Last of the Christmas Eve deliveries done - now home and 'ZHA for Christmas even dinner - I'll get traditional with food tomorrow :>.

Enjoy the holiday folks - and let's hope next year is better to EVERYONE!

Still working on getting the rest of the New Shinies photographed and up. Most are partly ready, but the hip pain is being sufficiently large that sitting up and walking around brings on nausea. I dislike that particular manifestation of pain. Been resting a bit now, though, so am going to give it another try and see how much further I get.

I want to get these things up to show you, because they really are pretty cool. I had big fun making them.

"If a man has carnal relations with a female slave who has already been living with another man but has not yet been redeemed or given her freedom, they shall be punished but not put to death, because she is not free. The man, moreover, shall bring to the entrance of the meeting tent a ram as his guilt offering to the Lord. With this ram the priest shall make atonement before the Lord for the sin he has committed, and it will be forgiven him."
(Leviticus 19:20-22, New American Bible)

On a Day Jobbe break, headed for the post office and mailed out about 40 Pinion ARCs. Receipt is longer than I am tall, totalling well over $100. Came home with a box to find I now have a big pile of Death of a Starship. The total count of volumes here at Nuevo Rancho Lake does not seem to have been reduced.

Is the universe balancing its books?

Several further email exchanges with the oncology nurse provided some interesting clarifications. I was advised to be careful about "sloppy" kissing. Also to note that tears, saliva, urine, et cetera would all have traces of the drugs.

5-FU, part of my FOLFOX chemo cocktail, interferes with RNA transcription, and is notably teratogenic, i.e., capable of generating horrendous birth defects. So I wrote back and asked how much of this precaution is diligence to avoid conception with this crap in play, and how much of it is related to drug half life and breakdown products. I pointed out that I have had my vasectomy, I don't bareback anyone who is fertile in her own right, so the odds of a defective pregnancy approach those required for divine intervention.

She wrote me back and commented that she thought that most of the science around chemotherapy and sex was about teratogenecity.

I understand this from a liability point of view. I understand this from a conservative medicine point of view. I do not want to introduce cytotoxins to my loved ones through sex, kissing or even excessive sweating. I truly will be the Toxic Avenger, as will anyone who goes through this process. I will not be cowboying my way through my intimate life against all medical advice.

But I find it amusing, and frustrating, that the focus is so overwhelmingly on fertility and its risks that there doesn't seem to be a clear-eyed view, or available information, on the chemo risks in nonfertile sexual environments. Which would of course apply to gay/lesbian couples, the elderly, and anyone of reproductive age who's been medically or surgically rendered infertile. That has to be a fair amount of people, all working under this fertility management regimen.

Curious.

This gives a whole new meaning to "the Big Guy."

that there were a few last-minute people out there in the streets abiding, and it was raining, and they were welcome to it.

However, Brisingamen decided that whatever it was that ailed her could be best cured by a nice hot bath, a glass of cider and a book, so repaired to said nice hot bath, run by her devoted Peake, and soaked there for a quarter hour, attended by her equally devoted but rather anxious Minnow, who has never quite got her head round this human habit of semi-total immersion in water.

And lo, Brisingamen found that she was spot on in her diagnosis of what might cure her, and having emerged from said nice hot bath the colour of a well-cooked lobster, went cheerfully downstairs, watched a chunk of Shrek 2, hurled a long and slow-simmered gammon joint in the oven for a last-minute crisping, while PK did clever things with potatoes, and then they ate a hearty and delicious dinner.

Nicodemus decided that sweetcorn and red cabbage are the dinner of felines and dragged some under the table to finish off. Rosa continued in her mission to impersonate some roadkill, and Smidgin pretended he was sleeping in a nice normal household rather than kibbitzing at the neighbours' again.

Brisingamen and Peake are now going to finish their Victorian Farm Christmas, drink some more cider, and Brisingamen may go and clean out the bread bin afterwards, or she may just crack on with watching The Hound of the Baskervilles.

However, the household wishes you a very merry thingie.

Boy, when the sun returns, the sun returns! It's a bright, sunny day here in Seattle. The light is shining hard and silver, despite the cold. The sky is pale blue feathered with wispy clouds.

I have errands to run today, cats and gifts to attend to, recipes to research, and groceries to acquire. I also have Deep Thoughts brewing. There is discussion on my flist about God and faith, about illness, about whose holiday is whose, and so on. There may be a post later provoked by any or all of these items. Or I might get lazy and just vicariously enjoy someone else's holiday. I know that within the next 36 hours, there will be gift-giving, cooking, lots of food, possibly a movie, and the company of most excellent humans and cats (any other company will be serendipitous). Seems like a good way to spend the next hours.

Also, there will be a haircut next week (an appointment has been made--at last! at last!). The long hair has been fun, but I've been feeling a lot like Witch Hazel lately and need to fix that in a hurry.

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate. General merriness to everyone else!

Hilariously weird new KlezNut review up on Show Business Weekly: the reviewer & the entire audience clearly loved the show, but she lambastes it (right at the top, too, so we know she was not seduced by the dancing & the story, no, not she!) for being too "over-thought in a very public-radio way."

Actual content is a crime in children's theatre - who knew? Maybe she just needed a nap.

I don't believe in homosexuality, say some... I really enjoy Fred's thoughtful essays on this topic.

I've received various comments on my cancer in a religious context here and there. Almost all entirely well meant, and some well stated. As I mentioned yesterday, even my clinic advises coping through my faith.

Except I have no faith, in the sense that they mean the term. I am an atheist.

I have faith in many things: Gravity. Entropy. The sheer perversity of the universe. Human nature. the_child. The love of calendula_witch and so many other people in my life. The healing power of a good pizza. The glory of sex. Tomorrow's sunrise. The value of a good story.

But those are all small-f "faith." And I am a small-a "atheist." Low Church Atheism, I call it in my snarkier moments. No more than daveraines is out to convert me am I out to deconvert him. I firmly believe (have faith?) in our First Amendment freedom of religion. You can believe in YHWH, God, Zeus, Allah, Zoroaster, Gaea, the Flying Spaghetti Monster or the Verruca Gnome for all it matters to me. They're all equally provable assertions, which is to say absolutely unprovable. Your Faith is as important to me as your favorite color. Which is to say, if I like you, I care that you care, but the thing you believe in has zero impact on the real world.

Basically, if you're a person of Faith, unless you're a pagan or a polytheist, I only believe in one less god than you do. Really, we do have a lot in common.

The fact that you believe can have tremendous impact. Viz the Crusades, the Inquisition, the World Trade Center attacks, imprecatory prayer for the death of Senator Byrd. But that's not God talking, that's the insecurities and needs and beliefs of millions of individual people who look to God for comfort, rationale or revenge. Or something. I don't know, I'm not them.

What I do know is that religious belief is strongly privileged in virtually every modern society except some interpretations of the Socialist-Communist spectrum. Our own First Amendment guarantees freedom of religion, but not freedom from religion, which I think would have been far more foresighted of the Founding Fathers.

Faith can reinforce certainty, until we get the lunacy that is modern conservative movement, where politics, culture, a specific swathe of Protestantism and a whole lot of white resentment have been braided together to form a lash that scourges our body politic, sabotages our culture, and makes the United States the laughingstock of the world. Without the strand of Faith in the braid, the whole structure of the post-Nixonian Republican party would have been vastly different, and the world quite possibly would not have suffered the presidencies of Bush the Younger.

Likewise, Faith consistently privileges behaviors that would neurotic or psychotic in any other circumstance. Or simply criminal. From Catholic abuse scandals to snake handling and glossolalia to honor killings, people of faith behave over and over again in manners that would have this atheist locked up, and rightly so. And because it's part of their Faith, their consciences are undisturbed and their lives are called good.

Tell me again why I need Faith? For anything?

So what we have is a gigantic social structure that seems to be as old as human consciousness. It clearly fulfills a vast and fantastic need in the human spirit. And yes, I have a spirit, too. Anyone who's ever read much of my fiction knows that I am on a spiritual quest of my own. I constantly interrogate many of the same questions that Faith is supposed to interrogate. What is my purpose? How am I to act? Why is there good and evil in the world? To whom are my higher loyalties owed? Who is responsible?

Being a rank empiricist and good-hearted skeptic, I can only look for those answers within myself. Sometimes I feel like Jacob wrestling with the angel, in a world innocent of the corrupting touch of God.

I don't lack Faith. To say that implies that Faith is a requirement, or a default condition of being human. I simply don't find any cause to have Faith, any more than I find any cause to believe in the influence of retrograde Mercury on my daily life. And for precisely the same reason. If I lack Faith, I lack it the same way I lack my third hand. It was never a necessary part of me in the first place.

(As an aside, I was raised in Faith, during my early years. My grandfather Lake was a preacher in the Disciples of Christ. I still have a shelf of Bibles and concordances, some of them inscribed with praise for my studies and my knowledge. I even attended missionary schools in my youth. My views of Faith aren't from a lack of exposure, trust me.)

All of which is why I am an atheist. Ultimately because I see no reason not to be, except wishful thinking and the spiritual yearning that all human beings share. Wishful thinking I can dispatch with a wave of my adult hand. Spiritual yearning I address through literature, writing, discourse and thought. Perhaps you could argue I am my own god, but I don't think I'd ever make that claim seriously.

Now to cancer.

As I said yesterday, a well-meaning acquaintance recently told me, "I just don't understand how you can do this without faith in God." I'm not sure if he was referring to my suffering, or the real and significant confrontation with mortality that this disease represents. Perhaps both. I didn't ask, because I like him enough not to want to communicate my sense of insult, and I don't like him so much to want the effort of working through that together.

As an atheist, my simple response might be, "What does God have to do with this?" If God, in the Evangelical Christian sense (his perspective), is real, I could only blame Him for my disease. He is said to act directly in our lives, sending red Mercedes to the deserving and hurricanes to punish the gay. Retail religion, I suppose, and I got handed a rotten apple here at the divine service counter.

Do I need God to blame? No. I don't really need anyone or anything to blame, but I suppose if I do, it's myself and evolution. Colon cancer isn't explicitly a lifestyle cancer, like smoking-related lung cancer, but possibly if I'd eaten a lot less fried food and red meat, and lot more fresh fruits and vegetables, I could have postponed this. I don't carry the known genetic markers (we've checked, and also I have no recent family history). Evolution, well, cancer is a cell division error, fundamentally, a disease of self-repair and reproduction. And what is evolution but cell division accompanied by recombinancy? Welcome to the universe, mister vertebrate. Here's your long odds.

Do I need God to comfort me? No. What comfort would an invisible, unprovable assertion bring me? I have family, friends, lovers, co-workers, readers, fans, and random strangers who offer me far more support and comfort than I know what to do with. No one can reach into my side and still the twanging of the nerves in my ribs right now, not God, not calendula_witch, not my doctors. I can only cope, and work through it. No one can reach into my bloodstream and still the tiny assassin cells that lurk there, waiting to colonize my liver and lungs, except my doctors with their arsenal of drugs. My comfort lies in living, pushing forward, struggling, and perhaps eventually dying with some grace and meaning.

My life does have intent, and purpose. Cancer has focused that to a point beyond pain. Some people find intent and purpose through Faith, and unto them I say, yea, verily, go forth and do what raises your spirit. I cannot see anything in Faith except the barking of carnies and the psychological needs of a lonely ape long lost from his East African plains, and so I find my intent and purpose in myself, in my circle of love and friendship, and ultimately in these words.

Am I richer for it? Who's to say? But I'm happy all by myself, without God. In some ways, happier than I've ever been, right now, with two holes in my left side and four holes in my right side and a medical appliance poking against my throat and some dreadful poisons two weeks in my future.

Are you happy? With or without God? For your sake, I hope like hell it doesn't take cancer for you to answer that question.

Christmas Eve began quite well, with a bout of bread-making which mutated into making sausage rolls and mince pies, in between roasting a chicken for cold cuts, before finding myself eye to eye with Nicodemus, which was slightly alarming as I was at the kitchen sink, and he was outdoors. Yes, Nicodemus was back on the greenhouse roof, staring in, before leaping onto the wall and promptly falling off it again. But you know, he intended to do that, honest.

We completed our modest amount of hunting and gathering yesterday, for which read PK went to the butcher's , the veg box arrived with extra added cheese and chestnuts, and I made a quick and surprisingly painless run to Sainsbury's for last-minute odds and ends, beating the rush and getting home again by 9.30 a.m. Once again the supermarket checkouts were staffed with diminutive military cadet-type children to 'help' with packing. I usually give the child's bucket a quid to thank the child for leaving me alone to get on with things. Yesterday, however, it occurred to me to give the child the freezer bag and tell him to catch everything that ought to go in a fridge and/or freezer, and put it in the bag for me. This worked extraordinarily well; he packed it beautifully, I grabbed the bottles of alcohol and the ibuprofen before they could get anywhere near him and cause a drug- or drink-related outraged supermarket incident, and he also proved very useful for holding open bags while I put stuff in them. Honour satisfied all round, and I felt like a marginally better person for once.

Other than that, here in the extremest extreme south-east of England it is no longer freezing but raining, and even the rain has lost its hard edges. The Krumpies are delightedly hurling themselves round the garden, having forgotten that they hate us because we won't let them into the bedroom to climb the now-decorated Christmas tree. PK and I have been suffering slight colds all week, meaning we're flaked out by lunchtime, which is annoying when we have things to do, but we feel a little better today. Whether this can be laid at the door of the Lemsip Max or, in my case at least, a large pre-lunch sherry (or possibly both) is not a matter for debate so long as I do feel better.

To be honest, it doesn't feel much like Christmas Eve. This part of Folkestone is as dead as a door nail. The post yielded a reminder from the vet that Minnow needs worming, a financial statement, a rather dubious home-made Christmas card for PK, and a payment demand for me from UKC because, perish the thought that I might go into Christmas with the bill for my parking permit unpaid. I must get online today to pay it before they do something evil like beat down the door tomorrow and sequestrate the Krumpies, which they seem to be entitled to do. I remain convinced that Peter Mandelson either underwent secret training in the finance department at UKC or actually trained them Either way, ho effing ho. Possibly the only bright spot today is that PK has been reading me Charles Dickens' 'The Chimes' while I worked.

And really, that's about it for a couple of days. I am about to go and warm up Tuesday's leftovers for lunch, during which time we shall watch 'The Snowman' because it's traditional now, after which I shall impersonate a dutiful offspring and ring the parentals, wrap some presents for PK, and then do some scholarly reading in between bouts of laundry. I'm sure it shouldn't be like this but there you go; that's what we're doing in soggy Folkestone today.

Happy midwinter something or other to everyone and I'll doubtless return to continue communing with my inner Grinch on 27th December. I know, you can hardly wait.

Your Thursday moment of zen.



View from Going-to-the-Sn Road in Glacier National Park, Montana. © 2006, 2009 Joseph E. Lake, Jr.



This work by Joseph E. Lake, Jr. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Don't forget the latest caption contest voting poll

daveraines on my cancer, from a Christian perspective — Dave's a pastor whom I like and respect a great deal.

E-Book Pricing: Attack of the Consultants — Andrew Wheeler is snarky (and interesting) about the book market. I especially like his observation about the limits of competition. It's really not a zero sum game.

Ring Shadowplay on a Saturn Moon — Something to make you smile, from Bad Astronomy.

Honda develops a motorized unicycle — (Thanks to chriswjohnson.)

Imprecatory prayer — And people wonder why I'm an atheist. In truth, not because there are religious nuts; there are plenty of non-religious nuts. I do feel accurate in observing that religion privileges many kinds of nuttery that would be diagnosable outside that context. Though I do love the notion of God as an inept assassin. (Thanks to garyomaha.)


?otD: How do you like your turkey?

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12/24/2009
Body movement: 30 minutes on stationary bike
Hours slept: 7.5
This morning's weigh-in: 225.0
Currently reading: Finch by Jeff VanderMeer

Twittering as jackwilliambell.

• 14:18 Is it just me? Or is anyone else tired of hearing about duck penises? #

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1) am too busy to attempt any writing anything, or reading, or anything except a quick check once a day of email, certainly not all my fine plans to write 1000 words a day or anything like that

2) my gosh, I am eating too much, and actually more than I want to (and far more than I usually do), and yet IT IS ALL SO TASTY AND GOOD that I keep eating more. I'm glad the dayafterdayofeating holidays come only once a year.

"None of you shall approach a close relative to have sexual intercourse with her. I am the Lord. You shall not disgrace your father by having intercourse with your mother. Besides, since she is your own mother, you shall not have intercourse with her. You shall not have intercourse with your father's wife, for that would be a disgrace to your father. You shall not have intercourse with your sister, your father's daughter or your mother's daughter, whether she was born in your own household or born elsewhere. You shall not have intercourse with your son's daughter or with your daughter's daughter, for that would be a disgrace to your own family. You shall not have intercourse with the daughter whom your father's wife bore to him, since she, too, is your sister. You shall not have intercourse with your father's sister, since she is your father's relative. You shall not have intercourse with your mother's sister, since she is your mother's relative. You shall not disgrace your father's brother by being intimate with his wife, since she, too, is your aunt. You shall not have intercourse with your daughter-in-law; she is your son's wife, and therefore you shall not disgrace her. You shall not have intercourse with your brother's wife, for that would be a disgrace to your brother. You shall not have intercourse with a woman and also with her daughter, nor shall you marry and have intercourse with her son's daughter or or her daughter's daughter; this would be shameful, because they are related to her. While your wife is still living you shall not marry her sister as her rival; for thus you would disgrace your first wife.

"You shall not approach a woman to have intercourse with her while she is unclean from menstruation. You shall not have carnal relations with your neighbor's wife, defiling yourself with her. You shall not offer any of your offspring to be immolated to Molech, thus profaning the name of your God. I am the Lord. You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; such a thing is an abomination. You shall not have carnal relations with an animal, defiling yourself with it; nor shall a woman set herself in front of an animal to mate with it; such things are abhorrent."
(Leviticus 18:6-23, New American Bible)