The Great American Rant

The Worst Name In The World

2008-10-27T20:39:00.000-07:00

There are names that just always seem to apply to everyone with that name, no matter who the person. For me, there is one name that connotates Asshole. That name?

Tom

Allow me to illustrate...

Toms that are assholes:

Tom Brady: Football players should not be pussies and have publicists. Get out of the limo, off your vapid model girlfriend, and get dirty. Oh, and way to go abandoning the mother of your bastard child 3 months before she's due. Asshole

Tom Cruise: Hostage to a religion that is not a religion makes you an asshole

Tom Arnold: Still not funny on Best Goddamned Sports Show Ever

Tom Hanks: Because you made a movie about astronauts, that does not make you an astronaut, stupid asshole

Tom Brokaw: You blew a chance to let the candidates implode on national television. You've lost it, and Peter Jennings would be calling you an asshole

Tommy Bahama: Thanks for starting a clothing trend for self-serving rich assholes who would rather sink a putt than a dollar in social services

Tommy Tune: child molester. asshole.

Tom Sizemore: since when did drinking, doing drugs and beating your girlfriend senseless get you a cable show?

Tommy Chong: from funny to pathetic

Tom Poston: asshole made me tune in to Newhart

Thomas Jefferson; hypocrite slave owner: founding asshole

George W Bush: should have been named Tom

Tom Bergeron: DWTS is an abomination. AFV is another abomination. Stop killing America's braincells, asshole

C Thomas Howell: Soul Man, really?

Tom Selleck: makes anyone else with a mustache look like an asshole

Tom Waitts: if I tried to sing like that, I'd be asked to stop; you sing like that and my wife's heart melts. asshole

Tom Collicchio: you get to be next to Padme Lakshmi for weeks on end for Top Chef. asshole!

Doubting Thomas: I'm not even a Christian and I think you're an asshole. Way to support the team, dude....

Tom Clancy: Jack Ryan is a stupid CIA name. Go write for a soap opera, asshole

Tom Landry: You're no Curly Lambeau, asshole (and the Cowboys are NOT America's team...any team that has had two pussies for QB (Troy Aikman and Tony Romo) cannot lay claim).

Tom Spenard: Yes, there's a story there, lets just leave it at: super collossal asshole

If your name happens to be Tom, go by your middle name. Trust me, otherwise you'll just end up being an .....

My first day in my new future

2008-09-24T01:15:00.000-07:00

Today was the first day of my journey towards realizing a goal that I had here-to-for feared chasing.

Today was my first day of school.

In sixteen years.

After being forced from the facetious world of luxury retail, I found myself, to be cliche, at a crossroads. My health had brought me to realize that I was not physically up to the challenge of a 60 hour work week, nor mentally up to the politics of the corporate world. I was burned out in every way and defeated in a manner that left me jaded and confused. Weeks and months passed as I sought an answer to the bigger dillema now facing me: what was I to do with my life?

I knew I did not want to go back to the retail world. I couldn't see the benefit of supplying unneeded services to the over-priveleged. If I were to take on another go at the working world, it would have to be something that held purpose, meaning, honor, and would make a difference.
After countless dissertations on the lack of moral compass in the world at large, I realized that simply ranting about the ills of the world wouldn't fix them in the slightest. If I saw a glimmer of hope in the future of our soceity, I had to be one of the brave few who might actually make things different, leave a mark, make my voice heard through others.

There were two very important people in my life that imprinted upon me the sacred nature of teaching and of teachers. My great uncle Earl and my great aunt Frannie were both teachers in rural Indiana. A great majority of my youth was spent in their care. Because of the them, I learned to read and write earlier than most. I was encouraged to be curious about the world, to ask questions, to be proud of knowledge.

While I may have benefited early, by the time I got to college, my grades were nothing if not embarassing. Looking back, I should have been ashamed of my lack of discipline, pride, commitment. I sullied all that they worked so hard to instill in me. My parents, too, were soundly slapped in the face by my ignominious tenure. They paid for everything out of pocket. I didn't even have a job during my college years and yet I still managed to squirrel away my time and resources.

I flunked out of college during my Junior year.

Returning home, I was forced to get a job. A friend got me a position as a waiter in a Mexican restaurant. Within a year, I was moving up quickly. Moving on to a new restaurant, I made my way from waiter to Assistant Manager, and in every subsequent job thereafter, I was a training manager and/or a General Manager. While I had failed in following through on the promise of my educational future, I managed to find and follow the example of my Dad in the business world: work hard, keep your word, be loyal, have integrity.

Knowing that I had let my Dad and others down with my education, I vowed to redeem myself in the business world. I was proud that I had accomplished as much as I had without a degree. But knowing that it was missing constantly nagged me. I was embarassed that I had flunked out. The older I got and took on more of my own fiscal responsibilities, the more I felt guilty about wasting my parent's money.

My performance in school, though, kept me from going back. The fear that I was a terrible student, that I would fail again was my excuse for not returning.

Then, as circumstances would play out, I felt I failed at the business world, too, and had once again let my Dad down. Here I was, home, with no job, looking at a future that might just prevent me from being able to do what I had always done. For me, the label "disabled" meant "lazy" because I had no outwardly visable sign of ailment to indicate such a state. Would people think I was shirking responsibility once again because I had to limit what I could do?

So then it was that I found myself at this crossroads, looking for a purpose and a role in the world.

And I knew, after looking back on what I had done in my life, with my life, that I could not allow fear or mistakes in my past dicatate my future.

Knowing that I have an incurable genetic disroder that will govern the remainder of my days made me realize that I had to fight to get back some semblance of control over what path this disease would take me. It had controlled too much of my life in the last five years. No longer. No more.

For once in my life, I would not surrender to fate, but make my own.

My biggest challenge? Impatience.

I am an impatient man. I do not like to wait, for anything. I prefer immediate results. I have never been one to think long term. My only decision that has ever taken "the long term" into account was my marrying Lisa.

What I wanted to do was going to take time. Five years, possibly more. But I had realized my calling and I set upon putting it into motion.

I applied to Portland State University. My transcript from my earlier college years kept me from entering as a transfer student. My GPA was just shy of acceptable. It wasn't a surprise. If anything, my grades were actually a little better than I remembered. I would have to appeal for special consideration for the winter term.

January was too long to wait to get the ball rolling. Considering how far I had to go, I needed to get going. Besides, I was now eager to get back to school. An advisor at PSU recommeded taking relevant courses at the Community College that would transfer over once I achieved admittance to PSU, and it would allow me an easier transition back into school life.

Today was my first day of classes at Portland Community College. I have gotten a student loan and have begun my appeal process with PSU. Although my wife has plenty of experience with the finacial aid processes, I was determined to do it myself. It was important to me that I do it all myself. My goal, my responsibility. My folks did everything for me the first time around. This was going to be all me.

Giddiness would be the best word to describe my mood today. And proud. Proud of myself for eclipsing my fear of failing, of following through with my plan, for not getting discouraged when starting off at PSU became an impossibility, for finding the resources to make it happen.

So what is the goal?

Strangely enough, I accumulated over 70 credits at Western Illinois University. The majority of them in Political Science. The plan is to get my B.A. in Political Science with a minor in Philosophy. Afterwards I will enter the Teaching Certification Program and complete my masters in education.

And then I will teach. High School government and civics.

My passion combined with my experience: politics and teaching.

I've spent years teaching others how to be managers. I have never stopped loving and following all things political.

I will do what I love and what I know. I will fulfill a promise to loved ones now gone. I will finsih what my parents sent me to do 20 years ago. And I will have a say in our future by hopefully making a difference in a few kids' lives.

I can't rant about the world and not do anything to fix what I rant about.

And I can't let my fear of the past dictate my future.

Well, I guess I can be a little afraid: the last time I wrote a term paper, it was on a typewriter.

Seriously.

Heroes

2008-09-10T16:47:00.000-07:00

Lets talk about heroes.

In this year of Obama, an historic election, Michael Phelps and the Olympics, the term hero has been tossed about in such a cavallier manner that it is beginning to lose it's weight, it's heft, it's sway, it's swagger, it's importance. I admire many celebrities, politicians, sports heroes. Folks like soldiers, cops, firefighters, and teachers are unanimously lauded with the term.

But a hero is someone who does great deeds for the selfless benefit of others. So while the last group I mentioned fall under that definition, they are broad-based heroes who's job requires them to perform selfless acts as the norm.

Personal heroes, on the other hand, are different. And while certain accomplished individuals may be thought of as heroes to certain people, individuals like Michael Jordan or Hillary Clinton, they are not personal heroes, but should rather classified as role models or inspirations.

Heroes, personal heroes, are those that you owe a debt to, that have changed your life through personal interaction.

These are mine:

My Dad. My Dad, in technical terms is my stepdad, but in reality, he is the only father I have ever known or loved. Our early years together were tumultuous, to put it lightly, but in retrospect, only so due to his profound desire to see me live up to my full potential. He saw things in me I didn't and pushed me toward a life of responsibility. It took a long time for me to realize the benefit of his tough love, but I can say that the only reason I ever succeeded in the business and real world is by coming to follow his example. In all my working years, I always tried to conduct myself as I imagined he would. I did everything to prove him right, and I hope I have. Now that I am in a position where I may not be able to return to the working world , I feel as if I have let him down by not being able to continue my journey in the business world. Now, I look to his example for guidance as I learn to adapt to a new lifestyle. I owe more to my Dad than anyone else. Others have touched my life, and made great impacts, but none more so or in a more lasting manner than he. My Dad is my hero.

Friends come and go, but two stand out for remaining by my side for over twenty years:

Jenifer Kloss was the first to befriend a gawky but arrogant teen joining the college world for the first time. She has always been a sounding board, an encouraging word, a laugh in dark hours, a reliable passport to Wrigley Field. She has shared her heartbreaks and wins, her thoughts, dreams, and aspirations. She has laid herself bare before me and has given me every ounce of trust one friend can give another. She has always been there when I needed her, and has tolerated my slow and tedious evolution from Alex P Keaton to Stephen Keaton. She is a part of my family and I know that twenty years from now, I could write this same affirmation word for word. Her ability to overcome setback after setback makes it very hard for me to slip into despair over my own. Jenifer is my hero friend.

Bob Walters has been the brother I never had. We hated each other for the first year we knew one another. Jenifer Kloss is the one who saw how very alike we are and was responsible for pushing us together, most forcibly, I might add. Bob has always been the one who has set out with specific life goals in mind and has never failed to accomplish them. He is the epitome of "yes I can." Never one to meddle, proffer advice, or chastise, he simply lends an ear, and tries to change the subject toward something summarily odd. Bob is a storyteller. Bob is a strange mix of Midwestern sensibility and Hollywood indifference to the extraordinary. Nothing phases him. Nothing flusters him. Nothing stops him. Bob's ability to remain a consistent force of calm and distraction, an example that you can do whatever you put your mind to, makes Bob Walters one of my heroes.

Marsha Goldberg worked with me for a short time, but her devotion to the good will of others has led to my subsequent diagnosis and treatment that has eluded me for so long. She simply said: I want to help you and I will help you. And she did. With no ulterior motive, she set about lobbying her doctor-husband to get me treatment with his colleagues at Oregon Health and Sciences University. She has called to check on my well being, she takes the time to write thoughtful and heartfelt responses to my writing. She has written the most glowing appraisal of my abilities to aid my return to the collegiate world. A published author and former teacher, she has spent her life giving to others without want of reward. There are so few of her kind in this world and I am beyond blessed to have her in my life and in my corner. For re-affirming my belief that there are good, honest, and true people in this ever increasingly selfish and self-possessed world. Marsha Goldberg is my hero.

Her nickname is Cheese Sammich. Her real name is Anni and she is my huge-hearted sister-in-law. In-law affections can always be iffy, but this is not about our getting along. It is about her whole-hearted commitment to the well-being of Lisa. Not even blood-related (it's hard to explain), they share a collective consciousness that borders on the uncanny. Generosity oozes from her, genuine compassion, and a love for Lisa that transcends family. Selfless. Empathetic. Brilliant. Talented. Somehow she has made it her mission to try and rescue us from our troubles simply because that is her heart. She is a hero to me because she has been able to buttress Lisa in her times of need in a way that shows her that family, even without blood ties, matters. She is my family, she is my sister, she is my hero.

But my life, my entire existence would be for naught without one person. Without Lisa, I would have remained a drifting, lost, and hopeless soul. I was so afraid of love and commitment. I never thought anyone would be able to see through all the walls, obfuscation, and resistance to opening my heart to others. I tried to dissuade her many many times, nearly breaking her heart, selfishly out of fear that she would break mine like so many others had. But she persevered, knowing that we were two souls unable to shake destiny. She saw those things that my Dad saw so long ago. She saw my potential to love, to grow, to be a better man. She has never lost faith that I might be better than I could imagine myself being. She has never given up on our future together as I continue to battle illness and she battles hers. Two hearts, linked together by pain, sympathy, and undeniable love. I know know that she will never leave, never give up on me or on us, will never resent or blame. She has taught me ultimate trust and there has never been a greater gift given me in my life. This woman, this amazing woman, loves me without pause. This amazing woman is my love, my wife, my hero.

To be sure, there are many others who have touched me and supported me: my Mom (to be sure; no one has been more in my corner or put up with more), my sister, my Aunt Frannie, to name a few. So many good people have come and gone in my life, but my heroes are the ones who have literally changed my life for the better and continue to do so.

So take a moment and reassess your definition of a hero. They may not be on posters, but they are plastered all over the walls of your heart.

An Addendum to "I Hate God"

2008-09-06T21:40:00.000-07:00

Well it would appear that I've freaked out quite a few people with my last entry railing against God and espousing surrender.

Let me clarify.

I cannot, in fact, be mad at something I don't believe exists.

I can believe I am a vicitm of vicious karma.

I am not suicidal or anything near that.

I simply needed to scream at the universe and vent in such a way that I have not been able to do before.

Yes, things are bad, depressing, tense, and frustrating. Everyone, no matter how optimistic or positive breaks at some point. I guess I reached mine. But that breakdown has allowed me to completely deflate so that I can be refilled with a hope that I can somehow fix this situation so that I might possibly make things a little better for my wife. She is my reason for everything and if I give up, then I have given up on her, too. I will never, ever, never give up on her. This is the one person who has never given up on me. There has been plenty of opportunity for her to do so. I am not alone in physical suffering, but she soldiers on in a way that I struggle to emulate. She comforts me, assures me, holds me, and understands me. She has ripped my heart out of my chest and locked it in her own so that I can never be without her lest I simply die. This woman is my life and I would betray everything she has done and been for me if I were to give up.

Allow me, too, to thank everyone who has lent a supportive word, comfort, empathy, sympathy, advice, money, time, and love. Those who have stepped forward and made our plight their own have shown us that not only are there good, kind people in this world, but that we have some very strong relationships and friendships that have proven themselves these past few days. I could only hope that I will be able to repay or reciprocate in kind.

Meanwhile I look forward to my upcomming return to school. Ironically, I am taking a class in Existentialism so the debate as to whether God is dead will remain on the front burner for me for a wee bit longer.

What is not dead nor will ever be up for debate is my love for my wife, my dear, beautiful, wonderful wife. Without her, I would have no rhyme, no reason, no purpose. She is my rock and I remain, as ever, dedicated solely to her.

I hate God and God hates me

2008-09-04T19:19:00.000-07:00

This is a personal rant. I write without hyperbole or exaggeration. I simply need to let out all that is in my broken and forsaken heart.

If there is a God, and I have said this before, but I mean it now more than ever, He hates me. He as not forsaken me, has not abandoned me, but hates me, with a callousness and coldness reserved for those evil souls who deserve no redemption.

My circumstance is dire, my will on the razor sharp edge of breaking.

I am not a bad person. I hold no true malice, I reserve great hope that something good will someday befall me. Perhaps meeting the love of my lide was that one good thing. I don't dismiss that at all. Rather, if it is, indeed, all the good that will wver happen to me in my life, then my heart grows ever more weary knowing that I will never be able to bring her the happiness that hope holds in my heart, but reality will ever prevent from occuring.

We are good people. We are honest, we love each other unconditionally. We support and comfort one another. We work hard, valuing integrity, determination, commitment, and loyalty. We give what we can to provide a happy and loving home to our pets, animals we see as people trapped in four-legged bodies. We give support and advice to those around us who need and seek it. We do not cheat, lie, steal, obfuscate or deceive. We are honest, hard working adults.

But we are sick. My strong, determined, perfect-in-my-eyes wife suffers from Lupus. Every time she moves, her joints scream, her muscles groan. She sleeps very little, unable to find a comfortable postion that will allow her a modicum of comfort. She still goes to work every day and finds time to devote love, affection, and care to her loved ones. Having had years of disresepct and intolerable treatment from those she worked for and with, she has finally found a place that treats her as they should, and pays her more than she feels she is worth.

And yet, we are on the gut-wrenching precipce of bankruptcy.

After floundering in school, I found my niche in the business world, fighting my way to the top, becoming a respected manager, trainer, and mentor. I worked hard, commited myself to the name over the door, and did my best to ensure that all around me were equal to the task.

My health took that away from me.

I lost my last two jobs to absences duw to illness. My luck has brought me not one, but two, yes two, incurable disorders that disrupt every single day I exist on this earth. Atopic Dermatitis keeps me clawing at my skin, scratching in a maniacal manner, wishing I could rip every inch of my skin from my body so that I might find a moment of release. Four years of steroids to abate this torment has left me with eyesight problems and weakened kidney and liver function. Yes, I have the luxury of enduring a life-long battle with kidney stones now, just because I wanted to stop itching.

On top of that, I have a genetic condition called Common Variable Immuno Deficiency. I spent years of blood loss, transfusions, weekly IV iron treatments, hospitalizations due to migraines brought on by catastrophically low blood counts. Myopathy of the muscle gives me constant back aches. I endured the most painful of procedures, a bone marrow biopsy, to determine my disorder. And now, I face IV treatments lasting the better part of a day every three weeks for the rest of my life. Oh, and I had the pleasure of undergoing a surgical procedure to have an IV power port implanted in my chest because my veins are completely blown from years of needle pokes.

Those IV treatments? $1130 a pop.

Which leads me to the crutch of my despair. After years of searching for an answer, countless procedures, surgeries, tests, doctor visits and hospitalizations, we face an insurmountable debt of over $21,000. Just medical bills. After insurance.

And considering my conditions, they will just keep piling up and piling up.

This doesn't even factor in the credit card debt, accrued only as purchases made in absolute emergency. Unlike most who face financial difficulty or ruin, we don't use our credit cards to buy clothes, trinkets, gadgets, trends, or whims. We use them to pay for repairs to cars, or vet bills.

We have pets. Three of them are getting to be quite old. Their end is near and we don't have a penny to spend on them. Our credit cards are maxed out, and by the end of the month, after rent, utilities, gas, food, pre-arranged payments to maybe 5% of our medical debts, student loans, and credit cards, we have nothing left. We have borrowed from our savings until it dry. We live paycheck to paycheck. We have nothing left in case of an emergency.

Our cats need care, our cars are literally falling apart. Lisa's car has been in a multiple of accidents, the front end an accordion of mangled metal. My car is nearing the 200,000 mile mark. It, too has been in a fender bender, leaving behind a crooked gait. We cannot afford to even tune them up hoping that they will last another year. I have no heat in my car going on two years now, and winter is fast approaching. Our credit does not allow us to buy a new car. We have had to buy our cars with cash, from private owners, hoping they'll be good enough to keep puttering along. We will never again have the joy of smelling the interior of a brand new car.

My condition makes it hard, if not impossible to find a job that will pay anything near what I made as a manager. My condition forces me to ask "can you excuse me from work every three weeks so I can recover from an incurrable disease?" My lst tow jobs were not so forgiving, so I find it difficult imagining a company that would welcome such a prospect.

So I look toward disability. Months and months lie between me and an answer. It has taken me weeks to sort through all of my medical history to provide an accurate timeline for my case. There is a binder on my desk that is 6" thick with medical records.

Meanwhile, one of the many hospitals I have frequented is demanding a $1500 payment within days to avoid a lawsuit and $400 a month minmum thereafter to keep us out of legal trouble.

We don't have $400 a month to give them, let alone $1500.

We will never be able to eliminate our debt to even a manageable level. If perchance we should succeed in declaring bankruptcy and eliminate all of our medical and credit card debt, we will still find ourselves in this same predicament in a few years' time. My disorders are incurable and require lifelong treatment. If we are at a point of financial ruin after five years of medical care, then where will we be in ten? Twenty years from now? How do we build a nest egg when every cent we earn goes to the medical community?

We do not get to go on a vacation. I have a new nephew I don't know if I'll ever see in the near future. All of our friends and fmily have taken on the burden to come to see us wherever we have been, but we have never been able to reciprocate, nor will we.

We will always be ill. We will always be broke. We will always live in fear of losing everything. We cannot rely on others to be safety nets. We have nothing in our futures to look forward to.

We have lost hope.

Between the two of us, I have always been the voice of optimism But now, I am speaking the voice of cold harsh reality.

We may be able to bail oursleves out for a short time, but God, in His infinite and cruel wisdom has left us with a situation that will continue to repeat itself until the end of our days. Ask me again why I hate God, if such villain should exist?

He has brought us nothing but misery, anguish, pain, suffering, and stress. He provides no solace for the future and has not shown an ounce of magnanimity towards two desperate souls who only wish to stay afloat. We don't want riches, we don't want luxe. We want one day, just one day, when we both awake to a sunny day, free from pain or discomfort, financially in the black, with a small pennance pinched away for our golden years (which will never be golden, you might agree).
We are not greedy, we are not selfish. We are simply asking for a break. A small break. A sign that if there is indeed a God, he sees our lot, and bestows a modicum of pity our way.

Meanwhile, I am lost in my complete hopelessness. I don't want platitudes or temporary stays of execution. This is my one chance on this planet. I have found the one person who lifts my heart and makes me smile, and I cannot provide a life of happiness or comfort for her. I cannot give us a life worth living. I cannot bear another minute of this existence. I cannot bear to see my dear wife perched along side me on the edge of sanity. I'm done. I give up. God wins.

A witness to history

2008-08-28T16:36:00.000-07:00

This is a moment in history and I am so proud to be a witness to it.

Regardless of your poltical philosophy, you must recognize the impact of this moment, the signifigance of this accomplishment. It is the first true signifier of our emergence from the darkness that was our collective history of intollerance and hatred.

I do not pretend to think that this is a universal acceptance of progression. There will always be those who will fill their hearts with empty and pointless hate. But we are a nation built on the premise of the Shining City on a Hill, a promise of something better than where we came from, somewhere more perfect than what we can imagine. This moment in history is our first step up the staircase of progress toward that lofty goal of true democracy, inclusion, and hope.

Hyperbole? Nothing in this century can compare to this great step forward. We are a generation that is closer toward color-blindness having not witnessed first hand the tragedies of Jim Crow. We have grown up in integrated schools, integrated neighborhoods, integrated workplaces. We are the generation that can take this color-blindness to a higher plane simply by casting a vote.

Do not deny that every one in this country has a place in it's history. While many of our nation's accomplishments have been made at the hands of a few, many, many more have been at the hands of the nameless, the faceless, the common man with a voice guaranteed to him by our Founding Fathers. Do not squander that which is so sacred in the story of our nation. Do not squander your chance to tell your children that you were responsible for changing the tide of history and restoring true righteous grandeur to our country. Relish the chance to have your voice be heard saying "I have made a difference, I have made things better, I have helped right a wrong."

I am proud tonight to be an American, simply because I have learned that my fellow countrymen believe, as I do, that we are better than our collective history and can redraw the path we go down. It has been so long since I have been able to embrace my country. It has let me down, lied to me, stolen from me, betrayed me. But now there is hope, that our nation will once again be led by an honest, altruisitc man filled with integrity, duty, courage, and conviction. What makes me proud is that so many in this nation have seen as I do and have made their voices heard.

We will not erase the errors of our past, but we can control the tenor of our future. Choose to be a part of that which is greater than you. Make the future one you wish your children to inherit. But more importantly, simply recognize that America is being re-born as a nation filled with promise. Do not let that flame of hope be extinguished by the repetition of history.

I am the anti-Job

2008-08-27T16:57:00.000-07:00

So we all know, even us who don't read the Bible, the story of Job. Satan bet God that Job would renounce his faith if he felt that God had abandoned him. After countless tragedies, Job remained faithful.

I, too, feel like Job, but more like the anti-Job. One thing after another continues to plague my happiness and health, questioning my faith. But instead of these trials pushing me to renounce God, my tribulations are due to my lack of belief. Although it may sound oxy-moronic to say that I believe that a deity I don't believe in is pushing me to believe in Him by punishing me over and over again. Just admitting that this is a possibility is tantamount to acceptance of the existence of a higher being.

Of course if I truly believed this, I would have become a born-again long ago. Too much has happened for me to allow it all to continue Yet, I refuse to believe that my suffering is due to a lack of religious belief. And so as I continue to be steadfast in my atheism, more and more gets piled on.

So would my refusal to believe give recognition that I am in a battle with a God, which in turn shows that I have to believe in something to disagree with it? Or am I simply ranting against the frustration of all that continues to befall me?

If there is a God, then he is a cruel one because only a sadist would construct a body that had to pass a kidney stone.

Really, if God loves us, then why create man (in his image, no less) that is so susceptible to illness and injury? If we are made in God's image, then God must be in constant pain and agony, victim of cancer, multiple sclerosis, blindness, deafness, congestive heart failure, leprosy, diabetes, to name a few. (And another question, if man is made in God's image, then is God black, oriental, hispanic, arabic?) This might explain why He's too distracted to step in and end our own human sufferings. Misery enjoys company.

They say that kidney stones are the closest man will ever get to experiencing the pain of childbirth. Another reason for me not to want kids. I would never wish this pain on my wife.
I spent the day doubled over in more pain than I can ever recall having. And after getting fabulous drugs at the ER, I traded my kidney pain for skin pain. Yes, I had a terrible reaction with my skin and every inch of me flared up in red painful rash and I tried my best to completely rip off my skin.

So as my doctor used his skills to ease my suffering, the deity I don't believe in stepped in and gave me another round of pain to try and force me to admit He exists.

Instead, I chalk it up to karma.

I must have been one mean terrible evil son of a bitch in my previous life. It is the only explanation as to why I have been so crapped on by life when I try so very hard to be a good and productive person. I love my wife, and I try every day to do right by her, to give her a good marriage, to show her my undying love and devotion. I love my pets, whom I consider my kids. I respect and adore my family, my friends. I don't do drugs (unless you count prescriptions, countless and unending prescriptions), I don't practice bigotry, racism, sexism. I don't steal, slack-off, cheat. I own-up to my mistakes and shortcomings. I do what I must to be a productive and positive member of society.

So why do I continue to suffer affliction after affliction, economic defeat after economic defeat? I have an incurable immune disorder that will require me to get IV treatments for the rest of my life and may prevent me from ever working a 40 hour work week. I have a painful and incurable skin disorder that causes me to always want to rip off my own skin. I have insomnia, partial deafness in my right ear, the beginnings of cataracts in my left eye due to years on steroids for my other conditions, constant digestive distress due to the immuno deficiency, and now 6 stones sitting in my kidneys just waiting to cause me unearthly pain and suffering.

I must be paying penance for a prior life of scum and villainy.

Because if God does exist, he hates me.

The case against God

2008-08-20T16:59:00.000-07:00

Some numbers are hard to wrap your head around.

A number like, say, 117, 599,000.

These numbers represent people. Actually, these numbers represent dead people. More specifically, casualties.

Casualties of God.

This number is actually only a small slice of the real number of people killed throughout history in the name of religion.

Casualties of God.

For me, this is just a small reason for my personal disdain for anything religious. To hear the faithful portend that God is good, great, giving, compassionate doesn't fit with the reality of the murderous and callous nature of invoking God's name. It has been invoked in nearly every conflict in mankind's history. The Bible itself is wrought with wars of faith, man killing man in the name of God.

The hypocrisy is a bit troublesome. Why should I believe that God is vested in the personal happiness and well-being of this Earth when He is the cause and reason for so much death, destruction, hatred, and war?

Religion is the cause of social prejudices, clinic bombings. It taints laws and governance. The tenants of inclusion, love thy neighbor, compassion are espoused by all religious believers, but ignored when applied toward those of a differing religious belief. Every church, every religion, believes that they are the "right and true" way to God. Because of this, man has fought man for all of history. Nearly every conflict and conflagration has invoked God as it's cause celeb re.

Think of all of the wars that have been fought due to religious differences, and then think of how many have died in these conflicts.

50 million dead because one failed vegetarian German painter had a prejudice against Jews.

15 million dead because a Catholic zealot assassinated a low-level royal in Sarajevo.

20 million Native Americans slaughtered or displaced because they were "pagan savages."

9 million Russians dead in a civil war that pitted Orthodox Christians against atheists.

7 million Europeans in the 30 Year's War (Catholics vs Protestants).

1 million or more during the Crusades.

2 million Saxons, Vikings, and Swedes died battling conversion to Christianity.

3 million in the battle between the Catholics and the Huguenots.

10 million indigenous Indians in Central and South America battling the Conquistadors.

Over 112,000 in the Troubles, the conflict between Ireland and England.

More than 60,000 died during the Muslim invasion of Hindu India.

Think, too, of the inter-Muslim battles between Shia and Sunnis, the fight over Cashmir between Muslims and Hindus, Kurds being repressed by Muslims and Christians, the genocide in Rwanda, Sudan, the Balkans. 32,000 died during the Inquisition. How many have died in the Middle East due to religious differences?

Gays have been attacked by conservatives. Doctors murdered for performing abortions. The KKK burns crosses on the lawns of African Americans.

And yet, God seems to be there for the vapid actress who had won an award or the athlete who scored a touchdown? Where is He when man picks up a gun and kills his fellow man in His name? Where is the logic in believing in a God that would allow so many to murder, rape, kill, molest, defame, degrade, maim, slaughter in His name? If God is watching over us all, and investing His time in personal achievements, then why is He not also guiding us all toward reconciliation? Why allow so many to claim ownership to Him?

If there is a God, then it's about time He stepped up to the plate, stop being so narcissistic in allowing so many to fight over who loves Him more, or who loves Him in the right way and end the aggression that has sullied His name for centuries.

If we are to follow the mantra: love thy neighbor, then why allow the violation of this tenant for so long? Why allow so many to die in Your name if you preach peace and tolerance?

Religion has caused nothing but misery for mankind since we grasped at something to explain those things in nature around us that we had no answers for. We are enlightened and educated now and can see the world through logical and scientific eyes. We don't need an unseen force to explain thunder and lightening, which is exactly what religion is: a convenient device to explain the unknown during the early days of mankind's' evolution.

I know that I have just offended many of my friends and family who themselves believe in God. I respect those who hold such a deep belief, but I will only respect those who do not disparage the beliefs of others. For if you do, then you are no better than those who have caused and perpetuated the death and destruction of millions simply because they disagree with something that neither of you can see. For those who quietly practice their devotion without impeding on the beliefs of others, I begrudge you not.

So forgive me if I choose not to believe. There is more evidence to contradict His existence than I can reconcile.

Numbers don't lie. And 117,559,000 is just too big a number to ignore.

The Definition of "Sacrilege"

2008-08-07T18:02:00.000-07:00

Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary defines sacrilege as: gross irreverence toward something hallowed.

I define it as Brett Favre wearing a New York Jets jersey.

The name Favre has become synonymous with the Green Bay Packers, with Lambeau Field, with Cheesehead. He reigned as the most respected man in football. Rivals and peers alike afforded him the respect and awe due a record-setting athlete. He was considered the Gentleman of the NFL. No matter how you spin it, he was the epitome of sportsmanship.

Then he retired.

Sure, there had been overtures in the last few years, hints that he was ready to hang up his jockstrap. But with a finality punctuated with tears, he retired for real at the end of last season. He left at the pinnacle of his career, celebrated as one of the best to ever play the game.

-Uh, wait, hang on a sec...I think I've changed my mind.

-No, no, nevermind, nevermind, I'm retired.

-But, uh, I sure do miss playing....

-No, I'm done, time to be with the fam.

-Okay, I want to play. I definitely want to play. I totally take it back, I am NOT retired.

Seriously? We were gonna go with this Rogers fella, you know, the guy who's been shivering in your shadow all these years...

-Yeah, screw him and everyone else, I need to play, I AM the Packers, and I'm comin' home!

Uh, yeah, but we've moved on and you aren't on our list, so, uh, yeah, you're gonna have to sit in that Rogers fella's seat.

-Well then I'm taking my toys and going to Minnesota, so there!

Actually, you're going where we tell you, and you know where it really sucks? New York.

Although there is a certain justice in that decision, given Favre's impetuousness, there is also an inherent wrong in seeing him in a New York jersey (at least he's still in green).

Imagine if Michael Jordan or Ryne Sandberg got traded and were no longer in Bulls red or Cubs blue!

Oh, yeah, nevermind.

So one of two scenarios are going to happen:

1. The Jets will go all the way under the leadership of a rejuvenated and determined Favre.

2. The Jets will go down, down, down, proving that he should have stopped when he was ahead.

The only real scenario:

I will be rooting for that Rogers fella all the way. Team loyalty trumps individual athletes. One phrase will always ring true, no matter to whom it may refer:

Go Packers, Go!!!

Express Lane is a relative term

2008-07-14T14:06:00.000-07:00

There are certain jobs you don't hire certain people for. For instance, you wouldn't hire a Mormon to be a bartender, would you? Sure, they'd be friendly enough, but when it came down to knowing the product they were serving, they become a wee bit handicapped. You wouldn't hire the Amish to sell computers, either.

When you are in retail, you need to have a basic grasp of your products for sale. Sure, there are always new employees who need to learn more specifics, but generally people apply for occupations that they are comfortable with, have an interest in, or have some experience in that field. Trainees usually aren't thrown into the deep end of the pool either if that company wishes them to properly represent them. You start off slow and work your way up in accordance with your increased knowledge about the job and the product.

So it was with great amusement that I observed a young man prove my point in the check-out line of the local supermarket.

There was a lady in front of me who was placing her items on the conveyor and in her myriad of consumables was a ginger root. The young man grabbed it, looked it over and then set it aside. He'd scan a few more items and then eye the root again with consternation and curiosity. Eventually the poor chap ran out of items to scan and was forced to confront the issue. Again, he grabbed it, studied it, turned it over and over in his hand. His expression grew pained.

"Excuse me, Ma'am, is this a potato?"

"No," she replied, a glimmer of mirth in her tone. "It's ginger."

"Uh, oh." He eyed her suspiciously. "I thought that was a powder."

Now you could see that the poor boy wasn't a day over sixteen and nervous. I have nothing but patience and understanding for trainees as most of my professional career consisted of training.

But you don't put the new guy on the Express Lane on a Saturday afternoon (of course, why I subjected myself to the grocery on a weekend is beyond me...).

I am so glad I decided against grabbing that jicama root...

Yeah, let me pull some magic money out of my butt....

2008-07-09T16:36:00.000-07:00

In the last five years, I have racked up over $10,000 in medical bills. That's just me, that doesn't include the $6000 accrued by my wife. This is with insurance, mind you. Beyond that are the student loans to pay off, plus the obvious credit card debt.

My wife and I are like most Americans who try their best to pay down their debt and "get square" with their lenders. Like half of America, we are true blue Democrats, and for those who have read my writings, big supporters of Barack Obama. We have made our small contribution to the campaign, giving a nominal sum for a T-shirt and a few bumper stickers. But we are in a position, like most in this country, who cannot contribute in large sums like lobbies or corporations. We cannot afford, on our incomes, to give more to a candidate than we pay month to month toward our own personal debts.

So why am I being asked to pay off the debt of the Clinton campaign? Why am I being asked by my own nominee to give money to the woman who is not the nominee and continuously put herself deeper into debt knowing she could not win. She knowingly accrued an ever growing hole in her pocket without thinking of the future consequences (which goes to show that Democrats made the right decision in choosing Obama). And now she has the audacity to ask those who did not support her candidacy to pay off the debts of her egotism.

We cannot afford gas for our commutes, food for the dinner table, insurance for our ills, yet we are asked to deepen our own debt to lessen a millionaire's own financial shortcomings? If you pour money into a slot machine and continue to lose, all the while convinced you will win, the casino is not going to reimburse you when you finally crap out. Take the gamble, pay the price.

Write a new book, go on a speaking tour, do what you must to work off your own damned debt, Senator, and stop insulting the hard-working middle-class you so vociferously fought for. Hell, go get appointed to a board of directors somewhere and then retire a year later; the severance package will most certainly pay off those campaign loans.

As for Senator Obama, take the hint as shown by your supporters' response to your plea to help out Hillary: less than $100,000 has been given for her debts since you clinched the nomination. Don't alienate those who got you where you are. Just concentrate on how you'll make it easier for us regular citizens to ease our own debts.

Hillary, this is why you will always be a polarizing figure: you have no real grasp on reality. Go back to Chappaqua, your multi-million dollar mansion, and your focus on the job you do have.

The Pursuit of MY Happiness

2008-07-04T10:19:00.000-07:00

So why am I sitting here on the Fourth of July banging out my miscreant thoughts instead of getting sunburned at a local fest or bloated from a cold frosty PBR? Because Americans can't read.

Every newspaper across the country today will invariably print a copy of the Declaration of Independence in full, which most will scan over instead of reading word for word, assuming they remember it from their school days. But like a bad game of "Telephone", the rights claimed therein have gotten slightly muddled after two hundred plus years. Specifically, the inalienable right to the "pursuit of happiness."

We aren't guaranteed happiness itself, rather, the right to try and make ourselves as happy as we wish. Whether or not we achieve happiness is another story. Unfortunately, we have become a nation of immediacy as illustrated by the brevity of "YouTube" clips, leaders speaking in sound bites, and television on demand through DVRs and TiVo. We have gone from a saving society that planned for purchases to one of debt where we get what we want now and deal with the consequences of that purchase later. Immediacy has pervaded every part of our lives. Pundits call elections the very second the polls close. Movies can be downloaded to your computer instantly for viewing so you don't have to waste the thirty minutes it would take to go to the video store and back.

Americans don't pursue happiness anymore, they expect it, and they expect it now.

I'm sitting in my office typing on my computer right now because I can't go to a fest or a picnic or barbecue. My wife is at work today. On a national holiday. In the summer. A holiday that celebrates the document that purports her right to try to be happy, which I would assume to be a day off to celebrate the nation's birth. Instead, she's sitting in an office rectifying obstacles to other peoples need for immediate happiness.

In other words, she's got to be the one who tells people they aren't getting the product they ordered because the Post Office is closed today.

My question is why the Post Office has the gall to be closed when every other business in America remains open on the nation's birthday? How dare they infringe on the happiness of the American people like that? Don't they realize that we will collapse as a civilization if we don't get what we want when we want it?

As I wait for my wife to get home from work, I could get in my car and waste the $4.26 per gallon tank of gas on hopping from strip mall to strip mall buying all those things I feel would make me happy today, from a new mattress (the top honor for our country as the biggest mattress sales usually correspond to our more patriotic holidays (President's Day, Columbus Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day, Veteran's Day, Fourth of July)) to a wide screen television to a garden gnome for the back yard. You name it, I could buy it today, on this, our biggest national holiday.

Really, what better way to celebrate our national birthday than by exploiting it's greatest virtue: greed. We have been a nation of consumers since the first days of the Republic, ever expanding, ever building, ever growing. So why should we close our businesses on this one day? It would be un-American to prohibit rampant commercial consumption.

And it would be un-American to ignore the true meaning of this day.

There was a time not so long ago that we held this holiday in a higher esteem. Growing up in the Seventies, the only businesses open on the Fourth of July were the grocery stores for those who needed a few more hot dog buns for the picnic or a bag of ice for the cooler. But they, too, shut down by noon. Perhaps it was the occurrence of the Bicentennial that made us a bit more reverent, but it doesn't explain how other national holidays were honored in the same way. You couldn't go to the mall on Labor Day because it was actually a day off from labor, for everyone. Now days, most companies don't even offer time and a half for working on that day.

The Fourth of July should be the day that everyone gets to pursue happiness by having a day off work and being able to enjoy the day in whatever manner they chose. The Fourth of July should not be a day when we expect happiness by having someone else answer the complaint line you have called because you are pursuing happiness. It's not guaranteed that someone will answer that line and make you happy, but you have every right to call and try to be made happy. It's that "try" part that trips everyone up.

So go back to today's paper, pull out that reprint of the Declaration of Independence, and actually read it. Double check that "happiness" part. It's not an inalienable right, but trying to be is. So I think I might go try and get my wife to take off work early so that I can try and enjoy the rest of this day. Sorry if that means you won't get your merchandise today. You'll just have to try and deal with it.

The nerf of some people....

2008-07-01T18:59:00.001-07:00

It's bad enough that we coddle our children and try to be their "best friend." The result being "grown-ups" who have never had to grow up. We don't discipline anymore out of fear of over-reactive observers who claim that a justified smack on the bottom constitutes child abuse. Instead of laying ground rules and consequences, we encourage indifference and contempt for authority. Children who are not held accountable for their actions will continue to be irresponsible in the future. What we do now influences how these kids will behave as adults.

So it was with complete exasperation that I read about a Little League conference in Ohio that has cancelled it's All-Star Game for fear that "singling out certain kids as better players than others can hurt youthful self-confidence."

Well, then, when these summer sluggers get back to school, we had better make sure we eliminate the honor roll, and then for high schools and colleges, the valedictorian and salutatorian honors. We don't want the "stupid" kids to feel any "stupider" than they already are.
How will this help them!? Are they going to go to their boss when they get a job and cry that it's unfair that someone else got a promotion and they didn't? Or be surprised when they get a performance review?

How will this help them learn to take criticism, feedback, learn humility, respect for others, respect for hard work, respect for determination, respect for the job they have done? How does this help them learn to better themselves? How does this help them learn introspection?

It doesn't, plain and simple. What it does teach them is that if you don't try and you don't give your best effort, you'll be congratulated anyway. You'll be taught that it's not important to to try and be better, to do better. You will never be able to learn from your own mistakes because you will never be able to recognize when you do make mistakes. You will never realize your own potential.

Coddle these kids now, and they'll be bigger cry-babies in the future than what you're trying to prevent them from being now.

So this season, Beechwood, Ohio, don't do it half-assed: stop keeping score (or at least make sure every game ends in a tie), let everyone get on base, eliminate the play-offs, and you better use an extra-soft nerf ball (egos can be pretty fragile....).

Your kid is killing my earth....

2008-06-27T13:30:00.000-07:00

Children are the reason for global warming. Well, not maliciously, but they are why the ice caps are melting, why basic food prices are on the rise. Don't jump to the conclusion that I'm referring to over-population, although that is part of the problem, it's not my underlying argument.

Tax breaks.

That's my underlying argument.

The federal government allows a break on taxes for every child you have. Supposedly this is to make things financially more viable for said family. In the long run, it actually costs the family more money due to rising food and fuel prices. It is this lack of tax income to the government that is hurting the American family.

Taxes pay for our education system, and yet the people who use this system are the ones being given a break on funding that system. Those with children aren't paying into that which educates their children as much as non-breeding families do. Teachers pay for supplies out of pocket, lunch programs are being wiped out left and right, and there is no money for any type of extra-curricular activities. Now families are paying more for healthy (we would hope) lunches for their kids to take to school and fees for private athletic programs.

Now that these kids are getting shuttled to the soccer field, the dance studio, the karate dojo, we are leaving a larger carbon footprint by all of this constant motion from one venue to the next. We drive them to the mall to buy the gear they need, we take them to practice, we go to the grocery store for lunch snacks, activity snacks.

How do we get to these places? Mr. and Mrs,. Average American will taxi their brood in an SUV. Now if that family were interested in getting another tax break, they could buy a hybrid vehicle, as the government will reward those who own and drive those wonders of science. But they don't make a Prius with room for six and three DVD players in the back, so Joe Blow will do what he thinks is his part in supporting the American economy and eschew those efficient imports for a true-blue American monster. They will take it three times as much to the local BP station and fill 'er up, unwittingly contributing the profits of a foreign-owned oil company (yes, BP is British). And should some of those profits make it into the hands of Americans, they will be mostly be shared by the stock-holders who make enough money that they get even larger tax-breaks than the folks who pay their salary leaving less money going into the tax-funded education system.

As the average price of gas goes up, the good folks who grow the food we eat suffer, too. Shipping costs go up due to high gas prices and to recoup those losses, the farmer needs to charge more for his wares. In order to off-set production costs, many will use chemicals to boost production in order to get multiple harvests in a given year. Others in Third World countries will use slash-and-burn techniques to clear more land for farming, disrupting the natural balance in local ecosystems and adding more pollutants to the atmosphere.

But what of those goods folks supporting organic products and using canvass shopping bags to help with the environment? My applause for them, indeed, but it's hard to clap for someone who loads those Whole Foods products into a Hummer left running in the parking lot while her four kids watch "Spiderman 3" in the back seat.

Those who choose not to have children pay more into the tax system than those who use the system for their kids. If anything, the tax breaks should be given to those who are contributing to the balance of nature by not reproducing and wreaking havoc on the environment in their vain attempts to carry on a surname. Reward those who leave a smaller carbon footprint. That's not to say that childless couples do not do their part to destroy the world unwittingly, but they do it at a much slower pace. Less mouths to feed and shuttle around leave less of a footprint behind.

So don't grumble when you fill the tank on your Suburban while taking Ethan and Mackenzie to the water park (whew, it's a hot summer, eh?) because the government, if you remember, is rewarding you for this.

At least it's quiet in the winter...

2008-06-19T16:34:00.000-07:00

In an age dominated by XBOX, Wii, and Playstation, it is always encouraging to see children outside, enjoying the great outdoors, getting fresh air and exercise.

But for the love of God, why must every child who steps foot out the front door commence screaming and shrieking at the top of the lungs? Every second spent outside is accompanied with an unending siren of ear-piercing squeals, without pause, without breath, without reason, and without regard for the rest of the neighborhood.

Sure, playtime is fun, it's exciting, it's imaginations run wild. Running around, expending youthful energies, enjoying life as only a child can. But why, simply why, must it be ensconced in cacophony that would put a NASCAR race to shame? Why are the parents so indifferent to how this may effect or offend their neighbors?

Many people chose not to have children for this reason. They chose a life of quiet, of peace, of calm. Unfortunately adult-only neighborhoods are only to be found in retirement communities. What of the twenty-somethings that want a tranquil street, free of tricycles, super-soakers, and other rugrat paraphernalia? Exclusionary communities are rare as most developers fear discrimination lawsuits. But if nudist colonies can exist on the requisite that it's denizens eschew clothing, then why cannot a sub-division constrain it's residents to a no-child policy? It is and can be a life-style choice and those who chose to be child-free should be availed neighborhoods that cater to that lifestyle.

Meanwhile, I'm going to medical school to become an ear doctor. When these fountains of sonic exuberance grow up, they're gonna be deaf, deaf, deaf...

Red state, blue state, green state?

2008-06-17T17:58:00.000-07:00

On St. Patrick's Day everybody wears green. The Celtics, the Packers, the winner of The Masters golf tournament claim green as a signature color. Yoda just wouldn't be your favorite Jedi master if he were any other hue. It's the color that signifies the onset of spring. M & Ms just wouldn't be the same without green.

Green is the reason John McCain will lose the general election.

No, not because of the environment (though that's another point of contention...). It's his campaign logo.

Breaking with tradition and eschewing the patriotic standard red, white, and blue, McCain has instead opted for white lettering on a kelly green background. A bold attempt to stand out from the standard regardless of the negative subliminal message it conveys.

My Dad is a stock car enthusiast and he took my sister and I to tracks as kids. We would pick out favorites to win based solely on the look of the car until we were told never to pick the green car. The color is considered unlucky in racing.

In high school I was in a few theatre productions and in one play I was the villain. My costume was a green suit. My drama coach informed me that characters who needed a negative reaction from the audience were frequently dressed in green and that it had the psychological effect of inducing disdain.

Envy is a mortal sin. "Green with envy" anyone?

We all know the altruism "money is the root of all evil". American dollars are referred to as "greenbacks" for the reverse-side dye. To go even further, gamblers consider the fifty dollar bill to be unlucky and refuse to carry them.

Dr. Banner turns into a raging green monster when angry, transforming himself and his rage into the Incredible Hulk.

The Wicked Witch of the West?

While the intention to show the "maverick" nature of the candidate, McCain's handlers have made an unintentional error in trying to visually convey that message.

Perhaps a lesson can be learned from one who knows the ins and outs of that precarious color, Kermit the Frog: "it's not easy being green"

Lessons from Star Jones

2008-06-16T17:40:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of names that flash across the tabloid conscience, and while they all milk their fifteen minutes, we can, for the most part, recognize the foundation of their fame. Not that there is a discernable relevance to these figures in relation to our own trials and tribulations, but watching the rise and fall of public figures can sometimes add humor to our own life experiences. Some of us can relate to the unfortunate relationship a certain intern held with a person in high powerful office. Others can sympathize with a celebrity's addictions. We read "US Weekly" and "InTouch" to form a connection with those in the spotlight; similarities can bind us to our most beloved Hollywood figures.

There is also a type of celebrity that cause instantaneous disdain, derision, and disgust: the "why-are-they-famous ?" celebrity. Not knowing how or why this person is on the cover of "The Star" can pique ire rather than curiosity.

My case in point: Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt.

They're famous for being on a reality soap-opera that was actually scripted. In "real life" they have become engaged. With the engagement has come Star Jones-sized demands.

They have demanded (and I use that word puriently) that every aspect of the wedding be donated, ala Star Jones. They expect to pay for nothing.

These are two bimbos that have blown their paychecks on night after night of partying, being out at "hot spots" to ensure they catch the media's eye. Now that the biggest days of egoism have arrived, they are left unprepared.

They have turned being pseudo-celebrities into a cash cow, only they've milked the teat of fame dry and the pail is empty.

So like every member of the "me" generation they have decided that the public owes them everything fo, forgetting the land-slide of negative press Star Jones received after her donated wedding.

I didn't have anything donated for my wedding.

We made our invitations on a laptop and printed them, at our own expense, on colored copy paper at the Kinko's. We couldn't afford to go home to Illinois for the ceremony, let alone have everyone come out to the west coast, either. There was no reception, no cake, no limo. We made the best of what we had and we managed to have a rather spectacular day. Everything came out of our own pocket.

My Dad didn't have his health insurance or mortgage paid for by others when he was laid off. He didn't have Volkswagon buy the van we took on family vacations. Wall Drug Store didn't pay for us to get to South Dakota to see Mt. Rushmore.

A donation is a charitable gift, for one not able to buy the given item. Food is donated to starving Third World countries, books to schools that operate on shoe-string budgets. Disaster relief is an answer to a cry for help. Donations are given to a good cause.

For the life of me, I cannot phathom how these two self-absorbed ego-freaks believe they constitute a good cause..

Wamt to experience a day as recipients of donated goods? Walk your fake-and-bake asses down to the Goodwill. That tent you want? Sleep under one in a reugee camp in Chad. Free food? Wait in the soup kitchen lines of New York.

It's not that they are celebrities for no reason that bugs me, but rather, that the centerpieces of the "me" generation are ironically asking that same generation to give to others.

To be fair, you are supposed to get something "old, somthing new, something borrowed"....

A picture is worth a thousand words...

2008-06-15T14:49:00.000-07:00

There was a framed picture of me on my Mother's desk at work. A co-worker was looking at it and told my Mom that I looked just like my Dad. She laughed.

"You think so?"

"Oh, definitely. You can tell that's Larry's son."

I love that story because Larry is, in the technical sense, my stepdad. In reality, he is the only real father I have ever had.

Just like most pre-teen kids, my relationship with my new father didn't go so well. It's not that I thought he was trying to replace my "real" father, because in truth, there was no "real" father to replace; the greasy yellow-toothed used-car salesman was never a father to begin with, just a sperm-donor. My relationship with Larry was tenuous simply because I suddenly had an authority figure in my life. We spent the better part of the next fifteen years battling, bumping heads, misunderstanding each other. In hindsight, I was the monster, not him, but at the time, I thought he was an unforgiving hard-ass.

Thank God he was.

Growing up with him, I found him to be anal-retentive, a perfectionist, and completely unbending in his ways. He had strange sayings, curses, and phrases. He was always taking showers.

But he found ways to make sure my sister and I always had a summer vacation, a tree-house to play in, a bedroom decorated to our tastes. There were sacrifices I was never aware of.

Our relationship eventually grew into one of respect as I got older, moved up the corporate ladder, settled down and got married. I can't remember exactly when I stopped calling him Larry and started calling him Dad. But that's what he always was, whether I was mature enough to admit it. And I was his son. So much so that I became my father.

My wife likes to joke that I snore like him, curse like him, eat like him, obsess over minute details like him. We have come to look like one another, our heads shorn close, our whiskers white, our noses always sunburned. I have become my father and I am the better man for it. And when I look at those pictures of my father and me, it is true, we do look alike. We should. He's my dad....

A Burning Ring Of Fire

2008-06-09T18:23:00.000-07:00

Country music has been called the heartbeat of America. It should be called the cheatin' heart of America.

Cheaters are duplicitous two-timers and I believe that it is duplicitous to listen to and have a love of country music and be a Republican at the same time.

The Republican Party's platform is one of family values. They decry the lyrics of rap and pop music for it's treatment of women, it's glorification of sex, it's blatant promotion of drugs and alcohol.

Have you listened to country music lately?

One of the biggest sensations in country music history is Garth Brooks. He's a poster child for Middle America. Oklahoma City is his home. But take another look at his tunes and you might think he was a regular on MTV. His Greatest Hits album contains songs about "Friends in Low Places" who get drunk and crash a wedding, a trucker's obsessive crush on a teen girl in "Baton Rouge", and a high school boy who loses his virginity to a woman twice his age in "That Summer." Other songs glorify drinking such as "Two Pina Coladas", "Longneck Bottle", and "Beer Run" which also contains references to drinking and driving. Nice life lessons, Garth.

Oh, and congratulations on leaving your wife of thirteen years while on tour for Trisha Yearwood. Guess adultery's okay in your book.

Speaking of adultery, take a listen to the cross-over hit by Carrie Underwood: "He Better Think Next Time Before He Cheats." Think of country classics like "Your Cheatin' Heart", "Jolene", and "Lucille". For the sanctity-of-marriage crowd, the music doesn't seem to fit the belief system. The old joke goes that if you play country music backwards the dog comes back, the wife comes back.... If the Christian majority of red-state residents can't seem to keep their own marriages together then how can they have the audacity to claim that the only way to preserve marriage is to define it? How about practicing what ya'll preach?

Willie Nelson is one of the Kings of Country Music, famous for ditties such as "Whisky River" and "Whisky For My Men and Beer For My Horses." But here, too, is a man who is better known for getting high on the roof of the White House.

Take an hour and listen to a country-western music radio station and simply pay attention to the lyrics. You'll be surprised how equally irresponsible these songs are compared to a Top 20 station's music. So stop the "holier than thou" attitude, my red-state bible-thumpin' cowboy-hat-wearing pick-up truck-drivin' Coors Light- drinkin' friends, and just keep to the Lee Greenwood tunes. At least they're true to your cause.

Where The Wild Things Are

2008-06-07T13:01:00.000-07:00

Every child grows up with some sort of stuffed animal, from the ubiquitous Teddy Bear to plush versions of animistic cartoon characters. Animals are a part of our world from birth. As we get older we attach ourselves to a favorite species, the elephant being mine, a representative of gentle intelligence. Some incur love for panthers for their fierceness, penguins for their playfulness, koalas for an innate cuteness. We come to have a connection that drives us to collect figurines, pictures, documentaries, jewelry, and the like. They are movie heroes, product mascots, Halloween costumes. They exist in our world everywhere, but there is one place that they do not belong, and they are there only due to our selfishness and instinctual drive to remain at the top of the evolutionary chain:

Zoos.

The major defense launched by zoological societies is one of protection and viability. Where it is true that there are many programs at zoos nationwide aimed at propagating species, a zoo is not the place for that altruistic activity. Claiming success at having birthed the first giraffe in captivity is no boast. The key word in that sentence is "captivity." A giraffe born at Chicago's Lincoln Park Zoo, for example, is entirely unnatural. A giraffe born in an African wildlife sanctuary, in it's natural habitat, is a step toward the progress of saving a species from extinction, and saving, too, it's natural habitat.

Giraffes do not live in a 500 square foot concrete enclosure voluntarily. How does this type of environment give the animal dignity, happiness, or comfort ? When humans are put into the same type of situation, we call it prison.

When we go to a zoo, we aren't seeing the animals we love in their natural environment, acting in a way that shows their true behavior in nature. Instead we see, through barbed wires, plexiglass, and metal cages, bored, sad, emotionally disconnected inmates lying listless, showing none of the grandeur and beauty they possess in the wild. Baths with rubber garden hoses aren't indicative of a natural habitat. Michelin snow tires aren't indicative of a natural habitat. Animals, all animals, are in some way, hunters, always looking for sustenance. When we simply throw buckets of lettuce and carrots at them three times a day, we take away that most basic thing that makes them animals.

On Friday a Bengal tiger mauled and killed a zookeeper at a Tokyo zoo. Tigers do not naturally hunt humans, but after eleven years in the same small enclosure, instinct takes over when it spies the first moving thing it has seen in its life within paws' reach. What does a zoo do in this circumstance? It secures the animal even more, eliminating any chance for that beast to be its true self.

Animals at zoos are kept in constant torment by the yelling of children, throwing of things, tapping of glass. Are these the lives that these animals would lead in the wild? Hardly so. Even when viewed by people on safari, it is from a distance and with the caveat that your actions could bring you bodily harm. Tourists behave on safari. Tourists fall into a false sense of safety and disregard for nature when they go to the zoo.

The tiger that escaped and mauled three men at the San Diego Zoo not so long ago is a prime example. The uninjured friend who caused the attack has admitted he was high on drugs when he taunted and threw debris at the tiger in his enclosure. Would this same animal have been subjected to this kind of abuse in the wild? And because this tiger fought back when it was attacked, it was killed for it's actions. If we are trying to protect and preserve the majesty of these beasts, then why do we continually subject them to these miserable lifestyles?

We adopt animals at the zoo, we accept that our entry tickets are donations for the animals' upkeep. But are we truly caring for our animals by patronizing these places? Would you feel happy and playful if it were your neighborhood's family pets locked up, separated from each other in cages, have things thrown at them by strangers, given no room to play, and on display for all the world to taunt and point at?

Summer is upon us. Would you rather spend a weekend having fun with the family, enjoying the sun, or would you rather spend it contributing to the humiliation and degradation of imprisoned beasts of beauty? We will most certainly look back upon this time in our history and lament that we ever subjected these children of Mother Nature to such horrid treatment. Be the one who looks back and remembers how you helped change it.

I'm sorry, Jesus, you didn't make it through to the next round

2008-06-06T09:52:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'll admit it: I watch, with unabashed enthusiasm, "So You Think You Can Dance."

There are a lot, and I mean a lot, of sub-par reality/competition programs on the air. This one is different in that it puts the performances of professional dancers in the hands of professional judges. The contestants are put through paces that very few accomplished athletes could keep up with. The work is hard, artful, expressive, beautiful, and demanding. Each dancer striving to become one of the top twenty has pushed themselves beyond their limits and have had to reach deep within to find that extra push to get them over the competitive edge. They have acknowledged personal demons, friends and relatives as guideposts, tragedies that have given them second chances. A myriad of impetus has been expressed.

But I refuse to acknowledge that Jesus had anything to do with your making it to the next round.

Like many on the awards stage, a sobbing young lass, after being cut from the program, told the world that Jesus got her there.

"Excuse me, starving, beaten, homeless refugees of Darfur," says Jesus to his suffering flock. "I have to excuse myself to attend to a young attractive American girl and help her through a grueling dance competition on national television."

To think and claim that Jesus would belittle his own ministering to clear a path toward victory in a reality-TV competition is insulting to anyone who believes in Jesus in the first place.

In her acceptance speech at the 2007 Primetime Creative Arts Emmy Award for Best Reality Show, Kathy Griffin, star of "My Life on the D-List", joked:

"A lot of people come up here, and they thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus...suck it, Jesus, this award is my God now!"

Crude? Yes. Truthful? Yes.

To assume that Jesus would take his attention away from real human suffering and calamity to focus his attention on one individual's drive toward self-promotion and recognition is beyond all definitions of ridiculous. If anything, these apostates are worshiping at the feet of false golden idols. If they were truly religious and believed that Jesus was the guiding force in their lives, they would not need a golden statue or a silver medal to represent their achievement. It is anathema to the teachings of Christianity and humility before God.

The reward for me, though, was knowing that Jesus was only half-heartedly interested in our young blonde friend. She didn't make it into the top twenty.

But Kathy Griffin's Life on the D List certainly made it into my top twenty...

Not Another Four Years.....

2008-06-05T12:45:00.000-07:00

I didn't want to continue on and on about Hillary's lack of poise, grace, and humility, but as I was browsing MySpace today I got a bulletin informing me of the new "Hillary Clinton for President 2012" page. Only two days since she lost the nomination and already an inter-party battle has been launched for the next four years. Regardless if she should somehow wrangle the VP slot, she has already shown her true colors: an unquenchable thirst for power and spotlight.

The party is in need of unification. Democrats have long been accurately perceived as the party of internal chaos. The lack of cohesion and focus has cost the party in far too many national races. Senator Clinton's continued aping of Dick Cheney in an unswerving drive toward ultimate power does nothing but disservice to her party, her supporters and her New York constituents, let alone her need to leave a larger-than-life legacy.

She's leaving a legacy, alright, albeit one of a scorched earth policy in the quest for political immortality.

Just seeing the new site up, before she has even officially conceded the race, is telling in the question of her character. It belies the truth as to why she got into the race: for her own glory and not for the sake of the country.

History has a way of sorting out the magnanimous from the malicious. The legacy of Richard Nixon, for example, who could boast the greatest achievements in foreign policy of any modern President is instead remembered for his bunker-mentality, enemies lists, and self-inflicted downfall, all for the sake of holding power.

In that one speech, on Tuesday night, Hillary Clinton secured her spot in history, not as magnanimous, but malicious. Her inability to serve the people instead of her own interests is the one thing that will keep her from attaining that which she so desires. By not squelching any talk of her desire to remain a perpetual candidate for President she cements her legacy as a power-monger and not a power-sharer.

The Democratic Party has always held itself as the party of inclusion. By refusing to acknowledge the accomplishments of Barack Obama, Hillary has tarnished that image and has forfeited any right as a standard-bearer for the party.

So go ahead, Hillary, keep running. Four years is a lot of time for people to get to see your true colors.

...Except for Aquaman...

2008-06-04T10:31:00.000-07:00

Every young boy has at some point tied a towel around his neck and pretended to be a superhero. He can fly, he has super strength, he fights bad guys. He gets a little older and he starts to read comic books, fascinated by the struggles of good versus evil. And even when he is old enough to drive himself to the movie theater and watch the latest superhero feature, he will sit in his seat and imagine the world with real live superheroes, or perhaps fancy himself one. The fascination never ends.

But I have a real problem with costumed crusaders.

First of all, how seriously am I to take a grown man wearing pale blue leotards, Speedoes, and red Wellies. I certainly wouldn't think: Superhero. No, I might wonder what asylum he wandered away from. Seriously, who would wear such a thing? If we learned anything from "The Incredibles" it's that capes are a bad idea. And how is it that every crime fighter and super-villain have such mad sewing and designer skills? Peter Parker isn't just an ace photographer, he's ready for his turn on "Project Runway."

If there were real life superheroes I would totally want to be an insurance agent. My fortune would be made in selling "Superhero Battle Protection." Ever wonder what happens to the guy who comes out of his office building after a long day at work only to find that the Incredible Hulk has used his car as a frisbee? How do you file a claim for that? Do major cities allow for battle damage in their budgets? Think of all the collateral damage done when Batman and the Joker are done with their gadget-centric fisticuffs. If we can't rebuild New Orleans, how are we to rebuild Gotham after Mr Freeze turns it into a giant Slushee?

Superheroes would cause unemployment. Police forces would cut jobs in the face of a superior crime-fighting force. Bus drivers would walk off their jobs (the city bus is almost guaranteed to be used as a weapon in any given superhero battle). Our armed services would suffer recruitment losses as we turn as a nation to superior beings to protect us from our enemies.

The collective expectations of our society would never meet the performance standards of superheroes. We would expect them to be everywhere at once, fixing every problem. Our disappointment would exceed the level of accomplishment made by our protectors. So if not an insurance agent, I would definitely become a superhero psychologist.

Or a sanitation worker...plenty of Spidey-webs to clean up. He's the single greatest environmental threat posed by superheroes.

And where do these crusaders get all the money to buy their gadgets, hideouts, invisible planes, and weapons? Secret identities? Pretty easy to figure out. I mean, sure, you can rule out folks like Warren Buffet and Donald trump as masked crime-fighters, but you just know they are secretly financing one. So no more tax breaks for the wealthiest 10% of society; it only encourages mass destruction.

So I'd rather live in a world where the real superheroes are regular Joes, like cops, firemen, soldiers, doctors, teachers, and game-show hosts. Let's keep the webslingers and dark knights in our collective imaginations where they safely belong.

Where were you when...

2008-06-03T19:06:00.000-07:00

Hillary Clinton is a selfish power-hungry egotist who has sullied a century of suffragist progress.

I remember where I was when the Berlin Wall came down; sitting in my college dorm room, perched on the edge of my seat, thrilled, exasperated, aware that I was witnessing history.

I remember where I was when the Challenger exploded. I watched it happen. Not repeats of the footage on breaking news, but seeing it first-hand. CNN was on in the background as I was sweeping the floors on a day off. Something made me stop and watch the launch. Within minutes, I was aware I was witnessing history.

As I stood in my kitchen tonight, washing dishes, I again witnessed history. A nation founded by slave-holding white men decided that an African-American should be one of two nominees for President of the United States. That interruption to announce that Barack Obama had won enough delegates to be the nominee of the Democratic Party came like an unexpected shiver of goose-flesh on a hot summer day; exciting and breath-taking. And in that involuntary gasp, I sucked in the knowledge that I was seeing one of the single greatest moments in American history.

The first ten minutes of Senator Obama's speech, after the ramblings of Senator McCain and the self-congratulatory remarks of Senator Clinton, were spent on acknowledging the historical significance of Hillary's campaign. Her achievement, in spite of the political glass ceiling that women in office have faced, is in and of itself a special moment in American history. Although we have a female Speaker of the House, we have never seen a woman rise so far in our political history. Senator Obama praised all of Hillary Clinton's achievements, aspirations, and value in future social change. His speech went on to speak of the promise of the future, in positive terms. It was steeped in the language of inclusion. Goose-flesh, once again.

In stark contrast was the non-concession speech of Senator Clinton. Lacking the magnanimity of John McCain, who acknowledged and praised Senator Obama's achievement, Hillary spent twenty minutes praising Hillary. Hers was a speech that pointedly ignored the historical significance of Obama's ascension to the pinnacle of leadership. Hers was a speech that failed the progress of women in politics by focusing only on herself instead of the milestones the nation has witnessed. As a pre-eminent leader she had every opportunity and every right to blatantly point out her rise as a lesson and hope for women everywhere. As the wife of a President who touted himself as the best friend of the African-American community, she had every right and, indeed, should be expected to praise Senator Obama as a role-model for minorities. Instead of slapping Obama on the back, she spent twenty minutes patting her own.

What should have been a night of unity became a showcase for Hillary Clinton's ego, hubris, and selfishness. A closet Republican, perhaps? She certainly spoke like one.

America is built on the achievements of history. As an American leader, as one claiming to be the voice and choice of the nation and the people, she failed in recognizing an historical benchmark. Failing to recognize the progress of America is ignoring America altogether.

And that is why she is not a leader, and will not be our President. Power for power's sake is not a platform to greatness, but to the footnotes of history.

Tonight was an opportunity to witness two great moments in history: recognition of the advancement of minorities and the advancement of women. Instead, we witnessed two political dichotomies: grace and greed.

Nevertheless, I will remember the moment that Barack Obama won the nomination as one of the singular greatest moments in American history. And I will also remember where I was when I realized the definition of true greatness.

Ryan Seacrest: Prophet of Doom

2008-06-02T14:56:00.000-07:00

I'm not a Trekkie by any means, but I do watch it occasionally for a good laugh. Everyone is a scientist, an engineer, a diplomat. Earth is a place of communal peace. Technological wonders abound, from transporters to the spaceships themselves. Again, I watch it as a comedy because our future will look nothing like that.

Which movie will it look like?

"Idiocracy."

The premise: A regular Joe and a prostitute get sent 500 years into the future and because society has gotten so dumb, are the smartest people in the world (regular guy: Luke Wilson).

I realized this was the course we are taking after watching a post-sweeps evening of television.

Sure, there are some smart programs on the air and channels dedicated to education, but sandwiched between are the hints of what our culture is devolving into. Nevermind shows like "American Idol" where more Americans vote for an over-commercialized forgettable vocalist than they do for the Congressional representatives who oversee the laws and budget allocations that govern their lives outside the "idiot box."

No, I'm referring to programs like:

"Hurl" where contestants participate in eating contests then are put on a gyroscope. Whoever pukes last wins $1000. Seriously.

"Legally Blonde: The Search for the Next Elle Woods" where a mediocre Broadway musical trolls for "talent" to replace it's lead actress.

"A Shot at Love With Tila Tequilla": in it's second season, overly-hormonal jocks and lesbian-for -the-sake-of-being-on-TV-lesbians compete for the affections of a plasticine spit receptacle famous only for having over a million MySpace friends.

The one show, though, that really illustrates my point is returning for a second season, and if this year is anything like the first run, it will be the single biggest indicator of our nations collective failure in the appreciation of culture and intelligence. I refer, of course, to "America's Got Talent." A redneck ventriloquist, and I repeat, ventriloquist, was determined to be the most talented person in America by not only the esteemed panel of experts led by David Hasselhof, but by the millions of votes from average America.

That same average American who gets sent into the future in "Idiocracy."

I'm not sure which is worse: who dreamed up these travesties, who green-lit these pile of offal, or the millions who participate in these insults to intelligence.

It is the sheer number of votes that are received on these programs that are the single biggest indicator of where our country is headed. We will vote over and over again for "America's Best Dance Crew", but less than half of the country is registered to vote for President. With this kind of real-world apathy it is no wonder we elect scallywags like George W Bush, Dick Cheney, Katherine Harris, or Larry Craig. If we listened to politicians the same way we listen to contestants on Idol, we wouldn't be in the stagnant state we are now.

Perhaps we should give the Presidential candidates 877 numbers and allow Americans to text their vote.

Then again, if we chose a ventriloquist, then we'd probably elect another Cheney, hand up W's butt, speaking out the side of his mouth hoping people will think it's Georgie.

So for the sake of our country, for the our children's children, for the safety of the universe, please please please turn off your televisions this summer. Close the laptop. Muffle those texting fingers with gardening gloves. Every child dreams of being a super-hero. Here's your chance to be one and save the world...

,,,from stupidity.

AARP is A-OK!

2008-05-30T12:56:00.001-07:00

Restaurants are a wealth of entertainment. Take a few minutes just to cock your head in another table's direction and nine times out of ten you'll get a head-shaking earful. Dinner and a show! And as much as you might think it's teenagers or lovey-dovey couples that might provide the best fodder for a chuckle, it is the senior citizen that never fails to entertain. Case in point was the lone diner at the table next to Lisa and I at the local Italian bistro. After receiving his chicken casear salad he grumbled, harumphed, and sighed heavily in an attempt to attract the attention of the young floor manager. As she approached hesitantly he let loose his disdain about the size of his meal.

"This is not eleven dollars worth of chicken. You need to bring me eleven dollars worth of chicken. Not a whole other portion of chicken, just enough so that I have eleven dollars worth of chicken."

I so can't wait to become a senior citizen!

Many people do every thing they can to stave off the progress of years. I, on the other hand, cannot wait for the fun and obnoxious benefits of being a post-sixty five year old. The world is at your feet once you reach gumper status.

First off, who would pass on a perpetual ten percent discount on virtually everything? My mother couldn't understand my fathers enthusiasm in joining AARP. Dad, however, understood the benefits completely: discounts discounts discounts. I'm going to have to double laminate my membership card to keep it intact against it's constant use.

A few years back I was at the local grocery and found myself waiting in queue to checkout. Without warning a crusty old fella jumps in front of me without a word. After realizing he's not with the family in front of me, I tap him on the shoulder for his attention.

"Sir, the end of the line is back there," I inform him as I point over my shoulder.

"So? I'm old!"

Although I'm known for being an impatient person, I will be the first to let someone with one or two items to go ahead of me if I have a full cart. It's just the courteous thing to do. But Mr. Crusty didn't ask and wasn't even remotely nice about it.

"I don't care if you're a hundred and eighty, get your ass to the back of the line."

"But I'm old!"

"Yeah, and you're rude, too, and rude trumps old. You should have just asked to go ahead. Now get thee to the end of the line."

I sooooo can't wait to try and pull something like that! The assumption that having wrinkles is your passport to expedience is a tactic I look forward to attempting.

You can say whatever is on your mind without fear of offending anyone. Whatever verges on insane or inane can be excused by age or the possibility of being senile. Shout out loud in public, scold cacophonous teenagers. Sometimes talking so absurdly to someone can get them to cave in to something just by nature of being exhausted with trying to understand you. This works best on high school students working retail at Christmas. Those sweaters aren't buy one get one free, but by the time you're done asking how the sale works for the thirtieth time, you'll get that second sweater for free, or at least a discount.

Sick of sitting in traffic? Once you're retired the sidewalk is your own personal commute lane. There's always a story in the paper about some half-blind, seizure-ridden Octogenarian knocking over pedestrians with their El Dorado like bowling pins. And you'll always get Doris Day parking: those blue spaces you so coveted in your twenties are now yours for the taking. If those aren't available, park that champagne colored Buick wherever the hell you like. I'm old! They should paint those lines better! I'm special!

Getting older is your ticket to freedom. You'll no longer be constrained by the tenets of decorum. Deference is due you. And you can finally buy things, like Preparation H without embarrassment.

After about five minutes of picking through his eleven dollar chicken caesar, our friend at the next table asked for a to-go box. Making sure he didn't spend any unnecessary cash, he whipped out his tip card, left his dollar, and exited with tomorrow's meal.

"You know, that's you in a few years," my wife laughed.

"I hope so. I certainly hope so."

Doughnut Hole-y War?

2008-05-29T11:07:00.001-07:00

Ironically, I was drinking my morning coffee when I read about this egregious act of paranoia. A right-wing conservative group asked Dunkin Donuts to pull an add featuring Rachael Ray because she was wearing a scarf that looked slightly like a Muslim keffiyeh. Never mind the fact that coffee originated in Arabia. Conservative commentator Michelle Malkin claimed that the keffiyeh (which is worn by males, not females) "has come to symbolize murderous Palestinian jihad."

The term Jihad, in it's true, original definition, refers to an internal struggle against sin. The modern Western understanding comes from a convoluted translation made by Christian Crusaders in the 12th century.

Beyond that, though, I fail to understand how drinking a Dunkin Donut Mochaccino will contribute to a struggle for international recognition of a Palestinian state. Unless Rachael Ray is a subversive in the PLO, at which point I think Homeland Security should start doing their job and detain her as an enemy combatant.

Within a day of the announced boycott Dunkin Donuts crumbled like a crueller and pulled the ad.

If we are to somehow find ourselves agreeing with this boycott, then we need to make sure we are boycotting all Islamic products just to make sure we don't spontaneously start praying to Mecca five times a day.

So put down that bottle of Evian because Muslims invented water purification.

But don't grab that Coca Cola as a substitute. That's right, carbonation in beverages was an Islamic creation.

Your hygiene is going to suffer pretty dramatically. Soap was first seen in Mesopotamian society as was perfume. So no more baths, showers, deodorant, cologne, body wash, or shampoo.

Better think about driving the kids to Disney this year 'cause you can't fly. The magnetic compass. Muslim creation.

Oh, but you can't drive either. Even though Henry Ford invented the automobile, it was the simple crankshaft that made Babylon grow.

And without ambulances, how are you going to get to the hospital when you get sick? You can't go anyway. You won't be able to get a blood test, get a flu shot, or even your self-indulgent treatment of Botox. The hypodermic needle is a Middle Eastern invention.

And you better burn that Bible of yours. Paper. Egyptians. Muslims.

Another irony. The term boycott comes from England. Charles Boycott protested new tax laws on his land in Ireland by the British. 160 years later the British were smack in the middle of another land dispute: the seizure of Palestinian land to create the State of Israel, launching the "jihad" these right wing extremists are referring to in their own boycott of Dunkin Donuts.

So who do you shake your head at more? The ill-educated extremists or the corporation that succumbed to their demand?

We can talk about that later. My Arabian Mocca Java is getting cold and Rachael Ray is on in just a few minutes....

The state of edumication

2008-05-28T11:33:00.000-07:00

I read the newspaper every morning, starting with the front page, local news, business, sports, and then the lifestyle section. I like to save the humor for last to set a good tone for the day. Unfortunately today's section set an entirely different tone, the type of tone that makes you inhale deeply, purse your lips, shake your head, and let loose a forlorn sigh of defeat. The bitter taste in my mouth wasn't from my room-temperature coffee.

"Hitler's instrumentality of terror was the Gespacho."

"More than two decades later it is hard to imagine the Revolutionary War coming out any other way."

One of these quotes is a student's test answer. The other is a direct quote from our President.

Every once in a while the paper will feature these humorous gaffes as submitted by teachers, but more often than not, these are grade-school students. In today's edition, the test answer came from a college student.

Look at the two quotes again. Can you tell which belongs to which? Or shall I re-phrase that to say: which quote belongs to the current President and which belongs to a future President.

If this glaring example of sheer stupidity is an indicator of the current state of education in this country then history will look back and hail George W Bush as model of smarterness and elloquental vocalating. The 2000 election should be example enough: confusion about how to read the ballot card and failing to follow the directions as given on the ballot lead to mis-cast votes and the election of "The Decider."

There are many books, calendars, t-shirts, etc., of "Bushisms." The mere fact that there is enough of these to fill an entire book is a slap in the face to the nation's education system and the public at large. Leaders are ones who are supposed to set examples, be standards of excellence. Instead we have the leader of the free world, the most powerful man on the planet, laud remarks by His Supreme Holiness, the Pope, by saying "Thank you, Your Holiness; awesome speech."

Surfers, gamers, stoners, Valley Girls, kids on playgrounds, Chris Farley, astronomers, reality tv show contestants, Rolling Stone magazine, hippies, Ultimate Fighting Champions, sk8ers, and Ty Pennington would be expected to use the word "awesome" to describe the Pope's words, but the President of the United States? Dude....

We have a President who called his closest advisor "Turd Blossom."

Edumacation has never polled in the top 5 issues important to Americans in this election. And judging by the answers on these college level tests, our future leaders won't be pushing it to the fore-front either. Even when Barack Obama gets elected, it'll be just like college all over again: Congress won't study for the tests Professor President will give it, give plenty of excuses for not completing assigned work, and hap-hazzardly rush through everything to make it to recess.

There is an entire book of "funny" test answers, from whence came today's quotes in the paper. But knowing that our future lies in the hands of these same students isn't funny at all. George W Bush is a shining example of our laissez-faire attitude towards education. (Go find a dictionary and look it up.... or don't....)

Even though Bush was recently gave an address to the Israeli Knesset and his remarks referred to the errors of appeasement, the quote about Hitler was not his. That was a test answer. The leader of the United States was the genius who compressed our own history into twenty short years. I guess he has the right, after all, he is the Decider.

History Lessons

2008-05-26T09:50:00.000-07:00

We will never win the war on terror. Everyone knows this, including the warmongering neo-cons in the White House. We won't win the war because it is not a war in the classical sense. It is not army pitted against army battling for sovereignty. It is a guerrilla war of ideology being fought as a conventional war of supremacy.

Every generation considers itself smarter and more advanced than the generation before. The arrogance of each progression explodes exponentially. This hubris is what has lead our current leaders to make the same mistakes civilization has made before. Cliches are cliches because they hold a modicum of truth but we tend to ignore such golden maxims as "hindsight is 20/20" and "those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it." There are insanely valid reasons why this war is compared to Vietnam. We cannot see a finish line not because there is too much blinding ticker-tape, we cannot see it because we are running the wrong race.

The number of lessons to learn from are staggering. The most glaring should be our very own Revolution. The Reader's Digest version: Americans waged a successful guerrilla war against a conventional army unwilling to modify it's fighting tactics. The attacks of 9/11 changed the face of modern warfare, in terms of tactics, just as the introduction of mustard gas and mechanized weaponry changed the nature of conflict during the First World War.

Al-Queda does not have a standing army but stands as the single greatest enemy of the United States. In response we pump billions of dollars into a missile defense system to defend Western Europe from attacks from Russia and China? This makes as much sense as moving all of our armies to the Canadian border were we to be attacked by Mexico. If anything this senseless build up has done nothing but provocate nations that currently pose no threat to global peace. Russia is undergoing an economic renaissance due to oil exploration and production. China is working to mend its image world-wide while building up one of the strongest economies of the 21st century. To what purpose would these emerging economic markets threaten their prosperity by aggression against Europe or the United States?

It is a by-product of Cold War thinking. Because we face an ideology rather than a nation as an enemy we turn to more comfortable and familiar posturing; we aim missiles and puff our chests.

And we give the world another reason to call us "bully."

Lessons of the past. We were accused by the global community of building an empire after our dominance in the Spanish-American War. We seized territories around the world and intended to keep them in our ever-lasting lust for expansion. The isolationism that followed during the Wilson years repaired our tyrannical image. Our magnanimity following the Second World War in the form of the Marshall Plan cemented our reputation as "knights in shining armor." After earning disdain for our face-saving reluctance to excise ourselves from Vietnam our place in the world remained tenuous. Ironically it was George HW Bush who repaired our profile by following his UN mandate to the letter when liberating Kuwait from the Iraqi incursion. He did not use it as a prelude to further aggression and America was seen once again as the peace-maker of the globe.

It is now the norm to claim to be Canadian while travelling abroad.

How far we've fallen while trying to "do the right thing." While it was justified to retaliate after the attacks on the World Trade Center, we did so in the fashion of nation against nation. And we haven't adjusted that mind-set thus far. We are fighting against an enemy that doesn't adhere to the same rules or principles of warfare that we do.

So like a young child who cannot successfully complete a level of play on a videogame, we yank the game and put in another, ignoring the fact that the old game will remain active and incomplete until we decide to face it again and go at it from a different angle.

Afghanistan to Iraq to ....

Barack Obama has been roundly criticized for proffering a dialogue with our enemies. These attacks from come from the far right, the never-back-down crowd. These ideologues are the same people who hold Ronald Reagan in god-like reverence. Ronald Reagan is the great Cold Warrior who faced down the Evil Empire and brought freedom and democracy to Eastern Europe...

...by talking to his enemy face to face.

Synonymous with "Republican", Richard Nixon was the one who held a dialogue with communist China. This was a nation of a billion people with the world's largest standing army, practitioners of an ideology anathema to democracy. It was a face to face dialogue that eased tensions and allowed the flourishing of economic expansion on a global scale that we see today.

There has been a lasting peace between Egypt and Israel for over 30 years because two sworn enemies sat down face to face and talked. Though not a perfect peace, it is a peace non-the-less and is an example of the power of inter locution.

We instinctively attack what we don't know and understand. New York was attacked because our actions in the Middle East are perceived as being only favorable toward Israel. The United States is seen as intolerant of Muslims and Islam. Our attacks on Iraq have only deepened that belief. Would a summit change any of that? How are we to know if we don't try. We've tried the belligerent militant way for seven years without success. If Senator Obama is to be decried for wanting to face his enemy off of the battlefield, then so, too, must Reagan and Nixon be denounced for their cowardly acts of attrition.

It is Memorial Day. I would rather see a future Memorial Day when we remember finding a lasting peace. Until the players change, the game will remain the same.

American Idol will get Obama elected President

2008-05-21T14:50:00.000-07:00

It's a devisive topic but I have to take a moment and throw my two cents in. It is no secret that I am a big supporter of Barack Obama. The pundits have all but declared him president-elect and have dismissed Hillary even as she plows ahead making arguments as solid as a seive. It's not for the pundits that I believe Obama deserves the nomination, but for three distinct reasons:

1. Compare the campaign slogans. Obama for America vs. Hillary for President. Simply put, one person is running for the people, the other is running for themself. One is all about others, the other is all about me me me. The slogans are subtle indicators of each candidate's motive.

2. The argument that Hillary is the only one who can woo white working class voters is bunk. Obama handilly defeated her in states that are very very white, beginning with Iowa. Idaho, North Dakota, Missouri, Washington, Nebraska. Oregon. The other side of the argument that the white working class voters who supported Hillary won't support Obama in the general election is skewed as well. Polls show that Hillary supporters would jump to McCain. These are opinions given in the heat of the moment out of loyalty to the candidate and frustration at the possibility of losing. Just as Cubs fans and White Sox fans are polarized, if one were to go to the World Series, I doubt there would be rooting for the out-of-town team by anyone from either fan base. Democrats will support Democrats even when their original candidate is not chosen. It is far more important that a Democrat regain the White House than to fracture the party by vanity.

3. Americans know deep down that were Hillary to be elected President she would face the same bitter partisan attacks throughout her administration as her husband did through his and we would endure another four years of a stalled government. She brings too much baggage to effectively end congressional gridlock and partisan bickering. Will anything change if the history books read: Bush, Clinton, Clinton, Bush, Bush, Clinton?

Bill Clinton is famous for saying he wants to please everybody. He did and said anything to make people happy. That school of thought is the one Hillary attends and she will do and say anything, depriving her of a real system of beliefs or agenda. She will do and say anything to get elected (gas tax holiday anyone?) putting her in a class of politicians who are all about gaining power instead of gaining an opportunity to help others. As the first serious female candidate for President she squandered a great opportunity to be a voice for woman's issues, equality issues, putting her name to a central idea and remaining faithful to it's pursuit (Obama came into the race because he was a consistent proponent of changing the status quo. Being an opponent of the war from the day Congress was asked to authorize it he has been faithful to an issue and has not pandered to voters by changing his stance in the slightest). Hillary enetered the race because she felt it was "her time." Her agenda wsa not issues-based, it was based on a presumption of entitlement.

Selfishness vs selflessness.

We've had seven years of selfishness. Do we want four more?

Americans are registering to vote in record numbers. Watch American Idol and you will notice that as the format has stayed the same every season, viewership and voting numbers have consistently declined. People are tired of the predictable banality and are looking for a reason to become re-engaged. The same is true for politics. We are seeing unimaginable exlposions in voter registration because we finally have something to peak our interest: the chance to make things change.

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God Bless Uzbekistan

2008-05-21T14:48:00.000-07:00

My folks were sitting out on the front porch in the Indian Summer evening when I got up the courage to approach them. Did I have a speech prepared, I don't really remember, but I do recall being determined not to take "no" for an answer. Little did I know that this conversation would later change my life in a way I could never have made up if I tried.

"I'm going to go to the Soviet Union this year." Mind you, this was 1990 and Gorbechev was still in power. "I need to see what the Evil Empire."

The money I needed to go had been set aside for a car, but there would always be cars. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I braced myself for battle.

"Okay, but it's gonna be cold."

Two months later I was standing in the middle of Registan Square in the center of Samarkand, Uzbekistan having my picture taken by my Intourist guide Dmitri. I was literally half-way around the world, trodding the same wind-swept steppes as Tamerlane in a city over a thousand years old. I was exploring the far flung corners of the Soviet Empire. Tashkent, Dushanbe, Shakhrisabz. Twelve time zones from home. Little did I know that this small muslim nation at the foothills of the Himalaya mountains would determine my future.

The years after my adventures in Russia were aimless and without purpose. Jobs and acquaintances became a blur. My life lacked purpose and direction. I was burned out from the frenetic world of restaurants and was seeking a change. Tired of working nights, I found a new home at Starbucks. This was before it became the over-zealous McDonald's of the coffee world. Back then it was a smaller company that had just expanded into the Chicago market, still committed to quality and the well-being of it's employees. Finding my niche, I threw myself into it and began to find happiness.

It did not take me long to move up and gain recognition. I became a management trainer taking over a store that held a regional classroom facility. Although I was on a fast-track up, I remained just as cocky and arrogant as ever.

The management trainers were summoned to a certification meeting at the corporate headquarters downtown. Yawn. Another boring meeting. And not being too keen on one of the heads of HR who would be running the meeting, I was less than thrilled to waste this day.

It was the fishnet stockings that made me notice her. Pretty bold, I thought.

We went around the table telling the group an interesting tidbit about ourselves. Remember, the world revolves around me so I had very little interest in the banalities of others. But then...

"I was with Doctors Without Borders in Uzbekistan."

My head shot up, my ears burned, my eyes wheeled on fish-net stockings. I noticed her with more focus now. Suede skirt. Knee-high leather boots. Big turquoise jewelry. Corn-silk hair. Clear emerald eyes. Curves. Incredible curves. Tingly-climbing-the-rope-in-gym-class curves.
My eyes stayed on her as we continued around the room. When it was my turn I focused on her. I, too, had been to Uzbekistan. Something else about F Scott Fitzgerald, blah blah blah. But what I said I was saying directly to her.

We were given a break. Needing some air I followed the majority of the group down the elevators to the front plaza. A tap on the shoulder.

"F Scott, huh?"

"Uzbekistan, really?"

How much was I a self-absorbed jack-ass in those days? I have no recollection of her performing a tasting of coffee prior to the start of the meeting. Yet I eagerly followed her to the kitchen once we were dismissed offering to help her clean up. I walked her to her car, six blocks out of my way. Discovering I lived close to the store she ran, I was invited to stop by for it's grand opening.
Not only did I show up, I stayed for hours, chatting with her Napoleon-esque district manager, patiently waiting for her to end her shift. A drink? Sure.

It was our first date. That night I fell in love with her walk. We drank black martinis. We had our first kiss.

Today, we celebrate our fourth wedding anniversary. We have lived in many cities across this country. We each have fond memories of favorite places. She misses New Orleans, I long for the gentility of Georgia. But we will both always hang our hearts in Uzbekistan.

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Moby's Courthouse Adventure

2008-05-21T14:44:00.000-07:00

Going to the mailbox is always an adventure. No matter how many weeks in a row it spits out nothing but bills and junk-mail you find yourself hoping that something special will be waiting for you today. So with baited breath I opened the door to my tiny little house of snail-mail, hoping to spy the corner of a colored envelope, the signifier of a greeting card, or the bulging hello of manilla carefully cradling an unexpected gift. What I found was, indeed, unexpected. That cringe-inducing green logo from the State of Oregon. Anything from the state is never a good thing, unless it's a tax rebate check, but I owed this year, so I was unable to discern any good from this arrival.

Frowning with a deep consternation I carried it inside, set it on the counter, and stared at it trying to guess it's contents. Imagining the worst would make whatever was inside seem not so bad. Did I have a warrant out for my arrest? Was there an error in my taxes? Problem with my license? The sweat of fear began dripping from my furrowed brow. Just open it, I told myself, and get it over with.

I groaned. I cursed. I threw the damned thing across the kitchen. I cursed again.

Jury duty. I was being called for jury duty.

Being eligible for jury duty for the last twenty years, I had never once been summoned. Finally, it was my arch-enemy, Boregon, that caught up to me. Damned tree-hugging-granola-eating-Birkenstock-wearing-bleeding-heart-liberal-hippies. Oh, wait, that's me....

So being the out-spoken cultural critic that I am, I figured, hey , no big deal. No lawyer worth his salt would want my opinionated and jaded self on a jury. I'd be home by noon.
Luckily for me the courthouse is only a few blocks away. I dressed rather sloppy, hoping to give a cavalier impression. Through the metal detector, down into the limestone depths of the basement. Taking my seat in a crowded waiting room, I filled out a stack of information sheets. This was when I began to realize that should I ever be convicted of a crime, I never want a jury of my peers to decide my fate.

The night before I was instructed to call an information line that would give instructions as to what is expected at the courthouse. Certain things were not allowed: shorts, sweats, hats, and newspapers. Simple and straight-forward, or so I thought.

Did I magically get transported to Mississippi or did Oregon just become the most uneducated and bassackwards state in the Union? (And, yes, I just insulted Mississippi). Looking around me, I spied five people with newspapers, two baseball hats, and one plasticene soccer-mom flaunting her bought-and-paid-for assets in Juicy Couture. Violating the guidelines wasn't going to get anyone out of serving, as it was made clear that those who did would have to return in two weeks to complete a full jury service. All of this was in the informational bulletin we were instructed to call in for the night before. The summons itself was to be brought with as it had your juror number posted on it.

Six people did not bring their summons and did not know their juror number. Within the first fifteen minutes of my being there, seven people were asked to go home and report back in two weeks per their new summons that would be sent to them. The newspapers were confiscated, the baseball hats held until their owners were dismissed for the day. And then it got even better.

Upon entering the holding area everyone was given a clipboard with a series of forms to fill out. The top form instructed which we kept and which we turned in. There was a counter with baskets and above the baskets were examples of which sheet was to go in which basket. No less than fifteen people either had to ask which sheets to turn in or put the wrong sheets in the wrong baskets. So by this time I had counted thirty idiots out of the sixty five who had originally been there. Almost half of the jurors summoned that day were too stupid to make it past the sign-in.
I pray to whatever God or gods may hear me that I never ever ever have to go to court in Oregon.

My number is called and I am whisked away upstairs with about twenty others to a stuffy courtroom that looks like Mike Brady decorated it. We are all sworn in and asked to answer the questions both counsels will ask us. Getting wise to athiests, we are not asked to swear to God nor is a Bible anywhere in sight. Instead we are asked to tell the truth under penalty of purjury.

There went my loophole.

We spend two hours being told about the nature of the case, answering elementary questions about prior experiences that might relate to the case. A car accident is involved (this is a civil case) and anyone who knows me knows that I wreck cars on a fairly consistent basis. I figure that admitting I've been in over ten accidents in the last five years would surely disqualify me and get me excused (meaning I would not face another jury summons for another two years). Counsels excuse themselves to the judge's chamber to pick the unlucky twelve who would be their prisoners for the duration of the day.

The first number called to serve on this jury is mine.

After seating us, the judge begins to dismiss the remining jurors until she is interrupted by a shrill voice to my right. "I've decided that I can't be fair and partial in this case after all." Damn, why hadn't I thought of this? But on the flip side, why the hell didn't you say something before?

Idiot count: 31.

After randomly chosing one of the remaining candidates the case begins. A car, a bike, blah blah blah. Noting how Oregon, like Mississippi, is never in a hurry to do anything, I note that this case was filed in 2005.

Both lawyers sound like Ben Stein. The air conditioning is not working. The woman to my left smells like a nursing home and the fella directly behind me has the habit of clearing his throat every thirty seconds. By five o'clock we are nowhere near completion as the judge astutely points out and orders us to return the following morning. Had we not taken a recess every twenty minutes, being forced into a stale conference room, we might have finished in a day. Instead I was treated to regular intervals of Christian self-help book reviews by two probable 700 Club members and the ramblings of an unemployed machinist soliciting parenting advice for his meth-addicted teenaged step-daughter.

Waking up the next day I debated whether I should have coffee. Did I want to be awake enough to pay attention or drowsy enough to tune-out my fellow peanut gallery goobers?
It was even hotter in the courtroom than the day before. The woman to my left now smells like moldy nursing home.

Thankfully we cruised through closing arguments. I was hopeful we would reach a quick decision and be on our way. The verdict was clear in my mind.

But leave it to Oregon to make things complicated
.
If we found the defendant to not be 100% not at fault, then we simply signed the verdict form and that was it. But if we found any shared responsibility then we had to decide what percentage was each party at fault. If the defendant was over 51% responsible then we had to determine exactly what % responsible he was and order him to pay that % of the awardable damages. If the plaintiff was over 51% responsible we had to allow the judge to determine the % payout.

Confusion and mayhem ensued.

Our elected fore-woman, she of the Pat Robertson Fan Club, could not understand the rules of the verdict sheet if God appeared before her and inscribed them on a stone tablet. Not wanting lose another day to the idiocracy, I jumped from the back of the bus and did my best Sandra Bullock impression. We needed to keep things speeding along or we were going to blow ourselves up.

"Let's make this easy on ourselves. Raise your hand if you think the defendant is 100% at fault and that the plaintif did absolutely nothing wrong to cause this accident."

No one raised their hands.

"Is the defendant 100% innocent?"

Eleven hands. We only needed nine. I pressed the button summoning the bailiff and put an X next to our ruling. Shoving the sheet at the fore-woman I told her to sign it. Before anyone could raise an argument we had reached a verdict.

And I had reached my own: The right to a jury trial as preserved by the Constitution is the single worst idea in the history of our republic, after Prohibition, that is. Speaking of which, boy do I need a drink....

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don't forget to read Chicken's blog at:
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The Four Basic Requirements

2008-05-21T14:41:00.000-07:00

Although I was intently listening to what my wife was saying as I shoveled the last of my Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity breakfast into my mouth, I couldn't help but overhear the exchange in the booth behind me. It was shocking enough that I instinctively held up a finger to pause the conversation and cocked my head ever so slightly so as to get a better listen. This time there was no mistaking it. My face must have betrayed my thoughts as Lisa asked me what was wrong.

"Nothing. It's just that the table of teenagers behind us just said 'please and thank you' to the waitress."

"You're kidding."

What have we come to as a society if shock and awe is what comes of witnessed politeness. Is it so unusual that someone born in the Clinton administration should possess manners and common courtesy? The sad fact is that it is rarer than Paula Abdul saying something coherent. If you were to ask any sixteen year old who Emily Post is they probably have never heard of that blog. We don't necessarily need to bring back the days of armor-clad knights defending the altruisms of chivalry, but we do need to return to the days when you took off your damned hat indoors (domed stadiums excluded, although domed stadiums in general should also be abolished...).
Manners fell by the wayside after Vietnam, when anything resembling the pre-war generation was shunned and ridiculed. Gone were the days of opening car doors for the ladies (the revolutionary "woman's movement" rendered that archaic and condescending), dressing up for special occassions (relax, man, just be yourself). Things degenerated even more as these kids grew and had children of their own in the Reagan years, better known as the "Greed is Good" era. It became the "All About Me" decade where personal well-being and wealth trumped all. This generation saw the sacrifice and hardships that their parents went through and were determined not to let those same hardships befall their children. So they coddled them, capitulated to every demand, tried to be their friend. The "me" philosophy exploded exponentially with this generation compounded by years of purposely shunning the lifestyles of the "Greatest Generation". Instead of creating a culture free of worry and sacrifice, we created a monster of selfishness, self-indulgence, and tunnel vision. So much has been done for the children of the nineties and beyond that they cannot do for themselves. They simply do not have the motivation to do for themselves.

There is a way to correct this. Our education system will never fully recover from the tragedy it is today. No politician will ever be able to fulfill promises of fixing the present system. But if you take into account the education opportunities of "the real world" and fold them into the school curriculum, the system may have a chance of succeeding. There are a few certainties that every person will face as they go through life and the school system should prepare their students for them.

Before graduating high school or getting a GED, every child should have to complete the following:

1. Spend 2 months working in a restaurant (in any capacity)

2. Spend November and December working at a retail establishment

3. Attend 2 weddings

4. Atend 2 funerals

All of the above address the fundamental lack of social skills of today's youth. Businesses that participate in a school-sponsored program receive tax beaks or government incentives. For the restaurant portion, the paycheck goes to the school for funding, the tips are kept by the student. In retail, the school and the student split the paycheck. Couples can claim their marriage license and clergy fees as charitible donations for allowing students to attend the ceremony. Funeral parlors would be able to offer discounts to families allowing students to observe.

In the restaurant business a person learns self-motivation, team-work, politeness, communication skills, how to count change, memory improvement, and physical stamina. They see what it's like to be run ragged, criticized, tormented, short-changed, and stiffed. They learn to appreciate the dining experience from a perspective everyone should have. If this were a life-requirement then the table of skater-punks crowding a booth at the local Denny's at 1 a.m. might think twice before unscrewng the lid to the salt shaker and pouring ketchup in the bottom of the sugar caddy.

It's NOT the most wonderful time of the year, Mr. Mathis, if you work in retail, that is. Rather, it's experiencing that need for immediacy on a grand scale. Patience is an elusive beast. Every Lexus-driving soccer mom becomes a army drill sargeant carricature: "You will wrap that for me, now! You will find that in your back room for me, now! You will give me a discount on that for no apparent reason, now!" If you think the mall is a scary place as a shopper, then try manning the register as you smile that Pepsodent smile, all the while shifting restlessly from foot to foot to avoid popping the countless blisters you have on your hot and sweaty feet, eyeing the never-ending queue of frowning troglodytes, and listening to Frosty the Snowman on the cheesy muzak loop for the eightieth time that day. For two months. Come January, the shopping experience will be a whole new ballgame.

I went to a wedding once where I counted four people in baseball hats. In the church. There was the wedding where a guy sitting next to the fella video taping the event, at the very back fo the church, fell asleep and snored so loudly the happy couple heard him and turned around. There is an eighteen minute gap in their vows where all they can hear are nasal ramblings. I've seen jeans, shorts, even sweatshirts. Not that I'm a religious person by any means, but I was under the impression that this was a solemn ceremony performed under the presence of God. In his house, no less. Dress up, if not for the happy couple, then for God's sake. This is the most important moment in most people's lives; dressing for the occassion is not asking much. If anything, you are in house of God, remove your damned hat! This is the chance to learn quiet respect, dignity in a formal setting, the importance of personal appearance, and selfless attention.
But we'll skip the reception. The less people who learn how to do the Electric Slide the better off we are as a nation.

It doesn't matter what movie you watch, someone dies, everyone takes off their hat. We mimic hollywood in so many aspects of our lives, so why not this? Wear something black (although other colors may signify mourning in other cultures, so be aware), conservative, and clean. Black jeans are not a viable substitute for black pants. Do not wear Raiders gear. Do not wear sunglasses unless you are immediate immediate family or Jack Nicholson. Do not bring a cell phone, pager, Game Boy, BlackBerry, or any blue-tooth item (this goes for weddings as well). Learn about the feelings and emotions of others. Learn to express grief. Learn to respect the grieving of others. Realize your own mortality.

We've all experienced these events, whether it be going out to dinner or buying a gift for Mom. We've either seen someone we know get married or had a relative pass away, and if not, we know we will at some point in our lives. We had better be prepared for it, because judging from my own experiences, we've prepared for these things as well as we prepared for Hurricane Katrina.
So it was a great head-turner when I head those two simple but oh-so-mature words in a crowded pancake house:
"thank you", from the mouths of babes.

"See, it's not too late," I said to my wife, sipping my coffee through a smile.

"They're probably Canadian....."

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don't forget to read Chicken's blog at:
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There's a hole in my heart...

2008-05-21T14:40:00.000-07:00

For every one there is a different catalyst for a grin. A cold frosty beer? Steve Martins' happy feet. Watching Martha Stewart go to jail. In my experience, there is one thing that can excite and stimulate just about everyone. Young, old, rich, poor. It matters not who you are, it will beckon, taunt, tease in the most benign way, luring you in with a sweet seduction. It's appeal is universal. If it were a character in literature, without doubt, it would be the siren call of the Odyssey. Homer would eagerly agree.

'Tis the doughnut of which I speak. Mmmmmmmm, doughnuts.

That familiar, comforting ring of decadence. Like a pearl within a pink cardboard box, it can alight the flame of jealousy. You guard your favorites like Pentagon secrets. You make a mental listing of tasting order, some saving their favorite for last, others diving right in. Leggo my Eggo? Leggo my Boston Creme! How cruel of you to take my crueller! Hands off my Long John....
Cake or raised, it matters not. Decorum surrenders to sticky fingers, powdered sugar smears, maple bar breath. We lose ourselves in that moment when we spy that perfectly round, supple, fluffy mound of pastry, slathered in confectioner's sugar, oozing globs of lemon custard or raspberry preserves. We gingerly raise it out of the box, examine it's form like the statue of David, bring it to our quivering lips, and softly bite down. An explosion of creamy pudding fills the mouth. You swallow, wiping the powder from your happy, happy lips with the back of your hand. You pull back and re-examine your fried pocket of culinary bliss, inhale deeply, and sigh the sigh of one who has reached nirvana.

The office meeting. You don't want to be there. It's early. You'll be bored. You shuffle in, grimmacing at the prospect of an hour of endless shop-talk. Then you spy it. The ubiquitous cardboard box. A lighthouse guiding you through. Has anyone else seen them? Quickly and with stealth you make your way, flip the top over and inventory the contents. Like the glow from the Ark of the Covenant, it catches your eye. The rare and elusive cherry-chip glazed. Survival instincts take over. No one is going to beat you to your prize. Scanning the room quickly, you hunch over, Nixon-style, and sweep the manna onto a cocktail napkin. Holding it close to your bosom, like a suckling newborn, you skulk over to your seat. For that brief moment your affair overtakes any emotion or dread you had about your meeting. It brings a smile to your face and for a minute or two, all is right with the world.

There are those who claim they don't much care for doughnuts. But ask them if they had to eat one, they will, without hesitation, name a favorite. There is nothing offensive about the doughnut, nothing sinister. A doughnut has no hidden agenda. Cut a doughnut in half and you get two smiles. Doughnuts are happiness incarnate, a spring board to feelings of contentment and child-like glee. Find a man who won't eat a doughnut and you have found a man without a soul.

So the next time you are tediously selecting your perfect dozen, take a moment and thank the baker, for he is, truly, the bearer of good tidings and the architect of true bliss.

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An unusual relationship

2008-05-21T14:38:00.000-07:00

"Come on, come on, come on." A phrase we've all used in that complicated tango of a relationship where it seems like you do all the talking. We say this at some point with a tense desperation, a plea from which we expect no verbal reply. We gently stroke, give a reassuring pat. We proudly show them off in the beginning, but eventually end up making excuses for their appearance near the end. We find our eyes wandering, coveting the new and exciting. Yet, we stay true as long as we humanly can, 'till death do us part. And though we may move on, we never forget our first.
Every car has a name. No, not the make and model. It's name. You don't date "Caucasian female." You date Jane or Sally or Mac-something. They have names, just as your car has a name.

I drive Luthor.

I have driven The Rocket, Doris, and Ringo. I loved Ringo but lost him after six yers of on-again-off-again love to a cement retaining wall in Las Vegas. The day I said goodbye was heart-wrenching, and yes, I cried. That car was a part of me, part of my identity. We had driven 97,000 miles together. My first kiss with my wife was in that car. Ringo had a soul. He had a voice (which sounded nothing like the Beatle he was NOT named after). We bonded, experienced chapters of my life together. He drove me to my wedding. He was a part of me. And he told me his name. Not immediately. But eventually he did.

It takes time for your new car to open up to you. It takes time to build up a rapport, a trust, a syncopation. This is the beginning of an important relationship. This is what will whisk you away on adventures and what you will rely on for the mundane. You are putting your faith forward and asking the same in return. And once that rythym of routine sets in and you both realize you are in this together and for the long haul, it will happen:

You will get into your car and before you get the chance to put the key in the ignition, you will hear it. A name. Not the one you hope for, but the one that is true. You cannot force a name upon your car. The real moniker will always shine through. The longer you deny the real name, the more tennuous the realtionship. Your car will not trust you, not cooperate, will remain distracted until you say it back. The name. You can't deny the name of your loved ones, why should this love be any different?

Luthor.

That's my car's name. He told me about a week or so after we met. Although he's Swedish, he has a thick Jamaican accent. He's big, ugly and prone to grunts and groans. Just like me, he's never quite healthy, but he tries his absolute hardest to get me where I need to go. And the longer we're together, the stronger the bond. The harder it is to curse him when he's sluggish and cranky. The more it hurts me that I can't do more to make him feel better. We understand each other. And he trusts me because I recognize who he is. I allow his voice to be heard.

Every car has a soul. We all believe that. We have all spoken to our cars at one point or another, and we've done so in the belief that we would be heard. We have all had that proud moment, not of buying, but of meeting. It's that one brief moment when you realize that you and the car are one. It's like falling in love. Maybe not romantic love, but a love that transcends explaination.
So the next time you get into your car, before you just start it up and rocket off, take a moment and ask about it's day. You'll get a whole lot more love back if you do.

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Make Mom Proud

2008-05-21T14:36:00.001-07:00

Today is Mother's Day and convention would have me extolling the virtues of my own mother and motherhood in general. I'll leave that to Hallmark and the ladies on the View. Today, I want to comment on an article I read in this Sunday's paper.

This last Friday there was a dance held. A prom, really. There was a DJ, decorations, girls in long flowing dresses. The ubiquitous chaperones. Actually, there were chaperones for every guest. And every guest was proud to have their chaperone there with them. These guests were stars in their first big feature, the spotlight shining on each of them individually and equally. They wanted to be watched over. They wanted to be seen,
These guests were patients at the Shriner's Hospital, kids who face life-long struggles with illness or injury and have had to subbordinate normalcy for treatment and ongoing care. These are the kids who have never known a spring break, intra-mural sports, sock hops, sleep-overs. What they have known is isolation, gossip, teasing, staring, gawking, fear, and indifference. Because of their conditions, they have never had the opportunity to "fit in" and consequently have few friends.

Almost every television program geared toward the teen-set seems to be grounded in viciousness, self-aggrandizement, glamour, cliques, materialism, and selfishness. The Hills. Gossip Girl. The O.C.. Keeping up with the Kardashians. Nothing of value, but still held as the standard for teen behavior, if not by teens themselves. Look at the examples of cruelty and brutality streaming on You Tube, videos of "girl fights" and school bus riots. Schools today have become venues of torture not seen since the Inquisition under Torquemada.

And then there was Ariel Rogers. Her picture featured in both photographs for this article. She's a beautiful girl. The prom queen in her own right. Without reading the headline or the story below, at first glance, she appears to be able to fit right in with the "beautiful people" in a strata removed from the rest of her high school peers. But look closely at the picture, look closely at her eyes, and you see something missing from today's youth: compassion. Not feel-sorry-for-you compassion, but a compassion filled with hope and real caring. Here is a girl who breaks the stereotype of beauty by showing the beauty of a person most never see. I have long ago lost faith in our future generations. Our culture has become one of rampant selfishness and immediacy. How incredible a relief it is to sometimes be proven wrong, or at least hasty in coming to a conclusion. Ariel Rogers is evidence that we haven't completely lost sight of making the world around us a better place.

Here I have spent the last year of my life selling $300 toasters to plasticene Lexus-driving Barbie dolls. Ariel Rogers has spent hers making sick children smile.
My future is filled with doctors and needles and pills and appointments. It's aggravating, frustrating, annoying. But I get to live at home. I have freedom of mobility. I have friends. I have poor health but I can function normally in soceity. Do I have room to complain? I got to go to my Prom (I actually went to three of them). I had a steady girlfriend throughout high school. I had it pretty easy. And now that I'm sick myself, I think I have the right to shake my fist at the powers that be?

I find myself full of regret that I was not the big enough person to do back then what Ariel Rogers does now. I do not know her but through this article, and yet, I am immensely proud of her and those who volunteered with her. Looking again at these pictures of kids in wheelchairs, dressed to the nines, smiles big enough for their own zip codes, I can see what real honest joy and gratitude looks like. And it makes me ask myself, again, what am I doing to make someone happy who could not otherwise find happiness themselves? And what is is that drives someone like Ariel? Drives her to break out and be different at the risk of being called different herself? At least these kids, usually labelled as "different" weren't so for one incredible night. In fact, they probably had the most drama-free prom ever held.

So the tie-in to Mother's Day? Don't just send her a card or take her out to brunch. Give her the better gift: do something to make her proud; make a difference in someone's life. I guarantee you, Mrs. Rogers is a very proud mother indeed.

(The article in question can be found in the Metro section of the May, 11 2008 edition of the Oregonian: http://www.oregonlive.com/news/oregonian/index.ssf?/base/news/1210474508111150.xml&coll=7

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So I was brushing my teeth...

2008-05-21T14:35:00.000-07:00

You know how you're brushing your teeth and a random thought will just pop into your head, with no connection to the here and now? Here are a few I'd like to share and solicit some feedback on:

Smuckers Uncrustables, in the freezer section. If that crimped edge of dough all around the edge isn't a crust, then I don't know what it is.

Not that I believe they existed, but what exactly did Adam and Eve use to keep those fig leaves in place? If you examine all the definitive art, they just kind of magically stay in place.

There's a new commercial out for the BMW "M" series with the tagline "redefining the coupe" but they show a sedan...

If you notice on "Friends", Joey and Chandler's bathroom is exactly where the staircase is outside the apartment.

And who was the genius who cast Ian Ziering as Hernando Cortez in "Aztec Rex", a gripping tale of the explorer battling a native tribe that worships a captive Tyrannasaurus Rex? Sci Fi Channel, I kid you not.

Who would buy an $8 color-coded double-ended spatula specifically for spreading peanut butter and jelly? The one side is purple, the other brown. $8, at retail-rapist-central: Williams-Sonoma.
A $300 toaster, really?

Casimir Pulaski is so celebrated in Chicago that they have a holiday for him where the entire city practically shuts down. He's buried in Savannah, Georgia. There's a square named after him there, but that's not the square he's buried in. And he has no holiday.

Why is there a size zero for women? The definition of zero is "without value." So maybe that is accurate, if most models are a size zero.....

Why is it still called a dial-tone? Dials are round and I can't recall the last time I saw a rotary phone.

Why do artists say they have a new album coming out when it's not actually an album? (purists, agree with me here, an album is vinyl).

Did you know Williams-Sonoma also carries a cup-warmer for $999. That's not a typo. And, yes, all it does is warms cups.

I have no point to make here, it's just funny what pops into your head when you're cleanin' your choppers....

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And this next one was taken...

2008-05-21T14:33:00.000-07:00

My wife recently posted a blog about her inherent disinterest in other people's photos. Her main point of contention being that she has no interest in having snapshots of people and events foisted upon her of which she has no interest or connection. In a way, I must agree (however, I contend that a snapshot is just a blithe moment captured in time, a photograph is a work of art...discuss). This point of view brought me to a larger conclusion, a view based on the notion of not wanting to see another family's happenings.

If I wanted children, then I'd want to be around them, but since I don't want kids, I don't want to see yours. Just as I have no interest in seeing a photo of your rugrat as the tomato in the third grade play about nutrition, I have no interest in seeing that same child in public. I don't want to hear it talk, scream, cry, whine, moan, complain, shout, yell, blabber, sputter, sneeze, mumble, bitch, back-sass, giggle, burp, fart, yawn, whisper, or breathe. If I had any interest in that, I'd have one of my own. So why do I have to endure the ramblings and rumblings of your offspring when I'm out in public? As a non-smoker, I have the right to a smoke-free environment. Why can I not have the same protection as a non-breeder? Why must I endure your shortcommings as a parent in the tantrums of your child when I'm out at the Target or the Safeway? Why must my quiet romantic dinner be constantly interrupted by an urchin running circles around my table demanding foods he can only get at home? Why must my deliberately child-free existence be constantly intruded upon by exactly what I choose to avoid? Where are my child-free shopping centers, my urchin-free restaurants (hell, even bars allow children nowdays). And, really, what kind of a parent are you if you are out with a stroller-bound fuck-trophy at eleven o'clock at night gorging on Miller Lite and buffalo wings?

So, no I don't want to see your picture of little Johnny at the McDonald's playground spreading germs and disease in the plastic ball pit. I would rather see your parent license.

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Will you accept this rose?

2008-05-21T14:31:00.000-07:00

Reality television piques my interest. Most of the time, I hypothesize my own performance and roundly criticize those actually participating (I could cook circles around the "chefs" on Hells' Kitchen). The range of programming sways from the pseudo-highbrow (Extreme Makeover) to the criminally insane (Flavor of Love). It occured to me that while most of these shows were competition-based, the majority of that sub-set were grounded in the dating world:

Flavor of Love 1, 2, and 3. I Love New York 1, 2, and 3. Mr. Personality. Shot at Love with Tila Tequila. Date My Dad. Farmer Needs A Wife. Rock of Love 1, 2, and 3 . Outback Jack. Paradise Hotel. Temptation Island. Joe Millionaire. Average Joe. Who Wants to Marry My Dad?

Just to name a few...

And then there is The Bachelor.

Never a favorite of mine, I have watched this last season with increasing interest. The network just aired the reunion program as a prequel to the finale. In this yawn-inducing bitch-fest I found myself struggling to find any of the women attractive. Not the two finalists. Not any of the contestants. And after scrutinizing their features, their mannerisms, their attitudes, I realized just why none of them held any appeal for me:

Their lack of principles and shame.

To have launched themselves upon this bloke (he's English this year, so he has an accent that makes him sound classy) in a public forum, espousing profound feelings of true love after only a few days and a few cocktails provided by producers, these women have demeaned the very poetry of wooing. Just as unbelieveable as Luke Skywalker becoming a Jedi in all of about a day and a half (re-watch Empire and you'll realize just how long he really goes through his training)(yes, I totally belong on Beauty and the Geek) is these women believing that they'll be proposed to at the end of a few weeks. How selfless are you if you need to be on camera 24/7? How can someone truly be devoted to the idea of a singular love when carousing with fifteen other women at the same time? In the real world, he'd be a "player", and the women around him "sluts". But on television, the third runner up gets to be the Bachelorette.

The Bachelor has contributed the death and dearth of courtship. Women now feel the need to flay themselves of the digital altar, spewing obscenities and physical threats. They become carricatures of real women looking for real love, not shots at fleeting "US Weekly" fame. Even the one couple who DID end up staying together as a result of said program, Ryan and Trista, whored their nuptuals out to the network and paraded their baby before the paparazzi the way Paris Hilton does boy-toys. What's more appalling than the content is the continuing popularity of this show. Are we really to believe that this is going to be the most romantic rose ceremony ever?

Back to the original argument, that this diminishes the art of relationships. If anything, this, and all reality dating shows illustrate the decline of the committed heterosexual relationship. They are tabloid adventures in titulation. The tabloids themselves exploiting the participants in splashy exposes, reducing them to late-night fodder. Pick up any tabloid and it will contain two constants: who's banging who, and who's split up. Forty pages of this, every week of every year. Think of the major headlines recently that you've secretly peeked at while waiting in line at the checkout counter. Paul McCartney and Heather Mills. Starr Jones. Brittany and K-Fed. Divorce, divorce, divorce. Paris Hilton and this week's Son-Of-A-Greek-Shipping-Tycoon, Lindsay Lohen and some rock band flunkie, Jessica Simpson and the athelete of the moment. Emotionless trysts, at best. If anything, the tabloids do nothing but illustrate the impending extinction of the healthy committed hetrosexual relationship.

Why do I keep specifically mentioning "heterosexual"? The conservative right-wing of America constantly harps on the importance of traditional family values and the importance of defining marriage in our Constitution. The hypocrisy is beyond evident. The Senator who sponsored the most anti-gay legislation is busted in a bathroom stall. Evangelical leaders are caught with gay prostitutes. As we look to our leaders to provide examples for which to follow, the governor of Nevada is trying to evict his wife from the Governor's Mansion as they battle in divorce after 21 years of marriage. Donald trump, who roundly crticizes those who are unloyal to him and don't finish projects, himself has violated his own tennants by divorcing twice. Country music legend Garth Brooks left his wife of 16 years to run off with Trisha Yearwood, herself a married woman. Robin Williams is divorcing after 26 years of marriage. How can the right point to gays and say that their marrying would destroy the sanctity of marriage when there are far more examples of hetero impropreity? How have straight people, in even just this last decade, shown proclivity toward sanctifying the union of a man and a woman?

If you need any more convincing, tune in to the finale of the Bachelor next Tuesday, 10 pm PST on ABC.

(Michael did NOT meet his wife on a reality dating show, but they are hoping to one day be contestants on "The Amazing Race")

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$3 Trillion

2008-05-21T14:29:00.000-07:00

I'm generally not the one who passes things on, but as I was perusing the new issue of Vanity Fair (no, not for the Miley Cyrus pics), I found myself reading the letters to the editor, not a section of magazines I frequent. One letter in particular piqued my interest, and it's intent, of putting things into a surprising perspective about the Iraq war, worked. Well enough that I felt the need to pass it on and offer my thoughts.

"...if I were to give someone $3 trillion and tell him that he had to spend $100 million each and every day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, and then told him not to come back until he had spent each and every penny, said person would not return for approximately 82 years. Think about it. Eighty-two years' worth of spending $100 million each day."

I have yet to encounter one singular individual who supports this war. I have yet to encounter one singular individual who supports his tax dollars funding Halliburton or Blackwater. I have yet to encounter one singular individual who thinks we haven't spent enough money building infrastructure 12 time zones away. Politics is a land mine. But there comes a time when you have to cast your voice out amongst the cacophony and hope it somehow gets heard. It is no secret I'm an Obama supporter, but this topic transcends the election and hits at a deeper core. This is about American children being shortchanged in their education to pay for corrupt Iraqi police forces. This is about the lack of comprehensive health care for Americans while we build new Iraqi hospitals for victims of our invasion. This is about building and securing oil pipelines and refineries for big oil while domestic prices keep rising. This is tantamount to treason against the American people as a whole. Not to delve into hyperbole, but the use of funds in all aspects of this war has been criminal. Of all that $3 trillion, we still can't provide the proper armor and equipment for our troops? How can we ask our own citizens to invest the kicker checks they just received into our own economy when the goverment itself refuses to invest so? How can we blithely go along with budgets for domestic services for an overseas country that are triple our own?

This is a nation of immediacy. Everything must be delivered in a flash, from goods and services to soundbites from our leaders and entertainers. Our own government has adopted that same behavior, looking only at the immediate and ignoring the bigger picture. We only look to the present and not the future. "Someone will figure out how to pay for the education of our next generation, but, really, I'm busy right now so I can't be bothered to think about it." "We can't pull out of Iraq or it will collapse." If we keep pulling out of America, it will collapse! Our generation is already lacking in basic education and skills. Our refusing to fix it and fund it will only make it worse, and future generations simply won't be able to fix it because nothing will be left to fix and they'll be too stupid to know how. Reversing the tide of funding would only admit to a mistake and Americans don't admit mistakes, although electing a Democrat this fall would be a step in the right direction.

$3 trillion dollars is what we have spent on this war so far. Keith Olbermann ends every program with a countdown of how many days since W. procalimed "Mission Accomplished" (just over FIVE YEARS). Remember, it would take 82 years to spend $100 million a day and we've spent $3 TRILLION in those FIVE YEARS And every year kids across America have to share 20 year old text books with each other, forgo art education, provide their own equipment for extra-curricular activities and sports. If only we concentrated on re-directing those funds toward education and nothing else, just that, our next generation might have a fighting chance at righting our wrongs simply for having had a better education.

On the lighter side of this, on the page directly opposite this letter was an ad for Cartier jewelers

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The Prudish States of America

2008-05-21T14:27:00.000-07:00

In order to fit in with the mindset of Americans, I have decided to start wearing big brass buckles on my shoes, you know, in the conservative fashion of the Purtians. Our country was founded by Calvinists and remains a religiously conservative nation. Proof of point: 20/20. I sat down to watch their special report on the Sistine Chapel and nearly fell off the couch at the first frames shown: "The following program features paintings containg nudity, viewer discretion advised." If ever there were an example of irony. The religious right has made such an impact on American culture that a television program about one of the holiest places on earth had to be pre-empted by a warning fueled by the prudishness of religious fanatics.

Mormons believe the larger the family, the greater chance of celestial salvation. Lots of kids comes from lots of sex. But heaven forbid we should actually show the penis on the sculpture of David, a piece of marble whose sole purpose is to exemplify the perfection of God's creation in Man. How do you build a bigger family without knowledge of sex? How can groups proclaim such a devotion to protecting the sanctity of life and the beauty of all God's creatures when they protest actually seeing the work of God in all it's glory, purely as art, and not as pornography. This was a program about an artist and his relationship with the Catholic Church. This was a program about an artist whose sole purpose in life was to wrought the beauty of the human form as tribute to God's great work, the creation of man. And now, a nation founded by pilgrims, devout of religion, have mutated into a nation ashamed of God's creation, all the while claiming to be speaking the will and intent of God. The hypocrisy of that singular warning at the beginning of the program was the single greatest example of the twisted nature of religious belief permeating this nation. It shows just how backward we as a people are. If we cannot be trusted to recognize art for what it is, then we have, indeed taken one step further toward George Orwell's vision of a Thought Police. When his book was celebrated in 1984, we laughed at how improbable his predictions were. Re-read it now, and it takes on a whole new meaning.

As a side note, I love a program like "Art With Sister Wendy", a discourse on art and art history, hosted by a NUN, showing the same pieces of work as the 20/20 special, has never received a bit of protest, but because a program on the Sistine Chapel was aired by "the liberal mainstream media", it was met with warnings and pre-emption.

The pilgrims left Europe to escape the hypocrisy of the ruling religious figures, only to have founded a new nation conceived in the same. I only hope my brass shoe buckles and big black hat won't offend. At least the Constitution allows me to carry a blunderbuss.....

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How Nokia Discovered The New World

2008-05-21T14:17:00.000-07:00

I think our history books are lying to us. There is, in fact, a book out there called "Lies My Teacher Told Me About American History." If there were a place to see if my conspiracy theory were true, it should be there. But, alas, non. One of my favorite things to do when watching historical docudramas or movies is to find that small flash of technology to prove my point. I just know that the History Channel is skewing the facts in favor of tradition and folklore. My singular goal (future pun intended) is to expose the shoking truth:
Cell phones were invented in the fifteenth century and brought to the New World by Christopher Columbus.
Outrageous? No. But it is the only logical explaination for why the cheetoh-munching-video-game-playing-cell-phone-using-chatty-cathy-fat-ass simply HAD to get on said phone before even pulling out of her parking space at the local Safeway. Without cell phnes, we as a society would simply collapse. And it is because of our long tradition of using cell phones that has brought us to the virtual surgical implantation of them, removal tantamount to amputation.
How else did we conquer the New World? How did we communicate our plans for Western Domination? This is a continent of vast distances, immeasurable physical hurtles. Indigenous populations that needed to be relocated. Forests to be raized. Canals to be built. An Industrial Revolution to be wrought. How could a people forge a Brave New World without being in literal constant contact? How, indeed, did we get thirteen delegates to come together and vote on a Bill Of Rights without benefit of texting? How, indeed, did John Steinbeck communicate the plight of the migrant worker without IM? How, indeed, did Matthew Brady ever document the horrors of our Civil War without benefit of the picture phone?
It must be obvious that such a great country could not exist, grow, or succeed without the ubiquitous cell phone. Our generation, the Grtst CPhn Gnrtn, has proven the worth and necessity of this life-giving/saving device. Americans, over the course of generations, have become one with their phones, bringing that tradition of use to their fellow citizens, recalling that time when Paul Revere saved the colonies from the invading British by giving a shout out to all his party peeps in Beantown ("Hey, yo, G Wash, can ya hear me now?") (do you think he was in Washington's five?). And it was a proud moment for me, today, to witness a self-indulgent-mini-van-driving-slob get on her phone just seconds after grocery shopping to tell the world of her great accomplishment. Pity me for being in her way. She, that great patriot, showing the next generation just how much cell phone use is ingrained in American culture.
So I ask you, please, to help me re-write the history books to include the truth: that America simply could not have become the great self-centered-ego-centric nation that it is today without the help of the cell phone in the past. We as a nation would not have been able to overcome the challenges unaided by bluetooth, and the truth needs to be texted. While driving, of course.

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