The Bible Guarantees It

As has been pointed out by Pastor Harold Camping on his radio show and on several informative and entertaining road signs next to Bay Area freeways , the world will end this Saturday, 6 p.m. We’re all going to die! Need some convincing of this fact? Here you go:

Lots of numbers in there, so I guess he must be right (also, Camping has an engineering degree from UC Berkeley – spotless academic credentials!). There’s hope for some of us, though:

“O then ye unbelieving, turn ye unto the Lord; cry mightily unto the Father in the name of Jesus, that perhaps ye may be found spotless, pure, fair, and white, having been cleansed by the blood of the Lamb, at that great and last day.” (Mormon 9:6)

According to this heathenish FAQ, I’ll probably not be counted among the “spotless, pure, fair and white”, but at least I’ll die a happy woman having tasted this year’s first white “Spring Snow” peaches…as the eternal hippie favorite Ecclesiastes puts it:

“To everything there is a season,
a time for every purpose under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die;
a time to plant and a time to reap,
a time to laugh and a time to weep.”

(Watch out for the cute little girl at 1:15! I wonder what became of her when she grew up.)

Happy are those who are called to this supper

In the last ten years, the nearest I’ve come to communion was a few days ago when we ventured into Oakland to check out the famed Casserole House. This stretch of Telegraph Ave, by the way, has a handful of Korean places right next to each other, all competing for your palate with mouthwatering pictures of their food (much like the signs of rivaling churches along a suburban street with their promises of giving meaning to your life and/or rescuing your soul from eternal damnation). We had just sat down in a comfy, quiet booth when the waitress plonked down literally dozens of appetizers in little bowls – first, a Korean variant of potato latkes, then several types of tofu, sweet pickled beans, tiny oily fish, hardly bigger than matchsticks, sweet potatoes, broccoli, omelette, pickled bok choi and crunchy radishes, and miso soup. We could hardly believe our luck. Instead of going for cow intestines or squid as main dishes, we had made the scared beginners’ choice of beef and pork bulgogi – mounds of incredibly soft, fragrant, thin slices of meat, surprisingly light and almost fluffy in their consistency, not so boring after all all. But all this was just a preface to the meal’s real climax – the Communion rite.

Suddenly, a wise and friendly-looking woman appeared at our table and introduced herself as the cook. Between our main dishes – as the glorious centerpiece of the table – she placed a plate of Kimchi, and while reciting a litany about the virtues of said pickled cabbage (“Is four month old! Is special Kimchi!”), removed the lid from my rice-bowl and asked me for my chopsticks.

“(…) the priest breaks the host and places a piece in the main chalice; this is known as the rite of fraction and commingling.” (Wikipedia: Communion Rite)

She took the chopsticks from my hands, gingerly tore off a leaf of cabbage from the serving plate, placed it on my rice and mixed the two.

“The priest then presents the transubstantiated elements to the congregation, saying: “This is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Happy are those who are called to his supper.”

The sage/cook pointed at the printout of a newspaper article that hung in a frame on the wall above our table – it was a page-long ode to the Four Month Old Kimchi in front of us! And we were happy.

“Then all repeat: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.” The priest then receives Communion and…distributes Communion to the people.”

She held up the Kimchi, cooed “Say Aaaaaah!” and then, with a friendly nod, placed the cabbage-and-rice ball in my opened mouth, and indeed I “bowed [my] head before the Sacrament as a gesture of reverence, and received the consecrated host on the tongue” (I stopped at the “Amen”, though, replacing it with a nodding “Mmmmmmh!”). A spiritual experience is one that one cannot be put into words. We’ll be back for the squid!

(Picture: Nagyman/Flickr)

So that’s why all my horoscopes were wrong!

“The ancient Babylonians based zodiac signs on the constellation the sun was “in” on the day a person was born. During the ensuing millenniums, the moon’s gravitational pull has made the Earth “wobble” around its axis, creating about a one-month bump in the stars’ alignment.” (Minneapolis Star Tribune)

And thus, according to Parke Kunkle of the Minnesota Planetarium Society, your astronomically “correct” zodiac sign might be different from what astrologers usually tell you. These are the new zodiac dates, corrected for the stars’ actual current alignment:

Capricorn: Jan. 20-Feb. 16. Aquarius: Feb. 16-March 11. Pisces: March 11-April 18. Aries: April 18-May 13. Taurus: May 13-June 21. Gemini: June 21-July 20. Cancer: July 20-Aug. 10. Leo: Aug. 10-Sept. 16. Virgo: Sept. 16-Oct. 30. Libra: Oct. 30-Nov. 23. Scorpio: Nov. 23-29. Ophiuchus: Nov. 29-Dec. 17. Sagittarius: Dec. 17-Jan. 20.

I’m a Libra now instead of a Scorpio! So next time someone takes offense with my habitually grating personality, I will tell them to shut up because there’s SCIENTIFIC PROOF for the FACT that I am of extremely agreeable, diplomatic and charming character.

Posted in Fröhliche Wissenschaft, Kollektivneurose. Comments Off on So that’s why all my horoscopes were wrong!


Tony Blair’s sister-in-law converts to islam. Well, OK, why not. It’s certainly not worse than remaining catholic or becoming a Gaudiya Vaishnavist (although they do make delicious butter balls). But wait. Considering Mrs. Booth is an Englishwoman from Islington, there’s something in that article that really shocks me:

“Booth has stopped drinking alcohol and says she has not wanted to drink since converting.”

God help her!

Späte Einsicht…

“Pater Gabriel Amorth (85) ist der Chefexorzist im Vatikan. Mehr als 70 000 Mal befreite er Besessene vom Teufel und von Dämonen. Jetzt warnt der Pater in der italienischen Zeitung „La Repubblica“: „Der Teufel wohnt im Vatikan!“

via News –

Posted in Aus Aller Welt, Kollektivneurose. Comments Off on Späte Einsicht…

Wer hat’s erfunden?

Könnt Ihr Euch an den Hut stecken!

Ok, ich komme in der Regel ohne einen Morgenstern aus. Auch auf Bleistifte kann ich irgendwie verzichten. Wird mir nicht fehlen: die Logarithmentafel. Bernhardiner: überflüssig. Korpuskulare Gravitationstheorie: ebenfalls entbehrlich. Ein Hygrometer ist für den Klavierbesitzer zwar ratsam, aber ich vertraue in Zukunft einfach auf die Befeuchtungskraft meines Aquariums. Dürrenmatt: meh. Verzicht auf optische Linsen wird extrem schwierig, ist aber machbar. Glühlampen sind passé (und wenn ich eh nix mehr sehe, kann es meinetwegen auch dunkel sein). Unterwasser-Hörrohr: wenn mir jemand was zu sagen hat, soll er das ab jetzt eben über Wasser tun. Eurythmie war mir schon immer suspekt, genauso wie BWL und Dungeons & Dragons. Ovomaltine lässt sich mit Müh und Not ersetzen durch eine Caro-Kaba-Mischung. Könnt ihr alles behalten, ihr Religionsfreiheitsverächter!

Aber eine Erfindung der Schweiz gibt es leider, ohne die Cohu keinen Winter und vor allem keine Erkältung übersteht: Ricola Schweizer Kräuterzucker! Also doch kein Boykott…

(Bild: Dirk Beyer, Wikimedia Commons)

“When the gods wish to punish us…

…they answer our prayers."

(Das dürfte, abgesehen vom neckischen Polytheismus, übrigens einer der wenigen Punkte sein, in denen sich Oscar Wilde und die heilige Theresa von Ávila einig sind.)

Posted in Kollektivneurose, Politisches. Comments Off on “When the gods wish to punish us…