What a Difference Two Days Make

So my daughters spent two days with my mother-in-law and already they're showing symptoms of religious radiation.

1. They were singing Mary, Mary's "God In Me" -- not a bad tune actually, but still . . . really?

2. Worst offensive, my eldest, out of the blue said -- "What was that thing that Madea said?"

Uh, what the fuck? (I didn't say that out loud). "How do you know about Madea?" I asked.

She said "We saw Madea's Family Reunion at nana's house."

Of course you did.

But you know what, Tyler Perry movies are made for 8-year-olds, so I can't blame her for liking it. It's the grown folks who dig it that I can't understand.

Hello Blogger!

So I'm walking back from lunch yesterday, and guess who I bump into? Leon, of listentoleon.net fame. His blog, "Yeah, I Said It," is part of my daily web routine and he NEVER lets me down.

True story: Leon and I used to work together some years back when he was an intern. He was always a nice guy, but I had no idea the level of funny he was keeping to himself. Glad he let it out.

Tyler Durden Hates Jesus

As much as I like Brad Pitt's movies -- "Seven," "12 Monkeys" and "Fight Club" are in my top 20 -- I don't really think about Brad Pitt. Though I must admit, as someone closing in on 40, I am in awe/hate with the fact that he's still built like he's a 20-year-old gay porn star.

POINT OF DISCLOSURE: While I have indeed witnessed gay porn (once by accident, another by a dare) I'm making an assumption that 20 year old gay pornstars are at the peak of physical condition.

Yes, it's nice that he's adopted half of Africa, and it's mildly interesting that he's married to Angelina Jolie but honestly, I never really pay him that much attention. So imagine my surprise that after five minutes of watching him on Bill Maher's "Real Time" I was ready to uproot my family and move to New Orleans (America's personal Afghanistan) and vote him into the mayor's house.

Why? Well here are the three cornerstones of his platform:
1. Legalization of pot.
2. Legalize gay marriage
3. No religion

Gee, I wonder why he appeals to my heathenistic world view.

While he did not out and out claim that he is an athiest, (in fact he says he was raised in a religious household), anyone who wants to outlaw religion can't be a big fan. It's like if someone says they're not a racist but just doesn't think niggers should have the right to vote. Sometimes words speak louder than labels.

But, believe it or not, I'm not for abolishing all religion. Ok, maybe some of the crazy ones like the cults that involve drinking poisonous Kool Aid or the ones that make you do this. But at the end of the day I think that for all the shit that organized religion has wrought on the world -- war, touchy-feely priests, self-esteem issues, Tyler Perry -- I fear a world without it.

I mean, all religions pretty much say preach the same things: Don't kill anyone, don't sleep with your boy's wife, don't steal and don't get caught up in material goods. All of which I agree with. It's when we have to pay fealty to invisible father figures where I get off the train, but hey, if believing that you'll catch a celestial backhand will keep you from cheating on your wife or taking out the Home Depot with a semi-automatic -- fine with me. I will even take your condescending tone and holier-than-thou side-eyes when you realize I don't pray over my food or know the difference between ministers and preachers.

So as much as I'd like for everyone to be as "enlightened" as me, I accept that people need religion. That they need to feel their dead aunts are floating in heaven or that their lives won't end when they kick the bucket. And, I guess I get it. I just wish people didn't need religion so they could feel better than other folks -- especially those without religion. No need to pull down your pants to show us how big your faith is, as a matter of fact, Jesus would probably prefer that you keep your faith in your jockeys.

Death Sucks

I lost my father two months ago.

Well, he's not lost. He's actually in a very classy, muted black urn sitting in my closet at the bottom of a white Macy's shopping bag.

Not exactly the beautific afterworld one might imagine, but for a man who never expressed (at least not to me) any clear location of where he thought his soul would end up, I suppose taking residence next my shoes and a half-full bag of guinea pig bedding is just as fitting as any ending.

Truth is, my father isn't in that urn. He is not dust, collecting dust. I know that as sure as I know my father wasn't in the stilled body that lay on the gurney on that horrible day in May.

So where, pray tell, is he?

That depends on what you believe. Or more precisely, what I believe. Not an easy task when tagged a non-believer. Not that I believe in nothing, a common misnomer for us heathens. Truth is I believe in many things, even things I can't see -- love, gravity, black holes, radio waves, the goodness of humanity -- I just don't buy many (OK, all) of the world's religion's viewpoints and thus, I am a "non-believer."

As I said in my last entry, death is one of the biggest tests of one's committment to non-committment. And on May 25, 2009 my test came in the form of a brutal pop quiz entitled: "Where's Your Dad Now?"

Well, were I a christian, I suppose I would believe he was in heaven. Indeed, many at my father's service (hold on, I'll get to that), spoke of my dad being in heaven, or at least "looking down." I admit, heaven is a great idea. An endless sky cruise for the great people of the world. Assuming you're not Hitler or R. Kelly, admission is pretty much gauranteed by most folks' reckonings. And honestly, not even Hitler's cousins think he's in hell. No one goes to a funeral where the minister/pastor/guy at the podium says "too bad he was a galatic asshole who's now hotfooting it in hell." I mean, no one looks down and says "I wonder if mom is looking up at us now."

Still, my father was not a hypocrite and he read the bible, so he knew there was only one real way to get to Christian heaven which is ACCEPTING JESUS CHRIST AS HIS LORD AND SAVIOR (that sentence just begs for all caps, right?), an act I'm sure my father never did. Now, I can't be sure that he NEVER did this, much in the way that I can't be sure he NEVER stuck a cat in the microwave, but it just feels wrong.

(Honestly, my plan was examine each of the world's religious views of the afterlife, but the closest any of my family got to one was Christianity and since we all know how that turned out, I'll save you some reading time.)

So, back to the question at hand -- where is my dear old dad if heaven is only for Christians? And what kind of service do you have for a non-believer?

First question first: I don't know where my father is or even if he still "is." I know physics dictates we are all energy and energy cannot be destroyed which is only reassuring had my father been a light bulb. Alas.

The worst part is, I know he isn't here anymore. I cannot call him, email him or laugh with him again. But I do hear him, like a song in my head that is both with and without sound. So perhaps that is something. But I hold no illusions that we will reunite on cloud nine for glasses of Coke Zero and Snyder pretzels. I mean, it's possible but at this point it feels more like self-deluding fantasy than a real occurence, but hey, I never thought we'd have a Black president either.

As to the question of what kind of funeral do you throw for an athiest (actually he claimed Agnostic)? Simple, you throw a kick-ass party. So that's what we did. We invited his closest friends, co-workers, family -- everyone who loved him -- and we ate, drank, laughed and shared stories at a restaurant. Yes, there were tears but they were outweighed by the smiles and hugs. Gone were the dour processions, the ghoulish open caskets and too-long renditions of "His Eye is On the Sparrow." We replaced them with a digital slide show, the "Star Wars" theme song on replay and an open bar.

Even if he went nowhere, I like to believe we sent my father off in a way that made sense of the man he was. Fun, a little crazy and very loving.

What Kind of Father Are You?

Sorry I've been away for a while.

Truth is, I'm sitting on gold. GOLD JERRY! In the time since my last post, I've gathered enough material for like . . . 50 great posts that I will bless you with in due time.

But it's probably best that I start with the one that happened today. I call it: "What Kind of Father Are You?"

Today, one of my co-workers was talking about her date for the weekend and the conversation soon moved to sex, or the lack thereof. Ultimately, the issue of gender politics became the main course and the big question was pitched to me: "how will you react when your daughters start having sex?"

Now, if you are a heathen like myself, there are a couple of tests to gauge your committment to non-committment. Death is one. Your daughter's virginity is the other.

I have two daughters, which means, in due time there will be two sets of boys coming through my doors looking to sleep with them. No, I don't love the idea but on the other hand, I don't want my girls to be 40-year old virgins either.

Actually, I don't want them to be 25-year old virgins.

Granted, I'd prefer they wait till they're out of my house, but "doing it" is one of life's greatest pleasures. There's taking a shit, taking a nap, love, eating and boning. My only request is that they hold onto their "precious flowers" till they leave my house, at least that way I won't have to SEE it. But I have no illusions of my daughters remaining chaste until marriage. Nor would I really want them to.

I have my reasons. Three actually.

1. They may never get married. As lovely as they are, the stats for Black women are dismal.

2. I actually WANT them to enjoy sex. I'm firmly convinced that anyone who remains a virgin past 25 is not really interested in sex. Imagine going half a century with a Cinnabon. Crazytown, right?

3. I'm not going to burden them with the idea that pre-marital sex is sinful.

When I explained my reasons, my co-worker (let's call her Michelle), asked:

"Well, what about your religious convictions?"

Now, the only reason I didn't laugh out loud is because I had not prepared to come out of the heathen closet at work. From what I can tell, Michelle was raised in a very religious home and I wasn't quite ready to go down that path with her.

So I waffled as best as I could:

"Those aren't really a problem for me." Better to appear as a lapsed Christian than not one at all, right?

"What do you mean?" She parried.

Ah shit.

And then . . . I came out. Right there at work. In front of TWO of my co-workers.

"I wasn't raised with any religion so I never really get into the whole sin thing." It was out and no bells rang. No sirens. Just quiet acceptance and perhaps silent judging. But no one stopped me.

Michelle paused and looked up from her desk and said, "You're life must be so peaceful."

"Huh?"

"You don't know what it's like to think that what you're doing is wrong and always being like 'please forgive me God.'"

I didn't say anything but I was thinking -- "No, I don't -- Thank God."

Easter-Geddon IV: This Time It's Personal!

It was all going to plan.

The plan was afoot. The trap was set. The bait was taken.

And then . . . BAM! Fucking Orthodox Easter.

Turns out, tonight is Orthodox Easter. A holiday I was hardly aware of has suddenly reared its ugly head right into my Saturday night.

Let's rewind a few hours shall we.

Earlier today, my wife and I hatched a devious plot to spend a night without kids by way of inviting the neighbors' kids for a sleepover. "Huh?" You say. "How will inviting MORE children over increase the chance of being alone?"

Come walk through our labrythine logic.

Our neighbors have four kids -- one of which is my eldest daughter's OMG BFF. So we invite her over for a sleepover KNOWING that the children's father thinks she's too young to have sleepovers. Plus, we anticipated that the rest of the children will be jealous and want to come over -- something that we know just won't happen. And that's where the genius of the plan kicks in.

Alright, so we threw out the first pitch and invited the eldest daughter over. Her mother said "yes," a little too quickly. I would be lying if I said we weren't a little scared.

Forty minutes later, the mother called stating that it's her daughter's birthday tomorrow (did I mention that they're Jehovah Witnesses -- at least the mother is -- so her child's birthday wasn't going to be a big deal) and she wanted to invite our two daughters over instead.

YES!!!!

Not ten minutes later, I'm rushing around the house -- literally throwing my childrens' pajamas on, gathering toothbrushes and shoes. It's what's known as "Married Man Nesting." It's eliminating all distractions and deterrents from your wife's surroundings so that she can concentrate on . . . making brownies (look my parents read this blog so give me a break).

Anyway, the children are dressed and ready to go. So I called the mom -- "The girls are ready to come over." Yes I love my children but to say I wasn't hopping around like a puppy would be a lie.

"Well, actually we're going to a midnight Easter service. I didn't know earlier. I'm sorry."

CUT TO ME IN CAPTAIN KIRK'S CHAIR SCREAMING INTO THE CAMERA ABOVE:

"JESUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSS!"

Fucking Orthodox Easter has ruined my Saturday night. On a night when I had planned some decidedly un-Christianlike behavior, Jesus has resurrected and achieved a masterful cock-block. Well done Son of God.

For you curious few, Orthodox Easter is the neighbor's father's idea -- it's not a JW thing. He's fighting an uphill battle against his wife's new found faith with Jehovah's Witnesses and is doing his best to keep his kids out of Kingdom Hall. I don't blame him, but couldn't he have found a different day to fight this war?

Don't miss the Easter-Geddon series here:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 2.5
Part 3

COUNTDOWN TO EASTER-GEDDON III: Jesus Who?

It is 10:39am on Easter Sunday.

I am in my pajamas.

Prophecy fulfilled bitches!!!! That's right, my two-year church famine remains intact as I predicted!

If you've been following along, you'll know that my in-laws have been quietly (and not-so quietly) angling to get me and my family to church today. They've sent my daughters Easter Dresses, emails about putting our children on "the right path," and constant quieries about our activities for the holiday.

Meanwhile, I have been quietly hoping that we would NOT be in church. Not just because I'm a a heathen, but because church on Easter seems just a bit EXTRA, know what I mean? It doesn't so much bother me that everyone is there to show off their new duds and freshly-scrubbed devotion, it's the minister I'm worried about. They seem contractually obligated to go that extra mile on Easter, marathon preaching.

At least, so I'm told.

I don't know that I've ever been in a church on Easter. So, this is just a guess. But let me share with you two comments I heard this morning that further illustrate WHY I've never been.

Comment #1:"You know, Easter really sucks."

This is my mother as she dutifully picks up plastic green "grass" and consolidates the children's chocolate treats into plastic ziplock bags.

"It's messy and the only people who get anything out of it are the fucking candy companies."

Starting to get the picture yet?

Comment number 2: "Oh yeah," she exclaims, "I forgot it was Easter today."

That's my eldest daughter waking up and responding to the news that if the Easter Bunny left anything for her and her sister.

TA-DAH!!!

To be truly honest, we haven't fully escaped Easter's orbit as we are currently getting dressed to meet my mother-in-law for brunch at Houlihans -- which, I guess for her, is the next best thing to getting us in church. I'm sure we'll hear wonderful things about the service and be offered an invitation to attend something very soon.

The funny thing is, as much as I am opposed to church, my wife is the one who truly dug her heels in. She KNEW we would be under pressure to go to some sort of church service so she made sure NONE of us had anything "proper" to wear. All four of us are wearing jeans, sealing our heathenistic fate not to step foot in a church.

So there, take that Christian holiday. You've just been defeated by denim.