Let me count the ways

Sometimes I wish that it was in my nature to gush more. The only thing that bugs me more than the way that people drop the f-bomb in public is the way that people use "I love you" to mean everything but "I love you". I know too many people who have those words come quicker than Pamela Anderson at a rock star convention, without really thinking about what they are saying. I have heard "I love you" used to mean everything from "You're ignoring me", "Do what I tell you", "Goodbye", and "I told you so", to "Fuck off'. I especially love people who feel the need to say "I love you" every time they hang up the phone with a family member. I'm sure that I heard one of the women that I work with slip and say "I love you" when she hung up from ordering lunch.

I want my family to know how much that I love them, but I'm sure that it would lose meaning if I started gushing every time that I felt proud of them. Yeah, I try to say "I love you" at appropriate times, but I would prefer to show love. On the day that I die, I don't want to leave anything unsaid, but I also don't want my family to feel like they have to rush to me to say "I love you" one last time. I would prefer to show it every day.

An Intelligent Response

It appears that the Reactionary spirit in Kansas has hit a new high, and the Scopes Trial is just another trip back to the future. Soon, kids in Kansas will be learning the ground breaking theories that the Earth is round, and that there is a remote chance that we are not the center of the Universe. (Okay, I'm just kidding, everyone knows that the religious right are the center of the universe.) They don't need no stinkin' Darwin, at least not for the next 4 thousand years or so. Let the Earth double in age before we approach such blasphemy again. So what is there to do if you disagree with the actions of the board? I suggest sending your school taxes to them in lead, and let them change it into gold.

Oprah is Playboy for Women

A notion has been creeping up on me for some time. After watching a few minutes of an Oprah episode recently, the notion became a full blown thesis. Oprah is Playboy for women. I generally wouldn't have even pulled my trigger finger from the remote button, but Jay Leno was one of the guests. It only took a few minutes after the obligatory introductions before "O" asked the question... "Why do men go to strip bars?" Come on, she knows the only possible answer is, "Because they can!" It was, in reality, a rhetorical question. She was just adding another item to her "MEN SHOULDN'T" list. This is the invisible list that floats sanctimoniously next to the "MEN SHOULD" list that populates the script of most of the Oprah shows that I have had the dubious fortune to observe. Men should be warm and nurturing (as long as they are not wimpy). Men shouldn't enjoy looking at nude women (unless the woman happens to be their wife, she is not retaining water and is in the mood to be looked at, and has give her written consent in triplicate). Men should share equally with their wives, cry at movies, and give good backrubs while their wives buy those cute new shoes. By the time that "O" finishes dissecting what men should and shouldn't be, she has removed all of the warts and airbrushed so many emotions upon the "Ideal" man, that she has created an unrealistic icon. No man could live up to the "Ideal" that Oprah sells along with the dishwashing soap and feminine products each day. If women expect to find the man that "O" has created, they will be as disappointed as men are after they have met the playmate of the month without her makeup. The most disturbing aspect of this situation is that Oprah has ten times the audience that Hugh Heffner has, and one-hundred times the influence. Before long, all men will need consult their therapist before they decide whether they should cry at that "Chick Flick" or not. Please Oprah, can't we all just get along?

Criticism in Critical Times

It has been a long time since I have written in this blog. Time, circumstances and other priorities have kept me occupied. The aftermath of Hurricane Katrina has prompted me to think back to when I was a kid, and try to understand what is happening. My family survived Hurricane Agnes, and I clearly remember the frustration and anger associated with the recovery process. During that storm, high ground was easily attained, the water receded after twenty-four hours, and we were able to start thinking about resuming a normal life after a couple of weeks. It is easy to sit on the outside of this devestation and criticize what is happening. I can't imagine trying to survive a situation that progressed from "Rescue Me" to "Lord of the Flies" as quickly as this has. I'd imagine that after the cavalry didn't come marching to the rescue, I'd do everything that I could to help my family to survive. That would include looting for food, and arming myself to protect my own. I can't fathom or justify some of the behavior that is being reported. Why would you shoot at your rescuers? What good would it do me to steal a plasma TV amid the wreckage. From the outside, thinking rationally, this makes no sense. But, rational thought doesn't often accompany those who must fight for the most basic of human needs. The question that should be asked is not why have these people become animals; but why have they been left in a situation where they must revert to the basest of instincts to survive? We can plan months ahead to invade Iraq, but when we see a storm such as this coming, why can't we plan to have water and food ready when the storm passes? Do we really need to wait for the devastation before the local politicos officially invite the national guard and the Army to come to the rescue? Instead of worrying about whose toes are being stepped on, let's think about saving the people who are suffering. Recovery from natural disaster should not be an afterthought.

Sometimes your mind says yes, while your body screams "Who are you kidding?"

I'm not opinionated
How many times have I heard that your body starts to fall apart when you hit middle age? The admonishment is always served with a smile; but no statement could be more serious or true. Take for instance, hemorrhoids. A minor pain in the ass in my youth (I'm sorry, I had to use that one) later became a debilitating condition as those southern vericose veins expanded like an innertube in the sun. I'm not sure if the pain of the experience was physical, emotional, or caused by repressing the urge to share the pain with a smarmy doctor. A first embarrassed office visit yielded a highly professional diagnosis: "Yep, it looks like your giving birth to a bloody cauliflower down there.". He was wrong, it was more like birthing an epileptic porcupine. That was followed by the inevitable line of questions that indirectly asked if these hemorrhoids were really speedbumps. Hell, I couldn't even shit with it, I'm wasn't about to use it as a playground. If that wasn't enough humiliation, Dr. Understanding referred me for the sub-commander treatment. Yes, a barium enema was necessary, "Just to be sure that everything was ship-shape." I later found out that he never even saw the results of the dreaded procedure. Imagine this: five days of laxatives, followed by Citrate of Magnesia (otherwise known as the lemon-lime tornado). Drink a bottle, and head to the bathroom, because five minutes later the backdraft will suck the fillings out of your teeth. Once the High Colonic Highway was clear, a trip to the proctologist was next in line. Why the hell would a proctologist have seats in his waiting room? I think that the kid before me bugged me the most. He was complaining about the taste of the barium...the little puke got to swallow his! Even the backless gown didn't spook me as much as the three nurses who appeared to be holding ropes. What I assumed were highly technical equipment turned out to be the medical equivalent of the tethers used on the Bullwinkle balloon in the Macy's parade. I can now relate to the big moose, I'm sure that I bumped my head on the ceiling somewhere near the middle of the procedure. Considering that this was all a prelude to the actual operation and recovery, I wish that I had been told that "roids" are a lot like homing pigeons. I'd love to sit and write some more, but my mind is screaming at me.

We Should Have Known

It's official, tsunami aid is the hippest cause since saving the anorexic vegetarian HIV positive whales. Now, when you scratch the forehead of Hollywood luminaries, you will no longer be able to see through to the other side. Instead, you will see images of benefits, including some awesome opportunities to wear outfits that cost more than the gross national product of several of the countries affected. No need for humble, anonymous giving here, everyone has a chance for their 15 seconds of fame. In the spirit of giving, I have some humble suggestions for the notable and notorious:

-Oprah could give everyone a car, with a set of Dr. Phil tapes in the glove box
-The women from Sex and the City could collect several boxes of Manolo Blahnik shoes and purses to send (after all, even the homeless need to accessorize)
-Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie should shoot their next episode of "The Simple Life" in Sri Lanka (maybe they've already beaten me to that idea, they are so sensitive!)
-Brittney Spears could marry each of the male refugees for 72 hours, with a healthy prenup of course
-Latrell Spreewell can't really spare the time, he's got a family to feed, you know
-Ron Artest could produce a CD of his greatest hits
-Toby Keith could wrap himself in several American flags and.... wait, there aren't any asses to kick here
-Charlton Heston can send everyone a gun, after all the animals had a sixth sense, so the hunting should be good
-Michael Moore could send all of the food that he seems to have spilled down the front of his sweatshirt

It would be a shame if some of the glitterati missed out on an opportunity for self-promotion and just quietly lent a hand. That's not the American way.

I you believe the ads for more than 4 hours...

Okay, so we are finding out that Vioxx, Celebrex, and several other prescription drugs might not be good for us after all. So many television commercials tell us that we need the purple pill (even if we don't know what it is for) that we have become conditioned to ask our doctor for it. Have we ever considered who these ads benefit? Here goes, who owns the most expensive home in New York State? If you aren't sure, check out this link: http://www.nytimes.com/2004/12/31/nyregion/31mansion.html?ex=1262235600&en=babf484423c81263&ei=5088&partner=rssnyt . It will lead you to a heartwarming article about the pharmaceutical distributor who just purchased a house in the Hamptons for 10 million more than the United States offered in aid to the tsunami victims. The next time that you are about to take a prescription medicine, check the side effects. In really small print, it will list excessive profits as a side effect of nearly every drug on the market. Oops, unbridled optimism must be one of the side effects of avoiding prescription medications.