The White Peril 白禍

Today was a day off for me, but I didn't do much in the way of celebrating Memorial Day, beyond reflecting a bit. I was reading one of my favorite books, the printed companion to the PBS series The Story of English, which we watched when it was broadcast in the mid-80's. This particular passage moved me even more than usual:

Augustine and his monks landed in Kent, a small kingdom which, happily for them, already had a small Christian community. The story of the great missionary's arrival at the court of King Aethelbert is memorably reported by Bede:

When, at the king's command, they had sat down and preached the word of life to the king and his court, the king said: "Your words and promises are fair indeed; they are new and uncertain, and I cannot accept them and abandon the age-old beliefs that I have held together with the whole English nation. But since you have travelled far, and I can see that you are sincere in your desire to impart to us what you believe to be true and excellent, we will not harm you. We will receive you hospitably and take care to supply you with all that you need; nor will we forbid you to preach and win any people you can to your religion."

After this, perhaps the earliest recorded example of English tolerance, the liberal-minded king arranged for Augustine to have a house in Canterbury, the capital of his tiny kingdom. He kept his word: Augustine's mission went ahead unhindered.

It's hard to imagine the generosity of character that must have required. The Germanic tribes had gotten to Britain through bloody invasions themselves. They'd begun to build a civilization but were off on a remote island and constantly exposed to the elements; the system of magic and rituals through which their rudimentary understanding of nature was mediated provided their only meager feeling of control over it. It must have had immense psychological importance for them. But here we have the germ of liberty, of the ability of people with fundamentally different beliefs about the way life works to live together. Of course, "English tolerance" has had to take up arms to defend itself a lot since then. But 1400 years later, men are still sacrificing themselves for it, because it's worth it.

With gratitude, we remember.

So was there some kind of singing contest on television this week, or something?

Underwood's version managed back-handed praise from Paula Abdul. "You sang the song beautifully," Abdul said. "You hit a couple of not-so-great notes, but who cares?"

Take it from someone who knows, honeychile.

To the guy who used the Contact screen to ask probing socio-political questions about travel to Osaka: I've answered you, but Hotmail is saying your account is unavailable. I haven't encountered that error before--maybe you haven't checked your mail in over 90 days? Anyway, if you have another account you know you can receive mail at reliably, you can send me another message.

Apparently, the elements are VERY EAGER to make sure I keep thinking about my ten-year college reunion this coming week. There have been a few exchanges on our mailing list that reminded me of why I love my college friends enough to stay in constant contact even though I've been across the Pacific for nearly a decade. One of them was initiated by my (straight, married) sophomore-year roommate:

Less than two months to the Pride Parade, and I'm stuck without the final two lines for my marching song. The goal is to associate patriotism with tolerance, so the last line can't start with "Keep your eye on..." which would be kind of fear-mongering rather than joy-exclaiming. Ideas?

GAY PRIDE MARCHING SONG

He's a grand old fag, he's a high-flying fag,
and I'm trying to say that he's gay
He gets-it-on, with men-in-thongs,
he makes love in both night and day
He just wants to screw, just like you, you and you
and of that I can say nothing bad
[missing line #1]
[missing line #2]

The intended choreography at "you, you and you" is to point to random people in the audience, suggesting unity. I suppose additional verses could be good.

The only thing that offended me was the the thong part; guys look gross in thongs, and I bristle at having it assumed that I don't know that. In fact, I'm almost more offended at the implication that I think guys in thongs are irresistible than at the implication that I'm a promiscuous ho. Of course, a few friends of ours did pounce on the sex-only part, for which I was grateful. It must be said, though, that Pride events tend to be so sex-centered that my buddy's suggested lyrics here would be relatively tame in context. Anyway, there was also some give-and-take over whether it was okay for him, as an outsider, to use the word fag. Then I got an e-mail from another, equally close, friend from the same group referring to this post and claiming that I've been doing very little to add color to his settled life with risqué stories.

So for a few daydreamy minutes, I thought it might have been kind of cool to go to homecoming. There are a handful of professors and advisors that I didn't have time to see the last time I was in Philadelphia, though we keep in contact. And who knows? There could be some people that I don't even remember I'd like to see, loner that I am.

On the other hand, I don't know whether I really need the thrill of, say, walking into Smoke's and knowing that there's no way the bouncer's going to feel the need to make me state my name and birthdate for the microphone. Or staying up all night talking politics with the full prior realization that, even by the time it's 5 a.m. and someone's Mazzy Star album has played through four times, we won't have solved all the world's problems.

So I figured I'd make a donation--I'm a satisfied, if not yet nostalgic, alum--and then forget about college until the two or three friends who went had their reports.

Today, I'm reading Eric, minding my own business, and I see he has posted that the Carnival of the Vanities is up. I don't really get into the blog carnivals, but this one happens to be hosted by a blog that's run...where?

Naturally, where I went to college.

So, okay. Uncle! Uncle! I am clearly not going to get away without some sort of ritual cosmic nostalgia wallow. I will spend the appropriate weekend wearing only red and blue, listening to Last Splash and Republic and The Rhythm of the Saints and In Utero and maybe watching Singles. It's not the time or place for throwing toast, but I'll do that, too (with a fresh towel laid out on the kitchen floor--can't abide crumbs, you know), in the hopes that the ghost of Ben Franklin will be propitiated.