Something Stormy This Way Spins...

How Ballerenic, yes?

Ballerenic... Yes, I suppose it's not a word. Although it does seem as if the clouds themselves pirrouette upon the sky, positioning thus to form the eye as the clouds and waters spin into a great wall of wind and rain, lightning dancing, thunder keeping time, trees bowing at the great performance of nature as it edges closer to the land which will ultimately end it's performance!

As Isaac approaches the state of Florida, I'm excited in the same way I used to get excited for snowstorms--perhaps more so as it doesn't involve cold temperatures or snow. Wind, rain, probably some hail, a multitude of lightning and thunder, but snow shovels need not apply!

This shit's already melted when it falls! Oh happy day!

Of course, I'm on a learning curve here, and I'm tickled pink that I'll be getting my feet wet on a category 1 huricaine. (Pun, indeed, intended...) I've been told by the natives running around the it's not even worth getting excited about, let alone worried, for anything less than a category 3 storm, but I'm a newbie, and I plan on taking some pictures of the beach beofre hunkering down in my concrete bunker of an apartment as the waves crash upon the beach with the wrath and anger only swirling winds and evil-eyed storms can do!

Still, I did what I used to do when I heard a big ol' snow storm was a'comin'! Ran to the store for bread, bottled water, canned vegetables, a few bottles of wine, and--of course--ring bologna, cheese, and Ritz crackers... Nothing says comfortable-storm food like ring bologna, cheese, and crackers! With some white wine in the appropriate wine glass, that is.

Of course, the natives also tell me that I'm probably going a bit overboard. But I'm a firm believer in "better safe than sorry" while also being a firm believer in "enjoy everything," "find the bright side," and, last but not least, "fuck weather!"

Knowing my luck, this storm will simply vanish, or at the very least, go severely off-course by all the hot air being blown around by the sudden influx of windbag Republicans that are strolling into the state for their convention--but it seems to me, that if they truly were "God's party," what with their "pro-family," "pro-life," "pro-God," "pro-country" propaganda shit talk, God wouldn't've sent a tropical storm toward the very place they were having their convention, now would he?

Unless, of course, we consider that maybe--just maybe--God might like the Democras better? Jesus was, after all, a socialist...

Chew on that while watching the clouds roll in, boys... I have some ring bologna to slice up...

Spare Change...

I have never met so many beggars in all my live-long days…

At every intersection, people are walking in between the parked cars. In front of every store, you hear “Got some spare change?” or “Hey, got a dollar or two?” Pumping gas the other day, a gentleman approached and said, “Hey, help a brother out—I just need to catch the bus to Jacksonville. Got a few bucks?” (Because I look like a brother, I suppose. My parents gave me two brothers through natural childbirth, and my sisters have me two brothers through marriage. I need more brothers like I need another hole in my head.)

I’m still unsure where they get the markers and the cardboard for making their signs and am convinced there’s an underground black-market for markers for the homeless… Have you priced markers lately? They aren’t the cheapest things in the dollar store…

My favorite is the guy who stands in front of Publix on Federal Avenue who denounces the mob…. Or is it the Mafia? Either way, I’m assuming he thinks he’s unemployed due to the Mob/Mafia. I’m like, “Hello, if the Mob/Mafia really were out to get you, you’d be dead!” But there he stands almost every day, switching out this cardboard sign for that cardboard sign, all the while thinking he’s making some kind of change in the world while hoping spare change will come his way…

What an odd phrase: “spare change.” Imagine if every time a major change happened in the world, there was just some “spare change” hanging around. Like we could save it up and then force change in the direction we wanted instead of just reacting to it thusly…

And I just love, love, LOVE the dirty looks they give me, like they’re entitled to the spare change in my pockets (as if I’m in the habit of carrying a shitload of coins in my pocket!) and it is I who am the failed human being for not handing it out like I can spare all the money in the world. Trust me, I wish I could! But when you have a billion homeless and unemployed standing around at every corner, every store, every stop light? Yeah, I started saying “no” about a week after I got here. It’s an automatic response now, which in a way saddens me. The last thing I want is a callous, hard-hearted attitude toward my fellow man, especially those who actually do need the help! But I’m stuck in that old Catch-22 that is American life: Help the helpless, but look down on those who can’t pull themselves up by their own bootstraps! Charity and Condemnation all rolled into one way of life.

And the cigarette bumming? That also is an automatic “No!” now, granted a little more vehemently than the standard “change” query. They’re expensive, dammit! Buy your own goddamn cigarettes! One woman, standing right behind the gas station, peeked her head out as I was walking back toward my car. “Hey, mister, can I bum one?” As she said it, she lifted her skirt ever so slightly, as if promising sexual favors for a cigarette. A look of disgust must have crossed my face (I’ve never been that good at impromptu-emotional-face-blockage) as I blurted, “I just got the freaking pack!” I got a double-fingered California wave and a “Faggot!” before she disappeared back behind the “has seen better days” wall of the gas station… Something tells me she’s seen better days as well. Be that as it may…

Ewwww!

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Last night the BED and I spent a few hours watching some of the few home videos’ my one sister made for me over the years. Seeing the pics and small video clips of everyone back home made me a little teary-eyed. Yet it also made me realize how much happier I am. As I looked at some of those old pictures and photos of myself (more over weight, looking older, tired, worn out) I realized I am happier and more content overall then I was back home. Not that this is a reflection on my family and friends—some of the best a person could ever ask for on this green earth! It had a lot to do with circumstances, both in and out of my control, and a need for some of that spare change that had been lying around, unused and neglected.

I made the change. And I couldn’t be happier.

Now if I could just find ways to market that? I’d be able to hand out some to all the homeless in the greater Fort Lauderdale area…

So to both monetary and intangible spare change… A toast…

One Month and One Week Later...

One month and one week later, and I still fucking love Florida more than I even conceived possible.

That’s not to say there isn’t a fair share of idiocy down here. That seems to be a country-wide problem from this perspective…

For example, Craigslist: Three times now I have been on my way to pick something up that someone notified me that I could come pick up. Three times now I have arrived to find out that, “Oh, someone else came before you,” or “Oh, sorry, I ended up giving it to my neighbor.” The all-time pissed-me-off-to-all-high-heaven clincher? “Oh, it was right here. I guess it’s gone now. I don’t know what happened.”

Seriously? What the flying fuck?!?!

Regardless, I have made myself quite a humble home, sans a few comforts I’m dying to have and cannot yet afford (i.e, area rug in the living room, bookcases for my books, internet…) But all in all, it’s not a bad life. I’m tanner than I’ve ever been this early in the summer, I have a job and a roof over my head, and there’s always something to do less than ten minutes away (and is usually very cheap or free). Ergo, I’m not complaining…

Much…

One item of idiocy that does seem in greater supply here than back home is Jehovah’s Witnesses. Granted, the flyers and pamphlets make for great puppy-training materials, but to be disturbed at least once a week by this watch tower magazine, that church service… It’s enough to make one want to claim devil worship as soon as you hear a knock at the door!

Speaking of puppy training material, I know that not all of you, dear reader’s, are friends with me on Facebook, ergo you haven’t met the newest member of my family:

This, dear friends, is Gizmo. All of one pound, two ounces at nine weeks old, he’s the calmest, quietest, sweetest little teacup Chihuahua I think I’ve ever had the pleasure of owning—of course, he’s the first AND last Chihuahua I ever plan on owning. Not that I plan on using him in one of my devil worshiping ceremonies or anything—perish the thought! But when you fall in love with a runt, well, you just kinda have to accept it, adopt him, and move on (proving, in a weird way, that you can fall in love with even the least-likely candidates…). Hawthorne is adapting better to this than Beaux, who still can’t seem to decide whether Gizmo is:

1. something to play with,
   
2. something to eat, or
   
3. something to avoid,

and thus sticks with an “avoid this” philosophy by staying off the ground at all times, hopping from fridge to counter to futon to end table, all in an effort to stay beyond Gizmo’s curious prancing about… Which is probably for the best, at least until Gizmo comes in at a good solid three pounds—the top weight the vet thinks he may achieve… Oy… Three pounds!?!? Gayest dog I’ve ever owned, hands down. In fact, he may replace the way I hold my cigarette as my OGT (Obviously Gay Trait). Let’s face it—we all have an OGT, it’s just that some of us have made more peace with it than others… ☺ (I’m still unsure whether to take the “But you don’t look gay!” comment I’ve had at least three times as an insult or a compliment…) Dumpster diving has also taken on all-new, never-before-attained heights of ecstasy: from the entertainment center (auction value $350 per the masking tape on the inside), the cute little construction table that makes a perfect patio end table, to the two perfectly good pieces of 1x6 that are now being utilized as an indoor shelf… My, my, my, what people don’t throw away! I can only assume brain damage or sun stroke is the culprit for such wastefulness… Hurricane season also starts in TWO WEEKS! While my area of Florida apparently hasn’t had a decent hurricane since 2003 (and many of the locals seem to be of the opinion that we are way past due!), I am looking forward to that niggling feeling of fear as those storm clouds grace the horizon over the ocean, the waves crashing upon the beach in anger, the hustle and bustle that is usually reserved in the northeast for a snowstorm calling for more than an inch… (and yes, I meant “over an inch”… I never said my old home state didn’t have its fair share of imbeciles…). Be that as it may, I’m sure that first hurricane I’ll be all “Oh my god!”—at least, until I get my hurricane legs. And it may be that naive part of myself that thinks a good ol’ hurricane will be great fun, but you know what? I’m still a bit giddy at the thought… Hell, it’s new, ain’t it? And I didn’t move all the way down the east coast for shits and giggles… New and exciting are the order of the week! The month! Hell, for at least the next three years! Anyway, I suppose that’s it for the time being… I’m budgeting to have internet sometime near the end of June, and until then I will continue to type these up on my borrowed computer, flash-drive it, and upload it to the blog from work. I miss being on facebook for a few hours in the afternoon more than anything (as that was my hugest coping mechanism for the loneliness during the end months of my last relationship), and made a great many friends that are hard to stay in touch with from 7 to 3 during the work day—mostly due to the fact that I do work at work, but partially because they are also at work. But not having internet is a small price to pay for the moment, one month and one week out into my new life…

Moving On Up (Moving On Up!)To the East Side...

Okay, okay, OKAY! More like the south side. I get it, jeez...

So, honestly, where do these moneyless homeless people get the markers? Do they hold up blank pieces of cardboard until someone donates a marker, and then they get to come up with whatever it is they're begging for? Don't get me wrong--I know they aren't homeless because they're lazy, or stupid, or what-have-you. It sometimes happens to the best of people! But seriously--where are they getting the markers? Is there a "Place a Marker/Take a Marker" bin near homeless alleys? Do they save up that first donation just to buy a pack at the dollar store? What's the deal there? Maybe Sharpie has some type of tax-write-off deal for donating markers to the needy? Who knows...

Anybody? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?

Then there are the shitheads that pull out in front of you just to slam on the brakes twenty-five feet further down the road and make you slam on the brakes again while they wait to make that all-important left turn into the adult bookstore... Do they charge late fees at adult bookstores? Is it imperative you not wait for an actual break in traffic because those extra five minutes will mean Debbie Does Dallas won't be rented by someone in a desperate way because you were that late in returning it? And why are they called adult bookstores when really they are adult video stores? Is that just a PA thing?

Anybody? Anybody? Bueller? Bueller?

And, I'm not sure why this crosses my mind at this moment, but I betcha there's a whole subculture of turtles that just don't get that turtlenecks are not made from actual turtle necks, and thus their protests are more than just a tad useless... But it does beg the question as to where the turtles are getting their markers for their protest signs...

Irregardless (which is just a fancy way of saying "Regardless"...), in five more days I blow this popsicle stand (which is a "I'm hiding my true emotions" way of saying "Sweet Jesus I'm gonna miss these people, but not the weather"...), and I still have so much to do that I honestly shouldn't be blogging at this moment, but I find it easier to deal with emotion by spewing the written word... Which is odd as I was told just a few short days ago that communication is my "biggest issue."

Figures... I may actually have to stop a homeless guy and ask him where he gets the markers. I may take up cardboard signage instead of blogging... THEN we'll see who can't communicate...

Be that as it may, as I look forward to my new life, my new beau (not to be confused with an old beau named Beaux who is coming to Florida with me--also known to the current roomie as that black-headed step child...), my new digs, and my new office, I can't help but grin ear to ear, while simultaneously shedding a tear...

Damn, I'm gonna miss these people...

I'm moving on south...

"Seasonal Insomniatic Disassociative Disorder"...or Something Shiny...

It's kinda starting to hit me, ya know? This whole moving to Florida thing. Mostly because of the reactions from my mother and sister...

When I left for the military, that was different. It was a given that I would come home--I mean, come on, a democrat was president. They don't tend to start wars. Go ahead, google it, I double-dog dare you....

I'll wait...

Okay, so I won't wait. Regardless, college was the same way--it's just assumed kids will come home, ya know? Whether it's holidays, summers... That's what you do 90% of the time--you go home, home, of course, being where your heart is, and my heart has always been with my family...

Most of the time.

Okay, okay, mostly most of the time.

You still love them...

But this...

This is moving. MOVING. (Yes, it needed the bold and underline treatment...) For work. For life. For keeps.

Not that I won't be home for weddings (there's on in the works, ya know!), holidays, special occasions... But it's no longer going to be home in the geographical sense of the word, in that, "My home is within an hour drive of all the major players." Two brothers, two sisters, the parents, cousins, uncles, aunts, nieces and nephews...

I'm going to miss out on a lot. A LOT.

But I'm also going to experience so much more. MUCH MORE.

Okay, I'll stop THAT now.

Maybe...

Nah.

Anyway, something shiny.

Yes, shiny. (A little bit of tired randomness never hurt anyone...) You see, every summer, I get mild insomnia, usually late August, early September. Who knows why (although with the rate we label things "diseases" these days, I could coin a new medical condition for it, like "Seasonal Insomniatic Disassociative Disorder" or something....), but it's a pain in my keister.

It's striking early this year, and I know it's stress.

Knowing it was (is) stress, I channeled my inner nerd, did a spread sheet, crunched the numbers (color-coded, mind you), and I know I will be fine (albeit slightly poor) for the next two years until the debt is completely paid off--them's the breaks. But I *will* make it, and I *will* be fine...

But I lived with Eeyore so long, "doomspeak" is second nature. I abhor doomspeak, so much so that I now purposefully "optimize" every doomspeak scenario that enters the brain. Things like, "Well, even if Dad were on his death bed, what are the odds that I'd make it there before he died even if I still lived locally?" (Don't judge me!). Or, "Well, even if I did end up stranded on a deserted stretch of beach, I've seen cast-away long enough to know not to name my soccer ball 'Wilson,' so it'll all be good and I'll never freeze to death..."

I never claimed they weren't far-fetched doomspeak...

DOOMSPEAK.

(Told ya...)

My mom teared up a bit over dinner--not that this is unusual, but it was in regards to a "Five more weeks!" statement. I could hear Sylvia's voice crack ever so slightly looking at the pics of my new abode while I was on the phone with her. I'm jam-packing my schedule (for me, that is, being the quasi-anti-social being that I am) with a trip here, a lunch there, a dinner then, an outing here, an invitation over there...

I know once I'm down there, life is *really* going to slow down. I'm expecting it, and can't wait to dive into the books that have been packed away for the last ten years and reread some great classics and favorites. (At least, I *tell* myself I can't wait...) Practically, I can still call everyone in my family every day and gab, talk, laugh...

But I will no longer have the option of taking a day just to stop by.

And I think we're all kind of thinking that.

Life will go on. We will all survive, and thrive even.

But I will miss the convenience of having my loved ones close enough to hug.

HUG.





I'm gonna have to make that one last...

I'm going to miss them like you wouldn't believe.

Or, maybe you do.

But this is my blog, therefore, it's about me.

And them...

That's life, ain't it?

Something shiny... And bright... And family...

And the Winner Is...ME!

Yes, yes, ladies and gentlemen--you are reading the blog of a winner. Sorry, that should be A WINNER.

You see, I've just won something from a contest on Facebook--I know, Facebook, of all places! (But before you get too excited, no, it wasn't a Hover Car...)

Of course, this isn't the first thing I've ever won. I originally won these adorable, gay-pride-colored Grateful Dead-esque little guys in a raffle at a camp site far, far away from where I currently sit and impart my wisdom to you:


See, there's Squishy, and George, and Dixie, and... Ahem! Well, yes, where was I? Oh, the winning. Me = Winner.

I know, I know--the bears do bring to mind strawberry fields, pot heads, bad seventies-porn-type mustaches... But they're mine, and I won them, and I love them...

But today, folks--TODAY--I've won Preen! Preen, if you didn't know, is a weed killer. And I won because I submitted the winning caption on this photo:

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My winning zinger of awesomeness:
This is your brain on gardening... Any questions?

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The contest was put on by the National Gardening Club (of whom I am a proud Life Member) to see who could come up with the awesomest, zingiest, most creative caption for the picture above--and out of the (thus far) 212 comments, it is I, Jason Hughes, who was declared, and I do not quote, "Awesomest." (And the only reason I do not quote is because they actually forgot that part in the email letting me know I won, but I'm thinking it's because they knew it was implied... And it was...) I can't wait to start killing me some weeds!

Of course, I can't help but think if Karma is trying to tell me something:

1. Win Marijuana-type Bears
2. Win Weed Killer

You think... Maybe...? Naaaah!

I'm just one of those people--you know?

A WINNER.

At least, that's what I tell you the next time you nonchalantly stop me tomorrow morning to say "Hi! How are you?"

I'm a WINNER. And don't you forget it!

(The husband is so not going to let me enter contests anymore... But I like to think it's so others can have a better shot at winning...)

In Jesus' Name...

I usually ignore things like this. "Forward this" and "forward that" type emails usually aren't even privy to being opened, let alone perused! And at first, that's what I did. Ignored it. It was one of those religious forwards meant to appeal to your sense of decency, your patriotism, and to your devout faith in god. I know a lot of my friends are very strong god believers, hence I expect to get these every now and again. Such is life, right?

The email in question is in it's entirety below, and ended with the usual:

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If you agree with this, please pass it on.
If not delete it.

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Of course, most people who know me know that the way to get me to share an opinion is to tell me not to share an opinion... I know, I know... This time I played right into the right-wing's evil plans by doing exactly that--I deleted it. Sigh. But then one of my other friends just had to hit "Reply All" with the following statement:

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IN JESUS NAME.... AMEN! Thank you for sending this along. I usually ignore forwards, but I am glad this one washed upon my inbox. I pity the poor SOB that dictates to me to deny CHRIST :-D

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Ugh. Okay, that's the part that not only got my goat, but sold it into slavery, beat it with a whip, forced it to eat brambles, and then sent it home with a belly ache on death's door. (My poor goat!) Never mind that the email had nothing to do with denying Christ, but was about praying before football games... Which, while I suppose one could read into no state-sponsored prayer before a game as a "denial" of Christ, the stretch is... Well, beyond reasonable.

First off: Andy Rooney, right-wing blabber mouth that he is, never said the words in this email even though they are ascribed to him. Or, if he did, he completely plagiarized them. (Note that this email makes the rounds also crediting these words to Paul Harvey--which is just as untrue...) Actually, most of these words were written by Nick Gholson... But that's another story...

Onto the meat of the matter, the email itself. You know how these things work: it's filled with pictures of our soldiers, a cross or three, a bible--you know, just in case words are not enough, pics are included to portray another thousand words or so.

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Pray if you want to!

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Oh, thank you for your permission! Never mind that everyone in this country can pray if they want to...

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CBS and Katie Couric et al must be in a panic and rushing to reassure the White House that this is not network policy.

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Yes, yes, that's what happens when Andy Rooney says something in his op-ed block on television--people "scramble" to make sure Obama and company "know" that this isn't "network policy". Except that Andy Rooney never said it. And neither did Paul Harvey. So even though there wouldn't have been any scrambling, and no reason to to begin with... Well... Yeah...

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Folks, this is the year that we RE-TAKE AMERICA & CANADA.

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Who took them? Anybody? Anybody? You mean... No one took them anywhere?! I would think even the U.S. and Canada would like a field trip every now and then... But there they are, still... Well, there... Right where they were, spinning around the sun just like always... Go figure...

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********* Get Ready *********
Keep this going around the globe.

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So it's not just the U.S. and Canada!? Oh, dear!

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Read it and forward every time you receive it... We can't give up on this issue.

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Just so we're clear--the issue seems to be relocating the entire Western half of the Northern Hemisphere...

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Andy Rooney and Prayer. Andy Rooney says:

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As stated above, no, he doesn't.

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I don't believe in Santa Claus, but I'm not going to sue somebody for singing a Ho-Ho-Ho song in December.

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I couldn't even begin to imagine how one would go about suing for that reason. And thank goodness that we, as adults, are now allowed to stop believing in imaginary beings! Whew!

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I don't agree with Darwin , but I didn't go out and hire a lawyer when my high school teacher taught his theory of evolution.

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Well, that's good because you would have lost. You see, the teacher was busy teaching you about facts, which, among other things, didn't include Santa Claus. The fact that you think Santa and scientific law are somehow related to one another is not helping your cause in any way.

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Life, liberty or your pursuit of happiness will not be endangered in any way because someone says a 30-second prayer before a football game.

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Actually, it's very possible you did infringe upon some one's liberty. Were the football students coerced into joining in because of fear of retribution from not participating? (Yes, this has happened... Probably more often than we would like to admit...) Having a moment so that people can pray to their deity of choice is not the issue--having the coach lead the students and players as if suddenly everyone there were in fact Christian and praying to the same god, IS an issue, especially if that coach is a state employee. Especially if that "voluntary" prayer is being broadcast tot he entire stadium over the stadium's state-paid-for PA system. Especially if the school policy allowed only for "appropriate" messages and imposed other guidelines that give the student's message "the imprint of the state." Separation of church and state isn't a matter of opinion or belief--it's the law. That being said, I, as most other atheists I know, don't get upset at these little Pray-Alongs. We just hum quietly, count the ceiling tiles, or make faces at you while your heads are bowed... Generally, we find a way of amusing ourselves, sometimes at your expense, while you all pray to some invisible deity who, in all honesty, if he did exist, could probably give two shits about who does or doesn't win your game of choice.

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So what's the big deal?
It's not like somebody is up there reading the entire Book of Acts.

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They have in the past. And they would if no one ever said anything. And that's a fact.

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They're just talking to a God they believe in and asking him to grant safety to the players on the field and the fans going home from the game.

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Asking for no injuries and safe play while strapping on padding and a helmet only makes me question your faith more. If you're asking your god to protect you while playing, why the need for the shoulder pads and helmet? Not that I mind if you wear them to bed--Ooh, lala! But something tells me you have less faith than you claim...

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But it's a Christian prayer, some will argue. Yes, and this is the United States of America, and Canada, countries founded on Christian principles. According to our very own phone book, Christian churches outnumber all others better than 200-to-1. So what would you expect -- somebody chanting Hare Krishna?

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So because there are more of you, screw everyone else's beliefs? Why should the Muslim player on the team have to sit there and listen to the coach's prayer to the Christian god? Why not let the players pray to themselves? Is the coach going to lead as prayer to Allah, then? In fact (and please pay attention to this part, it's vitally important...), we are not Christian nations. We may have been founded on some of the principles in life that Christianity happens to share in common with multiple other religions around the globe, but the Founding Fathers expressly prevented mentioning any type of god in our Constitution (despite many a pastor and preacher's protestations to do just that) simply because they knew it was divisive and did *not* want to go down the path of our mother country, England. They saw what state-sponsored religion could do to a nation, and thus, not only erected a wall in the first amendment, but also included a clause in the Constitution which forbade "any religious test" as a prerequisite to holding public office. I can't speak for the history of the Canadian government's freedom of religion, but I can assure you that the United States is not a Christian nation, just a nation that happens to have a disproportionately high number of Christians...

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If I went to a football game in Jerusalem, I would expect to hear a Jewish prayer.

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As football isn't nearly so popular in the Middle East, and considering half of Jerusalem is under Israeli control while the other half is under Palestinian control (aka mostly Muslims...)--well, odds are about 50/50 depending on what type of prayer you would hear...

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If I went to a soccer game in Baghdad, I would expect to hear a Muslim prayer.

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So do they say a prayer to Allah in Baghdad? I'm just curious...

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If I went to a ping pong match in China, I would expect to hear someone pray to Buddha.

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Only if the Communist authorities allowed it. I expect, given that they have to approve any and all religious practices, the Communist Chinese government would have specific words pre-approved--if approved at all--to pray before a sporting event.

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And I wouldn't be offended. It wouldn't bother me one bit.

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But you are offended that not everyone here in the U.S. and Canada may *not* be a Christian? Or--wait--are you offended because people may be offended by your practices holding up a sporting event with no religious affiliation whatsoever? I mean, I could understand a bit better perhaps if, say, Jesus had said, "And whosoever toucheth the pigskin, or the orange bouncer, or taketh upon themselves any sporting event not involving lions, should say a prayer, and thank the father for the blessings of sports"--well, then, I might understand your compulsion to pray for safety as you strap on 50 pounds worth of safety equipment. But since he didn't... Well... You see my issue, right?

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But what about the atheists? Is another argument. What about them?

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Um... We live here, too. And we play sports. And if you want to give people time to pray before a game--fine. We'll be counting the blades of grass, eying up the competition, and running through our last minute game plays while the rest of you pray to sky fairy.

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Nobody is asking them to be baptized.

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Um, you do live here, right? Happens to me at my house at least once every three months!

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We're not going to pass the collection plate.

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Oh, but you would if you could. And you know it. Just like that "it's only ten percent" line you try in your actual churches, with your stupid felt-board thermometers keeping track of just how close you are to the new roof, the summer camp trip, the missions project to Appalachia... You would.

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Just humour us for 30 seconds.

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Because you don't exercise your privileges enough? You need that extra 30 seconds (which is a lie, you pompous windbags! You go on for hours sometimes!) to pray--why? I thought your god was omniscient? That he knew your needs and whims? You need to pray before the game--why, exactly?

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If that's asking too much, bring a Walkman or a pair of ear plugs. Go to the bathroom. Visit the concession stand. Call your lawyer!

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What do you think we've been doing all these years? You thought we enjoyed staring at you down on your knees, delaying the start of every major event in our lives?

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Or, just exercise their right to leave this country!

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Ah, the old stand-by. "You don't like it, you can leave!" You'd like that, wouldn't you? Fortunately, I love this country just as much as you, I simply don't have the need to tell others how to live, what to do, and to be quiet while you sacrifice a chicken, or whatever the hell it is you guys do on Wednesday evenings these days. Pray all you want, I'll keep making faces, but I'll be damned if I'll leave simply because you somehow think it's a "persecution" that some people just no longer have the patience to listen to you twaddle off at invisible sky daddies.

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Unfortunately, one or two will call their lawyer.

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And Christian fundies never sue anyone, right?

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One or two will tell thousands what they can and cannot do. I don't think a short prayer at a football game is going to shake the world's foundations.

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Maybe not the world, but you Christians love to play the victim when in fact, you were making victims of others. You see, dear reader,this entire email stems from a ruling by the United States Supreme Court in 2000, when it was found that Texan school officials were allowing "student-led" prayer before games, when in reality it was just a ploy to get around the law forbidding coach-led prayers before a game. (Source.) In the Supreme Courts own ruling, it stated: "Nothing in the Constitution as interpreted by this Court prohibits any public school student from voluntarily praying at any time before, during, or after the school day. But the religious liberty protected by the Constitution is abridged when the State affirmatively sponsors the particular religious practice of prayer." Hmm, just as I said above. Imagine that.

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Christians are just sick and tired of turning the other cheek while our courts strip us of all our rights.

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None of your rights have been stripped! Not to mention Jesus COMMANDS you to turn the other cheek! What has happened, however, is that Christian Privilege is no longer tolerated. We are still in process, but our country is leveling the playing field, so to speak, when it comes to religion in this country. How would you feel if Jews were suddenly demanding that a Jewish prayer be led by teachers every morning? After all, we are just as much a Jewish nation as a Christian one--yet I hear of no Jewish peoples complaining about their god not being present in school as the source of all that is wrong with the United States--why is that?

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Our parents and grandparents taught us to pray before eating, to pray before we go to sleep.

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Not every one's parents taught their children these things. Hence, religious freedom.

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Our Bible tells us to pray without ceasing.

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Your bible. Not "our" bible. Again, that pesky religious freedom thing.

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Now a handful of people and their lawyers are telling us to cease praying.

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No--they are telling you to stop elevating Christianity above all other religions in this country. Again, you still have your right to pray--just not to expect the state to lead you in that prayer, promote that prayer, or in any other way make your prayer more special than anyone else's prayer.

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God, help us.

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Guess that praying isn't doing you too much good after all, then, eh?

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And if that last sentence offends you, well, just sue me.

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We would, but that would only feed your victim complex, you non-Andy Rooney-esque idiot.

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The silent majority has been silent too long.

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Could have fooled me. Seems I can't do anything without seeing your churches, hearing you on television, trying to keep you from making your religious beliefs into the law of the land. You are everywhere, yet still carry a persecution complex. Amazing the amount of self-deception that goes into these emails...

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It's time we tell that one or two who scream loud enough to be heard that the vast majority doesn't care what they want! It is time that the majority rules!

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You may not care, but that's the beauty of this country--majority rule with minority rights. This country wasn't founded by the mob for the mob. Mob rule has no place here for very good reason--reasons like the rhetoric in this email. And claiming that "you don't care what they want" isn't exactly a "love thy neighbor" type of position, is it? I'd like to hear you defend that before your supposed Creator. "Well, you see, God, I didn't mean that I didn't care, so much as I wished they would let me rule the country in your name. So you see, it was all for you, God!" Uh-huh.

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It's time we tell them, "You don't have to pray; you don't have to say the Pledge of Allegiance; you don't have to believe in God or attend services that honor Him.

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We already knew that, and certainly didn't need to listen to all that rabble-rousing to get there. We don't pray. We do pledge our allegiance to this country (omitting that silly phrase entered by the Christian wing-nuts in the 1900s fearful of the Communists, "under god."); and we don't believe in god or attend your silly worships, but only because we made laws over the years redacting old state laws that made such worship compulsive. (A fact, see here.)

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That is your right, and we will honor your rights, but by golly, you are no longer going to take our rights away. We are fighting back, and we WILL WIN!"

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Again, your rights have not, nor will they ever be, taken away. Freedom of Religion, dippy! (Jeebus, do these wing nuts have ear muffs on??) Saying you are going to "win" makes it seem as if you've lost something, and you haven't (unless it's your faith in your sky fairy, in which case I applaud you...)

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God bless us one and all...Especially those who denounce Him, God bless America and Canada,

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Yadda, yadda. Ugh. It's exhausting dealing with such stupidity...

Claims about discrimination and persecution would be justified by the Christian right if we were dealing strictly with Constitutional rights (such as the right to free speech, or the right to bear arms), but we're not talking about these things are we? As much as the Christian right would like to make this about a "violation of rights," it's really just a leveling of the playing field, and a loss of their "specialness." The truth is that Christians are losing privileges, actions, and entitlements they feel strongly about--not rights. They are losing the power to get treated better than everyone else. They are not actually being discriminated against--its just that they can no longer discriminate in their traditional ways and means, and are starting to be treated the same as everyone else. It’s certainly not unlike how the end of “white privilege” was perceived by whites during the Civil Rights era of the fifties and sixties (you know, the good old days when all these right-wingers claimed that "life" was somehow better?)

Christian privilege is one of the few traditional privileges that continues to be openly defended in today's United States. Other forms of privilege (like "white male privilege") may continue to exist, but it’s wrong actually argue in defense of them anymore (to many a discriminatory person's chagrin). Perhaps one day religious privilege will go the way that white male privilege are going, but conservative Christians are already bemoaning their loss and fighting tooth and nail (in the humility and love of Christ, of course).

One wonders what they'll resort to when all privilege is gone?

And Now for Something from the "Otherwise" Category... Bedbugs! (And a Guest Blogger!)

Since I continue to be under the weather, which translates to lazy as fuck, imagine my delight when someone requested to write a guest post for yours truly!

Anyhow, everyone welcome Andrew Hall from the (now defunct) My Dog Ate My Blog!

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Bedbugs: Tiny, Itchy, Little Horsemen of Despair
Long thought to be a problem of the past, bedbugs have suddenly gone from "bad" to "unbelievably bad" to "much worse than we ever expected," especially in New York, where the situation has degenerated into the city's major calling for the appointment of a "bedbug czar" and movie theaters closing to destroy all of their seats and reupholster following a bedbug invasion. Some New Yorkers have even reported seeing bedbugs crawling on people taking the train, much to their shock and horror. And given how well bedbugs can move, this is unsurprising.

The pesticide-resistant bedbug came from somewhere else in the world following a 50-year hiatus and relocated to New York in the last several years. They can spread far too easily through apartment buildings, as a single contaminated space can lead to the contamination of every apartment in a building horizontally or vertically; bedbugs can even be seen literally crawling from apartment to apartment across hallways. They can spread through plumbing pipes and also through the wiring in apartment complexes, making cleanup obscenely expensive; one building in Ohio lost thousands of dollars eradicating bedbugs from its property.

Bedbugs can come into a property through a number of ways; they can be brought in through bedbug-infested furniture (or books, or clothes, or electronics, or anything, really, made out of wood or offering a spot to nest in), crawl onto clothing when people are out during a day, on animals, or on anyone carrying anything with a bedbug infestation. The evidence of a bedbug infestation becomes increasingly apparent as they multiply and grow in numbers; you'll see bedbug feces - small red spots that smear - on bedsheets, bedbug exoskeletons, which resemble small flakes, and on some people reddish welts. Bedbugs emerge just before dawn and inject a numbing agent into blood sources before they consume, making it difficult to see an actual bedbug. Furthermore, they're extremely small, making screening tools such as bedbug dogs increasingly valuable as invasions increase.

One can get rid of bedbugs by getting rid of the objects they have invested and through vigorous screening processes, but it's extremely difficult, as two survivors can produce 500 more and reinfest. The coming autumn and winter will change little; bedbugs stay inside, where it's warm, and can live for years without feeding, meaning that it's going to take something else before this scourge comes to any sort of resolution.

How Gay Would That Be?

Tony Perkins of the "Family Research Council" claimed in a mass email on Thursday, 1/28, that "[Obama] is turning the military into a homosexual playground," among other things. Something tells me he's watched Saving Ryan's Privates too many times (only, of course, so he can let others know how bad gay porn is for American families...). Never minding that we always have been and always will be proud members of the military (as we are, in Tony's words, "militant homosexuals"...), serving with honor and distinction to the highest ranks of the military all the while keeping our personal lives separate and secret, Tony also wants everyone to "sign our new petition and remind Capitol Hill that the military isn't a laboratory for political correctness." As if the military were a democracy... Ha! What's truly hilarious is all the arguments Tony and his ilk are whipping out to "support" their position are the exact same arguments that were used to try to prevent blacks from serving alongside whites in the military. My friend Russ has an excellent post about this here. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Discrimination against homosexuals isn't the same as what African Americans went through (and in many instances still experience), but there are too many similarities to not draw a comparison.

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In a semi-related incident, the "American Family Association" has come up with an even more brilliant idea to handle "the homosexuality problem." As they are apparently unaware that this isn't a theocracy (a mistake a lot of fundamentalists make), on the radio the other day one of their people advocated imprisoning us all and putting us through "reparative therapy"! (EVEN THOUGH IT DOESN'T WORK!) As Russ once again posted about, American Family Association radio host Bryan Fischer stated on the air:

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If you believe that what drug abusers need is to go into an effective detox program, then we should likewise put active homosexuals through an effective reparative therapy program. Secondly, I'm afraid you're simply wrong about the Bible's perspective on the law and homosexuality. Paul lists quite explicitly in 1 Timothy 1:8-11 the actions and behaviors that are the proper concern of the law:

Now we know that the law is good, if one uses it lawfully, understanding this, that the law is not laid down for the just but for the lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and sinners, for the unholy and profane, for those who strike their fathers and mothers, for murderers, the sexually immoral, men who practice homosexuality, enslavers, liars, perjurers, and whatever else is contrary to sound doctrine...

The bottom line here is that, biblically, those "who practice homosexuality" should come under the purview of the law just as much as those who take people captive in order to sell them into slavery. You express a belief in the Scriptures, and I trust your confidence in Scripture is not selective. If you believe all Scripture is inspired, then you are compelled to accept that legal sanctions may appropriately be applied to those who engage in homosexual behavior.

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So not only do you want to round up all the men who have sex with men and lock them up together (rope no longer needed for soap!), but even more unbelievable is this man actually thinks secular laws should be based on the bible! Now, let me think, let me think... Who was it that also advocated rounding people up, jailing them, and, when possible, brain washing them? Oh, that's right: The Nazi's! Again, not exactly the same, but enough similarities to draw a pretty accurate comparison... After all, both the AFA and the FRC support Israel and all Jews, just as long as they aren't gay Jews, secular Jews, or unwilling to fight for the Holy Land Jews...

And, in regards to "Paul's list" in which "homosexuality" is included? As Russ pointed out, and as I've mentioned various times here on this blog and in other forums, the word homosexual didn't even exist back when Paul was writing his letters, and most of today's English translations are very crude paraphrases of the original Greek and Hebrew... See here for my own wonderful expose on Paul's letter to the Romans... (Sorry, Bryan Fischer, but bad paraphrasing of an ancient language can by no means be construed as "quite explicit"...)

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As a former soldier in the United States Army (and current homosexual), and knowing many homosexuals who are still in the military, as well as many former military members, I find it shocking that a former Marine (of all people!) DOESN'T realize he had served among many fine and upstanding gay and lesbian soldiers! (Of course, given the climate created under DADT [that's "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" for you acronym-challenged folks] and how out-spoken Tony is about his intolerance and fear of all things gay, one can only assume they were smart enough not to let him on the fact...)

Perhaps Tony's biggest fear (other than the fact that a homosexual might have seen his pee-pee in the communal showers during basic training) is the fact that if gay marriage does become recognized throughout the country, Jesus will pop down from heaven and ask for Tony's hand in marriage... Just to prove that he does, indeed, love Jesus that much. How gay would that be?

Life Sucks So Beautifully Sometimes...

I love you, blog, and here's why--I could bitch a blue streak for weeks on end with nary a positive thought or comment, and you just take it. You never bitch back, claim you feel used and unloved, and you never, never offer so-called "constructive" criticism... Although I can't claim what my millions of non-commenting readers are thinking, at least they have the decency to read and thus, I am comforted by the fact that perhaps some of the misery and too-infrequent joy is at the very least entertaining to some, if not others...

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I thought I was getting laid off today--it's never good when the director of HR and your boss call you in just twenty short minutes before the end of the day... I almost wish I had been now...

You see, last week's paycheck is going to bounce. It hasn't yet--I've just checked my checking account balance. But I've been assured in no uncertain terms that this is, in fact, the case. They will cut me a new check... Soon. No ETA on that, but soon. This week's paycheck, however, will only be late. (I was wondering if this was supposed to be the "good news.") Next week's paycheck will also be late, but that should be the end of "late" checks... (Because we plan on winning the lottery?) I kept wondering if this was how they explained the lay-offs and cut hours to the five employees last week... ("We plan on winning the lottery, so this shouldn't last long...")

The only thing I could think of at the time was that at least an unemployment check from the government comes when it's supposed to, and, as far as I know, anyway, doesn't rescind itself one week later! But having never had to collect unemployment before, I only have heresy to go by on that train wreck of a thought... I was thanked for my "understanding" (I'm still a bit unsure what that means in this instance...) and while I do understand that right now the economy sucks the big one (and if I hear one more goddamned cheery-ass reporter tell me "we're clearly in recovery," heads will roll!), I'm still left wondering if I should just cut my losses now and be gone before things get really bad! (Because, you know, this is just a mud puddle on the gold-paved road to financial independence!)

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Sometimes I catch myself sneaking furtive glances into the darker corners, looking for the hidden cameras. I've obviously volunteered for some type of psychological experiment in which every area of your life, while not quite collapsing, definitely contracts, squeezing and squeezing until you wonder where your next breath will come from.

Don't get me wrong--we are still a bit off from being homeless, or even completely broke! But from the ruined spring harvest due to three months of rain (thus killing the idea of "stocking up" on food), Rich having not gotten paid for a month and a half when the state couldn't pass a budget, to my parents having to sell their home because my father still can't find work, to having a $10,000 sewer bill staring us in the face as they "install" this state-of-the-art plumbing system in our township, watching my own job go through (death throes?) constricting times financially...

I could go on and make an entire list of the bad year this has been, but that would be an exercise in futility as, not only do I not care to actually think of it all, I also don't wish to type it all either... (Bad year, bad bad year!)

But--do you know me well enough to know what's coming next?--there is a bright spot, albeit tiny and insignificant in the face of the overwhelming darkness in my mind at the moment: You see, I've won something (and therefore, can never claim to be a total loser again!) Back in July when we went camping, I entered a raffle. You know the type, where they have a picture of the big beautiful quilt you could win, 5 tickets for $5, 15 tickets for $10? I always buy these tickets wherever we go, not because I could win (have you heard of my track record?) but because they are always to raise money for a charity or fund that's very worth while, and in this case it was to help pay for a certain person's medical expenses. So while I chicken-scratched some barely legible information on the stubs, I pocketed my half of the stubs and ultimately lost them (surprise, surprise!)

And then I received an email: Hi there! You won a prize in the ________ raffle! If you could please verify that you are Jason Huhs by supplying us with an accurate address... After a few back and forth emails, most of which involved my last name ("Hughes, not Huhs!"--I suppose I am starting to take after my mother more as I get older--the proof is in the chicken scratch...), I found out what I had won:


A rainbow-colored set of bears in a rainbow-colored bag with rainbow-colored straps... Could I win a gayer gift? And after this suck-ass week (month...? year...?), it was totally what I needed... A bright spot.

You just have to laugh... Life sucks so beautifully sometimes...

Just a Suggestion...

Sometimes tranquility eludes us. This is a simple fact of life. Whether it's because you go back to work after a week off to find out one person was fired, two were laid off, and three others had their hours cut... Or perhaps it's because your parent's house was sold, then it wasn't, now it is, but they're just waiting to hear from someone... Or it might be because things at home aren't progressing as fast as you would like but there's only so much daylight in a day which, of course, is gone by the time I get home from work because the sun goes down at 4:30 pm instead of 9 p.m. like it did three short months ago...

The emotional exhaustion factor is running rampant in all areas of life at the moment, much like my hamster Nibbles used to do in his squeaky little wheel before my previous black cat, Pavement, decided he would be better as nutrition than an electricity generator... (I've lost more hamsters and gerbils that way...) And while Nibbles, Pipsqueak, Buster, Tripod, and a host of other hamsters and gerbils have gone the way of that great Nike shoebox buried in the backyard--as have Pavement and Spot and their tag-teaming terrorism of my pet rodent population--the giant hamster wheel of life for the rest of us continues in its never-ending cycle. Of course, since our electricity bill is supposed to go up by 30 percent in January due to rate hikes, it would be nice if all this running in that intangible wheel would generate a little extra electricity on the side...

Just a suggestion...

Of course, things will get better, such is the nature of the wheel. It just sucks when you realize you've hit the part of the wheel that's missing a few rungs and you stumble for a bit, stub your toes, bloody your nose, that sort of thing.

Before you know it, Mom and Dad will be enjoying their new home, work will pick up, and the renovations to our home will be complete--it just takes time, patience, and a few more spins of the wheel.

(Squeaky, squeaky, squeaky...) Although, if truth be told, a little WD40 every now and then would be nice... Sort of ease us through the really squeaky parts?

Just another suggestion...

Money for Nothing (And the Chicks for Free!)

People annoy me.

Perhaps I should clarify: People en masse annoy me. We're talking in groups (whether real or imagined) when they invade or otherwise infringe upon my life in such a way as to come across as nothing but no-good money-grubbing hussies...

BACK STORY: I had an idea. A brilliant idea. Well, brilliant in my life. Many other people have been there/done that with this idea, but it was a first for our household and so it was met with a smattering of applause and the congenial congratulatory grin. I advertised our big yard sale of the Labor Day weekend on Craigslist. (I know, I know, please hold your applause...) I tried to be concise, detailed, and list the yard sale complete with directions on how to find my place, as well as include as many items in the description as I possible could--after all, I'm trying to get people to come and purchase my items, am I not? It's not like I'm asking them to just show up and hand me money for nothing!

What I didn't expect was a horde of emails asking for more details! "I'm interested in this!"; "Can you tell me more about this?"; "What do you mean by this?" Now generally I don't mind these types of questions--seriously! I feel a lot like one of those doors made by the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation: "Thanks for asking! Glad to be of help! Here's your info! Have a great day!" That sort of thing. Creates a general sense of a day well spent ensuring that I will have some sales, you know?

But then--and I'm not sure who these people are, but apparently they wake up around 8:00 am on Wednesdays with the sheer goal of annoying the crap out of me--they started emailing. It started as a trickle, but by 9:00 I had to edit my craigslist ad to read: "Stop asking questions, just show up on Saturday!" (More politely than that, of course, though not by much...) They were saying things like, "Can you not put that out and hold it for me until next week?"; "Do you have such-and-such on DVD?"; "Can you send me a list of the CDs you'll be selling at the yard sale?"

?????????

At first I thought these emails were some kind of joke, a whole hazing ritual for the craigslist community. I imagined the guys at the main office giggling to themselves saying, "Hehe! I just asked him to list all the CDS he's going to sell, Haha!" Except they kept coming! And coming! At 9:45 am this morning, I had 23 emails from people asking about something or other that I had either mentioned or omitted in my craigslist ad! (Yes, someone hinted that not saying what types of clothes would be available seemed to her like a "glaring omission"!)

I realize the economy is in "not-so-great" shape. But it's a YARD SALE people! Show up! Browse! Look through things! That's HALF the FUN of YARD SALING! I realize people have needs and are trying to find things on the cheap to meet those needs, but...

Jeez! It's almost as if they not only expect a bargain, but that I should just put in a drive-up window: "Yes, I'll take 2 pairs of Levis, that rubber duck, and... Let's see, you said you had Lionel Richie's Greatest Hits? That as well."

I'm hoping all this grief isn't for nothing...

Time, the Illusion...

It's like a slow moving death-knell... The sun sets just a little bit sooner; the trees are just a tad yellow around the edges; the air just a teeny bit cooler in the evening...

Can you feel it? The impending doom? Winter?

I grip my cup of coffee a bit tighter as I sit on the deck and look over my 3/4 of an acre. Hawthorne lays at my feet, tongue lolling, tail lazily wagging every time my eyes happen to drift his direction.

The deck needs a good staining. The vegetable gardening could use another weeding or two before the summer's end. Still need to move those rocks out from under the maple and place them in a more orderly fashion around a flower bed...

But the days are getting shorter. My knees have been sore for three days in a row now, feeling the subconscious signals from my brain to prepare for the cold... My hand drifts down to meet the soft tan-and-white fur of my friend. Beaux meows piteously from the kitchen window as a bird lands upon the feeder, the evening show beginning from his front-row screened-in seat.

A leaf falls from the mystery tree in the center of the yard to land on the grass/dandelion mixture that passes for a lawn. An owl hoots from the deeper shadows as the sun dips lower, spreading a fire-like glow behind the mountains. As the north star makes its nightly appearance directly overhead and the bats begin to pirouette on the evening breeze, I once again reflect that, probably sooner than I would like, the house will be for sale and we will begin the process of migrating south.

I wonder if the sun sets will be as spectacular without a mountain to fall behind? Will the nighttime sounds of my childhood (tree frogs; crickets) and nighttime sights (lightning bugs) also reside in the so-called Sunshine State? Will they sing their symphony in the same rhythms and harmonies? Will my knees ache less? Will I drink less coffee?

The sun disappears, although its glow remains a while longer, the long shadows covering the entire yard. The bats blend in almost seamlessly now, shadows riding shadows. Hawthorne stretches, yawns, and clicks over toward the screen door, ready to lay on the couch as is his nightly routine. I put out my cigarette and glance once more at the almost-black yard, glad for the chores being hidden, but unhappy that tomorrow's light will bring them to the fore of my mind once more and remind me again of how little time remains before the grave-blanket of snow covers the sins of a lazily-spent summer...

On Native Americans, Cows, Cabins, and Bull Fighting...

One of the best--and I do mean THE BEST--things about being an uncle on a family vacation is scaring the beJesus out of your plethora of nieces and nephews with stories about Chief Nighthawk, the ghost who lives in the woods and eats bad little boys and girls... Between Olivia's and Henry's scared glances out into the darkness and Sylvia mouthing "I hate you!" over their heads toward me, it was just one of the pleasant memories of yet another glorious summer vacation at Clemmark (okay, maybe not for the aforementioned nieces and nephs, but still all in all very pleasant...)

We went on a hay ride, took a tour of a restored mansion, shopped in a cute little town named Wellsborough, played games, ate great food, and laughed til the cows came home... (And they literally did come home!) A few of the more adventurous little cows and bulls (Go ahead, ask me how you can tell the difference!) even managed to find new ways of escaping their fenced-in pasture to take day trips through the back yard of the lodge! (Sylvia briefly tried out a career as a bull fighter but lost her nerve as the young bull stamped at the ground nervously! I'm left wondering why...?)

I managed to lose at hearts twice before managing a spectacular recovery with as winning score of -18 (Take that, Dad!) and even though most of the family made it this year, there was a turnstile at the end of the driveway. Some had to leave early due to unforseen circumstances (to which our hearts go out) while others couldn't make it until later--and need we mention that some didn't bother to show up at all? Granted, their plate is REALLY full which is a shame because they were greatly missed...

All in all, however, one thing about the lodge remains true--the longer you stay there, the lazier you get, and reintegrating into the real world on a Monday morning was very difficult to say the least!

But I wouldn't trade it for the world! The beauty of the nearly uninhabited countryside, surrounded by the mooing of cows and neighing of horses and the occasional scream of a banshee from the darkness as the ghost of Chief Nighthawk claimed yet another unfortunate child all conspired for another magical weekend, a chance to reclaim the peace we find so little of in daily life as we navigate the plenitude of tasks and errands that plague us in the real world...

It's amazing how four short days can reinvigorate you for another 361 days...

Just another 358 to go before we return...

As I entered my home that sad Sunday afternoon having left the lodge, greeted in the most fantastic manner by Beaux and Hawthorne (one might even think they missed us!), I can once again look forward to the days next summer, when every day lasts forever, every night is filled with laughter, and the 70s decor remains a stagnant, unchanging mark of the past... (I must say, it is the strangest sensation in the world, waking up and staring at that teal sink surrounded by light green walls and a brown mosaic floor in the bathroom which makes you want to scream up to the heavens, "Why, God? Why would you allow such ugliness!?!?)

One wonders how we will ever find the time to fill the days? (I'd recommend bull fighting lessons for Sylvia, but she may have other things in mind until we return...)

"That Cake's in the Shape of..."

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Blanche: Why, Rose, that cake's in the shape of--
Dorothy: We know what it is, Blanche...
Rose: I thought it was in the shape of Florida!

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It seems we've begun telling people now... Thank god! There's nothing I hate more than being censored...

Well, perhaps we haven't told you in person, yet, dear reader, but if you have my number, feel free to call me and we'll discuss it, but first, as I hate despise loathe talking on the phone, first hear me out here--can you do that for me?

In one year, we will be selling our home and moving to Florida. Yes, Florida, the state shaped like... Well, you know...

But that's not why we're moving there--that's just icing... :)

You see, for some strange reason, the brother's Rich and Mike (husband and brother-in-law respectively) harbor not-so-secret passionate desires to live in the Sunshine State--I don't get it, but that's beside the point. For as long as I've known Rich, he's always not only desired, but passionately advocated for Florida as a possible living destination.

If you know me, you know one thing for certain--I am not a beach person. I am, however, a person who loves life, and after about a month of debate and the plop of seven new green things landing on my desk with the cursory, "These are for next week..." Well, as I stared at the half of my desk that is shaped a lot like Florida and the large pile of papers that had just been deposited, I realized that at-home persuasion wasn't necessarily needed any more...

Change was needed...

When I heard that Plop! on the fake wood laminate of my humble office, it was as if the weight of the decision just up and left. Does that mean in still won't be hard? Of course not. I'll be leaving behind all of my siblings, my parents, the nieces and nephs, and friends whom I love just as dearly as the blood coursing through my family's veins... But although I love my family and friends so dearly...

And it may sound harsh, my dear reader, but please don't think less of me for saying what so many others think...

There's more to life than living near your family... (Well, there'll be no taking that back once I hit "publish"...)

There is an entire Earth here waiting to be experienced! To be looked at, enjoyed, explored...! A whole planet! And I've barely seen most of the east side of Pennsylvania! Sure, there was that two-year stint in West Virginia... Not that it counts too much, it was for bible college after all... With my few years in the military, I got a dash of Missouri ("Misery" is more like it!), a touch of Jersey, and a smattering of Texas... A whiff of Ohio, Michigan, and North Carolina also blipped on the radar a handful of times, but they were really more drive-bys, you know?

Rich's reasons are totally different, mind you. He's always fancied himself a beach bunny, wanting to get a nice even tan, wearing ugly Hawaiian shirts, large Jackie-O type sunglasses--not that he does those things now, mind you, but one can just sort of glimpse at Ms. Cleo's crystal ball and get a rough idea of the fashion faux pas I might be in for... I'm hoping with me by his side, we might just avoid the worst of it...

Well, I did say "Might"...

Of course, the first few days of thinking this over, I was quite a nervous wreck, but then it all started coming into focus, and now I'm feeling just the slightest bit Zen about the whole thing. Figuring out new ways to garden... Never shoveling snow again, or wrestling with the coal stove, Disney at my back door, hardly a day all year that goes below 65 degrees, and--well, this is the real happy thought of the moment--I, Mr. Jason Hughes, born January 14, in 19__ can have a fucking POOL PARTY in the MIDDLE of FUCKING WINTER!!!!

Now, don't misunderstand, dear reader--nothing is set in stone. After all, who knows what the future holds! ("Call me now, Ms. Cleo!!") But the ball has started rolling. A list has been drawn up of all the things that need fixed before selling this place. A long list of web sites have been saved, neighborhood searches are being done, realtor.com has been visited more than once...

And let's not forget, there's the shape of the state to consider...

There's something invigorating about this decision: a new place to live, new neighborhoods to explore, new foods to try, new cultures and subcultures to learn about... I almost feel like I did before I left for basic training... Nervous, excited, scared, giddy... I was the first one to move out of our home growing up... The first one to go to another state for college. The first one to move north of Pottstown... (The real kicker is I'm not even the oldest!) But I've never really been too afraid to try new things and new places--just scared enough (which I think is a bit healthy) to be cautious (hence the flurry of web searching going on) but excited enough to not over-think it too long...

I think...

As I said, nothing is set in stone... But wheels are moving, gears are grinding...

We're going to be moving to Florida... Not that I'm telling work that yet--after all, until things are set in stone, there's really no need to rock the boat (hint, hint, fellow co-workers who venture over here now and then...)

But until then, I get to stare at that half of my desk shaped like...

Now That's a Flag of a Different Color!

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Mom: I just heard from your Uncle Kip...
Me: Oh yeah? About what?
Mom: Well, you know where he lives, right? And that he flies a rebel flag off his front porch?
Me: That's news?
Mom: It is! Someone wrote in a letter to the editor... Apparently they think Kip is against Obama or something...
Me: (Laughter) Well, he is a racist at heart and in mouth, so...
Mom: I know! I mean, I fly it just because I like how it looks--I always like to think of myself as a rebel! But your uncle... Oh my...
Me: Wait, wait, wait... Kip reads the paper?
Mom: I think someone must have told him about it...

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What is it about flags, dear reader? What is it we say, with bits of cloth strung together in a colorful pattern? These bits of cloth evoke feelings of pride, rage, anger, love, patriotism, hatred...

Funny how little bits of cloth can sway our hearts and minds so, isn't it?

I've recently redecorated my car with a pride sticker after years of letting Betsy travel naked on America's highways and biways. You see, dear reader, once upon a time, my kid brother Mike was in a strange place in his life (when aren't each of us in that strange place, yeah?) and borrowed my car for a little while...

It came back sans pride sticker. Not that I blamed him--it's not like you could expect to see me running around in a car with an "I ♥ Jesus," right? Perish the thought! But I stood back in satisfaction as I surveyed my once naked Betsy now all aglow with her new rainbow strip across the back, just under the word MUSTANG. It's a beautiful thing...

This is where my older brother Tom would declare something along the lines of, "How come I don't have a straight pride flag? I want a straight pride day!" Never minding the fact that any time, on any day, at any given moment, straight pride is in every peck on your significant others' cheek, when you file taxes jointly, when someone comments on your ring (or tan line where the ring belongs!), the dominant culture is always a bit jealous of the many minority cultures it must "put up with" (or eradicate) when they make themselves known as unashamed of being not-so-mainstream.

Perhaps it's the rebel in all of us? Always wanting to feel unique, special, and different? To make ourselves stand out from all the other riff-raff we find ourselves surrounded by? A reminder to the rest of the world that we are all aren't the same, that there are those who live in your neighborhood, shop at your grocery store, work in your building, and pay their taxes just like you do, but have a slightly different perspective than you about all of it...

We went camping this past weekend, as you might know based on the last post to grace this blogs top spot (Helllooooooo hotties!) to a "gay men only" campground. Of course, being the prude's that we are, we made a solemn promise to ourselves that if it was in any way sleazy, we were going to leave. What we found out, however, that while there were a few there solely for a sleazy time, there were many more there just for the love of camping in a safe environment (and yes, there are many unsafe camping environments for homosexuals, FYI...). But the truly awesome thing? It was like Christmas! The lights, tiki torches, flags from every nationality, candles, decorated tents, decorated campers--it was insane! But each site was unique, and each camper took great pride in the way they made their camp area special. But even though each site was unique and special in it's own way, there was one thing that had brought us all together... Okay, well, two things: Love of Camping, and Love of Men... And as we started talking to some of these thousands of men, we found out, of course, that we had much more in common than that--our love of life, first and foremost.

And, of course, we all know (or should know) that nine times out of ten (that last dentist wouldn't take the bribe to recommend that particular brand of fluoride...) what we have in common is much more numerous than that which separates us, no matter where we are on this earth. No matter who we are, where we come from, who we sleep with, or who we don't sleep with, we are all humans just trying to find the best way to live our lives in this world...

Which, in my opinion, is all the more reason to celebrate... So find and fly your flag, my fellow human being, and be proud of who you are and what you stand for--even if I disagree with the sentiment, it's hard to hate when we're open and discussing what we believe and why... Even if it is a flag of a different color... :)

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Oh, and that second pic? That was our camp site--the most under-colored, under-lit site in the whole place... Granted, it was right there by the stream, under the pines, truly beautiful... But we've already been to Walmart to start spicing it up the next time we set up camp...