...if chocolate cake had a significant amount of vitamin C?
...if there was a workout regimen built around sex?
...if cars were fueled by imagination? We'd really know who to pay attention to, then!
...if nobody was rude? Ever.
...if all sleep was restful and you never had to wake up with an alarm clock?
...if our politicians could do what is best for us and the country without having to worry about appeasing a political party that gives them money? When I was in kindergarten, teachers told me "do what's right", not "do what's right unless you get paid to do what's wrong".
...if you could parent your children in the way that you know is best for them without concern about your ex taking you back to court because you want to teach your teenager about safe sex and how to protect himself?
...if we could accept each other for what we are, including all our silly beliefs about religion?
...if you had a personal cook who made your food for you at home and you didn't have to pay him at all?
...if your parents didn't screw you up?
...if your kids didn't think you screwed them up?
...if you had a one million dollar bill in your wallet right now?
...if we were older, then we wouldn't have to wait so long? And wouldn't it be nice to live together in the kind of world where we belong?
...if we all worked to make tomorrow better than today? Just one little step every day?
...if we said "yes" rather than "no"?
...if we all decided to be nice to everyone today?
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses Yearning To Breathe Free
Calvin sat at the family’s home computer, excitedly reading about the riots. Various sources on the Internet were reporting thousands of people had taken to the streets around his house, but as Calvin spun around to look out the window, he couldn’t see anything that looked like a riot. He listened for some kind of stirring, but the world around his house was eerily quiet. Spencer sat on the couch in the living room, not really monitoring Calvin’s Internet usage, but more just spending time in the same room with his son.
“I’m gonna go,” said Calvin, as he got up from his chair.
“Can you tell me why?” asked Spencer.
“Why what?”
“Can you tell me why you’re going to go?” Spencer made eye contact with Calvin. There was no anger or animosity between either of them. If anything, there was an excited eagerness in Calvin’s face, as he knew there was a right answer—something that Spencer wanted him to say—but now he had to figure out what the right answer was. But it wasn’t coming fast enough, so the boy blurted out the first and most honest answer.
“There’s a riot out there, Spencer! It’s cool!”
“It’s not cool to destroy other people’s belongings. You wouldn’t like it if somebody broke into our house and stole your stuff. Is there another reason?”
Heather came into the room, drawn by the tone of her eldest son. She didn’t quite know what was going on, but she knew that she wanted to be around for whatever it was. She took a seat by her husband and snuggled into him. Spencer put an arm around Heather without taking his eyes off Calvin. Calvin continued, shaking his hands with his growing excitement.
“Because they’ve got Molotov cocktails and they’re burning buildings and smashing TVs! The big kinds with big screens! And they have guns and I want a gun!” Calvin struggled to remember the facts that he was about to spit out to substantiate his point. “It’s my Second Amendment Right!” He wasn’t corrected by either his mother or father. He had gotten it right, and Spencer smiled, knowing that Calvin was trying hard to justify joining the riot outside.
“Yes, people of age have the Second Amendment Right to keep and bear firearms. You are not of age.”
“But I will be in a year! Spence, there’s no time for this!” Calvin was getting frustrated. Heather made a subtle shift to rescue him, to save him from this uncomfortability of trying to find the right words to allow him out the door and join the mob of rioters, but she resisted. This was a good moment for him. He would learn to find the words or not. And if she saved him, he would not learn. Spencer was calm.
“There’s always time to think.”
“Dad, the riot’s gonna be gone soon!” And with that, Calvin made a break for the door. Before he got to the knob, he found Spencer’s hand there, lightly slapping it away. As a knee-jerk reaction, Calvin tried to backhand his father. Spencer was a trained fighter, though, and blocked Calvin’s attack. Even as Calvin tried to hit his father with repeated punches, he knew he wouldn’t land a single one. It was an attack borne out of frustration. Calvin threw punch after punch, and Spencer easily blocked all of them, throwing Calvin off-balance with each swing, which only made Calvin more frustrated. Spencer was careful to not hurt Calvin as he continued to press him.
“Why do you want to join the riot?”
“Because they’re letting out their anger, and I want to let out my anger, too!”
“You’re doing that now!” Spencer’s voice was quiet, yet it thundered in Calvin’s head. “Punch me and let out your anger more, unless you can tell my why you want to go out there!”
“Because!” Calvin threw a right. “They get to do what I want to do!”
“What do you want to do, son?” It was like his father’s voice massaged him in the right way and made the words fit together. Calvin's brain relaxed, and the words flowed out without effort.
“I want to make a difference! I want to be heard! I want to stand up for myself and not be bullied anymore! By anyone!”
Spencer grabbed both of Calvin’s arms in one of his meaty, father-sized fists and pulled his son’s face closer to his.
“That’s the right answer.” Spencer spun his son around and gently pushed him towards the front door. Calvin ran outside as Spencer grabbed a bat from the corner of the room and started for the door. Heather got up and went after her husband.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m going with him. I’m not letting him go out there unprotected.” He held out his hand at the same time that Heather responded.
“Well I’m coming too!”
She took his hand and they went out the door after their son.
“I’m gonna go,” said Calvin, as he got up from his chair.
“Can you tell me why?” asked Spencer.
“Why what?”
“Can you tell me why you’re going to go?” Spencer made eye contact with Calvin. There was no anger or animosity between either of them. If anything, there was an excited eagerness in Calvin’s face, as he knew there was a right answer—something that Spencer wanted him to say—but now he had to figure out what the right answer was. But it wasn’t coming fast enough, so the boy blurted out the first and most honest answer.
“There’s a riot out there, Spencer! It’s cool!”
“It’s not cool to destroy other people’s belongings. You wouldn’t like it if somebody broke into our house and stole your stuff. Is there another reason?”
Heather came into the room, drawn by the tone of her eldest son. She didn’t quite know what was going on, but she knew that she wanted to be around for whatever it was. She took a seat by her husband and snuggled into him. Spencer put an arm around Heather without taking his eyes off Calvin. Calvin continued, shaking his hands with his growing excitement.
“Because they’ve got Molotov cocktails and they’re burning buildings and smashing TVs! The big kinds with big screens! And they have guns and I want a gun!” Calvin struggled to remember the facts that he was about to spit out to substantiate his point. “It’s my Second Amendment Right!” He wasn’t corrected by either his mother or father. He had gotten it right, and Spencer smiled, knowing that Calvin was trying hard to justify joining the riot outside.
“Yes, people of age have the Second Amendment Right to keep and bear firearms. You are not of age.”
“But I will be in a year! Spence, there’s no time for this!” Calvin was getting frustrated. Heather made a subtle shift to rescue him, to save him from this uncomfortability of trying to find the right words to allow him out the door and join the mob of rioters, but she resisted. This was a good moment for him. He would learn to find the words or not. And if she saved him, he would not learn. Spencer was calm.
“There’s always time to think.”
“Dad, the riot’s gonna be gone soon!” And with that, Calvin made a break for the door. Before he got to the knob, he found Spencer’s hand there, lightly slapping it away. As a knee-jerk reaction, Calvin tried to backhand his father. Spencer was a trained fighter, though, and blocked Calvin’s attack. Even as Calvin tried to hit his father with repeated punches, he knew he wouldn’t land a single one. It was an attack borne out of frustration. Calvin threw punch after punch, and Spencer easily blocked all of them, throwing Calvin off-balance with each swing, which only made Calvin more frustrated. Spencer was careful to not hurt Calvin as he continued to press him.
“Why do you want to join the riot?”
“Because they’re letting out their anger, and I want to let out my anger, too!”
“You’re doing that now!” Spencer’s voice was quiet, yet it thundered in Calvin’s head. “Punch me and let out your anger more, unless you can tell my why you want to go out there!”
“Because!” Calvin threw a right. “They get to do what I want to do!”
“What do you want to do, son?” It was like his father’s voice massaged him in the right way and made the words fit together. Calvin's brain relaxed, and the words flowed out without effort.
“I want to make a difference! I want to be heard! I want to stand up for myself and not be bullied anymore! By anyone!”
Spencer grabbed both of Calvin’s arms in one of his meaty, father-sized fists and pulled his son’s face closer to his.
“That’s the right answer.” Spencer spun his son around and gently pushed him towards the front door. Calvin ran outside as Spencer grabbed a bat from the corner of the room and started for the door. Heather got up and went after her husband.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m going with him. I’m not letting him go out there unprotected.” He held out his hand at the same time that Heather responded.
“Well I’m coming too!”
She took his hand and they went out the door after their son.
Monday, August 8, 2011
The Lemmings
“Good morning, Mrs. Patterson,” the grade school class said in unison.
“Good morning, children,” Mrs. Patterson responded, almost by rote. “Are you ready to learn today?”
“Yes, Mrs. Patterson!” All the children answered together, smiled and sat up in their desks.
“Today, we’re going to learn about lemmings,” Mrs. Patterson announced. “Many people have a misconception of lemmings.” She wrote the word “misconception” on the board and then turned to face the children, all of whom were taking diligent notes. “Many people believe that lemmings commit mass suicide. This is not true. Lemmings do not throw themselves off cliffs or voluntarily drown themselves in rivers! That would be ridiculous! None of God’s creatures are that mindless!” The children laughed together, as it was certain that there would be little point in making a creature that would be so stupid as to promote its own death. Especially a creature God had created! “No, when lemmings migrate, they migrate together. With their families, their neighbors, their community friends, their schools, all the people around them. They all travel together. And when the population density becomes too big,” she stopped. “Can we all say ‘population density’?”
“Population density,” the children said together.
“That’s right, when the population density becomes too great, many of the lemmings will fall off cliffs or drown in rivers as they’re migrating. “
“Oh,” the group of children responded, as if they had all understood the information as one collective.
“And even though it’s sad for the lemmings, their behavior can teach us some valuable lessons. For example, if all of your friends decided to jump off a cliff, would you jump off a cliff with them?”
“No!” shouted the children in horror.
“That’s right, you wouldn’t! Would you follow you friends into a river if you were going to drown in that river?”
“No!” the Voice of the Children replied.
“That’s right, children! And it’s important to remember that when you get out in the real world. There are going to be people making many bad decisions, and it’s important that you do not follow them off the cliff or into the river. It’s important to think for yourself and decide to make good choices!”
The children clapped together.
Mrs. Patterson felt that she had taught the lesson on lemmings well. She might write a letter of praise to the textbook company that produced the book from which she taught. After all, most of the schools in her area taught from the same book, so she felt comfortable teaching what those around her were teaching. On second thought, perhaps she wouldn’t write a letter of praise. With everyone else teaching what she was teaching, somebody else surely would have written a letter of praise before now. She didn’t want to bother the company with another piece of mail that they didn’t really need.
“Good morning, children,” Mrs. Patterson responded, almost by rote. “Are you ready to learn today?”
“Yes, Mrs. Patterson!” All the children answered together, smiled and sat up in their desks.
“Today, we’re going to learn about lemmings,” Mrs. Patterson announced. “Many people have a misconception of lemmings.” She wrote the word “misconception” on the board and then turned to face the children, all of whom were taking diligent notes. “Many people believe that lemmings commit mass suicide. This is not true. Lemmings do not throw themselves off cliffs or voluntarily drown themselves in rivers! That would be ridiculous! None of God’s creatures are that mindless!” The children laughed together, as it was certain that there would be little point in making a creature that would be so stupid as to promote its own death. Especially a creature God had created! “No, when lemmings migrate, they migrate together. With their families, their neighbors, their community friends, their schools, all the people around them. They all travel together. And when the population density becomes too big,” she stopped. “Can we all say ‘population density’?”
“Population density,” the children said together.
“That’s right, when the population density becomes too great, many of the lemmings will fall off cliffs or drown in rivers as they’re migrating. “
“Oh,” the group of children responded, as if they had all understood the information as one collective.
“And even though it’s sad for the lemmings, their behavior can teach us some valuable lessons. For example, if all of your friends decided to jump off a cliff, would you jump off a cliff with them?”
“No!” shouted the children in horror.
“That’s right, you wouldn’t! Would you follow you friends into a river if you were going to drown in that river?”
“No!” the Voice of the Children replied.
“That’s right, children! And it’s important to remember that when you get out in the real world. There are going to be people making many bad decisions, and it’s important that you do not follow them off the cliff or into the river. It’s important to think for yourself and decide to make good choices!”
The children clapped together.
Mrs. Patterson felt that she had taught the lesson on lemmings well. She might write a letter of praise to the textbook company that produced the book from which she taught. After all, most of the schools in her area taught from the same book, so she felt comfortable teaching what those around her were teaching. On second thought, perhaps she wouldn’t write a letter of praise. With everyone else teaching what she was teaching, somebody else surely would have written a letter of praise before now. She didn’t want to bother the company with another piece of mail that they didn’t really need.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Simon And The Drought
A village was trying desperately to stay alive during a great drought. They held a meeting where all the leaders of the community got together to try to figure out how they were going to deal with the crisis.
“The problem is the motor operating the pump in the water well,” said the village plumber. “The pump in the well isn’t pulling the water to the pipes. If we can get the pump motor to actually run, it will pump the water into the pipes, the pipes will carry the water to the village and we will all be saved!”
The village leaders tried desperately to find somebody who could repair the motor. People came and took a look at it, but no one could figure out how to fix the broken motor. Some of them said that it was a gearing wheel that needed to be replaced, but when they replaced the gearing wheel, the motor still didn’t work. Others said that the motor was broken due to brittle gasket heads. But again, when the brittle gasket heads were replaced, the motor still didn’t work.
Simon had been working on an idea for a ventilator for his home. Because of the great drought, his home had become incredibly hot, and Simon was building a system in which the hot air would be sucked out of his home. He had hoped that this system would allow him to feel some relief from the heat of the world. He had been working in secret in his basement, not telling anyone about this idea. When he had first come up with the idea, he had told his friends about it. They had laughed at him and made fun of him. What in the world was he thinking—sucking hot air from his home. Why didn’t he just buy an air conditioner? That would be the best solution, they all mocked. Simon had mentioned his idea to some people he worked with at the village mail office, but they all laughed at him, as well. One lady had actually choked on her turkey sandwich, she was laughing so hard. “That’s what an air conditioner is for, stupid! You’re idea is to invent an air conditioner that doesn’t make things cooler?! How ridiculous!” But for some strange reason, Simon couldn’t let the idea go. He felt compelled to build his ventilator, but silently, without notice, so as to minimize derision.
He had completed the ventilator, and it worked quite well, but upon hearing about the well pump, Simon wondered if his ventilator would work to solve the drought crisis. Alone, in his basement, Simon constructed a small version of the village well, along with pipes and water, and attached his ventilator where the well pump would go. Simon then turned on the ventilator. It sputtered for a moment, then, almost silently, the ventilation system kicked in and the water from the well was brought to the surface pipes and drained all over Simon’s basement floor. It worked! Simon grabbed the ventilator and ran out of the house.
He found the village gathered in the local tavern, the only place that could afford to purchase an air conditioner. Simon proudly carried his ventilator to a table where to local leaders were sitting, enjoying lukewarm ale. But before Simon could say a word, one of the leaders noticed the ventilator in his arms and let out a scoff. “What, did you invent something else that has already been invented?” The table erupted into laughter. Simon tried to get them to listen to him, but he was interrupted again. “Maybe you’ve invented a chair for you to sit on! Did you invent a chair to sit on?” And with that, one of the leaders pushed Simon to the floor. “Look boys,” said another leader. “He’s joined us for a mug of ale but he’s got nothing to drink. Let’s help him out!” And they all took joyous turns pouring their warm ale all over Simon’s mouth and nose. Simon shook his head from one side to the other, trying to find a place where he could breathe air into his lungs, rather than ale, but his ventilator was heavy on his chest and he couldn’t move very much. The leaders continued to pour their ale on Simon, until, finally, Simon had drowned on the floor of the tavern.
The leaders and the patrons stared at Simon’s lifeless body, lying on the floor. They hadn’t really intended to kill him, but now that he was gone, they didn’t really mind. He was a crazy man with crazy ideas, and he wasn’t really helping anyone in the village. Their moment of silence wasn’t all that long. Simon didn’t really deserve a long moment of silence. Just enough to let everyone know that his death was an accident, not intentional, and above all else, no one was to blame for his death except for Simon.
As they pulled his body out of the tavern, they took notice of the device he was carrying. They decided to throw the device away with Simon. It would be as useless as his body. After all, what good is a silly man and his silly ideas?
“The problem is the motor operating the pump in the water well,” said the village plumber. “The pump in the well isn’t pulling the water to the pipes. If we can get the pump motor to actually run, it will pump the water into the pipes, the pipes will carry the water to the village and we will all be saved!”
The village leaders tried desperately to find somebody who could repair the motor. People came and took a look at it, but no one could figure out how to fix the broken motor. Some of them said that it was a gearing wheel that needed to be replaced, but when they replaced the gearing wheel, the motor still didn’t work. Others said that the motor was broken due to brittle gasket heads. But again, when the brittle gasket heads were replaced, the motor still didn’t work.
Simon had been working on an idea for a ventilator for his home. Because of the great drought, his home had become incredibly hot, and Simon was building a system in which the hot air would be sucked out of his home. He had hoped that this system would allow him to feel some relief from the heat of the world. He had been working in secret in his basement, not telling anyone about this idea. When he had first come up with the idea, he had told his friends about it. They had laughed at him and made fun of him. What in the world was he thinking—sucking hot air from his home. Why didn’t he just buy an air conditioner? That would be the best solution, they all mocked. Simon had mentioned his idea to some people he worked with at the village mail office, but they all laughed at him, as well. One lady had actually choked on her turkey sandwich, she was laughing so hard. “That’s what an air conditioner is for, stupid! You’re idea is to invent an air conditioner that doesn’t make things cooler?! How ridiculous!” But for some strange reason, Simon couldn’t let the idea go. He felt compelled to build his ventilator, but silently, without notice, so as to minimize derision.
He had completed the ventilator, and it worked quite well, but upon hearing about the well pump, Simon wondered if his ventilator would work to solve the drought crisis. Alone, in his basement, Simon constructed a small version of the village well, along with pipes and water, and attached his ventilator where the well pump would go. Simon then turned on the ventilator. It sputtered for a moment, then, almost silently, the ventilation system kicked in and the water from the well was brought to the surface pipes and drained all over Simon’s basement floor. It worked! Simon grabbed the ventilator and ran out of the house.
He found the village gathered in the local tavern, the only place that could afford to purchase an air conditioner. Simon proudly carried his ventilator to a table where to local leaders were sitting, enjoying lukewarm ale. But before Simon could say a word, one of the leaders noticed the ventilator in his arms and let out a scoff. “What, did you invent something else that has already been invented?” The table erupted into laughter. Simon tried to get them to listen to him, but he was interrupted again. “Maybe you’ve invented a chair for you to sit on! Did you invent a chair to sit on?” And with that, one of the leaders pushed Simon to the floor. “Look boys,” said another leader. “He’s joined us for a mug of ale but he’s got nothing to drink. Let’s help him out!” And they all took joyous turns pouring their warm ale all over Simon’s mouth and nose. Simon shook his head from one side to the other, trying to find a place where he could breathe air into his lungs, rather than ale, but his ventilator was heavy on his chest and he couldn’t move very much. The leaders continued to pour their ale on Simon, until, finally, Simon had drowned on the floor of the tavern.
The leaders and the patrons stared at Simon’s lifeless body, lying on the floor. They hadn’t really intended to kill him, but now that he was gone, they didn’t really mind. He was a crazy man with crazy ideas, and he wasn’t really helping anyone in the village. Their moment of silence wasn’t all that long. Simon didn’t really deserve a long moment of silence. Just enough to let everyone know that his death was an accident, not intentional, and above all else, no one was to blame for his death except for Simon.
As they pulled his body out of the tavern, they took notice of the device he was carrying. They decided to throw the device away with Simon. It would be as useless as his body. After all, what good is a silly man and his silly ideas?
Monday, July 25, 2011
Jesus Wants You To Share
I love my wife much more than I have words for.
But I don't go around putting words in her mouth.
She's one of my very favorite conversational subjects.
I try to talk about her as much as I can, because she makes me feel good.
But it's never in relation to anyone else.
Like I would never say, "My wife loves cheesecake, so you should eat it."
Well, I might say that, but only to make people laugh at how ridiculous that sentence is.
So what makes people think they can walk into our home-- into our in-home studio-- where our students are, and say to the other students there, "Jesus wants you to share"?
I wanna know who knows Jesus well enough to be able to put those words into his mouth.
Cuz I'm pretty sure Jesus was dead long before this lady was born. Cuz, and I'm just guessing here, that Jesus was born around the time of the Big Changeover-- you know, from BC to AD. And I'm not a biblical scholar or nothin', but I'm pretty sure the Golden Rule was "Love one another as you would yourself," not "Share, or else!"
I'm super tired of Jesus-freaks pushing their beliefs on others. I'm sick of people feeling empowered to shower others with their mythology and judgement. The next time somebody tells me that Jesus would want something, I'm going to kick them in the ovaries as hard as I possibly can. And after the ringing in their ears subsides, I'm going to tell them that I kicked them because Jesus said to stop speaking for him. And that Romans 5:18 says, "Ye, for those who soever says words in the name of Jesu shall be smacked in the lady parts with a hurtful and severe kick." And they won't know if I'm telling the truth or not, because Jesus freaks haven't really read the Bible. They're too busy judging to actually find out what it says.
At least, that's what my wife tells me. She also tells me that the correct name for lady parts is "Nuni".
But I don't go around putting words in her mouth.
She's one of my very favorite conversational subjects.
I try to talk about her as much as I can, because she makes me feel good.
But it's never in relation to anyone else.
Like I would never say, "My wife loves cheesecake, so you should eat it."
Well, I might say that, but only to make people laugh at how ridiculous that sentence is.
So what makes people think they can walk into our home-- into our in-home studio-- where our students are, and say to the other students there, "Jesus wants you to share"?
I wanna know who knows Jesus well enough to be able to put those words into his mouth.
Cuz I'm pretty sure Jesus was dead long before this lady was born. Cuz, and I'm just guessing here, that Jesus was born around the time of the Big Changeover-- you know, from BC to AD. And I'm not a biblical scholar or nothin', but I'm pretty sure the Golden Rule was "Love one another as you would yourself," not "Share, or else!"
I'm super tired of Jesus-freaks pushing their beliefs on others. I'm sick of people feeling empowered to shower others with their mythology and judgement. The next time somebody tells me that Jesus would want something, I'm going to kick them in the ovaries as hard as I possibly can. And after the ringing in their ears subsides, I'm going to tell them that I kicked them because Jesus said to stop speaking for him. And that Romans 5:18 says, "Ye, for those who soever says words in the name of Jesu shall be smacked in the lady parts with a hurtful and severe kick." And they won't know if I'm telling the truth or not, because Jesus freaks haven't really read the Bible. They're too busy judging to actually find out what it says.
At least, that's what my wife tells me. She also tells me that the correct name for lady parts is "Nuni".
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Nose Wants
This might be psychosomatic, but I just smelled delicious, ice-cold beer.
I want that right now.
I want that right now.
Hey, Guy
Hey, Guy
I sed Hey, Guy
What if I sang you a song?
What if I sang you a dup-dup-duppity-dup-dup-ah-dupah?
Dup-dup-duppity-dup-dup-ah-dupah!
Duppity-dup-dup-ah
Duppity-dup-dup-ah
Duppity-dup-dup-ah-dupah!
I sed Hey, Guy.
I sed You, Guy!
What if I sang you a song?
What if I sang you a lah----- lah-dee-lah-dee-dah
Lah-dee-lah-lah
Lah-dee-lah-lah
Lah-dee-lah-lah-doh!
I sed Hey, Guy.
You know who, Guy!
What if I sang you a song?
What if I sang you a go-guh-luh-go-guh-luh-go-guh-luh-go-guh-luh!
Hey!
Guy!
What if I sang you a song?
I sed Hey, Guy
What if I sang you a song?
What if I sang you a dup-dup-duppity-dup-dup-ah-dupah?
Dup-dup-duppity-dup-dup-ah-dupah!
Duppity-dup-dup-ah
Duppity-dup-dup-ah
Duppity-dup-dup-ah-dupah!
I sed Hey, Guy.
I sed You, Guy!
What if I sang you a song?
What if I sang you a lah----- lah-dee-lah-dee-dah
Lah-dee-lah-lah
Lah-dee-lah-lah
Lah-dee-lah-lah-doh!
I sed Hey, Guy.
You know who, Guy!
What if I sang you a song?
What if I sang you a go-guh-luh-go-guh-luh-go-guh-luh-go-guh-luh!
Hey!
Guy!
What if I sang you a song?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)