It's a bad sign when you have to codify common courtesy.

But so be it.

Please be advised that I've banned all of three people in the 2.5 years this blog has been in operation. I'm pretty easy going, and you have to do a lot to try my patience, but be advised I will do it.

Here are the rules for commenting here. A neat round dozen. What can I say? The curse of a legal education.

1. Identify yourself with a legit email address or website. I don't care if you call yourself the Tsar-Lord of the Alien Space Bats, I just don't want to deal with comment spraying from people who don't have the guts to leave themselves open to a response. Email me with it if you don't want to ID yourself (but be advised that Haloscan currently hides email addresses from everyone but me, if that helps).

2. No agenda pushing. If you come here posting up a storm on a topic not even tangentially related to the post, I'm going to react. Badly. Remember--Blogger's free for every stump ranter with a dialup modem.

3. Be at least minimally courteous to the other commenters. That doesn't mean you have to radiate sanctity, nor does it bar all forms of sarcasm and chippiness. But flat out rudeness and name-calling are not welcome.

4. Use profanity at your own risk. I'm one to talk, so I tend to cut a little slack here. Just about enough for you to hang yourself with.

5. I'm Catholic. I offend accordingly. Whore of Babylon and similar references are rewarded with immediate banning. I also don't usually debate settled issues with those of a more liberal/progressive bent, dogmatic or not. A quick read of the blog should leave you with the (accurate) impression that I consider a lot more issues to be settled than my brethren on the left.

However, the second half of this rule is a lot softer than the first--I'm less likely to pull the trigger, at least at first. Moreover, it doesn't apply at all to sincerely struggling Catholics and questioning non-Catholics. The door's wide open on hot button issues for the latter. Consider the Tier post below as an example.

6. It should be obvious, but don't be rude to me personally, either. "Me" includes my family and friends. For whatever reason, the internet has left people with the impression that it is acceptable to do anonymously and via electrons what they would never dare to do in person.

7. I cut more slack to people I know--long-time posters are allowed to bend the rules a little more. Maybe even past what you might perceive to be the breaking point. Bear with me.

8. There are exceptions to every rule. These exceptions are at my discretion. I don't usually signal ahead of time when the exceptions will apply.

9. The Banned are not consigned forever to a virtual Hell. Apologies and a cooling off period will lead to reinstatement.

10. As befits a believer in unwritten Tradition, I also believe in unwritten rules. Play nice.

11. Bending/violating one rule tends to make me harsher in the enforcement of the remainder. Translation: you may find yourself banned for a relatively minor violation of one rule if you've tested me on another.

12. I am the infallible interpreter of these rules.

YES, this is in response to recent comments by a certain commenter. Hint, hint, hint.

That's a nice way of saying you have been warned, Mr. JR.

And now...Sex!

Warning--this post contains observations of a personal, if not Oprah-esque confessional, nature.

Via Bill Cork, I stumbed across this Busted Halo rumination on premarital sex by Fordham University senior Julia Tier. Since it's (usually) not sporting to fisk college students (think: bragging about grenade fishing skills), I'm not going to do that.

Besides, it's really not worthy of a caning. Flawed--very--but honest. That, and it's hard for me to truly get upset with someone who takes the time to cite the Catechism.

In fact, she makes a decent point or two. The problem is that she appears to be completely unaware of the tragic flaws in her own moral argument. Since it reflects a common mindset, I thought I'd take a crack at answering it. And I might as well get an early start on preparing to explain it to my own children, to boot. That day will be coming sooner rather than later.

The heart of her essay is this:

There is a trend among people my age to separate their faith from Church teachings on issues of sexuality. I believe one of the main reasons for this disconnect is that the Church does not provide any guidance regarding sexuality for unmarried young adults other than "Don't do it!" Although remaining chaste until marriage is no doubt a beautiful and romantic experience for those who choose it, not everyone follows this path. In my experience, pre-marital sex on college campuses is not the exception, but the rule. So how does a predominantly Catholic student body at a Jesuit school justify disobeying this tenet of the Church? The answer seems to be that they don’t. I don’t believe young people are simply ignoring this teaching so they can do what they want and go to confession later. Instead, I think they feel that the Church's teaching on sexual issues is bordering on irrelevance, not only because of the institution's hypocritical handling of the recent scandals but also because young people see the Church as treating all acts as equally damning. For those Catholics who are having pre-marital sex, there is no distinction between making love in a committed relationship and having sex with the entire rugby team; they are both mortal sins. This ignores the heart of the Church's teaching on sex, which, among other things, calls on us to integrate our "thoughts, feelings and actions in a way that values, esteems and respects the dignity of oneself and others."

The fatal flaw in her reasoning is this: there is no such animal as a "committed relationship" outside of marriage. Not that I'm naive enough to think that getting married of itself offers some kind of magical assistance and protection, but it seems pretty clear to me that the idea that couples being "committed" to each other makes everything OK has gone a long way toward eroding the strength of the marital bond itself. With the "committed relationship" mindset, marriage becomes just another form of "committed relationship" with tax benefits.

First, just what is a "committed relationship" anyway? From what I can tell, it means "we only have sex with each other." By that standard, I've been in three "committed relationships." That is not said with pride. Sure, there's more than just that: hopefully a heightened amount of respect, trust, communication, spending of time with each other and so forth. But anyone who has been in one would be lying if he or she said the exclusive sex angle was not central.

But the full checklist is a long ways from being any kind of articulated, formed understanding of what the commitment really means, how deep it is, where it is going, etc. In my own experience, I know it meant different things between the "committed" parties at different times. With marriage, the man and woman declare "until death do us part." With "commitments," no such declaration is made. It's nebulous at best. What--till graduation do us part? Till I meet someone more compatible? Till you've nagged me for the last time/embarrassed me by getting drunk for the last time? It's a pledge written in quicksand, and it shows.

I think this is why I knew a lot of people in college who ended up "enjoying" serial "commitments."

As a result, most "committed relationships" are doomed by the very fragility of the commitment itself. Trust me when I say this: I am not a polygamist. Nor even a bigamist. That means that at least two of my "committed relationships" ended badly, now, doesn't it? And trust me, they did. One was particularly wrenching, but let's not get into that.

Which brings us to the real harm that comes from the detonation of these commitments. That a small minority end happily in stable, healthy, truly committed marriages doesn't warrant the celebration of the concept. The fact is, the great flaw of "commitments" is that they are a cardboard imitation of, and reflect a yearning for, the real thing. And both parties know it. That's why, unless we are talking about a pair of sociopaths, both parties hurt like hell when it ends. Maybe one partner more than the other, but the less-hurt also, even if only because they have been made colder and more distant.

Just in time for the next "commitment"!

Then what happens if--hopefully when--you do find "the one"? Odds are, you'll come fully prepared and equipped. As in "equipped" with enough emotional baggage to sink a freighter, and the bad habits ingrained by a string of failed "commitments." All of which you get to work through with the one you would have been better off waiting for. Sure, it can and often is done successfully. But it takes a lot of time, and let's not pretend there's no psychic cost.

Especially with that one little thing. That piddling issue. That stuff you left behind. You've grown up since. You know: your past.

If the both of you think you can pretend that your past sexual history will not be an issue, that it will be tabula rasa, fresh start, all of that?

You. Are. Delusional.

It's a gut issue. Instinctive. It will come up--even off-hand-- and you will have to deal with the inevitable hurt. I am only able to speak for myself, but I think it's safe to say that men do not care to even think about their intended's sexual past. It's not because we're "unenlightened" or vindictive--it's simply that the thought hits us in a tough spot and takes us where we do not wish to go, and do not care to dwell. That's a shadow that can turn into a pall. I imagine something similar is at play for women, but possibly in a different way. I'll leave that to the female readers who come here to address.

Or not...

Finally, Tier completely misses the relationship between "commitments" and the development of the hookup culture. The willingness to embrace and excuse less committed relationships only greases the skids for the one-night stands and "doing the Rugby team" mindset her "Values" class rightly deplores. The tragedy is her inability to recognize that there is no meaningful difference between "committed" premarital sex and the hookup kind. Hopefully it won't take the disintegration of a few more "committed" relationships to before she understands. The difference between the two is mostly one of degree, not kind.

I'm reminded of Naomi Wolf's remarkable essay of a couple of years ago (warning: some offensive verbal imagery), deploring the "p**nization" of sex, and the wholesale decay of relationships between men and women at colleges and universities. The last exchange amply describes what happens after a long period of winking at ersatz commitment:

Compare that steaminess with a conversation I had at Northwestern, after I had talked about the effect of porn on relationships. “Why have sex right away?” a boy with tousled hair and Bambi eyes was explaining. “Things are always a little tense and uncomfortable when you just start seeing someone,” he said. “I prefer to have sex right away just to get it over with. You know it’s going to happen anyway, and it gets rid of the tension.”

“Isn’t the tension kind of fun?” I asked. “Doesn’t that also get rid of the mystery?”

“Mystery?” He looked at me blankly. And then, without hesitating, he replied: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sex has no mystery.”

I think it's also safe to say that sexuality drained of mystery is also sexuality devoid of the sacred. With all that entails for relationships between men and women, and the impact on their children and the greater world. Viewed in this light, the "rules" Ms. Tier complains about make a lot more sense. Moreover, it refutes her argument that they lack essential nuance. She is unqualifiedly right about one thing, though--they could use a lot better explanation.

After further investigation, it turned out that the parishioners were simply unnerved by the presence of men between the ages of 18 and 35.

"We've never seen that before."

California parish finds out "suspicious" strangers were just Marines, not skinheads.

They actually sicced the cops on them. Niiiiice.

Probably one of those parishes that prides itself on its hospitality and inclusiveness.

"See--we put it in the mission statement!"

[Thanks to Dom for the link.]

[Update: Commenter Therese correctly notes that there are various versions of this story floating about, so it may be hard to draw a conclusion. Here's the Marine Corps Times version.]

The revised edition.

I remember enough of it to proceed.

I have no idea who reads this blog. It says about 400+ page views per day, but apart from a core of 20 or so more-to-less regular commenters, I haven't a clue. From what I can tell, most are Christian, and run the gamut from traditionalist Catholics to Presbyterians to Pentecostals. Some are family (hi, Mom! Hi, Maria! Hi, Doug (check your e-mail)).

But that doesn't explain 400+ per day, unless the core is tapping the refresh bar with glazed-eyed Pavlovian relish.

So, since I don't know who I am speaking to, I get the distinct feeling that sometimes I have to loosen the deathgrip on the bar stool, put it down and find other ways to get my point across.

From what people tell me, being a parent is both much easier and much, much more difficult than it used to be. In the easier ledger is the available physical plant. Such things as disposable diapers, super strollers and baby monitors and even flame-retardant clothing.

But the "harder" column can't be ignored, and that stems directly from our wounded culture. Lest we forget, fellow Catholics and people of good will, we have it on good authority that we are living in a "culture of death." One of the most corrosive aspects of that culture is the Cult of Stuff.

I. Must. Have. More.

It's a supercharged, post-modern version of what is condemned by the 9th and 10th Commandments. The problem is that it has managed to go beyond the endless quest for material comfort and has resulted in the commodification of human beings, especially children.

Our so-advanced world teaches people to be profoundly ambivalent about children. This takes two forms: First, the limited blessing. They are good in small, carefully-calibrated doses. Kinda like chemo. You can see this in the offhanded, almost instinctive responses strangers make with respect to children. Heather and I ran into this repeatedly after Dale was born: "Oh, lucky you--you've had one of each. Now you can quit." After a couple of moments of consternation, Heather came up with a canned response--"Oh, but we need a tie-breaker."

My personal favorite was the smiling woman who told me point-blank, without a touch of malice in her voice: "Sounds like you need to get fixed."

I kid you not. Obviously, it's not broken, honey. No, I didn't say that. There was a demurring polite non-response in its place. I can't afford to verbally decapitate a judge's case manager. That, and it was still better than the raised and quickly-dropped rumination about the possibility of abortion I once heard from another very nice person, just after the announcement of our third pregnancy. I revealed my pro-life credentials by saying I'd "sooner cut my d**k off first."

Some people pray at abortion clinics.

I channel Tommy Chong.

The second source of ambivalence is the demand that those carefully-rationed little doses get everything they need to get ahead. Otherwise, you are manifestly A Bad Parent. Ever walk into a Babies R Us and start feeling a little defensive? Hence, the need to have two incomes so you can afford the good house in the good school district and meet their every need, with those needs defined by people who pay big bucks for the writing of lots and lots of ad copy. And it's not just ads. It's the magazines, and the news stories, and the mixed and often contradictory messages from physicians, psychologists, educators, and, yes, clergy.

Welcome to Ritalin Nation.

As a result, I think a lot of parents simply overload and decide they are going to try to stagger through to the finish line as best they can. Have fun at college!

In the modern world, common sense ain't. We have now going on two generations of people who are simply trying to keep their heads above water. Ever watch an episode of Super Nanny? There are a lot of very bright, very well off people who have no clue. In short, most people who purchase The Dolls haven't done so as the result of a carefully considered process, weighing positives and negatives. Instead it's something more like:

"Ah. 21st Century Barbie. Popular on TV. Want kids to fit in. Into cart, toy product. Have to get home to make supper, wash clothes, and clean 2000 sq. ft of living space before turning in at midnight."

Are they free moral agents? Yes. Are they still responsible for their actions? Yes, again. Have they been given the greatest responsibility under heaven, namely, the raising of human life? Yep-per. Must they be held accountable for it? Yes, and amen.

But I respectfully submit that some basic human sympathy is the first order of business. Uncorking the equivalent of "You suck!" at bewildered and exhausted parents guarantees only one thing--the flipping of the switch to "Off."

Yes, yes--"Jesus and St. Paul were pretty brutal in their rhetoric."

They sure were. Make sure to call me when (1) an ecumenical council is convoked to define the theological parameters of your person, and/or (2) when your writings are declared to be inspired and inerrant.

Which is not to say that there is never a time or place for it. Of course there is. I'd even say it's earlier than most, and warranted far more often than you see it. But that time isn't right after you ring the doorbell.

It's my party and I'll blog what I want to.

Or: There's an Unretraction coming.

I once told someone that I didn't believe in pretending I didn't write something.

Oops.

About that retracted post...

There were parts of it I genuinely liked, and parts of it that were filler (must. blog. something. today!). That led me to be pretty ambivalent about it, and I yielded to the temptation to violate what is a fairly sensible rule.

The proper approach would have been to sleep on it, because that would have led me to the position where I am today--revise it.

But the general tenor of it will be the same--parenting in this day and age is tough enough without someone doing a cut-rate, un-Inspired, blurry xerox imitation of Jules Winnfield in Pulp Fiction:

And you will know my name is THE LORD, when I lay my vengeance upon thee!

[As opposed to "Jimmie, this is some serious gourmet..."]

Anyway, that's where it stands. Call it wishy-washy, dissembling, whatever. At this point, I could not care less. Since I don't have immediate access to the post, I don't anticipate having it up before the evening.

Seen on a bumper sticker.

I child-proofed my home.

BUT THEY STILL KEEP GETTING INSIDE!

Pressure works!

Yurodivi has a fine new post, a letter that is part of a continuing dialogue with a more worldly minded friend.

Read the whole thing.

[Retracted].

In response to a pretty insightful comment, I've decided to delete this one. It was an attempted followup to the Bratz post, to which I am not changing a word. I'm not exactly sure what I was trying to say, but it did come across as waffling, and even worse, incoherent. There's a reason I periodically go a few days without substantive posting, and posts like this one are the reason. They usually don't leave "draft" status. This one did, unfortunately.

If you really want to see the original, I have it saved and can send it to you.

Clumping litter is more effective, though.

Thought for the day.

Infants appear to disprove the doctrine of original sin.

Toddlers confirm it.

"That guy needs to be beaten with a sock full of wood screws."

[Another Language Alert. Been that kind of week, so continued apologies.]

One of the great regrets of my life is that I never had the opportunity to meet my wife's father. He died in 1993, two years before I started dating his daughter. Heather assures me that he would have (actually, does, but that's a story for another time) approved of me. Since the above quote is from him and I happen to love it, I agree.

That quote came to mind as I read James Lileks' bleat for today, (no, it's not directed at him) and had to stop myself from roaring in full-throated approval:

Earlier today a commercial for “Star Wars” came on, and Gnat was unimpressed. I did my Darth Vader impersonation: no impact. “But he’s evil! He used his michondian concentration for personal gain!”

“It’s just a commercial, daddy. Oh! Look!”

I froze. The Bratz are now Baby Mommaz.

Yes, the hooker-in-training dolls have children. Bratz are the main reason I do not keep a supply of bricks around the house, because everytime the commercials come on I wish to pitch something kiln-fired through the screen so hard it beans the toy exec who greenlighted these hootchie toys. The Baby Bratz are as bad as you can imagine: “Bottles with Bling.”

Judas on a stick, why not just refit the Bratz so they have Real Oozing Gonorreal Flow Action?

“They know how to flaunt it, and they’re keeping it real in the crib.”

What exactly is the penalty for failing to keep it real in the crib? Someone busts a cap in yo Pamper? I know I am old and so out of step it’s a wonder I don’t just appear as an indistinct smear, but was it really necessary to push the Age of Sultry Hussyism down to the infant stage? And who, exactly, are the Babyz flaunting it for? Are we going to see a commercial with Elmo in sunglasses, sitting with his legs sprawled, spanking some pliant Babyz with one hand while gumming down some mashed crack?

It is a deranged fantasy of mine to one day be able to write with about 1/100th of the brilliance and verve of Mr. Lileks.

But the finisher, following his description and links to another set of toys being sold to the kids, is the capper:

Pimp culture. Brought to you by people who want their daughters to go to college and get law degrees!

I hate Bratz. I hate them with a visceral passion. I stab the remote when the commercials come on. I am appalled by the fact they are ridiculously huge sellers. I'm sure the manufacturers would express shock that they are perceived as offering "pimp culture," and would coo that their products are simply harmless dolls for a new generation.

To which I offer the following rebuttal lifted from Cicero:

"Bullshit."

The best--best--thing that can be said for them is that they are shoving a shallow superficial consumer culture down the throats of young girls, telling them that they only matter if they have the latest and best fashions, are attractive and can hold the attention of equally superficial cute guys. Take a look at the toys at your local store: there is no other message, and slang from the butt end of rap culture features prominently on the product. It's not like there's a "Bratz Engineers" set in the works--"the girls with a passion for slide rules."

Or is that "rulz"?

"Well, don't buy them, then."

To which I offer another rejoinder from the vaults of Socrates:

"Pull your head out of your ass for thirty seconds."

This is just another facet of what I call the Skank Factory for Girls--the requirement that every girl who matters has to remake herself for the Maxim/FHM (official newsletters of the Skank Factory for Boys) crowd. When Hillary Duff became popular, I wondered how long it would take for the inevitable Britneyization to take place. For the most part, it hasn't, though she was on the cover of Maxim once. Hopefully just a slip. No reason to be confident, though.

For a prime example of the Skank Factory for Boys, check out the Homies Dogs in the Lileks link--if you haven't already.

Look--do I think you're a rotten parent if you get your kids this stuff? No. Just ask yourself whether a development exec would have even contemplated something like Bratz or Homies Dogs or Pimp/Ho Halloween costumes as recently as 15 years ago. It's pretty tough to answer "yes," and that says a lot about where we are. And where we are going.

It would be nice--but apparently it's asking too much--if the SFfG/B wasn't pitched to pre-teens. My greater point is that even if--if--I protect my kids from it, it's still percolating everywhere else. The ten year olds in rap couture who scream "m----rf----r" (see? I have standards) at each other as they walk down the street (we actually got a fulsome and sheepish apology out of one group of girls who did this, mirabile dictu) in the middle of summer--what am I supposed to do for them?

"If you don't like it, keep your kids in sensory deprivation tanks"?

The lowest common denominator keeps getting a little lower, and no parent can fight every battle and hope to win.

All I want is for my children to enjoy as innocent (note: not "isolated," thank you) a childhood as possible. It's not asking the guys driving the Engines of Consumerism too much to show a little decency and regard for the culture they are shaping and the children they are influencing.

Or is it? I'm thinking Jeff Culbreath has a point. But the bigger problem is dealing with the wider world, alas.

In the meantime, I'm going to be running over to Home Depot for a box of wood screws. See you there!

[Update: Added the "Look" paragraph. I'm not trying to smack around fellow parents trying the best they can.]

By the way...

Speaking of papal "installations."

Is that the official word, or is there something else that works?

Please?

Whenever I hear "papal installation" I end up picturing myself, covered with drywall dust and wood shavings, holding my Craftsman drill and yelling across the hall to my wife: "Hon--the pontiff's installed. Go ahead and flip the switch."

[Save the "medication adjustment?" comments. Waaay ahead of you.]