So I was driving the kids to school this morning when I heard about Aleksander ‘Olek’ Doba. I only listened for a little bit, because if not I might have degenerated into a pooping microbe, because it was a South Florida top hits radio station and the story was broadcast in conjunction with the radio hosts’ collective horror at the possibility that all cows on earth might fart at the same time, causing our planet to explode. If NPR would suck it up and play ‘Timber’ I’d be set.
I listened because Doba–as of this morning anyway–is paddling in circles in the Bermuda Triangle. He’s refused help thus far (his kayak is equipped with a ‘help’ button, which he depressed sometime last month), and some say that these pictures might be the last we see of him. Who knows–by the time I publish this he might be safe at home with bunny slippers and a latte, but right now I’m blown away. What balls.
I’m not even kidding when I tell you this, so go ahead and laugh at me: when I run on the treadmill, I think of Gimli from Lord of the Rings. Well, in between pom routines I perform at bars in front of everyone I know. Let me explain that quickly…
***One of my workout personalities is the captain of an over-30 cheerleading squad. We make surprise appearances at bars and clubs, at which all of my friends and family (and ex-enemies and boys that didn’t like me back) are drinking. I’ve choreographed routines to both the Skrillex version of ‘Cinema’ and Sean Paul’s ‘She Doesn’t Mind’. I am in every stunt and I’m a champion tumbler (people go wild when I roundoff double tuck into a scorpion!), but I like to keep the formation moving so that every girl gets a spot in the front. Because I’m not a bitch.***
So when I think I’m about to die of asphyxiation (you know, by the .55 mile mark) I picture that grumpy dwarf running for days in the mountains toward certain death. I mean, if he can do it, right?
Anyway, I don’t know how people do this. What possesses a sexagenarian to kayak around the world? Mania? Courage? Whatever, I need a little of what he’s got.
So the radio hosts broached the inevitable perplexity of the Bermuda Triangle. Is it an alien ship port? What of planes disappearing? Pilots reporting disorientation? Time loss?
It’d be cool and distressing to believe. My apocalyptic dreams are of tsunamis and alien war, so I’m not a big fan of them being here. But I can’t believe that we’re the only ones out here. I had a conversation yesterday about this, and OF COURSE, we rounded back to religion.
He says, ‘I don’t believe in aliens because I haven’t seen them.’
I’m like (because I guess I AM a bitch), ‘So why do you believe in G-d?! Have you seen him???’ With more question marks and exclamation points. I hate that I sound condescending, I just can’t help it. My grandmother would be furious with me, I think.
He says, ‘Well, why DON’T you believe in G-d. Isn’t that the same thing? Have you seen an alien?’
So amidst a lot of huffing, foot stomping and sorry attempts at scientific fact-listing, I exited the room. Pissed.
I don’t know why I can’t just let people believe what they want. I don’t even have a solid understanding of my own belief/disbelief. Does it bother me that he has ‘blind faith’? Am I jealous? I mean, he went to sleep with a dopey smile on his face and I was in a self-induced not-educated-enough fit for the rest of the night. I need to start researching this stuff. Having a vague belief in nothing isn’t doing it for me.