I'm an atheist. Although I was raised in the Christian church of my people, I slowly progressed to agnosticism in my teens and from there to atheism by my mid-twenties.

When my marriage began to approach its long-overdue end, my then-wife (not an atheist, but not a Christian either; she was basically ignorant on the whole subject) decided that we should join a church as a family - not necessarily to avoid the split, but so that we would maintain a family connection even if we got divorced. I didn't oppose the idea, although I did note that there were some churches that I wouldn't be willing to join. As it worked out, we ended up joining a local Unitarian Universalist church. I was fine with that, as they are explicitly open to agnostics and atheists (and pretty much anything else, as far as I could tell).

I rather enjoyed the church, even if I'd have preferred to have slept in on Sundays. It was nice to have a regular social event; my then-wife had pretty much kept us all clear of any social activities. The congregation were pleasant people, albeit mostly older, affluent, and white. There were enough children for several Sunday school classes, though. The doctrine was liberal and tolerant. I very much liked the open pulpit for "prayers and concerns"; I'm very comfortable with public speaking, so I went up when the spirit moved me (so to speak). I volunteered at the church library and as a Sunday school teacher. My son went to Sunday school and very much enjoyed it. He also attended the OWLS program and got a lot out of it. I joined the writing group at the church as well.

But there were things that bothered me.

It felt as if the one black family that attended the church were being, well, used. They were always placed in the first pew right in front of the pulpit, as if they were on display. They were asked to address the congregation from the pulpit almost every week. I couldn't shake the impression that they weren't entirely comfortable with that. What's more, the church spent two YEARS discussing putting up a "black lives matter" banner; much of the discussion focused on how to get the Mayor and the Chief of Police to attend the banner-hanging ceremony, and get maximum coverage on the news. At a meeting on the subject I couldn't resist pointing out that two years of discussion was two years of police shooting black Americans every day.

The church leadership often spoke proudly of the UU ministers and members who put their lives on the line during the Civil Rights era. If they'd taken the same incredibly long deliberative approach that the church leadership was taking about the BLM banner (I said), we would STILL not have civil rights - which we basically don't, anyway. The black family spoke up and agreed with me. But the minister and other leaders quickly shut that down. They accused me of being a radical, of demanding that they become a dictatorship by forcing quick decisions. I wasn't allowed to speak again, and no changes were made.

I started speaking at the pulpit during "prayers and concerns" about the many wars that our government was waging all over the world, bombing the innocent and helpless (including children) every day using our tax dollars. I received a few kind replies from elderly members of the congregation (basically old hippies), but once again there was no action. It became more and more clear that these were people who were there to congratulate themselves on their enlightenment and profound goodness without actually doing much about it. I used to joke privately that their arms were all sprained from patting themselves on the backs.

There were a few other atheists in the congregation. We had meetings about once a month. Again, they were enjoyable - but it felt as if the leadership and the minister kept trying to shoehorn us into the category of "humanists", rather than atheists. The minister dropped in to those meetings occasionally, and I couldn't help but feel rather patronized.

For all their proclaimed tolerance, they seemed uncomfortable with out-and-out atheism. On the occasions that atheism was mentioned at all during a service, it was ALWAYS in conjunction with agnostics and humanists - as if we were a single indistinguishable group. And I couldn't help but notice that although they had flags hung in the church with symbols of many faiths, there were none representing atheism - or even humanism, for that matter!

Eventually my marriage ended. My ex kept attending for a year or so, but then she met a Catholic man (the holiest felon and domestic abuser you could ask to meet) and she stopped showing up and dropped out of our lives. My son and I kept attending church for a while, but when he graduated out of Sunday school we both agreed that we didn't feel at home there.

So we stopped going. I enjoyed being part of a group, but I wasn't comfortable with what I perceived as their hypocrisy. Nor did I like being treated as a second-class citizen. If I could find an atheist "church" or a more sincere UU one, I'd certainly consider going. But as it stood, I wasn't comfortable in that congregation.

Oh, one other thing: I was a regular panelist at a regional convention for 25 years. I spoke on all sorts of subjects, but the most popular one (I think) was a series of panels I proposed for atheists and theists to talk and better understand each other. It was a wonderful experience; standing-room-only crowds, and a wonderful atmosphere of mutual understanding. But at one of the panels, the then-President of American Atheists (who was also on the panel) was offended when I mentioned that I attended a UU church. He called me an "Uncle Tom" atheist with considerable scorn. In fairness, he was promoting a book he'd just had published, a typical "new atheist" tome insulting Christians; my advocacy of dialog and mutual understanding was pretty much diametrically opposed to his thesis. But after the panel a number of members of the audience rushed up to me enthusiastically to support my approach.

It's amusing that both a hardcore atheist and "tolerant" progressive Christians were uncomfortable that an atheist would attend a church!

"The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast" (1969) by Ann Spencer is a delightful and funny high-culture treat for children and adults.

What a lovely book! And how sad it is that I'm almost the only person in the world who seems to remember it. But I read it to my son several times when he was young, so I've done my part to share the memories. I should note that my parents read it to me when I was a toddler!

The book was both written and illustrated by the talented Ann Spencer. It's the story of an elderly millionaire, Miss Margrove, whose cat Augie suddenly goes through a strange transformation: he absolutely refuses to eat cat food. One taste of cinnamon toast, and all is undone; he now insists on only the finest gourmet fare. His psychologist is unable to explain this mysterious change.

Augie is fickle in his tastes, venturing into the haute cuisine of one culture after another. Miss Margrove's stable of chefs eventually lose their tempers and quit. Fortunately an unexpected television appearance by the French Chef, Julia Child, inspires Miss Margrove and saves the day.

The balance between text and art is particularly well done. Each page features large, finely-detailed black and white illustrations. Unusually, there is absolutely no "talking down" to the young reader; words and phrases like "Escoffier", "truite amandine", and "la vie en rose" are sprinkled liberally throughout the text. Nonetheless, the story is quite easy for children to comprehend, and the humor of the words and illustrations is ideal for a child.

I first began reading The Cat Who Tasted Cinnamon Toast to my son when he was about four years old, at a guess. He loved it; it helps that he's a cat-lover (and any child who is a cat-lover is sure to like this book). There are no serious crises, no moments of terror or stress. Augie is naughty at times, but in a very lovable way. It's a perfect bedtime book.

Reading the book aloud takes about half an hour, including the VERY necessary time spent allowing the child to look at each picture. As I noted above, some of the cooking-related language is a bit esoteric; if you're not familiar with the words, you may want to look up pronunciations before reading it aloud. It's definitely worth the effort.

There is one illustration which might trouble some parents. When Augie sneaks out to the Omar Khayyam restaurant to be inducted into the wonders of Persian cuisine, the illustration includes a representation of a fairly large painting on the background wall that depicts a naked woman seated (with legs turned sideways) next to a man. So far, my son has never commented on it, and I see no reason to call it to his attention or be concerned. When I was a child myself, I never noticed it through many readings.

For very strict parents, I suppose the page where Augie gets drunk on baba au rhum could also be a concern. My son found it hysterical. So do I.

If you're reading aloud, a passable Julia Child impersonation adds quite a lot to the experience (she has a short but memorable television appearance in the book). It's also useful to be able to sing the old "Let Your Fingers Do The Walking" jingle from the Yellow Pages commercials in the 1960s and 70s (it's on YouTube now). But neither is a requirement, of course!

The book is out of print forever, I suppose. It represents what might now be considered an impossibly "high culture" moment in America, an aesthetic which I cannot imagine will ever return to public awareness, much less popularity. And that's sad. Still, if you're lucky enough to find a copy, it's a wonderful, memorable book.

#Books #ChildrensLiterature #BookReview

From alt.atheism on Usenet, many many years ago:

I have a friend who’s an atheist. Naturally as a Christian I’m very concerned for his soul. How can I witness to my atheist friend?

I have a sure-fire way for you to witness to your friend.

Go to your local lumber and hardware store. Purchase the following:

• 1 nine-foot railroad tie or length 8”x8” lumber
• 1 six-foot length of 2”x6”
• 1 pack of heavy-duty 6” nails
• 4 large spikes

I assume you can get a small shovel, a hammer, and a sharp-ended crowbar. If not, you’ll have to buy those too.

Invite your friend to meet you at a relatively private public area - a low hill surrounded by trees would be ideal. Arrive there an hour early. Dig a two-and-a-half foot deep hole at the top of the hill, just big enough for the railroad tie.

Next, nail the 2x6 perpendicularly onto the railroad tie, two and a half feet from one end. Use at least four heavy nails.

This next part may be a little tricky; you may want to have a (Christian) friend help you. Use the spikes to nail your wrists to the end of the 2x6, and you feet to the longer end of the protruding railroad tie. Make sure to put the spikes through your wrists, not your palms; if you put them through your palms they’ll rip through. You’ll flop forward and look ridiculous, and you won’t convert anybody.

Have a friend (or two) lift the railroad tie and slide the base into the hole you dug. They should make sure that the railroad tie stands up firmly; if necessary, they can pack some stones around the tie in the hole.

Have someone jab you firmly in the side of your abdomen with the sharpened crowbar, making a deep hole. By now, your atheist friend should have arrived.

Die.

Come back to life.

Your friend is now ready for conversion.

I was a regular panelist at a regional New England science fiction convention for decades. Part of my participation was suggesting panel topics every year. One topic I suggested was atheism, specifically conversations between theists and atheists.

Like many American atheists, I was raised as a Christian, evolving to agnosticism and finally atheism in my teens and twenties. I noticed over the years that although many atheists were quite familiar with religion in general and Christianity in particular, the reverse was NOT true - most Christians had never knowingly met an atheist, and what they "knew" about atheists in general were nightmares they learned from pastors and the media.

So I decided to encourage Christians and atheists to understand each other better by fostering dialog between them online. There were some great conversations; sadly, virtually all of them were deleted when the sites they were on were taken down.

Back to the atheism panels at the convention: They were HUGELY popular. Absolutely jammed, standing room only. The atmosphere was the most positive experience I ever had at panels there, and I'd been on hundreds of panels there over a quarter-century. People from the audience would rush up to the panel afterwards, bursting with enthusiasm. The next panel would have to push everyone out of the room.

But things were going on behind the scenes. New leadership came in to the con; highly enlightened leadership which made a particular point of their moral superiority. Bathrooms became gender-free. Food in the con suite and Green room became gluten-free, meat-free, and sugar-free - and, of course, taste-free. It was basically all the lentil casserole you could eat, which for many of us was absolutely none.

The attitude of the new leadership towards the atheism panels was particularly odd. They started by changing the panel descriptions from focusing on friendly conversation and mutual understanding between theists and atheists to confrontation; literally nothing more than arguments between the two groups. At which point they then cancelled all of the atheism panels, because "they're nothing but arguments".

The final revelation came to me through back channels. Programming and the con committee had deliberately decided to permanently cancel atheism as a topic because "Atheism only interests straight white males". Apart from the obvious hypocrisy of a self-proclaimed safe space con to justify banning a topic on that basis (and believe me, they allowed all sorts of topics of interest only to sub-groups), the claim wasn't even true! The audiences at the atheism panels were easily among the most diverse of any I ever saw.

Things went downhill for the con from there. Old-timers were ruthlessly purged. I was banned from Programming because I'd used a balloon as part of my cosplay which was latex; latex wasn't banned at the con, but that was still sufficient reason for excommunication. In a major scandal, it came out that some of the new leadership had been molesting and r@ping some attendees; the con leadership as a whole worked together to cover that up for as long as possible. Last I'd heard total attendance was down by 2/3.

But isn't it interesting that atheism was the one acceptable target for complete exclusion?

A refreshing change from the depressing dystopian science fiction which seems to be de rigeur these days. And ironically, that makes it more like actual science fiction than the "realistic" SF that just brings me down.

Framed as a series of oral history interviews of survivors of the end of capitalism by the authors about the emergence of a post-capitalist society, or cooperating societies, it's a surprisingly hopeful read, even though there are elements that may seem rather alien to the modern reader. Particularly straight older readers like me!

But the idea of a world of communes without money or wages, where people feed and care for each other simply because they're human beings, is incredibly refreshing. It makes me want to read more.

There are a couple of points that did strike me as odd, though. One was the almost total lack of any mention of New England. The oral histories focus on New York, but the near-total lack of any sort of role for New England seemed a bit odd to this New Englander. It's as if the whole region had been scraped off the map! Other areas were mentioned, such as New Jersey and New Orleans. But not one word about anywhere in New England except Maine, and that was very limited. I couldn't help but wonder why.

Another odd point was the near-universality of trans-hood (if that's the right word for it). Virtually everyone interviewed was trans to one degree or another, and I can't recall a single cis person. In fact it was specified that the incidence of transsexualism had been constantly rising since the initial crisis point and failure of capitalism.

This was explicitly tied into huge technological advances in the field, including the option for any gender to gestate offspring. Although initially done via surgical alterations, it was specified later that gene therapy could also accomplish complete regendering - a process which was apparently a relatively casual choice.

This is the point where I'm guessing many readers of this review will find me hopelessly old-fashioned and sexist and contemptible, I suspect. I don't find the notion of gender change particularly disgusting; Robert A. Heinlein was writing about that sort of thing in the '80s, as I recall - albeit in a frequently creepy way. The oft-neglected Justin F. Leiber (son of the great SF author Fritz Leiber) covered the same subject far more professionally in Beyond Rejection (1980). I just find it strains my suspension of disbelief to buy the notion that the majority of the human race would effectively abandon the whole notion of gender within a period of 50 to 80 years.

Maybe I'm wrong. We'll see. That said, I would gladly adjust to any number of changes in order to live in a world where we survive the end of capitalism and fascism. And "Everything For Everyone" presents a vision of such a world in a way that gives me hope.

I'll definitely read it again.

As a bibliophile on the Fediverse, I'm flailing a little. I'm on Mastodon, Lemmy, and BookWyrm.social, but I don't know which is the best place to reach the largest and most active number of fellow readers.

Currently I'm guessing that this is the largest book group in the Fediverse, based entirely on MAU - but I'll be frank, I could easily be wrong.

I'm looking to discuss approaches to reviewing books. It occurred to me recently that the most meaningful and helpful reviews are the ones that tie in to emotion - that emotional impact is by far the most important aspect of art and writing, at least to me. I'm curious to hear what sort of approaches others have tried, and maybe sharing tips.

There's also another issue that's been bothering the hell out of me: BookSNS. It's a book recommendation site that's very active, with a lot of users. I've been following it for quite a while via Mastodon.

Posts from it are echoed or relayed to Mastodon, but replies don't go the other way. Users there seem to think that they are posting on Reddit, at least some of the time. But there is no way to contact anyone at the website itself; no admin address, and you have to have an account there in order to respond on the site. But there are no openings for new accounts.

It drives me completely crazy, because I have a huge amount of experience recommending books - particularly older books. I used to be one of the top book recommenders on Reddit, before I walked away after their IPO sleaze. Over and over I've seen requests for recommendations for which I have the perfect answers, only to find myself absolutely unable to respond.

It's torture. I really love recommending the books that I know, particularly since almost no one else seems to even be aware of their existence. But I just can't get through to those requesters.

Does anyone have any suggestions?

#Books #BookSNS #Mastodon

What's the story with this? I'm getting it every time I log into Beehaw over the last few days. And Beehaw keeps crashing without warning and going straight to that same warning. Should I worry?

This isn't happening on any of my other Fediverse accounts, by the way.

Taken near Comicopia, Kenmore Sq. Boston, MA.

P.S. - They made it safely across. Last I saw them, they were fine.

Taken near Comicopia in Boston, MA.

I downloaded these every week from The Onion. They're incredibly funny. There are 40 files available. These are generally unavailable online, apart from some which can still be found on the Internet Archive. As far as I know, this is the most complete archive available anywhere.

I'm looking for a way to sort of blog on Lemmy. On Reddit I could do it by posting to my own profile (note: not editing my own profile, rather literally creating a post and assigning it to my profile). I doubt anyone ever read them, but they were just stuff about what I was doing that didn't really belong in any particular subreddit.

For example, I want to write about my take on the different Fediverse iterations I've set up, on what works and what doesn't. I could post that to a Technology community, I suppose, but I don't think it really belongs there. This is more of a status report on my thoughts than anything else.

I've heard that kbin allows microblogging, but kbin is INCREDIBLY laggy so far. I'm more comfortable here. So...is it possible?

I'm thinking of starting a hybrid campaign online, a live weekly session by video with a Discord forum for 24/7 sideplay. Has anyone tried anything like that? Any tips?

I'm an old reader who loved older books even when I was young. As such, I was horrified to discover that older books are almost totally unknown to younger readers. As best I understand it, Amazon and the remaining booksellers of the world focus mainly on new books; perhaps they don't make as much money on older literature.

But there are so many great older books out there. And I love those books. So I started recommending them over on Reddit. In the field of fantasy, for example, there are a million people recommending Brian Sanderson and nobody recommending the works of Lord Dunsany, Michael Moorcock, or Barry Hughart - among many other wonderful older fantasy authors.

Lord Dunsany in particular wrote a short piece that touches on this point:

THE RAFT-BUILDERS

All we who write put me in mind of sailors hastily making rafts upon doomed ships.

When we break up under the heavy years and go down into eternity with all that is ours our thoughts like small lost rafts float on awhile upon Oblivion's sea. They will not carry much over those tides, our names and a phrase or two and little else.

They that write as a trade to please the whim of the day, they are like sailors that work at the rafts only to warm their hands and to distract their thoughts from their certain doom; their rafts go all to pieces before the ship breaks up.

See now Oblivion shimmering all around us, its very tranquility deadlier than tempest. How little all our keels have troubled it. Time in its deeps swims like a monstrous whale; and, like a whale, feeds on the littlest things—small tunes and little unskilled songs of the olden, golden evenings—and anon turneth whale-like to overthrow whole ships.

See now the wreckage of Babylon floating idly, and something there that once was Nineveh; already their kings and queens are in the deeps among the weedy masses of old centuries that hide the sodden bulk of sunken Tyre and make a darkness round Persepolis.

For the rest I dimly see the forms of foundered ships on the sea-floor strewn with crowns.

Our ships were all unseaworthy from the first.

There goes the raft that Homer made for Helen.

The way I see it, recommending an older book to a new reader is helping a raft to float a little longer. What great old books do you like to recommend?