Katie & Scott & Simon & Cecily.
Today, I gave a phone interview for a local news channel because they saw a tweet I had made from the San Mateo bridge, where a big rig had flipped and a boat was hitting the side of the bridge.
We were on our way to a Boston-Oakland baseball game, where we still are because the game is now in the 11th inning.
Katie got cheese in her hair, so it’s clearly been worth it.
Adopting a zombie on Facebook makes people like you.
Posting a note each day? Not so much. Sigh.
Happy Easter everyone!
Katie and I went to church this morning, which is always an interesting experience. We’ve never really had a “home” church, like the one that Katie’s family has gone to regularly in Portland since she was a child. We also tend to go mainly on holidays (Easter, Christmas).
My relationship with organized religion has always been, well, complicated. On Facebook, I list myself as “Lutheranish” and I’ve left it that way for a while. Why did I change it from blank to Lutheranish? Why don’t I change it to just Lutheran?
Because I feel Lutheranish. I grew up without religion. I remember going to a few Buddhist temples, but there was never much beyond that. When we moved to the U.S., we didn’t go to church. Most of my friends in elementary through high school were Jewish.
I had not stepped into a church (except perhaps as a tourist into “famous” churches) until I started dating Katie. The first few times, I’ll admit it was a bit odd. Maybe odd isn’t the right word. I was nervous. And I’m still a bit nervous when I go; I don’t have a lifetime of church-going experiences to look back on.
Why do I get nervous at all? Because churches feel heavy; they feel like “important” places. I get nervous because I don’t know the hymns that well, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do all the time, and I still don’t quite know if I belong.
Because I started this whole thing as a young adult, it’s harder. I’m not baptized and I don’t feel like I’ve had the appropriate experiences as a child to be a true Lutheran now. I also didn’t have my parents teaching me anything about religion as a child, and it’s hard to find time to teach it to myself nowadays. What I have more than anything else is questions.
I like a lot of things about religion: the community that a church fosters, the overall teachings of Jesus Christ, and how friendly being in a place of worship makes everyone. Then, there are the parts of organized religion that are a bit more distressing, that I haven’t quite made peace with. There are sections of the Bible (the Old Testament, mainly) that require further exploration. There’s the historical use of religion as a catalyst for violence and bigotry. But these are almost all on a macro level; one could argue that religion itself is sometimes being exploited for the gain of certain groups of people.
Either way, like most things in life, I think organized religion is a balance. But on a day like Easter, when in a church surrounded by like-minded people who are wishing peace and happiness on their fellow men, it’s hard to see that as anything but a good thing.
I don’t know when the word “spoiler” entered my vernacular (and I’m actually not sure when it started to become popularly used as either a warning or condemnation), but I’m glad it has.
Although I myself don’t particularly like spoilers (I turn up my headphones a bit if people near me at work discuss an episode of Lost I haven’t seen, and I try to remember not to visit entertainment blogs and websites if I know of the possibility of spoilers), I find the passion that surrounds these tiny nuggets of information astounding.
Perhaps the greatest spoiler moment in recent history was when Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released, and people had the opportunity to “ruin” the book for with three simple words.
It’s fascinating on both ends of the spectrum: first, why do some people get satisfaction out of intentionally spoiling (or is it now spoilering?) twists/endings for others? And second, why do some people cling so strongly to the belief that hearing a spoiler (be it intentional or not) is so…wrong?
I imagine we have active spoilerers for the same reason that people like to post blatant negative generalizations on message boards, or shoot their teammates in video games, or edit Wikipedia articles to contain random naughty words, or draw on the fire warning signs by elevators. There’s something in most of us that derives a bit of sinister fun out of what we consider relatively harmless vandalism. Nobody really suffers when I vandalize a random Wikipedia article or draw flames on the guy running down the stairs on the fire warning sign. When I spoiler something for someone, that person doesn’t really suffer any kind of enduring mental distress.
The argument that a spoiler has ruined a show or movie or book is a weak argument. A piece of media isn’t just about the twist or the ending, although M. Night Shymalan may argue differently.
But it makes a certain kind of sense. When you hear a spoiler, it’s as if you’ve lost a bit of innocence; like the cold hard fact that Santa doesn’t exist (oops, SPOILER, if you’re a kid) has suddenly been thrust into your face again as an adult.
Spoilers feel wrong, for some reason. When I accidentally read one online (which is much more common now because of DVR technology) or overhear it, I do feel a bit sad for a moment. But it logically makes little difference. I’ll still watch an episode of Survivor, even if I know who’s going to get voted off. I’ll still watch a movie, even if I know one of the main characters dies in the middle of it. Maybe I’ll watch it in a slightly different way, but if spoilers actually ruined things for me, it would mean I’d never watch an episode of TV or movie or read a book more than once.
So maybe it all boils down to this: if a spoiler ruins something for you, it probably wasn’t that good to begin with.
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