Tag Archives: birthdays

Is There Facebook in Heaven?

Christianity, etc., family, holidays, humor, ,

I’m surprised at the number of people who try to reach God using Facebook. They post prayers to God, recommend God to their friends, and offer to pray regarding specific problems their friends are having. They even wish deceased relatives “Happy Heavenly Birthday.”

It’s that last one that brings me up short. I’ve never thought about there being birthdays in heaven. I guess I always thought people in heaven didn’t care about birthdays anymore. I can’t picture celestial calendars marked for personal special occasions. The Parting of the Red Sea, maybe. My grandmother’s birthday, not so much. (Of course, if there is a heavenly birthday feature like the one on Facebook that reminds you on the day so you can send a greeting, the list of people having birthdays on any given day would be in the billions, if you count every born-and-died person. Is it St. Peter’s task as the heavenly Facebook moderator to keep track of them all? Maybe there’s a red X by some names on the list for “not here; went the other way.” But I digress.)

Still, there are those people who appear to believe in birthdays in heaven. There are a lot of assumptions behind the sentiment. First, there’s the notion that every relative of yours went to heaven. Okay, maybe people simply don’t wish Happy Birthday for relatives who were so sinful they expect them to have taken up residence in a lake of fire.

Then, too, people always specifically invoke a happy birthday. Would there be any other kind in heaven? You’d already have all the presents you’d ever want, what with the streets of gold and the sitting at the right hand of Jesus. (Which brings up the question: How many right hands does Jesus have? Never mind, my mother has that particular seat. But I digress again.)

I suppose I can envision cake in heaven, though not the dopey little hats that wouldn’t fit over halos anyway. And it’s ludicrous to imagine them poking up through the middle of the halos. That would just be silly. But streamers and banners? You’ve got fluffy clouds and rays of sunshine to cover that angle. Or angel. (Sorry, not sorry.)

I know what people mean by “Happy Heavenly Birthday.” It’s shorthand for “I love this departed relative dearly and wish they were still around so I could wish them happy birthday in person. And I want other people who knew this person to remember their existence and their goodness, too.” And “Happy Heavenly Birthday” is certainly shorter, so it shouldn’t take up more of an angel’s time. (Question: Do angels keep track of how many Happy Heavenly Birthdays they receive and compare them to other angels’ totals? Nah, couldn’t be. No jealousy in heaven, at least since Lucifer left. But think of all the angels who lived before Al Gore invented the internet. Or the billions (I assume there are billions) who don’t have Facebook. How do they get their heavenly birthday messages? But I digress some more.)

I don’t know. Facebook isn’t my idea of heaven. Mine doesn’t involve fluffy clouds either (not that Facebook has them, except in AI art). Perhaps not having Facebook is the real heaven, and perpetual, everlasting doomscrolling is hell.

The Educated Palate

etc., food, funny things, humor, , , , ,

What are the foods and beverages most associated with college students? Ramen and kegs of beer, of course! And those are fine for today’s impoverished denizens of undergraduate academia.

But back in the day, we had certain foods and beverages (well, mostly beverages) reserved for special occasions.

Indulgent cookies. You know that commercial about the mother who has let the children take over the bathroom, but hides there to eat her cookies? Now, aside from the aesthetics of eating in a bathroom, that ad sparked a fond memory. I suppose when we were poor college students, we could have indulged in less expensive, more expansive bags of Oreos or Fig Newtons. But when we wanted to splurge on a real indulgence, it was Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies all the way. We’d buy them at the tiny on-campus convenience store that cleverly stocked them. Then we’d try to make them last. They never did.

The Make-Out Drink. Never mind booty calls. Back in the day, we knew that a guy had certain intentions when he showed up with a bottle of Amaretto di Saronno. Instead of “chill and Netflix,” the invitation was expressed as, “Do you want to go up to the roof?” (It was a notorious and private place around the dorms.) Only di Saronno would do. Anything else was considered déclassé.

The Show-Off Drink. Nowadays I understand there is a drink called a Blow Job, involving whipped cream and a hands-off method of ingesting it. We had the General Sherman. This was a shot of Southern Comfort, lit on fire, and swiftly chugged. Despite what you might think, the drink caused no harm to the imbiber – unless it was a man with a mustache. Then it was inadvisable, to say the least. (For those confused by the name of the drink, consider the name of the alcohol and just go look up General Sherman, okay? But I digress.)

The Birthday Drink. When anyone in my circle of friends reached legal drinking age, we initiated her with a tradition: retiring to the pub in the Student Union (that’s a thing that existed back then) and ordering a pitcher of Sloe Gin Fizz. There is no more candy-ass girlie drink on the planet and a pitcher of the practically glowing pink liquid is quite a sight. Sloe Gin Fizz is also a drink that sneaks up on you. The birthday girl (or, less often, boy) would slosh down a fair amount, then try to stand up while we all laughed.

Another birthday tradition, reserved for those of our acquaintance who had effervesced to excess, was the tie-dye cake, which was not yet a thing like it is today. Again, there was ritual. It was baked in a sheet pan, covered in white icing, and adorned with M&Ms spelling out Happy Birthday. (I like to think that the candy gave a hint at the multi-colored wonders awaiting the recipient.) Once sliced open, it usually had the desired effect, which left the rest of us to eat the cake.

The Poetry Drink. I studied poetry in college, and one of my creative writing classes would occasionally meet at a dive bar just off campus. (It was called the Royal Palm Tavern but was invariably referred to as the “Hairy Palms.” But I digress. Again.)

This place was a shot-and-a-beer sort of place frequented by townies, not students. No Sloe Gin Fizz there. So my fellow poets and I got into the swing of things, ordering the obligatory combination. But we had to be different, so our shots were not whiskey, but peppermint schnapps. This may sound appalling, but I encourage you to try it sometime. Knock back the schnapps, then sip the beer. After the sweet, sticky burn of the schnapps, the beer tastes especially cold, crisp, and clean. I’m not sure what it did for our poetry, though.

I’m not advocating binge drinking among college students – or anybody, really – and I know that campuses now have rules about over-imbibing and promotional campaigns to discourage it. We can well do without students staggering around campus.

But I do hope that college students have their own drinking (and eating) traditions to reminisce about when they’re old and gray and much less inclined to indulge in silly libations. Or that they at least smile when I still order a peppermint schnapps and beer, as I do occasionally, just for old times sake.