J IS FOR "JEAN" & "JUDGMENT"

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“It delivers a pizza, and it lengthens, and it strengthens
And it finds that slipper that's been at large under the chaise lounge for several weeks
And it plays a mean Rhythm Master
It makes excuses for unwanted lipstick on your collar
And it's only a dollar. Step right up!
It's only a dollar. Step right up . . .”

Warning: A Too-Long Blog Bit Below.

GOOD STUFFS
J IS FOR “JEAN” :
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OK, here comes another old poem I wrote when I was 19 years old (boy, am I ever milking this ancient collection of poetry for all it’s worth, eh?) This one is a kind of ‘Love Poem With A Twist.’ That sounds like it could be a drink, doesn’t it? It’s a bit quirky, so a brief explanation will follow:

IMAGINE JEAN

Meeting at your white car
Parked just out of the neon’s reach
A glance into your eyes bring back images:
Forgotten Fantasies
Time alone with Jean . . .

. . . . On the beach Jean lies beside me
. . . . Just like Jesus Christ
. . . . Holding me, rocking me
. . . . And now I am safe

. . . . She defends me from my doubts
. . . . And peace covers me like a blanket
. . . . Touching me with her fingers
. . . . And our space is all there is

. . . . Looking into her face
. . . . And seeing all I could ever want
. . . . If but one wish I had right now
. . . . It is that time could fall asleep

But then the neon starts leaking in
And Jean, she fades away
Reality stabs at my mind
As I pass you my money
And lean to kiss your lips

This was one of a few poems I wrote ‘back in the day’ which included a surprise ending.

When I was a sophomore in high school there was a senior named Jean. She was a beautiful cheerleader and way out of my league, but I was totally smitten with her. (I’ve mentioned her in my previous Blog Bits, ‘Mensa-Donkey 101’ and ‘Set The Waybac Machine To June Seventeenth, Nineteen Seventy-Seven’.) Although Jean hardly knew I existed, it took me a couple of years to get her out of my mind.

Also, I grew up at the southern-most end of Santa Monica, California, just one block from the Los Angeles suburb of Venice. Near the Venice intersection of Lincoln Blvd. and Rose Ave., in the vicinity of where I lived, a prostitute used to sit in a white sedan and wait for johns. Never did I purchase any of the “products” that she had for sale, however, a good friend of mine once did.

But I got the idea that perhaps some men who visit prostitutes prefer to imagine that this woman they are with is someone else they have genuine feelings for. That is to say, they fantasize that the whore is some other woman they’re actually in love with. And so I just kind of imagined myself to be this prostitute’s john and then dreamed up the woman I would have fantasized about in that situation. Thus was born my ‘Love Poem With A Twist.’

BAD STUFFS
J IS FOR “JUDGMENT” :
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There seems to be a misconception about passing judgment that I wish to briefly comment upon. It is often said that we are not allowed to judge others because of several Biblical passages, not the least of them originating with Jesus: “Judge not that you be not judged. For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged; and with the same measure you use, it will be measured back to you.” (Matthew 7:1,2)

Secular folks have often thrown this statement into the faces of Christians as evidence that they are not allowed to speak ill of the actions of others. And sadly, many Christians have bought into it.

In the first place, we as a society are making judgments all of the time, and if we weren’t, there would be no laws on the books. But haven’t we collectively agreed that rape, robbery, burglary, murder, adultery, cheating, and many other actions are wrong? That these things are bad and those who do them should be corrected and punished? How much worse would this world be if we DIDN’T pass judgment on some things?

But just as the old aphorism goes, “Hate the sin, love the sinner”, so there is a massive difference between judging a person and judging that person’s behavior. Didn’t Jesus Himself judge the behavior of the scribes, the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the moneychangers? Didn’t he tell the woman caught in adultery to “Go and sin no more”? (John 8:11) In other words, He clearly labeled her prior behavior as “sinful”. In Matthew 18:15-17, Jesus makes it clear that the behavior of a Believer can be judged by both a fellow Believer and by a church congregation.

Obviously then, what God has deemed to be wrong in His Word, we too can proclaim it to be wrong. It would be foolish for us to say, “I am not allowed to judge anything” because then all sorts of wicked behavior would be condoned, if not in word, then by silence. We MUST be able to judge the behavior of others as well as our own behavior, otherwise improvement, progress is not likely to occur.

What we must NOT judge is the soul and its destination. If I say, “Bob is a wicked dude and he’s going to hell” I am wrong on the first count and may be wrong on the second as well. How can Bob, who was created by God and in the image of God, be wicked in soul? Bob can certainly DO wickedness, but it is not natural to his soul – the true essence of Bob - that he do so, for wickedness is not in keeping with the image of his Divine Maker of which Bob is a copy. And as far as hell is concerned, how do I know that Bob won’t turn from his wicked ways tomorrow and be forgiven by Christ? And in any event, how do I, caught up in this corrupted earthly condition, know with any degree of certainty how God is going to deal with Bob later? I don’t know that and I CAN’T know that.

Yes, I must judge the wickedness that Bob does, but I cannot judge the soul, or true identity, of Bob. If I do, I make myself a boob.

(Incidentally, Bob, I didn’t mean to single YOU out, because I don’t even know you; I don’t know any “Bob.” It’s just that you have such a common, easy to type name. Sorry, Bobdude. Now go and sin no more, Bob, - if in fact you were sinning. And you probably were because we all do.)

BONUS MATERIAL
J IS ALSO FOR “JUICED” :

This is pretty funny – in a way. Last night I watched the movie ‘Henry Poole Is Here’ which I had ordered from NetFlix because my Sister had recommended it to me. It’s about a dying man who finds the face of Jesus appearing on a stucco wall of his newly purchased house. Afterwards I walked up to the post box to mail the movie back and then went into a bar and ordered a drink. This was only the second time this year that I’ve visited one of these neighborhood bars, and who knows why I did. Perhaps I had been subconsciously inspired by The Alliterative Allomorph’s ‘Bar Scene Blogfest’ entry.

So I take a seat at this bar and to my left is this mountain of a man with a friendly face who’s talking up this woman next to him. It turns out Mountain Man’s name is Mike, and Mike is absolutely liquidated. I mean, he’s more lit than a Drive-In movie screen. And although he already has two drinks in front of him, Mike decides to order another one and buy one for his female companion as well. I watch the bartenderette – I’ll call her Jane – make this drink: one third Kahlua, layered with a second third of Bailey’s Irish Cream, and layered once again with Crown Royal Canadian whiskey.

I called Jane over and asked her what that drink was called and she said, “A Duck Fart.” I hadn’t planned on having a second drink there but I ordered a ‘Duck Fart’ just to see what it tasted like. And as I’m staring into the glass I get to thinking: What about a story of an alcoholic who suddenly sees the face of Jesus in his ‘Duck Fart’?

Meanwhile, Mike had charged all of his drinks on a credit card. Jane hands him the receipt and he goes to add it to the other credit card receipts in his wallet when suddenly he lets out a yelp and holding up an older receipt he says, “Oh, my G#d! I was in this bar earlier today and charged thirty dollars! My wife is gonna kill me!” I covered my huge grin with my hands and held back a burst of laughter.

Then this younger guy drinking from a pitcher of beer walks over, introduces himself as Dave and offers to buy Mike another drink. To his credit, Mike declined the offer, but they begin conversing. About two minutes later, Mike asks Dave, “What is your name?”
Dave says, “Dave.”
And the conversation resumes for another five minutes until Mike asked his new buddy, “Say, by the way, what’s your name?” As it turned out, it was still “Dave.” Some minutes later, Dave excused himself and wandered over to the billiard table.
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Mike started talking again to Jane, the bartenderette, and then he paused, pointed at Dave and said to Jane, “You see that guy playing pool over there? What is his name?”

By now I had finished my ‘Duck Fart’ and I walked out shaking my head and smiling. Perhaps Mike lived within stumbling distance from the bar and didn’t have to drive home. One can only hope.

Le McQuote Du Jour:
I've always been different with one foot over the line
Winding up somewhere one step ahead or behind
It ain't been so easy, but I guess I shouldn't complain
I've always been crazy, but it's kept me from going insane
~ Waylon Jennings

~ Stephen T. McCarthy
Doggtor of Semiliterate, Half-Naked Blogological Studies
Stream O’Consciousness University in Jerryrigged, Jamaica

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