PG-13

First off, this blog is not about porn so hang with me here. Are you against pornography? You probably are, I know that I am anti-porn. Pornography takes women and turns them into objects. They cease to be people made in the image of God and instead become a means to satisfy primal, sinful, urges. They become a piece of meat. I'm sure that you would agree with my saying that that is wrong. Since we can both agree on that, lets shift gears a bit into everyones favorite subject, music. Because I lack knowledge in the area of todays popular music I will just focus on one artist, Soulja Boy. If you like Soulja Boy, don't stop reading in an effort to avoid the impending sense of guilt that you know will follow the reading of this blog. With songs with names like "Booty Meat" its not hard to see how DeAndre Way (Soulja Boy) views women. Its hard to be more blatantly disrespectful to women than to refer to them as Booty Meat. My favorite song by Mr. Way, however, would have to be Crank That Soulja Boy. Crank That Soulja Boy has a snappy beat and a dance to go along with it. How could a song with such great redeeming qualities be anything but innocent? I've seen many a 8 year old who knows the dance. I guess its too bad that its lyrics include lines like "Then I'm Cocking On Your B***h," "I'm Jocking On Yo B***h A**"and of course the classic line, "Superman Dat Hoe." Those songs share that same view on women as any porn magazine. Women are meat. Are you anti-porn but pro Soulja Boy? Can someone say hypocrite?

Under the Bridge

Boxcar Billy and Dogs and Wolfs, a crudely spray painted memorial under the viaduct. They tell me that Boxcar Billy froze to death last winter. It was cold out today too. I soon wished that I had worn a heavier coat. I had followed a group of church folks as they caravaned to an obscure space just outside of the city. Down the dead end street, past the meat shop, over the gravel and mud, through the flood gate and under the bridge. Their camp over looked the railroad tracks. As I gazed downward, I was told that Jeff had caught his leg in those very tracks just last week. He was still in the hospital, he lost both his legs. Thankfully he somehow avoided having need of his own spray painted sepulcher. There was a lot of spray paint. Elie read one of the many slogans tagged on the concrete walls. Her sister was quick to tell on her. It was bad word but at least she was reading. Someone brought out the turkey. It was still nice and hot. There was plenty of food so I'm glad that I didn't eat lunch. We stood around the fire warming our hands, eating, talking, and listing to the game on a tiny battery powered radio. I didn't know most of the people there and for a moment, an unusual moment, I couldn't figure out who was with the church and who was homeless. They were all people, the kind that God loves , complete with addictions, hang ups, flaws and failures. They were people, beautiful people.

The Email (whats wrong with it?)

There are many problems plaguing the world of internet messaging. There are of course your everyday perverts, stalkers, and spammers. The most problematic issue associated with text based messaging systems, however, is the inability to hear fluctuations in a persons voice. Have you ever gotten a message from someone and then wandered if they were being facetious. The beautiful language of sarcasm is often lost in emails due to the lack of tone. Even though you meant your statement of, "Wow, nice picture." to be an insult they in turn took it as a compliment because the inability to discern the fluctuations in your voice. Unfortunate misunderstandings like these happen everyday due to this serious issue. There are a few internet tools put into place in a lame attempt to nullify this problem. You have your standard lol to show laughter and there are the emoticons. These systems are juvenile and low tech. My proposition is this, 4 new keys on the standard keyboard. These keys will be Red, Blue, Green, and Purple. These will be toggle keys like ctrl, shift, and alt. Red will express anger, Blue sadness, Green sarcasm and Purple joy. Problem solved.

My Ever so Controversial Christmas Blog

"It was a let down. I was in second grade and had suspected there was a cover up for a while. The creepy thing was, I told my mother I knew there was no Santa and she got this peeved look in her eye and said, "Children who don't believe in Santa don't get Christmas gifts". I was stunned. So, I said, "I guess I believe then". With that bit of creepiness, I went on to pretend to believe in Santa for years. Strangest part is that she responded similarly when I stopped being Christian." - Yahoo Answers User Glee

I posed the following question on Yahoo Answers "Santa isn't Real - What was your initial reaction?". I had a combined 57 answers, some serious and some not so much. There were some who said it had no affect on them along with others who became upset because their parents had lied to them. The most disturbing of the answers though, were those who in turn doubted the existence of God. This may seem like a leap in logic to a lot of people but you must remember that we are dealing with children here. Here is a list of similarities that I came up with between believing in Santa and believing in God from a child perspective.

SANTA
If I don't believe in Santa I won't get presents.
GOD
If I don't believe in God I won't go to heaven

SANTA
I've never seen Santa give me presents
GOD
I've never seen God.

SANTA
Santa visit millions of houses in one night. You can't understand it but its true.
GOD
God is everywhere at once. You can't understand its true.

SANTA
People who tell children that Santa isn't real are bad people
GOD
People who tell children that God isn't real are bad people..

SANTA
My parents and friends told me that Santa was real and now I know that they weren't telling the truth.
GOD
My parents and friends told me that God was real but now I know that they weren't telling the truth.

Granted not every kid who is told about Santa grows up to doubt the existence of God. What you have to ask yourself though, putting the moral dilima of lying aside, is it worth it? Here is one more quick story from the answer board.


I can't remember how old I was (probably around 8). I remember I was obsessing about getting my Christmas list done so I could give it to Santa. I was trying to find good paper for it and I was probably annoying my parents to no end. I remember getting a slip of wrapping paper and announcing that I was about to write my list.

That's when my dad told me to come to him. He said that they made up Santa Clause and that he wasn't real. I was devastated. I really did believe in him with all my little heart. It felt like the magic of Christmas shattered before my very eyes. He said that all parents tell their kids the same story. I asked why they would do such a mean thing- to make them believe in something and then tell them it isn't true. He said that it was so parents could give gifts to their children without taking the credit for giving them. I understood that side of the arguement, but I was angry and heartbroken that parents would put their children through that. I asked him why he told me and he said it was because I was old enough to know.

After that, I didn't want to write my list. He told me to do it, though, and so like a good little girl I obeyed. However, the list seemed to be significantly less important to me that year.

It never occurred to me to question the existence of God right then and there, but I did wonder about it later. I mean, if they lied to me about one man doing miraculous things, why wouldn't a supernatural, all-seeing, all-knowing being be a lie as well?

I know it seems nothing, but I really did believe in Santa with every fiber of my being, and that experience was absolutely unforgettable. Since then, I have vowed never to tell my children about him- or at least I would say that it's just a story from the very beginning. Strangely enough, I haven't changed my mind all these years.

Top 10 Things to say to a "Pre-Approved Credit Card" telemarketer (one called me this morning and woke me up so I wrote this list)

10. Tell them "No thanks, I already have loads of cash." (this is the one that I actually use and it works every time)
9. Say "That sounds good, now if you could just give me your mothers maiden name for confirmation of identity we can continue getting my information."
8. Keep repeating, "Yes but who is this credit bard?"
7. Ask them if you can get 5 cards because you "love playing online blackjack."
6. Ask them if you can get a card with Abraham Lincolns picture on it. If they say no than accuse them of hating America.
5. Make them explain to you why its called a Platinum card if it is made out of plastic.
4. Ask if they could overnight the card to you because you are binging and just ran out of cash.
3. Ask them to repeat the line about low APR because "it sounded so sexy."
2. Tell the telemarketer, "Sorry, I don't actually live here. From what I've observed the home owners are out of town."
1. Tell them that your planing on filing bankruptcy so the sooner they could get it to you the better.

Lip Service

(picture not of actual mustache)

Having more hair on my head than the common 3 toed sloth, I am well versed in the subject of dandruff. My pale white head dries up and shares itself with the world in the form of tiny snow like flakes. Now I know there are products out there to prevent such problems. In fact, I have anti-dandruff shampoo in my shower and use it often. However, yesterday, I discovered that I had a different problem, mustache dandruff. This is a disorder that I had in the past joked about but didn't believe really existed. I have never seen a product directed at amending this condition so naturally I thought that mustache dandruff wasn't real. Where are the commercials featuring guys with their handlebars and their embarrassing secret, dry lip. "Dry lip," they would say, "used to control my life. I couldn't be a lip hair model because of the embarrassing flakes. But now theres a solution, Pro-Upper lip. It not only eliminates mustache dander, it gives your stash a bright, bristly, healthy sheen." Actually, I think I will just ignore my dry lip and maybe it will go away. Until then though, everyone try to avoid kissing me passionately.

Taking Life one Nickle at a Time

One Nickle at a Time

I went to the self checkout line. Its supposed to be fast right? The only people in front of me were the people currently using the machines. This should be quick enough I thought to myself. Then it all started. The lady on machine 2 started attempting to pay for her $16 worth of groceries with nickels. She would put the nickel in and it would be rejected. She continued trying the same defective nickel, over and over. In and than out, in and out again, 5 times in a row she tried that nickel. Maybe a different nickel will work she thought rummaging through her pocket full of change, nope, no nickels would work.

Now I've heard that the last moments of your life are in slow motion. If thats the case than the lady on machine number 4 was on the brink of death. The grim reaper must have been in the parking lot knocking on her Honda's door. It looked as if she was taking a sabbatical in between each item scan. Perhaps she was in deep thought as to how many plastic bags were needed to complete the job or maybe she had very week arms. I'm not sure.

Things seemed to be going well on machine 1, that is until she got the "show cashier your id" warning. Attempting to show cashier her ID proved hopeless, he was busy counting nickels and talking to an old acquaintance. "I have lots of friends who work here," the friend quipped, "that should help me get a job right?" Looking up for a moment the cashier realized that the lady was old enough to be his mother and approved her to purchase alcohol. Apparently wanting to die quicker than the slow motion lady, she added a few packs of cigarettes to her order sending the cashier hiking across the store.

I'm not certain what happened to the guy on machine number 3. The machine refused me service after he had left. Why, because it was busy, too busy for me. Yes I did eventually buy my groceries and no my frozen dinners didn't melt. There is no real point to this story. I could put a moral about patience here but whats the point.

No Fries for Dany Boy

Danny Boy Doesn’t Like the Fries

I had walked passed him many times, generally giving a polite nod but trying to to slow down too much. His name was Danny, but I of course didn't used to know that. He would often hang out in front of the post office, occasionally bumming money but more often rummaging through the trash for food. I remember one time seeing him pull a half head of lettuce out of the can and thinking to myself, "thats not a bad find, I would eat that." Truth is though, I wouldn't. The streets weren't kind to him. He had straggly, dirty hair, and no upper teeth. The teeth that he had left on the bottom were half rotted and would soon also be gone.

As I was leaving the Post Office he whispered to me that he was hungry so we took my car to Wendie's for a burger and soda. No fries though, as it turns out he doesn't care for Wendie's fries. There's just something different about them, those and Frishes fries. Maybe its the grease. He shared with me that he had ruined his liver from all of the drinking that he used to do and he had just had a heart attack a week or two ago. Danny was in bad shape. He told me that he was wearing his only set of clothes and that the drop in shelter wouldn't let him use the shower. He said that sometimes he could make decent money at the Bengals games but there was often too many people holding the same signs. He wasn't a sports fan. I dropped him back off up the street from where we had met and continued home. The whole experience had cost me a grand total of $3 and 10 minutes of tv watching time. There are a lot of Dannys in the world. You can make a difference, small differences, one Danny at a time.