Rapture index on high alert

Based on the swine flu scare, the Rapture Index says chances are high that we’re in End Times.

(See “Plague.”)

You know what isn’t quite fair?

My own Grandma Marrs gets to be famous on this blog, and your own Grandma Marrs doesn’t.

My grandmother was fierce and funny as hell and the smartest woman I’ll ever know. And she wouldn’t feel comfortable if I didn’t make the following offer: If you want to send me a photo of your grandma (or grandpa) — why, I’ll post it. You may include a telling little anecdote, or simply send the photo. You can include it in a comment, or send it to susan@datingjesus.net.

Fair’s fair, after all; Grandma Marrs’ rules.

No. This is just wrong.

Pres. Barack Obama gets his grade for his first 100 days in office today.

And Michelle Obama has her first 100 outfits graded at Daily Beast.

Bless your heart, Michelle. Some of us out here remember that you’re a smart woman and we couldn’t care less what you’re wearing.

(I believe this particular ship has sailed, but I always dreamed of being on a red carpet somewhere and having someone hout at me, “Who are you wearing?” just so I could respond, “Who the hell cares? Everything that should be covered is covered, right?”)

(My dreams are weird.)

I heart Tracy Chapman

And there’s not a thing she can do about it, either.

Yes, I know I rather recently linked to her, but these are, evidently, my Tracy Chapman days and I invite you to join me in them.

Nude hiking banned in Switzerland

I have just one question: When nude hiking was allowed, did nude hikers at least wear boots? Because otherwise, those blisters could be brutal.

Just wondering.

(More on Swiss cantons here.)

My icebox verse

I stole that phrase from Mark Howell, the minister at Sugar Grove Church of Christ in Stafford, Texas. I’m listening to some of his sermons now, courtesy of a link sent to me by Tom Faraway.

(Hey. Some people do Internet porn; I listen to sermons. It takes all kinds.)

So here’s my ice box verse of the day (and for you heathens, I ask nothing of you, I promise; this is emphatically not an altar call):

It’s from Galatians, a letter most likely written by Paul to the believers in Galatia, and he writes about meeting the pillars of the church — John, James, and Peter — and in Galatians 2:10, he writes:

They only asked us to remember the poor—the very thing I also was eager to do.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s sufficient theology. You can take the stained glass windows, the fancy organs, the carpeted hallways, the padded pews, fold them all up and put them in a box. If you remember the poor, you’re practicing religion, for real.

Sermon’s over. And I won’t pass the hat. You’re welcome.

Let it be

My dentist told me this song was written about John Lennon’s mother, Mary. True?

How smart are you?

Take the quiz, and then tell all your friends.

Oh, wait. Vanity’s wrong, isn’t it? Well, take the quiz, anyway, from BuzzFeed.

Happy 100th Day, Mr. Obama!

The White House says the much-heralded day doesn’t mean anything (mostly, it’s something the media created as an inaccurate way to measure a new president’s job performance) but you have to observe it. (Here are some grades from a mostly-sympathetic crowd. Here are some grades from some naysayers.)

But aren’t most holidays Hallmark ones? Sure, we just celebrated Easter (well, some of us did) and there’s Christmas (which some of us don’t celebrate, either). What holidays are there that have real meaning? I grew up being told that most of our holidays were created by early Christians in order to take the pagans’ minds off the dour nature of their new religion. That’s a broad statement but there you are, the party balloon popping every single time.

And is this too cynical a topic for a bright and shiny Wednesday? I can’t tell any more.

This is Grandma Marrs

You ask, I give.

This is Marvie K. Marrs, my maternal grandmother, the one who paid me 25 cents a page for every story I wrote. Because I had and have no original thoughts, I decided to rewrite the book with which I was most familiar, the Bible. I beefed up the women’s roles because I thought they were a little on the thin side, and without asking, my grandmother would hand over a quarter for every page from my early jaunt into feminist theology. Back then, 25 cents would buy you a Butterfinger candy bar longer than your forearm, so I was heartily motivated.

I am not sure what my hairstyle was supposed to mean in this photo, but see how close I am to Marvie K.? That’s right. She was a big woman and I was perfectly happy sitting in her shadow.