frequently find myself exploring labyrinthine knowledge paths and picking up all sorts of tidbits I didn't expect. Such was the case the other day when, thanks to a random picture on Pinterest, I started exploring a new facet of a subject I've been interested in for a while.
One of the things I love about historical reenactment is that dressing in garb gives me an excuse to cover my hair. I love my waist-length tresses and all the things I can do with them, but I hate the way wayward strands tickle my face or get caught in anything from the hinges on my glasses to a closing car door. Being able to wrap everything up in a turban or other headwear without it looking out of place is a boon to me. So when I saw a pin on Pinterest with a type of hair wrap that was new to me, I wanted to learn more.
The path took me to some vendors I hadn't known about before, some blog posts and videos with wrapping techniques that I might use... and set me at the door to the world of "radical" (they frequently use this word to describe themselves) Christian women who follow 1 Corinthians 11 on the subject of headcovering.
I'm all for expressing one's religious beliefs in whatever (not-harmful-to-others) manner one feels called to. If you feel closer to your god by demonstrating your submission with a piece of fabric, I will defend your right to do so, and may even join you in solidarity if you are being attacked for your choice. Personally, I'm with you if your purpose is eschewing vanity, but I stop at the point where you believe you're less worthy, less godly, less anything than a man. Still, if that's what you believe, you're welcome to it, as long as it doesn't bleed over into public policy or my personal life.
The issue I have with this group of women is that, in their posts and videos, they focus on how attractive their methods of headcovering are. They spend a lot of time, energy, and money on what seems to be more of a hobby than a religious practice. They turn an article of submission and modesty into one of vanity, all while thumping their Bibles, and don't seem to notice the cognitive dissonance.
Herein lies my biggest problem with organized religion: those who are most vocal about the "rules" tend to be the worst at following them, but refuse to admit it. It's hard to take a group seriously or give them the respect they expect when their actions run counter to their words. Some of the most outspoken "believers" I've met have been the least godly, had the worst moral compasses, and been the biggest hypocrites.
As morality, character, and spirituality have come more into focus in my life of late, I've found myself dispairing at the fate of humanity. Our selfishness and greed have been growing, our willingness to take responsibility for our actions has all but disappeared, and we don't seem to feel shame for much of anything anymore. It's leading to anarchy, which is a situation that only benefits the most violent, the most opportunistic, the most conniving among us.
It's frustrating to be in a position where I'm searching for hope and structure, and the one place that seems tailor-made to provide what I want is also the poster child for the ills I'm seeking refuge from. But hey, now I know some news ways to wrap my hair.
One of the things I love about historical reenactment is that dressing in garb gives me an excuse to cover my hair. I love my waist-length tresses and all the things I can do with them, but I hate the way wayward strands tickle my face or get caught in anything from the hinges on my glasses to a closing car door. Being able to wrap everything up in a turban or other headwear without it looking out of place is a boon to me. So when I saw a pin on Pinterest with a type of hair wrap that was new to me, I wanted to learn more.
The path took me to some vendors I hadn't known about before, some blog posts and videos with wrapping techniques that I might use... and set me at the door to the world of "radical" (they frequently use this word to describe themselves) Christian women who follow 1 Corinthians 11 on the subject of headcovering.
I'm all for expressing one's religious beliefs in whatever (not-harmful-to-others) manner one feels called to. If you feel closer to your god by demonstrating your submission with a piece of fabric, I will defend your right to do so, and may even join you in solidarity if you are being attacked for your choice. Personally, I'm with you if your purpose is eschewing vanity, but I stop at the point where you believe you're less worthy, less godly, less anything than a man. Still, if that's what you believe, you're welcome to it, as long as it doesn't bleed over into public policy or my personal life.
The issue I have with this group of women is that, in their posts and videos, they focus on how attractive their methods of headcovering are. They spend a lot of time, energy, and money on what seems to be more of a hobby than a religious practice. They turn an article of submission and modesty into one of vanity, all while thumping their Bibles, and don't seem to notice the cognitive dissonance.
Herein lies my biggest problem with organized religion: those who are most vocal about the "rules" tend to be the worst at following them, but refuse to admit it. It's hard to take a group seriously or give them the respect they expect when their actions run counter to their words. Some of the most outspoken "believers" I've met have been the least godly, had the worst moral compasses, and been the biggest hypocrites.
As morality, character, and spirituality have come more into focus in my life of late, I've found myself dispairing at the fate of humanity. Our selfishness and greed have been growing, our willingness to take responsibility for our actions has all but disappeared, and we don't seem to feel shame for much of anything anymore. It's leading to anarchy, which is a situation that only benefits the most violent, the most opportunistic, the most conniving among us.
It's frustrating to be in a position where I'm searching for hope and structure, and the one place that seems tailor-made to provide what I want is also the poster child for the ills I'm seeking refuge from. But hey, now I know some news ways to wrap my hair.
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