My First Confession

Forgive me, Reader, for I have sinned. This is my first blogged confession.

My first week back to work was stressful for me, and I wasted away my off-hours in trivial pusuits such as beach volleyball. My sin is worse than just a lack of industrious endeavors, (or "sloth,") however. Please bear with me.

Of these games, (twice a week, weather permitting,) I have bragged to my wife in regards to their health benefits and exercise and the like. What I kept from her, (a lie of omission, you might say, for sin #2, if keeping score,) is that between games, I would recoup and regroup in the fashion of my teammates; with beer and cigarettes. Yes, my trusted confidantes, I smoked.

Now, frankly, this would be no big deal had I not quit smoking ten, (or so,) years ago, as I began my wedded life with the missus. A relapse would have surely be seen as a disappointment to her, hence my lie.

To make matters worse, I found myself in Staples one evening after a game, getting some supplies before heading home. While there, I noticed the smell of cigarettes on my hands. In order to hide this smell from my wife, (or compound the lie. We'll make that sin #3!) I decided to clean my hands. As I walked the aisles, I saw a bottle of Purell that had been opened and I chose to swipe a little for my deceptive puposes, ("theft;" sin #4.)

I took a squirt or two, (okay, three,) and began to vigorously rub the tell-tale odor from my hands. Almost immediately, I noticed how viscous the Purell was. Thick and very sticky, too. I looked down and saw the luxurious dry lather I was building and then noticed that I had not stolen a shot or three from a dispenser of Purell, but from a bottle of clear SoftSoap.

I was all soaped up and without any water and in the middle of Staples.

Fortunately, being a goofball is not a sin, so THAT doesn't count toward my running tally. I wiped my hands off on my lower pant leg, made my way through the registers, and went home. I was a little proud of the smoke-masking scent that I had inadvertently covered my hands with, however, ("pride;" Sin #5. Making a grand total of five sins that I am repenting today.)

For my penance, Dear Reader, I shall promise to not have another cigarette, at least until the next volleyball game, and I will have nothing more alcoholic to drink for the rest of my evening.

Thank you for listening. I feel purged, and pure once again.

Se7en Stranded Deadly Sins...

I have always been fascinated by the Seven Deadly Sins. They are so concrete, yet abstract; truly subjective absolutes. Strangely, though, the Seven Righteous Virtues, the “Glass-half-full” flip side list, never caught on in pop culture with quite the same emphasis. I would like to blame the film, “SE7EN,” (starring Morgan Freeman, Brad Pitt, Gwyneth Paltrow and Kevin Spacey. Great flick!), but I believe the movie to be more of a result of the list’s appeal.

I recently was considering Gilligan’s Island, (a favorite television show and another point of fascination for me,) and realized that each of the castaways was possessed of a different defining one of these aforementioned sins.

Some were quite blatant, such as Ginger, (lust,) or Mr. Howell, (greed,) while others, less so. My list:

Gilligan: Gluttony. Gilligan has shown time and again that the boy can eat. Nothing seems to motivate him more, and he is often bribed by the women-folk with banana cream pies, or coconut cream pies, etc.

Skipper: Wrath. The only castaway who routinely strikes another. He loses patience with Gilligan in almost every episode and lashes out physically. Sure, it is only a hat-smack, but severity does not define intent!

Mr. Howell: Greed. As I mentioned, this is so obvious and central to the character’s personality, that it almost overshadows his other qualities.

Mrs. Howell: Sloth. The thought of “perspiration” brings about a near panic to Thurston’s trophy bride, and her anecdotes about the servants secure Lovey’s standing as the personification of this sin.

Ginger: Lust. Ginger’s patented whore-maneuvers of man-manipulation are so dominant to her persona that she even has her own theme music with which to work her sultry seductive wiles on the love-starved male population of the island. She's SO hot.

The Professor: Pride. The only castaway with his own hut, the professor always seems to be looking down on the others as ignorant inconveniences. He holds six advanced degrees, speaks many languages, and has written a number of books, and seems to insist on being acknowledged by his title, “The Professor,” instead of by his name, Roy.

Mary Ann: Envy. Oh sure, Mary Ann is a bundle of virtues but her envy of Ginger’s lifestyle is impossible to ignore! To the point of her actually becoming Ginger after a knock on the noggin during a performance of Hamlet.

The Island of the Damned! (with your humble narrator!)

Finally, one could look at these individuals, see them for their sins and speculate that they are, in actuality, the living damned! That island, devoid of boats, lights, motorcars or even a single luxury, (that so many others seem to be able to come and go from so frequently,) is their HELL! And the show is a subliminal anecdotal allegory denouncing the practitioners of these lifestyle choices.

No, I don't actually believe a word of this basket of tripe that I have just written. Don't be silly. But, what if, by some strange twist, I am wrong and this really was the point of the show. (Kinda makes "Lost" look like Sesame Street, huh?)

Cue the haunting refrain: “Here for a long, long time.”

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