The One True Way to Blog, and Stuff

Posted on September 3, 2010 by Cognitive Dissenter

When my daughter encouraged me to start my own blog a few months ago, I didn’t know exactly what a blog was. It took some time for her to educate me. And I confess, I still don’t fully understand blogging. I’ve had fun with this one but still feel very much like I’m feeling my way around in a dark and unfamiliar room.

I was told to write for myself, and eventually, I might connect with some like-minded friends. I have and it’s been absolutely lovely. Who knew I would find friends who are almost as warped and twisted as I am? I’m so glad! But I’m still feeling my way in the dark …

Come to find out not only are there millions and millions of blogs floating around in cyberspace, there is an entire virtual library on the topic of proper blog etiquette. Etiquette? For bloggers?! Who knew? But isn’t that kinda like having a painted crosswalk on a busy interstate for deer? You know, “wishful thinking” and “I’ll cross wherever the hell I want to cross” and all that? … (Tangent: Yes, such crosswalks do exist and not far from my house. Apparently, the deer missed the memo. I’ll post about it someday with pictures proving I’m not making this up. University educated people came up with the idea. I’m pretty sure they were just going for a way to make drivers laugh their asses off when the jaywalking deer illegally leapt in front of their vehicles.)

And there’s all this talk about “finding your true blogging voice.” What is that? I don’t even know what the hell that means. Do you? Why does it remind me of that guy who warned Indiana Jones, “Choose wisely!” … right after he watched another guy disintegrate into dust because he didn’t choose wisely and thus picked the “wrong” drinking cup? Like I’m going to crash and burn if I pick “the wrong blogging voice”?

Dear Blog Etiquette People (who don’t, btw, agree with each other): This is my blog. And this is my middle finger. Any questions?

Is that too harsh?

I guess my problem is this: I do a lot of writing for different audiences. It’s all me, but I use a completely different voice (so to speak — no pun intended) depending on who my audience is and what I’m trying to accomplish. Usually when I tackle any writing project, I know who my audience is and exactly what I want to persuade them to do. Blogging is nothing like that.

Moreover, my various “writing voices” are continually evolving as I (hopefully) get a little better at expressing things the way I want to say them — and as I learn new information and consequently change my points of view. And while some “writing voices” are appropriate in some forums, they are totally inappropriate in others.

For one completely random example:

The State claims Mr. Smith’s rights were not violated when the police forced open his front door then stormed their way into his home without a search warrant. The State misapprehends both the facts in this case and the applicable law.

Means essentially the same thing as:

I can’t find the prosecutor’s head. Quick, someone please call a doctor — preferably a proctologist who specializes in the removal of foreign objects from intimate spaces.

Both expressions are my voice and I could say the same thing in a few more less (or more?) creative ways (I’ll let you use your imagination). But it wouldn’t be a good idea to point out the obvious in the foregoing particular context. It’s much more appropriate to let the reader draw his/her own conclusions in that regard. Capiche? (BTW, that was my Italian blogging voice. It’s still developing, since I don’t know any Italian, except for “capiche” and “roma tomato.”)

I guess what I’m trying to say is there is nothing static about writing. Nor do I know of any rules that could apply to all blogs. It is what you want it to be, right? Kinda like a prostitute but without the loss of self-respect and exposure to STDs.

I read some of those blogging etiquette posts after I started my own blog and had broken every supposed rule several times. But I have to confess, reading those rules feels kind of like reading Paris Hilton’s how-to guide about “The One True Way to Publicly Reveal I’m Self-Absorbed, Dysfunctional, and Infinitely Rich and Spoiled, i.e. The Making Then Leaking of My First Sex Tape to the Media.” I mean, I know, it worked for her but … (imagine my eyebrows raised; because they are).

I guess my point is, blogs are like a box of chocolates. Millions and millions of them. Some of them have delightful crunchy toffee centers or decadent chewy caramel. Some of them suck. But really, it’s all a matter of personal preference. Isn’t it? They are as varied as the people writing them, as are their purposes. Presumably, they are their individual creator’s favorite flavor (of the moment).

Obviously, I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. So please, all you professional bloggers, enlighten me. In the meantime as I continue to feel my way in the dark, I am slowly developing my own personal list of blogging rules. So far I have only one:

1. If your blog is a form of cheap therapy, don’t pay a 2-year subscription fee for your domain name. All good therapy, like good sex, will eventually come to a breathless and sweaty end. And then you’ll completely forget about it while looking for the remote, although you’ll still feel a lingering and warm glow.

Obviously, I have a lot of work to do — and I need lots of help.

Posted in Did I Say That Out Loud? | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Social Rule #27: Don’t Tell Any Joke You Don’t Understand.

Posted on September 1, 2010 by Cognitive Dissenter

Before I get to telling jokes, here is the story of my exodus from the Mormon church for anyone interested. For some reason it took me a few years to finally get to it. It’s a bit long so you may want to order a pizza first.

As a kid I loved making people laugh. When I succeeded it was usually the result of dumb luck rather than my rapier wit. Hence, I repeated every joke I ever heard, whether I understood it or not. Don’t ever do that.

Which is why I told my parents this beauty: Hey, Mom and Dad! How can you tell if a Polack has been in your backyard?

???

Your garbage can’s empty and your dog is pregnant! Ha! Haha! Isn’t that … hilar … what? Why do I have to go to my room?

I wasn’t trying to be derogatory or dirty or racist. I was just an idiot. I had no idea what the joke meant or why it was supposed to be funny. I did not know what or who a Polack was and I still thought babies were spontaneously generated from the vicinity of a woman’s belly button — I figured there was a similar process for dogs. I didn’t have the slightest idea what the joke meant but I was hoping my parents would, that they would find it hilarious and laugh uproariously, much to my dumb satisfaction. Then I would cluelessly skip back to my paper dolls and forget all about Polacks and pregnant dogs.

It didn’t work out that way. So while I sat on my bed and pondered my temporary banishment to my bedroom, naturally I puzzled about why the dog was pregnant. I concluded it had something to do with the garbage can being empty. What the HELL was in that garbage can that could make a dog pregnant??? I puzzled some more. *OMG! The Polack (whatever that is) fed the dog all the garbage … and maybe there was a can of Alpo that made the dog spontaneously generate a puppy! Is there something in Alpo I should know about?!

I gave up on my deep thoughts and went back to my paper dolls so my head wouldn’t explode. However, as a result of this experience, the forgoing stupid and offensive joke is the only joke I’ve never been able to forget. It is etched permanently in the **WTF? portion of my brain.

*”Oh mah garsh!”
**”Wha the fetch?”
Posted in Ah Fetch, Did I Say That Out Loud? | Tagged , , , | 10 Comments

Anyone Lose a Horse?

Posted on August 30, 2010 by Cognitive Dissenter

We met her yesterday during our Uinta hike. She’s very friendly and sweet, a tad skinny but otherwise healthy. My guess is she got spooked away from her owner during a thunderstorm and has been wandering around up in the high mountains for a few days.

Yesterday she approached a young family that had spent the weekend camping in the Uintas. They fed her some carrots. She was obviously lost so they decided to lead her down to the trail head and find someone with the forest service to take her.

So if you lost a horse …

A few pics from our Sunday worship services yesterday:

The weather was perfect for hiking — in the high 50s to low 60s.

Peace that surpasses understanding.

Posted in In the Beginning | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

If I Had a Tattoo

Posted on August 27, 2010 by Cognitive Dissenter

I’ve wondered what it would say about me. More importantly, would the artist know how to spell?

I’ve thought briefly about getting a tattoo. Seems like all the kids are getting tattoos these days. My daughter once suggested I get one. She has a lovely tat herself and it has a personal meaning to her. My reason for not getting my own is the same reason I won’t be getting a cat: I don’t want one. It’s nothing against cats. I just get along better with dogs.

It’s not the pain that keeps me from having permanent ink inserted into my skin, although I generally try to avoid pain of any kind. When I was about to have my first child I asked my doctor what type of anesthetic I could look forward to during the birth. I was from Professional Epidural Country and had heard many wonderful stories about “You won’t feel a thing” … but I had recently moved to Granola Country where “real mothers” don’t do anesthetic.

So my doctor was surprised when I asked my perfectly reasonable question. Nonetheless he humored me and asked what type of anesthetic I wanted. All of it, I responded. What kind of stupid question is that?! He laughed and I got nothing. Having done natural childbirth twice, I could deal with a little localized pain if I really wanted a tattoo.

Another consideration is my age. I’m not completely falling apart yet but I am old enough to read the writing on the wall. And while I enjoy blissful denial as much as the next person, there’s a slightly realistic part of me that knows the north wall could merge into the south wall at any given moment. In other words, while I probably don’t have to worry about the B-cup Tetons gaining enough momentum to pancake into the Gulf of Mexico, I don’t want to witness my peaceful Monet slowly morphing into a screaming Picasso.

But pain and age aside, the real problem is I have no imagination. While friends and loved ones find meaningful connections and expressions of themselves in flowers, animals, mythological characters, words, cultural symbols, and poetry, the best I can come up with is some kind of a daily reminder, like, “Make sure your head isn’t in here,” with an arrow pointing to my bottom.

That or, “A picture is worth 1,000 words. But only if you know that many words.”

I dunno. Maybe this:

Posted in On Pretty Butterflies, Lovely Flowers, and Unicorns | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

How Do You Define “Ignorance?”

Posted on August 26, 2010 by Cognitive Dissenter

In Nigeria today, children in poverty-stricken villages are blamed for unexplained illnesses and death. Religious pastors accuse the children of being witches with supernatural powers to kill people with diseases and other maladies and to transform themselves into creatures such as venomous snakes and insects.

The persuasive pastors rile up their congregations and, for an exorbitant fee, identify which children are possessed by demons. The helpless children are then cast out of their homes by their own sobbing mothers who fervently believe in their pastors’ clairvoyance, and thus, believe their own children are evil and possessed by the Devil. If they aren’t killed right away, the children are branded as demons end up on the street where they are abused and sometimes attacked with machetes. The lucky ones survive. A luckier few find their way to orphanages bursting at the seams with similar outcasts.

Those rational and kind *souls who fight to protect these children claim the root of the problem is ignorance — which goes hand-in-hand with extreme poverty. That explanation sounds reasonable to me, but then I asked myself, “What does it mean to be ignorant?”

How do you define “ignorance”? Is it a belief in the supernatural that is not supported by physical evidence? Is ignorance manifest in a blind trust in religious authority? Is it a lack of education? Are people who give money to their church leaders ignorant? I need some help with my questions so I did a quick search and found these quotes:

“Real knowledge is to know the extent of one’s ignorance.” — Confucius

“The recipe for perpetual ignorance is: be satisfied with your opinions and content with your knowledge.” — Elbert Hubbard

“Fear always springs from ignorance.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Nothing in the world is more dangerous than a sincere ignorance and a conscientious stupidity.” — Martin Luther King, Jr.

“He must be very ignorant for he answers every question he asks.” — Voltaire

“He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a very large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal chord would surely suffice.” — Albert Einstein

I guess I would define “ignorance” as the oftentimes dangerous condition of knowing we have all the answers and refusing to educate ourselves about other possibilities. Ignorance is also refusing to question authority, declining to inform ourselves about all the relevant facts, and thus abdicating our own abilities to reason.

Last but not least, maybe ignorance is the true reason for fear, which fear is easily exploited by the persuasive authorities we blindly trust to do our thinking for us. So I guess it’s fair to say that the ignorant are not necessarily uneducated. Rather, they refuse to be educated and to learn to think for themselves … and thus become active participants in perpetuating their own exploitation by their trusted authorities. So maybe it’s also fair to say the ignorant get exactly what they deserve. Or do they?

I’m still thinking about all of this.

Here’s another random thought: Imagine a story published in this morning’s newspaper about a man who claimed to be a prophet. Imagine further that this man was being prosecuted for bigamy because he had secretly married several women and young girls and had sexual relations with them. When asked to explain his seemingly promiscuous behavior, he is quoted as saying, “I too found it repulsive, but God sent an angel with a drawn sword who threatened to kill me if I didn’t marry and have sex with all these women …”

My guess is 99.9% of those who read the story would laugh to themselves and think, “What a whacko. Nice try, buddy.”

Yet some of those same readers, when confronted with the indisputable fact that the founding prophet of their own revered religion used the very same absurd justification for his own promiscuous behavior, would refuse to question it. Rather, they would defer to their own trusted authorities. Why?

I find it fascinating that we humans have such a knack for evaluating the spiritual beliefs of Nigerians but something in our brains shuts down when it comes to holding our own spiritual beliefs to the same rational standard. I’m sure there’s a better way to say that but do you know what I mean?

So again, how would you all define ignorance?

*Because the Nigerian government is less concerned about these children than with presenting a false image that all is rosy in Nigeria, the government accuses those who are working to protect the children of running a scam. The Nigerian government is comprised of bureaucratic assholes. Obviously.
Posted in Faith is Not a Virtue, If I Only Had a Brain | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

“I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight, Must Have Been Some Kind of Cheese …”*

Posted on August 25, 2010 by Cognitive Dissenter

Have you ever been hanging out with your friends and you’re singing along with a popular song on the radio … and then all of a sudden your friends start laughing at you because you got the lyrics wrong? This is one of the reasons I quit pretending I could sing shortly after high school. That and the fact that when I tried singing in the shower merely for my own enjoyment, I didn’t enjoy it. Not surprisingly no one else did either. Even the accompaniment of running water couldn’t soften the humiliation when people started yelling through the bathroom door asking embarrassing questions about “the sacrificial cow” and “when will if finally be dead?”

Here are a few of my *cough* favorite musical memories, along with my unscientific attempt to explain what the hell I was thinking:

  • Daniel, my brother, you are so goddamn mean! (from Elton John’s “Daniel”); the correct lyrics are, Daniel, my brother, you are OLDER THAN ME … I sang, so la la mean. Possible explanation: I have a brother. His name isn’t Daniel but it is 2 syllables and in those days, he was mean. And this song was on his awesome vinyl album. His juvenile meanness notwithstanding, he had great taste in music.
  • She’s ferocious, and she knows just what it takes to make a pearl blush … All the boys think she’s a spazz … (from Kim Carnes’ “Bette Davis Eyes”); should be, … and she knows just what it takes to make a PRO blush … All the boys think she’s a SPY …; At that point in my high school career I was very much a spazz and while singing along and at all other times I was either thinking of a sparkly pink rouge or an embarrassed oyster. I was NOT contemplating sex with a trained professional.
  • I’m not talkin’ ’bout the linen, and I don’t want to change your life … (England Dan and John Ford Coley, “I’d Really Love to See You Tonight”); is actually, I’m not talkin’ ’bout MOVIN’ IN; To be fair, it really does sound like “linen” and linen frequently needs changing. As you can see, I started my training in critical thinking early.
  • She’s got electric boobs, a mohair suit … (Elton John, “Bennie and the Jets”); is actually, She’s got electric BOOTS; I’m at a loss on this one. My boobs were far from anything that could be described as electric. I’ll leave it at that. You’re welcome.
  • Stepped on a pop tart … (Jimmy Buffet, “Margaritaville”); should be POP TOP … This is a no brainer. I loved pop tarts back in those days. I don’t care for them now at all. I have a theory that in its quest to make cheaper products for the same price and thereby boost its profits, Kellogs has compromised on the quality of its ingredients. Oreos used to taste a lot better, too. I digress.
  • Todd is watching us … (Bette Midler, “From a Distance”); This wasn’t me. My funny kid sang along with these lyrics (I posted about this a few months ago). It made me laugh, then it kind of creeped me out. Who the hell is Todd?

That’s more than enough about me. I’d love to hear about your own misunderstood lyrics — and possible explanations for them if you have any theories.

*Cutting Crew. This one was not mine but I wish it had been.
Posted in Did I Say That Out Loud?, Jesus Take My Underwear | Tagged , | 8 Comments

It Takes a True Friend to Enthusiastically Smell Your Butt

Posted on August 24, 2010 by Cognitive Dissenter

When I was a little kid I was terrified of dogs. Today it’s hard for me to comprehend where that fear came from.

I love dogs. I’m not ashamed to say I prefer dogs to many people. I know I don’t need to explain or justify myself. You dog lovers know exactly what I mean, and that I’m right. Dogs are loving and nonjudgmental and easy to be around. Dogs have empathy and know just when to provide comfort. They have a way of putting things into perspective and reminding us what is really important.

Here is a relatively recent conversation I had with a dog that illustrates what I mean:

Jennifer: “Please forgive me, *Rex. I used to think I had all the answers to Life’s Big Questions. Now I’m not so sure. Do you hate me? Can we still be friends?”

Rex: “I love you! Let’s go to the pond! I love the pond! Don’t forget my favorite ball!!”

Jennifer: “Wha? You mean still want to be my friend and hang out with me?”

Dog: “I love you! Let’s go for a drive so I can stick my head out the window while my ears flap in the breeze! I love that!”

Jennifer (hangs head): “I am wearing black underwear, Rex. I just couldn’t do white anymore. I. Just. Couldn’t.”

Dog: “Awesome! Can I smell your butt? I love that!”

***

It would really suck to have a dog that moped around all day long howling, with an emotional catch in its voice, “Ra run rill rome rup, roo-rorrow” (The sun will come up, tomorrow …). Or if your dog looked at you and said, “Roo rink reer??? Re ran’t re rends.” (You drink beer??? We can’t be friends). I would hate that. Thankfully, dogs have the wonderful ability to enjoy the moment they are in. Moreover, they don’t give a cat’s ass about our favorite beverages. Well, except they think we’re crazy for not drinking out of the toilet.

My first dog was a mutt named Ruffles and, as I alluded to earlier, she scared the bejeebus out of me. She was a friendly and fluffy white ball of exuberant puppy fur when she moved into our house. I was excited but also terribly afraid of her. At the same time she fascinated me. It was as if I knew already she loved me unconditionally and I wanted to connect with her but I had an irrational barrier of fear in my brain: What if she bit my hand off???

While other people held her and kept her puppy exuberance in check, I wanted so badly to reach out and touch her … but would chicken out at the last second and quickly draw my hand back. I would stand at the railing above the stairs and watch her running up and down them — as long as a gate at the top of the stairs safely separated her from me.

We were at an impasse. She knew I was afraid of her for no good reason. It was Ruffles who came up with an ingenious way to help me overcome my irrational fear.

I was about 5 and I slept in a downstairs bedroom. Ruffles slept in a box in the downstairs bathroom. Our house was in the process of being remodeled and the only barrier separating Ruffles from me was a door that did not yet have the handle installed. For several mornings while I was sleeping warm and safe in my bed, Ruffles would jump from her box, run through the laundry room and a hallway, then push open the unfinished door and trot through a large family room into my bedroom.

While I was still asleep she jumped onto my bed where she proceeded to lick my face and playfully attack my hands and arms. In the gray sleep that is twilight I knew she was there but I was still asleep. When I awoke she was gone but had left a few playful puppy scratches on my hands and arms.

Ruffles was like the doggy version of the Horse Whisperer … but she was the “Irrationally Freaked Out Little Girl Whisperer.” She knew there was a dog lover somewhere inside of me and she took the time and made the effort to help me bring that dog lover to the surface. During my training, Ruffles taught me that fear is often irrational. Along the way she also taught me about trust, living in the moment, and unconditional love.

*Name has been changed.

Posted in Ah Fetch | Tagged , | 2 Comments

The Psychological Impact of Being Valued for One’s Hoo Haw

Posted on August 23, 2010 by Cognitive Dissenter

Some people reading my blog may wonder why I occasionally and perhaps flippantly use words such as “vagina” and “penis” and “testicles” and “fuck.” Am I so intellectually poor that I can’t find a more intelligent way to express myself??? Maybe. Probably. Undoubtedly.

However, in addition to falling pathetically short in the art of intelligent and thoughtful expression, I’ve wondered if maybe my filthy mouth has some connection to the disdain I feel for the “sacred role of women and men” that I was once taught to revere. In retrospect those roles seem more a violation of my person that was far from sacred or respectful of my gender. It was like a spiritual rape. Anyone who understands rape knows it is all about controlling the victim and making her feel less than.

Also, I have to admit I get a tiny sick satisfaction from the reality that the few self-righteous hypocrites who read my blog are shocked and outraged when I drop an F-bomb or when I confess I like the taste of beer. I imagine them holding onto their baker’s caps/veils and running with their pleated white robes flapping wildly behind them on their way to tattle excitedly about my sinful behavior behind my back while pretending to like me to my face. Just like Jesus would do.

Yes, Jesus will readily forgive backbiting and gossip and the fact that Brigham Young had people murdered and used Emily Partridge for sex while refusing to support her or their 7 children; but he’s going to send me to hell for spontaneously thinking “fuck” when my cosmetically-challenged aunt deliberately butchered my hair and ruined my first year of high school. Apparently, she will be singing off-key with Brigham Young and the angels in heaven while my mouth will be subjected to eternal soapy cleansing. I guess in my view, the juxtaposition between supposed sins highlights their absurdity. If that’s who god is, we can’t be friends.

Anyway, a few random reflections on the topic of women’s roles in the spiritual realm …

First reflection. Once upon a time, I was in a short-lived relationship with a true believer who could hardly wait for our wedding day. We’ll call him “Greg.” He wasn’t a bad person. Greg had all kinds of plans and rosy mental images flitting across his brain like drunken butterflies. When he shared his hopes and dreams of marital bliss with our mutual friends, he spoke in glowing terms about how I was going to make his life so much better. I would keep his house clean, laugh at his jokes, cook his meals, keep things interesting in the bedroom, and (bonus!) build up his bank account. I was like a full-service vagina with the added ability to earn a decent income.

Greg well understood my eternal role to validate his self-love born of his true belief in a doctrinal narcissism that was a fundamental part of his faith from its very beginning. Based on his hope about all he believed I would do for him, he saw us as a perfect couple.

Somehow, I could not get as excited about the prospect of our eternal union as he was. So I surrendered my “only ticket to Celestial Glory” and broke up with him. Luckily, he found a woman who was much more worthy and they — and her silicon implants that he enthusiastically bought and paid for — lived happily ever.

I had to settle for a man who likes the fact that I have my own life. He respects me for it. He insists we are equal partners. He finds the prospects of my eternal servitude and my strange fascination with “all things about him” to be a complete turn off. He’s weird, I know. But he believes in treating all people — even women — the way he would like to be treated. It’s a radical concept but it works for us.

On the other hand, from Greg’s vantage point our relationship was defined in terms of what I could do for him. The truth is, Greg’s perception of a healthy relationship was not really his fault. It was the result of years of conditioning by a fundamentally sexist belief system. Greg was not unique.

Which leads to my second memory/reflection. Once upon another time, a certain revered religious leader reprimanded me in no uncertain terms that a woman can only find her ultimate fulfillment in pleasing her man, and that women who forget that “fundamental truth and obligation and don’t understand their place/secondary role” are the root of all evil in the world. I was torn between shocked disbelief, thinking he was crazy, or that he was teasing me. I told myself it had to be the latter. So I jokingly responded, “You’re a chauvinist!” hoping his face would soften into a smile and we would share a good belly laugh at his insanely stupid joke.

His completely serious and unsmiling response: “Yes. I am a chauvinist. That is God’s will and reflects the true order of things.” He then reminded me about my proper place and the true source of my value: I am a woman. It is my eternal role to be subservient to men. The end. Because if Joseph Smith and Brigham Young were true prophets (which fact we don’t question), I’m in the same category and will be treated with the same regard as the women in their lives. Which regard, if we’re talking volume, is analogous to a witch’s nipple in a brass bra on a very cold day in Antarctica. (Argh! There I go thinking in terms of body parts again! Dangit!)

All that truth and wisdom premised on whether one has a penis or a vagina.

No wonder I’m intellectually poor and suck at the art of self-expression. I’ve been psychologically damaged by God’s preoccupation with plumbing.

Fuck.

Posted in Sometimes God Can Be Such An Asshole | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Where Have All the Smart People Gone?

Posted on August 22, 2010 by Cognitive Dissenter

Yesterday, Wikileaks founder, Julian Assange, was charged by Swedish authorities with rape. Just a few hours later, that charge was dropped. In light of the fact that Assange has several powerful enemies who would love to take him out — and not on a romantic date — the internet is buzzing with speculation. Assange had been warned about a possible setup and he ain’t no dummy. He is a soldier in the war over the coveted control of knowledge and information. Yesterday was a failed attempt to make him a casualty. Score one for the cause of truth.

I love the internet. It is a massive library of information at my fingertips. In just a few keystrokes, I can learn about the migratory habits of hummingbirds or read John D. Lee’s chilling word-for-word confession regarding his involvement in the Mountain Meadows Massacre. I can check the weather forecast to find out if our hike is likely to be cut short by rain. And while I’m at it I can check the weather in Panama just for fun. I can also educate myself about cognitive dissonance and find thought-provoking discussions about other deep topics. If I’m feeling particularly self-absorbed, I can find all kinds of blogs about nothing.

But the best part: The internet shines a bright light on the actions of those Powers That Be (PTB) who would prefer to put their own spin on the facts. For the them, the internet is the 500 pound gorilla. Times 1,000.

The PTB know their new battle front is an internet search engine. Which is why if you type in a search about a sensitive topic the PTB don’t want you to know the true facts about, the first several hits that pop up are often all websites owned and controlled by the PTB.

But the PTB are losing the war.

Information and knowledge are power — and money; and learning true facts really does make us free. The history of humanity is, in large part, a story of the PTB controlling and manipulating information to keep PTB in power. This dynamic of the leaders feeding self-serving and false propaganda to the people they want to lead is as old as the human race.

But with the internet, all that is changing. Thanks, Al Gore!

Posted in The Man Behind the Curtain, Where Sheeple Run Scared | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

“You’re a Moron. I Can’t Help You.”

Posted on August 21, 2010 by Cognitive Dissenter

A good friend of mine recently discussed on her blog several of her issues with LDS Inc., including several undisputed facts that no one has an answer to. She has gone to the effort to inform herself and draw her own conclusions. Awesomely, after years of being conditioned to trust “authorities” to think for her, she has regained her trust in her own mind, her own abilities to evaluate facts and what they mean. She is incredibly intelligent and has connected dots that I never thought about when I went through my own similar process. Her final post on the subject indicated she had come to her own conclusions (i.e. she doesn’t believe in it anymore) and she’s ready to move on with her life and talk about more interesting important things. How awesome for her.

The end. Right?

Nope. Certain believers reading her blog have just begun the process of shaming and shunning her. She’s been accused of being “wicked” and told she’s going to hell. Family members are gossiping about her apostasy. Her honest legitimate questions about Joseph Smith’s sexual exploits — that are inconsistent with his own teachings — have been labeled as “blasphemy.”

Of course, the believers also don’t have any answers to her questions. Nada. In fact, they choose to remain completely uninformed and thus ignorant about the damaging facts of their own history — or they choose to simply not think about them. But they are angry and disappointed with her for having the gall to inform herself of the very facts that frighten them and then to form her own conclusions about those facts. How dare she use her brain!

Their underlying emotion, their true motivation behind their “concern” for her? Fear. They are afraid of the truth. They have no answers to her questions because they choose to remain ignorant about undisputed facts that are not faith-promoting. But deep down they know their deliberately blind faith is no match for her knowledge or her ability to use reason and logic. So they choose to remain in the dark so to speak, trusting in supposed authorities to do their thinking for them, while condemning her for choosing to educate herself about the true facts and then having the nerve to interpret those facts for herself.

A common and favorite validating saying among the faithful members of LDS Inc. is this: “People can leave the church. But they can’t leave it alone.” Of course, they lack the self-insight to see how their own behavior is inappropriate and how they can’t leave the leavers alone. They ignore the fact that when a former devout member learns certain facts that compel him to conclude the faith of his fathers is a fraud built on deception and lies, rather than be supportive and understanding, they demonstrate the inability to respect appropriate boundaries. They talk about that person behind his back as if he’s the one who has lost his mind. Ah, irony.

To my dear friend who is experiencing the ritual and inevitable shunning:

When a normal and intelligent person discovers she has been lied to and deceived and that she has given her money and her loyalty to a fraudulent organization that has been less than forthcoming (*understatement alert*) about material facts, she will be angry about the violation of her trust and leave the organization. Unfortunately (as you have learned), some people, when confronted with the same damning information, actually become more militant in defending the fraudulent organization and its history of lies and deception.

What can you do? As one wise person noted, “You can’t fix stupid.”

Hang in there. It’s going to be a crazy ride.

Posted in Faith is Not a Virtue, If I Only Had a Brain | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments