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Musings From The Morning Train Ride – March 30, 2010

Joe Lopez — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 13:13:18 +0000

There’s a guy sitting across from me reading a book on Biblical doctrine by Charles Ryrie. Ryrie was a good scholar, if I remember correctly. I haven’t read him, of course, since my fire-breathing fundie days. It used to be that I would think someone reading that would be a pretty nice fellow. Now, I wonder if he has a vest of C-4 strapped on under his jacket. It’s funny how a few, very vocal idiots can ruin it for everyone else… and by funny, I mean ironic and sad.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the nature of god these days and how odd it is that we attribute so many human behaviors to god. Really, does god put his pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us? Do ants wonder why we watch Jersey Shore? Is there some kind of ant-y analog to it or do we humans just move in ways too mysterious for them to comprehend? Are god’s way truly higher than ours or do we just say they are? It’s preferable, I imagine, to thinking he’s sitting on some grand, celestial couch, watching us on the 24-hour Doofus Channel while shoving Cheet-os into his holy boxers.

Or is it preferable to casting our words to the empty air.

The Green Line train to Victory Station is going the opposite direction. Coincidence?

The guy has gone now, replaced by a girl wearing a big gold chain with a Peace symbol on it. Is it another coincidence or perhaps just another event that I’m trying to apply meaning to on my own.

The stories of the gods take place all around me, every day.

At least, to the ants.

Musings From The Morning Train Ride

Joe Lopez — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 20:45:24 +0000

For those of you who are unable to or are just loathe to give up their favorite internal combustion driven mode of transportation, riding the light rail to work is an absolute blessing. Sure, I have to be out of the house extra early, but the ride never changes: forty-five minutes from the Oakest of Cliffs and then back again in the afternoon. It’s like riding in a car with forty of your best buddies, none of whom want to talk and someone else is always driving.

See? How great is that?
Oh, but don’t fall asleep.

I’m in the first car today. We’re in the tunnel between Cityplace and Mockingbird. I can see, in the distance, a small blue-gray circle that marks the end of the tunnel. It is hopeful.

At the Lovers’ Lane station, I notice a man sitting behind me who’s wearing an Oakland Raiders jacket and a Dallas Stars cap. Divided loyalties or convenient clothing?

7:28 A.M.

The Toughest Six Minutes

Joe Lopez — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 13:13:12 +0000

I’ve finally gotten through the first six minutes of “Antichrist”. It’s not that it’s gruesome, violent, overly-bloody or pornographically sexual (well, if you’re not counting Willem Defoe’s stunt penis or Charlotte Gainsbourg stand-in vagina), it’s just…

A child dies.

The couple’s son – probably right around our son Daniel’s age – climbs out a window while the couple is making the sign of the four-winged heliotrope. A few months back, when I first got this movie, I stopped it when I realized what was happening. This morning, for some reason, I thought it was important to get past it. Without getting past that one moment, there’s really no way to see what happens next.

In the movie or in life.

This August, it will have been five years since we lost Toby. Five years. I’ve tried to push past it – but it still comes back to visit me sometimes. There’s a pang when I see a sonogram picture or when I see someone lay a hand on a pregnant woman’s belly. Let’s face it – no one really asks the dad how he’s feeling through all of it. By and large, I think we manage. Not because of some retro-macho “I-have-to-be-unreasonably-strong” thing but because the story keeps moving after that point. It doesn’t stop at that moment.

The show must go on.

So, five year and six minutes later, I’m sitting here with a towel on my head – long hair doesn’t dry itself – getting through six minutes that I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to. And after that, another six minutes. Then, another. But then, we have to get past it. There’s a whole life still going on after that moment and there’s no way of finding out what happens next if we don’t.