Not in Kansas, anymore

Church sexual abuse with a twist: the perp is a woman, the church is Baptist.

Creflo Dollar, a man not unknown to these shores, is under investigation.

In Britain, the money is in charity.

Career opportunities: the Vatican wants more exorcists.

Also coming to you from the Middle Ages: martyrs.

Meanwhile, in Poland, the Church has authorised an exorcism centre.

Meanwhile, in England, Poles

Meanwhile, in Canada, empty pews

Meanwhile, in Italia, il terrorismo islamista.

Back in England, there are too many Bishops

The War Against Christmas continues in Oklahoma.

Even Kansas is not in Kansas.

Finally, an atheist movie

with thanks to Craig for the links

Leftovers

It's that time of year again. Yesterday's lead story in both the Herald and the Dom was that a New Zealander had been bitten by a snake, in Australia. Woop de woop, as the young folks say. In an effort to provide readers with something to read, here are some links to some items of interest.

In the New York Review of Books, Malise Ruthven reviews some books concerning the religion of peace. In the TLS, John Habgood grumbles about the New Atheism, "which has a sharper tongue, is gleefully aggressive rather than solemnly regretful, and makes much use of ridicule." Oh yes, indeed. In the Guardian, Timothy Garton Ash talks about faith, reason and Mitt Romney. Robert Bellah longs for a global civil religion.

Turning towards a more important matter, n+1 discusses dating. John Lanchester tells us all about derivatives. Frederick C Crews talks about drugs.

Lincoln Caplan makes an exhortation about executive supremacy. Jonathan Jones gets the creeps from the Isenheim Altarpiece. Paul Hockenos considers the romanticising of the Red Army Faction. Christopher Hitchens measures his words.

Finally, Caleb Crain contemplates the twilight of the books.


There, I bet that cheered you up. Today's illustration was provided by the excellent Mr Samuel Finnemore, who has spent most of this year commenting for great justice on Mr Wishart's blog.

Have yourself a very Fascist Christmas

One of my favourite traditions at this time of year is the War Against Christmas. Like many traditions, it is not that old: the religious right in the USofA discovered that Christmas was under attack from secularists only a couple of yuletides ago. However, hostilities have broken out all over the place, including the Old Country. A Member of Parliament called Pritchard, who represents the Conservative interest in the Wrekin, has taken up the call to arms. Apparently, "many shoppers find it increasingly difficult to buy greeting cards with references to Christ." It is obvious why: the fascists have bought them all. Mr Pritchard says the British National Party in Staffordshire has sent out cards showing the holy family and bearing the words 'heritage, tradition and culture.' I am so glad I am not on their list, or any of their lists.

Things are so different in the Levant. Mr Pritchard told his audience, "yesterday I received an e-mail from a Jewish gentleman in Beirut, who told me of nativity plays performed in schools there. If it is good enough for Lebanon, it is good enough for London." I should think so, too. London should have an endless war between Christians and Muslims, with help from Syria and Israel. That would give the youth of today some moral fibre. Instead, they have Amy Winehouse, who is Jewish but no gentleman (incidentally, on Waiheke Island recently, I saw a teenage girl who looked like Ms Winehouse and who had styled her hair accordingly; I bet she is a worry to her parents).

The full text of Mr Pritchard's speech can be found here. It is a masterpiece of imagery. He exalts his fellow members to "slay the dragon of political correctness" and provides what must be the simile of the year: "taking Christ out of Christmas is like serving the Christmas turkey without the stuffing."

Mr Pritchard also has stern words for us heathens: "turning to secularists, it is wrong of the anti-Christian lobby, whether atheistic, humanist or secularist, not to afford the level of tolerance to the Christian faith that they rightly demand for their own world view and beliefs or lack of belief." I must say, it is very nice of him to be so politically correct as to distinguish between the different kinds of non-believer. But I don't think atheists can be blamed for the rarity of advent calendars.

Whilst we are at it, and thinking of war, why did none of these crusaders ever complain about the war films shown on television at Christmas? When I was growing up in England, on Christmas Day the BBC would always show Von Ryan's Express or The Guns of Navarone. It is no wonder that the only people left who care about the reason for the season are the Staffordshire fascists: the holy family keeps folks' minds off killing Nazis.

Dispatches from the war against Christmas in the USofA can be found here, while Flumadiddle brings us the true tat of Christmas. And, in case you didn't know already, it was all invented by Charles Dickens.

Finally, and thinking of the Wrekin, here is a unrelated song from Wreckless Eric

One more thing: here is my Christmas card to you. I hope you will find it tolerant and secular.

Kings for a day

It is, as all those 80s pop stars remind us, Christmas-time, and so the Baptists of the Tabernacle on Auckland's Queen Street have done what they always do at this time of year: they have brought out their alarmingly life-size Christmas Crib. It gives me the shudders everytime I see it. Nativity scenes, traditionally, are on a miniaturised scale and so they should be. But the Baptists proclaim that a child is born with huge and scary figures.

Among the Corinthian columns Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus and two kings of orient are. The whereabouts of the third king are unknown. They are an odd looking bunch. Mary must be the oldest virgin in town, while Joseph seems quite shocked at the prospect of surrogate fatherhood, as well he might. The two kings appear to be advancing on the less than happy family as zombies do on teenagers. There are no certain shepherds, no sheep and no asses; which is fortunate, because there would be no room at the Tabernacle otherwise.

But what of that third king? Perhaps he was taken in the night by drunken revellers. That may be the reason why the holy mannequins are returned to the recesses of the Tabernacle every evening and regrouped the next day. Or perhaps the king's disappearance is a sign of something more sinister.

Perhaps the royal absence is "part of a larger war that the secular Left is waging on all things Christian," In the USofA, manger attacks are breaking out all over. In one such incident, a public school coach and some of his students "damaged a number of Christmas displays, let the air out of inflatable figures and rearranged plastic reindeer into X-rated sexual positions." Flumadiddle is monitoring the lordnappings and, at the last count, reports thirty-two baby Jesuses taken.

Whether this disturbing trend has come to New Zealand remains unreported. Family First really ought to be monitoring this sort of thing.

Elsewhere, Going Jesus has assembled a Cavalcade of Bad Nativities.

99 problems and the blog ain't one

Blimey. Just when it looked as if nothing much was going on around here, the Fundy Post has had greatness thrust upon it. A company called Socialrank, which makes clever little algorithms to assess blogs, has compiled a list of the top one hundred Atheist sites in the blogworld. There, among such luminaries as The Flying Spaghetti Monster, Pharyngula and Flumadiddle, is the Fundy Post. And what's more, the selection process was done by twenty key bloggers in the Atheist niche; I have been peer-reviewed. They have even given me a virtual plaque, which I have hung at the at the top right.

Quite how this all came about is beyond my ken. I have never thought of this as an atheist blog; rather as an autobiographical narrative written by an author who does not much care to talk about himself and who, for that matter, does not much care for stories. The fact of my atheism and of my fascination with religious politics is just something that is part of the mix, along with art, literature and Sophie Ellis Bextor. However, my peers apparently think otherwise, so I shall not turn down this accolade. Besides, it will really piss off Bill Cooke, which is reason enough.

You never know, it might also prompt somebody to offer me a writing job. Perhaps I might also be the subject of one of those profiles in North and South which feature New Zealanders playing on the world stage and show how New Zealand punches above its weight. Metro, as well, might like to think about a feature, or at least lunch.

Anyway, enough about me. This blog's ranking is now in the hands of the algorithm, which weighs the Fundy Post in the balance daily. The score, which has risen a healthy four points this week, is determined in large part by the amount of activity and linkage the blog receives. So I have you, gentle readers, to thank. It is the lurking and linking and commenting which makes the points. And points mean prizes, or at least kudos.

I was going to entitle this post "don't cha wish your boyfriend was hot like me" but I thought that would be a little immodest.

Of paper bags and carpet bags

To Smith and Caughey, for seasonal lulz; there is nothing like a department store to bring out the camp in Christmas. I am sure Fundy Post readers will want to know how the rich (or, to the use the politically correct term, people of money) will be spending their riches this Christmas. So I patrolled the decked aisles of Smith and Caughey's Christmas department and I can reveal, exclusively to you, that this year's hot item is...

...a paper bag. You read me right. A paper bag. Not just any old paper bag, of course; that would be silly. This paper bag in fact is an "old-fashioned paper bag lantern." For a mere fourteen dollars you can purchase a plastic bag filled with "six reusable, flame retardant, grocery-style bags." You will also have to make an additional investment of some night lights to put in the bags, so as to transform them into lanterns. A serving suggestion on the plastic bag which contains the paper bags shows the completed bag and night light combinations deployed to line a driveway. Given the length of driveways in Rem, the purchaser will need quite a few bags. But a bag is not just for Christmas: the instructions on the plastic bag also suggest using the paper bags to light your dinner party table.

It is a different world, that of the people of money. I am ignorant of the history of the old-fashioned paper bag lantern, if it has one. I would imagine that at some time and place in the quaint past, people without money put candles in paper bags to make lanterns, because they could not afford anything more elaborate. Now people of money can imitate the simple pleasures of the poor, without even having to go to the trouble of hoarding their grocery bags, and safe in the knowledge that these bags are flame retardant.

Perhaps I should not mock the people of money any further. This Christmas will not be easy for them. On the very day that I visited Smith and Caughey, the Herald used the last of its red ink to announce the passing of the Electoral Finance Bill into law, solemnly noting that Parliament's decision has "changed the way New Zealanders can participate in elections." I expect this is true for the New Zealanders who buy paper bag lanterns. It probably will make little difference for those who use bags solely for shopping purposes. If you are in Pak'n'Save filling your own bags with groceries, you probably are not grieving that the Government no longer allows you to spend a million dollars running a covert election campaign. You are probably more concerned with packing and saving.

Blogs and how to knit them

Following yesterday's post about the state of blogging, I have done some research. By clicking the "next blog" button at the top of any Blogger blog, I have seen many blogs and learned that most are written in Spanish. Those in English are mostly about penis enlargement and include such helpful advice as:

Your chick does not want to jazz it with you by reason of your male aggregate size.
Dont panic you can solve this problem right now.
All you have to do is just use our aggregate enlargement.
Your sexual life will change promptly.

Apart from babies and cats, most other blogs are about either porn or knitting. One blog is about both.

Living as a nanny in Manhattan

If you have been wondering why I have not been blogging so much of late, the reason is that I have been stifled by Public Address System; stifled, I tell you!

See, I cannot even start a post without mentioning PA System and, worse still, borrowing its links; only today I was reading a post by Emma Hart and felt an overwhelming need to write about this one, or at least this passage:

There are about 1.1 billion Internet users, yet only 55 million users (5%) have weblogs according to Technorati. Worse, there are only 1.6 million postings per day; because some people post multiple times per day, only 0.1% of users post daily.

Of course, this sort of thing is not a new problem. Participation in the High Renaissance was a constant worry for contemporary advocates of an inclusive and diverse society: research found that, in all Italian city states surveyed, less than one per cent of the population had completed a fresco in the previous twelve months; rates for the playing of the viola da gamba and the invention of flying machines also were disappointingly low; only such activities as kicking a pig's bladder around the streets, jew-baiting and fornication proved to have widespread popular appeal.

But still, only 55 million users have weblogs. Somewhere out there are a lot of cats which never have had a photograph posted on a blog. More worrying still, there might be a liberal arts graduate in New York doing a dead-end job while she tries to complete her first novel who has yet to tell us about how difficult it all is.

I am all for participation but I have no delusions about the richness and variety of the contributions made to public discourse by bloggers. I have spent too much time looking at the pretty pictures pass by on Blogger Play.

Of course the 95 per cent of Internet users who do not blog might have something interesting to say; but do we want to know about the porn they have downloaded or the recipes they have found? Most folk just consume Internet; they don't want to contribute. Most people probably prefer reading to writing and commenting to creating.

Anyway, enough about them; what about this blog? I cannot but help notice that readers are more engaged when I write stuff than when I post links. Fundy Post readers are a clever bunch who make interesting comments; so more words, fewer links from now on.

That said, here is a link to a song about doing a dead-end job in New York.

When fundies attack

Craig sent me this story about a killing over Creation in the outback.

Also from Craig and from Australia is the news that Catch The Fire Ministries is blaming the drought on sin.

Also mentioned in that story is the League of Rights. As it happens, the New Zealand branch of this august organisation has slipped away; Poneke tells the story of the League, as Russell has noted.

Also noteworthy is that my evil plan to have caverage chosen as Public Address Word of the Year has failed.

Meanwhile, in Germany, moves are afoot to ban Scientology.

After browsing at Borders

In which the author reviews everything he found interesting in Borders

Alan Coren once wrote, in the forward to a collection of his essays, that he asked his publisher to identify the most popular genres of books. His publisher told him that the best-sellers were books about golf, books about cats and books about the Second World War. So Coren named his book Golfing for Cats and put a large swastika on the front cover.

I was reminded of this when I found a book called Dog Heroes of September 11th, a tribute to America's search and rescue dogs. With this publication, a new age for the dog book has dawned: from humble beginnings in guides to the care and maintenance of canines, through books which treat dogs as objects of fluffy sentiment and now onward and upward to the most noble and perhaps most profitable subject: the patriotic dog.

Dogsploitation ought to be the name for this genre of book; if it is not, I claim my place in the Oxford English Dictionary here and now. For years, it lagged behind the far more lucrative catsploitation trade, whose practitioners knew that a picture of a cat on a cool Greek roof was worth a thousand bucks. But cats do nothing but look cute and adorable. Dogs are cute, adorable and America's allies in the war against Terror.

I would continue with this review but I could not bring myself to look inside the book. Instead, I wandered to the magazines section, where the cover of this week's Listener asks the important question "do bananas give you too much potassium?" The answer, provided in the Nutrition section, is "no." Quite why the Listener poses alarming questions about fruit, to which it knows the answer is a reassuring negative, is a matter between the magazines publishers and its accountants.

The really alarming stuff is to be found in New Scientist. Somebody clever thinks we have hastened the end of the universe by looking at it. And if that is not bad enough, the universe has a huge hole in it, 900 million light years across. The string theorists think it is evidence that ours is one of many universes.

Oh well, at least there is a new Sigur Ros album out, for people who think Radiohead are too commercial. There is probably a new Nick Hornby novel as well; there usually is.