"The Banalization of Sexuality"

The Murloc sent me an article the other day, asking me to tear it apart. So tear it apart I shall.

The article is called "Why I Want a Male Birth Control Pill", by Kyle Munkittrick and can be read here.

The first paragraph is perhaps the most egregious, so we shall save it for last. Let's start with, this:

"Sex as we know it has two major biological problems: disease and unintended pregnancy."

It boggles my mind that one could look at the natural function of a biological process and call it either a problem or unintended. This is akin to saying "eating has two major problems: food poisoning and nourishment," or "breathing has two major problems: smoke inhalation and respiration."

Consider the phrases: "I intentionally at the entire cheesecake and accidentally gained weight." "I intentionally jumped off the roof and accidentally fell to the ground." "I intentionally had sex and accidentally got pregnant." The first two make the speaker sound like an idiot, but the third one, for some reason, is how people actually think.

Of course, this is just the contraceptive mentality: the delusion that sex is not for sexual reproduction, but rather for pleasure, and the reproductive aspects of it are an unintended side effect. It's a mindset I frequently see in the post-sexual revolution apocalypse. And one Mr. Munkittrick seems to be afflicted with.

Dave Barry (hardly a hero of the pro-chastity movement) even made a joke about this, with one of his book titles: Babies and Other Hazards of Sex. Of course, the joke here is that we all know that babies are what's supposed to happen during sex. It's comical to pretend that they're a hazard, and not the natural end, of the act. It's like saying, "my wife and I took a plane trip to visit her mother but, unfortunately, it didn't crash." The joke is that what was supposed to happen, happened, but we didn't want it to happen. The joke is that we want the opposite of what we do.

But it's only humorous when intended, like Dave Barry's book title, as a joke. Mr. Munkittrick seems to think it seriously.

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A Pair of Deuces, Revisited. Part II: Marriage

Part of the ongoing conversation.

Devin says: "Same-sex marriage is not asking for special recognition to gay relationships. It is simply asking for them to be seen as equal. At this junction, we have a separate but equal idea of marriage in this country. This has been the case throughout history whenever social issues have come to the forefront. When interracial marriage was introduced, it was seen as the bane of people's existence."

This seems to be a favorite line of reasoning of the proponents of gay "marriage", that of comparing it to racial inequality. Frankly, I just don't see the comparison.

Under the proposition that "all men are created equal" (and remember that is the gender-neutral definition of the word man, since context does not require it to refer to males-only)—a proposition unique to Christendom, I might add—racist actions are contrary to truth. Treating people as unequal contradicts this idea known through reason.

But the debate over gay "marriage" isn't about whom, it's about what. It's not about equality of persons, it's about equality of relationships. I have never heard it proposed that "all relationships are created equal," and to do so would be absurd. No one would (or could) argue that the relationship I have with my cat is equal to the one I have with my son, which in turn is not equal to the one I have with my wife, or the one I have with God. Each one of these relationships is different, unique, and inherently unequal.

So in order to justify gay "marriage" as an equality battle, one first has to demonstrate, contrary to common sense and empirical evidence, that homosexual relationships are equal or equivalent to heterosexual ones. Lest we forget how they differ, there is this. In order for a homosexual relationship to be equal, they would have to be capable of producing, at least in principle, something of equal value to a human life.

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A Pair of Deuces, Revisited. Part I: Abortion

I put on my robe and John C. Wright hat.


Devin has responded to my arguments that marriage does not apply to homosexual relationships. She has done so in more words than I used to make the original post. Her comment warrants a more detailed reply than what will fit in a combox, so I will dedicate two posts to it. This, the first post, deals with the first part of her reply, about the seemingly-unrelated topic of abortion. It is actually somewhat appropriate considering there is a direct and strong link between homosexual "marriage" and abortion, which I will talk about later.

Devin linked to a video from NARAL where several women spoke of alleged misinformation given to them at an unnamed "Virginia Crisis Pregnancy Center". I watched the video, and my first response was the word most commonly written in red ink on my history papers by Miss Smyth, my high school history teacher: "evidence". I.e., the lack thereof. Unlike the video I linked, which shows the statements of a nurse in a Planned Parenthood clinic giving false information to a patient, the NARAL video consists only of a series of women stating things which allegedly they were told at an unnamed crisis pregnancy center, like neighbors gossiping over the fence. No context is given for these statements. We are not told who made them, if they were in printed materials, if they were spoken, what the context was, if they represent the view of one recently-hired nurse or the director of the center. We are not told the affiliation of the center, if it was run by a major national pro-life organization or out of someone's garage. All those details are left to the viewers imagination to encourage us, I guess, to assume the worst.

For these reasons alone, I could dismiss the entire video as uninformative and unhelpful, but I will address the allegations point by point.

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Well, I suppose I should tell my story of the San Diego State University Writer's Conference, for all one of you who are interested (hi Mom!).

Background: every year for the past 26 years, San Diego State University has held a writer's conference, designed to help aspiring writers meet with industry professionals. I first found out about it via my instructor at UC Irvine, who recommended it and has had several students who have had success at the conference.

The conference took place from January 29-31 and, after a year taking classes and working in a critique group, was to be my first foray into the world of professional writing.

The conference started Friday evening (I took a half-day at my day job so I could have time to prepare and not have to fight rush hour traffic to San Diego) with a mixer (alcohol!). The ballroom of the hotel where the mixer was held had tables assigned by genre, so you could meet with people with similar interests. Aside from a bit of not-at-all-awkward-nosiree, when I sat down at the SFF table where the only other person was a 15 year-old girl ("Hi! I'm twice your age and drinking alcohol and we're sharing a table. No, I'm not a stalker or pedo, why do you ask?"), the mixer was enjoyable. I met with some of my friends from my writing classes who also came to the conference. Also, towards the end of the evening a woman—who I later found out was Loretta Barrett, a very, very prominent literary agent—joined the SFF table. While she didn't represent that genre at all, she did mention that it was the fastest-growing segment in the entire publishing industry. She also talked about some interesting things, such as how writing isn't a profession, it's a vocation (that makes me feel better for not getting paid for it!).

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Idiot of the Day/Week/Month.

"The Taliban can perhaps be admired for their conviction to their faith and their sense of loyalty to each other," says Rt. Rev. Stephen Venner, the new Anglican bishop to the British Armed Forces.

More (via WDTPRS)

Other quotes:

The Taliban have been responsible for public beatings, amputations and executions, and have launched bomb attacks on Afghans. They often refer to foreign forces as “Crusaders”. The bishop said some of their methods of combat were not honourable or acceptable, but he argued that it was unhelpful to demonise them. (What do they have to do before we can speak negatively about them?)

“We have to involve all the people of Afghanistan to find justice and prosperity for all,” he said.

I like Fr. Z's comment: "And the Taliban are… what… going to change their minds and decide to cooperate with the Westerners? If we talk nicer about them are they going toooooo… stop beating their women?"

Also QFT in the article is Col. Richard Kemp:

“Elements in the Taliban do not act from a religious perspective and it is important to turn them around.

“But there are many others who will not be persuaded. Their central creed and ethos is about violent oppression.

“In many ways it is a mistake to compare their faith of extreme holy war with the kind of religion of peace and understanding that the bishop follows. They wouldn’t show understanding of his faith.”

I like that guy already.

What is it about the mindset of leftists that makes them unable to understand that there are, you know, bad people out there who cannot be reasoned with? Oh, right, they do understand. They just think the bad people who can't be reasoned with are those on the right, Christians, and those who disbelieve fabricated numbers about global temperature trends.

For a thought experiment: suppose someone were to make a rather innocuous statement about their own, personal belief that marriage involves a man and a woman. For argument, this person can also be somewhat airheaded and wear a bikini. How does the left treat such a person? Demonize him, of course! He is evil! He is hate-filled, homophobic, and prejudiced! In short, accuse him of behaving towards gays exactly how they behave towards him.

Now, suppose that that person not only thinks that marriage involves a man and a woman, but that those who think otherwise are the devil, homosexuals themselves ought to be beheaded, and woman can be publicly beaten on a whim and treated like trash. Suddenly, the mindset shifts from demonizing that person, to thinking "golly, gosh, gee. Demonizing him gets us no where. We need to work with him to secure a better, brighter future."

I think it is [insert that SF author's name here; you know who I'm talking about] who talks about PC being a disease of the mind that prevents those afflicted with it from seeing the evil except where it's not. His key quote (from this very interesting post):

No matter how many people are killed, and no matter how loudly and clearly the Jihadists announce their intentions, our public figures will continue to insist that George Bush is the only threat and the only enemy. From time to time they will also admit that the world is in grave danger from large Oil Companies or from unbridled consumerism or from fundamentalist Christianity.

What was of interest was that in the comments to that very post, many people confirmed exactly that statement: that, despite that a murderer had massacred dozens while shouting "Allah Ackbar," the only threat they were able to see was that a Christian Theocracy might try to use that petty distraction to take over the country.

Another example was from a semi-recent Family Guy episode, in which Stewie invents a device that allows him to travel to parallel universes. After he and Brian use it an end up in a place that looks like something out of the Jetsons—flying cars, futuristic technology, etc.—Stewie explains that this is a universe where Christianity never existed, and therefore science was free to develop unhindered.

Of course, this is absurd. As Michael Flynn has demonstrated, it was Christianity that gave rise to the scientific revolution. And since it was Christendom that turned back the Muslim invaders, not once, but three times—at Vienna, Tours, and Leponto—and saved Western Civilization, in a universe where Christianity never existed, we would all be living much like the Taliban, in caves milking goats.

Seth MacFarlane suffers greatly from the disease of leftism, and it is ironic that, should the Taliban and their ilk be successful, he will be one of the first with his head on the chopping block, what with his shows featuring so much crude sexual humor.

And of course, the disease of PC is as old as the disease of leftism. When the United States was in a decades-long standoff with perhaps the most evil nation the world has ever seen, save perhaps Carthage or the Aztecs, and our enemy had so many spies within our government that even a drunk from Wisconsin, listing random names from the top of his head, could guess a few, the only threat the leftists of the time were able to see was that of the drunk. I once read an interesting article pointing out how stupid it is that McCarthyism has become synonymous with witch hunts—looking for evil where none exists—when the term for that should be "liberalism". (Are you now, or have you ever been a Global Warming Denier? An evangelical Christian? A "homophobe"?)

I have read many articles and posts that try to explain why this mindset exists, and I must say I still do not understand it. This is a very rare thing for me to say. As C.S. Lewis says, "I believe in Christianity for the same reason I believe in the sun. Because not only can I see it, but by it I can see everything else." The wondrous thing about Christianity is it so thoroughly explains human behavior, with the concepts of a fallen human nature, original sin, and yet a burning desire for God and the divine. In it, one can see the cause of great atrocities and evils that men commit against their fellow men, such as the holocaust, but also one can see the reasons for such great sacrifices and acts of love, sometimes in the middle of these tragedies, such as the sacrifice of St. Maximilian Kolbe.

I get why people do evil things—original sin makes us selfish—and I even get why people go to such great lengths to cover up their evil—the conscience forces them to face their guilt or deny it. So I get why the left attacks Christians; if one is in love with sin, one does not want to be confronted with the fact of his sin, so one becomes violently opposed to those who point out the sin. "The Revenge of Conscience" spells out that case with more clarity than I could muster in my lifetime. But I absolutely do not get why leftists are willing to defend those who point out the sin not with words, but with the sword. This would be akin to if King Mwanga of Uganda—reproached by the Christian missionaries for raping boys—sent St. Charles Lwanga and his companions to their deaths then, upon having war declared upon him by his worst enemy for the same crimes, he said "aw, we just need to hug it out."

Perhaps G.K. Chesterton comes close to solving the problem. In his introduction to The Everlasting Man he states the purpose of his book was to point out that many of the criticisms shown towards Christianity in his day were simply because the critics were too close, and that if they just stepped back and looked at it from the same distance from which they saw the Oriental religions/philosophies, they would be able to better understand it. I get this up to a point. Perhaps the leftists hate Christianity because it is at home. It is like their neighbor criticizing them for doing evil as opposed to an unknown man on the other side of town. But this still does not work for me, because when that unknown man from the other side of town comes to your door and beats your wife and daughter because you're evil, he is no longer distant and remote. So when a Muslim commits a massacre in Fort Hood, Texas, The United States of America, I fail to see how the criticism is remote and distant.

I think Mark Shea is probably closest to the (hehe) mark. In an article he wrote a while ago (which I don't have a link to. Sorry. Take my word for it), he mentions that he and Philip Pullman agree on something: that those who oppose the Church will unite with whoever they can find, no matter how much they disagree, in order to oppose Her. Apparently, in one of the books in the His Dork Materials trilogy, a character—a leader of the witches, I think (it's been a while since I read the article)—gives some speech about how in their upcoming fight against the eeeeeeevil Magisterium, they would find themselves allied with those with whom they otherwise have nothing in common, and with whom they would normally be enemies.

Mark Shea agreed with this point, and drew the parallel to alliances made against the Real Magisterium. I suppose this makes sense from the diabolical chess point of view—the devil plays his pawns as one team—but not from the human reason point of view. The pawn can't see the whole chess board, so why should he trust the black pawn next to him, who in other circumstances would slit his throat? I mean, it's not like the pawns actually believe there's an all-seeing and all-evil mind behind their moves.... Right?

I suppose I may have stumbled across a partial answer while reading an article by Theodore Dalrymple (quoted here by John C. Wr—that SF author) and also in an interview with Andrew Klavan (again, quoted here). The two key quotes were thus:

British intellectuals, as George Orwell once remarked, have long harboured a hatred of their own country and its culture. This attitude has deeply infiltrated the political class and has therefore come to affect legislation. All cultures are equal except ours, which is the worst. (Dalrymple)

And:

So desperate are they to display their tolerance, to claim virtue and open-mindedness for themselves, so secretly ashamed and guilt-ridden and self-hating are they, I guess, that they will give aid and comfort to a philosophy that turns everything they’re supposed to stand for on its head. (Klavan)

This made me wonder. Is the leftist hatred for Christianity and tolerance towards those less tolerant than Christianity born from some sense of guilt and self-loathing? Perhaps.

Perhaps the left does indeed recognize the truth of G.K. Chesterton when he wrote in Heretics:

Everything else in the modern world is of Christian origin, even everything that seems most anti-Christian. The French Revolution is of Christian origin. The newspaper is of Christian origin. The anarchists are of Christian origin. Physical science is of Christian origin. The attack on Christianity is of Christian origin. There is one thing, and one thing only, in existence at the present day which can in any sense accurately be said to be of pagan origin, and that is Christianity.

If that is the case, that the left does, in some subconscious way, recognize that all their institutions and customs and laws, everything they hold dear—the university; the scientific revolution; the ideas of the rights of man; the desire for social justice, equality, tolerance; the importance of reason and intellect—if they recognize that all these things are Christian, but hate Christendom for whatever reason, be it the faults—real or imagined—of ages past, or the simple condemnation of the wrongs they commit, then they would have no choice but to hate themselves.

Christians, of course, do not have to hate ourselves for the wrongs we have committed. We have Christ's redemption to wash clean the sins of the past. We can admit that the crusaders shouldn't have killed the jews, that Galileo shouldn't have been rebuked by the inquisition, and that indulgences shouldn't have been sold without hating the crusades, the inquisition, and the acquisition of indulgences. But when you reject Christ, you reject all means of partaking of his redemption. You find yourself part of a culture that has committed wrongs, but with no way to have those wrongs forgiven. The only recourse is to hate the institution.

The left, however, feels no guilt over the sins of the Muslims. To them, I reason, it does not matter whether Christians or Muslims have committed the worse crimes. They are part of Christendom, but not of Islam, an therefore have guilt about the one, but not the other.

This is the only way I can make sense of the issue. I do not, otherwise, understand why one would hate the one who says you are a sinner, but love the one who wants to behead you for your sin.

A Very Different Raid Night.

This past Friday, July 24th started like any other day. I got up for work, kissed Rie goodbye, and left. Work was uneventfully slow, so I had time to tie up some loose ends that I had been meaning to, such as finally re-arrange my keyboard back to QWERTY from Dvorak, so the guy who was coming from the UK to cover in my abscence would be able to use my computer.

When Rie got up, she showered, did some light housework (watering her plants etc.). Her mom came over that afternoon to help her with stuff.

I left work early (because I was insanely bored) and my co-worker wished me good luck. I told him if I wasn't in on Monday, he'd know where I was.

I got home about 4:30 and signed in to WoW for the raid that night. We were scheduled to tackle 25-man Naxxramas, and since my druid is a bit beyond that, I thought I'd bring my shaman along, to gear him up. At about 5:45, I was flying around Grizzly Hills fishing up Glacial Salmon, waiting for the raid to get started when The Pregnant Murloc came into the den.

"How do you know if your water just broke?"

My first thought was "I'm a guy. I don't have water to break." My next was "...asks the woman who for the past several months has been reading in great detail on pregnancy and labor, and has described to me on several occassions in depth accounts from other women of what it feels like when one's water breaks."

Rather than say what I was thinking, I opted for the more supportive "do you think yours did?"

"I don't know. I felt a splort, so I used the bathroom, then five to ten minutes later, I felt it again."

"Isn't that one of the ways it can feel like when it breaks?"

"I dunno. But it also felt like how it felt when my cervical plug came out."

"Well, what color was it?"

"Pinkish and clear."

"Why don't you call your doctor and ask her what you should do?"

While the Murloc was on the phone, I took the opportunity to use the bathroom, compose myself, and not PANIC. At this point I knew her water had broke—I know her well enough to know that OCD wifey gets confused easily when square pegs don't fit into square holes because you have to turn them sideways—so I also packed my toiletries. When I got out of the bathroom, she was just getting off the phone.

"They want me to go to the hospital to get checked out, just in case."

It's at this point that I feel like I'm forgetting something.

Oh yeah. Raid.

I went back to my computer.

[Raid] [Golyath] Sorry guys, but I got to go. My wife thinks her water my have broke and I have to take her to the hospital.

[Raid] [Celric] OMGOMGOMGOMG

(Celric is our real-life friend David.) I explained that she wasn't sure, so I was just taking her to get checked out. They told me to get going and wished me luck. Meanwhile, The Murloc told her mother (who was, conveniently, still here) and she said she'd follow us to the hospital (she waited in the hospital all night, until the baby was born).

While I was in the bathroom the idea occurred to me for a post, so after a quick search on Transmogrifier.org, I found the Calvin and Hobbes strip, put up a short blurb, and posted. (I didn't tell The Murloc. I knew she didn't want me to say anything in case it turned out to be a false alarm, but I knew it wasn't.)

I spent the next half hour packing my backpack (essentials: laptop, DVDs, camera, books), loading the bags and car seat in the car, and getting The Murloc ready. We left for Hotel Hoag at about 6:30pm.

We arrived at the hospital about 7:00 and Rie was admitted. They did a few checks on her and verified that her water had broke. The long night begun.

* * *

I'd like to point out what incredible timing this baby has. The Murloc went into labor on the eve of his due date, spitting him out exactly on his due date (only 4% of women give birth on their due date). It was also a Friday evening, an hour after I got home from work. It could have been the middle of the night. It could have been while I was in a webmeeting. It could have been while she was driving somewhere. But no, it was in the evening, just before a weekend (which also enabled her sister to drive down from Bakersfield to be there).

It was also the feast of St. Charbel, the patron of Lebanon. The Lebanese Murloc is a quarter Lebanese (which explains her dark features). Saturday was the feast of St. James, the patron of Spain. The Spanish Murloc is also half spanish. Sunday was the feast of Sts. Anne and Joachim, which is grandparents' day in Cuba. St. Anne is also one of The Murloc's patrons. So basically, she had all the forces of heaven watching over her and helping her through her labor.

So Damien has good timing. I'd like to point out that he got that from me, since The Perpetually Late Murloc is late for everything. In fact, I bet she lives to be very, very old, since she'll probably be late for her own funeral.

* * *

The hardest and most painful part of the labor came shortly afterwords when the nurses tried to insert the IV. The Impenitrable Murloc has anti-needle blood veins. Everytime she has blood drawn she has this problem. Firstly, her veins are hard to penetrate and tend to roll out of the way. Secondly, even when the nurses did get the needle in the vein, they would tend to close up and no blood would come out. Eventually by the fifth try, they finally got the IV in, but Rie was left with a wonderful bruise on the inside of her left arm that goes from her wrist up to her elbow.

The nurses at Hoag were wonderful and continually came to check on The Laboring Murloc all through the night. The beginning part of labor was easy for all involved. Rie could hardly feel the contractions, aside from the urge to pee. Her progress was also very slow and by midnight, she was only 4 cm dilated, so they started her on Oxytocin to speed up the process.

Around 3:00am, the contractions got to be too much for her to handle, so the nurse gave her a narcotic to ease the pain. The side effect was that it made her very loopy, which was fun for me. It was supposed to last about two hours, but after 45 minutes, The Pained Murloc was starting to be uncomfortable again. That's when she called for the epidural.

A lotta of people will tell you that epidurals are really painful going in, but the truth is, Rie hardly felt it. They gave her two local anesthesia shots, then inserted the needle, for which she didn't even flinch. The medicine started working within twenty minutes and after a while, The Sleepy Murloc was able to get some sleep. (Sleep! During labor! Women these days have it so easy!) I, of course, had been snoozing since about 12:30, only waking up when the nurses came in.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon continued without much change. At 7am, the nurses changed shifts (Aside: throughout the entire time we were at the hospital, only two men (aside from me) came into the delivery room: the anesthesiologist and the pediatrician. All the nurses and doctors were women, and I think this is a good thing. After watching the entire process, it occurred to me that this was one of those things that women just tend to be better at. They are more empathetic, more understanding of the pain (most of them were mothers themselves), and create a calmer and more relaxed environment for childbirth. In fact, if a hospital were to openly declare a policy of only hiring women nurses, I don't think I would cry foul. This is probably why for thousands of years, women gave birth with the assistance of a midwife. Oh yeah, wasn't I saying something?) and we met the nurse who would be there for delivery.

Around 9am I urged Rie to hurry up, because if she hurried up and got the baby out, I could get home in time for the 10am Ulduar raid. She didn't approve of that idea, and I think she intentionally slowed down to make me miss it. In fact, I'll bet that the group downed Yogg-Saron at 3:34pm. The Spiteful Murloc can be spiteful.

Finally, about 1:00pm, the nurse checked Rie and said she was 10 cm dilated, fully effaced, and the baby was in position for her to push. The nurse got the room ready for delivery and called for the doctor to come to the hospital.

About 1:45, The Laboring Murloc began pushing. She pushed. And pushed. And pushed some more. For two hours. The Oxytocin ran out just about this time, so her contractions became farther apart (about 5-7 minutes). Also, around 2:00 the beeper on the epidural warned that there was only about 30 minutes of medicine left. The nurse didn't think she'd need that much more, and didn't call for more. It actually worked for the better, because as the epidural wore off, Rie was better able to feel the contractions and when to push.

It must have been hard back in the old days, when fathers weren't allowed in the delivery rooms. Not only for the mothers but also for the fathers. I'm sure The Appreciateive Murloc was appreciative that I was there with her the entire time, but I was also glad that I could be there for her. I can't imagine having to wait outside, not knowing what's going on.

I remained by her side during the entire delivery process and (I don't know if this is universal or specific to some hospitals) but the nurses actually involve the fathers in delivery. My job was to hold The Laboring Murloc's left leg back during contractions and count off when to push. (This gave me a unique, new perspective on my wife that I hadn't seen before, namely that of seeing a tiny fuzzy head buried inside her vagina. You tend not to forget these things.) The nurse acted as the cheering squad, constantly giving encouragement and positive feedback. At some point early on, when The Out of Breath Murloc was having trouble pushing for 10 seconds straight, the nurse suggested she do the much more dancer-friendly four counts of 8 (instead of three of 10). Between contractions, I twittered our progress and texted The Murloc's sister with our progress (after an hour and fifteen minutes, she was wondering what was taking so long).

Shortly after 3:00pm the doctor (who looked remarkably like Rie's cousin) came in and helped her through the last few pushes. The baby began to crown shortly before 3:30 (after each push, he'd retreat a little; labor could be described as two steps forward, one step back). Finally, with one great big final effort, a very dazed head popped out. And the crying began. But not from the baby.

* * *

Childbirth made me think about the fundamental disconnect between having fun and being happy. Having fun usually means pursuing some selfish pleasure, begin caught up thinking of yourself and how to increase your personal satisfaction. Being happy is something so much more beyond that. Pleasure and comfort are not requisites for happiness (and in fact, sometimes seem to go against it), and that's why you can find happy people in unpleasant situations, and why some of the saints were happy in spite of horrid situations.

So how do you respond to someone who doesn't want to have children because they want to maximize the pleasure in their life? To me it seems so sad that they spend so much time seeking fun that they completely miss out on happiness.

Only two times in my life have I been so outrageously happy that I was moved to tears, and the first time was at my wedding. The second was seeing my son for the first time. And I really feel sorry for the people who refuse to know that happiness.

* * *

Damien came into the world proper at 3:35pm on July 25th, in the year of Our Lord 2009. He didn't cry, much more than a little yelp. Only his head had emerged at this point—he had a very dazed look on his face—and the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. Not enough to cause him any distress (his heartbeat was strong on the heart monitor the entire time), but just enough to slow him down, and keep him from coming the rest of the way. The doctor acted quickly and suctioned some goop from this throat, just enough to get him breathing, before cutting the umbilical cord and pulling him the rest of the way out. He was wiped down, and briefly place on The Mother Murloc's chest. They left him there for a few seconds, then took him to the baby nurse's station to be weighed, measured, and cleaned. That's where I took this picture of him, at two minutes old. I took a bunch of pictures with my camera, then with The Connected Murloc's new phone, which I sent first to Aunt and Godmother Tine, then uploaded to twitter, then sent to ten random people from Rie's contacts list.

Newborn babies look really funny. His skin was incredibly purple and wrinkled, such that he had the general appearance of a giant, wriggling prune. Eventually his skin turned pinkish, but his hands and feet were purple for a long time afterwards.

I lost track of The Relieved Murloc at this point, so I missed the after birth (lucky me! from what Rie said, the doctor sort of dived in and pulled the placenta out herself), and I only turned back in time to see the doctor stitching Rie up, and let me tell you, I wouldn't want a nasty looking hook like that being stuck where the sun don't shine (her pernium didn't tear; the stitches were internal).

The nurses finished "weighing" and measuring him before The Stitched Murloc was finished having unmentionable things being done around her unmentionables, so the nurse swaddled him and handed him to me.

Over the next hours and days, a flurry of activity would take place. There'd be people to call, paperwork to sign and fill out; a stream of nurses, doctors, and relatives running in and out. But it didn't matter. For ten minutes, nothing else in the world mattered.

* * *

When I was a kid, I sometimes wondered how parents were able to love their children immediately. It seemed that friendships were something built up over time. You met someone, you got to know them, you became more intimate with them. It was a process. Even my own family were people whom I always knew. Sometimes I wondered if I would be able to immediately love my own children.

From my perspective here, I realize what an utterly stupid question that was. I might as well have wondered if I had a soul when I grew up, or if I would take pleasure in kicking puppies or eating babies, or if I would want to destroy the earth, like Skeletor.

A father loves his son because it is the only appropriate response. There is no other conceivable way you could feel about this tiny, helpless person in your arms. You love him because he is your love, incarnate.

* * *

Eventually, the doctor finished patching up The Wincing Murloc and I had to hand over Damien. What followed was something I had been waiting almost a dozen years to see.

The Mother Murloc has never been the particularly motherly sort. She doesn't fawn or swoon over babies the way some women do. She hasn't had a burning desire to have children since she was 15, like some girls do. But yet I've had this vision of her, holding a baby, since about the time we started dating.

Getting that vision to come true has been like pulling teeth. For years, I'd been working on Rie's nesting instinct, trying to get her to settle down and feel comfortable enough to raise a family. She's told me about how some birds are extremely particular about what they use to make their nests, and I think that The Feathery Murloc is clearly partly one of those birds (in addition to being part cat). Every decision I'd made about our family since the day we got married has been for her, to get her to add one more twig to the nest. It's why I decided to move in with a roommate, which was a decision I knew was not going to be pleasant for me. When I saw how The Nesting Murloc reacted to the condo, I knew this could be the place she would make her nest.

About the third year of our marriage, I started to get really frustrated and felt unsatisfied. I'd been spending all this time and energy on making a family and didn't feel like I was getting one in return. But, as always, St. Joseph was watching over me and made sure everything happened in due time. Our third year, and everything going around, would have been too stressful to raise a family. Money would have been too tight. The future wouldn't be quite as assured as it is now.

And finally, my dream came true. It warmed my heart to see Rie clutching her baby close to her heart, rocking him gently, and whispering softly to him. Her Mother Bear instinct has emerged and, like everything about her, there's no stopping it.

* * *

The rest of the hospital stay was uneventful. The nurses continued to be amazing and gracious, taking good care of The Murloc and The Murlocling. Rie could hardly walk for two days (the pushing had given her hemorrhoids) and the nurses made sure she had pain medicine, and helped her with everything she needed (hospital rules are that the mother must call the nurses for help the first two times she gets up to use the bathroom). All four grandparents came to visit, as well as Rie's sister (who came from Bakersfield) godmother, and some other friends.

Damien had all sorts of tests done on him, and was poked and prodded quite a bit. When he hadn't voided his bladder at all in the first 24 hours, the nurses seemed a little concerned an took it in to their hands to make him pee. Taking off his diaper didn't work (in fact, he has yet to do the fountain trick that every parent of a little boy has told me to watch out for). Splashing him with cold or warm water didn't work. They did an ultrasound on his kidneys to verify that they were working. But he still wouldn't pee. Eventually they took him away and stuck a catheter in him. They drained about an ounce, which I gather is about a Niagara Falls' worth for a newborn.

We were finally discharged on Monday morning. Rie's sister and mother were there to help her. Since then, Rie's mother has been over twice, has cooked us lunch and dinner on a few occassions, watched over Damien so we could sleep, and left us with enough food to feed a regiment (as well as two bottles of Sidra!). She was been wonderful, and all past transgressions have been forgiven.

So Damien turned one week old today. The first week wasn't exactly what I expected (I'll get into that in another post; this one has run on way too long). I only logged into WoW just once, briefly, today. I can't remember why I used to, either. I think WoW is for those who don't have babies to love. :)

Pop Quiz.

Q. In a modern movie/TV show, how do you tell if a character is evil?

A. Count the number of crucifixes on their wall. To wit:

In this screenshot from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode "Where the Wild Things Are", the gang visits an old lady. In the introductory shot of her home, we can see five crucifixes, a statue and picture of Our Lady, a picture of St. Michael the Archangel, and numerous other religious pictures and items that I could not identify. As soon as we are shown her home, I thought to myself "she's evil." A couple minutes later, we find out that she is, in fact, evil. She ran an orphanage and would abuse the children in some manner if they sinned against chastity.

But then I thought it interesting that my first reflex was to think her a villain (and also interesting that I was right). Now why would I think that? Why would I, when shown a character with lots of religious artifacts, reflexively assume the character is evil? Is this perhaps a conditioned response?

Let's play a game. You've got ten seconds. Name, off the top of your head, three positive portrayals of priests from film or TV.

Bah, that is trivial. I can name four in that time: Gregory Peck in both The Keys of the Kingdom and The Scarlet and the Black, Bing Crosby in The Bells of St. Mary's, and Spencer Tracy in The Devil at 4 O'Clock.

Now let's add a twist. Name three made after 1970. That were also mainstream films.

Hmm.... The Scarlet and the Black was made in 1983, but was a TV movie. The Keys of the Kingdom was made in 1944, The Bell's of St. Mary's was 1945, and The Devil at 4 O'Clock was 1961.

Ok, well just name three mainstream portrayals of priests from movies made after 1970.

I come up with Edward Norton in Keeping the Faith, Linus Roache in Priest, and, um... wasn't there a priest in Chocolat? Ok, that took me more than 10 seconds. And none of those are exactly what I'd call stellar examples.

Let's open this up a little wider. Name three portrayals of devout Christians from movies made after 1970.

Well, I heard (though I have not seen the movie) that there was an Evangelical Christian family in Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. There's also the documentary Jesus Camp. And didn't Matt Damon play a Catholic in The Good Shepherd? (Which, if memory serves, is the movie that prompted a leading Jewish periodical to write something like "apparently, Catholicism is the last religion which it is acceptable to insult." Of course I've gone and lost the blasted quote.)

It seems that in recent years Hollywood has forgotten how to make movies that show priests, Catholics, or even Christians in general in a positive light. 

Now, one villain who happens to be Christian would be no concern. But when there is a general, overwhelming trend, I call shenanigans. Suppose there was a general, overwhelming trend for portraying blacks, or women, or homosexuals as villains? Do we suspect that there wouldn't be cries of foul, and claims that Hollywood was bigoted?

And this touches back on some of my points about PC: why should I worry about offending the hyper-sensitive feelings of those who do not give a rat's ass if they offend me? Is it because, as a Christian, I should avoid offending my neighbor? But that's my philosophy, not theirs, and they specifically reject it. If they are to convince me to play the PC game, they need to take a principle from their rule book, not mine. "You should abandon your philosophy and come to mine because your philosophy says you should" is not a valid argument, for once I've abandoned my philosophy, why should I follow what it says?

* * *

The poison of PC can certainly be insidiously evil, turning people to hate those whom PC disapproves of, when used to create shows. I think my story of being conditioned to think a character with many religious artifacts is evil is evidence of that. But when it enters into the story as a motivation for the characters, it can turn from something twisted and wrong into something comically stupid.

Take, for example, the old TV show Seaquest: DSV, that show which was so dripping with PC that Justin Long once confused it for his co-star. In one episode, I think the only one I watched in its entirety, the captain of Seaquest is ordered to put an end to some environmental terrorists. The captain refuses, because the terrorists have been sinking whaling vessels. It doesn't seem to bother him that the terrorists are, y'know, murdering people. But because the people that are being murdered are not PC, the captain does not seem to care about them. He prepares to resign his commission, refusing to follow the order. In the end, he finally does go after the terrorists when they accidentally miss their intended target and sink a cruise ship. No one seems to question if the lives aboard the cruise ship could have been saved if the captain did his duty in the first place.

Another example comes from Star Trek: Enterprise. In one episode, the Enterprise encounters an alien civilization that is dying from some genetic disease. The crew of the Enterprise, with their advanced technology, are able to create a cure to the disease, but Captain Archer decides not to give it to the aliens, because there is another race on that planet which are mistreated as slaves by the civilization. Apparently, Archer thinks that genocide is an appropriate response. It's interesting that Archer chooses to let the entire civilization be wiped out, without considering if one of the aliens might be that planet's William Wilberforce. In his eyes, none of the aliens are worth saving because some mistreat their slaves. There is a term for this. It is called "bigotry". In the end, Dr. Phlox pats Archer on the back and expresses his pleasure that the captain did the right thing. This was about the time I stopped watching Enterprise. (An interesting note: one of the arguments Phlox gave for why the civilization should not be saved, is that the aliens are dying from a genetic disease, and their slaves appear to be more intelligent than the aliens let on. Phlox posits that this is just evolution's natural progression, that the old race is dying out to make room for the new, and they have no business standing in the way. Well, there is a term for this view of evolution as a guided and benevolent force. It is called "Intelligent Design" and it is the very definition of irony that so many Evolutionists see evolution in this way, and insist that we should not interfere with Her will.)

In a recent episode of Buffy (well, recent for me; it aired nine or ten years ago), the spirit of an American Indian tribe goes on a rampage through Sunnydale, slitting the throats of its citizens (in the show, Buffy berates one character for using the term "Indian" and insists the proper term is "Native American"; also ironic, in that most Indians do not object to the term "Indian"). Buffy finally corners the spirit, but hesitates, unable to deliver the killing blow. Willow explains her indecision, stating that the Indians were peaceful—"fluffy, indigenous kittens", in her own words—until the Evil Christian Europeans came along and tortured, enslaved, and civilized them (*gasp*), and that the spirit of the tribe is only out seeking justice. No one seems to care that he is seeking justice on those born hundreds of years after the alleged atrocities. This was the first episode that I couldn't finish watching, because the bullshit-o-meter—that most useful device which measures the BS of PC things in sucky TV shows—not only hit the pin at ten, it pushed past the pin, wrote in the number eleven, pointed at that, quivered, uttered the rite of extreme unction, and burst into flame.

If PC is the philosophy that guides the creation of your show, such that the only Christians that show up are evil, I can accept that. No one has ever perfectly lived up to Our Lord's example, and many Christians have missed the point entirely. I'm willing to accept that—through some statistical fluke—the only ones who make it into movies and TV shows are evil (probably not that much of a fluke; Hollywood is a hard place to survive without turning to the Dark Side). But when PC is the philosophy that guides your characters, then you have lost me. When your characters do not do what is right, and in fact sometimes do just the opposite (that is, what is evil, for those of you keeping score at home), I lose sympathy for them and cease to care if they win. They are no longer "the good guys" but instead become "the morally confused guys who sometimes happen to defeat other morally confused guys, if it suits them."

In essence, when you base the meta-philosophy of your story around PC, you create something potentially insidieous and evil. When you base the internal philosophy of your characters on PC, you create something much worse: a bad story.

* * *

(I have here a long screed on Buffy season 4. Since it assumes a detailed knowledge of the Whedon-verse, that most of my readers don't have, it is optional. Nothing to see here, move along.)

Watching season 4 of Buffy has been very enlightening. Up until Joss' latest show, Dollhouse, the only works of his I'd seen were the first three seasons of Buffy, Firefly, Serenity, and Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along-Blog, all of which I found delightful, and like most other nerds, I was willing to declare Joss to be my new master. In fact, Serenity is—and I say this with no hyperbole—probably the greatest SF film ever made. Those of you following me on Twitter know that it is now difficult for me to watch that film, because every time I do, I weep, knowing that Space Pirates is not, and never can be, that damned good. But when I started watching Dollhouse, something felt off. Firstly, Joss' signature clever dialogue is missing. Secondly, well, none of the characters are really that likable. In fact, the only one I can really get behind is Boyd Langton (played by Harry Lenix, from Matrix: Revolutions). There are also—and this is surprising for Joss—absolutely no strong or likable female characters in Dollhouse. And while Joss is normally hit-and-miss with his women (for every Kaylee, there is an Inara), it's odd that he should go 0-for-5.

(Before you think that I dislike the show, I should mention that even though the pilot fell flat and the first 4 or 5 episodes weren't particularly memorable, the plot did pick up later in the season, and ended strong. And Alan Tudyk is awesome.)

But Buffy, season 4, has been sort of an eye-opener. As it turns out, Joss is not infallible, and that sometimes his characters just aren't that great. Season 4 has been doing a wonderful job of destroying the characters that have been built up so far. Xander, the comic relief, hasn't developed at all in four seasons, and remains as one-dimensional as he was to begin with, only now the joke is less funny, as it's four years old. But now he's also impotent and is routinely dominated by his girlfriend, who he is powerless to stand up to and seems incapable of really loving her (his relationship is actually an interesting metaphor on fornication; the more sex he has with his girlfriend, the more impotent he becomes with her in everything non-sexual). Giles—the wise mentor and perhaps my favorite character—has been trashed; as it turns out, he has a "friend with benefits" who periodically flies out from England to be with him. Willow is turning lesbian (which in itself is interesting: I thought the argument of the homosexual activists was that homosexuality wasn't something that just turned on or off, and that's why those therapists that seek to help gay men become straight were stupid and evil), and in one recent episode has to decide between her old boyfriend, now come back, and her new love, a girl who also practices Wicca with her. And here, I'm thinking why does she have to choose between them? I mean, if you're abandoning sexual ethics in favor of homosexuality, why not go all the way and embrace polyamory as well? Why hold back? (Every time Willow mentions her Wicca, I am reminded of G.K. Chesterton in Heretics: "All that genuinely remains of the ancient hymns or the ancient dances of Europe, all that has honestly come to us from the festivals of Phoebus or Pan, is to be found in the festivals of the Christian Church. If any one wants to hold the end of a chain which really goes back to the heathen mysteries, he had better take hold of a festoon of flowers at Easter or a string of sausages at Christmas. Everything else in the modern world is of Christian origin, even everything that seems most anti-Christian. The French Revolution is of Christian origin. The newspaper is of Christian origin. The anarchists are of Christian origin. Physical science is of Christian origin. The attack on Christianity is of Christian origin. There is one thing, and one thing only, in existence at the present day which can in any sense accurately be said to be of pagan origin, and that is Christianity." QFT) And Buffy, who was previously the poster-girl for chastity (her first love, quite literally, lost his soul, and her second abused and discarded her; you'd think she'd learn) is now in a relationship with so much sex involved that in one episode, they are too busy having sex to help their friends fight off ghosts. Her boyfriend, while I'd like to like him (he's a Marine and also, it's implied, Catholic) thinks with his genitals just a bit too much. When a female character sleeps around, I usually feel pity for her. When I male character does it, I feel contempt.

Lest you think that I don't like the show, I remind you that I still enjoy it. The plots are still interesting, the dialogue still witty. It's just merely a reminder that Joss sometimes writes unlikeable and unmemorable characters. And sometimes they all end up in one show. When I saw Firefly, I thought Inara was the exception, and that his characters tended to be better than that. After Dollhouse and Buffy season 4, I see that Firefly is the exception (although so far I like the characters in Angel, though I'm only in the first season).

Joss frequently loses me with the sex in his shows. Very few characters have healthy sexual relationships (Zoey and Wash from Firefly are the only two that come to mind) and many are destroyed by their promiscuity. One of the biggest disappointments in Firefly was in the episode "Out of Gas", when we discovered that the only difference between Kaylee and Inara is that Inara gets paid. I have high hopes for Angel, though. It's been established that the title character must remain chaste, or he will turn evil.

* * *

Buffy isn't the only show that has lost me with characters. The new Battlestar Galactica was very intense, and had very colorful and interesting characters to begin with, but by the end of the show, each and everyone had ceased to be likable, ending with the formerly-noble Admiral William Adama, who is shown visiting a strip club in one of the last episodes.

Stargate SG-1 did better. The characters never betrayed me, but the writers seemed to think that the last two seasons would be a wonderful way to make the point: "Religion = bad".

It was my general frustration with the state of SF TV shows that lead me to draw the following comic, in the style of XKCD: