Oh how I missed thee, my mistress

December 16, 2007 at 11:55 pm (Day to Day)

This is my first sentence to be typed on my new laptop. It will be the first of many; in fact, with this sentence (as semi-coloned as it is, and now parenthesized) my idea-and-philosophically-laden sentences have now doubled. I am very thankful to my parents for caving in and buying me this laptop. When my dad told me it was too expensive, and it was outside of their range of affordability, there was no resentment. I understand that despite the fact that laptops have gone down in price significantly compared to the former glory days of $2000 machines o’ 128 megs of RAM, it is still an expensive purchase. A computer with 128 megs of RAM can probably be purchased in the toddler aisle at Wal-Mart for $19.95 and recommended for ages second-trimester and up. My two and a half year old niece got a laptop that requires more dexterity than I have and more animal noises than I can tolerate. Still, a laptop is a luxury, not a necessity. But so is bathing…and breathing. Breathing is just a luxury if you want to live. Come to think of it, living is a commodity and a luxury as well—a luxury for death. Death is a luxury to be with God or in hell. I really miss blogging!

My dad was not very furtive in his gift-hiding. In his defense, he saw that I was snooping on the internet for laptops. Next to their bed laid a carrying case that could easily be used as a laptop case (and which currently does). He asked me if I had any use for it, with me replying, “if I had a laptop…” He smiled and told me that I would. He even asked me if I wanted to go ahead and open it. This was in the first week of December, on the negative twenty-third day of Christmas. It was good that he told me, else I might have two laptops at the moment. My mind says that two laptops are better than one; his mind says, “…”. His mind is right. He brought out the printer than came with the laptop and told me that there wasn’t enough room for it, my laptop, and Patrick Dempsey’s hair in my mom’s closet. I didn’t ask questions, especially about the mediocre actor with the piece of hair that gets him any decent role. Pop culture references are cheap and unoriginal. Inconspicuousness was obviously something my dad had high concerns about. He gave me my printer and asked me to put it in my closet for safe keeping from bad acting and large hair. It was at that point that I had a small morsel of an idea of what my Christmas gift might be. He went through the motions of having my mom wrap my laptop and even offered to wrap my printer. This was after I gave it a full top-to-bottom analysis. I politely refused his offer with incredulity. Now it’s negative ten days before Christmas, and I’m already on it. My parents thought it was a good time to open what presents there are since my Eric, my sister’s fiancé, is in town. This was exactly one day after I made fun of Carissa for not doing the traditional Christmas-present ravaging on the tradition Christmas-ravaging day of Christmas (Christmas Eve is acceptable as well if you fear Santa Clause and Christmas cheer) Since my sister and I are both procrastinators when it comes to buying and wrapping presents, only about one-tenth of all Inman-family presents were opened.

I was thinking in great detail exactly what would be the first thing I write about on this laptop. The first two paragraphs were not planned, but due to my crazy and oh-so-endearing impulsiveness, they could not be denied their unplanned birth. I’ll use contraceptive next time or go to Planned Parenthood. For the world of writing, Comp. I is where literary abortions are performed. A Chuck Palahniuk novel will also satiate the pro-choice-for-literary-abortion camp. My first diatribe was going to be about a short exchange I had with a friend not too long ago. The only preface to the conversation worth mentioning was that he used to go to a different church than he does now. I asked him about the church, the denomination and beliefs and whatnot. His was very dodgy and tried to circumvent the meaning of my question by ambiguously replying, “it’s just a small bible-based church.” The conversation ended there with this question in my mind: does anybody claim to go to a non-bible-based church? The conversation could have passed a little differently if he didn’t go to only one of the myriad of bible-based, albeit somehow clashing and varied, churches:

Rob: So tell me about your church. I mean, what are some of the beliefs it holds.
Friend: Well, for starters, we worship the devil and have a picture of her in our sanctuary. Yeah, we think calling the devil a man is a little bit insensitive and too fifteenth century for our taste. We used to use the gender-neutral pronouns but we are even too progressive for that. Let me show you a picture of her.

hillary.jpg


Rob: I’m actually thinking about voting for her…
Friend: Yeah, me too. Many of her campaign promises offer the hope of a soft socialism. There’s nothing more that we Satan-worshipping, peace-loving hippies love more than to destroy freedom and democracy. That brings glory to Satan.
Rob: Yeah, I know what you mean. I kind of want to stone you right now just so I don’t have to smell the stink of Moscow, Russia on you. Can you tell me a little bit about your views on baptism? For example, my church baptizes infants. What about yours?
Friend: We sacrifice them and drink their blood in order to absorb their youth.
Rob: What kind of music?
Friend: Three chords and two syllables. It’s actually organized like that only so we can mock God.
Rob: I used to attend a church like that myself, except that we called it worship.

Parody aside, it just caught my attention that two people who can disagree on the very definition of orthodoxy can both get away with saying they go to bible-based churches. I get what he’s saying, however. It’s like a conservative and a liberal both saying they want what is best for our country, and that’s why they’re voting for Generic Candidate 34.

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1 Comment

  1. Scott said,

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