I'm not a religious person.
That's not to say I don't believe in God. Frankly, I have no idea if God actually exists, but you don't either. True atheism requires a degree of confidence I could never have.
What I'm getting at is that I'm no atheist, but I won't live my life in debt to a being who's existence is questionable at best.
Yesterday, amidst a conversation I was having with a stranger on the train back to New York, we began discussing religion. It was a brief discussion, as the man I was talking to got off soon after we began, but I was asked one question before he left that I couldn't answer at the time.
"What exactly is your problem with a mainstream belief in God?"
It's a very reasonable question, especially given the way I tend to discuss God, and it's also one I realize I had never truly thought about. You see, I grew up in a semi-religious Jewish household that became a very-religious Jewish household when I was around thirteen or fourteen years old. I have no issue with an individual choosing to believe in God, that his decision. My problem lies more in that murky area where religion begins to dictate, subliminally or otherwise, how people live their lives.
My point is, I've had discussions about belief in the past. I've had discussions about where politics and religion meet and about the morality of God in the Bible, and even about where people "find" God, but I've never spent a lot of time thinking about God as a societal construct.
(Note: I may be doing a bad job of describing how I interpreted the question asked of me. Hopefully my answer will clear things up.)
Having had time to think about it, I would answer with something of a theoretical:
Imagine if every time a surgeon saved a life or a family survived a car accident or even every time an athlete got a gold medal, we congratulated the person on his ability and left God out of the picture. Imagine if every time humanity achieved, we chalked it up to exactly that: humanity's ability to achieve, and not to unprovable divine intervention. Would that change anything?
I have to assume it would.
Humanity is something to admire, and our achievements are things to behold. Every time someone thanks God, he is diminishing humanities ability to achieve.
Every time someone says we couldn't possibly understand God's motivation, we diminish the human mind.
Every time someone says it's a miracle they survived a fall or a crash, they diminish the human spirit.
Every time the underdog thanks God for a victory, they diminish the human will.
When Sarah Palin calls for "divine intervention" to stop the oil spill, she is saying that she believes humanity doesn't have the ability to stop this.
That's bullshit.
I guess what I'm saying is we, all of us, need to be more confident in our ability to achieve on our own, without the help of God.
on a lighter note, this is actually happening.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
June 7, 2010
Last night was mildly interesting, so this will probably be less interesting and therefore short.
I have 3 roommates. 2 of these roommates (who shall henceforth be known as Jerry and Maury) family homes are about an hour away from the apartment. They both tend to go home for the weekend (and occasional weekday) leaving the apartment to the fourth roommate (henceforth Steve), his girlfriend (henceforth Judy) and myself. This means that weekends tend to be quiet.
I'm going to assume you are aware June 7, 2010 was not a weekend, making a portion of the previous paragraph irrelevant.
Anyways,
Last week, on Tuesday to be precise, Jerry went on vacation. It is now a week later and as far as I can tell, Jerry is still gone.
Maury, on the other hand was last seen on Saturday, but he also has yet to return.
When Steve first told me he was moving into a new place and wanted me to move in, I told him that sounded great (nothing has changed, I love my apartment). A few days later, he told me he found 1 definite roommate (this was Jerry) and one potential roommate (this was Maury). Steve told me he was going to take Jerry and his parents to see the apartment and wanted to know if I could come along.
I couldn't.
The next day Steve was telling me how it went when he informed me that Jerry had "called" the second biggest room in the apartment when they went to visit. I had no qualms with this at the time. Steve also informed me that Maury's only condition for joining the apartment was that he not have the smallest room. This, of course, left me with the smallest room (It was understood that Steve, who found the apartment and dealt with the landlord would get the largest room). I told Steve I didn't mind.
It turns out I do mind.
See, my room is small, like cut a dorm room in half small. It's big enough for me to have a bed and my stuff, and there's a small closet for storage, but nonetheless, its small. This poses a problem during the summer, as the heat tends to dry my room out very fast, making it a very stuffy place to live and sleep in.
None of the other rooms face this problem to the same degree.
So why do I mind?
Well, Jerry has made a habit out of not being in the apartment. By my estimate, he sleeps there around 50% of the time, and disappears for days in a row. This is his prerogative and I have no interest in stopping it nor do I care that he does it, but I do care that the second largest room in the apartment is empty nearly half of the time, especially when I'm in the smallest room.
Yesterday I told Jerry that if he wasn't back in a couple days I was going to move his stuff into my room and vice-versa. At the time I thought I was joking.
It seems I wasn't, or at least I'm not now.
This morning my boss had me get in an hour early and take the train downtown to drop something off at an office. This is a routine I have gone through many times. it gives me time to listen to music and relax during the day.
Today, fate took a dump on that.
First, my train broke down 3 stops early. This, being an express train, meant I was not in walking distance. I also had no idea where I was, so I decided to take a cab the rest of the way.
I don't like talking to cab drivers for a very specific reason: it's hard to hear them over my music. Generally, cab drivers don't want to talk to you either so it all works out.
Not today though. Today, my driver wanted to know everything.
If that wasn't enough, he took a wrong turn somewhere, ended up dead-ended by a one-way street and asked if I would walk the rest of the way.
"It's just a block up that way. You can see from here."
I agreed to walk.
It wasn't a block.
Anyways, today has been stressful, to say the least, and the last thing I need is to get back to my apartment and realize that yet again, that wonderful, large, open room is empty because the kid who "called" it decided to sleep somewhere else.
I should note two things before I end this:
First, "Jerry" is actually a really good guy. He is most likely completely unaware I have a problem with the rooming situation (or that one even exists), and will probably apologize profusely to me is/when I bring it up to him. I have no grudge against him.
Second, the day has left me in nothing less than a pissy mood, which is most likely reflected in this post.
Okay, maybe not so short.
I have 3 roommates. 2 of these roommates (who shall henceforth be known as Jerry and Maury) family homes are about an hour away from the apartment. They both tend to go home for the weekend (and occasional weekday) leaving the apartment to the fourth roommate (henceforth Steve), his girlfriend (henceforth Judy) and myself. This means that weekends tend to be quiet.
I'm going to assume you are aware June 7, 2010 was not a weekend, making a portion of the previous paragraph irrelevant.
Anyways,
Last week, on Tuesday to be precise, Jerry went on vacation. It is now a week later and as far as I can tell, Jerry is still gone.
Maury, on the other hand was last seen on Saturday, but he also has yet to return.
When Steve first told me he was moving into a new place and wanted me to move in, I told him that sounded great (nothing has changed, I love my apartment). A few days later, he told me he found 1 definite roommate (this was Jerry) and one potential roommate (this was Maury). Steve told me he was going to take Jerry and his parents to see the apartment and wanted to know if I could come along.
I couldn't.
The next day Steve was telling me how it went when he informed me that Jerry had "called" the second biggest room in the apartment when they went to visit. I had no qualms with this at the time. Steve also informed me that Maury's only condition for joining the apartment was that he not have the smallest room. This, of course, left me with the smallest room (It was understood that Steve, who found the apartment and dealt with the landlord would get the largest room). I told Steve I didn't mind.
It turns out I do mind.
See, my room is small, like cut a dorm room in half small. It's big enough for me to have a bed and my stuff, and there's a small closet for storage, but nonetheless, its small. This poses a problem during the summer, as the heat tends to dry my room out very fast, making it a very stuffy place to live and sleep in.
None of the other rooms face this problem to the same degree.
So why do I mind?
Well, Jerry has made a habit out of not being in the apartment. By my estimate, he sleeps there around 50% of the time, and disappears for days in a row. This is his prerogative and I have no interest in stopping it nor do I care that he does it, but I do care that the second largest room in the apartment is empty nearly half of the time, especially when I'm in the smallest room.
Yesterday I told Jerry that if he wasn't back in a couple days I was going to move his stuff into my room and vice-versa. At the time I thought I was joking.
It seems I wasn't, or at least I'm not now.
This morning my boss had me get in an hour early and take the train downtown to drop something off at an office. This is a routine I have gone through many times. it gives me time to listen to music and relax during the day.
Today, fate took a dump on that.
First, my train broke down 3 stops early. This, being an express train, meant I was not in walking distance. I also had no idea where I was, so I decided to take a cab the rest of the way.
I don't like talking to cab drivers for a very specific reason: it's hard to hear them over my music. Generally, cab drivers don't want to talk to you either so it all works out.
Not today though. Today, my driver wanted to know everything.
If that wasn't enough, he took a wrong turn somewhere, ended up dead-ended by a one-way street and asked if I would walk the rest of the way.
"It's just a block up that way. You can see from here."
I agreed to walk.
It wasn't a block.
Anyways, today has been stressful, to say the least, and the last thing I need is to get back to my apartment and realize that yet again, that wonderful, large, open room is empty because the kid who "called" it decided to sleep somewhere else.
I should note two things before I end this:
First, "Jerry" is actually a really good guy. He is most likely completely unaware I have a problem with the rooming situation (or that one even exists), and will probably apologize profusely to me is/when I bring it up to him. I have no grudge against him.
Second, the day has left me in nothing less than a pissy mood, which is most likely reflected in this post.
Okay, maybe not so short.
Monday, June 7, 2010
June 6, 2010
Last night the words "I love the silence of nature" actually came out of my mouth. Coming from me, this is, to say the least, uncharacteristic, possibly tragic. Fortunately, those words were followed with an epic statement of masculinity: "I'm gonna go write some poetry".
In my defense, there is some context here (outside of my state of mind).
Saturday night, I took the bus home from the Foreman vs. Cotto at Yankees Stadium. At one stop, a woman wearing high heels got off the bus, missed a step and fell flat on her face.
First, let's get one thing out of the way: people falling over is very funny. However, that's not the point.
For a good few minutes after she fell, no one moved. Actually, everyone moved slightly, first to look at her, then to look at each other. Everyone in the back of the bus (its still cool to sit there) made eye-contact; we were all waiting to see what the other would do, who would make the first move. The lady outside was moving some, so I can confidently say she survived the fall, and someone outside was even trying to help her up (emphasis on trying), but we on the bus, in true New York fashion, just sat there.
Eventually the bus door shut. This is where things almost got bad. I was looking at the people around me, my two friends and a couple strangers, and we were all clearly thinking the same thing: "If this bus starts moving, that lady is going to get run over and there's gonna be a whole to-do about it" (SPOILER ALERT: she didn't get run over).
If you caught the running theme so far, then you can guess what happened next.
No one moved. We all knew we should. This woman was basically sitting in the gutter, with her legs extended into the street. The bus driver had no idea she was there, hell, I'm pretty sure a guy (or girl, sometimes it's hard to tell around here) even mumbled "someone should tell the bus driver not to go".
The point is the indifference that permeates this city. At least that's the point up till now, a point which will change by the end of this post.
You see, I moved to New York a little more than 4 months ago. I am no bastion of public service, but 3 months ago I would have gotten off the bus and made sure she could still move. 2 months ago I probably would have told the bus driver she was there and to make sure not to hit her. Even a month ago I would probably have at least commented on it to someone else, but not these days, these days I barely acknowledge it.
Normally, I'd throw in a nice "epic car crash you can't look away from" metaphor here, but it just doesn't apply. You see, when you pass said epic car crash, there's nothing you can do but look at it. Turning away won't help the people involved and pulling over and getting out will probably only serve to piss off the emergency workers, so all you really can do is to keep driving and sneak a quick look.
People could have helped here (myself included). It certainly wasn't necessary that we all just look at the lady lying there in the gutter. The person trying to help her up could probably have used another hand and the bus driver may have appreciated a warning, but that's New York.
See, as horrifying as that story may or may not have been, it's that apathy that gives New York its... charm, which brings me back to last night.
I was having a discussion with my roommate and his girlfriend about summers in this city (it is my first summer living in New York). I had been drilling for unobtanium earlier so I was in an open, casual mood. Specifically, we were talking/telling stories about instances where we observed of extreme apathy in the city (the above story being my contribution). None of us grew up in New York, so this was a somewhat new phenomenon for us (although they have lived in and around here significantly longer than I).
Anyways, my roommate's girlfriend mentioned that she knew how much I loathe the city and how much worse it must be during the summer, when everyone's annoyance with the world is such that apathy rises to near-suicidal levels (seriously, on really hot days I can't even be bothered to get food when I'm hungry).
She was partially right.
I don't loathe the city of New York in particular, I just loathe cities in general, and during the summer, when its dry, hot and sticky, everything I hate about city life seems to pile on itself.
Once again, getting back to last night, I was asked what I hate most about the city. My answer was, as it has been for 4 months, the lights and the noise. Simply put, there is nothing worse than standing at your window in the middle of the night debating (in my head, to myself) the merits of closing it or leaving it open.
I have a small room in my apartment. It's comfortable, but small. This is a lot of trouble at night. If I leave the window open, I get semi-fresh air (I live above the trash alley), circulation and occasionally a nice breeze, but I also get to listen to blasting Spanish-dance mixes (I prefer Meat Loaf) and screaming couples (close your window, no one gives a damn if your girlfriend screwed a guy in the alley) until 3 am. Okay, so I close the window. It's five minutes later and my room is a sauna with no off button, and at that point, death would be a sweet escape. Beyond that, open or shut, it seems like someone is always shining a spotlight into my room.
Before I moved to New York, I lived in the suburbs of Wilmington, Delaware, or alternately, Glenside, PA (nothing personal, but fuck you Glenside). There is neither light nor noise in either of these places. Both are veritable black-holes of fun, having outlawed anything defined as such decades ago. Having said all that, knowing that you can open your window at night without hearing a concert or being exposed to the sun is a good plus.
So, anyways, I told my roommate and his girlfriend this, most likely with more rambling involved, then concluded with a singular thought: "I love the silence of nature".
In my defense, there is some context here (outside of my state of mind).
Saturday night, I took the bus home from the Foreman vs. Cotto at Yankees Stadium. At one stop, a woman wearing high heels got off the bus, missed a step and fell flat on her face.
First, let's get one thing out of the way: people falling over is very funny. However, that's not the point.
For a good few minutes after she fell, no one moved. Actually, everyone moved slightly, first to look at her, then to look at each other. Everyone in the back of the bus (its still cool to sit there) made eye-contact; we were all waiting to see what the other would do, who would make the first move. The lady outside was moving some, so I can confidently say she survived the fall, and someone outside was even trying to help her up (emphasis on trying), but we on the bus, in true New York fashion, just sat there.
Eventually the bus door shut. This is where things almost got bad. I was looking at the people around me, my two friends and a couple strangers, and we were all clearly thinking the same thing: "If this bus starts moving, that lady is going to get run over and there's gonna be a whole to-do about it" (SPOILER ALERT: she didn't get run over).
If you caught the running theme so far, then you can guess what happened next.
No one moved. We all knew we should. This woman was basically sitting in the gutter, with her legs extended into the street. The bus driver had no idea she was there, hell, I'm pretty sure a guy (or girl, sometimes it's hard to tell around here) even mumbled "someone should tell the bus driver not to go".
The point is the indifference that permeates this city. At least that's the point up till now, a point which will change by the end of this post.
You see, I moved to New York a little more than 4 months ago. I am no bastion of public service, but 3 months ago I would have gotten off the bus and made sure she could still move. 2 months ago I probably would have told the bus driver she was there and to make sure not to hit her. Even a month ago I would probably have at least commented on it to someone else, but not these days, these days I barely acknowledge it.
Normally, I'd throw in a nice "epic car crash you can't look away from" metaphor here, but it just doesn't apply. You see, when you pass said epic car crash, there's nothing you can do but look at it. Turning away won't help the people involved and pulling over and getting out will probably only serve to piss off the emergency workers, so all you really can do is to keep driving and sneak a quick look.
People could have helped here (myself included). It certainly wasn't necessary that we all just look at the lady lying there in the gutter. The person trying to help her up could probably have used another hand and the bus driver may have appreciated a warning, but that's New York.
See, as horrifying as that story may or may not have been, it's that apathy that gives New York its... charm, which brings me back to last night.
I was having a discussion with my roommate and his girlfriend about summers in this city (it is my first summer living in New York). I had been drilling for unobtanium earlier so I was in an open, casual mood. Specifically, we were talking/telling stories about instances where we observed of extreme apathy in the city (the above story being my contribution). None of us grew up in New York, so this was a somewhat new phenomenon for us (although they have lived in and around here significantly longer than I).
Anyways, my roommate's girlfriend mentioned that she knew how much I loathe the city and how much worse it must be during the summer, when everyone's annoyance with the world is such that apathy rises to near-suicidal levels (seriously, on really hot days I can't even be bothered to get food when I'm hungry).
She was partially right.
I don't loathe the city of New York in particular, I just loathe cities in general, and during the summer, when its dry, hot and sticky, everything I hate about city life seems to pile on itself.
Once again, getting back to last night, I was asked what I hate most about the city. My answer was, as it has been for 4 months, the lights and the noise. Simply put, there is nothing worse than standing at your window in the middle of the night debating (in my head, to myself) the merits of closing it or leaving it open.
I have a small room in my apartment. It's comfortable, but small. This is a lot of trouble at night. If I leave the window open, I get semi-fresh air (I live above the trash alley), circulation and occasionally a nice breeze, but I also get to listen to blasting Spanish-dance mixes (I prefer Meat Loaf) and screaming couples (close your window, no one gives a damn if your girlfriend screwed a guy in the alley) until 3 am. Okay, so I close the window. It's five minutes later and my room is a sauna with no off button, and at that point, death would be a sweet escape. Beyond that, open or shut, it seems like someone is always shining a spotlight into my room.
Before I moved to New York, I lived in the suburbs of Wilmington, Delaware, or alternately, Glenside, PA (nothing personal, but fuck you Glenside). There is neither light nor noise in either of these places. Both are veritable black-holes of fun, having outlawed anything defined as such decades ago. Having said all that, knowing that you can open your window at night without hearing a concert or being exposed to the sun is a good plus.
So, anyways, I told my roommate and his girlfriend this, most likely with more rambling involved, then concluded with a singular thought: "I love the silence of nature".
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