It's the End of the World as We Know it (Keep Calm and Carry On)

It’s the End of the World as We Know It (Keep Calm and Carry On)

“The world is a comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those that feel” – Horace Walpole

                In a recent letter to the Minneapolis Star Tribune, a writer opined that, despite evidence to the contrary, the world DID indeed end on December 21, 2012 as the Mayans had predicted.  As proof, he went on to list all of the ills facing mankind, including global warming, food shortages, mass shootings, war in the Middle East, rising income equality etc. etc.

                I chortled, as I read his letter, not because any of his examples were of a light-hearted matter per se, but simple because that list of disasters, real or imagined, could have been written at the end of any year, in any age of Man. If all we see around us is impending doom, then perhaps all we want to do is actually hasten that end?  

At the dawning of the second millennium in the year 999 AD , it was documented that our agrarian forebears in Europe, who were convinced that world was coming to an end on the stroke of midnight, didn’t bother to plant crops for the coming spring in Y1K. The Earth, which apparently didn't keep its eye on the human calendar or sundial , failed to implode as confidentially predicted.  Unfortunately for many however, their world did indeed end the following year, since without crops to harvest, they simply starved to death.  With the hindsight of a thousand years we can smile at the irony of what proved to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

So just why do people secretly wish that the end of the world would happen on their watch?  I have a number of unproven theories about these doomsday prophets and their fixation on the end times:   1. Narcissism (the world cannot possibly go on without ME) 2. Schadenfreude (a desire to delight in the impending misfortunes of all those happy rich successful people you secretly hate) 3. Religious dogma (my holy book says that it is going to happen – so mark the calendar!)   Scientific curiosity (how DID that asteroid impact kill all the Dinosaurs?)   4. Gullibility (I read it on the Internet, so it must be true – isn’t it?)  5. Justified Apathy (If the end of the world is coming, why get off of the couch and actually do something?)

Humankind has managed to get itself out of some jolly tough scrapes in the past, so why should the 2010’s be any different, I might ask?   Have we not clawed our way back up the cliff, fiscal or otherwise on many occasions?   Did we not square our shoulders, push our chests out and put our collective noses to the grindstone in order to solve intractable problems of the past?   Yes of course we did, so how can the end of the world be ever so (repeatedly) nigh? 

The answers, as I have suggested above, are varied and mostly vainglorious, however the modern day soothsayer has the advantage of a voracious media to help spread the apocalypse.  In the Middle Ages, it would be just the local loony wandering around the village announcing that the end times were at hand.  And when I lived in London, it was a tradition on a Sunday afternoon to go down to Speakers Corner in Hyde Park and listen to the assorted “prophets” describe the coming annihilation from their upturned milk crates. Now of course, nut jobs of every stripe have access to social media in order to convince the on-line populace that their worldly days are done.  Why bother to join a cult or march down the street with a sandwich board, when one can simple Tweet the details of the coming Armageddon (in 140 characters or less) from the comfort of one’s own bunker?

At the end of the day, those that see the end of the world in every rainstorm, territorial squabble, or face in the clouds, are doomed, like the Ancient Mariner, to wander around Cyber Space with a dead Albatross around their necks, making life miserable for the rest of us. I will leave you with this quote from a very perceptive man as to the nature of impending disaster. 

"I've suffered a great many catastrophes in my life. Most of them never happened."
-Mark Twain

More from the Albion Bulldog soon. 

Instant Media

“It is only the dead who have seen the end of war”   Attributed to Plato

                Nowadays, it is not good enough that someone can contact you by phone, (regular, cell and smart) email, text, semaphore, carrier pigeon, and smoke signal; we now have the IM or Instant Message to deal with.    If you don’t respond to that urgent email in the required nano-second of time, then as sure as night follows day, you will be getting a super, double urgent IM flashing at the bottom of the screen.  “Are you there???” it asks, as though the IM sender doubts your very existence. Not responding to the IM immediately is the same as saying – Yes for all practical purposes I have ceased to exist. 

Of course, the IM does have its practical purposes, since you can share real time critiques and sarcastic witticisms about the presenter with fellow participants during online Webinars.   “Well DUH”, we IM spitefully as the meeting facilitator drones on, or “Really, THAT”s our business plan??” as the CEO attempts to rally the troops.  “LOLs” and “OMGs” fly through the air like cyber confetti in our vapid conversations, with people we rarely see, and marginally care less about.

 This brings me to what I like to call IM –Instant Media.  It’s pretty much the same concept as an Instant Message, in that it combines urgency, with mostly irrelevant and vacuous information. In the old timey days when the 6 O’clock News ruled the roost, broadcast time was limited, and therefore they reported only ACTUAL NEWS.   Yes kids, there was a time just after the last ice age, when we didn't have 24/7 news channels because well, we just didn't have enough of the stuff to fill them.  Now of course, we are lucky enough to have multiple news channels eager to let us know that the end is nigh. (Right after this break!)

When I was kid in the mid 1970’s, I recall reading a story in the Daily Telegraph, in which a sober foreign correspondent reported that there had been a massive earthquake in China and that 600,000 people (my italics) might be dead.  This turned out to be the 1976 Tangshan earthquake which caused the highest death toll of any 20^th century natural disaster.  Sadly, sans Twitter and the Internet, we were left to ponder on the capricious nature of life in the People’s Republic, based upon a few dry column inches, before moved to weightier matters like yesterdays soccer results.   The good people at the Telegraph , never so much as intimated that the world might be coming to an end ,or in fact editorialized at all about the deaths of over half million people.  It’s possible of course that the tabloids had a few more lurid stories about the tragedy, but I don’t remember reading them.

This brings us to the present state of affairs, when a snow storm is forecast on the East Coast or a “celebrity” stubs her big toe during a drunken night out at the Global Warming Ball in LA. All of a sudden, every TV news operation is being hurriedly mobilized to cover the impending disaster.   What were once minor weather inconveniences or mere celebrity gossip, are now being followed and analyzed in the same breathless tones that were once reserved for presidential assassinations and World Wars.  In fact, I would argue that Edward R. Murrow demonstrated a more measured tone when he was under fire as a war correspondent than any current-day “reporter” hysterically informing us about Lindsey Lohan’s most recent DUI, or Brittany Spears lack of underwear.

So when youngsters say to me plaintively “Things are so much worse today”, I can’t help but agree with the poor misguided urchins.   If I, like a good proportion of the population, absorbed (and believed) everything that I saw and heard on 24/7 news channels, Internet, Twitter, and the myriad other media, the only possible conclusion I could draw was that we are all going to Hell in a large handcart.   One of the advantages of age of course is that you have the perspective to know that it’s not true. In fact all of these “end time” scenarios have happened before and will undoubtedly happen again.  If everything is “Breaking News” then nothing is.  

Yes of course contemporary music is mostly horrible, and hopefully it will meet its own Rapture shortly; however most other things aren't so bad.  If you are old enough today, and many still are, you have lived through the Depression, World War II,  McCarthy, Segregation, Vietnam, Gas Shortages, Global Cooling, 70’s clothes styles and 80’s music, anyone of which might have toppled less hardy generations.  And the sun has continued to rise in the East.

Think how much interesting life would have been, had Instant Media been around when things were just a teensy bit more challenging.  Maybe  during the time of the Dark Ages,  Spanish Inquisition, or World War I say, or when The Plague,  Black Death  or Spanish influenza  were laying waste to large swathes of the world’s population, or perhaps more recently  with Hitler, Stalin and the Holocaust… For better ratings they might have convinced us that the world was coming to an end.   Just sayin’

More from the Albion Bulldog soon. 

Babel (ing)

        Greetings dear and patient reader.  You will no doubt be thrilled to learn that I have finally recovered from my ruptured Achilles Tendon.  I foolishly incurred this, middle-aged man trying to relive the past, injury while attempting my soccer "comeback" in April of this year.  It was, as previously reported in my last blog, a quite serious setback, but an interesting one nevertheless.  It certainly provides one a sense of proportion when you have to hobble around for several weeks on crutches that were hardly fit for purpose (or possibly it was operator error?)  That sense of proportion was brought more clearly into focus when over the summer I observed wounded veterans and the athletes at the London Para-Olympic Games overcoming odds that are so long, my temporary limp paled by comparison.
      Anyway, you are probably asking; since the Achilles is part of the lower leg, how did that prevent Mr.Bulldog from blinding us with his brilliant insights for the past several months?  Did his Achilles tendon somehow connect to his opposable thumbs or even his brain, so that he could not type a few words now and again?
       Well I have one word in response, and that word is - summer.  I think I had mentioned previously that the Bulldog is a transplant from his native British Isles to the tundra that is Minnesota, and therefore summer becomes a wonderful, sacrosanct, but all too brief episode between ice fishing seasons. Consequently most of my waking hours (and a few of the comatose ones) are spent outside, frantically trying to replenish my Vitamin D reserves for the coming bitter darkness.  In other words, I am rarely at my computer long enough during Central Daylight Time to fashion a few coherent thoughts, let alone put together a blog for the yearning masses.
     With my excuses at an end, my thoughts can know turn to the burning issues a la mode.  Should I pontificate on the recently completely US general election, the growing crisis between Israel and Palestine, or perhaps the juicy and convoluted General Petraeus affair?  Passe, never ending, titillating but of no real consequence, was my immediate reaction to all three.  Since I have addressed Global Climate change and Religion in my previous blogs (quite comprehensively I must admit)  I had to decide what was at the forefront of the public mind?  I finally came to the conclusion that without a doubt, it is the current state of popular music - and of course I have many opinions on the subject.
           Instead of waxing lyrical about the 70's, and it's seemingly exhaustible  reservoir of wonderfully varied musical genres, I wanted to say a few words about modern music.  What is that you say Bulldog - is there good contemporary popular music out there?  I am going to go out on a limb here and say yes there is - if you look hard enough and gaze mostly beyond the charts.
         One band that I am listening to - right now in fact as I write this very blog - is Mumford & Sons. I am sure that many of you of are familiar with the four plucky folkie lads from London that are currently riding high (ish) in the charts with Babel, their most recent release. Both Babel and their first album Sigh No More have sold a boatload (official Billboard term) of records or downloads or whatever in the past couple of years.  As is my custom when excited to "discover" contemporary music that doesn't actually make my ears bleed, I started to Google, You Tube and Wikapedia the band for further details.  I perused reviews, bios and watched videos to make sure that my initial flush of enthusiasm matched the reality of their musical output. On balance I concluded that MAS was a band that, not only could I embrace, but could also drop into casual conversation with people decades younger than myself.
          Sadly though, it seems that many of the aforementioned millennials, are out on You Tube, Twitter and other social media that I don't subscribe to, writing all sorts of hurtful and sometimes unrepeatable criticisms of the band.  You see it appears that MAS are guilty of the unforgivable sin of not fitting into an "approved" genre of music. Not quite folk or bluegrass, definitely not rock, far from urban pop or rap, the band combines instruments like banjo, guitar and piano that apparently defy stereotyping.  "Not authentic" they sniff. "American roots music played by Brits" they admonish, and horror of horrors they are all "middle class".  Good grief, do you have to be born in the Oklahoma dust bowl or a housing estate in South London to be considered authentic?   If that was the case, the charts would be pretty barren over the last 50 years if the bourgeoisie hadn't pitched in with at least a few tunes..
          Anyway, the point is, I like them. They are a generation younger than me and I listen to them without  prejudice. I don't care about their dress, class, instruments or motives, since at the end of the of the day, it's all about the music. Imagine that.
         Until next time - the Albion Bulldog.

Achilles Last Stand

Like everything else you do to convince yourself that you are still a young man -  when in fact the words “middle aged” had been an identifier when describing you for the last several years – it seemed like a good idea at the time.

           Prophetically almost, back in January,  I had Googled the words, “ Minnesota Senior Soccer”  and was surprised and excited to see that there was an old guys’ league in Blaine that would start in the Spring.  It seemed like a perfect  venue for 40 and 50 year olds to roll back the years, kick a ball, score some goals and most importantly, drink some beer.
    
          My wife of course was horrified; doubtless remembering  a serious knee injury that I had sustained 20 years earlier, again playing soccer, when  I was in much better shape and undoubtedly more flexible.   Other older guys play Soccer, I sulked, hoping she would support me in my quest to defer mortality and suspend disbelief for a couple more years. However she just sighed, knowing that I could not be persuaded to rethink this foolish course of action.

         Colleagues and friends were equally dubious.   Don’t come crying when you pull your first hammy, read a typical email response when I gave them the good news.   My step-daughter, who usually supported my efforts to keep fit, gave me a wan smile and told me to be careful.   I was somewhat miffed by this lack of faith in my ability to run, twist, turn, while controlling, kicking and heading a soccer ball.  They think I am delusional and I will prove them otherwise, I thought determinedly.

             As the season drew closer, I became more excited and cranked up the training. This consisted mostly of my regular spin classes at the gym plus intensive watching of the Fox Soccer Channel.   I didn’t do wind sprints, flexibility exercises or reps to strengthen my calf’s or hamstrings.   You can only train for Soccer by playing Soccer; I grandly informed all the doubting Thomases.   I brought new Soccer boots, shin pads and a shiny new knee brace and I watched Fox Soccer Channel with renewed vigor.

                So the big day dawned and I drove to Blaine with some apprehension and visions of scoring some glorious goals as the other guys watched in awe.  I was gratified to see that the other guys on the team looked – well like middle aged guys who liked to drink beer.  After a brief warm up we divided into two teams.  Someone threw a ball into the center circle and shouted ‘game on”. 

                It started so well. I was not as breathless as I first feared and had some good touches, including a guided header that elicited some approving comments from my teammates. Then I linked up for a neat passing move with another guy, got the ball back and slid it pass the goalkeeper into the net.   A few high fives and I was living the dream!    At half-time we move to a different Soccer pitch, and here things started to go downhill.      At first, I was back in the groove. Another goal was followed by a cramp in my right calf and I was limping slightly.   Run it off, was the sage medical advice from my team mate, so I struggled gamely on and actually scored a third – a hat trick   Perhaps I was destined to be the star striker after all. Take that, all you armchair critics who said I couldn’t come back at my age..

                Then it happened.  I was chasing a loose ball when someone kicked me in the back of the  left ankle – hard.  I fell to the ground, ready to protest this flagrant foul.  The nearest opposition player to me was an Australian guy in a green shirt and I glared at him, certain that he had taken me out. However no one on my team was raising any protests and they were just getting on with the game.
                I tried to get up.  My foot wouldn’t work properly and I could barely stand.  Had I pulled a muscle?   Cramp again?    I limped off.  A team mate came up to me as I was massaging the back of my calf.  Achilles problem? He asked   Oh no, I thought,  was that sharp pain and sound, my Achilles  blowing out?  Surely it can’t be……

                Two days later the doctor looked at me with sympathy as his fitted a boot to my swollen foot. You have torn your Achilles tendon he said.  It is a serious injury, he added unnecessarily.  

                Achilles Last Stand came into my head. Led Zeppelin song.  A reference to Robert Plant’s serious leg injury after  a car crash in Greece.  He thought he would never walk again.   I am scheduled to see the surgeon tomorrow.  Let’s hope I have learnt my lesson…….

We will see.

More from the Albion Bulldog shortly.

Global Warming - All Bad?

“Climate is what we expect, weather is what we get” Mark Twain

In the interests of full disclosure I will admit that I am not a scientist, and I don’t even play one on TV; so what follows is a series of admittedly unscientific questions and hypotheses about Global Climate Change (GLOCC).   Since chemistry confuses, biology bewilders and physics perplexes me, I am going to refrain from using fancy charts and climate models to make any statistically valid arguments.  I simply intend to explore the claims and counter claims that are swirling around the carbon dioxide-laden biosphere atmosphere.

              I came of age in the 1970’s, when believe it or not, the climate issue being vigorously debated by both the media and scientists was the danger posed by – wait for it - Global Cooling.  A series a colder than normal winters over a period of two decades had set off alarm bells and had convinced many scientists, politicians and pundits that we were shortly to enter  “Another Ice Age”. (Time Magazine, June 24, 1974) This confused me, because I had always been taught, (admittedly in History Class -where I did pay attention) that we were still emerging from the last ice age. Between us, I was secretly quite excited about the prospect of Wooly Mammoths and Sabre Tooth Tigers roaming around my boring suburban London neighborhood, while yours truly, heroically wrapped in animal fur and carrying a sharp spear, battled up the glacier where the Co-op in the High Street once stood.

Alas the future was confidentially predicted to be somewhat direr and less heroic.  Increasing cold, the scientific community intoned sternly and on the basis of “scientific consensus” would mean that the human race, in 30 years or so, would lose the ability to feed itself.  Less warmth would impede our ability to grow crops, and by the year 2000 we would surely be starving to death in the streets. (The Co-op having run out of food in 1999). If we didn’t do something that very day, or by 1976 at the very least, we wouldn’t even have to worry about other confidentially predicated future catastrophes like Y2K or (ironically) the obesity pandemic.  Dear blue Mother Earth would be well...  a cold blue orb devoid of life just spinning aimlessly around the solar system and bereft of her much loved human offspring  who had finally eaten each other in a cannibalistic frenzy. ( I had dibs on Charlie’s Angels)

Inconveniently for the doomsday prophets, Wooly Mammoths didn’t make a comeback (although the Bee Gees did later that decade) and the 80s bled into the 90’s and finally the 00’s. In the intervening decades, career, marriage, emigration and beer dominated my frontal lobes and I had all but forgotten the ghastly consequences of GLOCC, so imagine my astonishment, when it was recommended a few years into the infant millennium that I watch a documentary called “An Inconvenient Truth” narrated by erstwhile presidential candidate, Al Gore.  Mr. Gore actually was playing a scientist on TV and what he had to say made startling listening.  It seemed that we had moved from global cooling to global warming in the time that it taken me to grow from a clueless adolescent to clueless adult. The oceans were about to spill over the levees and mosquitoes would soon rule the earth.  We had to do something now, or at the very least by 2006, otherwise Mother Earth would have some very hot flashes indeed and who knew what would happen with a menopausal  Earth!  

So, what happened and where was all this malicious warmth coming from?   Had someone turned up the Sun’s thermostat?   Had political rhetoric reached a critical mass and  was in danger of spontaneously combusting?  Well no, it turned out that our dear friend Carbon Dioxide was the culprit and we were making too much of it.   Even a scientific illiterate like me knew that this sociable and amiable gas was responsible for sustaining life on Earth and helping trees to breathe without inhalers. Now apparently, in a fit of pique, CO2, had finally turned on us like a spurned Wooly Mammoth and was gleefully boiling us in our own fossil fueled stew of avarice and greed!

How much CO2 has  the human race spewed unheedingly  into the atmosphere to cause this imminent calamity?  50%, 75% of total CO2?   Well no, it seems that 3.5% of anthropogenic  CO2 was all it was going to take to bake us like a birthday cake.  Happy  Four billionth birthday Mother Earth!  You don’t look a day over 3 Billion, and you had better enjoy it, because time is running out.  By the year 2100 it is all going to be over and the planet will be mainly warm soup with some floaty human bits for taste.  

As we are regularly reminded, climate records  have been tumbling over the last twenty years or so; hmmm..interestingly in parallel with the corresponding increase in 24 cable news. (motto: Never let a  potential catastrophe remain a interesting dilemma)   Every month we hear that it has been the hottest four months in a row,  or  we had the most named hurricanes in a generation, or we are experiencing the warmest winter overnight low  temperatures since records began.  So the question is, when did records begin?   Well actually not that long ago, in geological terms anyway, since the most detailed information exists since 1850, when methodical thermometer-based records began.  Prior to that, we are into estimates and wild-ass guesses (a bit like most TV weather forecasts today). There was of course the Medieval Warm Period, when poor ice fishing conditions forced the cancellation of the walleye competition on Lake Superior.  And of course who could forget the Little Ice Age (1650-1880) which saw the rise of  Mayan package tours to the Yucatan.

Since empirical data stretches back to no further than when Mark Twain was a spotty youth, climate junkies want to know answers to some important questions:   Was it mainly or partly cloudy on May 15, 828 A.D.?    How many unnamed hurricanes, swept across the Western Ocean to threaten, as yet, unnamed coastal developments on an unnamed continent during the late summer of 2012 BC?    Were the Stonehenge builders scratching their heads about the lack of snow during the winter solstice on the isle of Albion in 4050 BC?  When Pontius Pilate was learning to fly, did low clouds in the Spring of  1 A.D. postpone takeoff?   And finally, was it smoking or skin cancer from those long hot Pleistocene-era summers that killed off the dinosaurs?

 As we are never likely to find out, my final question is this.  Global Warming – are you all bad?   The promise of a longer growing season for hops and other vital foodstuffs is surely to be welcomed.  The threat of flooding  will mean fewer hideous vacation resorts  despoiling low-lying coastal regions, which  has to be a plus.  And most importantly,  since I live in Minnesota and it is currently February, how soon can you come over and start warming me up?  I’ll buy you a beer.

Follow the Sun!

Follow the Sun

There exist plenty of reasons for not voting for Mitt Romney as President of the United States of America. Whether they be ideological, (corporate raider) political (flip-flopper) or just plain hair-envy; I am sure everyone can assign their own motive. However, not voting for Mitt because he happens to be a Mormon is just downright anachronistic in the twenty-teens.   Besides, hasn’t everyone seen the ads on TV, where seemingly everyday folks, after reciting a litany of dreary accomplishments, suddenly declare “and I’m a Mormon”?  Gosh I never knew, and if I’m honest...do I really care?  It turns out that plenty of people do care that Mitt Romney is one of those folks, though with a considerably larger bank balance, whiter teeth, and a Jones to be the Commander-in-Chief.

But wait, this sounds familiar. I seem to remember way back in the twenty-noughts, when religion was again on the minds of voters, with Islam substituting for the Latter Day Saints.   The important question on the minds of voters everywhere - well Arkansas at least -  is candidate Obama a double secret Muslim?   Stay tuned while we, the responsible media (FoxCNNMSNBC) hunt for his birth certificate at Mecca City Hall. (Births and Deaths department).  “Mr. Candidate, we need to know, because it’s very, very important that we understand who you pray to, (name and title please) rather than us doing a due diligence on your actual job qualifications”  

 In the interests of full disclosure, I will tell you that I didn’t vote for President Obama.  But not because I believed that he was a Muslim, but I did vote for John McCain because he is a staunch and faithful Baptist.  OK Just kidding!  As an Episcopalian, all that Baptist fire and brimstone stuff makes me uncomfortable, besides, I think I’m allergic to brimstone.    In fact, I didn’t even know that John McCain was a Baptist until I Googled it 5 minutes ago.  Of course, had I known, it may have made me pause in the voting booth in November 2008. 

So here is my question:  What does it matter what the candidates faith is?  Am I missing the section on the Presidential job description where deity worship is a prerequisite for hire?   In fact I seem to remember something in the US Bill of Right which said something like...  "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof...” something, something….  (OK   didn’t remember it – I cut and pasted that bit)   Anyway, our benevolent Federal government cannot make us believe in anything, including the suspicion that they might not be as munificent as their Facebook page would lead us to believe.  (Especially that photo of the Armed Services Committee doing body shots in Cancun….)

Still, as some students of the Constitution never tire of reminding us, (primarily as BREAKING NEWS on 24 hour cable channels) it’s freedom of religion not from religion, don’t you get it?   OK, I get it.   So based upon that understanding then, a candidate’s faith should pass the test if it meets all the criteria for a bona fide religion.  Does it have a deity?  Check. Does it have a Good Book?  Check.  Does it Tax-Exempt Status?  Check.    But whoa there Nellie!  We find that about 25% of the electorate in some states of this union considers that Mormonism is not actually a religion at all but – gasp- a cult.  Therefore a President Romney would become not only the most powerful executive in the free world, but more sinisterly a cult leader, like David Koresh, for instance or L. Ron Hubbard.  Elect Romney they say, and the next thing you know the ATF will be surrounding the White House while the militant wing of the Church of the LDS shoots it out with the Feds.

                As  one who is theologically challenged, I am tempted to ask, somewhat plaintively, “Isn’t most of it made up?”  Religious practice I mean, not faith.  Growing up as nominal Anglican, I acquired an irrational dislike of the Papacy, which was not based upon my knowledge of the Roman Catholic Church, but developed simply because the people around me had a cultural aversion to foreign religions, especially ones practiced by the French and Irish.  However, later in life and much to my chagrin, I noticed that the liturgy was almost word for word the same.  As my wife and friends pointed out, we (Anglicans) were just missing the Pope, the Holy Water and the guilt. Thanks to Henry VIII and his sexual appetites, I was practicing Catholic-Lite.

Religious practices then are cultural practices.  An Episcopalian church gives me comfort, but not necessarily because it brings me closer to God.  I enjoy the familiar sound of the hymns, the reassuring heft of the Book of Common Prayer and all that stained glass doesn’t hurt.  Maybe I could have a closer relationship with God at the Pentecostal church, the synagogue or the mosque. Who knows?   However, since I have a well-founded fear of rhythmically clapping in time, taking my shoes off in public, and I enjoy the fruit of the fragrant female hop plant, I’ll probably never find out.  So as others cast an appraising and objective eye over the bloody history, arcane ritual, and the pointy hats, which I consider to be rational religious practices, I am sure that they have a secret chuckle or at least emit a snort of disbelief.

 I must admit to doing the same when auditing others religious practices.  Even the most pious adherent can struggle to articulate the logic to the non-believer.  Questions jump into my mind, as they explain the Meaning of it All to me in reverent tones. 

“Not even with a nice Newburg sauce?”  

“Five times a day, wow that’s a lot of commitment?    

“Someone found a tablet New York State in which outlines everything?  Interesting.

“Does the prayer wheel go clockwise or counter clockwise?  

“Which one looks like the Elephant again?  

“Camel through the eye of a needle?  Is that a metaphor or an allegory I get the two confused?  

“Four wives!     

And so on. It gets complicated and, frankly, exhausting trying to understand, and keeping up with all the dietary constraints, clothing choices, and interpretations of the book, whichever one it happens to be.  

So in 2016, I am hoping for a simpler candidate. One the whole planet can get behind. A devotee of - the Sun God. 

The Sun God? I can almost hear the sophisticated theists among you sniggering at those ignorant pagan savages with their quaint superstitions.  However, let’s take a look at the particulars. In a Galaxy not far away (ours in truth) and not so many years ago, many of our antecedent cultures worshipped a Sun God.  In fact a quick web search will turn up around 18 bona fide Sun Gods of various hues, and civilizations that flourished in many locations. So our likely candidate will have plenty of choices.

  But wait there’s more!  The Sun-God provides us abundant heat without the high propane costs, better light than a CFL bulb, and helps our crops grow without asking any animal sacrifices in return.  The Sun God also kindly dispenses vitamin D without a trip to the drug store, and reverses Seasonal Affective Disorder, with nary a tithe or an indulgence.  The Sun God’s spots and flares affect our weather patterns and seasons, and after a long winter it’s a reassurance of the resurrection of life. (Especially here in Minnesota)   Most importantly, since the Sun God is 93 million miles away, it means it’s not getting in our business or making us feel guilty about browsing the Web instead of going to Shul or choir practice.  

So, imagine then a visitor from another galaxy arrives on Earth around election time (Breaking News!)  Interested in our customs the visitor asks the candidates to sum up their religious practices and why?  Please go ahead and be brief. (The alien speaks English and has an attitude of course)     The monotheist candidate, painfully inarticulate at the best of times, will get a strained and puzzled look from our Galactic friend, as they randomly explain all the theologically contradictory data they  have manipulated to fit their own world view, their bank balance, and their dubious business acquaintances.

Our Sun-God candidate however, would simply be able to check off the facts of their faith.  Light, Warmth, Good Tan, and Necessary for Life on Earth.   This of course would get a sage nod from the visitor, since oh by the way, they also have two Suns and they serve the same purpose on their planet.

  So if there are any nascent Sun God candidates out there, don’t be shy.  Let’s get this campaign going and follow the Sun  in 2016.  I will be voting for you. 

More from the Albion Bulldog soon.