In an election campaign, there's probably no better ally than The Big Man Upstairs. So it should probably not come as a shock that Michele Bachmann has suggested that God called her to run--both for Congress and for the Presidency.
This line of "thinking"--if we can call it that--is so idiotic that it disqualifies her from serious consideration on that basis alone.
God is apparently a very busy guy. In a universe that is incomprehensible in size, comprised of millions of galaxies and billions of stars, God is quite the micromanager--He is invoked at football games and political rallies as if He is watching all the proceedings and intervening on behalf of the better candidate or team. Imagine what it's like up there in heaven: "Jeez, 4th and 2 with just 12 seconds remaining--I'd better have them call a fade pattern into the back left corner of the end zone; that will give them the win. Thank God I'm calling the shots here! My fantasy teams are kicking butt, big-time."
The fantasy, of course, is the idea that God is doing any of this in the first place. And it will do my heart good--oh so good--to see Bachmann's campaign wither away after the Iowa caucuses, where she is sure to flounder. And then, I hope Michele asks the obvious question:
If God wanted me to run, why did he make me lose?
(And why did he even let that Obama guy become President in the first place?)
There will come a time--unfortunately, not in my lifetime or maybe even my grandchildrens'--when people will look back at this type of belief system and say, "What in the hell were they thinking?" I surely do not know, and it's painful and frustrating to watch. When it comes to religion, people who are otherwise fairly bright and reasonable transform themselves into instant idiots.
R.I.P., Christopher Hitchens, for your efforts to debunk all this craziness.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Three months worth of lessons
Gosh--it's been over three months since the Contentious One added to his collection of rants in this space. Of course, as a consequence, my thousands of fans across the world have been in a funk--especially those hard-core CI followers in Sri Lanka, Uruguay, Belgium, and Malawi. But not to worry--I'm back! Let the celebrating begin.
What's been happening in the last three months? And what can we learn from these things?
Lesson #1: Health care remains amazingly expensive and out of whack. Our daughter had emergency surgery in August--a ruptured cyst on her right ovary. In the hospital before lunch; out of the hospital just after dinner. Total cost? $26,000. That's right--two, six, zero, zero, zero, a mere $3500 an hour. After several reductions and allowances--including insurance--our share became around $2,000--but that's still two grand out of pocket for less than a day in the hospital. WTF.
Lesson #2: College has become less demanding. Back in the day, the courses that I took as an undergraduate were pretty challenging. It wasn't at all shocking to have three or four textbooks in a course (and we walked to those classes in bare feet through 8-foot snowdrifts, too--and we liked it!) These days, I get all kinds of pushback (love that word--one of my favorites right now) about "how many theories we have to learn" and "how many chapters there are." (Never mind that the current set of readings is about 149 pages, total, to cover a minimum of three weeks of classes.) I've just heard a lot of whining lately, not to mention some serious misunderstandings of what's involved in higher education and how the game is played. ["Why aren't the tests open book?" "Writing assignments--what is this, an English class?" "This class concerns me--I guess I'm going to have to talk to the Admissions Office (!) about it."] But, bottom line, we are expecting less of these kids.
Lesson #3: The culture wars are still very nasty. And incredibly bizarre. I'm constantly flabbergasted by those who think (a) that beleaguered, oppressed top 1 percent needs to be shielded against higher taxes, (b) those gay people need to be told that they can't marry (even though they can't marry now anyway!), (c) the President is an evil Socialist, (d) God controls everything, and (e) unless you think that the U.S. is the most exceptional nation in the world that you should move to Teheran. And, in a nation of 300,000,000 people, that our "best and brightest" include the likes of Michele Bachmann, Sarah Palin, and Rick Perry. (And let's not forget Mr. Herman Cain, former pizza chain CEO, who has about as much foreign policy experience as Larry the Cable Guy.)
Lesson #4: We all need positive strokes. I didn't realize until September how depleted my ego was--my very sense of self. After submitting 162 pages of material in the fall of 2009 to a promotion committee, and being told by that committee that 162 pages was insufficient, and that a promotion was not going to happen for several other reasons, I began to question my value in the world. And then along came Shannon--an angel from a publisher, a publisher that needed help getting a textbook finished. I reviewed 9 chapters of that book; I wrote 13 boxed items for that book; I revised several of those chapters from top to bottom; and I wrote a summary along with discussion questions at the end of each chapter. And for the first time in memory--certainly the first time this century--I felt recognized and appreciated. Shannon didn't seem to have enough superlatives--each new piece was either "excellent," or "flawless," or "perfect," or the like. And I just gobbled up all those strokes like a man who'd been wandering around the desert for 3 days with nothing to eat or drink. In the end, Shannon said she hadn't worked with anyone better in her 15 years in publishing, and I was floating. (And I made some pretty darn good money too!) I came to realize that I work in a place of benign neglect--no one ever really hassles you (thank goodness for that), but no one ever really tells you the good stuff that you need to hear, either. As best I can, I need to pay all this forward a bit: it's sometimes hard to do so with a whiny or inept student, but I was reminded of what that glow feels like and why it matters. Here's a big hug for y'all.
Thanksgiving tomorrow--my favorite holiday of the year. Have a good one.
What's been happening in the last three months? And what can we learn from these things?
Lesson #1: Health care remains amazingly expensive and out of whack. Our daughter had emergency surgery in August--a ruptured cyst on her right ovary. In the hospital before lunch; out of the hospital just after dinner. Total cost? $26,000. That's right--two, six, zero, zero, zero, a mere $3500 an hour. After several reductions and allowances--including insurance--our share became around $2,000--but that's still two grand out of pocket for less than a day in the hospital. WTF.
Lesson #2: College has become less demanding. Back in the day, the courses that I took as an undergraduate were pretty challenging. It wasn't at all shocking to have three or four textbooks in a course (and we walked to those classes in bare feet through 8-foot snowdrifts, too--and we liked it!) These days, I get all kinds of pushback (love that word--one of my favorites right now) about "how many theories we have to learn" and "how many chapters there are." (Never mind that the current set of readings is about 149 pages, total, to cover a minimum of three weeks of classes.) I've just heard a lot of whining lately, not to mention some serious misunderstandings of what's involved in higher education and how the game is played. ["Why aren't the tests open book?" "Writing assignments--what is this, an English class?" "This class concerns me--I guess I'm going to have to talk to the Admissions Office (!) about it."] But, bottom line, we are expecting less of these kids.
Lesson #3: The culture wars are still very nasty. And incredibly bizarre. I'm constantly flabbergasted by those who think (a) that beleaguered, oppressed top 1 percent needs to be shielded against higher taxes, (b) those gay people need to be told that they can't marry (even though they can't marry now anyway!), (c) the President is an evil Socialist, (d) God controls everything, and (e) unless you think that the U.S. is the most exceptional nation in the world that you should move to Teheran. And, in a nation of 300,000,000 people, that our "best and brightest" include the likes of Michele Bachmann, Sarah Palin, and Rick Perry. (And let's not forget Mr. Herman Cain, former pizza chain CEO, who has about as much foreign policy experience as Larry the Cable Guy.)
Lesson #4: We all need positive strokes. I didn't realize until September how depleted my ego was--my very sense of self. After submitting 162 pages of material in the fall of 2009 to a promotion committee, and being told by that committee that 162 pages was insufficient, and that a promotion was not going to happen for several other reasons, I began to question my value in the world. And then along came Shannon--an angel from a publisher, a publisher that needed help getting a textbook finished. I reviewed 9 chapters of that book; I wrote 13 boxed items for that book; I revised several of those chapters from top to bottom; and I wrote a summary along with discussion questions at the end of each chapter. And for the first time in memory--certainly the first time this century--I felt recognized and appreciated. Shannon didn't seem to have enough superlatives--each new piece was either "excellent," or "flawless," or "perfect," or the like. And I just gobbled up all those strokes like a man who'd been wandering around the desert for 3 days with nothing to eat or drink. In the end, Shannon said she hadn't worked with anyone better in her 15 years in publishing, and I was floating. (And I made some pretty darn good money too!) I came to realize that I work in a place of benign neglect--no one ever really hassles you (thank goodness for that), but no one ever really tells you the good stuff that you need to hear, either. As best I can, I need to pay all this forward a bit: it's sometimes hard to do so with a whiny or inept student, but I was reminded of what that glow feels like and why it matters. Here's a big hug for y'all.
Thanksgiving tomorrow--my favorite holiday of the year. Have a good one.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Dad turns 100 today
August 8, 2011 marks my father’s 100th birthday. (We often talk in these terms with celebrities—even if they are no longer living, we refer to them as if they were; e.g., it’s Beethoven’s 200th birthday or some such thing.) In dad’s case, May 14, 1970 marked the end of his life in the normal sense of the word, but in that other sense he’s now a full century old.
Since it’s been over 41 years since he died, I have to realize that Victor Elmer Lapakko has been gone for well over two-thirds of my life. In many ways, his passing seems like such an ancient, distant event; it’s almost as if he was never around. But, if I see a photo or two, or think about stories from the past, he becomes real again.
When it comes to dad, my dominant fantasy involves just showing him around the world of 2011. I think more than anything, he would have been fascinated by what’s happened in the way of technology. I’d love to demonstrate to him how computers work, or the Internet, or cell phones, or iPods; he'd be amazed by it all. One trait that he had was a sense of awe and wonder about the world, and I think there’s much that would dazzle him.
Dad would also be intrigued by what’s happened in politics. On the day he went into surgery--never to come out of it--he was as concerned as anything else about the Vietnam War. He wanted to know if the political pressure to end that war was going to succeed. He’d be surprised by the dissolution of the USSR and the end of the Cold War. And he, along with my mom, would be pleased as can be that a person of color was sitting in the Oval Office.
When you’re 19 years old, you think that your parents will live forever, and it’s still a shock that dad died at the age of 58. But even a full century after his birth he lives on for me, and I will always respect and appreciate the buoyant, committed, and curious person that he was.
Since it’s been over 41 years since he died, I have to realize that Victor Elmer Lapakko has been gone for well over two-thirds of my life. In many ways, his passing seems like such an ancient, distant event; it’s almost as if he was never around. But, if I see a photo or two, or think about stories from the past, he becomes real again.
When it comes to dad, my dominant fantasy involves just showing him around the world of 2011. I think more than anything, he would have been fascinated by what’s happened in the way of technology. I’d love to demonstrate to him how computers work, or the Internet, or cell phones, or iPods; he'd be amazed by it all. One trait that he had was a sense of awe and wonder about the world, and I think there’s much that would dazzle him.
Dad would also be intrigued by what’s happened in politics. On the day he went into surgery--never to come out of it--he was as concerned as anything else about the Vietnam War. He wanted to know if the political pressure to end that war was going to succeed. He’d be surprised by the dissolution of the USSR and the end of the Cold War. And he, along with my mom, would be pleased as can be that a person of color was sitting in the Oval Office.
When you’re 19 years old, you think that your parents will live forever, and it’s still a shock that dad died at the age of 58. But even a full century after his birth he lives on for me, and I will always respect and appreciate the buoyant, committed, and curious person that he was.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Bachmann & Palin: babes rule
Fortunately, I have a lot of hair, because I've been pulling it out in clumps as I ponder the announced candidacy of Michele Bachmann and the potential candidacy of Sarah Palin for the highest office in the land. PRESIDENT Bachmann? PRESIDENT Palin? The whole idea makes Governor Ventura and Governor Schwarzenegger seem almost sane and normal.
To me, one's view of Bachmann and Palin constitutes a reliable intelligence test: If you think these two babes are smart and capable, you're an idiot. Line up all their strange quotations and bizarre notions about the world and you have a set of beliefs that is ignorant, simplistic, narrow-minded, and just plain scary. Their views on religion and homosexuality alone are enough to disqualify them from any executive position. They are, in the end, demagogues in skirts.
But, strangely enough, it is the "skirt" part that seems to work for them. Maybe our standards and expectations in politics are not as high in this regard, but I always have to grudgingly admit that Bachmann and Palin are attractive. Yes, their ideas can diminish that attractiveness a bit, but as a guy, I can say that they are easy on the eyes. Since the first telegenic Presidency--John F. Kennedy's--we have become increasingly susceptible to mere images in politics. And images now really matter. At more than 300 pounds, William Howard Taft could not be elected President in 2012. And at considerably less than 300 pounds, Dennis Kucinich looks sufficiently odd and dorky that he doesn't have a chance as long as there are electronic screens.
The whole thing doesn't say much for us these days. We're not too far from choosing the high school homecoming queen. Michele and Sarah are like a 17-year-old Buffy, or Muffin, or Midge: cute, perky, energetic, and vacuous--with a lot of school spirit. Don't you just love your freedom? Go USA!
To me, one's view of Bachmann and Palin constitutes a reliable intelligence test: If you think these two babes are smart and capable, you're an idiot. Line up all their strange quotations and bizarre notions about the world and you have a set of beliefs that is ignorant, simplistic, narrow-minded, and just plain scary. Their views on religion and homosexuality alone are enough to disqualify them from any executive position. They are, in the end, demagogues in skirts.
But, strangely enough, it is the "skirt" part that seems to work for them. Maybe our standards and expectations in politics are not as high in this regard, but I always have to grudgingly admit that Bachmann and Palin are attractive. Yes, their ideas can diminish that attractiveness a bit, but as a guy, I can say that they are easy on the eyes. Since the first telegenic Presidency--John F. Kennedy's--we have become increasingly susceptible to mere images in politics. And images now really matter. At more than 300 pounds, William Howard Taft could not be elected President in 2012. And at considerably less than 300 pounds, Dennis Kucinich looks sufficiently odd and dorky that he doesn't have a chance as long as there are electronic screens.
The whole thing doesn't say much for us these days. We're not too far from choosing the high school homecoming queen. Michele and Sarah are like a 17-year-old Buffy, or Muffin, or Midge: cute, perky, energetic, and vacuous--with a lot of school spirit. Don't you just love your freedom? Go USA!
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Mourning the loss of a friend
Even we introverts like to have a few friends, and it appears that I have lost one.
Someone I've known for more than 30 years essentially "broke up with me" a few days ago, and I'm still sad and reflective about it. (The ultimate proof of this demise: my Facebook friend list appears to be one name shorter.) And, if I'm honest about it, I'm maybe a little angry, too.
Near as I can tell, the issue, in his mind, was that at a key point in his life, several years ago, I was too cold and judgmental toward him, and that in recent years, I was way more into me than I was into him--that is, I loved to call and talk about myself but didn't show enough interest in the joys and sorrows of his life. In the end, I have to say, point well taken. For the most part.
There are some mitigating or complicating factors. An odd feature to this relationship is that in the last 20 years, I've probably made at least 500 personal calls to him, while he's possibly made one or two such calls to me. Really. After a while, you begin to wonder who's really interested in whom. And yes, I liked to share personal stories--you know, good, bad, funny, or strange stuff that was going on in my life. But the idea that I had no interest in his life whatsoever is ridiculous on its face. Maybe I didn't ask enough questions, or the right questions, but I did ask them, more often than not. Also, I always just assumed that part of friendship is simply reciprocal storytelling--I tell you my stories and you tell me yours. If he had wanted to read me the yellow pages, I would have listened. And if my calls to him seemed like egotistical babbling, all it would have taken is a few calls FROM him with the desire to tell me a few more of HIS stories. He could have asserted who he is rather than spending what turns out to be several YEARS in quiet passive-aggressive resentment. Well, at least I know why my last two lunch invitations were met with such indifference.
The other thing that is painfully clear to me is that when you have issues, then you have a responsibility to raise them--and for me to learn in 2011 that he had an axe to grind from maybe 2004 or 2005 (can't remember the year--it's been so long that this is an estimate) is at best unfortunate and at worst unkind. Jeez, we could've talked about this stuff; we really could.
And so I am left to mourn the loss of this friend--someone who has meant a lot to me over the years. I wish him the best and hope that maybe someday all of this will change.
Someone I've known for more than 30 years essentially "broke up with me" a few days ago, and I'm still sad and reflective about it. (The ultimate proof of this demise: my Facebook friend list appears to be one name shorter.) And, if I'm honest about it, I'm maybe a little angry, too.
Near as I can tell, the issue, in his mind, was that at a key point in his life, several years ago, I was too cold and judgmental toward him, and that in recent years, I was way more into me than I was into him--that is, I loved to call and talk about myself but didn't show enough interest in the joys and sorrows of his life. In the end, I have to say, point well taken. For the most part.
There are some mitigating or complicating factors. An odd feature to this relationship is that in the last 20 years, I've probably made at least 500 personal calls to him, while he's possibly made one or two such calls to me. Really. After a while, you begin to wonder who's really interested in whom. And yes, I liked to share personal stories--you know, good, bad, funny, or strange stuff that was going on in my life. But the idea that I had no interest in his life whatsoever is ridiculous on its face. Maybe I didn't ask enough questions, or the right questions, but I did ask them, more often than not. Also, I always just assumed that part of friendship is simply reciprocal storytelling--I tell you my stories and you tell me yours. If he had wanted to read me the yellow pages, I would have listened. And if my calls to him seemed like egotistical babbling, all it would have taken is a few calls FROM him with the desire to tell me a few more of HIS stories. He could have asserted who he is rather than spending what turns out to be several YEARS in quiet passive-aggressive resentment. Well, at least I know why my last two lunch invitations were met with such indifference.
The other thing that is painfully clear to me is that when you have issues, then you have a responsibility to raise them--and for me to learn in 2011 that he had an axe to grind from maybe 2004 or 2005 (can't remember the year--it's been so long that this is an estimate) is at best unfortunate and at worst unkind. Jeez, we could've talked about this stuff; we really could.
And so I am left to mourn the loss of this friend--someone who has meant a lot to me over the years. I wish him the best and hope that maybe someday all of this will change.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
4th of July: overrated jingoism
In the community where I live, the 4th of July is probably THE biggest holiday of the year. The whole town goes a little nuts, with a morning parade; an evening street dance; a little carnival area with motorized rides, hot dogs, and cotton candy; and, of course, a massive fireworks display. What's not to like? Well, leave it to The Introvert to explain why the 4th is by no means his favorite holiday:
• It's a boozefest. In this suburb, the main form of personal recreation on "Independence Day" is continuous consumption of alcohol, for teens and adults alike. That's disgusting.
• It's crowded and noisy. People fight for spots to watch the parade--they put down rows of folding chairs at 7 am to claim their spot. The park with the fireworks is prone to gridlock. And there are all these people to walk and drive around and through. And, sorry to say, after 30 or 40 years, fireworks do lose some of their charm. I've seen fireworks in so many places that I have a bit of a "been there, done that" mindset. I'm almost out of "oohs" and "ahhs."
• It's hot and buggy. You need to have both sunscreen and mosquito repellent. And various types of smoke waft through the air from dawn to midnight.
• The various picnics going on in the neighbors' back yards aren't bad in concept, but the food is normally not much to celebrate. We vegetarians don't eat a lot of brats, and store-bought coleslaw and potato salad have some pretty cloying flavors.
• Worst of all, it's jingoistic. The 4th of July is an excuse for a lot of drunken chest-pounding by people wearing red, white, and blue Old Navy tank tops. Somehow this is regarded as "patriotic." To me it is the shallowest form of patriotism, and not to be encouraged. Our national pride should be quieter and more sophisticated. The "rockets' red glare" is nothing to glorify; war is at best a necessary evil. And the worst irony of all: if you were to ask U.S. citizens what the 4th of July commemorates, a huge percentage wouldn't have a clue. (If you doubt that claim, check: http://www.godlikeproductions.com/forum1/message1548908/pg1)
But hey, pass me a brewskie!
• It's a boozefest. In this suburb, the main form of personal recreation on "Independence Day" is continuous consumption of alcohol, for teens and adults alike. That's disgusting.
• It's crowded and noisy. People fight for spots to watch the parade--they put down rows of folding chairs at 7 am to claim their spot. The park with the fireworks is prone to gridlock. And there are all these people to walk and drive around and through. And, sorry to say, after 30 or 40 years, fireworks do lose some of their charm. I've seen fireworks in so many places that I have a bit of a "been there, done that" mindset. I'm almost out of "oohs" and "ahhs."
• It's hot and buggy. You need to have both sunscreen and mosquito repellent. And various types of smoke waft through the air from dawn to midnight.
• The various picnics going on in the neighbors' back yards aren't bad in concept, but the food is normally not much to celebrate. We vegetarians don't eat a lot of brats, and store-bought coleslaw and potato salad have some pretty cloying flavors.
• Worst of all, it's jingoistic. The 4th of July is an excuse for a lot of drunken chest-pounding by people wearing red, white, and blue Old Navy tank tops. Somehow this is regarded as "patriotic." To me it is the shallowest form of patriotism, and not to be encouraged. Our national pride should be quieter and more sophisticated. The "rockets' red glare" is nothing to glorify; war is at best a necessary evil. And the worst irony of all: if you were to ask U.S. citizens what the 4th of July commemorates, a huge percentage wouldn't have a clue. (If you doubt that claim, check: http://www.godlikeproductions.com/forum1/message1548908/pg1)
But hey, pass me a brewskie!
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Religion: a license to say or believe anything
Let's face it--contentiousintrovert is not exactly google or yahoo; it's not even the Huffington Post. (Heck--it's not even the Soybean Farmers Weekly.) But if I happen to write about religion, someone often responds. And the responders are often strangers from out-of-state. Lord knows how they find this little teeny niche in cyberspace. But, it's motivating to get a response. So here I go again.
In a general sense, perhaps my biggest complaint about religious discourse in the world is that religion is regarded as a "personal" issue, which in this case means: a person can say just about anything they want about religion, and since religion is a personal issue, no one has any right to criticize. In short, talking about religion is often a free pass to say anything, no matter how stupid, ignorant, or nonsensical it happens to be, and very few people will be compelled to call you out on it. It's just not polite to do so.
Do I believe that there are actually 100 gods, not just one? That's OK, because it's religion we're talking about. Do I believe that God can read my mind right now? You can't make fun of that, because it's religion. Do I think that God has a personal career plan for me? It may be silly, but I can believe that and nobody will blink an eye. Do I think that God sits on a velvet throne with a book listing all of those who are "saved"? It's OK, because it's religion, you know--personal, and not capable of being verified. (A woman I took to prom in high school believes that there is such a book, by the way, and her name is in it, just so you know.)
Such a "hands-off" mindset enables all sorts of people--many of whom I see on cable from time to time--to say the most outrageous things, and nobody is up in arms about it. The latest kook: this 89-year-old minister who predicated The Rapture on May 21. (Oops! Now, we discover, it's actually going to be October 21.) Why does the press even give him the time of day? He's a bleeping idiot, plain and simple.
Until religious claim-makers are held to the same standards as the rest of us--providing things like evidence and coherent reasoning--I see no reason to even listen. And if we do listen, and they say things that are total rubbish, we need to get in their face and tell them so. Otherwise, people will continue to say things that are utterly ridiculous.
But I will confess to some hypocrisy here. I've sat through my share of church services, and I've never had the nerve to stand up and say, "That's baloney!" I'm not one to make such waves. But maybe some of you are courageous enough to tell a few religious emperors that they are not wearing any clothes.
In a general sense, perhaps my biggest complaint about religious discourse in the world is that religion is regarded as a "personal" issue, which in this case means: a person can say just about anything they want about religion, and since religion is a personal issue, no one has any right to criticize. In short, talking about religion is often a free pass to say anything, no matter how stupid, ignorant, or nonsensical it happens to be, and very few people will be compelled to call you out on it. It's just not polite to do so.
Do I believe that there are actually 100 gods, not just one? That's OK, because it's religion we're talking about. Do I believe that God can read my mind right now? You can't make fun of that, because it's religion. Do I think that God has a personal career plan for me? It may be silly, but I can believe that and nobody will blink an eye. Do I think that God sits on a velvet throne with a book listing all of those who are "saved"? It's OK, because it's religion, you know--personal, and not capable of being verified. (A woman I took to prom in high school believes that there is such a book, by the way, and her name is in it, just so you know.)
Such a "hands-off" mindset enables all sorts of people--many of whom I see on cable from time to time--to say the most outrageous things, and nobody is up in arms about it. The latest kook: this 89-year-old minister who predicated The Rapture on May 21. (Oops! Now, we discover, it's actually going to be October 21.) Why does the press even give him the time of day? He's a bleeping idiot, plain and simple.
Until religious claim-makers are held to the same standards as the rest of us--providing things like evidence and coherent reasoning--I see no reason to even listen. And if we do listen, and they say things that are total rubbish, we need to get in their face and tell them so. Otherwise, people will continue to say things that are utterly ridiculous.
But I will confess to some hypocrisy here. I've sat through my share of church services, and I've never had the nerve to stand up and say, "That's baloney!" I'm not one to make such waves. But maybe some of you are courageous enough to tell a few religious emperors that they are not wearing any clothes.
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