Angels in the Carburetor

I was recently in the fine state of Mississippi, en route to which I had a brush with the hallowed. After missing several connecting flights and sitting in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport for the equivalent time of five church services, I was finally on my way to Jackson, Mississippi in a rickety plane with three seats per row. It was late, I was tired, yet little did I know the joys that I was soon to experience.

I boarded the plane to find myself sitting alone in my row on the side of the aisle with two seats. Behind me sat an elderly white woman and an overwhelming black preacher, clearly strangers, as they politely tried to rearrange so that he wasn't completely overflowing into her seat. Feeling cranky, I settled into my seat, put in my headphones, and closed my eyes, only to be immediately distracted by the delightful conversation that had begun behind me.

The first thing that attracted my attention was a series of bellowing "Praise Jesus!" exclamations, clearly coming from the preacher. His voice was full-throated and warm. I removed my headphones and leaned back to hear more. The elderly woman was telling a story about the moment when her daughter was born again. It happened at a baptism in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, where she felt the spirit wash over her as it washed over the baby. And then... her blood type changed. From type O negative to type O positive. At the moment of her renewed relationship with Jesus Christ. That's right... Jesus changed her blood type.

(Here I might insert a rather technical, and inappropriately scientific, question. Type O negative blood is both a rarity and a wonderful thing, as it is the only kind of blood that can be transfused to patients with other blood types. Type O negative blood is always needed by hospitals; it is a life-saver, quite literally. Why would Jesus get rid of this and give the daughter type O positive blood, which 40% of the population has, and which is, quite frankly, not entirely useful? Although, on the other hand, people with type O negative blood can only receive type O negative blood, which is obviously limited. So perhaps the daughter was destined to eventually need a significant blood transfusion and Jesus was just looking out for her.)

Alas, the Lord works in mysterious ways. The preacher was enraptured by this story, chalking it up to the "healing power of Jesus." And that was that.

But wait, there was so much more. At this point, we were finally taking off on the runway, and the preacher kindly asked the woman if she was comfortable with flying, and if she would like for him to take her hand while we took off. With complete confidence, she declared that she was absolutely comfortable with flying. "You see," she said, "Jesus and I had a little chat before I boarded this plane. And he assured me that I could have faith that He would take me to my destination tonight. He promised me of my safety, so you don't need to worry none either." The preacher concurred. "It's important to have conversations with our Lord," he said. The women agreed enthusiastically - "It's like I keep Jesus in my pocketbook at all times, and I promise you that we talk all day long."

The woman then began to elaborate on her most recent conversation with Jesus. He told her that airplanes do not fly because of technology and manmade convention, but because of the grace of God. In fact, angels carry airplanes through the sky. And when there is a bit of turbulence, that is just the angels shaking the plane around and testing our faith. "It is wise to never doubt the Lord," the preacher said. "That's right," the woman responded.

At that point, beverages came around, and I could not hear them clearly. When everything quieted down again, they were talking about animals. The woman posed a question to the preacher: "Do you know why animals can tell if a person is a good person or not?" "Why, no, I don't." "I'll tell you. When the Lord created this world, he infused the earth with his spirit." (I'd like to interject here that I had a very clear image of God floating around in space with a giant syringe that he then stabs into Earth, pumping it full of a vaguely purple-colored spirit liquid.) "And animals, being closer to the earth, are more in touch with His spirit. Because of this, animals can tell when a person is filled with the Lord's spirit, and when he is an empty sinner."

It seems straightforward enough to me. However, after this chapter in "A Mississippi Woman's Interpretation of the Sublime," the angels started jiggling the plane around, and I couldn't hear very well, and then soon enough the plane began its descent.

Back in New York, the people with whom I've shared this story are scandalized. "Terrifying!" they say. "Psychotic!" they exclaim. And I suppose that I should have expected as much. But I found the whole experience wonderfully comforting, refreshing, invigorating. I was nearly in love with that woman. I wanted to ask her for her name, her email address, her phone number - anything at all to ensure that I could hear from her again. Of course, I didn't. But that blind faith, that pure belief and trust, was such an amazing thing to hear. I am tired of living in a city of cynics and doubters, and I didn't realize how much I missed the South until I sat on that run-down plane from Texas to Mississippi. Call me crazy, but I'll bet that that old lady was a hell of a lot nicer than 99% of the population in this Yankee concrete jungle.

Bible Babble

So I'm back, after a couple of months of celebrating the birth of the baby Jesus and other such activities.

I am currently reading The Year of Living Biblically by A.J. Jacobs. The basic premise is that this fellow, A.J., has committed himself to living according to Biblical rules for an entire year. It's a clever little book, written by a clever little man, and although I am not learning quite as much bizarre Bible lore as I had anticipated, I am finding some curious little nuggets. And it's always a pleasure to be reminded of the delightfully bizarre rules that appear throughout the text. For example, according to Deuteronomy 25:11-12: "If two men, a man and his countryman, are struggling together, and the wife of one comes near to deliver her husband from the hand of the one who is striking him, and puts out her hand and seizes his genitals, then you shall cut off her hand; you shall not show pity."

That's right. If that little bitch goes for the balls, off with that hand.

However, I am more impressed with the subtle nuances of some of the more basic rules... e.g. the Ten Commandments. These are mistranslated all over the place. First of all, "thou shall not steal." This should actually be translated into "thou shall not kidnap [and sell into slavery]." So don't worry, kids, as long as you're not part of the black market slave trade, you're good to go. Then there's the adultery issue. The biblical definition of adultery is being a man and having sex with a married woman. If you're a married man who has sex with an unmarried lady friend, though, it's no problem. And the graven images thing? To be specific, you're really not allowed to make any images of anything at all, provided that it is either in heaven, on earth, or in the sea. Which kind of covers the bases. However, humans are crafty little beings, as demonstrated by the Birds' Head Haggadah, the oldest surviving Ashkenazi illuminated manuscript (c. 1300), where all of the heads of the human figures have been replaced by birds' heads. I do think it's safe to say that human-bird mutants were not in existence in heaven, on earth, or in the sea. Very clever.

Anyway, I'm only halfway through the book at this point, so I'll be back with some more tidbits of Bible knowledge at a later hour.

A Little Flair in the Flatware

Some day I will have a house. And when I have that house, it will have cupboards filled with all sorts of delightful trinkets. And this will be my flatware.

POKETO ARTIST MELAMINE PLATES by Ogi (SET OF 2)
http://www.greenergrassdesign.com/poketoartistmelamineplatesbyogi.html

Thou Art All Ice

I like that there are many different kinds of ice. It seems refreshing that there are so many options for all of us--like someone is looking out for us. Here at the office we have bumpy ice, the kind that's rough and easy to chew. That is my favorite. My other favorite is airplane ice, the one with the hole in the middle that you can stick your tongue through. I feel rather strongly in my dislike of the standard cube ice that comes in most ice trays. I'm not a fan either of the longer rectangular ice made by most freezer ice machines. That ice is too slimy and aggressive at the same time.

My Spoon Is Too Big!

Greetings. I am Shannon, my favorite word is "phlegm," my favorite song is "The Final Countdown" by Journey, my favorite foods are cereal and cornbread, and my favorite opera is Wagner's "Der Ring des Nibelungen." Today marks an important day--I have had two plants in my office for two weeks exactly and they are not dead. Well, to be frank, I'm a little confused about the situation. On one of them, the leaves are getting a little brown at the edges, but on the other hand, it seems perky enough. And I certainly am fond of things that are perky.

It's going to be difficult not discoursing on work here. However, we all know what happens when one does that--death and destruction and loss of job. Besides, I've frequently been chided on how much I put in writing. Oops, once I put that I would like to kill my boss in writing. Shit, there I go again. But how could I ever be suspected? Haven't you fallen prey to my Southern charm?

Speaking of operas, I am going to "Die Zauberflöte" next month. My dad informed me that it is artistically inconceivable to like both "Die Zauberflöte" and "Der Ring des Nibelungen"--it's either Wagner the brilliant Nazi or Mozart the angelic pervert, no exceptions. I will report back, do not fear. I suspect that I'm a Wagner girl, although on the other hand, a three-hour opera might be much easier to stomach than an 18-hour one. Just think of how much sex could be had and food could be consumed and books could be devoured in those extra 15 hours. It's definitely worth considering.

That's all. I am going to return to my work--after playing my move in online Scrabble.