Friday, September 23, 2011
conservative evolutionists
I'm convinced that in a few years, if it hasn't happened, conservative Christians will realize that there's nothing in evolution counter to their theology. Evolution still provides as much of a mechanism for hereditary sin as creation does (I mean, it makes as much or as little sense with evolution as it does with creation, it just doesn't necessarily start with Adam and Eve). The only thing that might have to change is their understanding of the Bible, but they will probably adjust to literalism being the 'intentions' of the writers, so that the literal truth of Genesis is that it is mythology. That's just my prediction.
Friday, September 9, 2011
15th Ave 7-11
The neighborhood paperboy was burning out his lungs and blowing smoke rings in the parking lot when I rolled up. He looked at me then looked away as I walked to the door. I couldn’t blame him.
I’d seen the type of place before: flashy neon lights and bright paint on the outside, a wall of windows and, on the inside, shelves of packaged food. But this joint was different, somehow.
It didn’t take long for me to find what I was looking for: a packaged burrito and a can of soda. These burritos taste like cardboard but the price is right.
Behind the register, the cashier was filing her nails and watching some old soap on the television.
“You want a bag with that, mister?” I could tell she was a classy broad because she had a full set of teeth. Around here, that still counts for something.
I ignored her question, leaned over the counter and said, “What kind of square feet you think this place has? Five hundred?”
“Whatever you say, mister.”
“You been working this gig for very long?”
“Well, that depends. Is six years a long time?”
Something seemed fishy but I couldn’t put my finger on it so I said, “Lot of lights in this place. You must run up a hundred bucks a month in electric bills alone.”
“This ain’t my place,” she said. “So do you want a bag with that?”
They went in the bag even though I didn’t say anything. I slapped some bills on the counter--enough for the tab and six dollars for a tip, one dollar for every year she’d worked there--grabbed the bag and walked outside, back into the night. The paperboy had cleared out, and I figured I’d better do the same.
I’d seen the type of place before: flashy neon lights and bright paint on the outside, a wall of windows and, on the inside, shelves of packaged food. But this joint was different, somehow.
It didn’t take long for me to find what I was looking for: a packaged burrito and a can of soda. These burritos taste like cardboard but the price is right.
Behind the register, the cashier was filing her nails and watching some old soap on the television.
“You want a bag with that, mister?” I could tell she was a classy broad because she had a full set of teeth. Around here, that still counts for something.
I ignored her question, leaned over the counter and said, “What kind of square feet you think this place has? Five hundred?”
“Whatever you say, mister.”
“You been working this gig for very long?”
“Well, that depends. Is six years a long time?”
Something seemed fishy but I couldn’t put my finger on it so I said, “Lot of lights in this place. You must run up a hundred bucks a month in electric bills alone.”
“This ain’t my place,” she said. “So do you want a bag with that?”
They went in the bag even though I didn’t say anything. I slapped some bills on the counter--enough for the tab and six dollars for a tip, one dollar for every year she’d worked there--grabbed the bag and walked outside, back into the night. The paperboy had cleared out, and I figured I’d better do the same.
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