You Are Only as Good as the Ingredients...

And, I have to say that, although we're having near 95 degree weather, I must give them kudo's for not putting up "You think it's hot here?" again...

But what they did put up is ten times more ridiculous. Any guesses?

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It wasn't the apple on the tree, but the pair beneath.

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How quaint.

Okay, so we'll ignore the fact that the bible only says "fruit" (and not the kind that does your hair...), not "apple," and we'll even bypass the use of word-play in an effort to appear witty, as it were.

Where we will go is an old path, a traveled path, a clearly marked nature trail, as it were. And although it is certainly the less traveled (at least in an America where 90% of the population claims a belief in a god...), I sometimes I wish I had enough money to rent every billboard along every highway across the entire United States that says:

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"Is man one of God's blunders? Or is God one of man's blunders?"

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Yes, this quote is brought to you by one of the most quotable anti-god persona's to ever grace the earth with his presence (CLUE: Friedrich Nietzsche), but, being the fact that the man is a tad bit over-quoted and a teensy bit too easy and logical for a fundie to decode, let me speak plainly: Assuming that sky daddy is up there, created everything, and set this whole thing called "human life" in motion, why is it assumed that we are the problem?

Any fundie will tell you: We have a sin nature, we are wrong, we need saved and rescued from ourselves. Aside from the obvious narcissistic tendencies that run throughout religions worldwide, I ask: Why is god getting a free pass? A "get out of jail free" card, if you will?

Rich has a birthday coming up (Hello, 36!), and, as always, his mom will make him a chocolate pudding pie. If for some reason that pie were to burn, taste like utter shit, or even turn out vanilla, despite the obvious package advertising that claims to be chocolate, will his mom blame the oven? The pie dough? The Jell-O corporation? (Well, maybe if it's vanilla...)

No, she will think to herself, "I screwed up." She will admit that she did something wrong somewhere along the way, and either grin and bear it (eat the pie regardless), or chuck it out into the garbage.

She will not set up a plan by which this pie, though through no fault of its own isn't what she wanted it to be, may regain her good graces by:

1. jumping through hoops;
2. by believing that it's its own fault that she added too much salt and needs to believe that she had good intentions;
3. attending a pie orgy of the soul every Sunday;
4. try to change it's general properties through meditation and prayer.

She could talk to the pie till she's blue in the face. Not only will she fail to get the pie to change it's very nature through actions on it's own behalf (whether through passive belief or active actions), neither will she be able to dismiss the truth of the matter, that she screwed up the pie.

Now you, dear reader, are saying: "Of course she won't; it's a pie. Hence, a non-conscious entity which hasn't the power to change itself. Duh!"

But isn't this the argument we hear from fundies all the time? "You can't change, but God can change you"; "Not through yourself, as you are a sinful being; only through Jesus' blood"; or, perhaps one of the most oft heard, "You need Jesus because only he can change your heart." (I'm wondering how often people on the heart-transplant list hear this?)

But you get the message, right: You have the problem, not god. You screwed up, not god.

But we have to ask also: What is it that is so bad about us? What is it that we need "saved" from? Do we screw things up sometimes? Yes. Do we make mistakes with sometimes disastrous results? Yes. Do most of us generally try to do the right thing in regards to ourselves, our families, friends, and society as a whole? Yes. And do those plans always turn out for the good? Not always, no. But does that mean we need the blood of a deity?

And--hold that thought--when did this need for god's blood enter the picture? Lemme see if I remember this right: God decided we needed his kid to die when Eve ate a piece of fruit that would give her knowledge. (Always a bad thing when trying to control someone else...) God forbid (and he did!) Eve know a little bit of something about her world, right?

And--why was "knowledge" so bad?

We still haven't gotten a satisfactory answer to that question. Maybe if god weren't so busy keeping his eye on the sparrow, he might figure out that what he created isn't half bad--isn't mostly bad--and this whole "fear mongering" style of threatening us with a hell that he created isn't really necessary--in fact, it's just downright contradictory and stupid.

Of course, one legend tells the story of how once sky god became so pissed at all his creation (Okay, well, mostly mankind...), that he decided to drown everything--monkeys, caterpillars, dogs, cats, sheep, and even the emperor penguin--just so he could have a "fresh start." He saved the "cream of the crop" (READ: Noah and Gang...), turned on the faucet, and then let bygones be bygones. Turned off the water, let everyone out of the boat, and said "I'll never do that again."

Not only should this have been a great big clue into the short-minded thought processes of the supposed sky god, he failed to get to the root of the problem as it is perceived by many fundies today: Sin nature, that ephemeral, intangible, psychosomatic concept of self-worthlessness coupled with the pride of being so worthless and undeserving. A better idea would have been to magically restore our pre-sin nature and forget about planting the so-called "tree of knowledge" anywhere on the planet! Or while the earth was so flooded, he could have played with the DNA of Noah and Gang, eradicating the whole leaning towards this "sin" thing. But what did sky god do?

He killed the petunias, the lady bugs, the termites, and the Dodo's in an attempt to "teach man a lesson." (Should I go there? Oh, what the hell, why not?) Doesn't it just want to make you scream to the heavens, "Hello!? What the hell were you thinking, you dip-shit!!" God allegedly flooding the earth in an attempt to somehow eradicate "sin" is a lot like setting the house on fire because you haven't vacuumed in a while. It misses the point by a long shot, and accomplishes nothing except for a short-lived feeling of having accomplished something right before reality crashes through...

Oh, but that's right: "His ways are higher than ours, his thoughts above ours." Aside from being a load of crap (it is the default answer whenever you've backed a fundie into a logical, reasonable corner of reality...), one would think that a supreme being with such "high thoughts" and "pure ways" could think of 600 better ways of ridding the world from sin than:

1. flooding the hell out of it;
2. killing your kid for it;
3. blaming the pie for it.

Of course, today we have much better ways of making a pie than the wandering desert Hebrews of the day did...

I'm just hoping people have taken note...

And hope most of them realize we have much better ways of dealing with people, with each other, than their imaginary sky god did two to four thousand years ago...

And while that may not sound "witty" and "zingy" enough for an outdoor billboard, it will certainly go a lot longer, and work a lot better, than continuing to blame ourselves for something we haven't done, didn't do, and doesn't exist in an effort to appease old legends and fairy tales... I mean, how many of you still cook bull thighs over fire, pour wine over it, and then wash your cup in sulfur just to appease Zeus?

That's what I thought...

But let's not blame god or Zeus for that, right?

We should have been born knowing better...

The God of Clay Things...

It would be a lot like me saying, "Hey! I saw a pig last week on this farm in Bumblefuck, which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that they can build houses! Here, have you read the good book? It's called The Three Little Pigs, and brother, it is The way, The truth, and The life..."

So apparently a few weeks ago a small clay tablet was found in the archives of the British museum (does anyone else wonder how much is actually lost right under our noses in these so-called monuments to history?) that had a name on it. A name mentioned in--come on, take a guess!--the Bible:

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"The clay document is dated to the 10th year of Nebuchadnezzar II (595 BC) and names the official, Nebo-Sarsekim. According to chapter 39 of the Book of Jeremiah, he was present at the siege of Jerusalem in 587 BC with Nebuchadnezzar himself."

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Well, paint me pink and call me "Unibrow"! You mean the bible named a person who actually existed in history? Well, that settles it--Creation must be true!

You think I'm joking, but that's exactly the conclusion that many right-wing web sites proclaimed when news of this clay tablet appeared in the press: "See? The bible is 100% accurate! It's not just myths, it's FACT!"

As long as we discard the fact that at least 40 different people wrote the book over a span of centuries, all using different allegorical, historical, emotional, and cultural references and experiences; as long as we discard the fact the most of the book isn't meant to be literal history; and as long as we discard the blatant 20/20 hindsight and "fit the evidence into the pre-conceived conclusion" mold, as well as ignoring the overwhelming evidence to the contrary of what most fundies would like to think of history, as opposed to any actual historical tidbits that may have made their way into the bible--then, yeah, sure, the bible is "100% accurate as a historical record." (For proof of this insane assertion that one tablet does a godly account of history make, see here, or here, or here, or here, even here, or here, or... who am I kidding? These nuts have hundreds of these posts lurking on the net!)

It's just like I when I was driving home from Ocean City, and we saw a car accident that had happened moments earlier:

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Rich: Look at that! Damn!
Me: Further proof that Megatron is on the rampage... Keep an eye out for Optimus!

---

What? My claim is as valid as the fundies... Well, except, of course, I realize that one car accident does not a transformer make...

Just as a tablet does not a god prove...

One also wonders why so much credence is lent to a small clay tablet as "proof" of a god, but mountains of scientific evidence about the evolution of life is called "full of holes" and "missing links"? I don't think I'll ever understand such backwards thinking...

And He Laughed...

Listening to NPR on the way home, I was listening to a story about a vicious gang in Kenya which is terrorizing the population. This gang is known as Mungiki, and they were started by--hold your breath--a pastor.

Now, that's a bit misleading--and I'll clarify, even though it ruins the suspense (not to mention the shock and awe) of the statement--he became a pastor after he left the gang, or when he left the gang, or whatever.

Not really the point, though.

Part of the story that was aired spoke of a pastor who's son was killed by this gang because he wouldn't pay the gang more money as a bus driver:

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But this year, when the Mungiki doubled the amount they demanded from bus drivers, the drivers balked, and that's when the orgy of violence began.

In a neighborhood called Banana Hill, someone attacked a 24-year-old bus conductor with an axe, nearly beheading him. The victim's father says he considers himself lucky that the killers didn't make him hunt for scattered body parts, as they often do.

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Simply horrific... Even sadder is a pastor with a dead son considers himself "lucky" when he doesn't have to scour the country side looking for the parts of his child's body...

But, as the article further states: "But one pastor's loss is apparently another pastor's good fortune."

As stated earlier, this pastor, former "president" of the Mungiki, was also interviewed by NPR, and what the article fails to communicate is the laughter this man wails out after making some of his statements. For instance, while the article simply states:

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"Due to the demonization of this organization, wherever I go … I wish I could walk with you on the street ... People respect me because they fear me. So whatever they are doing now works for me completely. And I say that's God," he boasts.

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Boasts may be what the editor thought was the best word... But on the air, this statement was followed by near maniacal laughter. Immediately following the end of his insane laughter, he stated:

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But Waruinge has ambitions to create a more fearsome organization, and says Jesus is the way.

"Jesus worked in myth. He creates 5,000 breads, 5,000 fish. Does that not create fear in you to fear that person?" Waruinge says. "This is how God works. God does not know democracy. You're either for me or you'll die."

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I'd like to hear from all the Christians in the house on this one, especially in regards to his last statement which I emphasized.

Is this an accurate reflection of how many Christian fundamentalists feel? Is it an accurate statement in regards to how you think god may view the world?

I think it must also be stated for the record, after he said "You're either for me or you'll die," he laughed again.

Such is the joy of the lord, I suppose...

Just... So...

You know that feeling of... of something potentially wonderful happening, but you know at any moment the one single tenuous thread you have so far might snap, break, and disintegrate before you've had a chance to make that tremendously wonderful thing a reality?

When so far, all you have is... well, an email, really, an email that has the potential to fulfill your most wonderful hopes and dreams? An email is so intangible, so two-dimensionally bit mapped and inside a screen... But the implications, what the email communicates, could be the beginning of the realization of... wonderful things!

I don't think we as humans can help wanting to put all our eggs in one basket. I mean, we see the baskets--there are many of them! Some are weary and broken looking, some are okay, but not quite what you had in mind, and some are stand-out spectacular. And when you take your egg, your first egg, and place it in that first spectacular basket.... And you see the egg laying in that basket... You can't help but to want to put in another... and another... One by one, the eggs go in, and soon you've lost sight of the few other spectacular baskets that were there, because one has presented itself, and seems to do the job splendidly... Just perfectly splendidly...

I want this basket, and I want the hopes I've placed in it to hatch...

Some who shall remain unnamed (Okay, it's Rich...) are more... pessimistic in nature... He isn't sure we should be looking at the baskets at all, and that the eggs should remain in the fridge until further notice... He is more a worrier... More realistically pessimistic... Always looking at the numbers, the cost, the long-term implications, and mostly the unknown...

I want to embrace the unknown... He's still trying to see what the unknown is...

I'm so nervously excited, but it's all I can say at this point...

It's only an email...

But it's also hope...

You always hear, "Good things come to those who wait."

It's like when we were going to Dorney Park, or Grandmom and Grandpop Hughes's house, and mom would always inevitably say, "It's just over that next hill," and invariably point to the furthest hill the eye could see, whether it truly was just over "that hill" or not... But when you knew it was true, or believed it could be true, that made it all the more intolerable... The waiting... The hoping... The dreaming and planning you've done all inside your head...

Like placing the last card on the house of cards on the coffee table: You fear any breath, and movement ten rooms over will destroy this thing you've created... Or like the last number to fall through the lottery machine: If you hold your breath, cross your fingers, close your eyes, and repeat that last number over and over again, it just might be The Number, and all will be good and right. Like looking at the map that says "You Are Here" and "You Want to Be Here," and seeing the route to get there: with all the tolls, the miles, the gas, and the traffic... But knowing that just getting to the spot marked "You Want to Be Here" will be the fulfillment of all you dreamed, but never truly expected...

It will be a few weeks before it goes beyond email... There's nothing that can be done about that... Geography of the real world plays a huge role in that... A lot of things have to fall into place just so...

Just... So...

Let the intolerable waiting begin...

Having a Ball...

Did you know that when a gay man sings, it's like the siren call for all children to grow up and be fags?

At least, that seems what the FRC (READ: Funny Religious Cronies... You may know them better as the "Family Research Council...) seems to think in a recent email it sent out to all of it's subscribers. The email read as such:

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This past Sunday, at the San Diego Padres baseball game, what was advertised as a "Free Floppy Hat Night" for kids under 14 turned out to be a double play. While the Padres management was enticing families with the giveaway for kids, it was also promoting the evening as a Gay Pride night at the ballpark. Children who received free hats were treated to the Gay Man's Chorus of San Diego singing the national anthem prior to what one homosexual group billed as "Out at the Park with the San Diego Padres."

The San Diego Padres organization should be ashamed that they would promote such an event on a night they specifically designed for the family. On this curveball of an evening, the Padres struck out.

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Oh no! You mean, kids heard gay men... GASP!... sing?!

Believe it or not, gay men do not have anal intercourse, give oral pleasure, or even rub each other up and down hoping for a "wardrobe malfunction" while singing the national anthem at a baseball game. Even the high notes don't require one man grabbing another by the balls to squeak out a high C.

As a double bonus, the FRC should be happy they were handing out hats--parents could just grab it by the brim and yank it down over their poor innocent eyeballs! Apparently not having all their gray matter in working order, none of them seemed to think of that...

The email continued with a Call to Action:

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Click the link below to contact the San Diego Padres and tell them that baseball is a family game that shouldn't be used as an exhibition of homosexual lifestyles. The national pastime is just that: an opportunity for fans of the sport to enjoy a game and take respite from the daily grind. It's not place for politics - or political correctness.

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Excuse me--but aren't they the ones having a cow because of a singing group? Who's trying to inject politics into the game?

I know this may be hard for some to fathom, but there are plenty of gay people--both men and women--who are huge fans of sports. While I may not be counted among their number, I have plenty of friends who are, so it only makes sense for baseball (which, despite being dubbed "America's Favorite Pastime" is having a hard time keeping fans...) to reach out to as many people as possible. That includes families, gays, women, blacks, Hispanics--all of whom have children who could grow up to be the next Sammy Sosa.

Unless, of course, the FRC also thinks only Christians have children... I wouldn't put it past them...

And they call themselves a "research council." Ha!

... Because the _____ Tells Me So...

Isn't it a strange world? Remember when the Catholics, Jews, Baptists, and Protestants--and various other YHWH-centric religions and cults--found a common interest in hating the gays, limiting women's reproductive rights, telling the poor it's their fault, yadda yadda yadda?

Through the 80s and 90s, these religions had big ol' picnic fests, communal fellowship, all while tacitly ignoring all the doctrinal issues they had with each other for the common good of dictating what moral policy should be, how best to change politics for the "Christian good," and generally saying all "Christians" were good and decent while those "sinners" (i.e., gays, women, Buddhists...) just needed Jesus, and all would be well...

I'm wondering what has changed? This may have something to do with the whole rise of Islam's extremist wings and the sudden danger that not knowing a whole lot about a particular religious group... It may have something to do with Bush's highly implausible form of "compassionate conservatism," which has shown itself to be neither--perhaps this has made the vastly diverse group of right-wing extremists distrustful of someone who doesn't endorse their chosen brand of Jesus... who knows? I'm encouraged by the disintegration of a unified right-wing...

But now some other things are happening to further push apart the YHWH-orgy this country has been stuck in for quite some time.

Suddenly there's a Mormon running for president, and no right-wingers want to back him. Mormons are a "cult" (never minding that they are all just cults with differing amounts of popularity), and even though ol' Mitty stands (sometimes) for all the "good" things in life, suddenly doctrinal issues have come to the forefront...

Additionally, the Pope has decided that other Christians aren't really Christians because they can't... Let's see how did the dunce-cap wearing leader of the ignorant put it? Oh, yes. He said in a recent statement that "Christ 'established here on earth' only one church." It further stated that the other communities "cannot be called 'churches' in the proper sense" because they do not have apostolic succession - the ability to trace their bishops back to Christ’s original apostles.

Well, slap me silly and call me Lucifer! You mean now part of the whole ever-changing gospel message is having a soul-family-tree? No wonder you all can't do a pot-luck anymore! I mean, YHWH forbid you have ham and cheese with green bean casserole with a--Gasp!--non-confessional-using individual!!

Of course, Baptists and Protestants are scoffing at the notion because they can quote various scriptures (as if regurgitating verses was in some way pertinent to philosophically asinine opinions) saying they are the "true" church as opposed to those saint-worshipping, Mary-loving, statue-rubbing, rosary-clinging Catholics.

At least they can all still bond over coffee and a communion wafer over hatred for gays, Muslims, and abortion, right? They will all swear up and down how they know the TRUTH, and they will cry "Hallelujah" and vow to die for their god, but they're nothing like those dastardly Muslims, right? Or those evil "unnatural" gays... Or those baby-killing wanna-be lesbian abortion clinic workers, right?

Right...

The right wing is falling apart... Maybe even religion as a whole! Of course, people have always been fighting each other over this deity or that... A bunch of wing-nuts are even saying the "end times" are upon us, and before most of us have even had a chance to win a game of Bingo... Kind of sad... You'd think Jesus would want every little old church-going lady with blue hair to know the joy of winning once, wouldn't you? Perhaps he's too busy bird-watching... "Eye on the sparrow" and all that rot...

But here's just a few of the religious fights going on around the world right now:

We all know Dobson doesn't want Jesus thinking he'd vote for Mormon. The Pope is picking a fight with the Baptists and Protestants, calling them "not the true church," all the while not placing enough faith in Jesus to stop a bullet (which is why he drives around in that bubble--it's not for sun-protection...) Muslims and Jews are fighting over some crumbling ruins in Jerusalem under the guise of "chosen land," but that's only when the Muslims aren't busy killing each other in other parts of the Middle East, or fighting the Christians in Africa for other reasons entirely (such as whole-wheat communion wafers that Ishmael wouldn't give the time of day...) The Buddhists are fighting the Tamil Tigers in various parts of the far east (and not for the pretty fur), the Hindus are fighting for their rights in Wales which is so not a bunch of bull shit. The Christians are trying to get the Hindus to fight with them against the encroaching Muslims in India, while the Hindus in Trinidad are fighting against Christian discrimination...

And why are they all fighting? Let's see... What's the common denominator? Oh, that's right... They have their handy Pocket Deity they can whip out whenever they feel some sort of cosmic injustice is being done here on earth...

Granted, there are many people who are "religious" who do marvelous and wonderful things... But if you ask any of them why they do marvelous and wonderful things, I think most of these people won't say "Because ______ (insert deity) told me to in the Holy Book of ______ (insert holy book)." No, they'll say, "Because it's the right thing to do."

Let's repeat that: "Because it's the right thing to do."

Which is why they aren't blowing themselves up, or trying to tell others how to live, or trying to get their brand of religion more physical territory on this planet...

I'm sorry, but if you need a book to tell you "the right thing to do," please spare us all and remove yourself from the gene pool now. If you can't find enough neurons to rub together to know when harming someone else--physically, emotionally, mentally, or otherwise--is a bad thing for all of humanity in general, at least have enough common decency to die alone, and stop killing others for your deity...

10 Lessons I Learned on Summer Vacation...

For starters, you may all now call me:JASON:
Lord of the Dragon Temple

So we were in Ocean City from Wednesday to Sunday afternoon, and by-golly-cheese-and-crackers it was a blast! We have now officially extended our average vacation from 1 twenty-four hour period to 3 twenty-four hour periods... After eight years together, I think we deserved it...

Of course, it didn't start out that promising...

We spent July 4th morning at the movies in awe of the new Transformers movie, which, it must be said, was awesome in the special effects department, but a little lacking in the actual story department. But if you keep your expectations low (as did I...), you won't be disappointed. And I do say, it must be seen on the big screen. We then left to go to my sister Cynthia's house for her annual "It wouldn't be a picnic at Chuck and Cindy's if there weren't tons of games going on" family picnic, which, as always, was fun.

Unfortunately, for the third year in a row, for Rich and I, at least, the fireworks were rained out...

This does not make for a gay time.

But we hung out, Rich sang some karaoke, and then it was off to Ocean City, Maryland.

Which brings us to

Lesson One: Objects on maps are farther than they appear. A trip that--according to Yahoo Maps, should have taken three hours--took five. When you're driving down I-95 at only 25 mph due to heavy downpours, you think that leaving at 10 at night was not only a bad idea, but a cursed one. Factor in the two types of morons that are typically on the roads in torrential downpours (those that think their car never hydroplanes and those that think rain means going 5 mph in the passing lane of the road) and you begin to get a glimmer of the amount of road-rage that was building in my body when 2 hours later we still weren't out of Pennsylvania...

Such is life, right?

We finally arrive at our destination! Despite the rain, morons, and a small detour through some small towns when a certain someone mistakes a Rt 113 sign for a Rt 1 sign, we think, This is it! Now vacation can begin! We greet our friends, meet some new ones, and quickly unload the car. After a quick tour of the Ocean City McMansion which was to die for, we all agree that we should hit the sack as we plan on actually doing things on our vacation...

We sleep wonderfully in the salty sea air blowing through the windows, and awake refreshed and ready to see the sites!

Which brings us to:

Lesson Two: There's one in every family. Trace's 40th birthday has been inked in to our day planner for almost 8 months, and the plan was she was having family invited all week, with friends welcome from Wednesday on...

The only one in her family to actually take her up on the all-week offer was her cousin, whom I dubbed mentally as "Ass-lee." Most mortals pronounce it Ashley, but trust me: He is not the embodiment of a certain Gone With the Wind romantic figure. In fact, if you take how my brother Mike used to be, add in a healthy dose of my uncles' Kip and Chuck--with a twist of lemon--you have Ass-lee.

Granted, the dude's had a rough life. He's not all there, if you take my meaning. So what does one do when life hands you an Ass-lee? You make Ass-onade. And, truthfully, he seemed to try really really hard to be on his best behavior, so credit must go where credit is due: He could have been a lot worse. I know Trace was afraid he brought down the whole tone of the festivities, but, having been an older brother and duo-nephew to such, I understand the burden of that responsibility, of that feeling that you must apologize for something (or, in this case, someone...) you have no control over. But if one tried to overlook the "Nigger" and "Fag" references, the erratic driving, the sudden mood swings, one could see the little boy who was just trying to be cool, to be one of the guys, to be accepted and loved... Of course, I also think the fact that I had three (Mike's a much better person these days, bringing the number in my family down to two...), I think I also had a higher tolerance level than some...

What I wonder is why these types almost never figure out that, if you want to be accepted, stop trying to impress us all the time...

Sigh. Not to worry, though. He didn't ruin our vacation, but he did add some interesting moments that will most likely help me to enjoy the memories more... I think that's just my twisted sado-masochistic streak... So sue me...

Regardless, we woke up Thursday morning, put on a brave face, and hit the boardwalk.

Which bring us to

Lesson Three: I am much prettier in Pennsylvania than at the beach in Ocean City. If you ever want to bring your self-confidence down to a whole new level, spend some time staring at all the body worshippers at the beach. This typically brings about thoughts such as "Why didn't I spend more time in the gym before I came here," or "Why do I ever bother going to a gym?" It's rare that I've ever been surrounded by such beauty on a human level (we're talking strictly physical fitness here...), and it's very intimidating, especially when you've always viewed yourself as the fat kid who will never be able to diversify from a one-pack to a six-pack. (Well, only time will tell...) After about three hours, though, you forget about how beautiful they all are and begin enjoying yourself, and we had a great time browsing through the shops, soaking up the sites, and listening to the waves crash on the ocean...

Which brings us to

Lesson Four: The ocean is much more enjoyable at night. After dinner at someplace which I can't recall the name of (but which served all-you-can-eat crab, chicken, ribs, and corn on the cob for only $24.95 a person...), we all headed back to the house, where we parted company for a time. Trace and Company went to Dewey beach to see a band playing while Rich and I decided to... um... let's just say, make ourselves at home... Okay, what the hell, I'm already rated NC-17, right? Fucked like rabbits.

Life is good. We then walked the 100 yards to the shore and sat on the sand cliffs, watching the stars, guessing which wave would be the next one to get us soaking wet, and just sitting there, holding hands, enjoying the silence...

At about 1:30 in the morning, we decided to head back to the house to see if Trace and Company were back from the club to begin a night of game playing, which brings us to

Lesson Five: Just because you ain't as pretty doesn't mean someone doesn't want a little somethin-somethin... As we dance across the sand toward to sidewalk to the house, two young boys come up behind us. "Hey guys, having fun? Where you staying? Looking for company?" They couldn't have been more than 15 or 16, and all I could think was, "Are you for real? Are you kidding? Isn't it past your bedtime?" We smiled, said hi, and kept walking...

We reached the house and realized that they weren't back yet, helped ourselves to the community fridge, which led to

Lesson Six: Just because your host tells you it's a community fridge doesn't mean everyone got the message. Ass-lee was quite upset when he got back form the club and there were only two slices of pizza left. I couldn't help but wondering, "Why is two slices not enough?" as well as "What part of community fridge didn't you understand?" He went to bed very shortly thereafter, which is when we were informed that he didn't even buy the pizza. It was someone else's who had already left for the rest of the week. So much for pissing rights.

The next day brought new and exciting challenges: Where should we eat now? Who wants a Mimosa? How does it feel to not be at work... again! I think that was the only time I had a passing thought for all my poor fellow canaries back in the mine... We went to Secrets, a restaurant where they have tables in the water and where you enjoy a drink while water laps at your thighs and the most happening music is pumped out of speakers. Awesome food, by the way. After our 3 hour lunch, we went out and hit the beach! This, of course, is Rich's dreamland, as well as his cousin Courtney's, and they spent a great deal of time soaking up the salty water while I hot-bod watched from under a tent drinking my "Kool-Aid" (the quotes are there for a reason...) We then went out to see the band Arizona, and I think we hit the sack at four, maybe five in the morning... Which brings us to...

Lesson Seven: You can survive on only 2.5 hours of sleep... We had to be out of the house by 10 am on Saturday. I was under the impression that we not only had to be out of the house, but have it clean. I woke up at 7:30 with the intention of a super fast shower followed by some vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing, and all-around make-my-mother-proud work. Luckily, Trace was also awake around that time and informed me we had to be out at ten because that's when the cleaning people showed up...

I was happy that, once again, vacation won out and work was not to be had. Although we were out at the appointed hour, it wasn't until later we realized poor Trace had left some of her favorite pairs of shoes in the closet. Someone at Goodwill will be hitting the Jackpot later this week...

We hit the beach again, this time heading up to Rehobeth, a place where I as a child spent many summers as my great-grandparents had had a summer home there. As I was following Trace's friends Tammy and Deb...

Lesson Eight: Cops are still around, even though you are on a break from life. Flashing lights appear in the rear view mirror. I thought, "What's going on? I'm going just as fast as everyone else?"

That doesn't matter, apparently. It seems that cops can just willy-nilly pick you at random for the sharing of a little dough for the state coffers, and it seems I had won the lottery--not really the windfall I was expecting. Luckily, Delaware doesn't realize what a killing they could make off this whole "speeding ticket" fiasco (unlike a certain Keystone State...) and my fine is only about $40 for going 53 in a 35 zone... In Keystone dollars, that's about $230. Either that, or I'm prettier than I thought I was at the beach. Regardless, after an hour gets wasted sitting on the side of the road, we're back on our way. We hit Rehobeth, and we learn

Lesson Nine: You can get a nasty, nasty burn on your feet. Poor Rich has almost 2nd degree burns on the tops of his feet. While he was very militant about sunblock in every conceivable crevice, his poor toes decided to rebel. Now that it's Monday night, the swelling has gone down some, and the blistering is starting to subside with generous amounts of aloe. He thinks it's the cheapest price he could pay for such a grand vacation, and for that I say "Good show!" (He's much more of an optimist since the vacation...)

But before the burns made their presence known, we did our usual tourist thing: Get a magnet for the fridge, a shot glass for the cabinets, and a picture of us in front of some landmark that we won't remember the name of in a few weeks.

We then hit mini-golf, one of our favorite past times, which is where I earned the title Lord of the Dragon Temple. It was an awesome mini golf course, nothing like that here in Allentown... Not that I whipped anyone's ass, but I won, and it was a nice fuzzy-warm... All in all, a great time. We came home Sunday (in only three and a half hours), picked up Hawthorne, and began the countdown to work on Monday morning, which brings us to

Lesson Ten: No one at work cares. You normally think you'd greet work refreshed, ready to tackle the pile, gung-ho for that "work for a living" feeling, wouldn't you? I know my place of employment better than that.

Even though I had stayed late Tuesday before I left to place all my emails into job notes, gotten all the inserts to green things primed and ready for insertion on all my projects that I knew were coming in while I was out, had sent out a list of on-going projects that would need completed for some reason or another, do you think I came back to work with a clean desk?

Try five unscheduled green things that had come in and needed done before 3 pm Monday. Not to mention the other scheduled green things that Those in Power had known also needed done when I got back...

I was so tempted to quit right then and there. I could live under the boardwalk for a few weeks, right? Live off the left-over all-you-can-eat food that others don't finish when they're so bloated on the good life, couldn't I?

When others are out, and I commit to doing their unscheduled green things, I do their unscheduled green things. Don't tell me you need a "list" of what to do if you don't plan on doing shit! That's a waste of everyone's time! Of course, Those with Power decided that I could use some help, and took away my Green B Mass... The simplest, easiest, and by far the quickest thing to do on my desk... I was there from 7:30 to about 6:00 this evening...

Fuckin' work...

Dare I tell you I was the last of the Green Thing people to leave? It wouldn't be the first time, don't get me wrong, but if everyone else had SO LITTLE to accomplish that they could arrive at 8 and leave at 4:30, how about a "Hey, need some help? I know you might be a little behind..."

A little of that would go a long way...

I already dread my week-long vacation in August...

Perhaps being Lord of the Dragon Temple isn't all it's cracked up to be...