Category Archives: The Evidentialism Files

Love in the Time of Corona

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Welcome, ye converts!

We knew we were onto something with Evidentialism. But we never expected such a widespread conversion. No worries; we can accommodate you all, though it’s clearly a limited-time offer.

For here we are, called to collective Mass by Circumstance. Our heads are bowed, our hands are clasped. Of course, we have a lot of time for solemn reflection lately; we can’t go to most public gatherings, schools are closing, sports are canceled. What’s a body to do besides pray for a body?

Yet those heads are bowed not for a higher power to smite an enemy, not a savior to bring forth justice with great vengeance and furious anger.

No, we’re praying to science.

Look at the way we changed our everyday lives when science told us of an imminent, existential threat. We now elbow-bump. We wear medical masks to the grocery stores. We have suspended human interaction until further notice.Image result for elbow bump

The urge here is great to make this column one long endorsement of Evidentialism, the faith that posits that science is a faith. It’s tempting to point out that folks aren’t flocking to their houses of worship (haven’t you heard? Pope’s taking confession on Instagram.). Normally, I’d point out that, suddenly, we’re not hearing from anti-vaxers clamoring to get to the bottom of the list. I might even take a shot at friends much smarter than I who dismiss the science-as-faith concept out of hand; if that praying for a cure you’re doing isn’t an act of faith, I might ask, what is?Image result for pope on video

But I’m not going to do that.

The larger precept here is much simpler; COVID-19 underscores the dangerous habit of acting without evidence. The American political system has made a cottage industry out of turning science into ideology. Corona smashed that to hell in  a week.

Whether it’s politics or religion or the weather, beware those who act without evidence. If anything, resist it. Yeah, it makes you an asshole. But it’s time we pucker up and give resistance to stupidity.

As Evidentialism loves to cite, we do it in our everyday lives anyway. Imagine: You live in a place that gets a real winter. You’re in day 3 of a winter storm that’s dumped 8 inches a day and dropped temperatures to sub-zero.Image result for snowstorm guy in t shirt

Your brother walks into the living room, icicles dangling from his nose and eyebrows, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt, jeans and sandals. “Man!” you’re brother proclaims. “I’m freezing!” After laughing your ass off at the dullard, you’d probably ask why he didn’t bother checking the forecast — or looking outdoors.

Yet on deeper issues — issues that shape the core of what makes you you — it’s impolite to ask whey they hold the opinion they do. It’s rude, we’re told. It’s intrusive. People are free to think what they want.

Exactly. So why not find out where they’re coming from?

It’s time to push back against the hunch. Our president — the one who in 2017 dissolved the National Security Council Directorate for Global Health Security and Bio Defense (the government’s pandemic team) — has a “hunch” COVID-19 will “magically” evaporate with the warming spring air. Get back to staring at the sun, Cadet Bone Spurs. COVID doesn’t give a shit about stock markets, border walls, party affiliations or wealth. This is science, bitch. There are no cuts in line.Image result for trump stares at sun

Assuming this does not wipe out the human race (and we’re making no assumptions), we will likely forget how we once prayed to science. That, as usual, will be due to science saving the day to allow us to worship whatever coconuts we hold sacred. That’s the other wondrous thing about science: It’s a faith that doesn’t seek glory, but equilibrium. Just pray we’re not too late in seeing its beauty.

 

Why Sports Are Better Than Real Life

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Amid the sound and fury of Super Tuesday and the din of idiots signifying nothing, we can forget real news. Like Thomas Lee.

Lee loves the Jackson State University Tigers. I mean, loves them.

Growing up in Mississippi, Lee used to hang out at the Tigers’ basketball practices, usually with snacks in hand. Skittles were the favorite, hands down. Over the years, Lee became a fixture to the team, a walking concession stand of sorts, earning him the nickname ‘Snacks.’ It’s an apt title. Lee has clearly partaken in some.

Lee was so enchanted by the school he once mentioned to an assistant coach for the Tigers that he wanted to be the school’s team manager someday. The coach told Lee something the boy took deep to heart: Stay on the honor roll throughout high school, the coach said, and when he was admitted to Jackson State, Lee could be team manager.

“I kept my word,” Lee said in a local TV news interview. “And he kept his.”Image result for snacks lee

And for four years, Lee had the college experience of a lifetime. He hung out with players after practice, always willing to feed a shooter who needed extra shots — and take a few himself, of course. He always carried Skittles for, you know, emergencies.

This year marked Lee’s senior year. Throughout the Tigers’ season, kids and their social media avatars had been calling for “Snacks” to make an appearance in a game. Lee admits he did nothing to squelch the rising call.

In fact, Lee must have been feeling pretty cocky. He showed up at the college last week before 6 a.m. on Senior Day  — in uniform, donning the number 35 for his favorite player, Kevin Garnett. Image result for kevin garnnett

Tigers coach Wayne Brent told reporters he was surprised to see the manager suited up, but made a promise to the hopeful. If the Tigers run up the score in a blowout win for the school’s final home game of the year, he could play. Though the Tigers had a mediocre year, Brent had the genius idea to the let the team know of the wager. Image result for coach jackson state basketball

The Tigers kicked Arkansas Pine-Bluff’s ass. Running up a 20-point lead in the fourth quarter, Brent sent Lee out. The auditorium buzzed with his entrance, and collectively gasped — and sighed — when Lee took and missed three shots.

But with 32 seconds remaining, a Tiger on a fast break found Lee open on the right wing, far beyond the three-point arc. But Lee does not lack for guts, and recalled the preposterously long shots he’d take with players after practice. Without hesitating, he turned and arced a shot.

Swish.

By the end of the game, players and students had mobbed him, chanting “Snacks!” “Snacks!” as they led him out of the school.  The Southwestern Athletic Conference named Snacks its Player of the Week. NBA superstar Kevin Durant (who has a great nickname, “The Grim Leaper”) tweeted that Lee should change his nickname from “Snacks”to “Snipe.” Image result for kevin durant leaping

Promises made, promises kept. Sometimes, it matters. Usually, the news isn’t fake. It’s just overlooked.

A Wonderful Calamity

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Yesterday should have been a shitty day.

I woke up nauseas and filled with bile after hearing President AssHat call the coronavirus a hoax. That man is a living argument for abortion and atheism.

When I got to my polling station for Super Tuesday (it had been changed  to a far less convenient location for some reason), cars were gridlocked. The geniuses in the party had selected an elementary school as the new station, as it could hold more ballot boxes. Fair enough.

But the school was at the end of a quiet cul de sac, and it was a school day. By 2:30 p.m., tiny Basset Street looked like the 405. Volvo station wagons backed fearfully down the street as kids darted about. When you did find a parking spot, a line that led out the auditorium and into the parking lot awaited you. There, too, adults and kids had to play bullfighter with the cars, narrowly dodging iron bulls.

After a 35-minute wait, I reached the auditorium — where an election volunteer announced that the entire system crashed. In an exasperated monotone, she listed other voting polling places as if she were reading school closures after a heavy snow. Van Nuys Elementary. Van Nuys Animal Shelter. Bueller. Bueller? She didn’t bother with addresses.

After much muttering, the people in the auditorium dispersed. One woman yelled at a volunteer for not having a backup system, as if that were his task. After she was done berating him, I walked up. “You guys should hang a sign outside so people don’t go through the hassle of parking and waiting,” I told the man, who was frantically packing up tape and boxes.

“Thank you,” he said without looking up. “You should call the party and suggest that.”

I sighed and walked out, then began walking the length of the line to tell them that the system and crashed and they were misdirecting us.

Not a single person moved, asked a follow-up question or even acknowledged the warning they were in for a half hour cattle call.Image result for super tuesday long lines

And that’s when the day turned. I realized: They weren’t moving because they suspected I may be trying to discourage them voting. And they weren’t having that.  I looked: That was a longer line than I’d ever seen for a California election, including Obama’s. I heard: People were joking, laughing, and seemingly unconcerned with the bureaucratic hoops they had to leap to vote.  When I got home I saw a local news report from another polling place that had also fritzed out. Regardless, the reporter said, people planned to wait the estimated 1 1/2 hours to get the machines back up. And you just know they waited longer than that.

But it’s hard not to feel the palpable energy in the populace. I had received no fewer than three texts and two visits from political volunteers leading up to Super Tuesday. Friends reported the same. People seemed ready to brawl. The silver lining on the day now felt blinding.

I still don’t think Trump will give up the keys to the White House, even if he suffers landslide losses. I still think he’ll appeal the election up to a Supreme Court he owns. That fucking pisses me off.

Yesterday I learned I hardly own the patent on the sentiment.