Pay No Attention to the Ass Behind the Mask

My sister’s ex-husband’s father died. Follow that? If not, my mom would be happy to call you and tell you all about it. Then she might ask you when my sister’s getting back from vacation so she can give her this very important news.

My sister hasn’t been married to the ex for almost 20 years. An early marriage by a girl fresh out of high school too young to know any better. The man beat her, threw her against walls, was an alcoholic and a drug addict. In short, a real asshole. My mom’s a pretty innocent gal, so we spared her a lot of the details, but I’ve told her before in kinder terms that the fella's an asshole. Does that make it less sad that his father died? Of course not. Does his father’s death make him less of an a-hole? Nope.

Once over a game of pool, he, in a pretty drunken stupor, admitted to me how he had snowed my mom. How my mom once thought he was trouble but he won her over, wink wink. He was so proud of himself for taking advantage of a woman’s good heart and charitable attitude towards humanity by employing the simple means of deception and a smile. I really wanted to bust his head open that night. But I’m not really the fighting type.

After the divorce was final – thank God – and when my mom would mention him, I’d ask her, “Why do you keep bringing him up? Your daughter’s married now. To a good man, who has a job, loves her and supports her and their kids. It’s an insult to bring him up. Plus he’s a real butthole and lets just leave it at that.” But she didn’t want to believe what her first instincts had told her. Initially she couldn’t stand the man. And who could blame her? Take for instance the time he showed up at our house, drunk and belligerent, swearing at my dad. Cussing out my mom as well, I’m sure. And trust me that’s the least of it. But see, he eventually won my mom over, remember? Wink wink. Mom then chose to believe the lie. I suppose she liked the way he had “reformed” himself. It was such sweet piece of…FICTION.

So my mom won’t call me to find out when my sister’s coming home from vacation so she can give her the news. She’ll call other people. Somehow it’s very important that my sister know this info. Apparently what’s not important is the feelings of her current husband, or the feelings of my sister. What’s not important apparently is leaving the past dead and buried. Or so she thinks. So I guess I’ll have to call my mom instead.

Damned Good Dandy Lions

Okay, so I’m not going to win any Pulitzer Prizes for this entry. But that’s okay, because I will never win one anyway, so I won’t be bogged down by anguish over not doing so. But I do expect this post to make people think about the priorities of the world.

Why do we hate dandelions? They’re pretty. They’re yellow. They’re just one of God’s many gifts to us. Yet when a lawn looks like this:

We wonder what is wrong this those people? Their lawn should look like this:

In essence, we give more value to a lawn that is propped up by chemical supplements (steroids for grass) to one that is graced by nature’s own splendor and beauty. Why not just do away with lawns altogether, throw down a slab of concrete, paint it a brilliant green and call it a day?

See, I refuse to be pulled into the games that lawn care companies try to play with the homebuyer. I, of course, don’t own a home. But if I did, you can bet the $20 you’d spend on a bag of fertilizer that I’d let dandelions roam free like the lions in the African safari.

And finally, a short story I wanted to share with you that I think might win me a Pulitzer.

I didn’t like the way the gas attendant eyeballed my mother. And I could feel the rage boiling inside of me like an egg on Texas concrete in August. I wanted to smash my fist down on his face and bust it into a million pieces. But I did not. I showed restraint. I took mercy on the man. I chose peace over violence. Then, I picked my mother a bouquet of wild dandelions and we drove off happily into the sunset without paying for the gas.

Act Now! Don't Miss This Incredible Opportunity To Paint Your Masterpiece!

Today I offer hope. I just finished reading Gordon MacKenzie’s Orbiting the Giant Hairball, an inspiring book on creativity and the human spirit. The man has a lot of great things to say, but, of course, he saves the best for last: we each have a masterpiece to paint. Before we touched earth, God gave each and everyone of us a blank piece of canvas and requested we return it to him with our masterpiece. The tricky part comes when we make our entrance into a world which conspires to unblanken our canvas by providing us with helpful hints as to how we should go about doing so. And then we take those hints, and our masterpiece ends up sucking. And, I’m guessing, God probably sighs.

But, God also hopes, because he knows us better than we know ourselves. He knows that we can always paint our masterpiece. It’s always in us, just waiting to be revealed – shared – with the world. But here’s the important thing MacKenzie wants us to remember: there’s only one masterpiece like ours, and if we go to the grave without painting it, then the world will be short one more masterpiece.

And, if you ask me, the more masterpieces the merrier.

Have you painted your masterpiece?

What Would Cap-n-Crunch Say About This?

So the Pirates want a piece of us. They’re calling us out. Ready to slaughter anything American because they can “recognize” our flag. I’m overwhelmed by their brilliance. Saw a picture of these guys and they are skinny. I mean, blink-and-you’ll-miss-‘em skinny. To look at them, you’d think no wonder they’re attacking ships, they need food. Too bad the sad irony is that they’re attacking ships that are bringing food aid to areas in their region. But they have guns and rocket launchers so that makes them bad asses.

It’s been a pretty good run for them so far. Many of these unarmed ships have been easy pickings in the vast oceanic expanse. But now they’re calling us out. Even calling Obama out directly. We’ll see how he responds. He says, he will. I think he’s going to have to now that the buccaneers have decided to go after Americans specifically because of his vow to combat piracy.

I wonder where Johnny Depp stands on this whole issue.

There He Goes

There he goes. The man accused of being an accessory to the deaths of some
29,000 people while serving as a Guard in a Nazi Germany death camp. The man who claims he was a Ukrainian POW. The 89-year-old man on his way to Germany to await a trial he’ll probably never live to see. The man who yelled "I love you" in Ukrainian to his family as the US Government whisked him away from his suburban home outside of Cleveland, Ohio. The man who will take the truth to his grave no matter what happens. The man who can only be tried - truly - in front of God.

Metamorphistication

I'm happy to report that I have broken free of my creator. Just as Kilgore Trout was given freedom by his creator in Kurt Vonnegut's brilliant Breakfast of Champions, I too have been liberated. I have gained my freedom because I persevered. I offered to talk to the Alien but he wanted nothing to do with me. I slept in trunks and watched my best friend die. I saw my wife leave me for an Alien. And still, on special nights, I look for her. But I am free. I did not ask to be made young. I didn't even ask for my freedom. But I have it and I shall not ignore it.