break-up

The worst part isn't the present. It's the future. All the places you planned to travel. The movies you were going to watch. All the stories you never got around to telling. You realize that it's not going to happen. And it hurts. The loss of a future that was so vivid, so real in your head. Even if a part of you knew you were never going to make it there. You constantly check your phone out of habit, but you're not sure who you're expecting to call. Sometimes you wonder if there's anything left to look forward to. Just working and sleeping. Endlessly. And it's not that you lived for your relationship. It wasn't that big of a deal. But it was hope. It was something different. It broke up the monotony. And now life is back to normal. Everything's the same. But you're not quite.

Last Call

Pardon me for saying so, but Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman are idiots. They're the guys who wrote the 1960 Drifters hit "Save the Last Dance for Me." It's playing at Toys [backwards]R Us right now, so I've heard it three hundred times recently, which has led me to overanalyze it. Endulge me. Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman are idiots.

I'm sure you've heard the song, but let me refresh you on the content anyway. The speaker says to an unidentified "you" that we'll assume is his girlfriend, go ahead and dance with that guy who's been eyeing you and smile at the guys who want to hold your hand."Have your fun" and "laugh and sing," but [the chorus]...
"Don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darlin', save the last dance for me."
You're kidding me, right? Put yourself in this guy's place. You're dating this girl and you're really into her ("Baby, don't you know/I love you so,") and you take her to some sort of party or dance. And what do she do? She goes off dancing with every guy who winks at her. She flirts and smiles and has the time of your life while you're sitting on a folding chair composing some sappy love song about her. I'm sorry, but if that's you, you're a moron. Even if they're not technically a couple and it's more of a prom date scenario, that's even worse. The speaker bought this girl a ticket and a corsage and spent too much money renting a tux with a pink cumberbund 'cause it's 1960 and to pay him back she goes off and shakes her little tush for every other guy at the party while he's nursing the same glass of punch and eating stale peanuts for two hours. And he says save the last dance for him, so it's not like he doesn't dance. It's not like he's not willing to go out there and live it up. But this girl doesn't want that. She wants to be the star of the party and let every guy there think he's got a chance at bedding her. And poor, stupid Doc and Mort are more than willing to sit back and watch, wait until she's worn herself out and ready for that last dance. Ready for them to drive her home and tell her how much they love her and how beautiful she looked out there. Girls are the devil.

boycottomy

I've seen a lot of talk on both MySpace and Facebook about staying away from the gas pumps on May 15th. I'm not sure who came up with the idea or set that specific date, but it has definitely taken off, with numerous Facebook groups and MySpace bulletins championing the cause. And that's all well and good. I don't own a BP station and I don't really care who purchases gas or when. But I think it's pretty silly to think this one-day boycott will accomplish anything at all. I don't have any clue what the actual numbers are, but I'll throw out some approximations that sound plausible to me at least. Let's say that, between MySpace and Facebook, the boycotters manage to attract 3 million people that actually commit and agree to not buy gas on the 15th of May. Multiply that by twenty to fifty dollars per tank of gas, you say, and that's a lot of money. Perhaps. However, it's extremely doubtful that all of that money will actually be lost, even for a day. Again, for the sake of argument, let's assume the average person fills up his or her tank about once every ten days. There are some that fill up more than that obviously and some that fill up less, but we'll pick that number as a nice even average. That means that only a tenth of those 3 million people would have filled up their cars on the 15th if not for the boycott. That cuts the number of customers lost from 3 million to 300,000. I would wager that 85 to 90% of those FaceSpacers will end up purchasing gas on the following day since it's not like they can skip work or other obligations when their gas runs out. That means maybe 300,000 (on the high side I'd say) people may buy gas one day later than they would have otherwise. To the trillion dollar oil industry, that's not exactly a noticable dent. It's not even a mosquito bite. So by all means, skip your trip to Shell on the 15th. Just don't expect the prices to lower on the 16th.

nerd stuff

What if Star Wars were an actual greek tragedy instead of just based on one?

In act 1, Leia sleeps with Vader in an attempt to gain her freedom and once Luke has rescued her, they are immediately married as a show of her gratitude.

In act 2, Luke visits the oracle, Yoda, and finds out the truth, that Vader is his father and Leia his sister. He immediately gouges out his own eyes and begins to wander Dagobah aimlessly.

In act 3, Luke's faithful manservant, Artu, returns to tell the princess what has become of her new husband and why. Distraught, Leia hangs herself with her own hair. Han Solo, when he comes upon the scene is overcome with rage and flies into the Death Star, destroying it but killing himself in the process. Han's foreign slave, Chewbacca, by now the only main cast member left alive, travels to the rebel base to tell them all that has happened, but cursed by the gods with muteness for his role in what has gone on, all he can do is howl in agony.

The end.

put to good use

When people are mad they'll sometimes use the phrase, "you're just using me." And I guess the "just" makes it seem somewhat negative, but in general I don't see what's so wrong about using people. We all use people every day, especially our friends. We use them for entertainment, for companionship. We use them to cheer us up when we're down, to give us rides when our cars break down, to keep an eye on us and let us know when we're being stupid. And that's okay. As humans we need other people. We depend on them and they depend on us. I use you because that's what you're there for and I want you to use me back. I'm happy to be your shoulder to cry on, to make fun of myself to make you smile, to buy you a meal when you forget your wallet or keep you company when you're bored. That's what friends do. We use and we get used. We're symbiotes. We're designed to be. So use me. Abuse me. "Bend me, shape me, anyway you want me." That's what friends are for.

Nor Dark of Night

Morning’s stillness parted
By jingling bells
Not sleigh, but mailmen
Mail carriers
Mail persons
Unloading sacks from vans and trucks
Loading up cars to deliver
Unwanted fliers and circulars
Bills with past due reminders
I listen from my bed
Dreams cut short
No longer in my high school
In my underwear
Fighting dragons with my Geo Prism
Now awake and aware
As the plain clothes post officers depart
To fulfill their weekdaily chore
I wish that I’d closed my window

dinner conversation

[This is part (probably the beginning) of what will hopefully become a larger, more awesome piece in the near future.]

"Baby," I looked at her and said, "I think you might just be my soulmate."

It was our third date and things were going well. Olive Garden seemed a bit crowded for a Tuesday, but the wait hadn't been excruciating. Grace seemed to be enjoying herself so far and I was much less nervous than I had been on our previous dates

"Souls can't mate, Jack. They don't have genitalia."

My first date with Grace was to a movie and our second was a group date sort of thing with two other couples, so this was our first chance to really talk for an extended period of time.

"Typical," I said, "Everything's about sex with you."

She arched her eyebrows slightly. "You're one to talk with your porn star name, Jack Redman."

I affected a bit of a pseudo-British accent, "Actually, it's John Tyler Redman the third."

"Oh…I see. Like the president?"

"That's right. Number ten. Practically a founding father. Beats being named after Taft I guess."

Grace chuckled to herself. "You know…Taft was eaten by wolves."

"Really? Wolves? I wasn't aware." I took a sip of my ice water. "And what's your middle name, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Actually, Grace is my middle name. My first name is Whitney."

I managed to stop myself from making the obvious "danger is my middle name" reference, figuring she'd heard it a million times. "Whitney Grace Connors, huh? How very sorority girl of you. I'm surprised you didn't go to Vassar." Grace has dyed black hair and a lip ring and "dressed up" for our date by wearing Dr. Martens instead of her usual checkerboard Vans, so I knew that one would hit her where she lived.

She chuckled slightly again. I really dig her laugh. "Yeah…I guess I'm a real disappointment."

Steve, our waiter, returned to the table with the signature Olive Garden salad bowl and watched while we served ourselves, waiting to offer us some grated cheese. I accepted. Grace declined.

"No cheese? Are you vegan or something?" I nodded thanks to Steve as he walked away.

"Were you not here when I ordered the veal parmesan?"

I shrugged. "I don't know…I figured maybe you love animals, but really hate baby cows for some reason. You watched a baby cow murder your parents when you were seven?"

"That's it." Grace faked wiping away a tear. "I'll never forget that sight. The heartless bastard just stood there chewing his cud, redigesting their torn flesh while they slowly bled to death in front of us."

"How traumatic. I think I saw the Lifetime movie about it now that you mention it. Wasn't your mother played by Judith Light?"

"It was Meredith Baxter Burney, actually. Brilliant actress. I just wish they hadn't picked a young Tori Spelling to play me." Grace was sniffling now, pretending to blot her eyes with her napkin.

"Tori Spelling, huh? I didn't realize her dad had pull over at Lifetime too."

"Never doubt power of Aaron Spelling. If he could land her a role opposite an acting legend like Dustin Diamond, he could do anything."

"Point taken. It's a good thing he's dead now or Tori would be getting an Oscar nomination."

Grace had let up on the fake crying by now and took a bite of her salad. "I don't know, Jack. It hasn't been confirmed yet, but I think his powers may just work from beyond the grave."

I put on my best generic serious actor voice. "God. Help. Us. All." The salad was tasty, not to vinegary this time. "So what sort of trouble did you get into today, Ms. Connors?"

"No trouble, sir. Just went shopping."

"Really? How is the gang down at Hot Topic?"

Grace did this cute thing where she bared her teeth and looked like she was going to growl. "You're one to talk, Mr. Thrift Store. 'Ooh…look at me. I'm so hip and ironic with my secondhand t-shirts. I only wear clothes somebody died in.'"

"Dude…who told you that I tried to buy hospital ID bracelets after I saw that chick in Constantine?"

Grace crunched on a crouton. "You're a sick, sick man."

I stuck out my tongue. "Takes one to know one."

"Oh…so I'm a drag queen now? What does that make you?"

"Eddie Murphy?"

We both laughed and there was a bit of a lull in the conversation while we took a break to eat. Grace broke the silence while I was twisting some noodles around my fork.

"Did you see Bush's speech today? What a retard."

I took a bite and shrugged my shoulders. Grace plays bass in a band called Crossbone Syndicate with her older brother. DC hardcore. Very political. My band plays shows with hers, but we tend to sing more about relationships and real life incidents. Sort of Brand New meets At the Drive-In. We were called Star Crunch at the time of the date, but now we go by The Alphabet Exchange.

Grace continued her thought. "Just what we need: more dumb Americans over there raping and pillaging and killing innocent civilians."

I took a sip of my iced tea and spoke softly. "Umm…Grace…I should probably go ahead and tell you that I'm a military brat and my younger brother's stationed in Afghanistan right now."

"Oh." Grace looked down at the table and took a quick bite of veal. Steve came by and refilled my tea. I took a couple of sips and bit into a breadstick. The napkin they put on them really manages to keep them warm. Grace was looking off at another table by this point, probably afraid to make eye contact.

"Hey, Grace, you know what I hate?"

Grace looked back at me, trying hard to keep a neutral expression on her face. "What's that?" she asked.

"Jews and black people," I said, managing to keep a straight face.

Grace laughed and shook her head.

"It's terrible. The Jews run Hollywood and the media. And black people crucified Jesus and shot JFK."

She looked around to make sure there were no people of color or wearing yarmulke in the vicinity. "And don't forget about Tupac and Biggie."

"That's right! Black people shot Tupac and Biggie," I said. "I almost forgot."

"And I'm sure they shot 50 Cent too."

"No, that was Woody Allen. Dirty Jew."

"Oh yeah…I read that on the internet. And didn't Jerry Seinfeld kill Aaron Spelling?"

I laughed a bit. "Nope. I hear from a reliable source that Yahweh himself smited Mr. Spelling out of jealousy. Or smote maybe? Seinfeld may have killed Elvis and Kurt Cobain though. Authorities are still looking into it." I took a bite of my pasta, which was mediocre by the way. Olive Garden never really impresses me.

"This is so informative, Jack. What else have the Jews been up to lately?"

"Well…I heard that John Stewart…"

"…whoa…leave John out of this."

"Sorry. I forgot that he's God to you dirty liberals."

"At least he's not Bill O'Reilly. Ugh." Grace fake-shuddered.

"I'm not a Fox News fan actually. I prefer Joe Scarborough."

"Welcome to Scarborough Country," Grace deadpanned. "No Passport required. Check your brain at the door."

We playfully argued about news pundits for a while and finished up our meals. Grace looked a bit sad when Steve brought our check. That's always a good sign, right? Steve didn't charge us for our drinks.

"Who are the ad wizards who came up with this one?"

Music videos have technically existed since the 1960's, but it wasn't until the 80's and the advent of MTV that they really became an art form. Performers like Madonna, Michael Jackson, and Duran Duran revolutionized the medium and massively boosted their own careers in the process. The question of which video deserves the title of all-time greatest is always up for debate. You could make a case for Pearl Jam's "Jeremy" or The Smashing Pumpkins' "Tonight, Tonight." Michael's "Thriller" video has to be included in the conversation as well as "Sabotage" by the Beastie Boys. There are several more recent artists like Kayne West and My Chemical Romance that have made videos worthy of being discussed and every video by Björk is pretty much amazing. One thing that is not up for debate, however, is the question of who made the smartest music video ever. That title, without a doubt, belongs to "When I'm Gone" by 3 Doors Down. Let me explain:

It was 2002 and Americans' patriotism was still riding high after the September 11th attacks a year earlier. Even many who were normally anti-war couldn't help but support the war in Afghanistan where it seemed clear that we were merely going after those that came after us. The controversial Iraq war was still to come and, unlike in the 1960's where a large group of people had a giant mental lapse and began taunting and spitting at America's mostly drafted soldiers, no one was wavering in their support for those in harm's way. 3 Doors Down could have gone the way of Toby Keith and written an over the top, rompin' stompin', flag waving, pro war anthem and probably not alienated most of their core fan base. But they didn't. Brad Arnold and company wrote a typical alt-rock album about relationships. After recording, however, the boys paid a visit to the USS George Washington, a naval aircraft carrier. Either the band or their record label most likely decided to scrap the previously filmed video for lead single, "When I'm Gone" and use footage of their concert aboard the carrier instead. Suddenly, "When I'm Gone" became an ode to our fighting men and women overseas and instantly cemented 3 Doors Down as the most visible band to "support our troops" at a time when practically everyone saw that as noble. How strong is that association? I'll start by saying that I'm not a fan of the band or their style of music. But to this day, over four years later, I think of soldiers when I hear the song, or even the second single off of that album, "Here Without You," whose video, to my knowledge, didn't feature a single active member of the military. Unlike other overplayed, schmaltzy radiogarbage of the era (ie: "It's Been Awhile," "How You Remind Me," and "The Reason), I don't cringe when "Here Without You" comes on the radio. Despite any feelings I may have about the Iraq war or Bush's presidency and the over-riding cynicism everybody tells me I possess, I can't turn a cold shoulder to the mental picture of brave guys in varying shades of khaki getting shot at in the desert while their families spend another holiday with a missing piece. Call me a sentimental sap, but it worked. 3 Doors Down got to me. And I have a feeling that they got to a lot of Americans. And that, my friends, is brilliance.

navelgazing rambleness

I vividly remember painting balloons in second grade. Natalie Thornwaite painted hers yellow with red polkadots and wrote the words, "Wild Thang" on it. Before the balloons were turned in though, she changed the phrase to, "Wild Thing." I remember being upset. I've never thought intentional misspelling was cool (although I did have a brief habit of spelling "rules" with a "Z"), but in second grade, replacing an "I" with an "A" was downright subversive. I was disappointed that she gave in to percieved societal pressure to be normal and censored her own creativity. Even at seven, I valued individuality.

That's pretty much been a constant ever since. There were times when I wanted to fit in, but never if it meant being the same if that makes any sense. My favorite Muppet was Gonzo. My favorite Anamaniac was Wakko. I loved Peter Tork on the Monkees and Murdoch on the A-Team and claimed "I Am the Walrus" as my favorite Beatles song. When people would call me "weird" I would take it as a compliment.

The question I have is why? What caused me to value uniqueness (within reason) over so many other things? I wonder if maybe it was because I've always felt odd myself. As far back as preschool, I was never cool or popular. Other than a few scattered moments, I was never completely ostracized, but I often felt like an outsider. Maybe that was the beginning. Maybe, at some point, I subconsciously decided that if my lot in life was to be weird then I'd turn it into a positive. So now when I find myself wondering whether I hate something because I actually hate it or simply because it's popular, I should stop questioning it since I already made up my mind about the subject when I was two.

Really, it's a chicken vs. egg thing. Either I'm weird because I value individuality or I value individuality because I'm weird or both qualities come from some unknown nature/nurture source that I could never hope to isolate. Pick option A, B, or C and it doesn't change much. I'm a bit strange sometimes and I appreciate other things that ever-so-deftly deviate from the norm. For better or worse, that's me. But I can't promise not to be hurt if you call me weird too much.

it's a boy

Am I the only person in America that finds it odd that everyone keeps talking about the Iraqi people like they're eight-year-olds? In just about every speech or commentary I've heard lately, from both sides of the aisle, politicians and pundits have been discussing the citizens or Iraq like we're trying to teach a bunch of children how to run a country. Apparently, if we keep supporting the Iraqis too much, then they're going to become relient on our help and never learn to do things for themselves. Maybe it's time to let little Jimmy leave the nest and fly solo. I know it's scary thinking of him out there on his own at that sleep-over birthday party with the other countries at Syria's house, but you can't be there forever to wipe his nose and make sure he's eating his brussel sprouts. Honestly, that's been the tone lately. It's so incredibly condescending. We realize that that the people running Iraq are all over eighteen, right? And not only are they adults, but they're millions of multi-faceted adults with different viewpoints and ideas. I'm pretty sure that, as we speak, some of them are thinking and behaving exactly as we'd like them to while others are completely in another sphere. And do we honestly think it's going to help to talk about all of this so much in such a superior tone? You realize that they know what we're saying, right? They have TV's. It's not like they can't hear us. The least Bush and Obama and Hannity and Colmes could do is spell the words instead of saying them. It works on other children.

So this is what happens when you ask me to write a story about fairies over AIM.

There once was a fairy princess named Constance who had the most beautiful, incandescent wings. The sunlight glinted off of them ever so slightly and, if you watched her closely, you could just make out a kalidescope of sky and cloud through them as she flew over head. All of the other fairies told her how grand and gorgeous her wings were, but Constance didn't see what was so special about them. To her, they were ordinary and plain. She hated the way they'd change from robin's egg blue to lavender as she moved in the sunlight. She couldn't stand the sapphire tint they'd take on at night. She wanted them to be ordinary: yellow, orange, green red, just something that didn't stand out.

One night, Constance waited up, flipping between Conan and Jimmy Kimmel mostly, until long after the other fairies had all gone to bed. Then, she quietly made her way to the communal tool shed, found an old saw she'd used to make a bird house when she was eleven, and slowly and steadily hacked off her radiant wings, with only a few sips of wine to dull the pain and a rag to bite on that muffled her screams. She managed to bandage up the stumps on her back before passing out on the floor of the tool shed in a pool of her own blood.

When the other fairies found her the next afternoon, they were, of course, appalled. "Constance," they asked, "who did this to you?" Constance's only response was a smile. She finally had what she wanted.

After a while, life got back to what now could be called normal. Constance returned to the same daily routine as before, only minus the flying and without the showers of admiration from her peers. She was still unique. She still stood out. But now it was something different. She was the damaged one. The freak. Boisterous conversations would quickly decay into whispers or silence when she rounded the corner. Several of the fairies refused to fly around her; so she wouldn't feel bad they reasoned. No one let their eyes meet hers for long, afraid of what they might find if they looked too deeply. And Constance just kept on smiling. She didn't mind this kind of attention. Now she was different by her own hand. Now she was special with a purpose. Her smile screamed futility. It pleaded for logic and reason. No more flying. No more parties. Just cold, dead weight. Tethered to the earth. Constance swore she knew a secret: soaring or crawling, we all end up together.

We're not so different, you and I.

A phrase people say to me fairly often is, "You think you're always right." It's generally made in an acusatory tone after the speaker and I have been discussing something at length. It refers to the fact that I like to argue. I enjoy a good discussion about a variety of topics and I'm not afraid to disagree with others, no matter how firmly held their beliefs may be. It's been a bit of a trend in this blog too. Don't act like you haven't noticed. And while there may be some validity to the phrase, "You think you're always right," I believe it's a bit of a misnomer. Let's break it down:

If you're referring to factual information, then it's not true at all. Obviously, if I've heard a fact and comitted it to memory, believing it to be true, then I think I'm right about it. That does not, however, mean I'm not willing to investigate to find out whether I'm correct or not and it doesn't mean that I'm not willing to admit it when I turn out to be incorrect. I'd like to think that times when I feel sure about something, when I'd say something to the affect of, "I'm pretty positive," I turn out to be right more times than not. I haven't done a longitudinal study or any such nonsense though, so I can't really claim to know the percentages. I certainly don't claim to know everything or even most things and I've definitely been mistaken on many occasions. Britney Spears was, in fact, born in Kentwood, contrary to my feelings otherwise. I know more than some people, but less than a lot of people. I feel that I'm reasonably intelligent, but I don't have any proof of that, so I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

So maybe the phrase refers to issues of opinion. And, if that's the case, I'd say that it's mostly true. Changing the syntax to, "You always think you're right," might give it a bit more truthiness, but that's probably just splitting hairs. We'll work with the assumption that, "You think you're always right," is true when it comes to my opinion. And I ask, so what? Isn't that the case for everyone? If I didn't believe that my opinion was right, then it wouldn't be my opinion. If I didn't think I was correct in liking and respecting Fight Club, then I couldn't really like or respect Fight Club. If I didn't believe that Thrice had talent and wrote good songs, then I wouldn't listen to them or list them as one of my favorites. Truth is, everybody thinks their opinion is right. That's part of the definition.

I guess the problem comes in with the fact that I tend to vigorously defend my opinion. Unless it's something like, "asparagus is gross," I'll produce facts to support myself and logically argue as to why my opinion is the correct one. And it's fun. I enjoy it. I rarely get upset or frustrated. I'd say it's one of my favorite pastimes. I don't see how it makes me arrogant or mean.

The other thing that gets me in trouble is the fact that I tend to mock the opinions of others. But it's all in good fun. I swear. I don't honestly care that Bryan watches "Stargate" and loves "Resident Evil." It doesn't bother me that Maggie went to see Rascal Flats (even though their singer kinda' sounds like a girl). It's just good natured ribbing and, beyond my sister, I don't think I hurt many feelings.

Sure I'm "right," but everybody is in their own head.

I guess what I'm getting at is this:
I'm smarter than you in every way and all the music, books, movies and TV shows you like are crappy. I'm just a better person. Completely.

The end.

stuff on my mind

I was standing next to one of our new employees as he was ringing up a sale yesterday and cleared my throat. He looked at me and said, "I gotcha" and preceeded to sell an extended warranty on the product. That was good of course, but I actually just had congestion in my throat. It's funny to me that throat clearing has become so synonymous with trying to get a point across that you can't just clear your throat because it needs to be cleared anymore.

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I bought the new Dead Poetic cd the other day and, after one listen, it seems to be pretty good. Thing is, it's a big change in sound. They've gone from what most people refer to as "screamo" to a much more mainstream rock feel without a lot of screaming or punkish guitar riffs. That seems to be a bit of a trend right now. A lot of bands that had been lumped into the screamo category have since released albums that varied a great deal from their previous sound. Finch and The Used, two of the first screamo bands to get mainstream airplay released follow-ups that sounded quite a bit different than their debut albums. Story of the Year's second album had an 80's Bon Jovi feel to it. Thrice went with a more textured, varied sound on their latest and Thursday seems to be evolving slowly as a band rather than changing overnight, but their new disc only features one song with any real screaming. It seems that all the screamo vets are abandoning the sound and moving into other territories. The part of me that enjoys several of these bands would like to think that they're simply growing up and naturally changing as good bands tend to. The cynical side of me, however, wonders if it has more to do with record label execs telling the various bands that screamo is on the way out and they'd better get off the bandwagon while they still can. It reminds me a bit of the late 90's/early 2000's when rap-rockers like P.O.D. and Papa Roach, sensing that trends were changing, suddenly started singing. Of course, Papa Roach is still around while Limp Bizkit, who stuck to the rap-metal (when they aren't doing Who covers) sold about 25 copies of their last album. We'll see how things go for the current crop of hitmakers.

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I've been to a couple of parties thrown by fellow Christians lately and both of them featured, along with other snacks and drinks, alcohol spiked punch. And I don't see anything wrong with that at all. While I don't think it's right for a Christian to get drunk, I don't think there's anything in the Bible that prohibits a follower of Christ from having a glass of wine with dinner, champagne at a wedding, or a couple of cups of "adult punch" at a party. The thing is, at the second party especially, everyone seemed to be really excited about it. It's something I've noticed quite a bit. A lot of Christiasns, while they don't ever get trashed, are really, really into drinking and that seems weird to me. I mean, if you're not getting drunk, then it's just another beverage, right? I like Dr. Pepper a lot, but I've never spent an entire night standing around a two-liter of it or drinking it out of special glasses and trying out all sorts of different concoctions. It's almost like they get some sort of thrill out of it, like they feel more adult or are revelling in the fact that they're not legalistic. Or maybe people just like the taste. And maybe I'd understand if I ever drank. Maybe I'd be just like everybody else. I'm certainly not claming to be better than anyone or looking down on those that choose to drink. I guess I just don't get it.

the one thing I don't like to fight about...sort of

People say that the two things you're not supposed to discuss are religion and politics. I wouldn't say I disagree exactly since I understand where the expression came from, but, when dealing with reasonable, not very easily angered people, they can both be fun subjects to delve into. Anyone who knows me even casually knows that I'm usually up for debating just about anything. There's one subject, however, that I've learned over the years to avoid arguing about at all cost and it's one that relates to both religion and politics: abortion.

I say "over the years" because I've definitely been in a few ill-advised abortion debates in the past. I never managed to convince anyone even slightly and it's not just because their beliefs were so firm. The problem is that the debate all comes down to one question, and it's a question that no one really has an answer to. The whole issue hinges on when exactly life begins.

If you must know, I'm pro life. I don't bomb clinics or stand in picket lines and I'm very sympathetic for people who end up in situations where they feel like an abortion is their only option. But I would like to see abortion outlawed at some point in the future. None of that really matters though, because it's only my opinion, guesswork at best.

So many pro choice people claim that abortion has to remain legal because it's a women's rights issue. It's really not though. Yes, a woman should have a right to control her own body, but if a fetus is alive then the right of that living human to keep living supercedes the rights of its mother in the same way that parents don't have the right to kill their children at any other age. On the other hand, if a fetus is not a living creature, but simply a collection of cells, then abortion is no different than having a mole removed. On the pro life side of things, so many people try to make it a religious issue. The Bible doesn't specifically talk about abortion, though, or state at what exact point life begins. People try to say abortion is playing God or messing with his plan, but we do that so often in a million other ways. Even scientists seem to have different opinions on the matter. With so many conflicting ways to define "life," how could we ever come to a universal agreement on when it starts?

So I somewhat arbitrarily picked a time. I think life begins somewhere after conception but well before birth, which makes me pro life. Can I prove it? Not completely. I could come up with a good argument I'm sure, but I imagine, with a bit of effort, you or anyone else could come up with a rather compelling argument for your arbitrary time too. And that's okay. Pick your side. Stand firm. Argue with someone if you want. Just don't tell me that your decision is about women's empowerment or your relationship to the Creator or anything other than your gut feeling about what's right.

the immoral majority

"AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals" - Jerry Falwell

"And, I know that I'll hear from them for this. But, throwing God out successfully with the help of the federal court system, throwing God out of the public square, out of the schools. The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad. I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way -- all of them who have tried to secularize America -- I point the finger in their face and say, You helped this happen." - Falwell on who's to blame for 9/11

"Billy Graham is the chief servant of Satan." - Jerry Falwell

"Just like what Nazi Germany did to the Jews, so liberal America is now doing to the evangelical Christians. It's no different. It is the same thing. It is happening all over again. It is the Democratic Congress, the liberal-based media and the homosexuals who want to destroy the Christians. Wholesale abuse and discrimination and the worst bigotry directed toward any group in America today. More terrible than anything suffered by any minority in history." - Pat Robertson

"The feminist agenda is not about equal rights for women. It is about a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians." - Pat Robertson

"You know, I don't know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war...We have the ability to take him out, and I think the time has come that we exercise that ability. We don't need another $200 billion war to get rid of one, you know, strong-arm dictator. It's a whole lot easier to have some of the covert operatives do the job and then get it over with." - Pat Robertson, calling for the assassination of democratically elected Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez


Am I the only one who's getting sick of those guys? It seems like every time I turn around, one of them is saying something bigoted and idiotic and in the process making Christians look bad. Because I'm a Christian and a republican, I end up being associated with them. The media acts like they represent my views, my thoughts. Obviously, they do not. And I don't think they actually represent many Christians at all.

Beyond God doing a miracle, I don't think there's any way to get Pat and Jerry to shutup. And of course I believe that they have the right to say whatever they want to say, no matter how horrible it may be. However, that doesn't mean that the media needs to keep giving them an outlet to say it. They keep putting those clowns on the air partially because crazy people make good TV, but partially I think they because they honestly believe that Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson speak for "evangelical Christians" (I hate that term, by the way). So how do we stop it? We show them that they do not speak for us and they do not speak for anyone. It's a small step and might not accomplish anything, but I started an online petition. Please sign it, whether you're a Christian or not, and let your friends know about it too. Somebody needs to stop these men from making us all look like hateful idiots.

Click here to sign the petition.

flash fiction

Whenever I try to follow the dotted line, I get lost somewhere between the dots. The shortest distance between point A and point B isn't a straight line when there's a chasm between them. I always end up falling somewhere around step three. Sometimes I'll make it to five if I'm lucky. Sometimes.

The box has gotten a bit dusty over the past three weeks. I cleaned up my apartment today, which meant I had to notice it. Not that I don't notice it anyway, sitting in the living room next to the fireplace. Sitting there. Collecting dust apparently.

I don't know what's in it. Nothing special I'm sure. At this point it's become the Pulp Fiction briefcase. Whatever's inside could never live up to the hype. So I let it sit there, don't even touch it. It's just an ordinary box: four walls and a roof, taped up with blue masking tape she brought home from her job. It's gained a life of its own now. Some mornings I make an extra bowl of Fruity Pebbles in case the box decides it's hungry.

Part of me wonders if maybe she left it on purpose. She hasn't asked for it. Not that we've talked. She's come online a couple of times from her parents' house, but she hasn't said a word to me. I'm afraid to break the silence. She cleaned out every other trace of herself while I was gone to work, even vacuumed her hair out of the carpet.

Maybe she wants me to open it. Maybe what's inside is important. It's a burmese python patiently waiting to end my life. It's pictures of her sleeping with all my friends. It's the teddy bear I bought her on Valentine's Day with a note saying she'll always love me.

I've never been this sentimental, so pathetically tied to my emotions. I should just leave it on her parents' doorstep. It's just some pots and pans or old sweat shirts. It's not important. It doesn't have power. It's just a box.

I'm watching one of those shows on E!, one of those "look how rich and better than you celebrites are" shows, the ones that make me sad to be American. The box is right there. Ten feet away. Five steps. I should throw it in the dumpster, take it to the country and burn it, cut it to shreds with a chainsaw. But I'll let it stay here for now. Maybe I'll use the box as a bridge to connect the dots, a raft to sail down the river at the bottom of this canyon. Maybe it's part of the metaphor, some sort of symbol for something. I so wanted to make it to step six this time, but my cardboard friend and I are stuck here at five.

NYC Pictures

This isn't an actual post. I just wanted to post links to the pictures from my vacation. Look at them.

album one
album two

more honesty

I wanted to add something I forgot to mention in my last post. Total honesty doesn't mean you always say everything that's on your mind. Remember that movie, Liar Liar? While it's one of Jim Carrey's funniest, it always bothered me because I didn't buy the premise. I'm okay with the kid's wish making it so that his dad can't lie, but that doesn't mean he has to say everything he's thinking in every situation. Every time I watch it, I find myself wanting to yell at the screen, "Just shut up!"

At any rate, I'm not advocating people saying horrible, mean things to each other simply in the cause of being honest. Sure, there are some things that people don't need to hear and there are ways to tell the truth in a nice way. I'm not against any of that. I just think too often we cross the line from being tactful to being deceiptful.

time to cancel the policy?

We've all heard it said a million times that honesty is the best policy, but is it really? Sure, it's good to tell the truth most of the time, but is it always best to be completely honest with another person in every situation? Let's think about it.

For our first scenario, we'll use an incident that occurred in my last relationship (I say "last" like there's been so many). My girlfriend at the time (we'll call her "Jessica"), got her hair cut a month or so into the relationship. While it wasn't a drastic change in length, to me at least it was a pretty big change in her "look." When I saw the new 'do, she asked me immediately if I liked it. I thought for a second and said something along the lines of, "I'm not sure yet. I definitely don't dislike it or think it looks bad, but I liked your old haircut a lot and this one's going to take some getting used to." Obviously, that wasn't the answer she was looking for. She wanted me to simply say, "It looks great. I love it." whether I meant that or not. And maybe that's what I should have said. But, as I told her at the time, "If I tell you the truth now, then when you ask me another question down the line like, 'Am I fat?' I can say, 'not at all, sweetheart. You're beautiful." and you'll know I mean it. I chose to keep my credibility rather than telling her what she wanted to hear. On the one hand, my total honesty (some might say lack of tact) was probably one of the myriad reasons we split up. On the other hand, at least I can look back and say that I never lied to her. Was it worth it? Hard to say.

Speaking of break-ups, one of the times when people lie the most is when they're breaking up with or rejecting someone. They feel bad enough about the whole thing already and try their best to spare the other person's feelings, even if that means giving them some false reason for the decision rather than telling them the truth. But is that wrong? Personally, I've always said that I'd rather have a girl tell me, "you're ugly and annoying and I don't like you," than give me the old standby, "I don't want to date anybody right now" (translation: I don't want to date you. Ever.) or some other made-up excuse. That's just me though. I can't claim to speak for everyone. Some people might prefer to have their feelings spared. I was actually discussing this subject with a friend the other day and she wondered if maybe it isn't best to sugar coat things sometimes. And it's definitely a logical point. Unless you have some sort of grudge, nobody wants to hurt another person unneccessarily. Why tell a person your real reason for not wanting to date them, she wondered, if it's not something wrong with them or something they can change? What purpose does it serve? My answer was that it doesn't need to serve a purpose. Honesty is intrinsically good. It's right and good to be honest with someone regardless of what it accomplishes. Sure, it may save someone a few self-esteem points to tell them a lie or half-truth, but rejection hurts regardless and at least they won't lie awake in bed at night wondering what went wrong or if they have a chance in the future if you tell the truth. In fact, I'd go out on a limb and say that, when you lie to someone in a break-up or rejection, you're really worried more about your own feelings than theirs. You want to feel less mean and not seem like the bad guy. And I don't mean just girls. They probably get more chance to practice since they get asked out more, but I gave a girl a half-truth once myself in my younger, stupider years. In that case, like most I've seen, all it did was cause more problems and we went from being good friends to not on speaking terms anymore in a matter of months. If I'd been completely, brutally honest, I may have hurt her feelings, but maybe I'd still have her as a friend.

So there you have it. If you're protecting government secrets from the Iranians, by all means lie your butt off, but otherwise, what's the point? If we can't be honest with each other, why even bother communicating? That's my take on things at least. I know it's not exactly ground-breaking (So you mean lying is bad??? Wow!), but maybe it's a bit thought-provoking at least. The way I see it, honesty is, in fact, the best policy.

"how are you" shouldn't be a rhetorical question

I went through the drive-through at Wendy's tonight to grab a baked potato and a frosty. When I got up to the window, the girl gave me a rote, "How are you tonight?" I responded with, "Not too bad. How about you?" I got back nothing but a blank stare. Not a "pretty good, " or an, "okay." Not even a shrug or a smirk. She made it completely obvious that she did not, in fact, care how I was. The same thing happened to me at Burger King recently. That time, the cashier didn't even give me a courtesy "how are you?" She just stood there and let me do all the talking without even saying so much as, "may I take your order" or "thank you." And you know what? That really pisses me off.

Honestly, few things irk me more than a lack of friendliness from people in the retail and service industries. To me, that's such a basic part of the job that ignoring it is just as bad, if not worse, than getting my order wrong or over-charging me. And it's the easiest part of the job by far. I don't care how much you hate being at your job. I don't care how little you're getting paid. If you can't put on a fake smile and pretend to have some sort of basic people skills for a few hours a day, then you don't need to be in the work force. My job at Toys [backwards]R Us gets tedious or stressful some days and there are times when it's the last place I want to be, but one thing I've never failed to do is smile and greet the customer and thank them for their purchase. I may seem unimportant, but it's not. Think about it. How much better do you feel about a store when you have a real conversation with an employee or share a joke with the cashier? It makes you want to go back. And more than that, it makes you feel good for at least a brief moment of your day. I'm not claiming to have talked people off of ledges or saved wives and children from abuse. All I'm saying is that as long as I'm collecting a paycheck, I'm going to do my job to the best of my ability. And part of that means being friendly and personable even on days when I don't feel like it. Even when I'm not on the clock, I still smile and attempt to be friendly with people. It's part of who I am, not something I have to think about, and I can't understand why some people find it so difficult.