I launched a newsletter! It's called Continuous Small Treats. And it's free.

BJ Chuck E Cheese glasses 2015 That's right, I'm now writing a free fortnightly newsletter that can be delivered to your Inbox if you like. What is it about? Interesting things. Fun things. Exasperating things. So far:

  • The end of the world.
  • The most important thing in life.
  • Squats.
  • The history of the universe.
  • Good advice.
  • 200 dogs running through the streets of Budapest

You know, that sort of thing. If you like that sort of thing, you can sign up for it here. It's free. No spam. Unsubscribe whenever you want.

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See you there!

xo Buzzy

 

The Best Christmas Music: Tim Minchin's "White Wine in the Sun"

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Like Tim Minchin, I'm not religious but I love Christmas. I love Hanukah, too! Neutrality has its rewards.

 

And there is no better "I'm-an-atheist-but-I-still-love-Christmas" song out there than Minchin's funny and sweet "White Wine in the Sun." Apart from the often-skipped first verse of "White Christmas," it's the only warm weather Christmas song I know. Minchin is from Perth, Australia, and this vision of a midsummer Christmas depicts that Antipodean holiday reality: Christmas on the beach.

But it's not a song about summertime or even Christmas; it's about family and loving one another. I cannot get through it without crying, not even once. Can you?

If you haven't seen it, watch it now. Lyrics are below, because they're just too good not to read twice.

xo BJ

WHITE WINE IN THE SUN

by Tim Minchin

I really like Christmas

It's sentimental, I know, but I just really like it

I am hardly religious

I'd rather break bread with Dawkins than Desmond Tutu, to be honest

And yes, I have all of the usual objections

To consumerism, the commercialisation of an ancient religion

To the westernisation of a dead Palestinian

Press-ganged into selling Playstations and beer

But I still really like it

I'm looking forward to Christmas

Though I'm not expecting a visit from Jesus

I'll be seeing my dad

My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum

They'll be drinking white wine in the sun

I'll be seeing my dad

My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum

They'll be drinking white wine in the sun

I don't go in for ancient wisdom

I don't believe just 'cos ideas are tenacious it means they're worthy

I get freaked out by churches

Some of the hymns that they sing have nice chords but the lyrics are spooky

And yes I have all of the usual objections

To the mis-education of children who, in tax-exempt institutions,

Are taught to externalise blame

And to feel ashamed and to judge things as plain right and wrong

But I quite like the songs

I'm not expecting big presents

The old combination of socks, jocks and chocolate's is just fine by me

Cos I'll be seeing my dad

My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum

They'll be drinking white wine in the sun

I'll be seeing my dad

My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum

They'll be drinking white wine in the sun

And you, my baby girl

My jetlagged infant daughter

You'll be handed round the room

Like a puppy at a primary school

And you won't understand

But you will learn someday

That wherever you are and whatever you face

These are the people who'll make you feel safe in this world

My sweet blue-eyed girl

And if my baby girl

When you're twenty-one or thirty-one

And Christmas comes around

And you find yourself nine thousand miles from home

You'll know what ever comes

Your brothers and sisters and me and your Mum

Will be waiting for you in the sun

Whenever you come

Your brothers and sisters, your aunts and your uncles

Your grandparents, cousins and me and your mum

We'll be waiting for you in the sun

Drinking white wine in the sun

Darling, when Christmas comes

We'll be waiting for you in the sun

Drinking white wine in the sun

Waiting for you in the sun

Waiting for you...

Waiting...

I really like Christmas

It's sentimental, I know...

The Eleven Commandments of Atheism

My new book, The Inspirational Atheist: Wise Words on the Wonder and Meaning of Life (Penguin Random House) will be published in late December.

In the meantime, here's a little sample of some of the wisdom found inside... The Eleven Commandments of Atheism, each one drawn from a quotation in the book (a version in LARGER TEXT is at the bottom.)

May The Force - or whatever - be with you. Enjoy!

11 Commandments of Atheism text Buzzy Jackson

 

The Ten Eleven Commandments of Atheism

from The Inspirational Atheist

  1. Do unto others twenty-five percent better than you expect them to do unto you — Linus Pauling
  2. Do not destroy what you cannot create – Leo Szilard
  3. Be hard on your beliefs. Take them out onto the verandah and beat them with a cricket bat. —Tim Minchin
  4. We should try to leave the world a better place than when we entered it. — Michio Kaku
  5. I think a man’s duty is to find out where the truth is, or if he cannot, at least to take the best possible human doctrine and the hardest to disprove, and to ride on this like a raft over the waters of life. —Plato
  6. Let your credo be this: Let the lie come into the world, let it even triumph. But not through me. —Alexandr Solzhenitsyn
  7. You cannot save people, you can only love them. —Anaïs Nin
  8. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. —Roger Ebert
  9. The best thing you can possibly do with your life is to tackle the motherfucking shit out of love. –Cheryl Strayed
  10. Well, it’s nothing very special. Try to be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations. —“The End of the Film,” Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life
  11. There are far too many commandments and you really only need one: Do not hurt anybody.—Carl Reiner

To remain in its arms forever: John Darnielle's WOLF IN WHITE VAN

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Book review: WOLF IN WHITE VAN, by John Darnielle (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux: 2014), 209 pp.

I could explain that Wolf in White Van is a beautiful novel about pain. That it's the story of a teenaged boy who tried and failed to kill himself and has to live with the results. Or that it's the map of the world a damaged young man creates, first in his imagination, then in the form of a multiplayer mail-order game called Trace Italian, that saves his life — makes his life possible, after the accident — but kills someone else inadvertently. That's it's a novel told backwards, all action pulling back toward the horrible event itself, the horrible event becoming a kind of black hole of plot, its gravity drawing the reader through the story steadily, relentlessly, finally. Or I could describe it as a study in Zen, though the word is never used in the book, a lesson in accepting reality and letting go of judgment. It's a kind of detachment that's not easy to pull off in any case, but especially when the reaction to your appearance is simply, "Dude, your face."

"People don't usually understand this when I try to explain it, which is why I've stopped trying, nor will ever try again, no not in courtrooms nor in conferences: but when it came down to the actual moment, I was trying to make the right decision." This is Sean Phillips, years later, remembering but not exactly explaining, why he picked up that gun one night in high school. Wolf in White Van is Sean Phillips afterward, the Sean Phillips who found, somewhere in the blank - but not actually blank - white ceiling of his hospital room, a way to keep on living after the fact. "You could let your attention rest there for a while; you could imagine the future of the ceiling, the battles playing out up there, camps pitched when the building was new back in unremembered time… You can see the ceiling in the next room, following the splits of the ceiling in its neighbor, and the one beyond that in turn and then the greater canvas, the sky at night gone flat and painted white, the constellations in the cracking paint, the dust the cracks brings into being as they form, finding free land where none had been before their coming."

In the nothingness that is Sean's new life, he creates something: Trace Italian, a game of strategy in which players try to make their slow, hesitant, dangerous way to the center of an nightmarish North America and Kansas, where the great walled fortress-the Trace Italian- offers safety at last. In the year after his accident, Sean wrote all the possible moves to the game; now, years later, he mails them out, one by one, to long-distance players he'll never meet. Trace Italian is his life, metaphorically and really, his livelihood and his place of safety. His players stalk the imaginary landscape, move by move, but not Sean, master of the game. "I remain in the stasis of the opening scene, bits of gravel sticking to my face, cold night coming on. I am strong enough to endure it. I am strong enough to remain in its arms forever. I won't get up; I have seen the interior once. I'm not going back. One thing I've learned is it's better sometimes, in the weeds, to resist the temptation to stand up and follow the compass."

I can't tell you much more about Wolf in White Van other than this: you should read it. It's a mystery novel, in its own way. As soon as I finished it I was tempted to immediately begin reading again but I stopped myself. I will read it again. But not to solve the mystery, which can't be solved. At least, I don't think so. If I find out something different, I'll let you know.

Welcome to Trace Italian, a game of strategy and survival! You may now make your first move.