As those who follow the Trygkerz family probably know already, I started a new job at Plains Art Museum in downtown Fargo at the end of September. My job title is Communication Manager which, you guessed it, means that I manage the information flow that comes out of the Museum. I write press releases, set up marketing plans, write copy for ads and, generally, handle the promotional/creative work that doesn't involve images (we have another guy, sharply talented, who does that).
It's a good job. In fact, it's probably one of the best jobs I could hope to have given my interests and skill set. I get to align my love of arts and culture with my love of a well-written piece of information. Even better, I get to work with a fantastic group of passionate people who all love the task of making a museum successful and meaningful.
I've learned a lot in my time there so far. I took over this position from a woman who worked for the Plains for 27 years, meaning she'd been doing this since I was four years old. In my two weeks training with her prior to her retirement, I received a master's class in the fine arts of promotion, marketing and information management. And, I've learned a lot about the operation of a non-profit, particularly running a non-profit in a time of economic stress.
Although I have a cubicle and share office space with the rest of our development department, I have a lot of room. My computer has sweet speakers and I can listen to music while I do my thing. The pace of business is just right. I have plenty to do but I'm given what I need to do it. The mood is typically positive and upbeat. I fit in well with my department mates, too.
I do miss the HoDo. That place was good to me. It offered me a chance to build skills and made me a firm believer in the Fargo downtown community, a lively place to be right now and only getting better. I didn't move that far away, though. Just a couple blocks to the west, and I can still hang out there and see the people with whom I spent six good years.
Suffice it say, I'm pleased with the new gig and feel fortunate to be happy in a good job with a well-respected organization while caring for a healthy daughter. It's good. Just plain good.
10.22.2009
9.16.2009
One Month of Fatherhood (A Reflection).
Our little PeanutPumpkinBeanSprout is almost six weeks old as of today. That means I've been a dad for as long, inviting the comparison that I'm about as good of a father as Edie is a baby. So far, then, I would put myself in the category of "Non-Colicky" dad, and thankfully so.
All I expected prior to Edie's birth was the unexpected. I tried to visualize a mindset somewhere between insight meditation and the "triple threat" stance in basketball - ready and poised to bend and sway as calmly as needed without losing cool. I think this attitude has served me well, even if my emotions have often gotten the better of me. Holding a crying baby and having little or no options to make things better had presented a difficult mental and emotional pretzel. Why couldn't I give milk, too? Why have the fixtures and no plumbing?
But, that is changing. As Edie grows and she and Ms. IBIE get their timing down more and more each day, Edie has become more engaged in the world around her and is now responsive to my dad tricks - the Rock 'N' Swoop (which also exercises my knee), the Funny Mouth Noise Parade, the Elevated Hoist, the Motorcycle Knee (over a variety of terrain types) and the Jetson Car. For diaper changing, where we get our most concentrated quality time, we pick out a CD and alternate between tummy zrrbrrts and singing along with Jorma Kaukonen, The Beatles or whatever else we put on - I like to stretch it out a few minutes just to reinforce the importance of clean underpants. And, we're starting to get a reading time established and I get to put all my silly voices into full effect. Couple all that with the occasional dining room dance party, and we're golden.
Edie's effect on my life has been extraordinary. Not only do I get to participate in the growth and development of a human life, but I also get to see the world through the eyes of a parent. I understand, now, the concerns and fears that so many people bring into their public lives from their private lives. I can see how parents will go to almost outlandish lengths to protect and shelter their children either through overparenting or by pouring irrational fear into the political system and using their children as the excuse. I can see how awful a human being can be (or, even scarier, has to be) when treating their children with abuse or neglect. I can see how parenting is easy when seen as simply doing the best for your children and I can see how it can be difficult for the same reason. The insight that all of these revelations have given me is incalculable. Although it's still largely a mystery, the human race at least appears to make a bit more sense.
I am fortunate to see great parents in action. Many friends and family have become good role models. I admire the strength, humor and selflessness they show through the act of rearing a child. I also admire the way they regard themselves as role models and strive to present their best selves to their children in the hope that the next generation will learn from their mistakes. I see the excitement they have in presenting the world to someone just getting started and in this endeavor I find my greatest inspiration. The task of teaching Edie about the world, life and people gives me a distinct sense of purpose, the greatest gift anyone can give another person. For that, I am grateful.
A month into the whole thing, I'd have to say that parenting is somewhere between ecstatic joy and everyday obligation. There's the work you put into it, sure, but the returns from that work amaze me. My greatest thrill has come from seeing the impact that Edie has on other people's lives. While I fritter on about my own role as a father, she has managed to enrich the lives of her mom, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins (in addition to faux aunts, uncles and cousins) in ways I can't understand but are sublime to watch, so much so that I can't reasonably say the task of fatherhood is even remotely about myself or even about Edie. It's about the joys and responsibilities of raising a member of society and presenting them to the world, ready to contribute and have a life of their own. I like that.
And, if I get a little Twins fan to watch games with me out of the deal? Well. That's just gravy.
All I expected prior to Edie's birth was the unexpected. I tried to visualize a mindset somewhere between insight meditation and the "triple threat" stance in basketball - ready and poised to bend and sway as calmly as needed without losing cool. I think this attitude has served me well, even if my emotions have often gotten the better of me. Holding a crying baby and having little or no options to make things better had presented a difficult mental and emotional pretzel. Why couldn't I give milk, too? Why have the fixtures and no plumbing?
But, that is changing. As Edie grows and she and Ms. IBIE get their timing down more and more each day, Edie has become more engaged in the world around her and is now responsive to my dad tricks - the Rock 'N' Swoop (which also exercises my knee), the Funny Mouth Noise Parade, the Elevated Hoist, the Motorcycle Knee (over a variety of terrain types) and the Jetson Car. For diaper changing, where we get our most concentrated quality time, we pick out a CD and alternate between tummy zrrbrrts and singing along with Jorma Kaukonen, The Beatles or whatever else we put on - I like to stretch it out a few minutes just to reinforce the importance of clean underpants. And, we're starting to get a reading time established and I get to put all my silly voices into full effect. Couple all that with the occasional dining room dance party, and we're golden.
Edie's effect on my life has been extraordinary. Not only do I get to participate in the growth and development of a human life, but I also get to see the world through the eyes of a parent. I understand, now, the concerns and fears that so many people bring into their public lives from their private lives. I can see how parents will go to almost outlandish lengths to protect and shelter their children either through overparenting or by pouring irrational fear into the political system and using their children as the excuse. I can see how awful a human being can be (or, even scarier, has to be) when treating their children with abuse or neglect. I can see how parenting is easy when seen as simply doing the best for your children and I can see how it can be difficult for the same reason. The insight that all of these revelations have given me is incalculable. Although it's still largely a mystery, the human race at least appears to make a bit more sense.
I am fortunate to see great parents in action. Many friends and family have become good role models. I admire the strength, humor and selflessness they show through the act of rearing a child. I also admire the way they regard themselves as role models and strive to present their best selves to their children in the hope that the next generation will learn from their mistakes. I see the excitement they have in presenting the world to someone just getting started and in this endeavor I find my greatest inspiration. The task of teaching Edie about the world, life and people gives me a distinct sense of purpose, the greatest gift anyone can give another person. For that, I am grateful.
A month into the whole thing, I'd have to say that parenting is somewhere between ecstatic joy and everyday obligation. There's the work you put into it, sure, but the returns from that work amaze me. My greatest thrill has come from seeing the impact that Edie has on other people's lives. While I fritter on about my own role as a father, she has managed to enrich the lives of her mom, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins (in addition to faux aunts, uncles and cousins) in ways I can't understand but are sublime to watch, so much so that I can't reasonably say the task of fatherhood is even remotely about myself or even about Edie. It's about the joys and responsibilities of raising a member of society and presenting them to the world, ready to contribute and have a life of their own. I like that.
And, if I get a little Twins fan to watch games with me out of the deal? Well. That's just gravy.
8.09.2009
For the Bean
(Editor's note: this poem was to appear in anticipation of Edie's arrival. It didn't really get finished, but that's also part of the poem, n'est pas?)
I awoke in pre-dawn light saying your names.
Practicing their bounce, I put my feet on the floor
and walked through the house's amber morning
flexing my knee, kickstarting my joints and drinking
the dusty remainder of last night's water. You sleep
as you wake, in the wrap of the womb, and morning
will be news to you, light will be a surprise.
I summon the calm to coax back the feeling
that you are homesick in predetermined anxiety.
Instead, I delight in your microtonal awareness.
For you know rhythm. You know timbre and tone and pitch
but occupy the bliss of knowing not-knowing, free
from the octave and fifth of the sun and spheres,
this gulping and wiggling foreigner kicking at my voice.
When you arrive it will be with light.
When we see your hair and eyes
we will catch a sure glimpse of the Tao.
And no rests will arrive with morning,
only the actions and objects of daytime
in the allegro of full improvisational joy.
There are steps and walks and runs
to be committed to muscle memory,
and there is the touch and the tastes
that will be ours in the learning of life.
I awoke in pre-dawn light saying your names.
Practicing their bounce, I put my feet on the floor
and walked through the house's amber morning
flexing my knee, kickstarting my joints and drinking
the dusty remainder of last night's water. You sleep
as you wake, in the wrap of the womb, and morning
will be news to you, light will be a surprise.
I summon the calm to coax back the feeling
that you are homesick in predetermined anxiety.
Instead, I delight in your microtonal awareness.
For you know rhythm. You know timbre and tone and pitch
but occupy the bliss of knowing not-knowing, free
from the octave and fifth of the sun and spheres,
this gulping and wiggling foreigner kicking at my voice.
When you arrive it will be with light.
When we see your hair and eyes
we will catch a sure glimpse of the Tao.
And no rests will arrive with morning,
only the actions and objects of daytime
in the allegro of full improvisational joy.
There are steps and walks and runs
to be committed to muscle memory,
and there is the touch and the tastes
that will be ours in the learning of life.
7.19.2009
Jacqueline & Håvard Got Married.
GETTING THERE/BEING THERE
Much like Dante in "Clerks," we weren't even supposed to be there. Two doctors (not one, but two) got paid well to tell us not to drive to Winnipeg for the wedding of our dear friends Jacqueline and Håvard. As I mentioned in my previous post, things had changed for the better. Ms. IBIE's placenta had gone somewhere nicer and we had been cleared for full-term, hours-on-end labor. But we hadn't been cleared to take this drive. Ms. IBIE insisted that she could make it without delicate parts of herself detaching from some of her other delicate parts and, simply, making such a scene for her husband that he must flee, screaming and insane, into the trees and grass.I agreed, so off we went. There was always the outside chance of us having a fun, little dual citizen.
Not only did nothing bad happen but everything that happened was to-the-good. We arrived on Thursday night and guiltlessly cranked up the A/C in our hotel room. Ms. IBIE slept like the proverbial log, whilst I slept like the proverbial rock. The Ms. left on Friday morning to take preparation photos and I met my friend Kelly for lunch in the Forks. Here we were in Winnipeg, one great city.
THEY GOT HITCHED
The wedding itself was held in a simple Catholic church with elegant white arches and creaking, dark pews. A tight knot of family and friends saw Jacqueline and Håvard take the plunge. The priest was informal and personable - and made to seem more so by the fact that we didn't have to sit through a complete mass. Weddings are much more bearable, I feel, when no Latin is muttered to a piece of flatbread. It should also be mentioned that the priest had hair, exclamation mark, and that the wedding was on his birthday.
Jacqueline was radiant. Håvard, sharply dressed in a black suit, beaming. A string quartet did a tight "Canon in D." We heard some Song of Solomon and a nice bit from a book that I now forget (a program was not within arm's length at the time this blog went to press), but was apt and beautiful. The priest gave a solid homily, making the comment that Håvard and Jacqueline are more than just a couple. They are also friends. He's right.
Our giddy couple locked eyes through their vows. As rings went on fingers, the power of ceremony took over and two single people became a married couple. Ceremonies have magic.
Afterward, we blew soap bubbles in the warmth of the sun outside the church. I met Armas, Håvard's spirited and creative son, and shook his hand. I was honored to do so.
And that was that, as they say.
Jacqueline was radiant. Håvard, sharply dressed in a black suit, beaming. A string quartet did a tight "Canon in D." We heard some Song of Solomon and a nice bit from a book that I now forget (a program was not within arm's length at the time this blog went to press), but was apt and beautiful. The priest gave a solid homily, making the comment that Håvard and Jacqueline are more than just a couple. They are also friends. He's right.
Our giddy couple locked eyes through their vows. As rings went on fingers, the power of ceremony took over and two single people became a married couple. Ceremonies have magic.
Afterward, we blew soap bubbles in the warmth of the sun outside the church. I met Armas, Håvard's spirited and creative son, and shook his hand. I was honored to do so.
And that was that, as they say.
...AND THEN WE PARTIED DOWN
Note to self. In a strange city in a foreign country with meandering streets almost entirely ripped up for road construction and named in both English and French? At least get the name of the place you're driving to. Don't just depend on following the guy in front of you and don't have someone else depend on you. You will run a lot of yellow lights and, yes, almost hit people. When you arrive at a verdant park with bronze busts you will sigh with relief rather than speculate that you were so lost that you figured on just ditching the whole magilla and mowing down a bucket of fried chicken on a bench at a bus stop.
In a way, though, the experience of me driving to Assiniboine Park for a well-prepared meal was a nutshell version of everyone's larger experience at arriving there. There is Jacqueline, who certainly is disposed to gunning through yellow lights both real and metaphorical. There is Håvard's family, a little iffy on the English, in a strange room full of Canadians and a table of Americans, wondering how in the world they ended up at a splendid little table among a bunch of Canadians and smart alecky Americans. There were Jacqueline's parents, probably wondering how this moment came to pass, knowing Jacqueline as they do and knowing that this girl's future has always been on the edge of altering inexplicably and internationally. There were the Canadians, mostly relatives to Jacqueline, with this odd little experiment in international relations plopped down before them. There were us Americans, with our little children and our blue jeans, knowing Jacqueline as we do and our minds reeling accordingly ... but also knowing Håvard and knowing that this guy, this is the guy. This here is a wonderful human being with a goofy laugh. Here's the guy you want your friend to marry. Here's the guy that makes all the international nonsense make sense.
Who knows how any of us got there, swerving as we have through space/time, gunning through yellow lights, flying across oceans, almost hitting people, sleeping in cold hotel rooms and wondering if we were where we were and if where we were was where we were supposed to be until finally determining that, yes, we are there, wherever there is, knowing full well that it's just a form of "here." We stopped, looked around, and realized that a node had formed in the slipping line, one that caught in our hands, unfolded like a peony blossom and allowed us to look into the familiar and strange faces around us and carry this moment with epistemic bliss. It was an easy-fitting marriage of emotion and reason, as the beauties of both coincidence and foreknowledge granted us a rarity - a pure thing, a fine moment with the sun setting in the background, a man and a woman smooching under the table as Canadians, Americans and Norwegians stomp their feet and, above all else, an open bar with plenty of Fort Garry Dark.
Here's to you, Håvard and Jacqueline. Thank you for the wonderful time and the sincerest of best wishes on a happy life together.
In a way, though, the experience of me driving to Assiniboine Park for a well-prepared meal was a nutshell version of everyone's larger experience at arriving there. There is Jacqueline, who certainly is disposed to gunning through yellow lights both real and metaphorical. There is Håvard's family, a little iffy on the English, in a strange room full of Canadians and a table of Americans, wondering how in the world they ended up at a splendid little table among a bunch of Canadians and smart alecky Americans. There were Jacqueline's parents, probably wondering how this moment came to pass, knowing Jacqueline as they do and knowing that this girl's future has always been on the edge of altering inexplicably and internationally. There were the Canadians, mostly relatives to Jacqueline, with this odd little experiment in international relations plopped down before them. There were us Americans, with our little children and our blue jeans, knowing Jacqueline as we do and our minds reeling accordingly ... but also knowing Håvard and knowing that this guy, this is the guy. This here is a wonderful human being with a goofy laugh. Here's the guy you want your friend to marry. Here's the guy that makes all the international nonsense make sense.
Who knows how any of us got there, swerving as we have through space/time, gunning through yellow lights, flying across oceans, almost hitting people, sleeping in cold hotel rooms and wondering if we were where we were and if where we were was where we were supposed to be until finally determining that, yes, we are there, wherever there is, knowing full well that it's just a form of "here." We stopped, looked around, and realized that a node had formed in the slipping line, one that caught in our hands, unfolded like a peony blossom and allowed us to look into the familiar and strange faces around us and carry this moment with epistemic bliss. It was an easy-fitting marriage of emotion and reason, as the beauties of both coincidence and foreknowledge granted us a rarity - a pure thing, a fine moment with the sun setting in the background, a man and a woman smooching under the table as Canadians, Americans and Norwegians stomp their feet and, above all else, an open bar with plenty of Fort Garry Dark.
Here's to you, Håvard and Jacqueline. Thank you for the wonderful time and the sincerest of best wishes on a happy life together.
7.14.2009
We're Labor Ready!
Ms. IBIE received good news from the doctor today. After many weeks of worry over having to give birth to our child with a planned Cesarean section, she found out that the condition barring a natural birth (placenta previa, where the placenta covers the cervix) has cleared. She's good to go for a natural birth!
I'm overjoyed at this news and at the redemptive power of my wife's uterus. I'm going to take a little bit of credit, too - I kept pushing fiber in the Ms.'s diet during the second trimester and I have to believe that it helped. I'm also going to get a dark chuckle at the title of this blog since, technically, my wife has an undocumented, non-citizen in her tummy and "Labor Ready" is the name of a day labor provider in town.
***
We had a busy weekend. Scratch that. The Ms. had a busy weekend with our niece's bridal shower, a friend's bachelorette party and The Bean's baby shower over the course of two days. Lots of family in town, too. I mainly entertained my teenaged nephew Zach, which meant lots of video games and finding adequate sources of plentiful protein. We also played wiffle ball. Oh, heck yeah. It was awesome.
Sunday night, we also got to see Josh Ritter, one of our favorite singer/songwriters. The show was a treat. Josh is a delightful presence onstage and his band was really tight. The Ms. took off after the show but I hung around downtown to try to meet him. I ended up chatting with the tenor sax player from opening band Balthrop, Alabama (a good group in their own right, they're a little bit country, a little bit Arcade Fire) and making jukebox buddies with him, introducing him to some MSP hip-hop in the process. And, I did get to meet Josh. I've never met a kinder or more gracious musician in my life. He held zero pretense - zero, and this from the songwriter that prominent critics flip over - and wanted to know more about the music I was listening to than talk about his own or himself. He went to great lengths to make sure my beer was full. In the end, I walked home feeling more like an interested person than a fan. I should mention that the Balthrop, Alabama folks were good, gracious folks as well, even finding me on Facebook hours after we parted ways.
Lump it all together and it was quite the weekend. Add in the fact that the Twins took two out of three from the White Sox and, baby, you got yourself a stew goin'.
I'm overjoyed at this news and at the redemptive power of my wife's uterus. I'm going to take a little bit of credit, too - I kept pushing fiber in the Ms.'s diet during the second trimester and I have to believe that it helped. I'm also going to get a dark chuckle at the title of this blog since, technically, my wife has an undocumented, non-citizen in her tummy and "Labor Ready" is the name of a day labor provider in town.
***
We had a busy weekend. Scratch that. The Ms. had a busy weekend with our niece's bridal shower, a friend's bachelorette party and The Bean's baby shower over the course of two days. Lots of family in town, too. I mainly entertained my teenaged nephew Zach, which meant lots of video games and finding adequate sources of plentiful protein. We also played wiffle ball. Oh, heck yeah. It was awesome.
Sunday night, we also got to see Josh Ritter, one of our favorite singer/songwriters. The show was a treat. Josh is a delightful presence onstage and his band was really tight. The Ms. took off after the show but I hung around downtown to try to meet him. I ended up chatting with the tenor sax player from opening band Balthrop, Alabama (a good group in their own right, they're a little bit country, a little bit Arcade Fire) and making jukebox buddies with him, introducing him to some MSP hip-hop in the process. And, I did get to meet Josh. I've never met a kinder or more gracious musician in my life. He held zero pretense - zero, and this from the songwriter that prominent critics flip over - and wanted to know more about the music I was listening to than talk about his own or himself. He went to great lengths to make sure my beer was full. In the end, I walked home feeling more like an interested person than a fan. I should mention that the Balthrop, Alabama folks were good, gracious folks as well, even finding me on Facebook hours after we parted ways.
Lump it all together and it was quite the weekend. Add in the fact that the Twins took two out of three from the White Sox and, baby, you got yourself a stew goin'.
6.28.2009
Speaking of Speaking of Faith
Our Honda Civic, the one that gets 40+ mpg, is back in commission after a couple months at (Ms. IBIE's dad) Dr. Todd's Halfway House where it received the vehicle equivalent to a heart transplant. It was a success and, with a repaired clutch to boot, the Civic has earned back its old nickname, Flash.
Driving Flash back home, I flipped to Minnesota Public Radio for noise and heard an interview with geologist and spiritual thinker Xavier Le Pichon. His claim to fame is in the discovery of plate tectonics (bravo, sir), but his spiritual thought may even be more revolutionary. He points to the care that we give to our society's weakest members (our young or disabled, for instance) shows a fundamental difference between humanity and most any other species. This notion, that humans do not abandon their own even when resources are scarce or if weaker members demand extra attention, arose in the Axial Age thanks to some of humankind's bigger illuminaries: the Buddha, Confucious and the second Isiah. Le Pichon deems them all prophets for their response to the Iron Age, a time when mechanized warfare was churning through entire populations of humans. The message was one of empathy. Look at what you're doing. This is not what we are. What you do to one, you do to all.
Most exciting in Le Pichon's work is his attachment of this notion to the evolution of our species. Centering the society's framework around its most fragile members has easy-to-see implications for human moral and political attitudes but the interruption of our own technological development with a message of peace belies a deeper understanding within humans that may be more than moral and political speculation. It may be a product of natural selection. Natual selection, compassion, suffering and human collective life inextricably linked? Sounds like my pipe dreams of reconciling the myth of genesis with natural selection are coming closer to being true.
Check out the episode of "Speaking of Faith" here. You can read an essay by Xavier Le Pichon and hear the show.
*My interpretation of Le Pichon's system may not be entirely correct - as I listened to him speak, firecrackers went off in my head and some of me may be leaking into this brilliant thinker's ideas.
Driving Flash back home, I flipped to Minnesota Public Radio for noise and heard an interview with geologist and spiritual thinker Xavier Le Pichon. His claim to fame is in the discovery of plate tectonics (bravo, sir), but his spiritual thought may even be more revolutionary. He points to the care that we give to our society's weakest members (our young or disabled, for instance) shows a fundamental difference between humanity and most any other species. This notion, that humans do not abandon their own even when resources are scarce or if weaker members demand extra attention, arose in the Axial Age thanks to some of humankind's bigger illuminaries: the Buddha, Confucious and the second Isiah. Le Pichon deems them all prophets for their response to the Iron Age, a time when mechanized warfare was churning through entire populations of humans. The message was one of empathy. Look at what you're doing. This is not what we are. What you do to one, you do to all.
Most exciting in Le Pichon's work is his attachment of this notion to the evolution of our species. Centering the society's framework around its most fragile members has easy-to-see implications for human moral and political attitudes but the interruption of our own technological development with a message of peace belies a deeper understanding within humans that may be more than moral and political speculation. It may be a product of natural selection. Natual selection, compassion, suffering and human collective life inextricably linked? Sounds like my pipe dreams of reconciling the myth of genesis with natural selection are coming closer to being true.
Check out the episode of "Speaking of Faith" here. You can read an essay by Xavier Le Pichon and hear the show.
*My interpretation of Le Pichon's system may not be entirely correct - as I listened to him speak, firecrackers went off in my head and some of me may be leaking into this brilliant thinker's ideas.
6.26.2009
Scientologists Believe in Everything
Check out this Scientology video. It's paper clips. It's losing love, then finding it all over again. It's sensation. It's a bullcrap piece of plastic that measures your energy (wallet). It's money. It's more money. It's volcanoes full of evil spirits.
(UPDATE: I originally embedded the video here but it didn't format correctly for some reason, so here is a link to the video I'm referring to. I'm sorry Blogger sucks.)
How can a commercial with so much imagery and emotional weight be so empty of facts and details? How can a religion with so much fun stuff (Xenu, the Alien Ruler of the Galactic Confederacy, is the genesis?) put out such a vanilla piece of persuasion ... I feel like I'm being sold life insurance or a new crossover with passenger side airbags.
And, in a way, I was sold. I sent away for the pamphlet, but only after asking Ms. IBIE if she minded if we were on the Church of Scientology mailing list. They can harass us all they want but I doubt we'll never pay for Star Trek salvation. On the other hand, it would be flattering to get wooed by a religion with such a good marketing department.
(UPDATE: I originally embedded the video here but it didn't format correctly for some reason, so here is a link to the video I'm referring to. I'm sorry Blogger sucks.)
How can a commercial with so much imagery and emotional weight be so empty of facts and details? How can a religion with so much fun stuff (Xenu, the Alien Ruler of the Galactic Confederacy, is the genesis?) put out such a vanilla piece of persuasion ... I feel like I'm being sold life insurance or a new crossover with passenger side airbags.
And, in a way, I was sold. I sent away for the pamphlet, but only after asking Ms. IBIE if she minded if we were on the Church of Scientology mailing list. They can harass us all they want but I doubt we'll never pay for Star Trek salvation. On the other hand, it would be flattering to get wooed by a religion with such a good marketing department.
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