Bible Code, Christmas Culture Wars, and Traffic

Bible Code and Don Camillo

We were at a Christmas party and I met a lady who was much involved in the Bible Code.
"Gematria!?" I wondered aloud, pulling my beard.
My wife recognized signs of danger and began to kick me, once, then twice. Then a whole series of kicks and harrumphs before I could jeremiah "Idolatry! Jezebel!" at the code lady. Of course, the lady of codes began to think she had made a mistake and my wife and I were actually two German Christmas figures, carved cunningly from wood and rigged up with wires and pulleys for movement, that had somehow escaped from the Christmas Carousel that turns from the heat of candles. The candles had been too hot, causing us to come to life like a Golem with a hot-foot. We obviously were becoming a danger.
"Dybbuk..." I thought suddenly. "Ah, the Bi-i-i-ble Code," I said unctuously. "Yes. My,my...  Indeed." and so on.

 I suppose the Bible Code is all right for people who conceive of God as something like Will Shortz of New York Times Crossword fame. Tricky dickens, is His Holiness. His labyrinthine ways. There are already a lot of "Trickster" gods: Kokopelli, Loki...scads of them. Why not just worship them? Bow down before the whole bloody panoply of the pagan pantheon for all I care. Well and good. I suppose that if one were to come across this divine trickster god at the racetrack, he ( or He ) would have a joy-buzzer concealed in his mighty palm when we shook hands. And He'd laugh so hard, all the aces would fall from the folds of his robe.
If God wants to talk to us, why would He be so Rubik's Cube about it? Just come up and say right out: Thou shalt not...! Come to think of it, He has.

This all reminds me of Don Camillo. He was a simple parish priest in a simple, small Italian village that lead a simple existence. The Don Camillo books were written around the 40's and 50's. God did talk to Don Camillo now and then, however. And no tricky stuff. God spoke quite clearly, although He did use a dialect from around Taormina. The mayor of the village was a Communist. Ah, the tension between him and Don Camillo was the plot of many a tale. He was, however, a fairly simple communist and believed in live and let live. Both being paisans, their differences all came out O.K. in the end. God smiled. Nowadays such villages are ethnic cleansing the snot out of each other. Brave New World and all that!  

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Christmas Culture Wars

We are lucky. We live in a community that is pretty much the old dulce far niente when it comes to holiday fisticuffs and Christmas etiquette from the Marquis of Queensbury. Want a menorah? Sure. No Problem. Christmas displays? Have a go at it. I used to combine the two whenever I found a tumbleweed that was symmetrically branched. It already looked like a menorah. I added a 2 penny bow for a Christmas ornament, stuck it to the door and there it was, a Christmas menorah. It would last forever, since the weed was already dried out.

Bill O'Reilly was be apoplectic if he were here. No one yelling about Christmas - oops, Xmas - displays. No one kvetching about Hannukah displays. Just trying to make a living- God bless us every one. Except for one thing. The city council has passed a bylaw prohibiting the throwing of snowballs at people. Balls of snow are strengstens verboten. This is rather great, since its only the small fry whose rights are being impinged upon. I seem to remember when I signed up to start this Blog, the powers that be asked me a question. It was a Random Question. It was not only random, but decidedly odd, too: What would you name your ballet inspired by the sight of children leaping through a garden sprinkler? So I wrote "Arroser les maudits" which loosely translates as "Water them bastards!" Of course, I would never, ever do such a thing. And, if by chance I were to do such a thing, I would chuckle and invite everyone over to the Community Center for some hot, hot cocoa. It is very cold when you spray the hose on kids in winter.
Anyway, snowballs are an extinct species. This means I shall be able to wear the old top hat to the opera without fearing that I would be stepping into a hail of ITKs ( improvised topper knockers; i.e., snowballs). I had forgotten that I had sworn never to return to the local Opery House after the Porgy and Bess fiasco. Well, I shall wear it anyway.  

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Traffic My average interval between pulling out the drive and onto the roadway and my first curse is about 5 minutes. I think this is standard. Any pursuit, such as driving, which is the source of phenomena like Road Rage is definitely not a pursuit of happiness. I was listening to NPR about a Moose on the Loose traffic problem in Minnesota. Good label. Road Rage, Moose on the Loose, Route Gout, Pain in the Lane,... the list may be endless.