Skip to main content

Jesus v. the Buddha

As I was watching the Buddha special on Lifetime, (or whatever crap station I had on last night,)  it occurred to me that a face off with Jesus might be cool. A gentle adversarial give and take of spiritual ideas that would allow viewers to make  informed decisions concerning their religious choices  – a free, though sponsored, marketplace of an idea, filmed live in the belly of the moneychangers, for a small fee.

I see it in as a point-counterpoint, a real big time Hollywood production, because, really, what’s the true of anything if it’s not backed up by the muscle and weight of pretty words and pictures? How can you know what to think if you don’t have two poles of thought to swing from?

To increase the drama, and boost the ratings, I see it as a two-parter – the first a theoretical debate, with flashbacks and CGI reenactments. The second a show chock-a-block full of practical miracles – Jesus walking on water, turning water to beer, (can you say “product placement”,) and the leper thing, if one could be found at a reasonable price.

And the Buddha could just have flowers fall from the false ceiling as he sits and doesn't think hard.

I see a large audience; with each guest holding a large foam thumb they will use to judge the winner in the very last minute of the show, after the appropriate dramatic pauses and endless Nike commercials.

I would use that fellow who plays Gregory House on the TV series, “House,” to be the master of ceremonies – he bias doesn’t seem to be focused in any particular direction and he has the outward appearance of being smart.

Before each two-hour show, I would have a four-hour pre-show that consisted of a panel of talking heads, with hands. The panel could consist of any three trendy or popular stars, but hopefully they would all fit the stereotypes of implied conduct that each and every individual member of the great masses could identify with.

I’m thinking: Sandra Day O’Conner, Paula Abdul and Pee Wee Herman.

(Sandra is unemployed and would give the moderate right a well deserved voice. Paula is unemployed, yet still has expressive, though tremulous, hands for the wringing. Pee Wee is unemployed, but is trying to make a well-deserved comeback, and would supply the much needed comic relief.)

After the shows, I would have a two-hour wrap up of what it all means to our future, by future I mean Fortress America. Patrick Jane, from that wonderful show, “Mentalist,” could discuss with Mr. House what Jesus and the Buddha meant in their choosing to use the words they chose to use, and then could evaluate whether or not they made their respective points with enough conviction. I see an old fashioned chalk board being used for the tabulating of points.

I would keep Mohammed out of the show, what with the troubles… though if the show turned out to be a hit and developed into a reality series, who knows?








Comments

This STILL slays me, and I've read it 10 times. Laughing till I'm cryin'

Popular posts from this blog

Wedding and Funeral

Went to a wedding and a funeral this weekend with Mary. Sacramento, Santa Rosa, then home– a whirlwind trip through weekend bay area traffic. The traffic was horrible – life changing horrible, but not unusual.
As with most things, it’s a balance of an the unnamed terror and an easy chair in a padded room that rocks. 
The wedding was delightful, part of an interconnected strong woman’s club that marries off their daughters to provably weaker men. And so, the cycle continues, but the company was nice and I’m too old to wonder at the process anymore.
The funeral was for another interconnected strong woman, who, by hinkey or dinky, was a scary woman that I used to work with as a nurse. She would have been surprised that I outlived her, much as Charles the cat was. Please pay attention out there – this is how life works.
(To be fair, she didn’t put up with shit and I liked to throw handfuls of it around as if I were Christ standing on the back of a broken piñata heaving candy cigarettes to the…

Only once

For clarity, I think I will write this only once.I do not write confessional poetry, and I do not write things down as a form of therapy. I write because I have something unique to say in a unique sort of way, a way that I think is universal in an analogous manner, not as any sort of literal telling of the truth.  I trowel spackle onto pages with a straight edged blade, I don’t paint aging widows with a brush. (My soul has been psychedelicized, but this shit’s not about me.)It comes in this form – that this relates to that, in this way – A form that I think illustrates things that are too true to be looked at straight on – personal truths that are usually discovered through interactions with other people – truths that are often relational, unreliable and subject to the weavings and debris of human beings. Truths that sneak out and become a miraculous surprise of insight – like a Zen master hitting you on the head with a baseball bat at just the right time.I don’t think I’m the only on…

How do I know when I'm done?

I left a message on Facebook for someone I care about that ended with the words, “one won”. I did it just because I thought was funny. That led to a whimsical discovery that I no longer had to place a period at the end of my sentences – in fact to do so would be rude and identify myself as an old person. 
It seems that, for online use anyway, a period has become a loud shout -- a purposeful exclamation point useful only in drawing unnecessary attention, or as a way of making an angry burp of anti-social angst. Sentences no longer end, they gently back out a side door when no one is looking -- they’ve become bars without a jail, or that angry driver just ahead of you who hesitates before moving through an intersection just to make a point of how stupid you are.
Since a period is no longer an end to a thought, its new function has evidentially become nothing but a stuffy ritual of formality that writers can now use to mark up or down generalized feeling of huffiness, or perhaps a way to s…