Things that are tagged religion

How many people out there believe in Fate? How many? C’mon. Show of hands. OK… about two hundred… two hundred four, two hundred four, OK, OK. So, a fair amount of you, you know, believe in Fate.

I don’t believe in Fate. I don’t believe in a magical invisible force that guides and controls all causality in the world. I don’t.

I do believe, however, that there’s some guy named Vinnie out there that guides and controls all causality.

“But… but this… that’s the same as Fate, you basically believe in Fate, then, you can’t say that you don’t believe in Fate because really, you really do, don’t you?” one might say.

“No, you’re wrong,” I’d say, “You’re quite wrong.”

The difference is subtle, in a way, I’ll grant you that, but it’s severe. Fate, you see, is intangible. A force, a spirit, a ghost that guides us in all we do. Fate is hard to understand; it’s hard to see; it’s hard to believe in. It inspires cliche-type sayings like “A simple twist of fate” or “c’est la vie”. Fate is cheesy. It’s spooky. It’s Santa Claus. It’s silly.

Now then there’s Vinnie.

Vinnie is all things that Fate is, but only the good ones. And most importantly, Vinnie has something Fate doesn’t and never will have: accountability. It changes a lot when you add something tangible to represent Fate. It’s a lot easier to deal with. When something goes wrong, you can say, “Freakin’ Vinnie.” And when Vinnie does you right, you can say, “Where the hell’s Vinnie? I’m ‘onna buy that guy a beer.” With Fate, you’re left empty. You can’t yell at some disembodied idea. You can’t be thankful for it either. Fate just happens; Vinnie makes decisions. Vinnie knows what he’s doing. When Vinnie makes you run into an old friend you haven’t seen in years on the street, he’s givin’ you a shout out. When Vinnie makes you not have cable, so you have to use rabbit ears to get TV, and then makes NBC come in all fuzzy but the Home Shopping Network come in perfectly (and who even knew the Home Shopping Network came in over the air), when Vinnie does that, he’s just bustin’ yo’ balls a little.

You can’t never say stupid sayings with Vinnie. You can’t say that lottery ticket you bought was “a simple twist of Vinnie”. When you get splashed on by a car on the street, you can’t say “c’est la Vinnie”. No, well, you could say these things, but Vinnie probably wouldn’t like it, and do you wanna piss off the guy who controls your every move.

The Greeks had it right with their system. They had those few old women who controlled stuff called… something. I don’t know. But they were these old women and they wove your life (a single strand or fabric) into the rest of the world (a big tapestry). They decided what other strands you touched and they decided when they cut your strand off. Very nice.

The… I just remembered what they were called. They were called the Fates. Simply enough. So, yeah, they were all right. But too much floopy-doo sort of metaphorical stuff, and also, frankly, old women weaving is very boring. Vinnie has no metaphors; he just decides stuff on a whim. If he’s eatin’ a corned beef on rye and it tasted like ass, you get fired today. If Vinnie loses all his money at the track on Friday, you break your cd player on Saturday. But if Vinnie got laid last night… you find a great deal on pencils at Staples.

So let’s all accept it. There’s no Fate. There’s no Fates. There’s only Vinnie, and he’s running the whole damn show. So, the next time you’re out in the world, living your life to it’s fullest, seizing the day and taking back the night… try not to piss off anyone that looks like they’re named “Vinnie”. (Note: this is a good idea whether or not you believe in this theory or not)

Porter

Frederick Hallison was good at his job, and his job was good at him. If that makes sense, more power to ya. Fred worked at a small fast food place on the Lower East Side of Manhattan called “Fries and Lies”. It was a french fry joint that had a legal theme: you’d get an order of chili fries and then the cashier would lie and say that under Florida Statute #949567, you were breaking the law and could potentially spend 17 years in prison. Fries and lies. Get it? Get it? Well… it was a rather abstract fast food place, but this fit Frederick well because he looked like a cubist painting, his eye was below his nose and when he turned sideways, you could still see all of his face.

Not really. That would be a great sort of thing, though, to have a character in a story who looked like a cubist painting and then you could describe him and there’d be this big build-up and then at the end you’d say, “He was a rather abstract guy.” Hee hee. I mean, that’s a great bit, I think. Someone should really use it, you know, write it in some story or something. Anyhow.

Fred came in to his job on this particular Thursday morning that we will now talk about just as on any other morning. He took the D train downtown, got off at the stop near “Fries and Lies”, and walked the five blocks to the store. He bought his usually almond muffin and coffee at the usual convenience store (which was located right next to “Fries and Lies”, very convenient), and arrived 4 minutes late (at 9:04 am). Just like always.

He went behind the counter and got out his keys for the cleaning closet. He opened the closet and got out the mop and bucket and began to swipe the floors behind the counter. That was his area to clean, Larry had the area by the table. I wonder if Larry’s come in yet, it’s already 9:08, he’s- Hey Fred. Hey, Larry. Larry threw his stuff in the back and, seeing that Fred already had the mop, started up register 1 and thought about what he had to do today. He thought and thought. Larry liked to think.

Suddenly, Larry made a bold literary move and became the protagonist of the story! Fred tried to stop him but Larry pushed him over the bucket and Fred fell into a subplot.

Larry decided to wash his hands before he got out the big bags of frozen fries and started fries. He walked over to the employee bathroom, and turned on the faucet. He squirted soap on his hands and worked up a good lather. He looked up at the mirror, scrunched his eyes and turned his head to get a better look at the right side of his hair. He started to turn his head back down to his hands when he snapped back up suddenly. There it was. On the left side of the mirror, the sign that had been there for eons (not really, that’s hyperbole, but for as long as Larry could remember, which was about 4 weeks), it read:

Employees Must Wash Hands Before Handling Food

But then…. on the right of the mirror…. something Larry had never seen before…. another sign… and it read:

Employees Must Cleanse Soul Before Handling Food

“Cleanse soul”? What did that- and before the thought finished forming in his underused brain, he was grabbed by the shoulders and turned around. It was God.

God had overalls on and a tattered green John Deere hat. A cigarette dangled from his mouth as he looked Larry up and down, sizing up his life and accomplishments.

“When’s the last time you had this thing cleaned?” said God.

“Wh-… what thing?” said Larry.

“Your soul, your soul for Chrissakes. Jesus, didn’t you read the sign?” said God.

“Yeah, I-, I dunno, I don’t think I ever really- I dunno.” said Larry.

“Yeah, I figured. Well sir, looks like she’s pretty much done fer. I reckon…. well, we just better scrap it and put you in a new one…” said God.

“A new one?” said Larry.

“Yup, meanin’ I’s gonna keel ya, and then you’ll wake up and you’ll be in somebody else then.” said God.

“But tha’s reicarnition or… right?” said Larry. “Lord boy, what’d ya think? I’s jus’ gonna putcha in Heaven like this? Some idgit who works at the ‘Fries and Lies’? Hell… most people go through 4-5 souls ‘fore they getta retire for good.” said God.

“I thought reincarnation was strictly Hindus.” said Larry, who often read The Upanisads during breaks.

“Good God, you people are all mixed around down there. Look, I don’t have time to explain; now, hold still…” said God, as he grabbed Larry’s nose and then smacked his hand off it a la Three Stooges. “Ow,” said Larry, and the next thing he knew he was a baby being born outside of Poughkipsie. Larry cried. He cried some more because he found out he was being named Eugene this time around. He went on to go through three more souls.

God went on to… being God and One with All Things. He also took up the piccolo.

Meanwhile, in the subplot, Fred left the “Fries and Lies” and unwitingly became involved in a bank robbery. He saved 30 people from a crazed gunman and fell in love with the bank teller. They went on to get married and start their own import/export business. Sometimes subplots develop like that, more expansively perhaps in some ways than main plots. C’est la vie.

Porter

I saw the Buddha
In a little bit of gouda
That I had on my eggs this morning.

The Virgin Mary
Was looking very scary
In the butter on my toast this morning.

Moses was in the whites of my eggs.
In my yolks was Jesus Christ.

Mohammed was in my cereal bowl
In some Krispies made of rice.

I saw Vishnu
In the tea I brewed
On my very own stove this morning.

Didn’t wanna be late,
So I went ahead and ate
Everything I made this morning

Later that night, try as I might,
Couldn’t figure out what it all means.

‘Cause in my toilet bowl was religion as a whole
And apparently some corn and beans.

(And I hadn’t even eaten corn or beans. I assumed it was a miracle and did not flush. My roommate assumed I had poor personal hygiene and later did flush.)

The end.

Porter