Archive for February, 2011

Did I Mention I Hate Subarus?

Posted in Uncategorized on February 26, 2011 by willard43

I fucking do. I really, really do. And it’s so dumb to hate them, as, ironically, I hate them in a way you only hate animate objects. Just  for trying to ascribe human emotion to inanimate objects. “Made out of love”…No! They’re not made out of fucking love! They’re made out of “steel…and brawn”. And they fuck shit up just like any other combustion engine vehicle does. “Made out of love”…so I guess I don’t hate the car but the advertising/marketing fuckwad who pumped that shit down our throats. And “the universe will just take care of it”…GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! I hate it so much. And they just keep plugging this. Who buys that shit anyway?! I can see buying an economical, decent car for all the right reasons, but buying a Subaru because of those fucking commercials is no better than the middle-aged guy buying a Ferrari because he’s 50, bald and has a little dick. In fact, it’s worse…you have no excuse other than you fell for some smarmy bullshit an ad exec thought of while he was snorting prescription cocaine of a 10-year-old Thai boys ass. If there was a god of love he would squash every Subaru in a pile of cupid shit in an instant and those commercials would go back to the same old bullshit about mpg and reliability.

And the santimonious cunts they put in those commercials. The gall. They all have that Namaste, yoga glazed, I’m more at one with that same fucking world you live in look on their smug faces. I’d like to gutshot them, dump them in their ample storage areas and bury them alive like Joe Pesci in Casino…still breating up dust. I know, it’s wrong to allow so much hate to cloud your judgement, and I know these are just actors, but god did they cast them well. I’d bet they all drive Subies…fucking pseudo-hippie, elitist scum. These are the fucktards that conservative republicans equate the liberal elite with. Even if I were given a free Subaru, I could drive it. I’d have to take the winnings in the form of a check, and you know they screw you on that deal as well.

To be fair, I drive a Jeep. And yes, I’ve gotten caught up in the Jeep wave, but I didn’t know about that until after I had bought my third Jeep…honestly! I had two Cherokees and finally bought a Wrangler because I had always wanted a ragtop. I love Jeeps and have had great luck with them. I’ve never paid more than $7K and they’ve never left me stranded. Add to it, they’ve gotten me where I needed to go in the worst weather without getting stuck. So I’m a fan and always will be for those reasons. But I didn’t know about the wave. And I didn’t know the rules. Apparently on those who own Wranglers do or can receive the wave. Yes, I got caught up in that fucking game too. “WTF are you lookin at in your Liberty/Laredo/Cherokee/Commander?! I’m not fucking waving at you, asshole!” Only we privileged few who have removable roofs can wave at each other. So I do the wave, though I’m thinking of changing it to the finger.

Oh yeah, did I mention I hate Subaru even more since the beginning of this tirade? Just checkin.

Advertisements

Prophets, Martyrs, Princes and Mystics

Posted in Uncategorized on February 24, 2011 by willard43

In the vein of my Tillman Story post, I was rolling over in my head what it was I was trying to say about the people who influence their age. It’s probably no secret to anyone that we love to put those who have “died for the cause” on a unreproachable pedistal. Take JFK for a recent example. The guy was not without his sins or flawas but they pale in the shadow of his legacy via martyrdom. The fact that the guy was taken out not only, virtually erased his sins, but amplified his accomplishments. Don’t get me wrong, he was a war hero and president and I admire the man all the same, but I shy from any talk of sainthood.

Same could be said and is, by those closest to him, of Pat Tillman. The sainthood is fresh on people’s mind now, so the truth (and thanks to modern technology, filmmakers and bureaucracy for that) is still attainable, yet still people want to make him a martyr for a cause. Instead of just what he was…a guy who “walked it like he talked it” and was willing to sacrifice himself for his ideals.

I wonder if there is a formula that takes into account the actual good a person does + the timeframe + the impact to the folks around them at the time, multiplied by the amount of time that has passed, all the while taking into account variables such as records, technology and the religious views of the time and place. And could that formula account for the amount of supernatural bullshit that is attached to their legacy.

Jesus for instance. The guy probably just wanted to raise the bar on humanity and was willing to sacrifice himself (maybe…who really knows what he wanted) for what he believed in. He saw a world/society spinning out of control, and saw that the solution to the madness, and ultimately the only thing that may prevent our extinction, was setting some simple standards of conduct to guarantee the survival of the species. But that’s never good enough is it? There’s always this call by those who ascribe something otherwordly to those people, isn’t there.

 “No, I knew the dude. He was a regular guy. He just thought we could do better.”
“Wrong! Blasphemer! How dare you compare our lord to common humans. He was the son of God and was bestowed with the powers of the divine! BURN HIM!”

I just think Jesus would be like “Chill! I just wanted people to stop killing each other for no reason.”

Same goes for anyone who speaks for their time. Bob Marley, whose music I adore and whose message of hope and love I embrace, was, to me, a prophet of his generation. A prophet in the literal sense, not some crazy religious mumbo-jumbo. The man simply saw a better world and was able to convey it using his immense talent. He was no saint though. Just ask his wife or any number of women Bob had been unfaithful to her with. I’m not knocking the guy at all, and I’m sure he’d be the first one to say “eh, mon, I’m only human, irie”. Add to it that he thought Halie Selassie was a living God, and the religious element of his thang is lost on me.

I guess the conclusion to this rant would just be that, in my estimation, we’ll never really learn from any of these prophets, martyrs, princes or mystics until we learn that they are not those things. Just people trying to make the world a better place. They have no magic powers and it’s offensive to ascribe them or their legacies with such. The only reason to do so is to manipulate people into following some organized thing instead the truth.

Amen.

The Big Daddy

Posted in Uncategorized on February 18, 2011 by willard43

Big Daddy was…well…BIG. Not huge, like a 700lb shut-in you have to saw out of a house, but a big guy nonetheless. Not too tall at 6′. Not too wide at 225. But just big, to a 9 year old girl.

Big Daddy was all there was too. Sure there were the grandparents she’d see on certain weekends and in the summertime, but Big Daddy was there 24/7. He dropped her off at school in the morning, and picked her up in the afternoon. He made all her meals, did her laundry, helped her with her homework and played games with her til late at night on the weekends.

Big Daddy was always there, since Mom left. She used to cry and cry when he would drop her off at Kindergarten until she realized that, just because Mom left and never came back, didn’t mean he would. She slowly realized that he would always be there for her, even if he was late that one time (which made her feel like she was all alone in the world and she had cried, unconsolebly to her teacher until he pulled up in a rush with tears in HIS eyes).

And though he was always there and took care of her, it wasn’t just that…of course she loved Big Daddy…he was her Daddy…but she also LIKED Big Daddy. He was funny. He liked good songs and could sing all the words. He always found new movies, books and games, and even played on the Xbox with her. She even knew when he wasn’t really having fun doing things with her, and was just doing them to be with her and because she wanted him to. She didn’t know why, but she loved him even more at those times.

Big Daddy always seemed to think she had great ideas too. If she said, “let’s go to the park?”. He’d say, “That’s a great idea”. Or, “Let’s go to the Hollywood Grill for pancakes tomorrow morning.” He’d say, “Perfect! we’ll get up early, shower and hit the road.” And he had said the same thing when she asked to go to his work. She liked going to his work because he worked in one of the biggest buildings in town, even though he worked at home in the afternoons to be with her so she wouldn’t have to go to daycare. She loved to go to the cafeteria and eat lunch with him on certain days when she didn’t have school and he got her into the backup daycare at his work. It made her feel important because everyone always stopped by their table to say “hi” to her and Big Daddy. He said he wasn’t important, but everyone in the whole big building seemed to know him and was nice to her because of him.

This time though, she had finally gotten Big Daddy to take her up to the very top, the roof of the big building. She had always asked to go, and he had always said “We’re not supposed to” or “It’s too dangerous”, but she had gotten on the honor roll, and he finally relented. So they went up as far as the elevator would take them, and then walked up the next few flights of stairs to the roof. Big Daddy said it was lucky the door was unlocked because the maintenance men were working up there and we could go up, but we had to stay in the middle and be very careful. The door opened into blinding sunlight and the wind was terrific. She got very excited and held tight to Big Daddy’s hand. It was bright and cold and the wind was ripping at her. So much so that her hand slipped free of Big Daddy’s and she screamed as she slid to the edge of the building’s roof. She saw Big Daddy’s face and it was white and his eyes were wide with fear, which she’d never seen before. He ran after her towards the edge, which, though she was terrified, almost made her laugh…she never saw him run so fast before. He dove onto the ground and grabbed her hand just as she went over the edge. He stood up and teetered on the edge pulling her up to him, but the wind blew even stronger and she could feel them going over the edge. As they fell, she screamed “don’t leave me Daddy!”, and he held her tight and turned them so he was on the bottom. “I won’t sweetheart…ever.”

The Tillman Story

Posted in Uncategorized on February 4, 2011 by willard43

Pat Tillman IS a hero. I know his family fought long and hard to prove that Pat was just a normal guy who deserved the truth, which he does and so do they, but still, he is a hero. He’s not a John Wayne, knight in shining armor hero, he’s a real hero. He put is dick on the line as I like to say. He believed in something and was willing to back that up with sacrifice…the ultimate sacrifice unfortunately…and that is rare. As a veteran I completely respect his decision. I didn’t sign up for any noble reasons…I just wanted the GI Bill and didn’t haven any other irons in the fire at the time (much like his comrade Russell Baer in the documentary…don’t be ashamed of that ever dude). But as an American and a man (yeah, I said it), I have to honor that sacrifice and put it on a pedestal. I understand if his family disagrees, but I any time I see anyone willing to make a real, no bullshit sacrifice, I have to applaud it.

I hate that our government is so willing to throw away that sacrifice for the most base and disgusting reasons as they did in the Iraq Invasion, and this continued conflict Afghanistan. It robs the nation of what makes it great…honor. I’m not saying that people who don’t serve don’t have honor, I’m just saying that serving is a tangible way of showing that you do. I hate that they lied to these people and in the process went against everything they were trying to profit from…Pat Tillman’s legacy. But most of all, I hate the utter hypocrisy of the folks at the top of the chain of command in this instance. Not one set of balls nor sense of responsiblity among them. Not one “man” anywhere near the caliber of Pat Tillman, or any other veteran for that matter. And that is the true flaw…the fact that those with true character reflecting what a great country and people we are, are not the ones in charge at the end of the day. Those with that character are the ones that pay the ultimate price while the scum rises to the top. Meanwhile, those of us who get suckered in are continuously lectured about honor, dignity, integrity, courage and the American Spirit by the very people who degrade its very essence.

Pat Tillman was a hero because he knew the risk of sacrifice yet saw the value in the long view. Pat Tillman is a hero because the values that now cloud our psyche were foreign to him even at the pinnacle. Pat Tillman is a hero because he didn’t fall back on outdated and over-played notions of Mom, American and Apple Pie to make the decision to man-up, but simple character. Most of all Pat Tillman is a hero because no matter what he was before he enlisted, no matter the manner of his death, as tragic and needless as it was, and no matter how the government tried to whore out his memory, neither his character nor the family from whence it cames character, could be sullied. It shined through regardless.

I hate to make the comparison, but hear me out. In my opinion, as an atheist and non-believer, Jesus was not the son of any god. He did not work miracles, was not holier than thou, and did not rise from the dead…he was just a man who wanted to raise the bar on humanity. All the other bullshit and mumbo-jumbo was just the same fucking propaganda designed to wow and woo the crowd to someone else’s agenda. In that aspect, I see Pat Tillman in the same light. Pat Tillman wanted to raise the bar and was willing to put his life on the line to do it. Thankfully, his family and those close to him have hamstrung the fable for the truth. And THAT TRUTH is what makes him my hero.

MANopause

Posted in Uncategorized on February 1, 2011 by willard43

I think it’s finally happening. I was working from home today as the snow and freezing rain closed the kids’ schools, and we’re all sitting in our comfy home…the two younger ones are drawing their comics quietly…the oldest is upstairs watching a movie…I had my music on shuffle and it was a pretty good set…tucked into work and actually getting things done…and that’s when it hit me. The bills were pretty much paid, no one was fighting or being annoying, everyone was healthy, and there was not really much to worry about. That’s when my eyes welled up with tears and I’m like, “wtf?!”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m as sappy and smarmy as the next person, maybe even more so. One of my favorite pastimes is to drink a few Guinni, throw on Fields of  Athenry and “sob like a little girl with a skinned knee”, but I’ve noticed a fundamental shift in the way I see the world. It all started with my divorce. She left me (for a felonious tranny that beat the shit out of her no less), and the kids back in 2006. I’ve been raising them on my own with little or no contact (except for the time she cried to me when he/she put her in the hospital) from the ex, their mom for over four years now. One hint was the yearly Myers-Briggs I would take at work. Not the full test, mind you, but a sample of the questions. Like clockwork, I would score an eNTj (the Field Marshal; they did the capitalization thing denoting that I was just barely an “e” and a “j”). Then, after maybe a year after I became a “single mom”, I started scoring “f”s instead of “j”s. This indicates that I went from processing the world around me based on “feelings” rather than “judgement”.

Nope, haven’t gotten tits or a vagina just yet, but I definitely notice that my emotions are much closer to the surface than ever before in my life. And not in a bad way. The ex left years ago, so I can’t attribute it to residual bullshit from that. I really think it’s the MANopause. But I’m only 45?! Aren’t I supposed to be going through a mid-life crisis and buying a sports car or something? What’s next? Will I find solace in my stories? boddice-rippers?…fuck me…TWIGHLIGHT? I still watch football, drink beer, play video games and otherwise function as before, but there’s this added dimension to an otherwise typical, hetro-male perspective.

Well, guess I’ll go get my tissues and watch Steel Magnolias…nahhhh! But I will go and sob a bit when Paul Newman dies in Cool Hand Luke…sniff.