Arizona Part 2: "That's not really pronounced that way, is it?"

In the previous entry I mentioned that the conference ended earlier than we expected on Wednesday, which left us with an open afternoon and a rental car, so we decided to drive to Sedona. I only know of Sedona as the place where Miranda moved up a shoot after she killed the autumn jackets feature in "The Devil Wears Prada", but Tim stopped by the concierge desk and picked up a map, leaving us slightly better equipped.

On the way there Tim asked if we wanted to stop at Montezuma Castle, and since we had nowhere else to go and no agenda for the day, we readily agreed. I'm so glad that we did, because it was a really interesting little walkaround. Montezuma Castle is a national park in Arizona:



which houses an impressive pre-Columbian cliff dwelling:







I don't know if it looks particularly impressive in any of those photos (especially the middle one, where you can see why it's being restored and you can't actually go up into the structure) but there's such a sense of history in visiting something like this, and also a little bit of awe when you imagine early settlers crossing Arizona, coming around the corner, and seeing a house set into the cliffside. I haven't traveled outside the United States in over a decade, and inside them I rarely see any mostly-intact structure over a few hundred years old. There are artifacts, like the Moon-Eyed People's wall:



that I saw in Georgia that time, or serpent mounds and other earthworks, but people didn't live in those like they did in a cliff dwelling:



It's one thing to look at a pile that used to be a house or a foundation, but to see the house itself is to feel a sense of continuity with the past, and I don't know that our mostly consumerist, disposable culture (which I fully participate in; I'm not lecturing anyone) gets enough of that.

On our way back to the car, I also saw a huge beetle, which was the only native wildlife I saw in the entire trip besides birds:



My fears about scorpions, poisonous spiders, rattlesnakes, vultures, vampire bats, coyotes, and other desert critters proved somewhat unfounded.

Once we were back in the car, we headed for another impressive but significantly more modern building, The Chapel of the Holy Cross on the outskirts of Sedona:



Comissioned by a student of Frank Lloyd Wright, the church is designed to blend in with the surrounding countryside, which it does admirably well:



It's a bit of a hike up a twisty path to actually get there:



but when you do the simplicity of the interior is moving even for non-religious people:







It's very quiet and peaceful inside, but that may be due to everyone trying to catch their breath after the climb. Either way, it was another good stop on our day of sightseeing, and we immediately left the church and parked at a Horrhouse:



Grandma Horr's, to be exact. And yes, it really is pronounced the way it sounds.

Also, Grandma Horr makes a delicious dark chocolate coconut haystack.

We didn't spend more than an hour or two in Sedona:



so I didn't really get to see a lot of the town, but it reminded me a lot of Gatlinburg, in that it is a small town in a beautiful setting filled with touristy crap:



and signs with poor grammar:



Not that I don't love touristy crap. When Tim asked if there was anywhere in town specifically that we felt like stopping at, I immediately blurted, "The place with the giant chicken!"



Because, well, giant chicken. If I have to explain why we had to stop there then you really don't know me well enough yet. The place with the giant chicken turned out to be a wonderful store filled with random stuff for everybody, like cat Buddha:



regular Buddha:



and a really bloody Jesus:



Seriously, why are there multiple streams of blood running out from under Jesus' loincloth? What's going on under there? And who looks at that and thinks, "Perfect for the living room!"

Possibly the same people who buy ceramic pumpkins:



or random suns:



but I did find the room of drying peppers somewhat interesting:





mostly because it smelled so good.

We were all starting to get a little sleepy and jet-laggy at that point, so the place with the giant chicken was our last stop in Sedona, but we did get back to Scottsdale in time for me to meet up with Rod for a late dinner where we both ended up ordering the same thing, I guzzled about a gallon of diet Coke, and we debated whether playing "Piano Man" in a jazz restaurant was cliche or de rigueur. We did not come to an agreement, but a lovely time was had by all.

Then in the morning I had a long layover in Chicago:



and was back home and crashing in my bed by the time it was dark.

I didn't give anything up for Lent

I didn't give anything up for Lent this year.

Some of my older friends are probably surprised that I give up anything for Lent, ever, because I'm kind of not a very good Catholic most of the time. I'm pro-abortion (actually, I feel like I shouldn't have a say in it at all, because it's not a choice I'll ever have to make, but I support the right of women to make that choice for themselves), I'm gay, I believe in evolution, I've been known to wear a rosary as a fashion accessory, and I only go to church if someone is getting married, buried, or I want to take pictures of the inside. When I was little, my mom called the people who only went to church on Christmas and Easter "C&E Catholics", but I don't even make it that far, since those people actually got dressed up and went to church twice a year. I do pray every night, though, and I skip eating meat on Fridays during Lent, so I'm doing something.

Last year, I gave up Pop Tarts for Lent, because I was inspired by my many friends who give things up for Lent and wanted to support them. People in the office give up things like soda, bread, cable TV, and eating out, and that requires a tremendous amount of dedication. My friend Bryan went to church every week, and he carefully followed all the Catholic rules, and he gave up a tremendous amount of stuff for Lent every year, like eating meat and watching TV and going to the movies all at the same time.

And then he died, and this year I didn't feel like giving up anything for Lent.

You might think I'm just angry at God, but I'm not. I already had that phase a really long time ago, when I was in my twenties, but it started in my teens. For a while, I prayed every night that I would miraculously turn cute, like cheekbones and abs cute. It never happened, but I kept praying. Then at the end of my teens, there was a lot of praying that I would miraculously turn straight. A lot of praying. I really, really didn't want to be gay, but you are what you are and that's what I turned out to be. Then when I was resigned to that, there was a lot more praying that the guy I thought I was in love with more than anything would love me the same way, and he didn't. After years and years of praying, all I had was depression, frustration, and tremendous disappoint, and I figured that if that was all I was going to get from God then I didn't want any of it.

Jesus, in my opinion, could shove it.

It wasn't until many years later that I read that God answers all prayers. It's just that sometimes the answer is "no".

Even though that's not very comforting, it's better than nothing, right? It certainly sounds at least a little bit better than, "God has a plan. The Lord works in mysterious ways," because, really, when has that ever made anyone feel better? It's not very comforting to hear about a plan when you don't know what the plan is or even if it's one that you'll like. When Bryan was in the hospital last fall, lots and lots of people were praying that he would get better, and when he didn't someone tried to comfort me after his memorial with, "God has a plan for everybody." I know they meant well, but what good is a plan that doesn't seem to benefit anyone and makes everyone sad?

You could argue that the plan is just so long range that maybe, sometimes, you can't see it, and you just need to be patient. For example, last fall I was sitting my evening shift in the Resource Center when a student came in to look around and talk. This semester, Pizza Night happens during my shift, so there are lots of people there, but last semester there was no Pizza Night and I had what we will charitably call "low traffic" on the Thursday night shift, but this night I had a visitor so I put my book away and chatted for a while. After a half hour or so the student had to go to a meeting, so I let him know about some of the upcoming programs and asked him to be sure to stop by the center again, and I figured that was it and went to mark him on my visitor tally sheet for the night. After a minute or two, though, he popped back into the doorway and thanked me for being there and keeping the center open.

"You're the only out, you know, adult male I've ever met, and I just wanted to, you know, say thanks. For being here."

I told him he was welcome, and advised him again to stop by more often, because he could meet a lot of out gay people that way, and then he popped out of the doorway again and was gone. Now, I wasn't doing anything special. The center has a lot of volunteers, and he just happened to come by during my shift when all I was doing was sitting there, but it could have been any of us. It wasn't anything special for me, but it seemed to be for him, and it wouldn't have happened if I got what I prayed for back when I was twenty. If God miraculously turned me straight, like I wanted, then I might have still been sitting at the center (I like to think I'd still be an ally, even if I did like girls) but I wouldn't have been an adult out gay male.

Do I think God had a plan all along, and I can draw a magical dotted line from twenty year old me in 1996 praying as hard as he could that he'd turn straight to older me in 2010 who's gay and fine with it?

No. I'm not ready to say that. I may never be.

But is it possible?

Well... maybe.

And in thinking about that, we come back to my friend Bryan, and how we prayed that he'd be ok, and instead he died. Does God have a plan that includes that? Are any of us going to look back someday and think that it makes more sense, and seems maybe not so bad? I don't know. Most of me doesn't think so. But is it possible? Maybe, I guess. Maybe God does have a purpose, and a plan, for everything. Maybe not. The truth is that I can't say, but what I can say is that if there is a plan, I don't always like it.

So when Lent rolled around, and God wanted me to sacrifice something, I didn't feel like it. God took my friend away, and I could have just walked away again, and washed my hands of God. I've done it before, although it doesn't seem to take, so I could probably do it again, but I chose not to. I guess, instead, I have a little bit of faith, or maybe just of hope, that this happened for a reason and someday I'll understand it.

I gave up my friend, apparently for God's plan, and that seemed like enough sacrifice for one year, so I didn't give anything up for Lent.

When will Jesus bring the poptarts?

This year I gave up poptarts, which I bring in to work every day and eat at my desk while answering emails in the morning, for Lent. Today is Easter, though, so I could eat poptarts again if I wanted to.



Technically, I could have been eating them all weekend, since Lent officially ends on Holy Thursday, but in most people's heads Easter Sunday is the end of Lent the same way that December 31, 1999 was the last day of the last century. The official end of Lent, like the official end of the century, doesn't hold up to the general perception.

It's a moot point, anyway. I don't have any poptarts in the house.

That I gave up anything for Lent is kind of a surprise. Most years I just sarcastically announce that I've given up church, Jesus, going out with girls, etc. but this year I felt like giving something up in the serious sense, not the facetious one. I'll save my sarcasm for things like this, instead:



Are those not horribly inappropriate on Easter?

Anyway, I didn't give up poptarts because I've suddenly decided to start going to church again or anything like that. I still have the same aversion to organized religion that I've had for years, but that doesn't mean I don't believe in something. I'm not an atheist, as much as I've tried to be. There's some stubborn little sense of something clinging inside me no matter how hard I try to squash it out.



Do I believe in God? No, not if you mean the "Santa for grownups"/magical old man in the sky who watches everything you're doing and takes the time to care about whether Tim Tebow wins football games or Jennifer Hudson wins an Academy Award. I don't believe in the God of Intelligent Design, either. That, to me, just seems like a sneaky way to repackage creationism to get it back into schools. Saying God made the world in six days or God made the world in four and half billion years is still expressing the same idea, no matter how you revarnish it.



On the other hand, I'm not an atheist. I probably should be. I believe in science, evolution, and things that can be proven. On the other hand, I believe in something greater. Call it karma, call it a force for good, call it positive energy, call it something that I don't have the words for because I'm not a theologian or a philosopher, but I believe in something despite an appalling lack of evidence for it. Having considered both sides of the argument, I choose to have faith rather than believe in nothing, but it's on my terms. I don't go to church, but I do pray every night, mostly for my friends and people I know, or people I read about online who seem to be in trouble, and fairly frequently for Lindsay Lohan.

What? Are you really going to suggest that Lindsay Lohan doesn't need all the help she can get?

Anyway, like I said, this year I gave up poptarts for Lent even though I don't actually celebrate Lent. Mostly I did it to be supportive of my friends, who gave up things like meat, cable television, and soda, and to be respectful of their sacrifices. I don't know that going without poptarts for this long changed me in any way in a spiritual sense, but I did lose six pounds and discover that Kroger's lite yogurt comes in some really delicious flavors, so it wasn't a total loss. There's also every chance that it had some sort of benefit that I haven't realized yet.

Either way, have a happy Easter, whether it's by going to church, going for a walk, baking a ham, hitting a bar, or whatever else you choose to do. Just find something that makes you happy and celebrate that.



Whatever your happy thing happens to be.

Happy Easter!

Oh, Easter, most confusing of American Christian holidays, when we mingle pagan tradition with what's supposed to be the holiest of days. Granted, Christmas has a dash of the pagan thrown in:



But Santa is at least based on St. Nicholas, so they're trying to keep the holiday properly religious on some level.

Easter, though, is pretty much full-out pagan once you get home from church. Colored eggs, magical rabbits, the goddess Estre, sugar-related gluttony... they're not even trying to keep it clean.

I'm not judging, really. I'm just amused by the inherent contradiction in the way America generally chooses to celebrate the holiday.



How can a holiday with electric blue coconut not be amusing?