Meezer Monday: Seitan Is Real

Screw the eff word--I can't even write the ess word. It's certainly not because of my mom, who'd regularly pull out the powerful, "Tell the truth and shame the devil!" when I was growing up. That actually worked on me, my seven-year-old self imagining the devil--think hunchback goatlike creature with skin like a well-done hot dog, complete with pitchfork--melting like the Wicked Witch of the West in the Wizard of Oz with every statement of third-grade veritas I made. "It was me! I ate all the mini peanut butter cups!"

At least that brand of devil is understandable and beatable. Just be honest and he loses all power, a big windbag who tells lies. (Incidentally, not unlike many of the people who come before Judge Judy on Channel 55 every night at 10 PM.)

It's the kind of d/evil that I can't understand that makes me shiver--or, if I'm feeling particularly Pollyanna, puts me in a serious state of denial. Or I'll read stuff like Helter Skelter and The Executioner's Song, antsy and agitated the whole time, trying to find the answer to that $25K question--why would someone do that? They all leave me in a nightmare, facing a brick wall behind which there is…no door number 3. No answer.

Groan, another post gone south. Like way south. And I really just wanted to show you how un-evil my little Bing is, even when dressed in this Halloween costume I bought him 2 years ago on a business trip to Evanston, IL. I think they also sold candy that was supposed to look like snot, but no way would I buy that.

P.S. Incredible book, and I'm still trying to stop squirming so I can finish it: M. Scott Peck's People of the Lie: The Hope for Healing Human Evil

Meezer Monday: Nun Sequitur

In order to be like Bing and Derrick and live life more in the moment, I’ve been systematically shredding all my journals. They’re full of crap mostly, but it’s kind of a symbolic gesture of letting go of my old baggage. Anyway, I recently came across this ridonkulous entry accounting a visit to my parents’ house, written probably about 10 years ago.

What you might need to know before reading: Bizzy was my sister’s sweet cocker spaniel, and Sister Rita was a) a nun at my parents’ church and b) their good friend.

“…Mom accidentally got peanut butter on her shoes, which Bizzy licked off later during lunch when they were telling the story of Sister Rita’s false teeth…Apparently she left the “bridge” (the back ones, like the place they go on Star Trek) at my parents’ house, and Dad had to send it back to her. He wrapped it in bubble wrap and sent it first class, and Sister Rita called two weeks later asking, ‘Did you send it yet?’ Yes, of course, he said. And then all the sisters prayed to Saint Anthony, and the next day she received them in the mail.”

What does this have to do with Siamese cats? See the ceramic meezer that Derrick is posing with? Sister Rita found it hanging around the convent, knew I liked cats and asked my parents to give it to me. I love it to this day, and I figured this was a nice chance to say that nuns can have really good personalities, in case you didn’t know that already, and good senses of humor, too.

Because there are lots of Sister Marys:



One of my favorite Jesus-y songs: