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I don’t think I even announced on the blog that I was going to Vegas. I think I didn’t have time. Or I was lazy. Yeah, lazy. Well, whatever–I was going to go to Vegas, and in fact I did follow through and actually go to Vegas, and now I’m back. That’s why I was driving around in the middle of nowhere at 1 a.m. the other day. (I was going to say “Monday night,” but technically it was Tuesday morning, but who thinks of 1 a.m. as “morning”? It’s just too confusing to assign an actual day, which is why I decided to go with “the other.” Clever of me, huh? This helpful writing tip is complimentary to you, courtesy Madhousewife. You’re welcome.) I was driving home from the airport–which, I can assure you, I’ve done plenty of times, even in the dark, without complications. I was just really tired on the other day, so I got confused and consequently lost. Getting confused and consequently lost is a regular occurrence with me, especially when driving. It just doesn’t usually happen on the way home from the airport. Driving home from the airport has historically been a consistent “winner” for me, which is why my self-confidence has really been hurt by this recent incident. I don’t think I’ll be flying for a while (which is good because my husband already informed me that I’m not allowed to leave home for the rest of 2009).
As I was saying, though, I was in Vegas, but now I’m home. You might be wondering why I went to Vegas in the first place. That is, you might be wondering, if you weren’t in Vegas with me–for that is why I went to Vegas, gentle reader: to meet some sister bloggers, including my (actual) sister, Cheryl, Alison Wonderland, Susan M, flip flop mama, Janelle, and Shantae (invitation-only, sorry suckahs! well, don’t feel bad, I don’t have one either). Yes, that makes eight Mormon ladies in Las Vegas for the weekend. I know what you’re thinking now: “Still confused.” What is there for eight Mormon ladies to do in Las Vegas, anyway? Well, I’ll tell you: not much. Fortunately, our people are an industrious lot, and we can find stuff to do anywhere–even in a city that was made especially not for us.
It’s interesting that as many years as I’ve been blogging, I have only just started meeting any fellow/sister bloggers in real life in the last couple of months. That’s probably because I’ve only really started interacting with other Mormon bloggers in the last year. That’s the thing about Mormons: wherever two or more of us are gathered, someone starts craving refreshments, and you can only serve refreshments in real life–hence, you must meet one another in real life! Mormons are very good about organizing and throwing parties. It’s one of the things I appreciate most about our culture.
I, for one, started eating Cheetos mere seconds after getting into Cheryl’s car. (She and Allison picked me up at the airport.) And thus was our friendship sealed. FOREVER.
What Do Mormons Do in Sin City?
We commit sins of omission. For example, we did not see any shows. No, not even Donny and Marie. Yes, I know, “how do Mormons go to Las Vegas and not see Donny and Marie?” Well, it’s easy. Donny and Marie were, like, $100 a ticket. Dude, no one loves Donny and Marie that much. Correction: Nobody I know loves Donny and Marie that much. We also missed Siegfried and Roy’s last show, apparently. Also, the NASCAR convention, or whatever it was. A bunch of NASCAR people converging on Las Vegas. A NASCAR convergence? Whatever. We didn’t do any of that stuff.
We did go to the top of the Stratosphere, but we didn’t ride any rides. I know, how lame is that? Well, two of the three rides up there were closed for maintenance, and anyway, the Stratosphere is really, really high! I was getting sick just looking out the window. I wasn’t about to get inside some rickety something-or-other to fly around and get sick on other people and possibly wet myself out of pure terror. I got enough of that on my last trip to Magic Mountain. And apparently my traveling companions had similar feelings about the issue. So we just looked out the window.
What were we doing in Las Vegas again? You ask too many questions. Just let me tell my story, will you?
We went out for Thai food and were serenaded by a very talented lounge singer we christened “Kenny” because he sounded a lot like Kenny Rogers and we were too shy to ask him for his real name.
We walked through a bunch of casinos and didn’t play any games because seriously, it’s so sad that people waste their lives that way.
If only the house we rented had such marvelous ceilings!
Some of us went to the temple (we have one in Las Vegas because for some reason, lots of Mormons live there). However, while those good ladies were at the temple, Susan, Bythelbs and I went to the Liberace Museum. The Liberace Museum is awesome because a) it’s freaking Liberace, dude, and b) it’s located in a strip mall.
It’s housed in two buildings, at opposite ends of the strip mall, and between the two buildings are an international market, a tailor, and a Hookah Smoke Shop, among other things. The first building is devoted to Liberace’s personal and family history and his cars and pianos. The second building houses his costumes and jewelry and other assorted artifacts, including the world’s biggest rhinestone. Who knew there was such a thing as the world’s biggest rhinestone? But where else would it be, besides the Liberace Museum?
The best part is the life-size cardboard Liberace wearing his red, white and blue “hot pants” outfit. I didn’t get a picture of cardboard Liberace because I was too busy posing with him for someone else’s picture. But this should give you an idea:
Helpful hint: Liberace had very hairy legs
On Sunday we went to the Valley of Fire national park. (That was our requisite sin of commission: we ditched church on Sunday. I know. We were wild, I tell you, wild!) The Valley of Fire makes an interesting contrast to the city of Las Vegas. Las Vegas is an amazing spectacle–everything done to excess, but ultimately a whole lot of nothing. It is probably the most depressing place I have ever seen. (Easy for me to say–I didn’t even take in a single naked vampire show!) The Valley of Fire is truly spectacular. My pictures don’t do it justice. The rocks are very red. The sky that day was very blue. It was really a gorgeous day. I took more pictures there than I’ve probably taken anywhere, but only a couple were really any good, and that was mostly on accident because I’m a terrible photographer. Every so often, though, the natural world overcomes my incompetence.
Technically, that’s not entirely the natural world as the bright white lines were made by airplanes, but still–kind of cool, eh?
Anyway, that’s what I did on my Vegas vacation. The best part was meeting all these wonderful ladies and enjoying their fine company. Thank you, ladies! You were better than naked vampires any day of the week. (And you know I mean that.)
Mormonfolk had a discussion recently on BCC about whether it was kosher (in the Mormon sense–hm, what would be a good Mormon word for “kosher”? note to self: think on that later, get back to the blog now) to have alcohol served in your home at a holiday party or in some other entertaining scenario. Actually, the specific question was what you would do if a co-worker, knowing there would be no alcohol served at your party, asked you if it would be okay to bring his own adult beverages. Last I checked, the responses were about 50-50, Cool vs. Not Cool. Some said, “Of course I would have alcohol for my guests who want to enjoy it. It’s only what a gracious host would do.” And others said, “My house, my rules.” Do you want to know what I said? Of course you do, or you wouldn’t be reading! My response was “Why would I have alcohol in my home when I don’t drink alcohol?” I mean, if people want to be drinking alcohol that badly, I assume they would be someplace-not-the-Mormon’s-house. I don’t think of it as “my house, my rules.” I think of it as…”I don’t drink alcoholic beverages and never have drunk alcoholic beverages, and therefore I don’t think of alcoholic beverages as being an essential component of a holiday party or other entertaining scenario, and therefore if I am forced to think about it, I have to come down on the side of ‘If my company is so insufficient for these revelers’ needs, why would they want to come to my party in the first place?’ Harumph!” (I threw that “Harumph!” in just for you, sis.)
I can’t say that I’ve hosted a lot of parties in my day, though. Those parties that I have hosted have tended to be largely Mormon affairs because, well, I know a lot of Mormons. I’m forced to interact with Mormons, so they tend to be the people I get to know. I don’t have nearly as much occasion to interact with regular old people to the same extent, and therefore my circle of non-Mormon friends and acquaintances is limited to Sugar Daddy’s co-workers, parents of my kids’ friends, the next-door neighbors, and people I knew in high school and college. (I suppose I also have non-Mormon friends in my tap class, but I haven’t invited any of them to parties yet. Maybe I should. Note to self.) Anyway, I’ve never hosted some big holiday gala whereunto I would be inviting a significant number of potential social-drinkers. The last big party we threw was for Mister Bubby’s baptism, and there were exactly four not-Mormons there, only two of whom were of legal drinking age, and I think they would have felt uncomfortable if I had offered them beer just to make them feel more comfortable. And the more I think about it, the more I think I would feel uncomfortable having beer and wine in my house when beer and wine are taboo for everyone who lives in my house. I can’t explain why. I just would.
Let me tell you the extent of my experience with drinking and parties.
I remember going to my first (and last) college party. It was the week before school started, and I was a freshman, and hardly any students had arrived yet. Some townies were hosting a party, and someone invited my roommate and me to go, and me being away from home and uncharacteristically not feeling like being alone said, “Sure, I’ll go a party”–not realizing that there would be nothing for a Mormon girl to do at a party hosted by townies for college students. And truly, there was nothing for me to do. It was the most miserable, most boring two hours of my life, and you must remember that I had been going to church every week for twenty years, so I knew what boring was. There was no food. There was no one (sober) to talk to. There was no television. A couple people might have been playing Nintendo in the basement. There was no fussball, but even if there were, I didn’t play fussball, so that would have been a dead end anyway. But I don’t know. I was pretty desperate, so I might have taken it up, but like I said, that’s neither here nor there. I suppose if I’d wanted to make out with somebody, I could have gotten lucky–but I don’t think that thought ever crossed my mind. Also, as the only sober person, I felt pretty invisible. Actually, I eventually found another sober person; he was the designated driver and he drove me and some other (drunk) people back to the college. (My roommate stayed and got plastered and threw up.) So that was an experience. I vividly recall thinking, “I totally understand why people drink at parties even if they might not particularly want to. Because this is freaking depressing.”
Obviously, I have since been to more interesting parties that just happened to have alcohol at them, rather than parties that existed solely for the purpose of alcohol consumption. And those parties didn’t depress me. Nor did I notice anyone getting drunk at them. But those parties also had plenty of food and sober-enough-to-talk-to people. To me that is what’s essential to a party. Of course I can see why others think differently. Lots of people enjoy drinking wine (or whatever), not to get drunk but to, you know, relax and loosen up or whatever. I guess for a lot of folks, having a couple drinks makes them more sociable. I’ve never had a couple drinks, so I don’t know for sure, but knowing the extent of my social anxiety versus my tolerance for alcohol, I reckon that there is a very fine line between what would make me more sociable and what would make me fall asleep.
When I was eighteen my office had a little cake-eating party for a co-worker whose birthday it was, and the cake was a rum cake. So I had this little sliver of cake soaked in rum, and I thought it was, eh, whatever. Then I spent the next few hours feeling a tad…off. I kept thinking, “What on earth is the matter with me today?” and then I realized it must have been the rum cake. Maybe I ate it on an empty stomach. (The idea of me having an empty stomach is somewhat laughable these days, but when I was eighteen, ‘twould not have been that unusual.) Anyway, I didn’t enjoy the experience. Not only was the cake not very good, but I didn’t like this “off” feeling. I guess you could call it a “buzz.” It was very annoying. Perhaps I would have felt differently about it if I had been in a social situation instead of at work, but then again, if I’d not been at work, I would have been sorely tempted to go to sleep. The sleep would have been nice for me, but I doubt anyone else would have found me more sociable.
Anyway, I like to know what I’m thinking and feel what I’m feeling. Well, listen to me. I opted against anesthesia during childbirth, so why would I enjoy a good buzz? It just doesn’t stand to reason.
(Look, I know there are plenty of folks who enjoy the occasional drink as well as the occasional natural birth, so don’t hassle me here. Lighten up. Maybe you should have a couple drinks before you read my blog. Or don’t drink. Whatever’s preventing you from taking a joke, remedy it.)
So here’s the thing. I don’t connect drinking with anything in my life, either for good or ill, because I don’t drink. Therefore, I don’t connect it with the ability to enjoy oneself at a party. It just wouldn’t occur to me that a lack of alcoholic beverage would correlate to a lack of social enjoyment because my brain just doesn’t work that way. To me, any situation which proffers the opportunity for conversation with people not my children (no offense to them) is a party. And if you throw in food, ta da! You have achieved Super-Party. So the standards are low, I’ll admit. But that’s how my brain works. If you came up to me and said, “Um, would it be okay if I brought my own beer/wine/Mike’s Hard Lemonade/gin/vodka/whiskey/etc. to the party, since you won’t be serving any?” I would be taken totally off guard and think it was a weird thing to ask. And I would probably end up saying, “Um…really? No. Not really, no.” And then our friendship might become strained, and that would be uncomfortable too. But truth be told, I’d rather you just didn’t come than come and feel like you were being deprived of an essential partying factor. That would be uncomfortable for me, too.
So now I sincerely and with some trepidation ask the following question: Is it normal behavior to bring your own alcohol to a party where you know alcohol isn’t going to be served because your host doesn’t drink alcohol? Because to me that seems a little weird. I don’t bring my own roast beef to my vegan friend’s dinner party, even though she’s perfectly fine with me consuming meat in front of her. Am I remiss in my social propriety? Discuss.
And here’s a poll. (Stupid PollDaddy isn’t working. Harumph!)
You might recall the blog I did a million years ago about the cat who made a calendar of young, attractive Mormon males, all returned missionaries for the church–only sans their white shirts, ties and black name tags, if you catch my drift, wink wink, nudge nudge. Okay, I just grossed myself out. So this dude, Chad Hardy (such a Mormon name), was excommunicated yesterday after a disciplinary meeting with his local church leaders. I thought you would want to know. Okay, I thought you would probably not care, but I needed something to blog about, and this story seemed to have potential. Also, I’m too lazy to look up more relevant current events.
Some people–a lot of people, actually–probably think this punishment was a little bit of overkill. I mean, it’s not like it was a naked calendar, just a shirtless one. Also, they included pictures of the young men in their missionary attire, along with their personal testimonies of the Gospel. It was, like, an alternative missionary effort, if you will. Plus, part of the proceeds went to charity. So what’s the big deal?
I don’t know what the big deal is. I’d bet dollars to doughnuts, though, that it was more than just the calendar. According to media accounts, some of the 12 calendar models were also called in for disciplinary meetings, but none was punished. Prior to his church court, Hardy said, “You see more in a JCPenney catalog. I just feel like my right to free speech is being violated.”
I always find it odd when Mormons get upset with the Church interfering with their right to free speech. Not that I think people should just sit there and like it when the Church disciplines them for something as innocuous as a pretty boy calendar, but I just think it’s a strange way to characterize what is happening to them. They can’t just say, “The church is way too uptight about x, and they shouldn’t be punishing me for this.” No, it has to be something glamorous and earth-shattering, like their free speech is being violated–despite the fact that this isn’t a breach of the first amendment unless you’re just really confused about what the first amendment means.
I also notice that people will get all huffy about their rights being violated, but will say very little regarding their feelings about being formally separated from the body of Christ. One would think that relevant, if they were upset about the possibility of excommunication. But maybe that’s just me.
Anyway, after his church court, Hardy didn’t seem real torn up about the results.
“I have no ill feelings toward any of those people,” Hardy said of the church council. “They did what they believed was right and I really do feel it was the best decision for both of us.”
Which is convenient, since he doesn’t have a choice. Just kidding. I believe that Hardy is just fine with the decision, as he hasn’t been active in the church for several years, and hence he isn’t missing out on much by being excommunicated. (Not in this life, anyway.)
I have about a dozen cynical takes on this, but none of them is very funny. I was hoping for some funny to come out of this.
The 2009 calendar has sold about 10,000 copies. On a totally unrelated note, does anyone happen to know how many gay men live in the Rocky Mountain region? Just curious.
(And no, I’m not poaching TheTheologiansCafe’s blog. #1, it’s impossible to poach Dan’s blog. #2, Mormons have the inalienable right to blog about Mormon-related stories before all other bloggers, even Theologians.)
(#2 “And no”–I don’t think Chad Hardy is really going to hell. I don’t know where he’s going. I don’t even know where I’m going.)
I have not been motivated to do much of anything lately, not even blog. My medication is in limbo, and the Reese’s peanut butter cups are not performing their usual magic, so maybe I am just in a bad mood, but it’s a woman’s prerogative to get annoyed for no good reason, at least once a month during her era of fertility, so if you’re not in the mood for petty carping, look elsewhere. You know, that sentence makes me sound much angrier than I probably am. I must have a lot of suppressed rage or something. Well, let’s do this thing.
This is not a Mormon blog. It’s a blog written by a Mormon lady who occasionally goes all Mormony on you. I enjoy mocking my own culture sometimes–not to be all subversive and in your face, but because that’s just how I roll. I mock because I love. I love being a Mormon, and I love Mormondom in general. That doesn’t mean I’m blind to the church’s flaws and weaknesses, in its leadership and/or its membership. Some people wonder why, considering all my doubts and alleged square-peggishness, a sarcastic suckhead like me sticks with an institution that is designed for cookie-cutter sheep-type people with great teeth and awesome hair. Well, the fact is I am not that special, I don’t like my boat rocked, and my teeth and hair are pretty great, if not outstanding. But it comes down to this: the church is my home. Mormons are my family. We’ve got our skeletons and our crazy Aunt Myrtles. I can take good-natured jokes about this stuff because I’m willing to own the kooks and the skeletons. And in turn I can joke about it because I have such deep affection for the community–an affection I think is obvious to anyone who reads me without prejudice.
It is not obvious to a certain subset of Mormons, people who think being Mormon means never having to be ironic. I’m sorry that you people are irony-deficient. I wish there were a supplement you could take, because then you wouldn’t leave random comments on my site telling me that I’m bigoted and have no manners. This happens from time to time, and I usually shrug it off because, whatever, they don’t know me and they don’t care, why waste the emotion. When somebody leaves a comment like, “Your a little retard, Mormons are great,” I don’t even feel compelled to correct their spelling, or to point out that “retard” is not a euphemism that charming people use. I definitely don’t see the point in explaining that I myself think that Mormons are great, because if they didn’t want to understand the first time, they’re usually not motivated to get it the second time either.
So sometime last year I wrote a verbose review of a Mormon movie called Church Ball–which is an awful movie, largely because it is supposed to be a wacky comedy but it is not a bit funny, but also because it tries too hard not to be Mormon–and recently I got this comment on that post:
I must say, I have seen some of the Halestorm movies for the first time recently and has really enjoyed it. So did quite a few of my friends and family. Personaly I did not like “Sons of Provo”. I did not see “Church Ball” and would like to recomend the few that I found to be quite hillarious. So it could just be a matter of taste. I should also just remind you that if you only find movies funny if it contans an age restriction, profanity, swearing, nudity, adultery, etc. you cannot expect good clean family fun to entertain you and should thus not try and review it. The movies me and my family found to be quite entertaining are the following: “Baptists at our barbeque”, “The R.M.”, “Take a chance”. Hope you find that a little more to your taste. There are also other “mormon” movies, not by Halestorm that are really good. As far as your blog goes, I find it a little tasteless as anyone would find any blog trying to demean an institution because of personal issues.
First of all, where to begin. I’m assuming that if you enjoy Halestorm movies, you must be Mormon. I’m not going to assume that you’re a bad person, but I do figure that we won’t be running into each other at the cinema anytime soon. If you enjoy Halestorm movies, along with your family, who I’m sure are all lovely people, then bully for you. I enjoy a good rerun of What’s Happenin’, and I hope people don’t judge me too harshly for that. I liked Sons of Provo, you did not. That’s fine. Unlike my husband and ten-year-old, I don’t think everyone has to like what I like. Sons of Provo doesn’t fry your burger, and that’s good enough for me. Live and be well. You have not offended me.
What does trip my where-do-you-get-off wire is this implication that my failure to be entertained by Halestorm must be a function of my obvious jadedness. Maybe I “only find movies funny if it contans an age restriction, profanity, swearing, nudity, adultery, etc.” and thus have no business trying to review wholesome entertainment for decent folk.
I’ll have you know, missy–or mister, whichever–that I don’t think profanity and nudity make a movie funny, and I haven’t seen a movie with an “R” rating in more than twelve years. But unlike some people, I don’t think a movie’s good just because it has no swearing in it, and I’m not so desperate to be entertained that I’ll just laugh randomly and hope that a joke shows up to meet me halfway. When you’re recommending a movie to me, I want to know why it’s good, not that it’s inoffensive. Technically, I suppose Church Ball is inoffensive, unless you think it’s sinful to be boring.
That was my problem with Church Ball: it was boring. You’ve never seen it; you’re lucky. I have seen it, and that makes me the expert. It was not funny. It would not have been funnier if they’d said the F-word a lot. It would not have been funnier if they’d used the word “ass” instead of “butt.” It would not have been funnier if any of them had been naked. It would not have been funnier if the entire cast had been naked. It would not have been funnier if there had been more sinning. What would have made it funnier was if there had been authentic characters and a coherent storyline. Perhaps with your limited cinematic experience, you believe that authentic characters and coherent storylines can only be achieved through obscenity. That has not been my observation.
As to the movies you recommended, I haven’t seen any of them but The R.M. I didn’t find The R.M. a very good movie, but it was funnier than Church Ball, by at least a hundred points. Its quality was uneven, but it did have an authentic main character and a semi-coherent storyline. It would have been even funnier if it had been less lame, but swearing probably wouldn’t have helped a bit.
Also, I have seen other non-Halestorm Mormon movies, and some of them are very good. They are not Oscar caliber, but Mormon cinema is in its infancy, and I judge low-budget films by a slightly different standard. Maybe that’s the soft bigotry of lower expectations, but it’s not the kind of bigotry you’re talking about.
Which brings me to your last sentence: “As far as your blog goes, I find it a little tasteless as anyone would find any blog trying to demean an institution because of personal issues.”
I confess I do not know what to do with this. Which institution am I demeaning? If I say that Halestorm tends to make low-quality movies (which it does) and that Mormon filmmakers have yet to produce a Citizen Kane (or whatever), I am not demeaning Mormon filmmaking in general. Actually, I’m doing it a favor by letting it know how it can improve, and I think I do it in a way that’s considerably nicer than Simon Cowell’s constructive criticism. I am certainly not demeaning the Church or its people. The Church and its people deserve better than Church Ball. And The R.M., no offense to it or the lovely people who find it hilarious. The only “personal issues” I have are with people who think it’s “tasteless” not to embrace mediocrity in the name of good, clean fun.
You know what I think is tasteless? Chalking up your disagreements with someone to a personal grudge or a psychological problem because you are overly sensitive about your religion and your taste in movies. Thank you for putting me in my place. Now you can go get a life.
We went to church with my sister on Sunday. Princess Zurg went to Primary (children’s Sunday School) with her cousins. Princess Zurg has a love-hate relationship with Primary. On the one hand, she finds it a lot less dull than the sacrament service. On the other hand, it is still a little too “churchy” for her tastes. She likes the classroom portion, when they discuss the application of religious principles to real-life situations. She doesn’t enjoy when they read from the scriptures because there aren’t enough girls in them. (She has particular disdain for the Book of Mormon, which is heavy on war stories and mentions only three women by name, one of whom is a harlot of no consequence. That really galls her.) She likes the singing…sometimes, when they’re not singing “annoying” or “childish” songs. In other words, it’s really more of a tolerate-hate relationship.
I feel her pain. I wasn’t too fond of Primary at her age, either. I wasn’t too fond of church, period, and the feeling didn’t become warmer or fuzzier when the teen years hit. I found the church youth programs alternately dull and condescending. Or perhaps both simultaneously. I was probably around thirteen when I decided I just wasn’t going to go to church anymore, because what were my parents going to do, make me? Well, actually, it turned out they could. I think so, anyway. It was a long time ago, and I remember them putting up with my crap for about three weeks, and then the jig was up. I don’t remember exactly what “changed my mind.” I suppose I was just a people pleaser at heart. Anyway, that’s another story. My point is that I sympathize with PZ’s frustration, but at the same time, she’s only ten and not a very responsible ten, and I’m not going to let her just stay home by herself. I don’t think she even wants to stay home by herself. I think she wants us to change religions. That’s not apt to happen. And like I said, we need to take her with us, if only to keep her off the streets.
Historically, PZ has acted out in very loud, very public ways during various portions of the worship service, starting when she was about, oh, two? Two-and-a-half? We were walking into the chapel one day when she suddenly threw herself down on the floor and started screaming, “No! No church! NO JESUS CHRIST!” The incident was all the more remarkable because PZ at that age was more or less non-verbal much of the time. It would take more motivation than I currently have to provide you a laundry list of PZ’s childhood impieties; suffice it to say that the above anecdote is representative of the rest of the iceberg.
We don’t “allow” PZ to disturb other people’s worship–not any more than her school teachers “allow” her to disturb other students’ learning experiences–and in the last couple of years, she’s made great strides in the Appropriate Church Behavior department. In the last several weeks, though, she’s been particularly vocal with her complaints. This Sunday was no exception. Girlfriend was not hip to strange church nurseries, so I was walking the halls with her and happened to pass by the Primary room, where the kids were learning a new song called “Home Is Where the Heart Is.” (Technically, it’s not “new,” but this generation of kids did not know it.) The second verse goes like this:
Home is where there’s Father,
with strength and wisdom true.
Home is where there’s Mother,
and all the children, too.
with strength and wisdom true.
Home is where there’s Mother,
and all the children, too.
Out in the hall, I did my mental Marge Simpson grumble–”Hrmmmm”–and hoped that I had just misheard the lyrics. They didn’t actually set up Father as Mr. Strength and Wisdom whilst lumping Mother in with the rest of the household members who needed his righteous dominion, did they? Well, probably they did, but I was reserving judgment for the time being. Right about then, my sister (who happens to be the Primary president in her ward) came out to the hall and told me that PZ had been quite disturbed that Father got strength and wisdom, while Mother just got stuck with the kids. Yes, we chuckled over it, but I also said, “Good for her.” At least that’s what I was thinking. Inside the Primary room, they were still practicing the song and the music director was telling the kids, “This time, sing it like you mean it.” PZ burst out, “But I don’t mean it!” And at this moment, as much as I wanted her to suck it up and not make a scene or embarrass her cousins, I also couldn’t help but think, “That’s my girl!”
For those of you not up to speed on your Mormon Minutiae, the LDS church has a fully correlated curriculum–it’s a by-product of the David O. McKay era as documented in David O. McKay and the Rise of Modern Mormonism (fascinating read, I assure you)–which means that Primaries all over the world teach their kids the same lessons and the same songs. This “Home Is Where the Heart Is” song is, unfortunately, part of the 2008 Primary program set to take place in October, in every Primary on the face of the earth, including ours. So this was not the last time PZ will have to be affronted by this song, as well she knows. She’s written (and mailed) a letter to the General Primary Board, hoping that the lyrics to this song will be changed by prophetic mandate before the October program. No, we have not yet begun to see the end of PZ angst over this topic. And I have to tell you, this time I’m grateful for my daughter’s utter inability to let stuff go. It may be sad and wrong, but part of me is actually looking forward to her complaining every week about this song. I hope she complains good and loud. It’s nothing new–folks in our Primary are used to PZ’s feminist rants–but it has the potential for something big. Like what? I don’t know. It’s just so rare that I can support my daughter’s righteous anger, and I’d like to relish it, if you don’t mind.
I realize how silly this must sound, making such a big deal out of a little song–really, only a little part of a little song–as though I didn’t belong to a patriarchal church with a treasure trove of gender disparities that are hard to reconcile with my basic sense of justice, not to mention logic. You’re probably wondering, all things considered, if Madhousewife doesn’t have bigger theological fish to fry. Well, yes, ordinarily I do. But this is not a theological fish fry. It is a cultural fish fry. Where the fish are sometimes coated in theological batter. I’m going to abandon this metaphor before it destroys me. Next paragraph, please.
I know I belong to a patriarchal religion. I’ve come to terms with that, in a way. I had to find a way to live with it, so I did. Find a way, I mean. And the fact is, most Mormon women don’t feel oppressed by the church’s patriarchal structure. I don’t feel oppressed by it. It is more an intellectual annoyance than anything–because, in fact, there is much in the religion that is empowering to women. Some Mormon women don’t even find it difficult to reconcile those aspects with the patriarchal ones. I am not one of those women, but that is neither here nor there. The church continues to evolve on gender issues. Some things really have changed; others really haven’t. But the fact remains: back when this “Home” song was written, it was not controversial to assert that men had authority over their wives and children, but these days no one would get up in church and say that without ducking. Today there is an increased emphasis on wives and husbands being equal partners, even while the church refuses to repudiate the patriarchal order.
This is frustrating for most Mormon feminists, who would rather deal with open sexism than this political correctness, but I’ve chosen to take the church at its word. We believe in both patriarchy and equality–fine. It may not make sense, but neither does a lot of other stuff; it’s religion, not rocket science. I can dig that. What I can’t dig–won’t dig–is the notion that this doctrinal paradox mustn’t produce cognitive dissonance. Some folks don’t have the cognitive dissonance; I appreciate that. But they need to understand that their lack of cognitive dissonance is attributable to faith, not reason. Not that reason doesn’t inform faith; it does. But religious mysteries cannot be “solved” by reason alone. That is why they are mysteries. I don’t want to remake church doctrine to suit my personal sensibilities, but I insist on acknowledging the mysteries, so I insist on acknowledging the cognitive dissonance.
This is why I’m happy to have my daughter publicly object to this silly Primary song–not because I think it’s a hill worth dying on, but because I know it’s not a hill the church is willing to die on either. It’s just a tiny thing that niggles at me, and so I niggle back. It’s easy to say, “Well, it’s just a song, and there’s a rhyme scheme and a rhythm to maintain, and it doesn’t mean that Mother doesn’t have ’strength and wisdom true,’ just like Father, but there just wasn’t enough room to say it that way, and for the love of Mike, it’s just a song, what do you want, Madhousewife/Princess Zurg?” But it’s also just as easy to point out this: A hundred little things add up. My daughter hears this song and thinks it diminishes women. I think it infantilizes them. It’s not devastating; it’s not abusive; it’s just annoying–nothing more than annoying, in and of itself. But if the church wants its patriarchy-equality paradox, maybe it should stop teaching my children songs that undermine its professed value of male-female equality. It’s a little thing, precisely. That’s why it’s not too much to ask.
Make no mistake–I labor under no illusion that the church is going to change this song or have it removed from the children’s songbook, nor will I be embittered because of that. I just want other people to think about it, about its implications. Something they won’t be able to help doing when my daughter runs out of the room screaming every time they sing it.
I haven’t had a shower since Tuesday. And now the painters are here to finish up my bathroom, and Thursday’s not looking good for a shower either.
Good thing my social life is already non-existent.
Speaking of non-existent, I’ve decided that Mitt Romney does have a Mormon problem. It’s just not the Mormon problem he thinks he has. Yeah, there are people out there who wouldn’t vote for a Mormon if he were Barack Obama himself, but I still think those numbers are exaggerated. No, Mitt Romney’s Mormon problem is about him. People make fun of his hair and say he looks like a used-car salesman, which is funny because, as someone on one of the Mormon blogs said recently, he really looks just like most of the stake presidents* I’ve had over the years (though handsomer than the average). As far as I know, LDS stake presidents are not disproportionately used-car salesmen. They do tend to share a couple common denominators, though, which are pertinent to the discussion because Mitt Romney was a stake president himself for nine years. (*A stake president in the LDS church is roughly equivalent to a Catholic bishop, as I understand it.)
I was not surprised to learn that Mitt Romney was a stake president. As I said, he looks like a stake president. And he’s the type of man who gets asked to be a stake president, i.e. he’s competent and business-like and looks most comfortable in a suit and tie. Now, I’m not saying that all stake presidents are the same. I’m saying they all look the same. Mitt Romney was also a bishop (roughly equivalent to a parish priest), for two or three years, and that impressed me somewhat more. Bishops work very closely with the members of their ward (parish) on a daily basis, spending upwards of thirty hours a week (on top of their day job) ministering to the flock, if you’ll pardon the pastoral metaphor. Stake presidents, on the other hand, are executives. They’re big-picture guys. They’re the dudes at HQ who give the orders. Theirs is an important job, but it’s far more remote from the people they serve.
Stake president is a job that seems well-suited to Mitt Romney’s particular talents. I have difficulty picturing him as a bishop (though stake presidents are often former bishops, just not always). Which doesn’t mean I think he would have made a lousy bishop, just that it’s easier for me to see him in a remote leadership role, not down in the trenches with the rest of us. I’m not trying to paint stake presidents as detached, because they’re certainly emotionally invested in their jobs. But it’s like this: I’ve always been very fond of all my bishops. I often have trouble remembering who my stake president is. (Although it’s easy to remember who my current stake president is, as he’s a prominent OB/GYN in Portland, and I think he’s delivered half the Mormon babies on the west side. Not mine, of course. Ew.)
Which brings me back to Mitt Romney. It’s really hard for me to tell who Mitt Romney is. Not because he changes his positions on certain things. That actually doesn’t bother me. I care what people do now and what they plan to do in the future, more than I care about what they did x number of years ago. No, it’s hard to tell who Mitt Romney is because he seems always to be wearing his “church face.” It’s a common mindset among Mormons that one is always being scrutinized, and that one’s actions inevitably reflect on the church itself. That is a suffocating responsibility. The natural response is to hide. Is Mitt Romney hiding something? I think he is–though it’s hard to say whether I suspect he’s hiding or I just hope he’s hiding. Because if he isn’t holding back, if this is all there really is–I don’t know. I just don’t know.
I think that’s why I’ve been so put off, watching him go negative in the campaign, because he’s such a bland personality otherwise. John McCain is a mean SOB, and everyone knows he’s a mean SOB, but he’s a compelling candidate (not the “best” candidate, not the one I’m supporting) because he just puts it all out there. He’s obviously passionate and sincerely determined about certain things. He’ll follow Osama bin Laden “to the gates of hell.” I mean, golly, that is disconcerting, but you know he means it. I say if you’re going to be an SOB, be an SOB. You know what I’m saying? Let your freak flag fly.
On the other hand, a few right-wing Romney-loving pundits, noting that the other Republican candidates seem to genuinely dislike Romney, have speculated that those other guys are just jealous. I mean, let’s face it: the dude’s a millionaire; he has a wonderful family; he’s been wildly successful in his life; I think he made People magazine’s list of most beautiful people in 2002; he’s got a kid named “Tagg”–what’s not to hate?
Am I jealous of Mitt Romney? I confess I tend to gravitate toward people who are deeply flawed. People like Rudy Giuliani, they have that rock star quality that I find so irresistible. Mitt Romney is a star of a different genre. He reminds me of those guys in the romantic comedies–the good-looking, successful guys who expect to get the girl, but the girl ends up going for the lovable loser instead, because they have such good chemistry. It’s interesting that I would be that girl, because I’m not usually that romantic. I’m frequently yelling at the screen, “What are you doing? That guy doesn’t have a job! He can’t even bother to shave, for Pete’s sake!” But here I am, faced with the obvious choice of the competent and upstanding Mitt Romney, and who am I going for? The cross-dressing adulterer? Are you yelling at the screen yet?
I can bring this post full-circle by quoting Mike Huckabee’s recent exchange with Jay Leno on the Tonight Show, which wins an award for creepiest joke by a politician this year:
Leno: So you were going to do an ad.
Huckabee: Right. So we put together an ad and taped the tape, got it all ready. We were going to release it at a press conference, and Monday I just didn’t feel right. We had gotten where we are by being positive and talking about what this country needs to be rather than what’s wrong with the other guys, and I just said –
Leno: As you were making it did you feel like –
Huckabee: I needed to go take a shower or something like that or give Romney a shower maybe. I don’t know.
On the one hand, ew. On the other, I’m jealous.
And now it’s time to clutter up the blog with a YouTube video:
I used to think that the reason people couldn’t have constructive disagreements was that they talked past each other. You know, not addressing each other’s concerns, not using the same “language,” misunderstandings, blah blah. This morning I was visiting one of the big Mormon blogs and read a comment that I disagreed with, and I was going to respond to it, but then the only words I could come up with were, “How do you not see what a sanctimonious p**** you are?” And I don’t even use the word “p****,” which made it all the more disconcerting.
Take-home message: the reason people don’t have constructive disagreements is that so few of them think like me. Is this the end of the innocence?
I feel obligated to comment on Mitt Romney’s Big Speech that took place yesterday. I wouldn’t, except that so many other people have commented, and so many of those comments have been dumb. Maybe I don’t want to comment on the speech itself but only some of the comments. Actually, I don’t have much to say about the speech, except that it was definitely the most compelling thing I’ve ever heard come out of Mitt Romney’s mouth. Well, technically I didn’t hear it come out of his mouth. I only read the transcript. And having heard a lot of Mormons speak in my day, I felt as though I could recreate the delivery pretty accurately in my mind (accounting for the fact that Mitt Romney speaks twice as fast as the average Mormon–must be an east-of-the-Rockies thing).
Anyway, generally I liked it. Granted, my expectations were low, because frankly I didn’t see how such a speech could do anyone any good, least of all Mitt Romney, whom I don’t support as a candidate (yet), but as a fellow human being, I had my concerns. (Okay, as a fellow Republican I had concerns. I really don’t worry too much about Ted Kennedy screwing up a speech and destroying his career. That’s probably because Ted Kennedy’s career was born covered in a thick layer of asbestos. I seem to be picking on Ted Kennedy a lot lately. That’s probably because I’m hoping that if I stop mentioning John Edwards, he will eventually go away. So far it isn’t working. But I’m a patient woman.)
Originally I was in that camp that said the speech was pointless because if he was trying to appease people who had misgivings about his religion, he was fighting a losing battle. It’s possible to overcome one’s misgivings about a religion–happens more often than you’d think, actually–but such developments usually require divine intervention, or a psychotic break with reality, depending on your point of view. Anyway, a speech doesn’t usually do the trick, no matter how nice it is. It’s far more realistic to dispel people’s misgivings about individuals, including individuals who happen to be Mormons, but I thought that Mitt had had plenty of time to dispel people’s misgivings about him personally, and if he hadn’t dispelled mine yet, the likelihood that he would dispel those of people who were hung up on his religion was vanishingly small.
While the speech wasn’t perfect, I was still impressed. I could nitpick if I were so inclined, but I confess that I’m moved to view the weaker passages charitably. (As a fellow Republican and all. I was going to say fellow Mormon–I’m not above a little denominational cronyism–but then I realized I don’t really care if Harry Reid screws up a speech either.) Also, I’m a sucker for that God Bless America stuff. For the first time during Romney’s long campaign I felt a scintilla of enthusiasm for the man. (If you’ll excuse me getting caught up in the moment there–we Mormons are emotional types.)
So there you have it. It doesn’t bother me that other people didn’t like the speech as much as I did, or that they’re less inclined to view the weaker passages charitably–especially if those people aren’t religious people because, really, there was not much there for Americans who are confirmed secularists, and there were a couple lines that I would not expect to sit well with non-believers (unless they were possessed of a superhuman maturity or, possibly, apathy). “Freedom requires religion just as religion requires freedom” is one such line. That was clumsily written, possibly ill-considered, but on the scale of offensiveness, it probably ranks higher than it ought to. (I respect your right to respectfully disagree.)
And I concede that as long as he was praising other faiths, it would have been nice to throw a bone to some eastern religions–but only if he’d been Mike Huckabee. When it comes to religions with polytheistic pantheons, a Mormon politician really can’t afford to go there. (You probably have to be a Christian to understand why. But if you’re a Christian, you’re probably not lamenting how often Buddhism gets overlooked, either.) Also, it’s very possible Mitt doesn’t know the first thing about eastern religions, which should be forgivable, as a large percentage of Westerners don’t know the first thing about western religions, and certainly not about Mormonism.
And here’s where the dumb criticisms come in. One particular quibble was that Romney was supposed to be addressing the issue of his own faith, but he only mentioned the word “Mormon” once. (Contrast this with JFK’s famous speech, wherein he used the word “Catholic” twenty times.) My reaction? Um…whatev. Yeah, not even worth a whole “whatever.” And I never shorten “whatever,” so you know I really mean it. I think lots of people may have been expecting Romney to talk more about Mormonism per se, but those people were expecting a speech that Romney was wise not to give. Also, here’s a little secret: as a general rule, Mormons don’t say the word “Mormon” nearly as much as Not-Mormons do. I say the word “Mormon” a lot, but I say it with self-conscious irony, usually when I’m making fun of us. (Yes, I know, I’m a subtle one. We all are, but that’s another secret I won’t explicate at this time.) Walk into one of our church meetings, where we–hold onto your hats–talk about our religion a lot, and we still don’t use the word “Mormon” all that much.
Maybe this is a product of twentieth-century assimilation, but I actually think it’s because our religion isn’t actually Mormon-centric. Yes, Mormon is the name of a person–or alleged person, if you prefer, and he compiled a group of holy writings that eventually became the book that bears his name. But we never intended to name the religion after him, mainly because we’ve always labored under the delusion that we worship God. As I’ve written here before, Mormons have an uneasy history with their third-party-imposed moniker and what with people getting all huffy about us calling ourselves “Christians,” frankly we’re not sure what we should call ourselves, even among ourselves. Hence the relative infrequency of “Mormon” in our speech. Not that we’re hung up on it. We’re far too busy with the whole food-storage thing. (Or in my case, the lack of food-storage thing.) That’s why this criticism is so curious. It would never occur to me to expect Mitt Romney to say the word “Mormon” a lot in a speech given to anyone, let alone an audience of diverse religious preference, and I’d be astonished to learn that Mitt’s underuse of the word was pre-meditated. (And I believe very little of what Mitt Romney does is not pre-meditated–surely a strength in his professional career, but perhaps not in his political one.)
Another criticism is that he didn’t talk about specific Mormon beliefs. As though that would be reassuring for anyone. Yes, that’s a recipe for unifying a party: focus on our differences. Oh, wait, that’s a different recipe. I forget what for…doesn’t matter. Bill Bennett said it was a fine speech, but that it could have been given by any one of the candidates. True enough, but as several others have pointed out, Romney was the only candidate who had to give such a speech. (Arguably, Rudy Giuliani might have had to give a similar speech at some point, but probably not, as JFK did the heavy lifting on the Catholic front, and Bill Clinton did the heavy lifting on the “that’s between us and our God” front. No, I’m not fishing for Lewinsky jokes here. Save them.) And if the purpose was to allay people’s fears of creeping Mormonism, getting into Mormon theology–which is complex and not altogether settled–would have been counterproductive. Because who really cares about Mormon theology, other than Mormons? No one. Sure, others might be curious, but you don’t elect a President who can satisfy your curiosity; you elect one who can lead. And people who waste time explaining the inexplicable to people who don’t care make very poor leaders. In my opinion. Take that for what it’s worth.
And now the final criticism, that Mitt Romney’s given in and made his religion an issue and now has no right to expect the media (and voters) to leave it alone: I can only say, for God’s sake, give it a rest, people. (That is a politesse spin on “Why are you such a sanctimonious p****?”)
I didn’t even address the myriad of MoCriticisms of the speech, but in other Mormon news:
In an interview Tuesday Harry Reid declined to give Brother Romney any advice on his Mormon speech, but that doesn’t mean he himself was speechless:
“Well,” Mr. Reid said, “I believe Mitt Romney, who’s a man I’ve never met — don’t particularly want to — a man I’ve never met, that I would hope that his running for president would be determined on his politics and not his religion.” (emphasis added)
You know, Mitt Romney may be a lot of things, a Mormon and a flipping phony among them–but at least he’s not small. I’ll give him that.
So last Friday’s Featured Question on the Xanga was “Should religion be taught in public schools?”–which is an interesting question, because if I read it one way, my answer is “Of course not,” but if I read it another way, my answer is “Good heavens, no!” but for entirely different reasons.
In my opinion, it’s clearly unconstitutional to “teach religion in public school” in the sense of indoctrinating students with religious doctrines. As in, Teacher stands up in class and informs students that Jesus died for their sins and they have to accept him as their personal savior in order to avoid eternal damnation.* (Or, alternatively, Teacher gets up and informs students that, I dunno, if they do bad stuff they’ll get bad karma and be reincarnated with a crappy life. My Hinduism is, um, sketchy. My apologies.) Unconstitutional, inappropriate and rather a waste of time on top of that. Whether particular expressions of a religious nature, e.g. student-led prayer, extra-curricular Bible clubs, etc., are unconstitutional is not something I wish to explore here (because I’m on a schedule, okay?).
*When I was in the sixth grade, a substitute teacher performed an impromptu passion play during a language arts lesson. Everyone was really uncomfortable. Which, if I recall correctly, was the gist of his message: Crucifixion ≠ Comfortable.
On the other hand, it’s not unconstitutional to teach about religion in public school, and Stephen Prothero of Boston University thinks our society would be better off if our citizens were more religiously literate. He says that it would improve public discourse. He wrote a book about all this. (You can take his religious literacy quiz, if this blog starts to bore you and you need something else to do.) His is a compelling argument. I can tell you that I thought many times, whilst in college, that various works of literature and many historical events-slash-trends were easier to understand in light of the religious cultural context. (At this time I also went to church with a woman who taught English in the public schools, and she said she found it very difficult to teach Paradise Lost without bringing up religion. And I thought, “You people teach Paradise Lost in high school?” Aside from Shakespeare and Beowulf, my high school teachers didn’t show us anything that was written in English prior to the The Scarlet Letter. But that may have been a California thing.)
However, as noble and constitutional as Professor Prothero’s (try saying that three times fast–on second thought, try saying it once, at all) proposed religious literacy curriculum is, when I think of how such classes would “work” in real life, with real public school teachers and real public school students, I can only say, “Good luck with that.”
Number one: There’s no unringing that no-religion-in-public-school bell that was sounded back in the twentieth century. My generation, at least, has been successfully trained to faint at the mere mention of God in a non-private setting. Even persons of faith have been known to squirm at the sight of the Ten Commandments on display, just out there for anyone, regardless of their religious beliefs, to see. (Shocking!)* It would probably take neurosurgery to cure us of this response.
(*Note: Not that I contend that posting the Ten Commandments is a politically neutral issue, but I do think people tend to get hysterical when protesting such displays. Seriously, is this what most offends you about your environment? If so, you’re either extremely lucky or extremely unobservant. I wish I had such indignation to spare.)
Number two: Can you imagine trying to teach a course in the Bible to teenagers, who think they know everything? Everyone, regardless of his or her religious upbringing or background, will have a chip on his or her shoulder. And if you’re unlucky enough to have both evangelical Christian and Mormon students in your class, just run for the flipping hills. That is not a dynamic you want to engage. I haven’t even gotten to the part where every kid feels persecuted and put-upon, and their parents threaten to sue you in case you haven’t already rotted in hell. Seriously, just hand them a bunch of sticks and let them start beating each other. It would be just as educational.
I’m in kind of a cynical mood today. Maybe not the best time to ask me about religion in public life. Hm.
As long as I’m on the subject, though, Richard Land of the Southern Baptist Convention’s Ethics & Religious Liberty Commission has said that Mormonism is the “fourth Abrahamic religion,” the first three being Judaism, Christianity and Islam. This strikes some as being less offensive than the usual characterization of Mormonism as a dangerous cult, but it tends to rub Mormons the wrong way because we just can’t seem to let go of this idea that everyone should accept us as “real” Christians. I used to feel that way. It’s a recipe for perpetual disappointment. My husband gave up calling himself a Christian years ago. These days I’m mostly agnostic on the subject, but I’m not sure I prefer the dignity of “fourth Abrahamic religion” to the kitschy flash of “cult.” Actually, I like to think of Mormonism as the “bastard child of Christianity,” but I don’t think that one’s going to catch on, with Mormons, Baptists or the press.
This reminds me of when I was growing up in the church and use of the word “Mormon” (to describe ourselves) was somewhat discouraged. Someone got the idea that if we never referred to ourselves as Mormons but always said that we belonged to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, people might start to believe that we were Christians. Which was nothing more than wishful thinking, but that’s beside the point. I’ve never liked using the church’s official name, mostly because it’s way too long. Seriously, maybe they had time to carry around that cumbersome moniker in the nineteenth century, but no one has time to listen to a name like that anymore, let alone speak it. If someone asks you what religion you are and you respond with “I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” the reaction you’re most likely to get is either, “Mormons, eh?” or alternatively, “Huh-wha?”–in which case you’ll eventually end up telling them you’re Mormon anyway, because that religion people have heard of.
And I’ve never thought that “the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” sounded any less culty than “Mormon.” Actually, it sounds more culty, because if you need that many words to describe your organization, it’s got to mean that you’re hiding something. Maybe that’s why self-referring as “Mormon” came back into vogue in the church a few years ago.*
*COJCOLDS President Gordon B. Hinckley said that “Mormon” should mean “more good.” I say “Mormon” should mean “Mo Betta,” but again, no one’s asking me to write the AP Stylebook.
As long as I’m being totally random, I read a news article the other day about the use of tribal names for sports teams. Dennis Prager was discussing this once on his radio show, and a caller who found the practice offensive asked Dennis how he would feel if a team wanted to call itself the Fighting Jews. I think Dennis’s reply was something like, after the last 3,000 years he’d be overjoyed to learn that the Jews had fans. Which is funny, ha ha, but it got me to thinking, what if there were a team called the Mormons? (No qualifier necessary, as the mere specter of those clean-cut boys in white shirts and ties is enough to strike fear in the heart of any opponent, except maybe those Fighting Amish.) I’ve never understood why BYU’s team was called the “Cougars.” What is that, a “mountain” thing, I guess? Seems kind of lame to me.
Which reminds me:
Mormonews
BYU NEWSNET–”12 Former LDS Missionaries Posing for Controversial Calendar” *
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You mean that stereotype that we’re all FREAKS? Yeah, I’m so glad that myth is finally being dispelled.
(*Hat tip: Mormon Mommy Wars. In other words, I do NOT regularly read BYU Newsnet.)
Sugar Daddy’s Pillow Talk: Is God a math geek?
Sugar Daddy: If I were God, could I make people with twelve fingers and still be creating them in my own image?
Madhousewife: What…?
SD: It would just be a lot more convenient.
Mad: How so?
SD: Because then you’d have your number system as base twelve instead of base ten. A lot more convenient.
Mad: I don’t understand.
SD: Because twelve can be halved, thirded, and quartered, without using decimals. A lot more convenient.
Mad: Okay.
SD: (Falls asleep counting sheep in base 12)
Mad: (Up all night)*
*Dramatic license: Actually, it was my Restless Leg Syndrome that kept me up all night. But it’s funnier to think that I was up all night contemplating my husband’s madness.
Mister Bubby: “Ev’ry Time I Feel the Spirit”
So we had our Primary Program at church yesterday. For you NoMos, this is the annual event where all the kids aged three to twelve run the chapel service. Okay, so they have direction from some grown-ups, but they are the “performers.” (I guess we’re not supposed to call it “performing” in church, but I don’t know the religious word for “get up and sing songs and say the lines you’ve rehearsed.”) Anyway, it is not uncommon for parents to get a little teary-eyed whilst watching their sweet children sing praises unto the Most High (not universal, but not uncommon–we Mormons are an emotional bunch). I myself was moved to tears yesterday when Mister Bubby, singing a rousing chorus of “I will go, I will do/The things the Lord commands!”, started bringing on the funk with some improvised dance moves. I might not have cried had I not been working so hard to stifle my laughter.* I suppose I shouldn’t encourage him. Except that I think I want to.
*This was even funnier than the year five-year-old Princess Zurg ran down the aisles screaming, “I have to leave this place!” Primary Program = Good Times.
The husband and I do not get out to the cinema much. The last movie we saw in an actual theatre was a charity screening of Serenity, benefiting Equality Now, back in June. Before that, I don’t know…I think it was X-Men. Just kidding. Golly, I honestly don’t remember. Point being, we see most of our movies on DVD, but lately–what with The Simpsons being on DVD and all–we haven’t even been renting any movies lately. But Friday night we felt like watching a movie, so Sugar Daddy went to the Blockbuster and came home with two rentals. You will never guess which two. No, don’t even bother because it is impossible that either of these titles would ever cross your mind in a million years. Are you ready? Battlestar Gallactica and Church Ball.
For the blissfully ignorant, Church Ball is one of many films produced by Halestorm Entertainment, the premier B-movie studio of Mormon cinema. Technically, all Mormon cinema is B-movies, so Halestorm is really the premier C- or D-movie studio of Mormon cinema, but I digress. Halestorm specializes in self-consciously Mormon comedies of low budget and marginal quality. Some of these films have flashes of brilliance, or at least really funny parts, but most of them are just unadulterated crap. Like you look at the box and think, “There is no way this could possibly not suck.” And none of their films could possibly appeal to anyone outside the Mormon community. They are designed to make money off of those Mormons with disposable income who will laugh at anything. Halestorm’s best contribution to the genre thusfar is Sons of Provo, a mockumentary about an aspiring Mormon boy band called Everclean. It’s no Some Like It Hot, but it is consistently entertaining. If you like that sort of thing. We got enough laughs out of the trailer to gamble that it would be worth a look-see, and ’twas.
Anyway, perhaps it was the success of Sons of Provo which led us to have elevated expectations for Church Ball. That and the fact that Gary Coleman has a supporting role. Yes, Gary Coleman and Fred Willard. How could it not be at least a little bit good? Oh, come on! Somehow, though, Halestorm managed to screw it up. As SD said, it was like they had a brainstorming session about what would make a funny movie and then filmed the brainstorming session. Only it was one of those brainstorming sessions where you realize afterwards that the ideas only sounded good because you were drunk at the time. Except that the Halestorm guys are Mormons and thus probably were not drunk, but maybe goofed-up on Mountain Dew. Who knows?
It started promisingly enough, what with an elderly sister being escorted past the church gymnasium and getting beaned in the head with a stray basketball, but it was all downhill from there.
Here’s the story. Once upon a time the Church embraced basketball as a fun and wholesome way to build community and promote fellowship (as opposed to the usual, unwholesome fellowship people had been subjected to in the past). As a side note, this is actually how my uncle–my mother’s brother–was introduced to the LDS church, through a church ball league. Unable to play basketball for his school team, he accepted a Mormon friend’s invitation to play for his church team, the only catch being that he had to go to church with him (at least as long as the basketball season was going on). My uncle really did want to play basketball that much, and eventually decided he wanted to be a Mormon, too, so he got baptized, and shortly thereafter so did my grandparents and my mother. So in short, if it hadn’t been for church basketball, my mother would never have become a Mormon and thus probably wouldn’t have married my Mormon dad, and I would never have been born. So if you enjoy reading this blog, thank a Mormon basketball player. Or something.
Anyway, the joke is that basketball is the official church sport and that the men take it way too seriously and are so competitive and crazy when it comes to actual games that all Christian sensibilities and decorum fall by the wayside–a situation fraught with opportunity for humor, both wholesome and otherwise. (Actually, when some Mormon friends of our heard there was going to be a movie about church basketball, they asked, “How are they going to keep it PG?”) So we have our hero of Church Ball, a guy named Dennis, who plays for the Mud Flats team, a ragtag bunch of lovable losers who love the game but can’t play it worth a darn and whose uniforms don’t match. The Mud Flats team is in a deep-seated rivalry with the Crystal Springs (I think–Crystal Something) team, who are their polar opposite: they have awesome uniforms, play like professionals and in short are “winners”–not the good kind of winners, though, but the kind of winners that are jerks and need to be taken down a peg or two. Crystal Springs has been the church league champion for like, twenty years, and they are just soooo freaking obnoxious about it. Why are these two teams rivals when there’s no real competition between them? Well, Virginia, it seems that it’s personal. The two brothers who dominate the Crystal Springs team, Brad and Brent–or Buck and Bradley, I don’t remember–have been bullying Dennis ever since they were all kids, and that really irritates him. But what can he do?
So the Mud Flats bishop (Fred Willard) is a former church ball player who also nurses an unhealthy obsession with the sport. You can tell he is something of a “character,” because he insults the referees from the sidelines and works on a playbook that he hides behind his scriptures during church meetings. Also, he wears an eyepatch. This is possibly the funniest thing about the movie. But I digress. The bishop tells Dennis that the Higher-Ups have decided that the church won’t sponsor the basketball league anymore and that this is their last chance to win that championship trophy and he wants Dennis to lead Mud Flats to victory, once and for all. Dennis protests that he’s no coach and besides, their team is terrible, so how could they ever win? The bishop appeals to his sense of religious duty, so Dennis accepts the challenge. Then he breaks his tailbone in the first game and has to scramble to find a replacement so they won’t have to forfeit the rest of the season. The rest of the movie is a journey toward self-awareness and redemption, wherein Dennis and his teammates fellowship a disaffected (but athletic) church member, recruit Gary Coleman (it’s a long story), eat fewer doughnuts, and meet a Magical Black Man, whose sole purpose is to teach the clueless white guys that everyone is a winner, you just have to look inside for their special talent.
This would all be well and good if it worked, but it doesn’t, for the following reasons (in no particular order):
1. The actor who plays Dennis is miscast, at best. He is what you would call “low-key.” He conveys absolutely no energy or enthusiasm or emotion of any kind that would indicate that he is invested in the outcome of this story. In any given scene, games included, he looks like he would actually rather be taking a nap. I wished he would take a nap, too, and maybe he would wake up and be interesting, but that never happened.
2. The film is narrated by Dennis’s wife, a peripheral character who has nothing to do with ninety percent of what transpires onscreen. So why is she narrating the story? So she can tell us that Dennis loves basketball. Because we would never know if it was up to Dennis to show us how much he cares about basketball. The film relies a lot on Dennis’s wife to tell us how Dennis feels about what is going on around him. And also to point out how silly all of this male posturing is. My goodness, boys, it’s just a game. Why don’t you get that???
3. Like most Halestorm pictures, the editing is slightly off. Key characters are introduced far too late. Everyone’s timing is half a beat too slow. You know where all of this is going and you don’t understand why they don’t just get there already. What’s taking so long? Mormon Standard Time?
4. The film relies on stereotypes but they’re really poorly-drawn stereotypes. Most of what we know about them is what Dennis’s wife tells us.
5. Like 99% of Halestorm pictures, the tone is uneven. It can’t decide what kind of movie it wants to be. The good thing is that there’s no distracting conversion/coming-to-Jesus subplot, but there are all these other distracting subplots that I think are supposed to be funny and/or heartwarming (like the Mud Flats janitor with the bad heart who’s in love with the overweight church organist), but are actually just mildly irritating.
6. Fred Willard is utterly wasted. And I don’t mean that he appears to have been stoned during filming. That would have resulted in a more entertaining movie. No, he is far too restrained here. Fellows, you don’t hire Fred Willard so you can rein him in. He needs to be let loose and free to say whatever insane thing comes to his brain. His character habitually makes fleeting references to wild times in his past–like the time he almost lost his spleen–but keeps cutting himself off with, “But that’s a story I’ll save for another time,” and you just want to scream, “No, Fred! Don’t save the story for another time! Tell the story now! Any story would be better than the one we’re watching!” Don’t put Fred Willard in a corner, people. That’s all I gotta say.
And lastly, but definitely not leastly,
7. Mormonism has been neutered out of the picture. There are no explicit references to anything specifically Mormon, no one ever says the word “Mormon,” and this may very well have been a self-preservation strategy, because if I were the Church and somebody made this crap movie about me, I would have to excommunicate some people. Just kidding! But seriously, in a misguided attempt to give the story a more generic framework–and theoretically have a wider appeal, as unlikely as that seems?–they lost the opportunity to make a story about something real. These folks are all certainly Mormon (except for Gary Coleman–it’s a long story), but it’s a secret–shh. The result is that it feels phony–neither hot nor cold and therefore to be spewn out of the mouth, if you will. Mormon stories don’t have to be a niche market, if you invest them with some authenticity. People enjoy well-told stories about real people and situations; they don’t want to have to fill in the blanks themselves–that’s the storyteller’s job. You need to let your freak flag fly, Halestorm. That’s my advice.
I’d promise you a review of Battlestar Gallactica and an essay on the Mormon obsession with it, but I’m afraid I’d have no intention of keeping that promise. Happy Monday to all!
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