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a lad insaneSo now David Bowie has died. Another in a long line of pop culture icons are dropping. Maybe not like flies, but considerable amounts to make one pause and contemplate our own mortality. I mean, if one of our gods can die (this one of cancer), where does that leave us mere mortals?

So now, I hope you can pick up on the tongue-in-cheek satire I’m aiming for. By no means am I gleefully celebrating the death of someone; another tender soul has passed on beyond the veil of this life, into the unknown, their fate undetermined by the rest of us who have yet to pass on. For that, I mourn. Not because I was I was particularly a fan of Bowie’s (I owned one album, and that was a fluke as it was sent to me uninvited by the record club I was a part of back in the later part of the 1980s), more of a casual interest because of his presence in pop culture (i.e.- Top 40 radio and odd movie appearances). Verily, his status as a god of the modern pop culture is unquestionable.

But the question remains: When a god dies, where does that leave us? Of course, nowadays we refer to them as “celebrities”, “heroes” and, with or without the irony, “idols”. But, if we want to be really honest with ourselves, let’s step back for a bit and call them what they really are to us: gods. Lower-case “g”, but gods nonetheless.

And while I could make this admittedly freestylin’ from-the-hip spontaneous article of mine a rant about how American culture worships these secular gods of our making, I’ll be as transparent as possible and let you all in on a bit of a dirty secret we Christians don’t normally want any outsiders to know: we have our own little “gods” that we worship, our own little Christianized pop culture idols that we look up to and worship, whether we know it or not.

I’m not going to list everything that we tend to worship. No, I’m going to just list the gods I worship: relationships, Christian metal and rock, pastors, sociopolitical causes, sex, food, certain Bible translations…these are the ones that spring right to mind. I’m sure there’s more, but right now these are the spontaneous ones.

And I know all too well what happens to my idols, my little gods that I want to place alongside my Father God in my adoration and worship:

After the Philistines had captured the ark of God, they took it from Ebenezer to Ashdod. Then they carried the ark into Dagon’s temple and set it beside Dagon. When the people of Ashdod rose early the next day, there was Dagon, fallen on his face on the ground before the ark of the LORD! They took Dagon and put him back in his place. But the following morning when they rose, there was Dagon, fallen on his face on the ground before the ark of the LORD! His head and his hands had been broken off and were lying on the threshhold; only his body remained. – 1 Samuel 5:1-4

All of those little gods that I mentioned above, no matter how resplendent I make those, dressed in nice Chrisianised euphemistic finery, I’ve seen GOD not only toppel to the ground, but also destroy and turn to dust right before my eyes. But, the biggest little god is my own self, and I feel that being pummeled to dust by the Holy Spirit on a daily basis. Quite frankly, I can’t wait until that god is dead and rendered to ashes. Because I used to love that little god, but it turned out to be more of a destructive tyrant than I could ever imagine.


Sunday A’La Carte – July 20, 2014

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Welcome to another idea of mine, in my ongoing quest to utilize my blog for my various writings and brain droppings, instead of wasting them all on my Facebook page (you did know I had a Facebook page, right? No? Go friend me right now, this I command you). Basically a mish-mash of ramblings, brain droppings and news-y bits in my life, copied and pasted onto here. Hopefully, I can keep this going as a regular thing, instead of just sporadic, as it has been the past few weeks. Ready to dig in? Too bad, ’cause here we go…

…first of all, two rather unfortunate celebrity deaths to report: First is James Garner, known to many as the original Maverick (and later Maverick’s dad in the movie), and to many others as the lovable blue collar private investigator Jim Rockford on The Rockford Files. I knew the actor best by the reruns of The Rockford Files that played in the summer afternoons on the local syndicated UHF channel here, usually in a three-hour block between Magnum P. I. and Simon & Simon back in the day. He kind of reminded me of a great uncle I once had. He shall be missed.

…the second death to report is more because this one came out of nowhere: Skye McCole Bartusiak died at age 21. Don’t recall the name? She played Mel Gibson’s youngest daughter in the movie The Patriot. Yeah, that adorable little half-pint that everyone wanted to scoop up into their arms and rock to sleep. In this case, though, the cause of death wasn’t your clich├ęd “young Hollywood child actor” death; this time, it was epilepsy. And as someone who knows friends and family members who live with this, it turns my blood to ice to think that they could be gone like this. Scary, to say the very least. My thoughts and prayers go out to the family and friends of both actors, natch…

…overheard: “I’ve dated enough married guys to know that marriage is vastly overrated.” Um, wha? I cannot even begin to tell you what’s so very wrong with that statement…

…did you know that my ongoing experiment in Brutal Music Therapy: NECRO SHOCK RADIO, has been dwelling at the old Blogspot this entire time? I tried posting it here exclusively for a while, but decided to not close out the Blogspot and use that, simply because it allows me to use the code for the streaming bar a bit easier than it does here on WordPress, for some odd reason. Series 2, Session 17 went up on Wednesday. Go over there and check it out, my wonderful freaks…

…is it August 23rd, yet? No? Drat. Can’t wait for the new episodes of my favourite British import, featuring the new Doctor. I think he lends a much-needed old school charm to the character, just by his looks alone. Until then, I’ve been reading the 50th Anniversary set of novels, and watching some of the classic Doctor Who eps to whet my appetite for new Who. Speaking of which…

…just finished up the First Doctor novel Ten Little Aliens, which is sort of an homage to the Agatha Christie novel And Then There Was None. Think if Starship Troopers was a game of Clue!, and you’ll get the idea. Incidentally, one of the chapters is written in a Choose Your Own Adventure style. Interesting…

…on this here blog, I wrote about my beard, and reviewed albums by Soul Embraced and Chained

…and finally, a shout-out to my sister and brother-in-law, who loved me enough to pick up these awesome shirts for me during their trip to Navada a few weeks ago:

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…I have the greatest family ever.

And that’s all for this week. Cheers, all.