In the name of the Father

So today I found myself in a very unfamiliar place. Church. No, I did not wake up and find religion. I partook in the celebration of the christening of my niece Charlotte, and apparently the parents felt a church was a good fit for that type of gig. I would have been just as happy had it took place at the bar at the Seadog Brewery, but I was outvoted. Not by much.

I’m not a religious guy. That’s not to say that I do not believe in a higher power, I just don’t find it necessary to justify my beliefs by subjecting myself to a roomful of strangers in turtlenecks that want to hug me and take my money, ERRR offering. And if that’s your thing, that’s fine. I don’t begrudge people their right to worship their God in whatever way seems best to them. It just isn’t me. Never was.

I was raised a Catholic. Went to a Catholic High School before I moved to Florida in mid Junior year, went to a few Sunday school classes, did the First Communion thing, mostly because it made my Mom feel like she was doing the right thing. Dad never went. Dad didn’t like church either, but as the adult he was, he had the freedom of choice. I got dragged by the ear. That’s probably why I loathe the practice to this day. I was forced to do something I had no interest in doing. The only Houses of the Holy I harbor any interest for these days is the Led Zepplin album on my iPod. But I digress.

So the wife and I are heading into the church this morning, wary of the potential to burst into flames as we cross the threshold. I did start to heat up a little, but I think it may have been just that the air wasn’t moving in the place. I spent some time in the lobby area watching the parishoners filter into the place. It was a good mix of people. At first I thought our family was going to be the youngest people in the building by about 40 years, but eventually some families started showing up as well, so I felt more as if I would be able to blend in. Of course, there was the obligatory Dude that looked like he was there to recruit for his cult. The short bowl haircut and the crisp button-up shirt that was buttoned all the way up made me a little nervous. I kept a closer eye on the kid at that point lest she get dragged off to a compound in Montana to churn butter an wear Little House on the Prarie gear before going on to bear 19 kids.

So we pile into the chapel a little after the service starts and the congregation is standing and singing from the hymnal. They could probably get a more younger crowd into the church these days if they’d get a little more creative with the service structure. Get a karaoke machine or something for these hymns. It’s all in the marketing.

Soon we are all called front and center as a family to bare witness to the baptism. I’m glad it turned into a baptism instead of a christening. I figured we never get the kid to stop crying if we’d clubbed her over the head with a champagne bottle. A couple of splash’s of the holy water seemed far more civil. Con the kid into thinking it was bathtime. Shoulda put a rubber duck in the bowl for effect. Again, marketing.

The little nipper was a total peach throughout the ceremony. I’m guessing that 5 month olds can’t formulate any kind of cognizent thought in their heads, but looking at Charlotte’s face, I could definitely sense a little “WTF??” trying to form. I could sense it. If she could talk, she would have said…”I had a busy day planned. I was planning to work on mastering my clutching and grabbing, maybe throw back a couple of bottles of milk, spend some quality time with Panda BoBo and call it good. Instead, I get dragged out of my crib, slapped into a doilie with sleeves and everyone is just standing around watching while the guy from Gryffindor House is trying to drown me.” Kid, I hear ya. I was thinking the same thing.

After the water thingy was done, we got to go sit back down for the rest of the service. My Father-in-Law and I took 10 minute shifts for the next hour. I’d nap and he’d flip through a pew bible, then he’d doze while I did some signs of the cross and lipsynced some Hallelujahs.

Finally it ended. I managed to work my way out of the crowd that had formed for the Gryfindor guy’s meet and greet and found myself back outside again, vowing not to return until the next family event that requires me to absolve my sins.

In seriousness, the ceremony was nice. The kid’s parents were appreciative of our attending, and it was an important family thing to be a part of. I’m down with that. And there was ham at the afterparty!! HAM!!!

So that was my day. Hope I didn’t piss off too many zealots…or the Man Himself. Maybe I’d better throw down a few Hail Marys before I hit the sack, just to be safe.

Peace be with you.

Tales from the Men’s Room

So I’ve gotten myself back on the health wagon again lately, which means I’ve been consuming a lot of that high quality H2O, which has necessitated a few extra trips to the little boys room on a daily basis. I always wondered where the term “little boy’s room” originated. Perhaps from some self conscious dude who felt more at ease not having to live up to the “big boy’s room” standards. Or the Catholic church.

Anyway, what I have discovered recently about a trip to the public restroom is that you can learn a lot about a guy from the way he secretes. And since there are distinct differences between the pee-ers and the poo-ers, I shall refer to them as the number ones and the number twos so that you can follow along easier at home.

Most number ones just stand there minding their own business, quietly considering where they need to go after the pit stop…maybe what they are doing after work, etc. Unfortunately for the standard number one, there are too many odd balls (pardon the pun) hanging out in the adjacent stalls. The one I hate the most is the gabber. The guy that wants to hold a conversation with you while standing at a urinal. Now, I’m all for multitasking, but this is a bit much. If I wanted to know what you did over the weekend or why your car is in the shop, I will meet you in the lunch room. While I have my manhood in hand I do not care to hear the sweet nothings from Rick in Accounting.

Then there is the dying guy. That’s the guy that needs to use his arm as a crutch to lean on the wall as he goes about his business, all the while breathing like he is giving birth. I thought I was going to have to call 911 for a guy yesterday he was breathing so hard. Dude, peeing is not an aerobic sport. Mix in a few side salads and 30 minutes on the treadmill a few times a week and see if you can’t build up a little stamina. Unless you just ran a marathon…twice…I don’t need to be subjected to your audition tape to The Biggest Loser.

And then there is longevity man. It’s not what you think, get your mind out of the gutter. This is the guy that apparently hasn’t peed in a week and a half. He is the guy that is already standing there when you arrive. He stands there quietly as you go about your business, wash your hands and is still standing there as you leave. Either this guy limits his daily trips to the can to one and has to make it count, or he has a prostate the size of a pumpkin. One time, it occured to me that I had left some papers behind and went back in about 2 minutes later and the guy was still standing there. I thought about nudging him with a stick to see if he was awake, but I didn’t need him turing around and marking his territory elsewhere.

Number twos are a whole different breed of human being. Again, I classify myself as a typical number two. I just go in, do my business and get out. Especially in the public forum. At home, this is private time. Time to catch up on some light reading, contemplate life’s great mysteries, etc. In public, not so much. You just wanna get in and get out.

I’ve always wondered why men’s rooms have an even number of sit down stalls. Men will never use a stall when the adjacent stall is occupied, unless it is a last resort, meaning you won’t make it to the next available restroom without soiling yourself. It’s a disheartening feeling to walk into a restroom to find that some other dude has confiscated your favorite stall. A guy will try 10 different bathrooms in a 3 story building to find just the right spot. I guess we are sort of like dogs in that way, allthough I’ve never sniffed the bowl first. Nothing is more rude than having a three stall scenario and finding a dude has taken the middle stall, thereby negating the other two stalls.

A lot of number twos activate ninja skills the moment someone else enters the room. Silence is golden, and most guys will perforate their colons in the attempt to be quiet in the midst of an intruder. Like the guy is gonna wait to write you a citation for noise polution for taking a poop or something. Then of course is the number two that has absolutely no ethical concerns at all when dealing with his public perception. That’s the guy that unleashes an unholy tirade of gastriointestinal malevolence that makes all of the other patrons cut their business short in order to flee as quickly as possible, hoping to God that they can outrun the toxicity that is spreading like a mushroom cloud. This is the guy that just doesn’t care that he sounds like he is throwing puppies into a wood chipper.

Finally there is the guy I like to call, the cross contaminator. That’s the number one that utilizes the number two’s space to do the number one, even though there is ample space at the number one location. What is that all about? Self consciouness? Trust me dude, I ain’t looking. Maybe I should just be happy that it’s not the gabber or the dying guy and call it good.

California Bum Rush

I’ve been stewing on this one for a few days now, debating on whether or not I even want to go there, but in the end, it really pisses me off. If you’ve been locked in a cave for the past week let me reset for you. Miss California, Carrie Prejean, was the 1st runner up (the PC way of declaring 2nd place) in the Miss America pageant. Nice accomplishment if you’re akin to liking these sorts of things, no? Well, the controversy lies in the question that judge and celebrity blogger Perez Hilton tossed at her in the question segment of the contest. “What is your opinion of gay marriage?” (or something to that affect) Now, that’s sort of like having Rosie O’Donnell ask you if you supported George Bush. There is only one answer in the mind of the question asker and you had better get it right or you are screwed. Well needless to say Miss California chose poorly and has been sentenced to a storm of vicious, hateful and unrelenting attacks from our pals in the media (read that as the far left). Immediately after the event, Hilton got on his, errr, her blog and spit out something to the like that Miss California was a dumb *#%!!&. That’s impressive Perez, nice to show that you were an impartial judge in all of this. All over Hollywood and the media this girl is essentially being nailed to the cross because she “GASP!!!!” stood by her convictons. She wasn’t even hateful about it, she just said that she was raised to believe that marriage was between a man and a woman and that she meant no offense to anyone else, it’s just her opinion. That’s not good enough for the far left. You either agree with their stance 100% or you are the scourge of society and they will not rest until they have dismantled your name and reputation.

For the record, I don’t care either way about gay marriage. I know a lot of gay people. Some are passionately for it, some are against it. I know a lot of straight people too. Some are passionately for it, some against it. I have survived 42 years without it just fine. If it passes tomorrow I figure I will survive another 42 years (I hope) just fine too. Having it will not be the end of the civilized world as we know it, but I’m sane enough to respect differing opinions on a subject, if those opinions are brought forth with some semblance of intelligent thought. “Miss California is a dumb $@@!!&*” is not intelligent thought, it’s childish, immature and pathetic. I’m a lot more concerned at why we even give this tired queen an audience to begin with. Who the hell is Perez Hilton anyway outside of being a hateful, fork tongued miscreant who sits behind a computer screen every day spewing irrelavent garbage about people that we shouldn’t even be caring about to begin with. Sorry, but I’m a lot more concerned with our recent shift into socialism and making kissy faces with world dictators that whether or not Tom and Randy want to live happily ever after. Even the Donald (the CEO of the Miss America Pageant) has gone on record as saying Miss California is not the type of girl he would want as Miss America. What!!? So basically, the only person who is now qualified to hold the title of Miss America is the girl who is in total alignment with what the organizers and judges agree with? I guess they should just fill out a questionaire ahead of the event so that they know they will have 50 trained robots competing against each other that will act and do as they are told and in the end it will come down to which girl is the prettiest. Hey wait a minute, isn’t that the point of a beauty pageant? I know, I know there’s more to it than that, save it. The point is, how valid is this event anymore when a contestant has to think harder about how to answer a question she thinks they want to hear instead of just answering the question to begin with.

Maybe I should just start going Perez Hilton style with my blog too. Hey Perez..you’re a dumb $%*!!@ too!! Quit hiding behind your web cam in that stupid fluffy pink robe pretending to be relavent. And Donald Trump, with that much money how can you not find a stylist in New York to do something with that dome of yours? Ha Ha, this is fun. I can sit here and hate on people too. I’m gonna go hang by the phone..I know Rosie is gonna call soon.

Barack and King Ralph

So I’m wondering if our newly elected Commander and Spender, errrr Chief, maybe ought to spend a little more time brushing up on his international etiquette.  After the gift exchange debacle last month with Prime Minister Gordon Brown, President Nobama, well, Mrs. Nobama, took to the international stage yet again and clearly hadn’t been briefed on the do’s and don’ts of hangin’ with Lizzie.

It’s apparently a faux pas for anyone to touch the Queen.  This ban may have taken effect as a direct reaction to the birth of Prince Charles, I don’t know.  Anyway, Michelle must’ve forgotten the company she was in when she leaned into Her Majesty for a hug.  Never mind that Mrs. Nobama and Lizzie standing next to each other was reminescient of Gandalf looming over Bilbo.  She must’ve nearly wrecked her back leaning over that far.  This was not your Grandma, Michelle, it was the Queen of freaking England.  Someone in the Prez’s posse probably should have reviewed the checklist of do’s and don’ts with the first family on the trip over.  There is a respect factor in play here that is way bigger and way older than any of us, and as stupid as it may seem, as harmless as it may seem, it still exsists and should be honored as long as the host country hasn’t indicated otherwise.  We all know this meeting was nothing more than a dog and pony show for the press, but the Nobamas didn’t place in the Best in Show category.

Now this would barely be a blip on the landscape in life if it hadn’t been for the even bigger gaffe that took place at the White House last month, this time courtesy of Mr. Nobama himself.  Quick reset, the P.M. of Britain was over for some tea and crumpets, chatting it up with the Prez. when the time came for gift exchange.  Apparently the gift exchange is quite the longstanding tradition between the two countries.  See the protocol under “bigger and older” that I mentioned above.  It’s usually assumed that each party will offer gifts of symbolic and national significance to the other.  Mr. Brown gave Nobama something very old and historically significant.  Essentially, either he or one of his minions at least did his homework on the tradition.  Then came time for Nobama to present his gift.  It was a DVD collection of American movies.  (insert cricket chirps here)  Yep, nothing says I respect that traditions of this relationship like a quick stop off at Blockbuster on the way home.  Did this guy get his family presents at Midnight Christmas Eve at 7-11?  Hell, he should have just gotten him a Target gift card so he at least could’ve picked out the flicks he wanted.  Allthough the P.M. has said nothing about the incident, word is that many of the Brits are quite insulted.

Now, in the overall scheme of things, not a big deal.  Certainly a small blip on the overall world doings, but I’m a tradition guy.  I love all of the pomp and circumstance of US and world history.  I find it sort of tragic that the Nobamas don’t seem to share the same respect levels for those same traditions.  I guess it could have been worse.  Michelle didn’t fist bump the Queen, and I don’t think the Prez. included The Patriot in that movie anthology, but still, please be mindful of the significance of these events going forward.  Maybe he needs to appoint Peter O’Toole to his cabinet to help him with these things, like he did to John Goodman in King Ralph.

I wonder why the P.M.wasn’t around for the meeting with the Queen?  Maybe he was in another room watching Rocky.

Naked Teen Walking with Large Poodle Alledgedly Assaults Woman

 HART TOWNSHIP, Mich. —  Police say a naked 14-year-old boy taking a walk with a large white poodle assaulted a woman in Oceana County.

Sheriff’s Lt. Craig Mast tells the Ludington Daily News the boy walked away from a behavioral treatment facility Monday.

He was strolling unclothed in Hart Township with the dog when he encountered a 53-year-old woman in her yard.

Mast says, “The young naked man approached her with this poodle, and she immediately realized something peculiar.”  They spoke briefly. When the woman took out a cell phone to call for help, the boy pushed her and fled with the phone, which he later broke in half.

Deputies found the boy. He’s charged in juvenile court with strong-arm robbery and assault.

 I thought it might be difficult to manifest some good ideas for a blog posting.  Then, this little gem of a story hit the press.  I can only imagine the mental trauma and anguish that comes as a result of being assaulted.  Depending on the circumstances, I’m betting some people never fully recover from such an ordeal.  I’m guessing nothing will send you to the therapist’s couch quicker than being assaulted, nevermind being assaulted by a naked boy and his big pet Poodle.

Apparently our boy here walked away from a behavioral treatment facility.  Really?  Now, I’ve never been in a behavioral treatment facility, but if they are anything like they are on TV, I’m guessing there are more than a few hired goons on the staff, whose sole purpose is to be on the lookout for strange and potentially hazzardous shenanigans.   I guess no one thought it odd when little Johnny No-Britches went sauntering past the reception desk and out the front door.  “See you in a little while, nurse.  I’m gonna go grab a Shamrock Shake and air our my nether regions.”  “Oh, okay, do you mind taking Fifi with you?  She hasn’t been out all day.” 

He was “strolling unclothed”.   Isn’t it the middle of March in Michigan?  Probably not 82 with a light Southerly breeze.  I’m gonna go out on a limb that maybe he approached the woman to ask for a blanket before he had to go Star Wars style on Rover and gut him to stay warm.  Dude probably wanted to borrow a pair of pliers to help extract his nutts from his coccyx as well.  

The woman immediately realized something was peculiar.  Thank God for that.  She must be the chair at all of the neighborhood watch meetings.   That’s one neighborhood in the country that is safe from Al Qaida.  Nice job Clouseau.  Then they spoke briefly.  How’d that conversation go?  “Pardon me miss, might you have a pair of trousers and a milk bone?”  “Why, yes I…..wait….you’re naked.  And you have a white poodle.”  I suspect the poodle was there to distract from the nakedness.  Isn’t it interesting that no one would have thought to title this as Naked Poodle with Large White Boy Attacks Woman?  If you think about it, it’s just as true as the way it is written.  Allthough the dog did not make a play for the woman’s phone.

The only thing that would have made this better would have been if the boy fled the scene riding the white poodle.  I love that they charged him for “strong armed robbery”.  Shouldn’t he have been charged with being naked in public?  Or possession of a large white poodle?  I’m sure there’s a law against that somewhere.

I’m sure there is a therapist somewhere in Michigan doing his best to keep a straight face right about now.