“…and no religion too”

I respect your right to worship how you please. I honestly do. I appreciate your faith. (God created lemmings, too… What? I’m kidding!) I respect and argue for your right to worship Allah, Buddha, Jesus, a cow, a gourd or whatever or whomever you want to. I respect almost all belief systems from Paganism to Protestantism. From Hindu to Hebrew. From Greek Mythologists to Evangelical Christians. (Except Scientologists and Mormons… you guys are just crazy, sorry) My problem generally isn’t with faith. My problem is with religion. More specifically, I have issues with aggressive recruitment and forceful implementation of beliefs and values onto a potentially unwilling people.

First I’ll address recruitment. I don’t believe the true Word of God needs to be pushed onto anyone. If someone has faith or has a spiritual calling let them explore that faith themselves. They will find your church if it’s right for them, honest. That’s not to say I have a problem with missionaries or expanding their religious base, so-called “spreading the word”. I just feel that the fear-mongering and moral superiority projected by many religions in order to convince people to pledge their undying faith to something nobody fully understands is reprehensible. It’s also counter-productive. Instead of encouraging people to find their own paths and to discover their own faith, their own station in life, it’s forced upon them. (Communism?) That has to stifle creativity, among other traits. That can not be a good thing for society, in general.

Second, if you want your fellow Christian, Muslim, or Hebrew brethren to live by a specific set of values, preach to them. Not to me. If you don’t want your Christian, Muslim, or Hebrew brethren to go to a strip club, preach to them. Not to me. In a new recently implemented law, lap dancing will no longer be allowed inside the city limits of Detroit. I have several issues with this new law. (Surprisingly, I do not frequent strip clubs so my objections are not in any way personal) My issues are as follows:

A) With all that’s wrong with the City of Detroit THAT’S what our City Council has been spending time on???

B) Who is so worried about me having blue balls? What about my good time with a volunteering co-participant do you have such a problem with? It’s just a lap dance. There’s access to legal prostitution a 25-minute car ride away! In Canada. Get over yourselves.

C) Jobs and public health, simply put. We have one of the highest unemployment rates in the country and they decided to restrict one of the only industries that hasn’t been shrinking over the last several years.

It’s not about “good, now they can’t be grinding on my (boyfriend/husband/dad) when he goes to La Chambre or the Vert”, it’s about the fact that your (boyfriend/husband/dad) CAN go to any number of surrounding communities and get whatever action they’re looking for. It’s another form of “White Flight”. We’ve driven yet another business out of Detroit. You might argue that just because they can’t give lap dances doesn’t mean that their business has to decline. That only the perverts are really affected. I agree that obviously guys who just like to look at semi-hot half-naked chicks while drinking beers will still frequent their favorite establishments, most likely based on proximity to their homes. But will that be enough to keep fully staffed (pun fully intended) when all the frat boy/bachelor party groups go to the less restricted clubs? Probably not. So these clubs will obviously have to trim the roster a bit to accommodate less traffic. Where will these unemployed strippers go? Will they file unemployment? Maybe. Like waitresses, a lot of them don’t claim everything, I’m sure, so maybe not. Will they apply to one of the suburban clubs? Probably. But then again, so will all the other girls in the same situation so who knows if the marginal looking ones will get hired. Will a lot of them get out on the “corner”, so to speak, and start really selling themselves for cash? Absolutely. So now we’ll have an influx of new hookers on our streets, getting addicted to harder and harder drugs, spreading God knows what to God knows whom.  Nice work cleaning up the city, random black church group. Outstanding.

Mind your own crotch and I’ll mind mine.

Again, I don’t knock any race, creed, value or belief (except Scientology and Mormonism… you’re crazy). I would never preach and/or berate anyone into changing their lifestyle or habits based on what I believe. (Unless, of course, their “lifestyle” is murderer or their “habit” is kiddie porn) I would never ask you to abandon what you believe and subscribe to what I do. I will, however, occasionally ask you to question that which you follow blindly. As we grow as human beings the base of our knowledge expands. How you see the world at 30 is drastically different from how you saw the world as a child. Shouldn’t what you believe spiritually adjust and evolve as well? I wont tell you what you should believe because I have no idea whats really out there. I will tell you that I live my life by the most incredibly simplistic ideal: “treat others how you would like to be treated”. That’s it. If you think about it, that phrase envelopes the most basic ideas of all major religions.

I wont tell you how to worship, how to spend your money or how to have fun. All I ask is that you do the same for me. If “Savannah” wants to grind in my lap while poking me in the eye with her nipples to help pay her rent/tuition/cost of single parenthood, for the love of God, get that girl some clear heels!

The Good Ol Days

Whatever happened to the good ol days? You know, how it was when my generation were kids. When I was a kid, it was all about playing this sport or that sport all day long. Adventurous bike rides with my friends spanning miles. Swimming in neighborhood pools all day long and being so tanned that after two weeks of summer we never burned. (except Tony) We were always into (up to) something. My block was a community in itself. I had a group of great friends that I still consider family to this day, no matter how much time or geographical distance lies between us.

Now, my son, who’s going to be 13 in less than a month (I know, I’m old), has fallen victim to the video game lifestyle. Most times I’m glad he isn’t out with a gang of friends pushing their luck like I did. And sometimes I wish he was. I think growing up the way I did was a blessing, for lack of a better word. I learned a lot of stuff the hard way but before the consequences were “real”. I learned to be street smart without actually being on the “streets”. That’s what I’m afraid he’s lacking… knowledge in the rough side of the world. It’s going to be awfully hard to know what to avoid when you’ve never seen anything before.

I long for the days of my youth, when the only concern or responsibility was doing your chores and not missing whatever mischief the kids down the street were getting into. (I can still hear Jim Harper telling Todd he wasn’t going anywhere until he rubbed his dads back for 10 minutes… which would inevitably turn into 25 or 30) Now, whatever free time I have is willingly spent in front of the TV, too.

I suppose kids today think they have it better than we did. With their $300 video game systems, DVRs and readily available internet access. (I had a regular Nintendo, a hand-me-down TV & VCR and an encyclopedia) I strongly disagree. There’s plenty of time for that stuff later, enjoy being a kid while you can. It goes by so fast. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. My son is almost as tall as me. He’s going to my old middle school. All I can do is sit back and wonder where all the time went. My little boy is on the cusp of manhood.

I understand that there are advantages to being his age at this place in time. He’s so much more worldly than I was at that age. His tastes and opinions are so mature, for the most part. (Yes, he does have his dads incredibly warped sense of humor) He’s been exposed to so much more than I was at that age thanks to the internet and modern TV. I just question that it’s a good thing to be exposed to so much more while never really getting a grip on any of it. It’s one thing to read and watch stuff that’s going on in the world. It’s another thing entirely to actually experience and master the immediate world around you. I feel lucky to have grown up straddling both the old school and the new.

I do have a lot of hope for our future, though. These kids are sponges. They are soaking up literally terabytes of information daily and becoming their own individual selves at an incredibly gratifying rate. They are no longer at the mercy of ignorant, bigoted or oblivious parenting. With the world’s information literally at their fingertips they seek out answers to questions I had to rely on the nearest adult for. That, in itself, cannot be a bad thing. I see racism being almost fully eradicated in my lifetime. (minus Alabama) I see a world without borders and our kids participating in a rapidly growing world economy. That’s encouraging. Exciting, even.

I think all any of us want in life for our kids is that they have a better life than we did. That they grow up happy and satisfied. That they don’t want for anything. I don’t know if I’ve quite achieved all of those goals so far, but I’ve tried. Maybe my sons childhood wasn’t quite as much fun as mine. Maybe that has nothing to do with me or him but with the time and place he lives in. But I know he’s happy and that’s enough for me. Maybe the next good ol days are right around the corner.

This is dedicated to the Harper, Maternowski, Burks, Cazan, Garcia, Stevens, Nicholas, Jerore and Wirth familys. A neighborhood full of good people who played no small role in helping me become the person and father I am today. Thank you all.

The Big “C”

People who face cancer are some of the toughest people you will ever meet.

Seriously. It’s like facing down a firing line. You know there’s a bullet with your name on it heading right at you. All you can do is brace yourself for the impact and hope for the best. What strength it must take to face that and keep your fear under control. To stare your own mortality in the face and challenge it to a duel. That’s toughness. That’s strength.

My grandma had cancer. Breast, I believe. I was very young so I don’t remember all the details. What I do remember is that she beat that shit. My mom had a scare as well. I’ve had close friends moms die and close friends moms survive. I’ve seen it end bad and I’ve seen it end well. However, it’s never pretty and its never something that’s easy to watch loved ones go through. I suppose all we can do as observers is lend whatever hand is necessary and stand by to offer whatever support is needed. It’s really just a waiting game, which sucks at any time but especially so when it’s literally a life or death outcome. I know everybody knows someone who’s made it and someone who hasn’t. Its one of the single most unifying events we as humans will go through. A silent stalking killer who shows no favoritism. It can get anybody. It will attack your best friend and your worst enemy without prejudice. It will destroy lives and entire families if you let it.

It doesn’t care if you go to a church, synagogue, or mosque.

I don’t believe in “God” or “Allah” or any other deity for that matter. What I do believe in, basically, is karma. An energy that binds us all together somehow. If you want to call that energy “Jesus” or anything else, that’s fine with me. The name is so much less important than the message. I’m reminded of the old saying that there are “no Atheists in foxholes”. Now, I’ve never had bombs falling around me or had a terrifying diagnosis looking me in the eyes but I imagine it’s a similar principle. The important thing is to take from your faith what you need to cope. I think it comes down to being at peace. With yourself. With your family. With your place in life. Believing that you left behind infinitely more love and joy than pain and sorrow. That’s what faith means to me.

I suppose perhaps the only ray of sunshine in this otherwise gloomy situation would be that there’s so much support and love out there. From total strangers who are connected only by the unique pain they’ve shared. For those afflicted, those recovering and their families. The pink ribbons. The shirts. The walk-a-thons. Every little bit helps. Even if it’s just your physically being there to smile and laugh or to cry and share a silent moment. We need to stick together. Think of your grandma. Of your aunt. Of the best friends mom who died ten years ago. Of the neighbor who beat it last year. Think about them like we think about veterans on Memorial Day. These people are heroes. Not because they protect us from carjackers, fires or terrorists. Because they fight a battle each and every one of us may end up fighting one of these days. They are blazing a path to spiritual health for us. Follow their template. Except, don’t wait until you’re in a desperate position. Embrace life NOW. If only for those who no longer can.

If you know a survivor (I know you do), just imagine how life would be without that person around. Not only for you, but for each of their loved ones. Give a dollar. Buy a bracelet. Drop a 5 into that can at the cash register for little Suzy to get that treatment her parents can’t afford. Do something. The people we love are fighting for their lives. Like Rocky against Drago. The least we can do is stand in their corner, shout our love & support and hold the spit bucket.

I write this because there’s someone very special going through something very tough right now. I know she has all the love and support she needs from her wonderful family but this is my way of saying my thoughts and love are with her too.

It’s always Ladies Night and Indians get in free

I work in the gatehouse at an apartment complex. It’s a 20 square-foot room that I spend 40 hours in every week. I should say every weekend because I work my 40 hours starting at 10pm Friday night and finish for the week at 6am Monday morning. Its 16 on, 8 off, 16 on, 8 off, 8 on, done. So I basically live in this space every weekend. It sucks hard.

The place I work at has an Indian/Pakistani population of probably 50%-60%. I have nothing truly negative to say about them. Honestly. They are very polite and friendly, for the most part, which is all I ask for out of anyone. I don’t care what color they are or which imaginary friends in the sky they interact with. (Like Drop Dead Fred looking up skirts) What’s funny to me though, is that we seem to have an understanding. When I ask who they are, they and I both know that if they just spit out anything in Indian (or Pakistani or Swahili or whatever the fuck) I will smile and respond with, “Thank you. Have a good night, sir.” They could literally say, “I am here to murder my ex-wife and set a dumpster on fire. When I have finished I will come back here and fuck your headless throat like the family goat back in Bangladesh,” and I would smile and respond with, ‘Thank you. Have a good night, sir.”

They are very polite and friendly, for the most part, which is all I ask for out of anyone.

We have another resident who we’ll call Ed. Ed doesn’t believe in monogamy or speed limits. He will pull onto the driveway at approximately 88 mph (“One-point twenty-one gigawatts!!!???”) apparently trying to prove to Sammy Hagar that Ed can’t drive 55 either. He’ll slow down in juuust enough time to not total his car into the gate arm, at which point he’ll inform me that “some (Asian, Indian, Latino, Chicano, German, blond, “stripper-looking”, thin, chubby, tanned or pale) chick” is 5 minutes behind him and request that I call him immediately after I see her because I “gotta rate this one”. Ok, but just don’t be thinking of me while you’re contracting the HIV from that “six”, Eddie. Please.

And then there’s Mister Stanley. Stacey Stanley. Mister Stanley apparently likes to keep his women in their place. He’s been seeing the same chick for a year but still insists we call him to “approve” her entry every night.  Why? Only Mister Stanley knows for sure. So its, “Hello, lady that I’ve seen every night I’ve worked for the last 12 months. Let me make sure it’s ok for you to go to the apartment you essentially live in”. Ridiculous.

And of course some of you may have already heard about Nazi Bob. Bob is almost 80 years old and looking for love in all the wrong places  (“Nookin’ pa nub”). He still works downtown for the City with “all blacks and empowered broads” policing a housing industry “run by Jews”. He refuses to retire because he (rightly) thinks that he’ll die if he stops keeping busy. He’s old school racist. He doesn’t mind screwing black girls, he just doesn’t think they’re good for anything else. He’s not unlike Thomas Jefferson that way. A true Patriot. (kinda like Mel Gibson. Wait… Exactly like Mel Gibson) He claims Obama is a Jewish figurehead. A puppet to the Jews who run the country behind the veil of the financial sector, which is a refreshing break from the appallingly popular belief that Obama’s a spy from Kenya. (Right. Kenya. Of all the 3rd world shitholes that would like to blow us to Allah, Kenya is the one that successfully planted a Manchurian Candidate. Obama doesn’t even run that fast!) Bob’s always been single, is worth $900,000 and lives with 6-10 cats at any given time. He likes long walks at Auschwitz and classic porn films. His stated interests include picking up crack-fueled hookers and paying strippers for blowjobs. An all-around class act. He’s what your newly single grandma might consider “a keeper”. (Sorry, Gramps, should’ve kept a closer eye on that colon. Grammy needs some lovin’!)

A major part of my duties is answering the phone over the weekend in case of any emergencies. (“No. Unfortunately, a strong smell of curry is NOT an emergency, Mrs Smith. If you asked the Ramudalapulandi family to please not boil goat heads at 3am I’m sure they’d be happy to oblige.”) It’s funny how people want to bitch at me well after I’ve informed them that their problem will have to wait until Monday during normal business hours. We had one guy threaten to come down there and tear up his lease in front of us. As if that was the only copy. (No!!! Not the Lease!!! ) Another favorite is when they call back ten minutes after I talked to them originally and want to know why someone isn’t there yet. (“Sorry, our teleporters are down today but Scotty’s giving ‘er all she’s got. Can our guy tie his shoes and put on his coat or do you want him lighting your pilot light in his Snuggie and Garfield slippers?”)

Here is an example of some of the rules we adhere to at the gatehouse.

1. One hot chick might be a stalker. Two or more hot chicks is a party, let ’em through. It’s always Ladies Night.

2. One solo dude is always a stalker/rapist/pervert. I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them.

3. I make the rules.

4. Pizza delivery guys and cable installers get in free.

5. Indians get in free. (Dots, not feathers. If you’re on a horse I’m asking some questions.)

6. People who wont roll down their windows, turn down their bass or put down their phones are just rude dicks.

7. Know your drunks. Be prepared at 2am. If the gate is raised before they approach it they can’t hit it and you wont have to do the paperwork… again.

8. When in doubt, take a wild stab-in-the-dark.  The rules only apply if you guess wrong.

9. “I can’t keep track of you fighting with your boyfriend, lady. He seems like a decent guy. Quit being a bitch to him and stop adding/subtracting him bi-weekly from our after-hours pre-approved access list.”

10. “No, I will not call your neighbor and ask them to turn down their laughing/TV/music. If you don’t have the balls to knock on the young African-American man’s door at least sack up and call the cops yourself.”

Never a dull moment.

My opinion. Deal with it.

My opinion is mine. My thoughts. My feelings. My prejudices. My humor. My opinion.

“In my opinion” is the single most redundant phrase in the English language, in my opinion.  Just about anything that you say is your opinion. I don’t care if it’s a “fact” you read in a reputable book, (book… that’s funny. I should say “via Google”) it’s still your opinion that said “fact” is true. The only exception is direct dictation of events directly witnessed by you. All written history is dependent on opinion. Most writers of history books were not at the event or even alive during the time frame in question. It’s all at least second or third-hand info. Not to mention the generally accepted reality that history is written by the victors. So who’s to say one book is more accurate than the next? And more to my point, who’s to say whose opinion is correct and whose isn’t? Exactly.

Obviously, there are billions of indisputable facts out there. One plus one equals two no matter what anyone short of Einstein says. (If Einstein rose from the grave and went on Larry King Live claiming, with a valid explanation, that one plus one is NOT two, Id hear him out. That’s all I’m saying)  My point is, there is a lot of bickering about a lot of ridiculous shit lately. Rush Limbaugh said this, Rahm Emanuel said that, etc. My stance is this: who gives a shit? Let it go. They’re both obviously douchebags. If somebody gets called a retard it’s not national news, whether the “victims” are actually retarded or not. Now, I’m not a monster. I’m not endorsing insensitivity or advocating abuse of the handicapped. I have cousins who are handicapped, mentally and physically. (Not to mention plenty of retarded friends) If someone called them retards and they caught wind of it I’d want to kick the insensitive prick in the onions. Maybe it’s the hero in me that wants to protect those retards closest to my heart.

I’m just alarmed at how pussified this entire society has become.

If some crazy Avon-selling corn-fed church-going mom in Iowa reads this she’ll probably initiate a boycott and orchestrate the eventual downfall of all things fat or Irish. (Jay Leno read this in November) That’s what we’ve been reduced to: boycotting things that aren’t parallel to our specific beliefs and trying to shut up or talk over anyone who dissents from those beliefs. Where is the tolerance? The attempt at compromise and understanding? Shit, where’s the levity?

Why so serious?

I poke fun and make little smart-ass quips all the time. These are often tasteless. Some are off-color, rude and may yet condemn me to a fiery furnace for all of eternity. I’m cool with that. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. This blog will address some of the very themes that tend to get me in trouble. I will feel zero remorse if I offend anybody on my blog. To read this you must come to me. You must seek this out. I feel restricted on Facebook. I want a medium that I can participate in and feel free to be myself. Free to write how I want to write. Free to say things and start discussions with no handcuffs. That said, my intent will be almost entirely comical. My main goal in just about anything I do is to make it funny. This blog will represent that. (…I hope) This blog will have more than a touch of political frustration and a heaping helping of sports ranting. I will trash some things you like and I will endorse some things you hate. I will be commenting on anything that strikes me as comment worthy. It could be a new movie or an old TV show. It could be a Zeppelin vs. “the field” music debate. It could be about the PB & J samich I may or may have not eaten this afternoon. That’s the beauty:  we’ll never know.

I plan on updating this quite often. Crazy ridiculousies wander my head 24/7. If interest dictates, I will update every couple days or so. If interest wanes, I’ll probably abandon it all together within weeks. Please leave your comments. Even if its just a simple “lol”. I’d appreciate the appreciation.

Shout outs to the Monster and Jim Object for inspiring me to undertake this fantastic endeavor. Taking over the worlds’ youth one blog at a time.

Stay tuned.