Monday, May 14, 2007
I fancy myself as a thinking man. With that said, I may display the proclivity to over think things. Many years ago, I wasn't able to stare at a wall without being inundated with a plethora of meaningless thoughts. Only a couple of years ago
I started playing Goalie and taking pucks to they head. I have never thought clearer. I can stare at a wall all day and not think of a single thing. This frees up my brain to think about only important things. While this might seem like a gift from the heaven's, it is actual quite burdensome. My elevated thinking abilities have put added pressures on myself to save the world and its dwindling competancy. Curing cancer, figuring out why Tara Reed is famous (is a bad boob job and poor acting skills enough these day?!?! I know they are obligatory traits for porn but mainstream movies?), and new ways to scam Wal-Mart are some of my daily musings.
Yesterday I discovered something so bizarre that it was a challenge to wrap my 7 3/4 inch head around it. Last night I thought I would mix it up a bit. Typically, when I get a sweet tooth, I stammer out to the vending machine and purchase a Sierra Mist. It's not the best soda in the world but it's definetly not the worst. It's close proximity and effervescent flavor keep bringing me back. In an effort to take the monotony out of soda monogamy, I thought I would switch it up. I knew exactly the soda, HAWAIIAN PUNCH!
HAWAIIAN PUNCH!, for those of you that have never consumed it or have forgotten it entirely, is a magical little concoction. For one, it's lack of carbonation may be one reason why it may have slipped under the soda radar but makes little sense because of its molecular imperviousness to agitation via vending machine handling. An enigma of sorts, HAWAIIAN PUNCH! contains only %5 juice and was originally intended to be an ice cream topping since its conception in 1934.
So last night Phil, Colette and I went in search of aforementioned HAWAIIAN PUNCH! It seemed about as easy as finding gay people in San Fransisco. Not true. After 4 different stops, (7-Eleven, Foodland, ABC store, and Whaler's Village - you should all be ashamed of yourselves) we had called it a night. Can you believe we couldn't find HAWAIIAN PUNCH! in Hawaii!??!? Even irony got a chuckle out of this one. Completed dejected that we had not found HAWAIIAN PUNCH! on our Harold and Kumar-esque journey, we resorted to pineapple juice iinstead.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
The Wings were on and as long as I have a heart rate and working eyeballs I consider myself prepared enough to enjoy the game. Midway through the 3rd period, the Wings were really starting to run away with it. Not but 10 seconds after the Wings scored their 4th goal I heard a knock at the half-propped door. I reluctantly turn my head slightly to the left to see two older people at the door that I did not recognize. We politely exchange greeting pleasantries but in my head I am thinking, "Who the fuck is this? Not only are they interrupting my Wings but "The Dude" would not be happy with these jokers infringing on the Sabbath." I sit comfortably perched from my couch laden in only checkered boxer and a stupid grin. I don't saunter to the door simply because the Wings had scored and I was most definitely sporting wood.
The couple goes onto identify themselves self as my neighbor. I think to myself, "shit, what did the dog do or is this more repercussion from my St.Patty's day vomit fest (see picture)?
They ask if they can talk to me about the violence that has been happening around here of late. "Like around the apartment complex?" I semi-sarcastically and semi-obliviously retort. Keep in mind that we are balls deep in the NHL playoffs right now, and my information receptors are at maximum capacity. A black-Jewish-double amputee-polio ridden-transvestite could be elected president but, unless there was message posted underneath the ice at JLA or Nick Lidstrom directed the message to me personally on TV, I'd have no idea. "No," she said, "around the world there have been more bombings and all the school shootings." I guess I hadn't noticed but I immediately get excited thinking there may have been a school shooting at my school while I was gone on Friday and that would definitely mean a long weekend. Even I'm not that insensitive. "Oh, really," was the best benign phrase I could formulate. She went on to say that they wanted to share a bible verse with me and asked if that would be ok if they could step in and talk about "the good lord." They might as well have pulled the fire alarm. I got that hair-raising my skin is too tight from overlong sun exposure feeling. In an exchange that amounted to a little more then a few words, I shifted from "slightly annoyed" to "clearly perturbed." She asked, "Why?" I damn near couldn't believe my ears! I respectfully declined their intrusive request in my home and she had the audacity to ask "why!?!?" Completely and utterly in auricular disbelief, I simply responded, "I'm not into that kind of thing."
George Carlin coined the phrase/idea that "religion is imaginary friends for adults," and that religion is "the all time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims." I see religion as a pyramid scheme but in this scheme you have a intangible object as the absolute pinnacle or desired object. There are people or prophets that convey the message to the masses in effort to convince them to join. Just like the childhood game "telephone," messages can to construed and altered. The only people that can verify if all this supreme being and heaven and hell stuff are all dead. Clever by design indeed.
But why the intense recruitment? Why can't we agree that religion is "your" thing and not "our" thing. I believe that the recruitment process is a validation process. I liken it to that social phenomenon when you've got a group of people hanging out and you don't want to be the only person that is blitzkrieg drunk.
I guess what I am trying to say is that lets separate the bible/god/current happenings thing. If that neighbor came over and said, "let's talk about world violence and what we can do." I'd pour us a couple drinks and talk about the next nation that we, as a country, could oppress. I am, however, reticent to engage in conversations that involve the g-word. I have found that people get offended when you refer to there beliefs as "a fucking joke." It always seems that when someone of intense religious conviction gets pissed off they ends up bitching on TV, at an intersection with a megaphone, writing a strongly worded newspaper directed missive or fire bombing an embassy. They always sight the bible in their ramblings but I believe line for line this month's Playboy advisor has more sound advice then the bible.
But I digress. I was civil to the people that came to my door just like I have always been.
I figure if there is a God, I might as well be civil to his dubious minions
Editor's Note: The Wings went on to win the game 4-1 and grasp complete control of the serious heading into game 6 Monday night.
Loose ended musing that needs confirmation - Is it just me or as Diane Keaton ages, and her eyes sink further and further into her sullen head, does she look more and more like BeetleJuice?!?!