Tuesday’s Dash of Hope

I’m not somebody who prays or has any spiritual beliefs.  I don’t have a lot of faith in mankind, and I’m close to the most pessimistic person I’ve ever met.  My days are usually spent waiting for something to go wrong.

But I’m a fan of hope.

Maybe that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.  Sometimes it confounds me, this pessimist who wants to be an optimist.  I suppose there are worse things to be, though.

Today, the country is getting a much-needed shot of hope.  I’m sure it’s not enough to fix everything that seems to be going wrong, but I’ve got my fingers crossed that it’ll get us started.

Here’s hoping.

Change we can… wait, what?

I didn’t vote in this last election.  Personally, I don’t vote outside of local issues.  I do this because all politicians are sub-human scum and are undeserving of any support I could possibly give them.  I also don’t enjoy lying to myself and trying to convince myself that any politician cares about me and my hourly wage lifestyle.

But I had a brief, brief moment when I wanted to vote for Obama, a shiny instant when I wanted to believe he was an agent of change and not another politician reaching for the presidency in that empty, greedy, “Gimme it, it’s mine!” sort of way.

Boy, I sure am glad I got over that!

See, today Obama chose evangelical pastor Rick Warren, a noted opponent of gay and abortion rights (who once compared all abortions, no matter the circumstances, to the holocaust) to deliver the invocation at the inauguration.  All that change everybody was so sure they’d get appears to be the smoke and mirrors a very good magician.  The shiny knight of the future has chosen to toe the anti-gay and anti-woman line.  He’s been elected, so now he doesn’t care about a damn thing past getting re-elected.

Sure, I didn’t vote, so many will say I have no right to bitch.  Why?  Because I wasn’t fooled? 

Look, I still hope Obama can do some good.  I’m not holding out hope, though.  I ran out of hope the first time I took a government class.

Enjoy your weekend.

Children from hell knocking on my door

True Story…

Monday night, Shawna and I are watching TV when the doorbell rings.  The dogs, as they usually do in these situations, go apeshit.  Barking, howling, and the sounds of claws over tile fill the house.

The doorbell rings again.

The dogs continue their apeshit-ery.  At this point, I do what I always do during these situations.  I get off my ass and put Greta in the garage while Shawna puts Boris outside.  Of course, Shawna desn’t put Boris outside this time.  She sits on the couch and continues watching TV.

That girl, I love her.

So I shove all 90 pounds of Boris out of the way and look out the peephole.

It’s two children.  A boy and girl no more than four years old are standing on my front porch.  They don’t appear to be selling candy.  Therefore, I have no use for them.

“Kids,” I tell Shawna.

She turns up the television.

The doorbell rings not once, but maybe a dozen times in the space of three seconds.  Hands start pounding on the door.

“Fuck off!” Shawna yells at the air.

More doorbell.  You’d think these little bastards have Christopher Walken yelling at them or something.  This continues for roughly five minutes.  Greta, trying to escape the garage so she can eat these fucking kids, has managed to get her head stuck in the cat door.  Boris is halfway through the front door and making steady progress.  Shawna cannot hear how the couple on TV is going to successfully Flip That House.

She leaps to her feet.  Apparently, she is concerned one of the kids might be on fire or something.

“Grab Boris!”

I’m pretty sure that’s her job, but I do it anyway.  Let it never be said I am not a team player.  I manage to drag our sherman tank of a dog six feet away from the door a split second before Shawna cocks back her leg for kicking purposes and rips open the door.

“What?!”

“I’m Chase!”

Boris bolts forward, and I wrestle him to the ground.  A few thoughts jump out at me.  1: Hey, it’s Chase!  2: Wait a sec. Who the fuck is Chase? 3: Chase, I’m pretty goddamn sure I hate you.

“What do you want?” Shawna asks. 

“Can we come in?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is my house.”

“Let us in!” Chase speaks in a singsong voicee that makes me want to let go of Boris.  In case you haven’t guessed, Shawna and I do not have kids, nor do we plan to breed at any time in the, well, ever.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know you.”

“I’m Chase!”

“That’s great, but I still don’t know you.”

At this point, Greta now has her shoulders stuck in the cat door and is trying like hell to get her front legs through.  Boris is straining forward like he wants to eaither mount Chase or eat his face.  The front hallway is a symphony of dog barks, but Chase’s motherfucking knife-in-my-ear singsong voice rises above it all.

“I’m Chase! Let me in!”

It dawns on me that Chase and his little sister may in fact be an evil spirit, one that will soon start singing “God Is In His Holy Temple.”

Right about now, Chase tries to shove Shawna’s leg to the side and barge in.  Shawna very gently asserts her dominance and keeps the little hellspawn on our front porch.  I consider letting Chase and his sister inside, asking for their home number, and then calling their moronic, I-let-my-children-run-around-the-neighborhood-unsupervised parents and saying, “I have your fucking children.”  It occurs to me this may not be the best idea, but it stills sounds like fun.

Luckily, Shawna handles this situation much better than I.

“Go home!  Don’t ring my doorbell again!” and slams the door.

I let go of Boris, and he runs toward the door so fast he winds up headbutting the damn thing.  I pop Greta out of the cat door and sneak into the garage to spy on Chase and his sister.  They’re standing in our driveway.

“That was fun!” the sister says.  “Let’s knock on the next one!”

Man, I hate kids.

A Realization, A Decision

Something occured to me yesterday.  I was reading about Bush and Chavez and their respective talks at the UN, and I was looking at message boards discussing the whole ordeal, and I was getting pissed off over the whole thing.  I was sitting at my desk, fuming, when a sudden, calming sensation swept over me.  I realized something…

…And it changed my life.

See, I’m 29.  In less than six months, I’ll be 30.  Every ounce of scientific evidence suggests that my life is one third of the the way over, probably more so.  To tell the truth, I’m probably closer to halfway through with my life.

I don’t have time to worry about this bullshit.

Voting? No time. Tell me there’s a presidential candidate who’s not a career politician and actually gives half a shit about me, I might think about it. Getting all bent out of shape when some republican tells me I hate my country because I don’t think like he does?  No time.  Go bother somebody else.  God?  Sorry, man.  Don’t have time for you either.  I have a life to live, places to see.  Steaks to eat.  Stories to write.

The rest of life will be lived for me and my loved ones. Everybody else’s problems can take their place in line.  Maybe I’ll get to them, but I highly doubt it.  Got stuff to do, man!

First, I just gotta get through this workday.

A Note on Today

I’m probably supposed to write a touching memorial about what happened five years ago.  I’m aware of what happened, and I’ll be the first to admit it was an incredible tragedy.

But before 2001, September 11 was my girlfriend’s birthday, and as far as I’m concerned, it still is.  I’d love to mourn, but I’d rather move forward, and I’m going to do that with her.

Thank you.

Your 21st century wake up call.

So, the Middle East has gone apeshit again, with Israelis Pastinians, and Hezbollah going at it like wildcats.  I’m not going to choose sides, because all three are killing innocent people, and that just doesn’t wash with me.  I just watch the deathtoll rise and wait for our government’s preserve the voting block response while the rest of the world goes, “Huh?”

In short: “Shit is nuts.”

And it’s all God’s fault.

Why?  C’mon!  You’re not that fucking thick, are you?

Since the creation of his fictional self, God has been the leading cause of murder, suffering, and everything except bad breath known to mankind.  The Crusades, The Inquisition, and hundreds of others… all of them carried out because of various religious beliefs, either promoting your own or damning those who expressed theirs.

And before it even crosses your brainpan… yes, I know the Jewish people suffered greatly from the Holocaust, and I sympathize with them for that.  I do not, however, believe that gives Israel a permanent get out of jail free card.

So, now we have Jews and Muslims killing each other, fighting over a scrap of land that is holy because somebody who created a God says so.  The Christians, for their part, take one of two stances: side with Israel because at least their God isn’t called ‘Allah,’ or hope they all kill the hell out of each other so the fine, God-loving, non-Jewish Christians can move into the area that is ‘rightfully’ theirs.

See? it even SOUNDS stupid!

I don’t know if anybody who reads this believes in God.  I don’t really think I have that many readers to begin with.  If there are some of you out there, reading my little words, who believe in the idea of a devine creator, please do me a favor.

WAKE UP!

The idea of God is killing us, every single member of humanity.  Sooner or later, we’re going to have to evolve past this idea, or we’ll end up murdering each other in His name.  Do you want that?  Are you going to believe in God when somebody says He wants you to kill the little brown kid on the other side of the globe.  Thou shalt not kill?  Only if the victim worships the same God as you!  Is that the kind of idea you want to subvert yourself to?  Does that in any way sound intelligent to you?

So the next time you’re reading about Israel and Palestine and Lebanon and how everybody’s killing each other, don’t think of it as terrorism or a political clusterfuck.  Don’t.  Those are just smokescreens, and even worse, they’re just words.  Instead, think of it as an alarm clock, a giant buzzer screaming in your ear.

It’s time to wake up.