The PenOpticon

I like Jon Stewart as much as the next person. Actually, I probably enjoy Jon Stewart wayyy more than you do. But apparently there are some who hold Stewart in higher esteem than I thought possible. For a bit of a chuckle, you should check out www.JonStewartIsGod.Com, a site devoted to the notion that Jon Stewart is God and they’ve got an  “immaculate” devotional song to prove it.

One problem with promoting Jon Stewart to God is the fact that we already know that Joe Pesci is god — according to George Carlin — and is worthy of our prayers. In his brilliant monologue on religion, Carlin notes that he personally worships the sun, but prays to Joe Pesci. Here’s why:

You know who I pray to? Joe Pesci. Two reasons: First of all, I think he’s a good actor, okay? To me, that counts. Second, he looks like a guy who can get things done. Joe Pesci doesn’t fuck around. In fact, Joe Pesci came through on a couple of things that God was having trouble with.

For years I asked God to do something about my noisy neighbor with the barking dog, Joe Pesci straightened that cocksucker out with one visit. It’s amazing what you can accomplish with a simple baseball bat.

So I’ve been praying to Joe for about a year now. And I noticed something. I noticed that all the prayers I used to offer to God, and all the prayers I now offer to Joe Pesci, are being answered at about the same 50% rate. Half the time I get what I want, half the time I don’t. Same as God, 50-50. Same as the four-leaf clover and the horseshoe, the wishing well and the rabbit’s foot, same as the Mojo Man, same as the Voodoo Lady who tells you your fortune by squeezing the goat’s testicles, it’s all the same: 50-50. So just pick your superstition, sit back, make a wish, and enjoy yourself.

I think Carlin has it right: worship the sun, but pray to Joe Pesci or just about anyone and anything — including Jon Stewart. In any case, I doubt that Stewart and Pesci will duke it out to see who is really the Supreme Being. But wouldn’t that be something?

I know I shouldn’t say anything bad about the Pope, although technically I’m half Catholic, so I suppose I have some small right to tear a strip off the old guy. In his defence, however, at least he has appologized. It’s a few days and a few riots too late, but speaking from the balcony of his summer palace, Pope Benedict finally distanced himself from the controversial text of Manuel II Paleologos.

Sure, he was making a valid point: that religious extremism always perverts the message it pretends to promote. What is truly distressing, however, is that the Pope felt the need to prove his point by quoting a 14th century text critiquing Islamic fundamentalism. He could just as easily have picked — oh I don’t know — the Spanish Inquisition (though no one would have expected that!). Or the Crusades. Or the genocides committed against the Incas and the Aztecs by “good” Catholic Conquistadors. Then there is the small matter of the global epidemic of pedophile priests — admittedly a different kind of extremism. See the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests (SNAP) for the latest in this heart-wrenching travesty.

Instead, the Infallible, Unflappable Pope made a little boo boo. But why? Was he deliberately turning a blind eye to the very rich history of Catholic extremism?  Or, as learned man, was he demonstrating scholarship by cadging an obscure example from a Byzantine emperor?  Whatever his reasons, it smacks of poor judgement.  Although some fundamentalist Islamic groups have already responded with violence, let us hope they quickly see that this is a Pope who simply needs to be ignored. Millions of westerners — including good Catholics — do this every day.

Of course the vast majority of Westerners also simply ignore the anti-western, anti-semetic ravings of people like Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Few westerners would waste a perfectly good weekend rioting over anything he has to say. So today is a good day for all good Western Secularists and Islamic Fundamentalists to stay home, put your feet up and relax with a good book, or maybe take a nice long walk to see how the fall migration is coming along — just leaving now for the Leslie Street Spit!

I’ve gushed over York Region’s VIVA bus system since the beginning. I know all of the transit cops by sight and have watched them take down quite a few mugs who gambled they could ride without paying for the privilege. Today was different, however. Today, the bus was a standing-room only affair– we were packed in like a full drawer of socks. (These were mostly First Year socks, about to begin their first day at York University). There was no room even for a cop to move down the aisle to check for cheaters and no room for a passenger to pull out a ticket stub with out elbowing a neighbour in the soft bits. But then, why would a transit cop ride the crowded east-west Purple route when there are plenty of half-empty north-south Blue buses to check?

When we were about to turn south on Keele Street, I could see that it was completely clogged with traffic. I could also see that according to the VIVA digital display another bus was due in six minutes. So I pushed my way out and waited. Adding a few minutes to the trip in exchange for the possibility of an actual seat seemed like a worthwhile trade, especially since I could use the time to enjoy the morning sunshine and gulp air that had not just been humidified in the lungs of a hundred other people.

But when the next bus arrived, it didn’t actually arrive! It just kept-on-a-goin’. I waived to the driver to stop and he merely shrugged and pointed at the passengers standing in his considerably less-crowded bus. “NOOOOooooooooooohhhhh”, I sad, using a choice four-letter word. “Big deal”, you say, “so the bus never stopped.” I agree — this has happened to me many times while riding the TTC, but this was a VIVA bus, a hight-tech, award-winning system! If such technology can’t save us, then what will?

So I walked the last five kilometres to work, stopping briefly to photograph the Inflatable Wailing Man that stands outside Cousin Vinny’s Discount Emporium. Today I felt just like that guy, only I’m considerably shorter and fatter:

Leaving the Wailing Man behind, I walked south on Keele past the usual maze of industrial complexes and warehouses, past the 404 toll way and over the Canadian National tracks. It wasn’t so bad. The Fall wildflowers are blooming. The Monarchs are still bopping along, slowly moving southward. The air was even breathable. The industrial din was not so good, though. The cacophony of a Toronto rush hour is a terrible thing to inflict on the human ear.

Maybe I’ll ride the bike tomorrow, though I know I’ll soon ride VIVA again. The sad thing is that too many commuter students give rapid transit a short trial and then quickly opt for cars. If only VIVA would run a few of their larger articulated buses during rush hour, then those students might just stick with the bus. If not, then in a few weeks, there’ll be more room for wailing fat guys like me ;-)