If Jesus always came off as too namby-pamby for your liking, the Conservative Bible Project will deliver a Scripture free from suspected liberal-leaning translative interpretation:

The project’s authors argue that contemporary scholars have inserted liberal views and ahistorical passages into the Bible, turning Jesus into little more than a well-meaning social worker with a store of watered-down platitudes.

“Professors are the most liberal group of people in the world, and it’s professors who are doing the popular modern translations of the Bible,” said Andy Schlafly, founder of Conservapedia.com, the project’s online home.

Experts who have devoted their careers to unraveling the ancient texts of the Scriptures, many in long-extinct languages, are predictably skeptical about a project by amateur translators.

“This is not making scripture understandable to people today, it’s reworking scripture to support a particular political or social agenda,” said Timothy Paul Jones, a professor at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Ky., who calls himself a theological conservative.

Religious publishers already provide an alphabet soup of Bible translations for a range of theological outlooks, from the King James Version (KJV) to the Revised Standard Version (RSV) and beyond. The most widely used traditional translations were overseen by scholars who are considered the best minds in conservative Christianity.

“The phrase ‘theological conservative’ does not mean that someone is politically conservative,” said Schlafly, who lives in Far Hills, N.J.

This liberal slanting, Schlafly argues, ranges from changing gendered language — Jesus calling his disciples to be “fishers of people” rather than “fishers of men” — to more subtle choices, like the 2001 English Standard Version of the Bible, which uses “comrade” and “laborer” more often than the conservative-friendly “volunteer.”

I guess these conservative cranks have run out of secular topics on which to focus their outrage, so now they’re turning to the spiritual. When you start probing for conspiracies among chapter and verse, I’d say you’ve pretty completely lost touch with this mortal coil.

As long as they’re looking for historical material that will jibe with and validate their pre-conceived notions, I’ll point the CBP in an obvious direction: Albert Rosenberg’s weirdo Gnostic/”Aryan Christ” theories. It’s a brush of Nazism with which to tar this latest Bible-cleansing effort; but it shows how unoriginal the effort is to begin with.

It’s December, so that means it’s time to put my snowman figurine on display. See him in his fuller-sized Flickr format (where I dubbed him “Sno Bro”, in a spasm of cameraphone-inspired cuteness).

I can’t say why I’m fond of this 12-inch high metal figurine. Probably his emerald-green sweater. Or the low-key holiday cheer he lends to a room.

What I can’t figure out is why no one else cares for him. I’ve had this little trinket for three years now, and each Christmastime, I have to put up with a fair amount of bitching over even this minor bit of decoration. I guess not everyone likes an indoor reminder of the wintry weather that accompanies the season.

Behold above, a common sight at this time of the year: A Christmas wreath. (Heck, behold it in its embiggened, Flickrized glory).

Look closely enough, and you’ll notice some unconventional wreath-borne elements in this holiday specimen. The garland, pinecones, and stray elf? Check. The artichokes and pomegranates? Not-so-check.

Artichokes? Pomegranates? Granted, they’re fakes, but still, I don’t think I’ve ever encountered such oddball vegetation in a Christmas-themed ornament. What exactly do those two produce products have to do with this time of year?

I pondered it for (a short) while, and came up with this theory: This is a California-origined wreath. Only on the left coast would you find unconventional vegetable/fruit combos festooning your wintertime decor. The only thing missing from this Golden State ring of holly is an avocado or two.

What this West Coast expression of holiday cheer is doing here in New York is the bigger mystery. Hopefully, I won’t wake up Christmas morning with a stocking full of some weird artichoke-pomegranate puree…

A long time ago, I took quite a shining to the following quote. It’s by none other than Albert Einstein, from his book “Living Philosophies”:

“I am a horse for single harness, not cut out for tandem or team work. I have never belonged wholeheartedly to country or state, to my circle of friends, or even to my own family. These ties have always been accompanied by a vague aloofness, and the wish to withdraw into myself increases with the years.”

You could say I once identified closely with this sentiment. I still do, although decidedly less so; if anything, I think I’m moving in the opposite direction, toward more personal connections later in life. As usual, I opt for the backward approach to life. Of course, I presumably have more than enough years left to shift gears yet again.

Well, Sarah Palin just blew it with one key constituency — hardcore Scrabble junkies, who object to this seemingly family-friendly passage from her new autobiography:

“Everybody in the family played Scrabble and took great pride in hoarding Ks and Qs and slapping them down in long, fancy words on triple-letter scores.” — “Going Rogue”, p. 12.

The problem? Not only can’t you hoard those particular letters (since there’s only one of each in a Scrabble set); but furthermore, even if it were possible, it’d be bad gameplay strategy to do so:

K doesn’t mesh well with most other letters and so you should try to dump it quickly. Q is paralyzing unless you have a U to go with it. If you are happy because you could lay down “quit” on a double word score, for 26 points, I would say you are not a very ambitious Scrabble player, all the more if you hoarded letters and waited turns to do that. (You have some chance of “aliquot” or “quaeres” or “quinoas,” but do you really expect to score “obloquy,” “quassia,” or “qigongs”?, keeping in mind that if you build upon an already-laid tile you need an eight-letter word with q to score the bonus.)

Sounds like somebody’s still stinging over that Katie Couric newspapers question, and slipped in this anecdote to suggest a homespun-smarts intellectual foundation. Palin should have vetted the editing to someone more familiar with the tile-slapping, triple-word-scoring tradition.

Interestingly, beermaker Molson Canadian recently rolled out a low-calorie brewski called Molson 67. The number in the name refers to the calorie-count per bottle.

I find that interesting because, being a student of history, I instantly recognized that “67″ as a reference to 1867, the year that Canada’s nationhood was established. Invoking the year of independence, in whole or in part, is fairly recognizable as a patriotic gesture north of the border, exemplified by a storied junior hockey team in the Canadian capital. The parallel with America’s 1776 — Spirit of ‘76, 76er’s, etc. — is obvious.

It can’t be a coincidence. You have to believe that Molson purposely concocted this special beer with a caloric value that matches Canada’s birth-year, all for the subtle-but-inherent marketing value. What red-blooded Canuck wouldn’t want to knock back a couple of cold ones that suggest love of country merely when you ask the bartender for the brand?

And yet, a cursory search of the news mentions and corporate communication surrounding last month’s launch of Molson 67 doesn’t seem to mention the patriotism angle. They wouldn’t want to be overbearing with it, but I’m surprised it didn’t get at least a passing mention. Is it possible that this crucial part of the marketing message got diluted by the time the beer hit the market? Or are Canadians not sufficiently gung-ho enough about their history to care?

It’s amazing some U.S.-based brewer hasn’t thought of a similar 76-calorie beer for the American market. Molson, of course, is part of Molson Coors, which is headquartered in Denver. So I’m guessing that a red-white-and-blue festooned “Coors 76″ will appear on Stateside store shelves in the near future.

For Thanksgiving, I’ve taken it upon myself to meet the needs of both the generational extremes that will converge at my mother’s house this Thursday. Translation: I bought a small batch of toys and games for my little nephews, so that they’re sufficiently occupied-slash-out of our hair; and I sprung for the wine, so that they rest of us have sufficient social lubrication.

As always, I’m a sucker for standout novelty wine-bottle labels. So when I saw this Rudolf Müller “Rabbit” Riesling on the store rack, I couldn’t resist adding it to my selection. Heck, it even calls itself “aka The Bunny Wine” on the back label.

Hopefully the taste measures up with the cutesy bottle-art. I like rieslings anyway, and I’m guessing the dry sweetness will match well with the turkey meat. If not, at least I’ll have a conversation piece.

Wannabe Tyler Durdens across the land will be all gooned-up to watch Fight Club in the soon-to-be-released Blu-ray edition. Imagine the testosterone-depleting buzzkill they’ll experience when, upon loading up that disk, they see the DVD menu/music for Drew Barrymore’s romantic comedy Never Been Kissed cue up.

As they surely will, because director David Fincher decided to be funny:

So, what the what? We talked to [Fox Home Entertainment] and it turns out it’s a late-arriving Fight Club-style gag from Fincher himself, who chose an un-Fight Club-like movie from the same year that Fight Club bombed at the box office. Barrymore, a friend of [FC star Edward] Norton’s, approved the gag.

Not bad. But if Fincher really wanted to pull a fast one, he should have designed a mock menu with a “Calvin and Hobbes” theme. Thus validating the premise that Fight Club is a dark, grown-up version of the classic comic strip.

Chaz recently dug up this curious postulation on human nature:

[I]t is the contention that in every human creature — and therefore every group comprised of human creatures — there is approx 8.5% corruption.

To that, I’ll cite Theodore Sturgeon’s well-known aphorism on the sorry state of existence in general:

Sturgeon’s Law: 90 percent of everything is crud.

I think the two concepts dovetail nicely. So, doing the math, the combined theory accounts for 98.5 percent of corrupted cruddiness around us. The remainder? It’s all for the good — because there’s simply no room for anything else, frankly.

Who needs a backyard tree-fort when you can build an entire house from un-lumbered whole trees?

According to research by the Forest Products Laboratory in Madison [Wisconsin], run by the USDA, a whole, unmilled tree can support 50 percent more weight than the largest piece of lumber milled from the same tree. So [architect Roald] Gundersen uses small-diameter trees as rafters and framing in his airy structures, and big trees felled by wind, disease or insects as powerful columns and curving beams.

Wood is still wood, but you’re trading the two-by-four for arboreal decor.

It’s Web 2.0 gimmicky as all get-out, but who am I to argue with $85K for wearing a year’s worth of corporate swag?

Jason Sadler, 26, a former marketing professional from Florida, founded his own company, www.iwearyourshirt.com, in 2008 with the idea to wear a T-shirt supplied by any company and then use social media tools to promote the firm.

For his human billboard service, Sadler charges the “face value” of the day so January 1 costs $1, while December 31 costs $365.

Sadler said this may not sound like a lot but it adds up to $66,795 a year if he sells out every day, which he did this year. He also sells monthly sponsorships for $1,500, adding another $18,000 to his income.

The numbers certainly add up. And I commend Sadler for creatively linking the dollar amount with the day-of-year tally. I don’t know how much that’ll be undercut by his 2010 plan: Doubling the sponsorship fee for each day by adding a synchronized second t-shirt wearer in Los Angeles (Sadler’s in Jacksonville). Since the main exposure comes from posting photos online, versus the eyeballs that see the t-shirt on the street, I don’t see much advantage to having more than one person wear a shirt.

It’s working so far, though. And whenever the gimmick crashes and burns, at least these two guys will have a year’s supply of t-shirts to keep their wardrobes full.

I’m itching to catch Brooklyn Academy of Music’s production of “Quartett”, just on the strength of this theater review. Specifically this bit, which expounds upon a stage setting that’s a cross between “a drawing room before the French Revolution” and “an air raid shelter after World War III”:

This befits a work that seems to take place in the shadow of a crypt. As written, the play has only two characters, Merteuil and Valmont, who remember romantic war games of yore in anatomically unstinting detail. In recollecting past conquests — notably those of the virtuous Madame de Tourvel and the virginal Cécile de Volanges by Valmont — they act out the seductions, with Merteuil often playing Valmont. The language — French in this case, with English supertitles — is often poetic, ritualistic, even ecclesiastical, but with an abiding awareness that whatever pleasures the flesh may afford, it is destined to rot. The decadence practiced by these aristocrats is rooted in the consciousness of decay.

I’m a pure sucker for experimental theater. The unique lighting techniques — Valmont is bathed in a demonic red spotlight, while the scheming Merteuil shines with an icy white glow — are another enticement. Sounds like a visual stunner befitting a post-modernist adaptation of “Dangerous Liaisons”.

Unfortunately, it looks like tickets are sold out. Too bad I don’t have any inside connections at BAM.

Bleeding cash from a lower volume of hard-copy message deliveries, the U.S. Postal Service is, paradoxically, doubling-down on paper: Post offices have started selling Hallmark greeting cards.

Of the 7 billion cards [sold in the U.S. annually], about 4 billion are mailed, accounting for about 2 percent of total mail volume, said Robert F. Bernstock, president of mailing and shipping services for the Postal Service.

“If we can get some energy behind greeting cards, which are incredibly linked to the mail, what better place to sell them and merchandise them than at our post offices?” Bernstock said.

A Postal Service study confirmed that customers think selling greeting cards at post offices is appropriate and that they would buy them there, Bernstock said. The goal is for the cards to help boost postal retail sales by 30 to 40 percent.

This is actually a very good idea, completely synergizing complimentary goods and services. I’m surprised that it took this long to happen. I do think a 30-40 percent revenue amp is highly optimistic, though. For that to happen, people will have to think of the post office as a destination for holiday/event shopping, i.e. making a one-stop trip to buy a card, personalize it, address it, and mail it off. Not sure anyone behaves that way — they’re more likely to head to the post office for the usual shipping purposes, and then impulse-buy a birthday card or two for later use.

All that’s assuming you don’t just shoot off an e-card instead.

Ryan Star’s song “Breathe” may be as sappy and throw-away as any soft rock single, but at least it’s doing someone some good:.

What [Star's] done to help is feature real unemployed professionals in the music video for his new single “Breathe,” and in the process he’s blended music marketing with recruiting. The website, breathe4jobs.com, is clearly there to sell the single, but it also acts as a very public posting board for a dozen real job-seekers, from software consultant and restaurant manager to balloon artist and digital-marketing specialist. People viewing the video who are interested in hiring them can send an e-mail through the site, which has already drawn a nibble for at least one hopeful less than a week since its posting.

Nice feel-good story. I won’t even point out that Star and his recording company could’ve paid these job-seekers for time in front of the cameras, thus, y’know, directly employing them for a short spell.

It’s Halloween time again, and once again, I’m ill-prepared. I don’t have a costume picked out, and I’m not feeling a quickie expedition to one of the pop-up novelty shops to scrounge up some leftover or bare-bones outfit.

But I can’t feel too bad, because I’ve dug up the above photo, which charmed me so much last year at this time. There’s something about those ground-spiked white-sheet ghosts, seemingly clasped at the hands, that makes me smile. The ring they’re forming around that tree is surely a seance, and I maintain that they’re trying to coax some spirit-form out of that wooden encasement.

That’s my theory, anyway. The original Flickr photo page is silent on these spooks’ intent. Just as well — what’s a Halloween display without a hint of mystery?

Nothing says “girly geek” quite like this homemade dress, no doubt inspired by countless hours of Tetris-playing. Frenetic block-dropping never looked so fashionable!

(Via dustbury, who I’m betting saw the same tweet that I did on this)

I can’t attend this Thursday’s Halloween-eve Ted & Amy Supper Club gathering, so I’m recording the holiday-themed menu as a way to experience it vicariously:

Zombie Brains
(pan-fried calf brains served with lemon aioli)

Headless Horseman Soup
(pumpkin soup topped with cloves and honey)

Skeleton Bones
(roasted bone marrow with parsley salad)

Creature from the Black Lagoon
(grilled calamari over squid ink linguine)

The Devil’s Food Cake
(individual chocolate-caramel cakes served warm with whipped cream)

Cocktail: Red Rum

Selection of Wine

I tell you, the fried brains would definitely send me running for the hills of Fort Greene. The Black Lagoon course, on the other hand, I could devour like an eater possessed.

Too bad I can’t make it. Aside from the fun of wandering around Brooklyn in pre-Halloween costume, I could contribute to the wine selection with a Vampire Merlot and a black cat German white.

Having already witnessed the prop-like use of babies as fashion accoutrement, I can’t say I’m too surprised by this next step: Fetish Tots, or “kinky couture for little people”.

If nothing else, this puts a whole new spin on the spanking debate. Does baby’s first word turn out to be his/her safe word?

Yeah, creepy-disgusting, I know. And for more reasons than just the obvious:

I told some friends about Fetish Tots, and they seem to think it’s some sort of artistic statement, not a real business. Even if this particular group is just making a statement, some slimeballs will take the idea and actually sell it to people. Parents of small children are the most gullible of all consumers. There are so many yuppies in this town carrying designer babies as accessories just so they have an excuse to consume more overpriced stuff. Just a few short years ago, all my Burning Man friends were wearing fetish gear and having lots of kinky sex, and guess what? They all have kids now, and they’re dying to dress up the little Baby Burners just like Mommy and Daddy!

Crass consumerism crossed with conformity and kinky-cute couture. Good think most fetishists don’t procreate anyway.

Today San Francisco is partying to the theme of The Big Rumble, a commemoration of the 20th anniversary of the Loma Prieta earthquake that shook the city with 6.9-Richter force, killing 63 and causing billions of dollars in damages.

Nathan Ballard, a mayoral spokesman, said the intention of the festivities was not to disrespect the losses suffered in the earthquake, but rather to “reinvigorate our commitment, not just to earthquake preparedness but to any type of hazard.”

“We’re just trying to connect with people,” Mr. Ballard said.

Along those lines, the city has produced a 30-page “Block Party Host Toolkit,” complete with “tons of great tips on how to throw the perfect bash,” covering promotion, budgeting and cuisine, among other things.

It does seem daffy to throw a frivolous celebration in the face of nature’s fury. Along these lines, should Southern Californians organize wildfire parties while their neighboring areas burn?

But I also understand the reaction: Even with the maximum amount of preparation, people are ultimately pretty powerless against what a serious earthquake will wreak. To counteract that lack of control, you might as well have a good time. I encountered that attitude firsthand, during my hurricane seasons in Florida, when hurricane parties routinely cropped up before, during, and after a storm. The chief difference is that you can see a hurricane coming days in advance; with earthquakes, they hit practically immediately, so any laugh-at-death partying has to wait until the aftershocks have subsided.

Yesterday, I hit upon a new (for me) lunch option: A sushi rice bowl. Basically an unconstructed sushi roll, with the sashimi artfully layered atop a pile of white grains. Tasty.

As I was munching, I wondered if I could, indeed, take the contents of that bowl and actually roll my own sushi. The rice was certainly sticky enough, probably sushi-quality. There wasn’t enough salmon, crab, and vegetable (couldn’t quite tell what that was) to make more than two or three bites, but that just meant extra rice on the side.

Maybe they should market these rice bowls as sushi-roll erector sets, for those more ambitious during lunchtime. Or is that anathema with the lazy preference for unorganized foodstuff in bowl form?

The show about nothing meets the website about 140-character bits of nothing. Frank Ferri wonders how the “Seinfeld” crew would react to compulsive Twittering:

JERRY: You know, you’ve got to have something to tweet about in order to tweet.

GEORGE: I got plenty to tweet about, baby!

JERRY: No, no you don’t. You see, you have the Twitter account and the laptop. But you don’t have anything worthwhile to tweet about. No job, no girlfriend, no…

JERRY: What’s the deal with that 140-character limit, anyway? Like if it was 141, the Internet would break?

GEORGE: Ooh, that’s good. Can I tweet that?

I think Kramer would be more prone to over-tweeting than George, actually. To the point where Kramerica Industries would release a Twitter app — one with a tripwire auto-shutdown, to prevent a repeat of the Bob Sacamano death-by-Twitter tragedy.