Sunday, July 02, 2006

A few Sunday thoughts on looks, theology, rancor and city staff

On Jul 2, 2006, at 6:33 AM, Tom Hansen wrote:

Deacon James stated earlier, “Gabe, I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: You are a good-looking fella.”

And now “No Clue” Lemon-O farris proudly claims, “He [Deacon James] is a young good looking man . . .”

As if looks were the point. It doesn’t matter if Deacon James is a dead ringer for Antonio Banderas (in Shrek II) or that Gabe Rench is mistaken for Orlando Bloom by the teenyboppers who work the Wendy’s late-night drive-thru. When you act like Beavis and Butthead, no one notices your lovely blue eyes and your tight little . . . wallet. The externals fade into the background, drowned out by the chorus of boos, hisses, and “oh my god, how flippin’ juvenile.” Forty may be the new thirty — I’ll find out in five months time — but behaving like a fourteen year-old when you are not, in fact, a fourteen year-old is never attractive. It’s grim. And it’s discouraging. I remember in the seventies seeing bumper stickers that said, “The difference between men and boys is the price of their toys.” I didn’t think it was funny then, and I don’t find it funny now. I like grown men, smart men, responsible men — I like men who are secure enough to be themselves and to let me be me. I’m fortunate to know many such men, and I enjoy their company very much. Men are not from Mars, and women are not from Venus; we’re all from Earth. Of course, not all of us are from the surface . . .

Speaking of which, I want to address something J. Ford just posted from Doug Wilson’s blog. Doug claims that someone placed a condom in his mailbox because of “rancor” created against him by people like myself. Poppycock. Accept a little responsibility, Doug. You are perfectly capable of brewing up a cloud of rancor whenever and wherever you write, speak, or sing hillbilly anthems in Friendship Square. You have volition. You stir rancor on your blog, you create dissension in your church and in the larger Reformed Christian world, and you delight in stirring the manure with a big old stick. You are a controversial public figure; so am I. I’d welcome you to the club, but you ought to be welcoming me. I’m much, much younger than you are.

In short, if you don’t like the heat, don’t harrow hell. I would argue that Doug’s theology is only a small part of the rancor he generates in the larger community. Who, apart from Kirkers and ex-Kirkers, really cares what Doug Wilson believes? God knows I don’t. While it might be fun (of a strange and esoteric sort) to debate paedo-communion, I don’t give a toss about the principles involved. What gets my dander up is the fact that in Moscow, there’s one rule for the well-connected, and another for the rest of us. Doug Wilson is well connected. When he violates zoning code over and over and over again, the city bends over backwards to accommodate him. Joel Plaskon granted New St. Andrews College an occupancy permit, despite the fact that educational institutions were clearly and explicitly prohibited in the Central Business District. When that decision was found to be in error, the previous City Council rewrote the code to create a special spot zone for Doug Wilson. Compare this to Plaskon’s treatment of Rob Davis and Brenda von Wandruska at last Monday night’s Planning and Zoning hearing. Good grief.

To paraphrase Bob Dylan, how many cock-ups must one man make, before the city buys him a farewell cake from Rosauer’s?

Auntie Establishment

PS: Perhaps the city needs a chart: ass, elbow, ass, elbow . . .