I know why we are a Blessed Nation

Blessed is the Nation whose God is the Lord- Psalm 33:12

We, Americans, take our blessings for granted.  We are spoiled children.

I went to the grocery store earlier tonight and when I realized they were out of Marie Calender Chicken Pot Pies, I just about complained to management.  It was the first thing written on my food list.   It's funny when we realize how conditioned we are to expect what we want to be where we want when we want it.

Since I was a kid, I've been told how fortunate I am compared to the rest of the world.  "Eat your broccoli, there are kids in Africa who don't have food."  Funny how that never applied to mom when I attempted to make her my own special recipe of scrambled eggs with pieces of Cap'NCrunch cooked within.

As a kid, I was always told how fortunate I was.  I never asked why.  I just presumed that my world was the same world every other kid existed in.  They were forced to eat broccoli as I was and their parents refused to eat their version of scrambled eggs.

I got older and started realizing that mom was right.  A little trip down to the city dump in a town just inside Mexico opened my eyes just as much as all the benefit concerts for the starving people of Ethiopia did in the mid-80's.

I got older, I stepped outside the vacuum I had created and began to recognize how blessed we are.

Then, the whys began to form in my mind.  Why are we blessed?  What makes this fairly young country so much more fortunate than the rest of the world?  And that is when I was introduced to Psalms 33:12.

Politically incorrect or not, I am not afraid to point out that I believe there is a correlation between third world countries and their Islamic faiths or the dismal hopelessness found in many Communists countries.

Find me a country whose Judeo-Christian God is their Lord and I will show you a blessed nation.

Find me a country that is losing their sight on the God that blessed them and I will show you a country soon to learn how the rest of the world lives.  As our respect for God dwindles here and atheism becomes the new intellectually cool trend, I expect this country to erode even more just as Rome did.

I believe it.

History is on my side.

Funny thing is what I've written so far will make some uncomfortable.  It may even result in me being called racist or an intolerant right wing religious zealot.

So be it.

Last night was rather interesting.  Myself and two others were in a group here; one of those groups that wield conspiracy theories as truth and spin paranoia like its the normal reaction to common trends and events.

The three of us were commenting on a specific posted picture.  It was a photoshopped picture of an Israeli soldier stepping on a Palestinian child.  The theme of the thread was how evil the Jews are.  It was posted by a Muslim dude living in Pakistan.

The three of us took exception to this propaganda.  When confronted with the facts about Muslims and their history of suicide bombs at bus stops where Israeli kids wait for school or the mere mention of honor killings, sexual mutilation of women, the 1972 Olympics, hijackings and anything else done in the name of Allah, the justification for all this by this Muslim man was that the Jews are much worse.  But according to him and his sympathizers in this group, we don't hear about the Jewish atrocities because the Jews own the media and they refuse to report it.

That was his defense.

Now, to be fair, I will mention that THEY claimed to be referring to Zionists not Jews.  Semantics.   It's kinda like a KKK member calling a black man an African American  instead of the N word.  It's semantics.  Sugarcoating a name to disguise your message of hate is still hate.

The conversation in this thread was, in my opinion, respectful.   I believe the three of us handled ourselves well despite feeling like we were about to be stoned for daring to defend Israel.

So, this Muslim man living in Pakistan was trying to convince me that he loves the good Jews.  It's the Zionists or bad Jews he wants eliminated.  "Okay", I thought.  "Maybe my preconceived notions are wrong".

He spoke eloquently.  He called us "brother" and even threw in a smiley face at the end of each of his anti-semitic sentences.  He was convincing.  He seemed kind.

However, I forgot that evil always presents itself with a coke and a smile not with horns and a pitchfork.  And yes, I believe evil is the driving force behind what he and the others consider a just cause.

So, I asked this guy if he believed the Holocaust was a lie.  And then his true agenda was revealed.  Dig deep enough beyond the rhetoric and you'll always find one's true agenda.

"Yes, the Holocaust was drama created by Hitler who was a half breed Jew who killed a few Jews in order to get a country for all future Jews."   I am paraphrasing but basically the Muslim man began to prove that he does not differentiate between good Jews and bad Jews.  All Jews are bad in his mind.

It was a fascinating exchange of beliefs and cultural views.  It was even more fascinating to see fellow Americans espouse his twisted worldly views.

I believe strongly in Israel's right to exist.  I do so because God promised to bless those nations that bless His people, the Jews:

“I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you,and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.”

Anyway, I recognize this is a social forum of people with varying opinions.  I am not in any way, shape or form claiming all Muslims are evil.  I don't dare generalize.  I just find it ironic that we get in trouble for spewing Muslim stereotypes but we are told to remain silent when they spew their Anti-Israel rhetoric.

Political correctness in a free country is no better than censorship in an oppressive one.

We are a blessed Nation.

And I know why.

Tacky Tattoos

You can tell a lot about a person by their tattoos.

Show me a woman with a huge dragon tattoo on her left breast and I will show you a woman who drinks wine by the box and considers cheese whiz to be a meal.

Tattoos should be approached with caution.  Because they are permanent, careful consideration should be paramount while deciding on body art.  This means avoid the tattoo parlor while under the influence of anything.  A clear mind is necessary.

1.  Avoid the tramp stamp:  It is not sexy.  Also, there will come a day you will be getting fitted with a pair of Depends.  It's bad enough that old people shit themselves.  The tramp stamp will only make you look more disgusting when you're 80.

 2.  Avoid Chinese letters, arabic writing and all foreign languages:  Stick to English.  I am certain the people who complain about having to push 1 for English and 2 for Spanish when calling their bank are the same people sporting foreign language tattoos.  Having a Chinese letter on your body is not only stupid, it is pretentious.  It does not make you more cultural.  It's as ridiculous as ordering from Taco Bell in spanish when English is your only language.

 3.  Avoid tattoos on your breasts:  Breasts are pretty.  It's like spray painting the Taj Mahal.  Don't do it.  Even bad breasts look better without tattoos.

 4.  Avoid getting your loved ones names tattooed on you:  How one feels today may not be the case 5 years from now.  Stick to initials or the first letter of his or her first name.  This will give you some flexibility if the relationship ends at a later date.  For example, I plan on getting a "Y" tattoo at some point.  If "Y" breaks up with me, I will just tell people it stands for Yahtzee.  It is one of my favorite games.  Or I might tell people it stands for yoga, yellow, yahweh or if I feel creative, I can tell people it means "why".  Stick to letters and it leaves room for flexibility later.

 You can judge a person by their tattoos.  About half of those with tattoos have tacky ones.

 Now, I do understand that women are usually the ones branded as tacky.  Men can get away with just about anything when it comes to tattoos.  That is because we expect men to be dirty or classless or impulsive.  We expect our women to be soft, pretty and clean.

One poorly chosen tattoo can forever tarnish a person's image forever.  Imagine sitting on the parole board while Charles Manson is sitting in front of you with his swatiska forehead tattoo.  No matter if he has truly changed and is truly remorseful for his past crimes, that tattoo alone has placed pre-conceived perceptions into the parole board members minds.  This holds true in all walks of life.  Tacky tattoos can prevent one from getting a job or even catching the attention of someone you might be interested in romantically.


Most douches and tacky women have tacky tattoos.  In the celebrity world, this is witnessed by Amy Winehouse and her self-portrait tattoo, Mike Tyson and his face tattoo, David Beckham and his various poorly chosen tattoos, and even Casey Anthony with her "Bella Vita" tattoo.


Am I wrong about tattoos?

What is the most tacky one you've ever seen?

Speaking Fish

Man catches fish and is pretty damn proud.

"please let me go", says the fish.

But... man doesn't speak fish.


The fish is too small.  Back into the water, he goes.

"thank you, strange creature from outer space", says the fish.

But... man doesn't speak fish.


I went fishing with a quasi-father figure when I was younger.  I was there the day a cliche was invented.

I caught a tiny fish and with pride, I held up that tiny fish.

"throw him back," said my wannabe father figure.  "there's plenty more fish in the lake".

Four hours passed and I caught nothing else.

And I wondered what that fish thought.  If he knew how close he was to death or if he even cared.

And I wondered if he was thanking some fish deity for his second chance at life or if he was returning home to tell his friends that he saw the face of God... that I was the face of God.

I was trying to understand a language that did not exist.

As this man was auditioning to be my father figure, he took me fishing once again.  And I caught a 22 inch catfish.  I was so proud.

"he's a keeper", the man said to me.

I wanted to throw him back into the water.  It just didn't seem right. 

I went from being Jesus to the devil in one weekend.  It was how I felt.

Man asks woman to marry him and he's pretty damn proud.

"do you promise to love and cherish me always?", she asked.

With a gun to her temple, the answer was obvious.

But he finally let go of her.

It was the closest I came to having a father or my mom remarrying.

It was the closest I came to speaking fish.

An ambiguous Life

I wonder what he thinks when he watches me watching him.  They say his mind is practically gone.  They say he remembers nothing.

But, during those rare and ambiguous moments, I know he is thinking of something,  Maybe, even someone.

His life has no meaning to him.  Faces are all blank canvases.  Names are just words.


It's been a decade now.  Ten long uneventful years.  A decade of what if.  A decade of why.

It should have been me... if life was fair.  I tell myself that everyday.  It's the anchor that keeps me at bay.

In between reminiscing and regret, this old man with his blank stare and silent screams, teaches me things I have failed to learn.

This is my life.

I'm guilty of envy every time I take a glimpse at the lives of those I once knew well.
I'm guilty of pride every time they take a glimpse at mine.


I suppose I am ambiguous because there is too much to explain and too little to know.
 I haven't slept in ten short years.

This whole concept of time and space seems arbitrary.  Someone recently told me that scientists now believe that time will eventually stop.  And I just laugh.  I laugh because if I put aside all the distractions in my life and just close my eyes... I remember everything and everyone; as if everything happened in one long day.

If you don't value life, you value nothing.

That old man died months ago.  With a smile on his face.

Like every man before him, I wonder what his last thought was.

Halloween Rant

Halloween: the only day of the year fat kids leave their house to exercise.
Back when I lived in a normal neighborhood where kids would come to my house to trick or treat, we had two bowls of treats:  Candy for the cute kids and Pennies for the fat kids.

One year, we ate all the candy because we were so stoned forgot to buy candy and ended up handing out handfuls of meow mix to the kids.  The kids would knock.  We would answer the door and then quickly throw in the meow mix.  Then, we would shut the door before they had time to see what we gave them.

I admit there was a time when I thought little kids in costumes begging for candy was cute.  I was 8 years old at the time.

Now, it's just annoying.

I'm sure once I have a kid, my thoughts will change on this holiday.


Halloween:  a holiday for pedophiles.
So, I am reading the news online and come across this:  As thousands of East Valley children prepare to hit the streets this Halloween, sheriff's deputies are reminding registered sex offenders to stay inside their homes Sunday night.
Seriously?  That's like telling someone to NOT go to the post office and pickup your mail because the mail man will be delivering it personally later that day.

Better yet, it's about as stupid as those people who drive all over the seedy parts of the city looking for a hooker.  Horny men who can't get laid know that Craigslist is the place to go and those hookers will actually drive to your house to fuck you.

Why would a pedophile leave his house?  The kids are coming to him.

If I was a sherrif or deputy, I would demand that the sex offenders spend the holiday at the bingo hall where children are most certainly not to be found or at least make each sex offender have a sign in their front yard letting everyone know that a sex offender lives there:

Halloween:  the holiday that separates the smart kids from the stupid ones.
One halloween as a kid, I had a brilliant idea.  I had three halloween costumes.  They were all cheap ass masks mom bought for me at Kmart.

In the early evening, I literally went trick or treating to about 25 houses.  Then, I would return home, change my mask and return to those same houses.  I did this 3 times.

25 houses X 3 costumes= 75 handfuls of candy.

Less walking.  More time to eat my candy.

And I won't even mention the time I tried to go trick or treating in July.  It's a true story but since it resulted in no candy, there is no point in telling it.  But it was brilliant, nonetheless.

Halloween:  the holiday where poor kids show off their creativity.
One Halloween, mom couldn't afford to buy me a costume.  This was in the early 80's during the infamous air traffic controller strike during the Reagan Administration.

I found a piece of cardboard and wrote "ON STRIKE" and wore it around my neck.

When people asked me what I was supposed to be, I told them I was an air traffic controller on strike.  Many adults were impressed by my creativity and knowledge of current events, it actually resulted in more candy for me.

Another year, I wore a Dominos Pizza hat and said I was a pizza delivery boy.  In a low voice and a pouty lip, I would make sure every house knew I was poor and it was the only costume we could afford.

Poor kids= brilliant kids.

I won't mention how my mom gave me two bags that one Halloween:  one bag for candy and one bag to pick up any aluminum cans I saw in the street or in people's yards while trick or treating.

My mom was as creative as me, I suppose.

Halloween:  the holiday where it is cool to be gay.
No offense to the homos but seeing grown men in halloween costumes is an assault to my heterosexual senses.

And the next time that 40 year old douche at my bank tries to convince me that dressing up as a gay vampire from the Twilight movies is cool, I will switch banks.



Really, I hate this holiday.

However, someone important to me went to the World Series game tonight and saw a man dressed as Alan from The Hangover for Halloween.  She tried to get a picture but he disappeared into the crowd of people.

Whoever chose that costume is funny.

But then again, it's completely retarded to dress up for Halloween at a baseball game.  Almost as retarded as those who paint their faces at sporting events.

Halloween:  ITS RETARDED.


 

Insignificant Other

i'm feeling so powerful
like I just shot a buffalo
as cold and isolated
as an eskimo

but i know she loves me
because she told me so


i'm feeling so restless
like a caged blue bird
as cold and hopeless
as the future

sometimes she says
i sound so monotonous
but only when i'm feeling so powerful
like i just shot a hippopotamus

but i know she's just trying to keep me together
despite the fact, i'm not getting any better

she's thinking about making babies
as i am plucking the petals off of daisies

repeating over and over again...
she loves me
but she wants me not
she loves me
but she wants me not
she gets a little angry and says
STOP BEING SO PREPOSTEROUS

my love, it's not like I shot a rhinoceros

and she feels so powerful
like she just shot a buffalo

i will always seek her warmth
just like an eskimo

The Rise and Fall of a Social Network

"Great nations rise and fall. The people go from bondage to spiritual truth, to great courage, from courage to liberty, from liberty to abundance, from abundance to selfishness, from selfishness to complacency, from complacency to apathy, from apathy to dependence, from dependence back again to bondage."


It was just four years ago.  There we were.  You and I.  Them.  Millions of people.  All of us. 

The place was called Myspace.  It was a great land.  It was simply known as "the place for friends".  In the world of social networking, it was all I knew.  I felt welcome.  I felt free.

FREE.

We were all free; free to use any pseudonym we chose to.  I chose Hurl.  Free to have as many profiles as we chose to.  Free to be whoever we wanted to be.  No one asked for ID.  No one regulated our every thought nor did anyone attempt to define our motivations.We were simply free to roam that place as any person we chose to be.

We were free to write; to write these fancy little floating thoughts in our head.  They were called Blogs.  Many of us wrote blogs.  Some of us were talented.  Some of us were mediocre.  Some of us were silly.  Some of us were melancholy.  But we all had a voice.  We were all equals.

We were free to speak our minds.  Certainly, that place was not perfect.  It was not void of strife or drama.  Of course, not everyone got along.

But still.... we were one social network under Tom.  Tom was the president.  He was that goofy looking white guy that sat in a chair wearing a t-shirt.  He was everyone's first friend when you entered its harbor.

The best thing about Tom was once he became your friend, you never heard from him again.  He wasn't making new rules and regulations every few days trying to appease his colleagues.  He wasn't passing Myspace laws that infringed on our freedoms as Myspace bloggers or trying to force his extreme ideas onto us.  Tom just left us alone.

Maybe, we became a little spoiled.  Maybe, we became so complacent in our freedom there that we started to take the place for granted.  We whined a little bit.  We became bored.  For some of us, this freedom went to our heads.  We became bullies.  We had entitlement issues.  We were own our worst enemies.

Roughly four years ago, Tom left his office as President of Myspace.  A new administration replaced him. This administration came into power promising an even better Myspace.  Hope and Change was their mantra.  We myspace citizens believed every word.  Sure, some were skeptical and maybe even a little worried.  But no one entertained the thought that we could or would lose our freedoms as bloggers and as individuals.

The new president comforted those of us who were concerned.  He promised change but change that would make Myspace better.  He was articulate and almost Christ-like as he promised hope.  We swallowed every word despite a gnawing feeling in our gut that this new administration was full of charlatans and con artists.  In our complacency, we blindly followed them even as their vision of a new Myspace became more clearer.

It didn't take long for the new changes to take place.  It was called Myspace 2.0.

"OMG!", we bloggers exclaimed.  Blogging was now difficult.  New rules and regulations were now suffocating our need to freely express ourselves.  Corporations had moved in and planted their logos and advertisements all over our personal pages.

Our freedoms were gone.

Myspace was once the land everyone wanted to come to.  In a blink of an eye, it became the place everyone wanted to leave.

And we did.  And they did.  Millions did.  All of us left.

We came here... to a land called Facebook.  A place that wants to know everything about us.  Our real names must be used.  They will monitor what pictures we post.  They will tell us how many profiles we can have.  They want to know if we prefer Pepsi or Coke.   They demand that we are truthful.

In the land of Facebook, they claim it is imperative that we are truthful all in the name of security.  The homeland security department of this social network will grope us if they choose to because they want to protect us from bad guys; those same bad guys that ruined the land of Myspace.... if bad guys were actually the reason Myspace failed; which we all know was not the case.

Here, blogging is not encouraged.  Blogging is a way of expressing yourself and this place is not geared for critical thinking nor is it intended to cultivate the individual.  We are merely products.  We are slaves to the corporations.

Freedom is a rumor here.  It is something some of us who existed in the original land of social networking called Myspace like to reminisce about.  For those who never experienced that place, they cannot fathom what real freedom is.... they can only listen to us and nod their heads in agreement and pretend they understand.

One day, this place will fall.  Then, it will be replaced with a new social network.  One that claims to be better.  One that will claim to be listening to us.  One that will make promises....

Promises of Hope and Change.

And like always, in our complacency, we will believe that new place really cares about us.

But it won't.

And we won't be free.

Ever again.