Badgered by the Born-Agains

Okay, I’ve been away awhile. I’ve been a little bit sick, which is extremely unusual for me. I always say that I never get sick, and it’s pretty nearly true. I’ve only been ill twice in my life (I don’t even catch colds). The first time was a particularly nasty bout of the flu back in 1997; I actually missed work because of it, the only time that’s ever happened. My fever was so high that I had hallucinations. The other time was back in December, when I had pneumonia.

Personally, I think the reason I don’t get sick is that I drink and smoke so much. It’s hard for whatever bugs are going around to survive in my system. I remember there was some terrific virus going around Richmond in about ’87 or ’88. My family, and my friend Randy’s family, were laid up for about two weeks. We stayed healthy, and basically had to take care of everyone. Just as they were getting better, he and I started to show some symptoms of the disease. So we figured, if we’re gonna be stuck in bed for two weeks, we should have one last party to celebrate our health while we’ve still got it. We drank several beers and an entire fifth of vodka apiece, got stupid blind drunk, and woke up the next morning with fantastic hangovers, but the virus was dead. We never did get sick.

Anyway, apparently once you’ve had pneumonia it comes back really easily, and mine seems to have done just that. I’m pretty pissed off about it; my chest feels like it’s full of wet concrete, and it’s hard for me to sleep, ‘cause I have to sleep sitting up (when I lie down, I cough too much). Last time I had this stuff, the congestion in my chest lasted four months, and I’m not looking forward to not being able to breathe until Thanksgiving. But, there’s nothing to be done about it, I guess.

So, basically I spend twelve hours in bed to get four or five hours of sleep, and I only get up to go to work. I haven’t done anything for the last two weeks except work and sleep (or try to). And that’s why I haven’t written anything. Sorry.

Also I'm sort of awash in self-loathing. I bet you didn't know that self-loathing is a side effect of pneumonia, but it is, for me anyway. I was raised to believe that spitting is a distinctly low-class activity, and I tend to look at people who spit on the sidewalk in the same way that you might look at someone who masterbates on street corners. But now, of course, I'm coughing up 18 gallons of phlegm a day, and frankly I'm having a lot of trouble living with myself because of it.

Being sick has made me bitchy recently. Well, I mean, I’m usually bitchy anyway, of course. Truth be told, I’ve been in a constant state of aggravation since about 1973 (Jesus goddamn that sumbitch Nixon!), but I’ve been bitchier than usual for the last couple of weeks. I’ll probably bitch a lot here, and if you don’t like it, fuck off. I never liked you, anyway.

* * * * * * *

Katy has set a date for leaving town. She’s gonna work through the 15th, which means I have only two more Mondays with her, and then I think she’s having a going-away party the Monday after that, and then she’s out. Very sad. I’m gonna miss her like crazy. I suppose I’ll get more work done on Mondays after she’s gone, though.

Her birthday was last night (Wednesday), and so we had basically a three-day party for her. We got quite drunk; this is the first time since I left Hank’s that I’ve been out drinking three nights in a row, and to tell you the truth, I’m out of practice. I feel like shit. I also spent way too much money. I think I’m down to like twenty bucks in the bank. It was a good time, though. Worth it, as spending time with Katy always is.

I guess that once she’s gone, I pretty much won’t hang out at all for a while, except for the occasional trip to Remedies for a bit of whiskey on breaks from work, and I’ll probably still do Trivia Night at the Union. It’ll save me money, anyway. But the cutbacks on my social life are starting to get to me.

I was too used to being in Hank’s every night, I guess, and I still haven’t completely adjusted to being isolated from everyone. You know, if you live a life that isn’t going anywhere in particular (as mine isn’t), you depend on various friendships to give your life meaning. Not having seen Brett and Tackett and the Baders and Christy and, especially, Beth Anne in so long is just killing me. I think, though, that it’s time I went back to Hank’s. I’ll probably go down either Tuesday or Thursday, say hello to Beth Anne, and see if any of my friends come ‘round. I can’t afford to go there like I used to, and I don’t really want to anyway, but it’ll be nice to stop in now and then. So, come out next week and see if I’m around!

* * * * * * *

As I say, we had a big Katy party that took up pretty much the first half of the week. Monday was a typical Monday, of course. Katy and Nikki and I just hung out and talked all night. Katy got a little bit drunk, which is unusual for her when she’s working, but it was two days before her birthday, after all. The new door guy (Travis) stuck around after closing, which is mildly irritating because it cuts into my Katy and Nikki time, but that’s okay, I guess. He was a bit drunk, too… Katy was feeling experimental. She kept inventing shooters and getting us to try them. You can get drunk fast that way.

We spent a big part of the after-last call conversation discussing whether or not there’s a God. Well, actually the three of them discussed it. I carefully avoided the conversation, which is probably just as well, because Katy and Nikki (the pro-God side of the argument) got pretty mad at Travis (anti-God). I just stayed real quiet.

Tuesday the three of us (Nikki, Katy and I) hung out together at the Union, which was pretty nice because they weren’t working, so I didn’t have to share them with anyone. Herbie even bought a round of shots to celebrate the birthday, but he refused to take a shot with us. Herbie doesn’t drink hard liquor very often, but you’d think he’d make an exception for the occasion.

After last call we went over to Nikki’s apartment and got even drunker. They were drinking beer, and I stopped at my place and grabbed a bottle of wine; and we shared a very small quantity of pot, the first I’ve had since Sheila and I got stoned at the Christmas party last year. Nikki played guitar and sang for us, some of her own songs, some Fleetwood Mac and Dave Matthews. I played a little bit, but I was rusty as shit, and with the illness I can’t sing very well anyway. Mostly we were just all goofy as all hell, really. I remember that Katy for some reason insisted that I feel Nikki’s breast. I’m not sure why. It was a very nice breast, by the way. I approve. I wasn’t allowed to fondle Katy, though… I guess she figured Justin would be mad. C’est la vie.

And then of course last night we played Trivia at the Union. Well, Katy and I did; Nikki had to work. We were terrible, by the way. We finished with zero points, because we had to bet it all on the last question and we didn’t know the answer, but even before that we sucked. A very embarrassing performance.

I’m soliciting recommendations for a new team name, by the way. I’ve gotten tired of calling myself “Make yer own goddamned cheese fries,” a reference to the fact that, though I haven’t worked at the Union since the end of January, people still try to order food from me when I go in there. But I haven’t been able to come up with anything.

See, the best team name every week gets a bonus point, and that extra point can come in handy. Now, Jimbo picks the winner of the bonus point, of course, and his taste runs a bit to the obscene. Unfortunately, I don’t really have a talent for coming up with offensive team names. Emily’s good at it, but since I’m playing against her it doesn’t seem right to ask for her help. Last night Katy and I were “I fucked the Olsen Twins before they were famous,” but I can’t use that every week, and it didn't win anyway. So, if you can think of something in really poor taste, let me know. If I use it, I’ll split the free beer with you. Well, if you live in Huntington, anyway. Right now, I’m leaning towards a slogan from a new shirt at T-shirt Hell: “Your sister’s hot, but your mom does that thing with her tongue…” But I don’t know. No hurry…I’ve got six more days to think about it.

* * * * * * *

Went to the cigarette store tonight. It’s at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Twentieth Street, right off campus. Since I smoke between three and four packs of cigarettes a day, I spend a lot of time over there. The problem with going there is that there’s a church across the street, one of those that has a signboard out front that they can put goofy messages on. Today’s message was “You think it’s hot here?—God.” (Well, there weren’t any italics, of course… they don’t know from italics on those signs.) I bet that if I was God, that kinda thing would piss me off. Don’t put words in my mouth, especially stupid ones.

I’m not God, though, obviously. Really, that’s probably for the best. I mean, I’d have a real nice world, of course. The temperature would never drop below sixty degrees, or get above eighty, unless I decided I was in the mood for a good snowstorm. There would be a little rain every day (I like the rain), and there’d be a lot more love and a lot less violence (although horror movies would still be big business), and there’d be enough of everything that no one would have to work very hard. Also, the NBA season would be year-round. Life would have a soundtrack; there’d be music all the time, everywhere, and everybody would hear what they wanted to hear. And there wouldn’t be any organized religion. People wouldn’t have to worship me, though it would be nice if they bought me dinner or a glass of scotch now and then. Maybe once in a while someone would pat me on the back and say, “Groovy world, God.” I’d be a God you could definitely have a personal relationship with.

But, if I was God, although the world would be a nicer place, there would be a lot fewer people in it. You may have gathered that I’m not a big fan of people, and if it was within my power to just bleep people out of existence, I’d do it all the time. I am definitely not the sort of person who should be trusted with life-and-death powers over anyone.

Anyway, this church has been through some pretty stupid signs in the four years I’ve lived here. Most of them are just obnoxious, like the one a few months ago that said “The Bible is the best TV guide.” I’ll tell you what, there’s nothing in the Bible about whether or not I should watch “The Daily Show,” and there sure as hell aren’t any showtimes listed.

Sometimes the signs are neat, though, in an ironic way. My favorite was the one that said, “The Bible is like a compass—it always points you in the right direction.” I had to stop and think about that one for a while. The first thing I thought was, well, that’s not true. A compass doesn’t point you in the right direction. It always points north. So, if north happens to be the right direction, okay then, but you can’t always go north. A compass doesn’t point you in the right direction; it just gives you enough information to be able to infer the right direction.

[Incidentally, does anyone know what a compass does at the poles? At the South Pole every direction is north; does a compass just spin around? And at the North Pole there is no north. That's as far north as you can go. What then?]

But then I thought, actually, that’s a pretty good parallel. The Bible doesn’t point you in the right direction, either. It gives you information, and from that information you infer the right direction (or what seems like the right direction if you happen to be Christian; since I’m not, I’d say taking direction from a two-thousand-year-old-book seems kinda dumb). It’s all a matter of interpretation. So, the sign was true, just not in the sense they meant it. I sent a letter to them about that, but nobody ever answered it.

The point is, the signs irritate the hell out of me, mostly I think because it seems like everyone’s always throwing their religion in my face. I’m kinda tired of people trying to save my soul at this point. If you want to be Christian, that’s your business, but leave me alone about it, okay?

And while I’ve got nothing against Christians in general, I really hate the people I call “born-agains.” You know these people. They sit in judgment of all wrongdoing except their own, and they know exactly who’s going to Hell and why. They generally believe that the Bible is literally true (I know several people who believe that the Earth is only 6,000 years old), which is odd, because most of them don’t know anything about the Bible. It has become clear to me over the years that the people who are most fervent about the Bible seem to be the ones who read it the least. They just believe what their preacher or parents or Sunday School teachers told them.

Born-agains tend to be creepy-conservative politically, of course. I don’t take their politics seriously, though. It’s pretty easy to demolish a member of the Religious Right in a political argument, because the Gospels are so very liberal. If you can quote your Scripture (and thanks to a very religious upbringing, I can) you can send a born-again home with his tail between his legs.

But they are insistent, and they’re bent on explaining to you why you’re going to Hell and how you can save yourself, and I’m sick of hearing it. I mean, at least once or twice a week someone bothers me about this (or they did when I was out more often). I’m over it, alright? I’ve heard it all before, and I’m not interested.

I explain this to them (when I can be bothered to respond at all) like this: My father, when I was young, actually was a preacher. He was a youth minister at a church in Powhatan Country (about an hour from Richmond) and later worked as a minister in the state prison system. Aside from being one of the smartest men I’ve ever met, he had a Masters degree in Philosophy. My mother is even more devoutly religious than my Dad was, and she’s got a Doctorate. My brother is a Doctor of Divinity, I think, or some high degree like that. My sister, who is working on her Masters, is a missionary who spends half of every year in overseas hot spots.

I tell the born-agains about my family, and then I say, “Look, I’ve got people standing in line to save me, and they’re all smarter, more thoughtful, and better-educated than you, and they all mean more to me than you do. In fact, compared to them, you’re actually kind of pathetic. What on Earth makes you think that anything you have to say matters to me?” That usually shuts ‘em up.

* * * * * * *

Okay, I guess that’s gonna have to be it for tonight. I’ve got to be back here in eight hours to catch up on the work I didn’t get done Wednesday, so I’d better get some sleep, or try to, anyway. Now that I’m beginning to recover somewhat, I hope I’ll be back to writing a new piece once or twice a week. Wish me luck.