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The Mechanization of Prayer

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Ideas & Questions

Published: 21 May 2010

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In some cultures, prayers are held to have an intrinsic meaning. 

It is not the telling, or reciting of the prayer, the prayer exists on it's own, separate from the prayer (prayer, the recitation or written expression thereof, exists separately from the one who tells it...).

And this existence, the intrinsic existence of the prayer, influences the universe for the better, it can be replicated, multiplied and even mechanized.

The most notable examples are the Tibetans, with their branch of Buddhism that allows for prayer flags (prayers are carried from the flags by the winds), prayer wheels (spinning the wheel releases the prayer contained on both the outside and wound round the shaft of the wheel), there are other examples as well.

In Catholicism the saying of the rosaries would be equivalent, but only very roughly, for the church has not given sanction to machines to say rosaries, they must be said by the faithful, and the repetition of them, while apparently mechanical, is also contemplative and meditative. Whereas the blowing of flags by the wind, or spinning of unseen wheels by machines or people could not be said to be either.

I find this curious.  

Help Wanted

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Miscellany

Published: 21 May 2010

Hits: 1878

We have a standing "Help Wanted" ad.

We're forever hiring.

In the front of the house it's not so bad, maybe we go through a dozen waiters, then one of them stays a few months, moves on, the cycle begins again.

There were different issues with the waiters, a couple were obviously lazy, a few obviously incompetent, we had one that was sort of working out but decided to pursue another opportunity closer to home. You couldn't really blame him, although they did, there was a lot of loud name calling in the back, pettiness, squabbling over tips, the threatening of fisticuffs, it was embarassing to be near and so I just left....

We interview for his position.

There's a list of questions we should be asking - things like "Do you have any hobbies?" or "Do you have any outside interests or family members" because any of these things are signs they'll be leaving us. We're really looking for someone who'll be happy to work 5 and 6 days a week, 8 to 14 hours a day, for eternity.
An addictions problem would be nice, it'll help them to cope.

There's no end to applicants. One or two a day. They talk to us, the owner, have coffees, cappucinos, it's an informal interview, he trots out the Italian ladies in the back, they've been there for 20, thirty years, the waiters 10 and 20 years, they know a good thing when they see it, they're living proof of how great he is to work for, his easygoing temperment, maybe the new employee decides to try it out, shows up for a shift or two, then vanishes. They found it wasn't for them, decided to go back to school, discovered they were pregnant, tired, busy, the list of excuses is unending but the results are the same: sooner or later they don't come back.

Some never even make it in, confirm the job, when they'll be starting, then never show up.

In the kitchen it's the same. We've been hiring for a sous-chef as long as I've been there. They don't show up, or show up for a couple of shifts, call in sick, disappear. The record was not even2 weeks.

There are everywhere the proofs of the dead, the waiters and chefs that came and then left, old photographs on the wall, phonecalls, customer enquiries for staff long gone, automated doctors appointments calling the restaurant, mail comes to them c/o the restaurant but they're no longer here to collect it and they've left no forwarding address.

They are the disappeared.

There are more of them in this restaurant than there are in all of Chile or Argentina.

And the ad goes up again: "Help Wanted"...

The Fear of Dentists

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Written by: Rod Boyle

Category: Miscellany

Published: 18 May 2010

Hits: 2056

It's been a rough couple of days. Sunday I got through without any painkillers, unless you count Scotch.

Monday painkillers were definitely required, whether for the Scotch or my tooth is still undetermined.

The pain has spread, diffused, throughout my mouth. No longer just in the tooth, now it feels as though my entire mouth is stuffed with cotton, the feeling as if there were an electric current running through all my teeth, persistent headache, intermittent fever and cold sweats, it hurts to smile or in any way to contort my face.

I don't eat solid food. soft bananas, chewed carefully. Cold smoothies, blended, although I bit down on a still frozen blueberry and kicked loudly, cried softly for 10 minutes.

It's getting better.

But I have to see a dentist.

I have a fear of dentists. A phobia almost.
Funny, in that I've never had a bad one. They've always been friendly, jocular, attentive....

But their stock in trade is misery and pain.

They scold and chide me for smoking. I know, I know, but they do it every time. They promise me that for a mere $40,000 and visits every other week for the next 2 years I can have a new smile.

It's not going to happen. They live in some sort of imaginary world where everyone is a dentist, everyone earns what they earn, has the benefits they have.

I don't.

They talk above you, your mouth stretched open, slivers of metal stuck into the root of your tooth, talk about their weekend, the new Maserati they're going to buy, impervious to your pain,

You try to signal them, get their attention, but they assure you they won't be too much longer and keep talking. Inane programs on the overhead TV.

Meanwhile the freezing has worn off, the metal shards are nails hammered into your jaw and you toy with the idea of just biting down and running the hell out of there...

The metal shards would go right through your jaw, you could pull them out the bottom with pliers, and, hell, it couldn't hurt possibly any more than it's hurting now, could it?

Eventually, when you've moved into the zone of indifference and everything in the world is suffering they finish up, try to cheerfully rebook you in a few weeks, $1000, $2000 please, give you a free loot bag filled with floss and toothbrushes and little pamphlets...

They should be paying me.
And for the suffering, the hours of misery trapped in the chair, the days spent with cotton stuffed in your cheek, mouth numb (at best), expectorating blood, rinsing mouth with salt water, a headache the T3's can't seem to find, $10,000 wouldn't be enough.

They wonder why I'm not more regular.

It's been beef broth with overcooked noodles sucked down through a straw.

The kids, they understand that they have to just leave me alone, they don't understand the pain, cheerfully eating their little apples, crunching pistachios and potato chips...

I can see the offending tooth, the treacherous little maggot, hiding behind a clump of other teeth, pushed behind a lower canine. I should have had braces, they'd all be lined up in those perfect little rows, instead they look like they were fired into my mouth scatter-shot. Ground down from stress, stained with Nicotine, coffee, red wine, I am the embodiment of vices that are paying for my dentist's Maserati, second wife, child support and private schools.

I have to see a dentist. There's no postponing it any longer, the excuse (valid, they'd approve) of having no money no longer cuts it, I don't have the kind of money they'd like or understand, but enough to cut the pain, temporarily stop the agony, some mild preventative work because it's important I save the awkward and listing ivories I have left, would be better to replace them all with implants, every one of them, 4 in the top, 4 in the bottom, $5,000 per implant, $40,000, not a Lamborghini or Maserati but a down payment at least, hell, sometimes you have to save up for things you know, and here there's a weak smile from the dentist, laughing at his little joke...

I have a fear of dentists.