Veronica

A British ethics expert says dementia sufferers may have a "duty to die."

Elvis Costello's "Veronica" is a fitting rebuttal.

Estelle's new shoe

Earlier this week I noticed that Estelle's rear tire was getting bald. It's nothing terribly serious, just bald enough that I noticed the wheel slipping slightly whenever I crossed over road markings. When C. came over on Tuesday we decided to replace the tire, which I had never done before. Lifting up the rear end of a Vespa is a little complicated because the weight of the bike sits on that tire when the kick stand is engaged. You have to lift it up high enough to remove the tire, but not so high that the bike comes off of its kickstand. I'd seen this method demonstrated here and had my doubts. But with C. on hand to help me stabilize and lift the bike, I was little more confident.

The can we used was a steel can of coconut juice ("Kimbo" brand I think), which we bought at the Asian Market. It worked just fine. Getting the tire off was a breeze, but I had to deflate the spare before putting it on, since there was barely enough clearance to wriggle it underneath the bike.

From now on I'm keeping a spare can with me in case of emergencies.

Before:

After:

Public Kissing, Rose Water, and Rashes

Today I participated in my first proper Orthodox feast day, the Feast of the Cross, which is held every September 13 and 14. Today was the vigil of the feast, which is one of the few vigil services actually done at my church (since it's a mission church and so tiny, all they can do is a couple of vigils every year). The feast dates back to when Saint Helena, the mother of Constantine, discovered a piece of the True Cross in Jerusalem. After changing hands a few times over several centuries (the Persians had it for a while), it was brought to Constantinople in the 7th Century. The feast marks both the discovery of the relic and it's recovery from the Persians, but spiritually it is significant in that through the cross, an instrument of death, life and joy has come into the world. The Orthodox Church year began this month, and the Feast of the Cross is right at the start of it to remind us that everything starts at the cross.

The cross stands and the Earth revolves.

I showed up for the vigil late, which I didn't think was possible. For some reason I thought the vigil would be, you know, an all night thing. That's what "vigil" implies. But apparently it was an abbreviated vigil. As I arrived one of the parishioner's sons, who has been struggling with the faith he was raised in (a very normal thing for a teenager, really), emerged from the side door. "You're late," he said, "but you didn't miss much. It's just a bunch of boring stuff." He had been hiding in the back of the fellowship hall area, watching the after-vigil meal being laid out. "There's a bunch of Greeks, Russians, and Romanians in there. They're probably going to start fighting over which race is the best."

"The Greeks..." I whispered, "...the ancient Greeks."

People were backed up out of the sanctuary. It was a big crowd. Father Christopher was giving his homily, dressed in a reddish and gold vestment that I'd never seen before. Also in attendance were at least two other priests, dressed in the same red and gold vestments. There was some chatter going on in the fellowship area, so I couldn't hear Fr. Christopher well. Once he finished his talk he explained how everything was going to work: everyone would make three prostrations, come forward and venerate the cross of our Lord, and then receive the anointing of the oil.

Prostrations? I'd never done prostrations, but I'd wanted to ever since I started coming to Orthodox church. It's a physical act of humility, and that's something I never really experienced going to Protestant churches. And these weren't half prostrations, but full prostrations. Everyone, including yours truly, got down on their hands and knees and touched their foreheads to the floor - three times, before the cross. Then everyone lined up to venerate the cross, which means kissing it to those of you who don't know what "venerate" means.

I asked a guy in line next to me, named Rob, whether I could kiss the cross. "Yeah, it's not a sacrament." To be sure he tapped a nearby woman on the shoulder, Anna, and asked "Can he kiss the cross?" She replied that yes I could in fact kiss the cross, but the oil was a sacrament and I couldn't receive it. This was disappointing. But then Anna spoke to someone else and turned back to me and said "Actually, you can receive the oil." So, I was going to get the full treatment. I was actually nervous.

"How do I kiss the cross?"

"Just kiss it."

"Do I need to make another prostration?"

"No, you're fine."

Finally I got up to the cross, sitting there on a bed of flowers. Gilded in silver, this was no mean cross. I crossed myself, bowed my head slightly, and hesitated; I didn't want to be kissing this cross to my condemnation, so I hesitated for a moment and considered what I was about to do. Then I leaned in, puckering up like I was about to kiss someone on the cheek. The act itself was a little embarrassing, publicly kissing something like that in front of a crowd of people, but it was also very affirming, in a physical way, of what I believe.

Then I went over to Father Christopher, standing at the ready with his holy oil and brush. I looked at him as if to say, "Can I be here?" I half expected him to wave me on, but he nodded, smiled, and swabbed my forehead in a cross pattern with the brush saying, "The blessing of the feast." The rose water in the oil had a powerful scent (I still have it on me hours later) and the smell set my head reeling (this was after working out in the hot sun all day and smelling nothing but sweat, smoke, and the odor of wet fungi). I also noticed that the rose water stung my skin a little, like an astringent. He then offered me his hand, which I had seen everyone kiss ahead of me, but the rose water somehow had upset my memory, and as he offered it I just looked at it for a moment. Then it clicked and I said, "Oh," and gave it a hurried peck.

This was even more embarrassing, somehow, to show not only public affection to a man by kissing him, but also affection and subservience to a priest (something a year or two ago I would have considered anathema). And when I say embarrassing, I mean it in the best way, if that makes any sense. For me it was only embarrassing because I was engaging in a behavior that was alien to me, that broke with my typical behavioral patterns. But it truly is a blessed thing, to be able to kiss things, and people, in church.

So yes, the rose water smelled wonderful, but it continued to sting my skin. I wondered if this was normal. I asked some folks outside: "Is it normal for the oil to sting your skin?" They looked at me, "Your forehead is irritated!" I went to the bathroom to have a look in the mirror, and sure enough, there it was, a Mark of Cain if I ever did see one. I asked around and apparently some people are sensitive to rose water, which is in fact used as an astringent. The fact that my pores were wide open from sweating like a pig all day didn't help, either. The red mark lingered for the remainder of the evening, and it also made me rather self-conscious.

But all of this embarrassment was a good thing, a breakthrough of sorts in my church etiquette. I feel much better about kissing things, and I actually look forward to making prostrations. And hopefully in the future my skin won't react to holy oil as if I were a vampire.

Chick Magnets

Someone said to me that my scooter must be a "chick magnet." I've had a couple of female friends say that my Stella was "cute," but it was half jokingly. I've had dozens of men approach me and ask me about the scooter; they're interested in her classic styling, they compliment her beauty, inquire regarding the gas mileage, and are generally interested in the performance of Stella all around. When I tell them, yes, she can do 60 mph, gets 90 mpg, and looks absolutely gorgeous they get all jealous. They want one, because Stella is hot. But this appears to be a strictly male phenomenon. I've never had a single woman come up to me in public and ask about the scooter. This may have something to do with me being repellant to women, but this article may actually explain the matter: women are turned on by the noises expensive cars make.

I don't find the European engines all that appealing, personally. First of all, the Maserati, Lambo, and Ferrari cannot match the sounds made by the more throaty Detroit engines, such as those in this scene from Bullitt. That's unrestrained power there. Sure, the fancy schmancy Euro cars may go faster, but they lack the visceral energy of a Detroit big block. Even more appealing to me, however, is the sound made by a 2 cycle engine. To the uninitiated they don't sound all that great, but the tak-tak-tak-tak-tak-tak of a Vespa excites me. It doesn't have the power and tuning of a Euro car, or the aggression of a V8, but it does have a certain alive quality. The clicks and pops of a Vespa engine give it a personality that most automobile engines don't possess.

*******

This is the basis of the graphic I'm getting for Estelle. I contacted the artist and asked if he would send me a high quality version suitable for printing. He was nice enough to send it to me for free, on the condition that I send him a picture of Estelle bearing the decal. I then had a friend with Photoshop skills remove some elements from the image and replace them with others (I wasn't keen on the piercings). I hope to receive the decal this week, and when I do I'll post some pictures.

And Hope became flesh and dwelt among us

I'm sick today with something cold-like.

Yesterday I visited Waldenbooks at Four Seasons mall. While there I spied a prominently displayed children's book about Barack Obama entitled Barack Obama: Son of Promise, Child of Hope. I can't say I was surprised, but this is one of the most astounding pieces of hagiography I've ever seen. Actually, I can say I was surprised, because the heights (depths?) of Obama messianism have never been made more plain in a single source. The book is indeed a children's book, but in terms of content it's no different from what many adult supporters of Obama have been saying all along - that he is a "lightworker," "an advanced soul," a "communicator of God-like energy," and even explicitly a "messiah-like figure" with the ability to halt the rise of the oceans and heal the planet.

The packaging and illustrations are typical Obama fare. There's nothing here that isn't already an established part of the Obama campaign imagery. The picture on the cover has him with his hands raised in a Christ-like pose, whether giving his blessing or offering himself up. Elsewhere Obama is depicted with a glowing aura which radiates from his entire person. Also there is drawing of the Holy Family in which the rays of a nimbus cloud issue outward towards a bright future of hope and change. The style is a mish-mash of Christian themes, primitive folk art, and Soviet propaganda.

In the book, Obama is depicted as having a special destiny from birth, indeed, in the opening of the book he is referred to as "Hope" - "One day Hope came to visit" (I'm paraphrasing here). In my mind there is a clear parallel to Christ here; just as Christ is introduced as the Word of God made flesh in the first chapter of the Gospel of John, so also is Obama introduced as manifest Hope in the beginning of the book. Obama's mixed racial ancestry, as well as his childhood in Hawaii are presented as prefiguring his destiny to unite the peoples of the nation. In fact, he is described as a "bridge" by the author, uniting the races because of his white and black ancestry.

What I found most disturbing were a couple of scenes in which Obama is either spoken to by God directly or which more explicitly conjure the Christ element. "Look around you," God says to Obama, "Now look to me. There is hope enough here to last a lifetime." Whatever that may mean. On that particular page, Obama sits in church, a stained-glass window depicting the Dove of the Holy Spirit right next to him. The narrator of the story describes Obama as "like Joseph" from the Bible, yet another messianic allusion. For if Joseph is not THE Christ spoken of in the scriptures, he is a type of messiah, prefiguring Jesus. Finally, in a scene that depicts one of Obama's speeches on the campaign trail, he looks out over a sea of people and sees the ghosts of Martin Luther King and John F. Kennedy watching over him. In my mind the allusion is clear; it is like Elijah and Moses appearing before Christ at his Transfiguration on Mt. Tabor.

Hagiography such as this should give educated people pause. Obama partisans - and many, many Democrats, like to criticize Bush because of his faith, but they seem to be blind (strike that, they are not blind, but enthusiastically engaging in quasi-religious romanticism) to the apotheosizing trend in their own devotional material. Bush claims to be a man of faith, but the Democrats have made a faith out of their man, and elevated him to a level beyond the realm of mere mortals. Of course, what should we expect from a generation that has turned Che Guevara into a secular saint and embraced the slogans of bumper stickers over substantive discourse?

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My priest - I call him "my priest," but I'm not actually Orthodox yet - mentioned to me a while back that he could bless my scooter if I wanted him to. The Orthodox Church has a book called The Book of Needs which deals with blessings and services for various occasions, whether they be births, burials, marriages, or simply the blessing of an object. There happens to be a service for the blessing of cars, which Father Christopher said could easily be used for Vespas, so this past Sunday I asked him if he would bless Estelle (the scooter) after Divine Liturgy.

After blessing two icons, Fr. Christopher came outside to my parked scooter in his black cassock, his son in tow carrying a small bowl of holy water and a pine branch. "Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit...." I wish I could recall the exact phrasing of the entire blessing. References were made to the Chariot of Fire, Ezekiel, and Elijah. He then went around the perimeter of the bike, splashing it with holy water and saying, "Bless this vehicle in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

It was really amazing. Very soon I will be getting a mascot for Estelle, a 1940s style pin-up girl with a Tommy Gun. I expect to have the decal completed some time next week and will post some pictures here.