Shadow8's Open Salon Blog

Godless and Grateful

Mon, 12 Sep 2011 14:09:46 -0400

There’s no god (or God, if you’re so inclined) in my life. I would argue (and often do) that there’s no god in anyone’s life. Just as there’s no Santa in your life, even if you are, like our son, a 4 year-old as convinced of his existence as you are of your own.

When people ask me, often with looks of deep concern, what happened to me that was so awful it would make me abandon god, I can’t help but smirk. I lean in, faking sincerity, and say gravely, “it was a huge event: 6^th grade.” I am, of course, being sarcastic. The term atheist is so confusing to say many people that they ask me things like why I’m mad at god (I, of course, can’t be mad at something that isn’t there), or, and the frequency of this actually scares me, does being an atheist mean that I worship the devil? No, I say, that’s a Satanist, and just as idiotic as being a theist. (Though I once answered that question by saying, simply, yes, then smiling.)

I was enrolled in Hebrew school just after my 9^th birthday, essentially to prepare for my bar mitzvah at 13. But I was also there to learn about history, culture, language, and faith, all within the context of Judaism.

Even then, there was little talk of god. Of course, we were taught prayers and that all things come from the Bearded One, but beyond that, almost everything I learned was more historical than hysterical. That’s my cheeky way of saying there was almost none of the fear and superstition that my Catholic friends had to endure in their Sunday school classes.

Even the prayers were more short meditations than invocations. I was never taught to ask for things in my prayers, or that they would be granted even if I did ask. Granted, I went to a reform synagogue. How reform? Well, traditional enough that I learned to speak, read and write in Hebrew. I wore a yarmulke to class (even when playing floor hockey in the basement or touch football in the parking lot…both of which I dominated! J), but not in my everyday life.

But there was one conversation when I was 11 I may never forget. My teacher was a young man (I can’t say for sure, but probably younger than I am now) and his demeanor was friendly and approachable. We were learning about Moses (not unusual) and I asked, “What if it’s not true?”

I remember the rabbi patiently asking me what, specifically, I thought might not be true.

“All of it.” The Red Sea parting, the plagues, the man himself. What if it’s all just a story?

Remember, I was told, that Moses doubted also. He didn’t even know he was a Jew until later in his life.

Yes, yes, I know all that. But it doesn’t answer my question.

I was told not to get caught up in the specifics of the story, but to focus on the lessons.

Which ones, I asked. That animal sacrifice is OK? That lamb’s blood will prevent death in certain circumstances? That we’re all, as I was told often by all the Christian children on my block (three Catholic families provided our street with 33 kids) prone to backsliding and sin? That it’s OK to slaughter the first born male of every household if that’s what someone wants to do to you?

I remember his look: concern. Not at my pre-teen propensity toward sarcasm, not for my eternal soul; that was, I was told, taken care of thanks to my being born who, or more specifically, what I was. His concern, and I could be projecting inaccurately back over the decades, that I was not alone in my disbelief and that he was in for much more of this.

Before he could say anything I did what I still do, got to my point. “What if I don’t believe in God?”

He smiled. Seriously. He gave me a sincere smile.

God, he said, doesn’t care so much if I believe in him, because he believes in me.

I nodded, feeling that his answer was little more than a cop out, an easy and all-encompassing answer for an adolescent with a lot to learn.

I said thank you, and let it drop. Because I did have a lot to learn. And I still do. But I’ve learned much since then. Organized religion is, for purposes of brevity, a racket. Even the most devout, often especially the most devout, often know this to be true, though they perpetuate the lie by participating.

I can’t say, to quote Julia Sweeney, that I’ve let go of god. You can’t let go of something you’ve never had. After my bar mitzvah, a four-hour Saturday afternoon ordeal in an airless room in August, I didn’t step into a synagogue for 20 years, until my father’s funeral. I went back the following two Friday nights, and found, as I knew I would (though I admit hoped I was wrong) no comfort and no answers.

Quitting Judaism two decades earlier was the beginning of a life founded on rational thought, a system of belief (contrary to what anti atheists say, we do have belief systems) that allowed me, that aided me, in realizing (even though I knew it already) that people die, often before their time, not because of a grand plan, but because of illness and accidents. That death is not a part of life, but the end of it. That grieving is normal and begging is unseemly, especially when all the begging in the world won’t undo what’s happened.

Quitting religion released me from hours and years wasted in darkened rooms pouring over texts that provided no answers thousands of years ago and provides even fewer now that science and reason have given us so many. It has allowed me to choose, as much as anyone can, a path of my dictation and not of millennia-old prescriptions on lifestyle and food choices and superstitions that carry no real relevance in the 21^st century.

Quitting god has allowed me to live a life of reason and evidence (as much as I am capable) where I appreciate what I have because I know that once I’m dead there will be no forgiving of sins and happy reunions and eternal life. What you see, is what you get. And what you get is all you’ll have. Appreciate it because once it’s over, it’s all over, baby, no matter what you’ve been promised.

First Impressions and the U.S. Mail

Thu, 1 Sep 2011 00:09:32 -0400

The first batch of query letters is in the mail. If this works the way I think it does, between 9:00 am and lunch tomorrow 10 people with a serious amount of influence over the direction our lives could take will be opening envelopes, then judging me.

A query letter is essentially a job interview. If you do well, if you stand out, then you get a second interview. More than likely, however, the response will be a form letter, or worse – nothing.

I’ve taught a few semesters of an employment preparation class to college freshman and sophomores. The syllabus I created was pretty straightforward: resume basics and interview pointers. Don’t lie, don’t misspell, don’t use an idiotic sounding email address. Dress well, look people in the eye, don’t chew gum.

In a more general way we discussed how to stand out…but in a good way. “Yes, an interesting font will make you stand out, but may be hard or annoying to read.”

One thing we never discussed was stamps.

Most resumes these days are emailed or posted online, so maybe the stamp thing is a moot point. But any way to stand out, right? When I asked the woman at the post office what my options were at the current rate (I didn’t know how much a first class stamp costs) she seemed almost happy to pull out the book and show me. She flipped the pages, sort of softly narrating, like she was going through a photo album.

Nothing struck me until she said Mark Twain. What says, “Hey, look at how clever I am,” more than a Mark Twain stamp? Then two pages later she opened it up to Legends of Hollywood. Gregory Peck.

Done!

Of course, in the end what really matters is the letter. That makes or breaks the deal on its own. But like in an interview, if you can make someone smile for even a second right when you meet them, that’s irreplaceable. Everyone knows first impressions matter, but few people (in my experience) appreciate how much it matters.

Maybe they won’t even notice it; they open a thousand letters a day. But it’s a damn good looking stamp, a good size too. No offense to anyone else who’s played the role, Peck is Ahab.

But if they look, and if they see it, and if they’re a movie fan (as you'd expect at an agency that reps actors and screenwriters), then maybe they pause for a second, linger on Peck’s face, think about his place in the history of film, and that makes them smile, then when they start reading the letter I have them right where I want them, if only subconsciously, of only for a second.

I’m thinking about ordering the Cary Cooper stamp for the next batch.

The Mildred Patricia Baena Story

Sat, 21 May 2011 01:05:51 -0400

Some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them.

To Comment, or Not to Comment...

Mon, 16 May 2011 13:05:15 -0400

I'm a bit of a news junky. My homepage is Yahoo! for two reasons, the first is that I my primary email address is housed there, the second is because I've set it up so that news is fed to me in bite-sized chunks. I can sift through international, national, and citywide headlines in a matter of seconds. I can even see what's happening in my neighborhood (thank you, Yahoo! beta).

I read (OK, scan, then read) many of the major mainstream outlets (CNN, MSNBC, even, begrudgingly, Fox) plus some of the left-leaning sources: The Nation, Mother Jones, Alternet.

After the Japanese earthquake and tsunami I felt...upset. I was disturbed by the images because those images translated into real human suffering. In my grief (not too large a word for it), I posted an admittedly lame, but also, admittedly cathartic post (though mere words could hardly relieve the sorrow I felt):

"After September 11th, the French president declared, 'Today, we are all Americans.' Today, we are all Japanese."

Apparently not everyone felt the same. Most of the comments I post go ignored; a few may garner a handful of thumbs up or down. Within a day this comment had amassed over 100 comments, about 95% of them in support of what I had written (yes, I did the math). Within two days the comments had reached over 300, maintaining more or less the same percentage. After a week, the comment had received over 6,000 thumbs up and about 300 thumbs down.

What bothered me weren't the morons (and I'm very comfortable using that word in this context) who yelled, "DONT CALL ME JAPANESE" (or some similar version thereof), but the people who seemed to relish the suffering and death of so many people.

Like AmeriKKKan who writes: "Fuck the Japs. We shouldn't have left any of them there after '45."

Part of me feels like I need to provide a balance to the outrageousness that's so pervasive in these sections; the overtly hateful vitriol spilling from seemingly every corner of the Internet.

Here's the problem: these "corners of the Internet" represent real corners of the world. These comments aren't generated by a machine: they come from the computers and minds of actual human beings.

My wife says that the comment section is little more than ignorant peoples' way of feeling like they have power in the world, anonymity providing cover for the most outrageous nonsense people can think to say, like "Colin" writing "Fags belong in Hitler's ovens."

I wonder if there are people or news sources or pundits who read comments and see a consensus. Do my statements of support (or disapproval) provide any basis for a coalition of thought? Am I really balancing anything? Or am I just whistling in the wind?

The Quality of the Work

Sun, 22 May 2011 10:05:19 -0400

As an aspiring screenwriter I try to read as much as possible, not just about film, but anything I can get my hands on. You never know what you'll come across that will inspire or inform your writing. I've done my share of reading about writing for film (Field, McKee, Goldman) and it's been incredibly helpful (especially since my BA and MFA are in prose writing).

Obviously there's overlap in the information and advice: write a good story, work hard, work often...write a good story. In a recent issue of Script Magazine (the one with the inspiring gold statuette on the cover) there are a couple stories focusing on specific scripts (The King's Speech, Love and Other Drugs) and a few articles with advice on, well, the quality of the work.

Certain adjectives appear repeatedly: unique, special, different. Advising someone to work hard at their chosen endeavor is neither original, nor, frankly, is it particularly motivating (though it's helpful to be reminded once in a while). Yes, there are specific techniques highlighted, like how to punch up dialog, or crafting unique (there it is again) plot twists, but overall the advice seems to be of the 'work hard, work often' variety.

As I was walking home the other night from the train (after my 12-hour day teaching underserved college students the finer points of grammar in English 101), I was thinking about the current projects I'm working on (a collaboration with a friend with who I've written five scripts, and a solo project that's an adaptation of a not-so-long-lost short story collection), asking myself: what's unique about my story, am I working hard enough, does anyone care? I pondered craft in all its facets.

There's a video store on Clark Street I pass every night, the old-fashioned independent kind that must be a front for something because there's just no way this place has survived renting movies. Posters of the latest releases hang in the window, enticing me to rent the latest action flick or animated spectacular; well-crafted and commercially successful films. One poster, however, stands out. Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2. Is this what they mean by “unique, special, different?”