I sometimes peruse the online personals, looking for God knows what. Most women, when describing what they want in a mate, invariably include three words mixed in with all the other gobbledygook. The meanings of these words in context would seem obvious to most people. When I think about it, however, I believe we as a society use these words to serve our purpose, while possessing almost no clear idea about what the words actually mean. I must admit, if you ask me to define any of the three, I draw a total blank.

Love is the most used yet misunderstood word in our language. You can love your cat, but is that the same as loving your parents or making love to your mate? When I was a kid, my parents told me they spanked me because they loved me. They told me this only when I was being “good.” While I was being spanked, I felt like the object of their hate. I was everything that went wrong with their day, their life. Not that I oppose corporal punishment. Pain teaches when words and threats fall short. It might even be a form of love.

Another form of love says that, “Unless you’re tall, have all your teeth and hair, and don’t smoke, you’re unlovable to me. But that’s OK, because somewhere out there, there’s a short, bald, and toothless smoker who would be just what you need.” What’s worse, this society promotes the idea that unless you have a significant other, you’re somehow lacking. The word “love” is in almost every song on the radio, and is at least hinted at in almost every television show and movie. This makes “love” not only a good thing to have, but a necessity we can’t live without.

My parents also told me that Jesus loved me in ways I could never understand. Why, he loved me so much that if I didn’t live my life as the Bible taught, he would lock me in this fiery, dark place with every evil creature imaginable. Forever. My parents were right. I never understood.

While the core teachings of all religions embrace love and tolerance, one must look closely to find these in today’s religions. We fight more wars over religion than any other reason. Maybe I’m blind, but I see no love in the act of war.

When singing about honesty, Billy Joel said, “If you look for truthfulness, you might just as well be blind.” While we all pride ourselves on our sense of honesty, we really only want to tell and hear the truth when it’s comfortable and convenient.

Take the example of the woman asking her man if he thinks her butt’s too big. If he says yes, not only does he hurt the feelings of the one he “loves,” he also assures that his life will be difficult for a week or two. Lying keeps both of them comfortable.

Our role models and leaders lie regularly, and we know it. They need our support, or at least our complacency, and sometimes being honest just won’t do the job. For instance, imagine the president saying:

“We may be hitting peak oil these days, and we need a military presence in the Middle East. I’ve decided, therefore, to invade Iraq, Afghanistan, and maybe some other nations in the region to insure our status in the world. We will overthrow the existing governments and put in power only those individuals we can be assured will be friendly to American interests. I cannot guarantee how long this mission will last, nor can I estimate how many American lives will be lost.”

Would you be willing to fight and possibly die in the desert to insure our status in the world? I wouldn’t. The powers that be know this. Americans aren’t moved by intellectual arguments, but by emotion. Tell us that Saddam has WMD’s and we’ll all wanna go kill some ragheads.

The whole truth can seldom be used as a weapon, because it has many sides. To use it as such, one must add colors and flavors, intonations and gestures. Without these, the user of the weapon would sustain as much injury as his target. Since everyone, it seems, has an agenda, the truth itself is usually lightly touched upon. Do we really know what we’re asking for when we ask someone to be honest?

Nobody wants to be with someone they consider stupid. I must admit, however, if I were to date a nuclear physicist I’d be intimidated as hell. The question must be then, do I really want to be with an intelligent individual, or just somebody slightly more/less intelligent than myself?

Americans in general do not place intellect high on their list of values. For an example I point to the most recent Presidential debates. I’ve never seen a more inarticulate individual speaking in public, let alone as a Presidential candidate. Yet, this veritable moron won the election. We don’t want intelligent, we want congenial. We want to feel safe, and we don’t care about the details. Just tell us you’ll keep us safe, and we’ll “love” you.

So what does it mean when a woman writing a personal ad asks for a man who’s loving, honest, and intelligent? I’ve honestly not a clue.

My Religious Experience

When I was between the ages of 6 and 13, my parents experienced many on again/off again religious phases. That all changed in July, 1974.

My father worked as a guard in a maximum security prison in Lucasville, Ohio. A riot erupted, and two guards were dead. My mother and I listened intently to the radio announcer, although he would give no names until the slain guards' families were notified. He did, however, give one piece of horrifying news: The incident occurred on K-Bloc, home of some of the most vicious killers on the planet. It was also where my dad worked.

When something like this happens at a prison, all personnel are placed on frozen status until it's resolved. Dad was supposed to have gotten off at 2:00 that day. At 4:30 we still had not heard from him and were beginning to assume the worst. It must have been a little past 5:00 when his familiar green pickup pulled into the driveway. Dad was visibly shaken, but unharmed. Life would continue as before. Or would it?

My mom did a lot of praying that day, and even though both guards were dead before she finished her first "Ay-men," she somehow believed God had answered her prayers. Never mind the prayers of the families of the slain. This event set Mom and Dad on fire for God, and plunged my brother and me into a dark world of plastic smiles.

Sometimes it was difficult to know if these adults were smiling or gnarling like a cornered Korean mutt. They chattered endlessly about the glories of Jesus and the wonders of God, as if they were trying to convince themselves more than anything. Ladies with perfect faces and men with perfect hair described their experiences with Jesus, who was nothing but love. If you believed anything different than what this particular church taught, however, this loving Jesus would personally toss you into this huge lava pit. When love is defined in this way, is it any wonder our society is so fucked?

I wanted to believe, and it was easy to do. I was, after all, surrounded by adults. They knew everything.

I attended the youth brainwashing sessions where they drilled their own interpretation of God's Word into my little brain. It wasn't long before I was playing bass guitar in a family gospel group. I even had a couple of girlfriends who were true believers. Surely I was heaven bound.

Women have fucked up so many things in my life, and I suppose religion was one of the first of those. In my mid-late teens a girl I cared a lot about started seeing someone else. I learned then my reasons for attending church. Nothing to do with Jesus. I stopped going.

It wasn't that I'd stopped believing. I had no desire, however, to go to Heaven and follow this Jesus guy around because he was so wonderful. I started to see the single-mindedness. All these people talked about was Jesus. He was all that mattered. Well, I had other interests.

Among these interests, music stole the top slot. Many changes occurred here, too. Billy Joel, Barry Manilow, and John Denver were replaced by Kiss, Led Zeppelin, Boston, and ACDC. I grew my hair, joined a band, learned to drink and smoke and be happy.

I found the honesty of Rock and Roll more appealing than anything. "Highway to Hell," for instance, is so in your face. They come right out and say it. I suppose this song was my anthem for the next ten years. I thoroughly believed I was going to Hell, but didn't really care.

My early religious experiences have negatively colored my views, not only of most religions, but of the followers of those religions as well. The second I discover someone is a member of a church, my respect for that person drops a notch or two. I simply cannot fathom how otherwise intelligent, educated people can be led into accepting such a set of nonsensical beliefs. I've heard faith defined as "the act of believing that which you know to be untrue." To that, I say "Amen."