June 16: The Crotch, Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, REAL Followers

Out of the trunk, the branches grow; out of them, the twigs. So, in productive subjects, grow the chapters.

The crotch alluded to on a previous page deserves independent mention. It is a notched stick of a peculiar form, some two feet in length, which is perpendicularly inserted into the starboard gunwale near the bow, for the purpose of furnishing a rest for the wooden extremity of the harpoons, whose other naked, barbed end sloping projects from the prow. Thereby the weapon is instantly at hand to its hurler, who snatches it up as readily from its rest as a backwoodsman swings his rifle from the wall. It is customary to have two harpoons reposing in the crotch, respectively called the first and second irons.

But these two harpoons, each by its own cord, are both connected with the line; the object being this: to dart them both, if possible, one instantly after the other into the same whale; so that if, in the coming drag, one should draw out, the other may still retain a hold. It is a doubling of the chances. But it very often happens that owing to the instantaneous, violent, convulsive running of the whale upon receiving the first iron, it becomes impossible for the harpooneer, however lightning-like in his movements, to pitch the second iron into him. Nevertheless, as the second iron is already connected with the line, and the line is running, hence that weapon must, at all events, be anticipatingly tossed out of the boat, somehow and somewhere; else the most terrible jeopardy would involve all hands. Tumbled into the water, it accordingly is in such cases; the spare coils of box line (mentioned in a preceding chapter) making this feat, in most instances, prudently practicable. But this critical act is not always unattended with the saddest and most fatal casualties.

Furthermore: you must know that when the second iron is thrown overboard, it thenceforth becomes a dangling, sharp-edged terror, skittishly curvetting about both boat and whale, entangling the lines, or cutting them, and making a prodigious sensation in all directions. Nor, in general, is it possible to secure it again until the whale is fairly captured and a corpse.

Consider, now, how it must be in the case of four boats all engaging one unusually strong, active, and knowing whale; when owing to these qualities in him, as well as to the thousand concurring accidents of such an audacious enterprise, eight or ten loose second irons may be simultaneously dangling about him. For, of course, each boat is supplied with several harpoons to bend on to the line should the first one be ineffectually darted without recovery. All these particulars are faithfully narrated here, as they will not fail to elucidate several most important however intricate passages, in scenes hereafter to be painted.

The title of this chapter is "The Crotch."  I mention this fact because it is kind of impossible to miss the sexual imagery in these paragraphs.  The barbed harpoons resting in the crotch, waiting to be plunged into the flesh of the unsuspecting whale.  I'm hoping that I don't have to go much further with my explication.  If I do, this blog may have to be listed as having adult content.  Of course, Melville is writing a book about whaling.  There aren't a whole lot of women in it.  Plus, nineteenth-century America wasn't a particularly enlightened time when it comes to gender issues.  Patriarchy, patriarchy, patriarchy.

This morning, I heard a report on National Public Radio about the students from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School going on a bus tour of the United States to mobilize young voters for the 2018 midterm elections.  Of course, the focus of these students is gun legislation.  During the report, an "expert" on elections was interviewed.  He (of course) was skeptical about these young people making that much of an impact on the outcome this November.  I believe one of his final statements was, "It's still five months away.  It's hard to sustain any kind of momentum that long."  It was almost like he was patting these kids on the head, saying, "Nice try.  Now, go back to Snapping on your cell phones."

It was more than a little dismissive.  Sadly, the government of my country has been dominated for so long by gun-toting, harpoon-wielding men that this guy's prediction may be accurate.  If I may use an analogy, it takes a lot of effort to turn the Titanic away from the iceberg.  And right now, it feels like I'm living on the Titanic and all the people in Washington, D. C., are trying to rearrange the deck chairs instead of steering the ship.  All those white guys are protecting their bank accounts and prescriptions for Viagra instead of keeping our kids safe.

You know that I try to stay away from too much political discussion on this blog, but that news report really bothered me.  Plus, I'm getting tired of politicians who call themselves Christians cutting social programs for the underprivileged and uninsured, proclaiming that they're doing what's right for the country.  Last time I checked, the job of the leaders of this country was to look out for everyone living here, not just those with bank accounts that rival the GDP of third world countries.

Christians don't witness a school shooting and think that the way to solve problem is with more guns.  Christians don't take refugee children away from their parents and lock them up in warehouses.  Christians don't take food assistance away from the poor and elderly.  Christians don't let sick people die because they don't have health insurance.  Christians don't complain about all the homeless people ruining their communities.  Christianity is NOT about zero tolerance.  Christianity is ALL about tolerance.

If you call yourself a Christian and disagree with me about any of the statements I made in the previous paragraph, then you are NOT a real Christian.  You are just a person who goes to church one day a week.  That's it.

My intent here is not to upset anyone.  It's to call out hypocrites.  I'm a Christian.  I'm a white male.  I don't want to be part of the problem.  So I speak my mind.  Raise money for homeless shelters.  Donate to can drives.  Refuse to vote for candidates who take money from gun lobbies (Republican or Democrat).  Support public education and teachers, universal health care, and free college tuition.  Care about refugees and immigrants.  That doesn't make me a liberal or bleeding heart.  That's makes me a REAL follower of Jesus.

Saint Marty is thankful today for all the REAL followers out there.

November 3: No Puritan, Parasites, Syrian Refugees

The creator is no puritan.  A creature need not work for a living; creatures may simply steal and suck and be blessed for all that with a share--an enormous share--of the sunlight and air.  There is something that profoundly fails to be exuberant about these crawling, translucent lice and white, fat-bodied grubs, but there is an almost manic exuberance about a creator who turns them out, creature after creature after creature, and sets them buzzing and lurking and flying and swimming about.  These parasites are our companions at life, wending their dim, unfathomable ways into the tender tissues of their living hosts, searching as we are simply for food, for energy to grow and breed, to fly or creep on the planet, adding more shapes to the texture of intricacy and more life to the universal dance.

Most of the creatures on this planet do not worry about poverty or unemployment or the price of crude oil.  They don't care whether Donald Trump becomes President of the United States (God help us) or Hillary Clinton.  Universal health care.  Syrian refugees.  Terrorism.  The majority of the buzzing, flying, crawling residents of this little planet are oblivious to such things.  For them, it's simply about survival:  eating, resting, and breeding.

The word "parasite" has become a pejorative term.  If I call a person a parasite, it's not because I consider that person particularly resilient or resourceful.  I'm not marveling at his or her ability to survive in harsh conditions, making lemonade out of lemons, so to speak.  No.  In human terms, a parasite is somebody who profits from the misfortune of other human beings.  Slumlords.  Dictators.  Republican presidential candidates.

I am not climbing onto my soapbox this evening.  There are too many people on soapboxes right now in the United States.  If everybody in the world looked out for each other--fed the hungry, clothed the naked, friended the friendless, loved the unloved--things like terrorism and bigotry and homophobia would be figments, phantoms.  We wouldn't have to worry about refugees because there wouldn't be a need for refugees.  No homeless shelters.  No soup kitchens.  No Republicans.  No Democrats.  No parasites.

As Dillard points out, the Creator of the universe loves diversity, all of the creepers and dancers and slitherers and flyers and dancers.  Loves snakes and parasites, poets and politicians, Syrian refugees and illegal immigrants.  The Creator loves all creation.  Even Donald Trump.

Saint Marty needs to be reminded of that every once in a while.  God's love does not discriminate. 

God loves him.  God just wouldn't vote for him.

October 14: Sulphur and a Little Molasses, Insulin Pump, What to Pray For

Late that afternoon, Lurvy went to Mr. Zuckerman.  "I think there's something wrong with that pig of yours.  He hasn't touched his food."

"Give him two spoonfuls of sulphur and a little molasses," said Mr. Zuckerman.

That is the cure that Zuckerman comes up with when Wilbur isn't eating his slops.  Sulphur and molasses.  Of course, it doesn't really cure the pig.  Wilbur has fallen into a blue state of mind.  He's lonely.  Misses Fern.  Has no friends in the barn.  Then Lurvy shows up and shoves sulphur and molasses down his throat.

Health care on the Zuckerman homestead isn't really state of the art.  More like early Little House on the Prairie.  Of course, back then, home remedies were cutting edge.  Probably every farmer used sulphur and molasses to cure an ailing hog.  My mother used to give me a mixture of lemon, whiskey, and honey as cough medicine when I was a kid.  I used to pray to get sick just so that I could get it.

Health care in the United States nowadays is a broken thing.  I spent 45 minutes on the phone this afternoon with Blue Cross and a company called Medtronic.  Blue Cross is my health insurance company, and Medtronic is the supplier of my insulin pump and its paraphernalia.  Well, my insulin pump stopped working a couple of weeks ago, so I received a loaner pump from Medtronic while they worked out the details of getting me a replacement pump.

What I found out this afternoon:  it's going to cost me two thousand dollars to get a new pump.  I never had to pay out-of-pocket anything for my two previous insulin pumps.  So, after I received that news, I called Blue Cross to see if there was some kind of mistake.  The guy from Blue Cross was very helpful.  He told me that it's going to cost me two thousand dollars to get a new Medtronic pump.  Then he started talking about tiers and percentages and Blue Care referrals and deductibles.  By the time he was done, I could only say, "Thank you.  You have thoroughly ruined my day.  Possibly my entire week."

I don't relish the idea of going back to injecting myself with insulin four or five times a day, but that's definitely a possibility at the moment.  It would be a cheaper alternative.  And that's what's wrong with health care in the United States.  People have to choose between good health or good finances.  Senior citizens have to choose between buying medicine or food.  Cancer patients have to throw spaghetti dinners to raise enough funds for treatments.  People have to file for bankruptcy, sell their houses, and move in with their kids to get well.

For some reason, American citizens are afraid of universal health care.  I don't know why.  Health care should be a right, not a privilege.  And, unless we all want to be sucking down spoonfuls of sulphur and molasses, something's gotta change.

Me, I'm in a really shitty mood since my phone conversations this afternoon.  And that's not going to change any time soon.  I don't even know what to pray for.  Patience?  Hope?  Two thousand dollars?  The slow death of all health insurance executives?

Saint Marty just can't decide.

They're small, but expensive

February 16: Late Post, Adamant, Surplus Population

I meant to post early this morning.  I swear I did.  But work and other obligations interfered with my ability to sit down and perform the task of posting.  I know it's only a couple of keystrokes, but I've been going solid all day.  I also know that my disciples have gotten used to my morning reflections.  Sorry.  It just didn't happen today.

That being said, I would like to talk about one of my favorite passages in A Christmas Carol.  It's the Ghost of Christmas Present chastising Scrooge for making his flippant comment about decreasing the "surplus population."  It's Ebenezer Scrooge at his Tea Party best.  The Ghost takes him to task:

"Man," said the Ghost, "if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered What the surplus is, and Where it is.  Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die?  It may be, that in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man's child.  Oh God! to hear the Insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers in the dust!"

This little speech proves to me that Charles Dickens would have been a big supporter of universal health care.  I work for a fairly large health care system in the United States.  I see the kind of health care that poor people receive compared to the kind of health care that wealthier people receive.  And I also am witness to people so far under water with medical debt that they lose their houses.  If that doesn't make you angry, then you, like Scrooge, may have a heart of adamant.

I can't do anything to change this system.  Health insurance companies and hospitals have too much political power.  That's why the United States doesn't have medical care like Great Britain or Canada or France.  There's way too many interest groups with very deep pockets for any sweeping change to occur.

In the mean time, poor people with sick kids struggle to survive,  just like Bob Cratchit.  And the Scrooges of the world continue to make tons of money off of the surplus population.  There's something wrong with this picture.  Health care shouldn't be a commodity.  Health care should be a commitment.

If any presidential candidate wants to get my attention, let him or her talk about a commitment to free health care for all the Tiny Tims of the world.

Whoever does that has Saint Marty's vote.

Anybody got a cure?