When I was twenty I was involved in Herbert W. Armstrong’ s cult, the Worldwide Church of God. It was a confusing time for me. My consience was racked with Catholic guilt, a sinner since birth; or so it was told to me. But I did not believe in it anymore. In fact, it angered me to think that the God I had prayed to for years would consider me filthy. I had an acquaintance who was part of the Armstrong cult and whom was my roomate for a year. I was oftened chastised by the other members for drinking and smoking and relating with friends outside of the “church” and this guy was one of the most vocal. “You need to decide who you’re friends are,” D_ told me on a number of occasions.

Once, D_ was assisting me with my car. I am not mechanically inclined and the slightest auto repair is a most burdensome task. While I flailed away under my car, fruitlessly trying to remove some bolts, some of D_’s friends showed up, beers in hand, barroom talk in mouth. They, along with D_ hurled periodic invectives about the idiot who couldn’t get a few bolts loose. To his credit D_ told me to take off when a friend of mine showed up and wanted to party. He said I was useless anyway. When I returned, however, I was given a stern lecture about my priorities and my need to discard friends that wanted to party. Others told me friends like that rot the soul, bring out the natural evil in people. I didn’t bother to ask D_ why he had such friends.

In case it isn’t quite clear yet, D_ was one of those personalities that is driven by a stubborn authoritative egotism. I didn’t feel the need to explain myself to him. Unfortunately, in my quest to rid myself of the outrageous authority of Catholicism I landed into the midst of a group of authoritarian wannabes who needed a stern authoritative voice to lead them and to passify their egotistic desire to view themselves as God’s particular chosen. Their condemnation of all other religion was passionate and loud.

My involvement with this group soon ended. I learned later that after Armstrong’s death a group of people managed to gain control of the “church’s” assets and liquidate them, making them instantly wealthy. As for D_, he was released from prison a few years ago after serving 5 1/2 years for rape of a minor.

Hohry Sin

Love is like a game of bridge: if you don’t have a good partner you better have a good hand.

Passive aggression has many characteristics and is exhibited in many different ways. For instance, I was walking past the exit ramp from an underground parking facility in downtown Grand Rapids when I heard the roar of a V8 engine. Being someone who prides himself in being aware of his surroundings at all times, I quickly turned in the direction the noise was coming from. And just quick enough to leap out of the way of the big Lincoln Town Car as is streaked across the sidewalk and nosed into oncoming traffic. Not being overly thrilled that the driver of the vehicle nearly hit me-would’ve hit me if I hadn’t leapt out of the way, I glared over at the driver for future reference, knowing that the asshole wouldn’t stop and acknowledge his selfish actions, let alone apologize. And when I glared at the driver I met his stoney glass eyes glowering back at me. It was the Mayor at the time, Mayor Logie. I’m not sure if he was trying to intimidate me with his look, as if to say “don’t you dare mention this to anyone”, or the look was meant to imply “get the hell out of my way, don’t you know who I am?”, but the thought of him struggling to exonerate himself as an individual in the public domain brought a smile to my face. Of course, it didn’t matter to me who he was, but what he was, at least in that particular instance, an asshole. No different than any other person being an asshole from time to time, myself included.

An older gentleman and I were discussing our philosophies of music and I had told him that I am constantly trying to match the notes I am fingering with the notes being played by my emotions on my soul. The result is usually not pleasing to someone listening to me because everyone’s emotions are playing unique melodic and harmonic notes on their souls. He told me that my approach was one of personal expression, while he sought to compose music as it is supposed to sound.

For a while I thought it a colossal superimposition of ideal on the individual listener, the idea of composing music as “it is supposed to sound”. Every musician takes the theory and lessons he learns and applies them to compose music as it “it supposed to sound”. With the passing of time I have come to realize that he was not insisting that everyone accept his idea of what music is supposed to sound like, rather he was simply stating how he composes. While I lay bare my emotions in my notes, my compositions don’t follow true to traditional form. He is more of a traditionalist and is simply following the course of the traditional composer. And in fact, since his compositions are far more appealing to listeners, I have to question just how much more I am expressing than he is.

The first obstacle to overcome when trying to understand any culture is to recognize how the language of one’s own culture skewes one’s understanding. We try to place ourselves in the shoes of the other, but our understanding is translated into the language we have learned and developed since infancy; the language of our prevailing culture with all of it stereotypes and judgements.

Each race has inherent prejudices and this is represented in the language used to describe the people and things that are unkown. While traveling in China I was often ridiculed for the way Westerners eat with all of their food on one plate. Koreans and Vietnamese also ridiculed me at their temples, though in a good mannered sort of way. They hadn’t seen me eat with a plate and fork, but they knew that is how westerners eat; gobbling our food in quiet isolation instead of as a group. Of course, this stereotype sounds ridiculous to the many of us fortunate enough to have family dinners regularly.

This language isn’t restricted to the races, but is also readily used among any group of people when describing anyone who doesn’t share the same groupspeak. People I have known who lived in Michigan their entire lives move to Florida and suddenly they smirk with scorn when they hear coca cola referred to as “pop”. The lonely bookish sort in the corner cubicle of the office who has never heard of the favorite comedians and comediennes of the day has a defunct category, socially. No one is interested in the topics he is familiar with; semiotics, linguistics, psychology.

But where this person has his value is that he understand well the language of his profession. He writes the memos for the executives, edits the corporate blog, or writes code for office applications on his own time. Because he has read Toni Morrison, Eudora Welty and Cornell West he is able to understand the ignorance of the older white women of the office who make jokes about having wild times when a young black woman in the office asks for time off to go to Detroit to be with her family after the death of a relative.

It all just seems like perpetual childhood. The fellow loners you looked to for support if not friendship, the popular kids, the kids who hoped to be popular: they become the manager who is looking for respect; the frazzled entry level worker trying to please; the office big mouth who rationalizes she just likes to tell people “like it is” without regard to a peaceful coexistence. These situations are not absent from any race. But like a family that tolerates each other’s annoying habits, a race will more likely rationalize the behavior of one of its own while decrying similar behavior from someone of another race. If you are the loner with a head full of bookish thoughts among a sea of would-be comedians and jesters you also have a language of your own, and you use it in your internal dialogue. With that language you come to know your own thoughts of ridicule, prejudice and condemnation. Recognizing this semiology of your own internal dialogue, you can uncover a great deal of the thinking that has caused your own alienation.