The New Disney-Pixar film “Wall E” is a cute story, enjoyable for both children and adults, which is pretty impressive, since there’s basically no real dialogue for the first hour.  A love story between a pair of robots, trying to save themselves, the Earth, and the Human Race itself, all in beautiful CGI, whose glistening effects of metal, movement, and expression surpass all that’s come before it.  Truly, a well done piece, with lots of humor and emotion expressed solely by movement, position of optical sensors, and that lonely child we all hold deep inside of us.

      For those that missed the media blitz, the basic plot is, with the Earth overwhelmed by trash, the Human Race takes to the stars, leaving robots to clean up the mess, awaiting the day they can return.  Flash forward 700 years, we find Wall E, the sole working trash compacting robot left on the planet, his only companion a cockroach, still working on collecting all the trash we left, leaving looming skyscrapers of trash, dwarfing all the abandoned buildings below.  The rest of the Earth is dust.  Well dust and trash, till one day he finds a solitary plant, just starting to bud.  Coincidentally that same day, EVE (pronounced E-VA) arrives.  EVE is basically a probe sent back to earth to see if any life has returned.  Of course they fall in love (well Wall e does, it takes her a bit longer., Doesn’t it always?).  Through a series of mishaps, and a battle against a robot gone crazy, they finally bring the humans back to Earth to begin life again.  Honestly, its a cute and touching story, on the surface.

     The sub plot of it falls well above the targeted children audience’s heads.  What they don’t notice is that the giant global big box company Buy N Large, is basically the reason for all the trash.  While they seem to be our saviors, building the ships and systems that will keep us safe and secure in space, while their robots clean up the Earth, its actually all the trash from the stuff they sold that got us shot up there to begin with.  Well, they sold and we bought.  And while we float around happily on our hoverchairs, vid screen directly infront of our face so we can talk to our friends, or shop for the last sale items, it is also the reason our bodies grow far too fat and useless, so much so that we can barely walk, much less move on our own.  The vid screens block all our vision, and more importantly, keep us from seeing the world (space) around us (”I didn’t know we had a pool” is a repeated line).  It was too quick to catch, but a series of pictures seemed to suggest that humans no longer live past 25, though whether that is due to life style, or the roboto el loco trying to prevent the discovery of life, is never really explained.

  The reason this is a Rant and not a Review is simply this.  With your child’s ticket, you get this nifty “made in china” rubber watch.  Not only that, but 3-5 free promotional cards (made from non recycled stock), all wrapped nicely in Polypropylene.  You know, that clear plastic crap everything is wrapped in that you tear off and toss where ever is most convenient (usually the floor).  This followed by the $17 mega soda, popcorn, and 2 year old JuJu Fruit combo that you simply MUST buy before settling into your seats (the same trash that will end up on the floor 1/2 hour into the movie).  Forget the fact that the watch will either be broken or forgotten in a week’s time.  Here you are sitting down to watch a movie that’s really saying all the useless crap we buy is killing the world, but here’s some FREE useless crap to go with it.  I don’t know if the subplot was some sort of fuck you to Disney that Pixar slipped in to show their disdain, or they just have a sick sense of humor.  Especially considering all the Wall E toys, bookbags, pencils, lunch boxes, plush animals (plush robots?), humidifiers, phones, toilet seats, clothes, beach towels, airplanes, pasta, tvs, stupid clothes for little rat dogs, diaper disposal units (though this would be kinda cool), video games, and the 13 direct to video sequels Disney will churn out in a year; that are due to appear at a store near you.  In fact, its going to appear at the self same Wallmarts, Targets, K Marts, Sam’s Clubs, Costco’s, Best Buys, etc that Buy N Large represents in the movie.  Does Pixar already have the space ship to get off the planet or something?  Is this movie just their little Fuck you to the viewing public, showing their disdain for our willingness to buy into all this shit and completely miss the big picture, simply because it comes in a cute and convenient little package?  Or was this simply a honest and meaningful statement that got lost somewhere in the Marketing Machine, all in the name of the mighty dollar?

     Frankly, I’m not going to stop shopping at Target, or Best Buy.  Fortunately, I’m too poor to buy all the crap I would like, so I already reduce my contribution to the destroying of the world, over and above an conscious effort I might make.  The most ironic thing about it all is, all that trash that Wall E so carefully stacked up high into the sky, is actually more likely to decompose that way, then any “proper” disposal of it.  We have gotten so worried about all the damage to the enviorment that our trash can do, that landfills these days are sealed, so that the trash won’t leak into it as it decomposes.  Unfortunately they are kept from the elements as well, so there is no actual factor acting upon them TO make them decompose.  So any organic, natural, biodegradable products you do buy, unless they are specifically recycled, they lie sealed in a tomb somewhere, just as you threw them out, and will be that way for a hundred years.  That napkin you threw out of your car, it’ll be gone in a few weeks, its just chances are it’ll just kill a few things before it happens.  Damn where’s my space ship.

     The movie itself was half decent.  Plenty of action, car chases, stunts, cool effects and an interesting enough story.  For those unfamiliar with it, the movie centers around Wesley Gibson, a neurotic, over anxious, cubicle slave stuck in a life of mediocrity, slaving away for a thankless boss as his girlfriend sleeps with his best friend (sounds like alot of us, I know).  His life changes, when his long missing father, is killed.  Unbeknownst to him, his father was a super-assassin with super power like killing abilities that he himself had inherited.  The group he worked for, “The Fraternity”, suddenly shows up and recruits poor Wesley into their world, and enable him to reclaim his birthright, focusing upon the man that killed his father.  Nobility surrounds the order, as they follow a “Mystical Loom” that tells them who to kill through its “binary code” weave.  “Kill one to save one thousand” is the credo.  Through a brutal initiation and training process Wesley turns around full force, and follows the Fraternity to the ultimate conclusion.  A conclusion of being double crosses, “plot twists”, and hopefully redemption for all.  And of course it all builds up to a final scene that’s supposed to leave you on your feet cheering (which quite a few were.)

     Acting wise, it was all done pretty well, no real complaints.  Angelina Jolie seemed a bit stiff, but she wasn’t exactly given a ton of lines to work with, with her lithe body sporting ever more tattoos being more of the draw (yes you even get to see her ass).  Morgan Freeman was, well Morgan Freeman, hard to find a complaint there.  Everyone else, worked, if not causing any upswell of emotion or calls for an Oscar.  The soundtrack was definitely good, and one I might even buy (can’t argue with any soundtrack that has NIN in it).  All in all, not a bad movie, and certainly entertaining.

     So why don’t I sound all that excited about it?  Because I had read the book long before seeing the movie.  And while the movie is enjoyable, the book is a far, far superior thing, and a completely different story.  Yes, yes, I know, “The book is always better (even if its a comic book)”, but I take specific exception to this case.

     While the book does center around Wesley Gibson (in this case, an Eminem lookalike) who is the self same loser cubicle slave in the movie, and whose father, a super assassin, is killed, leading him into a different life to reclaim his birthright, that’s where the movie fell away.  In the book, it is not some benevolent society trying to save the world, here Wesley’s new life is amongst Super Villains.  It seems, that back around 1986, all the super baddies got together, and Killed all the superheroes, gaining complete control of the world.  Immediately the set about removing all traces of the heroes, and any memory that they ever existed.  They hide themselves, putting into power those that would ensure that the world was left in blissful ignorance.  The greatest trick the devil ever played, was convincing the world he didn’t exist.  And given absolute power, with no recriminations, Wesley does as most would do, he becomes utterly corrupted.  Followed by “Fox” (based on Halle Berry), he proceeds to kill, rape, abuse, decimate anything seen as good in the world.  Followed by, of course, double crosses, plot twists, and an explosive bloody finale.

     My main issue with the translation to movie is, even though it satisfied the original author Mark Millar, is that if falls into the same trappings that Millar himself mocks in the book, often breaking the fourth wall to tell you so.  I understand the stretch involved getting people to buy into the “super-villain” thing, but why not just have them be a cabal of criminals that took over all the power.  I mean, look at the world governments these days, most people already believe they are all a secret group of criminals.  And if you are going to try and sell “hyper adrenalin”, “Loom of Fate”, and “bending of bullets” with pinpoint accuracy, why not leave the soul of the book intact.  Why fall into the same old rut of the “heroic” outcome, and redemption storylines, when the book spent so much time telling you that it didn’t exist anymore.  The same changes the movie made in order to make it more acceptable to the American movie audience, are precisely what the book spends pages telling you that it is all just some sales technique of the corporations to make you feel better about your own pathetic life.  As a movie, yes its enjoyable fun fair, but as a story that you haven’t heard before, it holds nothing on the book.

     And even though it was thrilling to hear Morgan Freeman say “Kill this Muther Fucker”,  it just isn’t “Wanted” if it doesn’t end with:

Injury count ended up being 2 gnarled and bashed toes, a gash on a shin, one swollen, bloodied lip, and a multitude of unexplained bruises, including the side of an entire face.  Plus, upon immersion into the Frigid water, Med became a woman (at least in visual appearance, and voice).  No deaths and no one catching fire, means all in all, an improvement over past years.

One Highlight of the Festival was, as promised, a full rack of cupcakes, courtesy of CakeMuffin Girl.  Simply provided with cursory information about Festival, she, in her infinite talent, searched out a decadent recipe for cupcakes made out of Guinness Beer.  Absolutely divine.  The term “Heathen Eucharist” was bantered about between stuffing them down our throat.  We had fully intended on saving them as a prize for a Midget Volleyball tournament, but unfortunately Gilgemesh had Ball issues, and so I took that as a cue to head over and begin devouring them myself, not long after which, everyone followed.  Had we known how good they were prior, I’m sure there would be much more blood to report, as we would have definitely beaten each other silly with various lawn ornaments in order to claim them all for ourselves.  I wish I had a good picture of them to showcase them, but alas our mouths were too quick.  Simply imagine a Guinness perfectly poured into a cupcake wrapper, complete with foam, and a hint of sweet chocolate.

Speaking of pictures, unfortunately my wife seems only capable of taking pictures of babies and Nekd G’s, with whom, due to certain court appearances and legal complications, we cannot post them here.  We can simply offer this fine example of how we mixed both fire and Heathen expression.  And yes we are doing exactly what you think we are doing.  I’ll update with more photos if they should possibly turn up.

The History

As with most areas of the world, season’s are separated into two distinct times; the “its too damn cold to get nekid without causing serious injury and looking like a woman” time, marked by the “UnGodly Heathen Nekid Bastard Children’s Day of Winter’s Shrinkage”, and the “Finally warm enough to be nekid whenever relative privacy would allow” or as it was widely known “Nude Season”, celebrated the world over as “The UnGodly Heathen Nekid Bastard Children’s Day Festival” or simply “Festival”. This day is almost always the fourth Sunday of every May (although in the Southern Hemisphere it would be reversed with “Shrinkage” days). On the occasional May that begins on a Monday, it would be held on the Sunday preceding the fourth Monday, in defiance to Mondays. Coincidentally this is primarily the Sunday before “Memorial Day” in the US. This is due to the history of the celebration. In elder Heathen times, it was a week long celebration, culminating in the “Children’s Day Festival” on Sunday, followed by the day of recovery on Monday, or as it was known then, “Loss of Memory Day”, when obviously no work was possible. As God-Fearing Religious Clothed Respectable Adult types are wont to do when faced with a much more enjoyable and fun society structure, they try to steal the Holidays and convert them to their own cause (see Halloween, Christmas, etc). Hence “Loss of Memory Day”, became “Memorial Day”, which by and large, we were fine with, since it is important to remember those that have fallen in defense of the greater ideals that this country was founded upon, and unlike those elder times, it is rare for a soldier’s life to be remembered in song anymore (and if it was, it would be ripped to MP3 and stolen a thousand times over, remixed into a dance tune, covered by a celebrity that shouldn’t sing, etc). Plus we still had our day off to recover, so if we limited the real partying to the Festival, we should be okay, that is, in the US. The rest of the world is kinda screwed on the deal. That’s all that the general public needs to know for now, so lets get onto the guidelines shall we?

Guidelines

• When- Well we just covered that didn’t we?? Come on, it isn’t that big of a paragraph. Read it and stop worrying about the “so how do I get to see boobs” part of the Festival. If that’s all you’re concerned about, then you aren’t ready for Festival and need to be slapped and sent back to high school (if you did read the paragraph, we’ll get to boobs later, hehe). For those that can’t do the math, This year (2008 doofus) it will be on May 25th. Preferably it would start during the day, and last well into the night (providing enough time for those driving to sober up, or decide to crash where they fall)
• Where- Traditionally, a member of a group will step up and offer their place as the initial site for the Festival, whether this is due to space, central location, absence of easily scarred minors, or just suckered into the deal. As time moves on, it is not vital for this to remain “THE place” for it, although as the location may change, it usually gravitates back to the original host to maintain that sanctity of the day. Nature also plays a big part in the location, not because we are a Deciduous Humping sect, but for the sheer nature of Heathen activities, having a nice “buffer zone” between you and any easily upset neighbor/children who could be blinded and lead to serious charges placed upon you. Heathenism is also about reconnecting to a more simple primal piece of your soul, one free of the constraints of modern society and their dictates, so being surrounded by nature helps with that. This is not to discriminate against our city dwelling brethren, though. We fully support them in any effort they put forth to hold festivities in whatever cramped apartment they may occupy. In fact, if they can get a bunch of sweaty people up close and nekid in their confines, it just goes to promote the kind of openness and acceptance that Heathens are all about. Just be sure to spray down any questionably nasty people with Lysol beforehand.
• Who- As Heathens, you are entrusted in not being discriminatory types, accepting of almost all people. And while it is obvious that you should only include those that would be accepting of the nature of the party, bible banging/easily offended errant boyfriends/girlfriends can be entertaining guests to have(for the subsequent freakout), provided their significant others are prepared for the fall out. Parents, bosses, government officials are generally discourage for their obvious consequences, unless they are supremely cool, or you have something you can hold over them (which the party may provide). Small children should be avoided or at least have very early bedtimes, unless they are too young to know any different or bring any learned activities to school. If you are raising your child in a Heathen household, and they fully understand the “Heathen time” vs “Polite Society bullshit time” differences, then it is an important learning experience for them. Beyond that, all should be welcomed, as long as some effort of warning is made to them. And no, “it can be crazy” is not a sufficient warning. A comfortable mix of sexes is recommended (more women is better though), and we encourage you to introduce those unfamiliar to the practice, in order to help spread the joy (or laughter as the case may be)
• Activities- There are no set activities such as “easter egg hunts” or “trimming the tree” or anything like that, although there are few dictates that must be adhered to, or at least strongly suggested in order to make it a “proper” Festival.
  • Someone MUST get nekid at some point. This one is irrefutable. The person in question is not set, although we would hope that any practicing Heathen would jump at the chance. After all, Festival is the celebration of the beginning of Nude season, and if no one gets nekid, its not much of a celebration, now is it. Call yourself Mormons and go home. In theory, one goal of Festival would be for it to be a newcomer, fully embracing our ways for the first time (not the first time nekid, just at a Heathen event). Your drunken creepy Grandpa Leo would not make a good choice, obviously, but for a party goer that has spent the time to ask questions and come to gain a small understanding of the Heathen ways, and want to accept a part of us into their heart (their bed is a whole different thing).
  • If games are played, they should be Midget Games. Should you not have Midgets available to you, most games are easily converted. Recognizing that in Heathen times, people were much shorter (where at 5′11″ you were a giant among men), it is important to honor them by subtly changing the most standard things today. We figure it equals out to about 9 inches to the modern Foot. So that 8 foot volleyball net, lower it to 6 feet and you’re golden. Horseshoes, move the stakes closer and use smaller horseshoes. Baseball, go with wiffleball (doesn’t fly as far) and shorten the baselines. Playing with a beer in hand also inhibits your ability to play (as does the beer), so this only reflects the limitations placed upon our smaller fore-bearers, and therefore encouraged. These rules can be applied to any game, and we encourage you to search out new ones to convert. Also in order to inhibit the competitive advantages of people of stature, physical contact is allowed, with the “no blood no foul” ruling applied, especially in games where it would seem tricky to apply (volleyball, tennis, etc). Nudity, while not applying to the “physical contact” rules, can go either way. While it does inhibit playing ability, especially when involving jumping or sliding, the cost can be quite painful. Though it does give women quite an advantage if they are nekid (and again jumping). We leave that one up to your sado-masochistic designs and willing players. It is not necessary. One rule that must apply to all games, NO TOUCHING THE NET. Even if there is no net, still not allowed to touch it.
  • It is also important to note that “Lawn Darts” are not allowed in any form what-so-ever, UNLESS, you have the classic, original, pure and unchanged, possible injury and/or death inducing, Spiked Metal Lawn Darts we all loved in our youth. Their banishment from society cruelly reflects the same discrimination and persecution that Heathens suffered, and hence no substitute, family friendly, safe to the point of not being fun, polite society acceptable Pussy Dart should ever be allowed to even appear at Festival (build your own types can be found here). Zic-Zac and its current knockoffs are acceptable, provided the curving “drunk” ball is used.
  • If it does rain, and you are all forced inside (or were inside to begin with), we recommend Crokinole, if you can get it together in time. Wii games or Balance boards are lots of fun, provided people are drunk enough, and you have a someone qualified to perform first aid.
  • Water activities are also highly encouraged. Not only because they are fun, and actually help induce nudity, but also provide a cover for all of us not suffering from “permanent micro climates“, an excuse for any “shrinkage” we might be suffering, considering its supposed to be the start of Nude Season, and “its cold” shouldn’t apply in theory. If pools or hot tubs are unavailable to you, Slip and Slides are nice cheap alternatives, though not so good for doing nude.
• Food - As with most gatherings of friends, food is a sweet accent, that soft hue that can color the memory of the day.  It also provides a focal point for which unfamiliar participants to gather around, strike up conversations, a set off that spark that becomes a deep friendship lasting many years.  Also it provides a good source of energy, so that the party can last longer, vital absorption ability to prevent vomiting, and striking colors and texture for said vomiting when it pass beyond the point of all help.  It should also be kept in mind that Heathens are family, a tribe, a group bound to one another, so if one suffers, we all do.  Therefore, in-order to ensure that Festival does not cause undue stress or burden upon any single member, ALL members and attendees are encourage to share in providing the food, booze and any additional items (like massage oil) that the party might require.  Heathens may be willing to carry you on their back through a desert, but that doesn’t mean you get to ride for free.  So while you are shopping at the mini mart on the way to the party, here’s a few things to keep in mind.
  • FIRE must be used to cook.  Let go of your modern ties of your infrared heating cyber cooker or Electrolux convection oven, and surrender to that part of your soul that is still entranced by the soft whispering flicker of a flame singing with each teardrop of impurity that falls upon it.  I’m talking bonfire, Bar-B-Que, Fire breathing midget, or other potential fire bomb you can come up with.  Steak, Hamburger, Chicken, Pork, Shrimp, Sweet Corn, or even Vegetable shishkabob (with a nice orange honey glaze) if you are so inclined(or impaired).  I don’t care if you have to cook cocktail wienies over a tiki torch, or smash up you grandmothers rocking chair and roast a marshmallow, FIRE must be used at some point.  THIS is irresolute.  And no, a birthday candle in a cupcake does not count.
  •  Similarly, Salads are Forbidden (even if you set it on fire).  Honestly, with a bunch of nekid guys running around, do you really want to hang around awaiting the inevitable “Toss my salad” jokes?  At least this applies to the vile leafy green rabbit chow that some insidious corporate scientist has convinced the nation that they require it.  In deference to various female counter parts (and womanly Meds), it has been deemed that “salads” of the potato, egg, and pineapple variety be allowed, as it helps them continue some tradition that their mothers had bestowed upon them one twisted year.  In no way necessary, but allowable, as long as it isn’t green.
  • Snacks of all types are allowed, and encouraged.  They especially make for convenient and safe “donations” for new participants, and are easily picked up at any store for last minute purchases.  Homemade goodies are better, but all sweet and salty types are welcome.
  • Along with the food, Booze should also be supplied by the various party goers.  Beer is the default universal beverage, but as this is no “standard” gathering, higher quality types are encouraged.  As these are more expensive, we would recommend buying a lessor amount, just having more people buy it.  Wine, hard alcohol, mixers, etc are fine if you have a particular desire, but as it might not be shared by all, make sure you also bring something else (booze or food) that everyone can enjoy.  Also keep in mind that whatever booze you bring should be open to all, and you need to be prepared to see the $100 bottle of whiskey disappear quickly, so cheaper stuff is usually better, unless you can afford it.  To avoid that, we recommend Margaritas, where you can use cheaper Tequila (unless you are Gilgemesh) and still have a damn fine drink.  It is also perfect for the ancient though seldom seen practice of the Heathen upside down margarita shots if you have the hot tub and breasty woman available to administer it properly.
  • Drinking alcohol is not…required at Festival, just recommended.  The desire to wash your eyes out with cleansing alcohol, or to drink away the pain and memory of having seen your friend’s drunken mother running around nekid will become more apparent throughout the night.  Plus, as perceptions are clouded and some of us look better when we are fuzzy, you only help your fellow Heathens the drunker you are.  But for those party goers that are brave and Masochistic enough to desire to remain sober, suitable refreshments must be insured for them.  Bottle water can be enjoyed by all, so that is a staple, and comes in very handy for washing out stains, waking people up, and just general warding off of the hangover demons.
  • Ice is a highly important item that is often forgotten and only becomes apparent once you run out half way through the party, so careful planning is necessary.  If, as in certain areas, the only local place for you to be able to buy ice is the local Jiggly room (Nudie bar for the uninitiated), double the planning is required.You will probably have to make multiple runs through out the day(via sober driver) and well ahead of any ice meltdowns, since as we all know, they only allow you to buy one bag at a time, and are in no rush to help you, so it can take a good half hour each trip (no matter how ugly, old, and how many prosthetic body parts the dancers might have).
• Finally, when planning your party, be sure to factor in crash space for the percentage of guests that will not be up to driving home that night and only invite accordingly, or wisely, by having a few set sober drivers preplanned.  All guests should be allowed whatever time the need to sober up before driving(even if you have to take their keys), and checked before they depart.  Don’t let a celebration turn into a tragedy.  The world isn’t going anywhere, and your floor serves no purpose at night, so better to let a friend sleep it off on it.  Besides, then you can make them buy you breakfast in the morning.

That’s it, you should be set and able to take these guidelines and have a fully honorable and long talked about, but largely forgotten, Festival of your own.  But I would like to make one last suggestion.  Your entire life is but a collection of a few random seconds of truly pure and meaningful moments.  It is not sitting in traffic, or meeting a sales quota, or hours on the couch or even time spent reading this blog.  Its those few precious breaths that carry their own soundtrack, that exist only for a heartbeat, and with the next blink of your eye, shift to something else.  Find that moment within Festival, and although you might forget everything else, remember that beat for all time.  Whether its the 2 AM laughter of old friends recounting memories, fireworks reflected in a loved one’s eyes, teaching your buddy’s kid to pee on a tree, or seeing that really cool chick who you never thought would show up walk in the door, capture it, and treasure it.  Write it down, take a pic (if its of a nekid girl, send it to us), repeat it in your head over and over, carve it into your arm with a butter knife, just don’t lose it, for it will carry you for years to come.  This is one of the underlying truths of Heathenism, and should never be forgotten.

 And just think, once Festival is passed, only a few short months till EdFest.  What you don’t know about Edfest??? Oh what this world has come to…..

•  Just because you drop some Swedish Fish into a puddle of rain water, doesn’t mean they’ll swim away, no matter how pretty it looks.
• This Traffic Jam would be seriously annoying, if it wasn’t for all the gasoline fumes in my car.  Instead its just kind of …….purple-y.
• Perfect demonstration of, as Benjamin Linus said, “Fate is a fickle bitch”.  You study and train hard, and get to be a helicopter pilot, flying fast and free up in the sky, only to end up spending all day hovering over traffic jams for the news.
• Your status with me:  While I would cross the street to pee on you if you were on fire, I’m not sure I’d pee on you to heal a jellyfish sting.  And I pee on alot of things…
• Sometimes its not a matter of seeing the forest through the trees, or the trees in the forest.  Sometimes its just about seeing that single flower/deer/trickling waterfall that’s right in front of you, that’s the whole point of tromping through the forest in the first place.  Me??  I see pink elephants stomping on corporate raiders while fighting off a zombie horde in a blood red rain at sunset, but that’s besides the point.
• The funny thing about time is, it’s by far the cheapest and easiest thing to give to someone, and yet, to the receiver its often one of the most precious and meaningful things you can give.  A gift of a just heartbeats and shallow breaths, and yet all we can think of are excuses as to why we don’t have enough to give, until its too late and we run out, and then all we ask for is, more.
• Considering, in Japan, you now need a special ID card in order to buy cigarettes (to prove you are old enough), and yet not for the beer they sell in vending machines, I’m doubly convinced that nicotine helps prevent consumer zombie-ism.
• The only time I’ll EVER be considered “the bigger man”, is if I’m compared to Med, and I’m fine with that.
• What is my wife doing all day while I’m at work, that requires a Dust Buster in the bathroom?  Is there a new attachment that I don’t know about, or are her legs not that silky smooth naturally?
• My whole goal in writing, is to NOT write something that forces me to sleep on the couch for a few nights.  Unless I just bought a REALLY good X-Box game, then I’ll just make some shit up.
• Sometimes, in our search to find ourselves, we lose the people that know us the best.
• Sometimes talking to you is like getting dog kisses from my puppy after he licks his own ass.

Hey, I warned you they were random, and I never said I was sane.

As varied as are the things that friendships develop from, such as poker games, late night drunken binges, sports teams, bar fights, TV shows, ex’s, dogs, the paternal classic “I stood up to the school bully and we became friends after that”, school alumni’s, certain annual parties, or even particular low cut outfits; there is no rhyme or reason as to why they happen, and cannot be forced. No amount of shared interests, invitations to hangout, offers to buy a round, or concert tickets can magically make a friendship happen (even though they can sometimes get you laid). Now, I’m not talking about the 1,736 “friends” you have on Myspace, or the famous guy who is a friend of a friend of a friend that you happened to meet once, but name drop to impress a girl, but the kind that you would fight an army for, rob a bank, or stay up all night with, just cause they had a bad day and needed some company. The deeper more meaningful types are brewed from a more mysterious and fickle pool. Like the old saying goes, “Friends help you move, True Friends help you move bodies”. A true friendship, as I view it, is a wholly intimate affair, often deeper and stronger then the various other relationships we involve ourselves in. It crosses traditional gender roles, without fear of being considered “gay” or “just interested in sex”(for opposite sex friendships, though sex sometimes plays a role, it is usually secondary). Friends are the ones that we share everything with, things we wouldn’t tell our priests, our significant others, our teddy bears, and sometimes, even afraid to admit to ourselves. Beyond all the talk about sports, beer, cars, (or on the feminine side) fashion, jewelry, TV shows, etc, are the more personal moments. We tell them all about the person we are involved with, what they did that was so stupid the other night, why we are mad at them (even though we don’t tell them), what sexual peculiarities they have, or even why we are in love with them so (again, even though we don’t tell them). We discuss who we have slept with, would like to sleep with, and which same-sex person we had a sexual dream about (well sometimes we do, well not WE meaning me, since I don’t have those types of dreams, but some of “us” do). They hear every detail of our own personal demons, fears, embarrassing stories(ex. sharting), genital shortcomings , money problems, or about that “surprise” we brought back from Tijuana. We are often more comfortable crying in front of our friends, then our significant others, just as we are more likely to laugh at ourselves, where it would be upsetting in front of our loved ones. Hell, we’ll even discuss our marriage plans with a friend, before we discuss it with the person we are involved with, and trust their opinion more then our own. Our friends are the first ones to notice when we are in love, or upset about something, often before we realize it ourselves. They are the first to console us when things go bad, and cheer us when things go well, to shine the spotlight on us when we deserve it, and try to distract the audience when we are making a drunken ass of ourselves. They help keep our ego’s in check when it gets to high, and will watch our backs even when we deserve an asskicking (in order to kick our asses themselves, out of love, of course). They “take one for the team” and step into the pitch, even when it means getting hit in the crotch (well at least they are supposed to, some try to deflect the pitch to another player, but at least they are in the game). We are more likely to fight and hate our own family then our friends, and they are usually the ones we’ll turn to first. They outlast countless relationships, jobs, locations, or stages of life, but even as strong as they are, they too can be broken

Friendships, like any relationship, are a two way street. Sure, one party can be more dedicated and committed into making it work then the other, but it still takes two people to make it work, and when it ends, it can be just as ugly as any divorce. Considering the fact that when you are friends with someone, you’ll usually laugh about actions they do, actions that you would punch someone in the face for if you had just met them, for something to bring an end to a friendship, you would think it would be pretty severe, but like chinese black magic, it always starts with something small. And just like that magic spark that causes a friendship to begin, so too are the things that cause a friendship to disintegrate. Distance, work, life, death, marriage, divorce, kids, seeing each other too little, seeing each other too much, political affiliations, restraining orders, buying a foreign car, finding religion, losing religion, turning japanese, addictions, sobriety, people we date, sleeping with someone your friend was dating, sleeping with someone your friend used to date, sleeping with someone besides us, money, even just “growing apart” have all been the ruin of one friendship or another. Its hard to comprehend calling up one of your friends one day, and them just telling you its over, you just can’t be friends anymore, but that’s usually how it happens, only, unlike any romantic relationship, no pretense of remaining friends afterwards (cause that would kind of be ironic). Its hard to accept that one person can hold that power over the relationship, that an arbitrary decision can end something years in the making, without repute, or even explanation, but when one party decides it, no amount of breakup sex/beers will fix it. In a romantic relationship, one would hope there would be warning signs, fights, crying, screaming matches, cheating, boiled bunnies, vehicular assaults, etc, but in a friendship, its often out of left field. Just something that’s been building over time, gone unspoken over many beers, until one day something just snaps, and one side decides to end it. And while the breakupper-er(?) can usually walk away clean, secure in their finding a right path in their life, it’s usually the others in a group of friends that have to deal with the aftermath. Sure there maybe crying, cursing, and pleads of reasons why that they just don’t have answers to, but it gets all the more difficult then the initial survey would show. Months of trying to balance time between the two parties, showing no greater loyalty from one to the other. Trying to see both sides of the equation, while not taking sides, and being sure not to add to the issues. The Breakee, always asking what the Breakupper is up to, while you can even mention the Breakee, or the things you do together, in front of the Breakupper, unless its to give them some false sense of righteousness, or ease their guilt. Then problems arise when parties are being planned, and decisions to be made about who gets invited when. Eventually everyone gets fed up, and it turns into an intervention, and then a mass brawl. Its a small split the can end up causing a mountain of friendships to crumble down. Sides end up being taken, and lines drawn in the sand, and what was once thought so mighty, can easily shatter like glass. Hopefully, when the dust settles, and if some awkward beers are shared, you can begin again, but that’s a path that you have to walk together.

My point? Actually I have none. This is just one of the long random rambles that I’m prone to, one which hopefully my friends understand and appreciate about me. If a reader thinks its about them, then I assure you its not, just something that’s been brewing awhile, brought on by a Sitcom (a damn fine one though), and a thought that wouldn’t leave my head. Perhaps its a call for others to reexamine who they think of as their friends, and consider how tight those bonds are, how you use the word, and the appreciation of what you have. A dedication to friends that I’ve lost along the way, that no matter how things ended, I enjoyed the time we had. Or it could be a warning, to any friendships that might develop in the future, be sure to bring your helmet, cause chances are it’ll be a bumpy ride.

Oh yeah, and Med, can I borrow $50?? In the name of friendship, of course.

     I quickly bypassed the folders marked “Monkeys peeing“, and “bicycle butts“, some invoice for “Bonerol” (which was odd, since his dog is a female, but whatever), and came across something that really caught my eye (and no it wasn’t this woman).  It was a folder containing a couple of articles about “reclaiming your foreskin“.  Now all jokes about Med’s size issues (and despite references to him of being “hung like a field mouse”, and his staunch position that his shaven legs cause a “micro-climate“, causing him to forever be cold in that area; nor my attempts to help him by telling people that he had an “incident” in the Congo with a man wearing a gold ring, causing people to say such things as “Just yesterday here, there was a man who was a victim. We saw. What was left was tiny”), it started me thinking (about the idea, not Med’s Junk).  I quickly copied the files and emailed them to myself, just as Med came out of the bathroom.  We sat and chatted about politics, TV, Video Games, etc (all the while with him tugging at his pant leg, or as he said “knee brace necessitated by his jogging”) until I sobered up enough to go home and really dig into these articles.

      Now I was snipped as a child, and never thought about it since.  Its just how “things” were, and it worked fine and did a good job as far as I knew, so why should I care?  Not being accustomed to even looking at, and comparing other guys stuff in a locker room (I was too busy trying to stare through the wall into the girl’s locker room), I never noticed any differences between other kids and I.  Any possible “shunning” or ridicule I might have received as a child was usually do to other things (having long hair and drawing a pentagram on your forehead in catholic school tends to do that).  In fact, I think the first time I fully even noticed a “turtleneck sweater guy” was in my teenage years, when I saw “Lust in Space“.  Even then it didn’t strike me as all that important, of course my attentions were “elsewhere” at the time.  The next time it even came up, was when my son was born in New Zealand, where the doctors refused to do it, despite our wishes.  “Just not done there” was pretty much their reasoning behind it (among other things), with the only option offered being to declare him Jewish, and have a Rabbi perform a bris.  We didn’t, and all it taught me was, as hard as it is to teach a kid how to wipe their own ass properly, getting them to clean “under the hood” without cleaning it “too much” to the point of enjoyment, is an entirely different world.

     One of the reasons they put forth for going for the “turtle” look as opposed to “asparagus” is for the Sexual Sensitivity it improves.  Now I don’t know about the other side, but I think my sensitivity is just fine (or as my wife puts it “aroused by a warm breeze or a busty woman sneezing”).  In fact, I have to distract myself through imagery and concentration in order to provide a fully satisfying experience for others, else I would most likely “pop” too soon (yes dear, its because you are THAT good).  And while the “3 minute rule” sounds good to my aging and increasingly lazy body, convincing my wife of that is a different story.  If my sensitivity were to increase by even 10%, my wife might file for divorce for “sexual cruelty”, and the words “well, I came” doesn’t make a good defense.  Frankly, I just don’t even want to imagine anything worse then the standard “dead puppies/old nuns” (what?  doesn’t everyone do that?) type of things I use now to increase my “time in”.  Which in the end, is really what its all about isn’t it?  The longer I last, the more pleasure I get (and hopefully, give).  Prolonged is always better then a short burst, right?  At least according Mister “long distance runner but slow sprinter” Med, it is.  Of course, getting to sleep sooner does sound nice these days….

        Please understand, my viewpoint, as skewed as it is, is in no way meant to diminish, or underplay the countless tragedies and hardships the Jewish people have endured over time, but is merely showing how I have taken their lessons and applied them into my own life.  Seder is primarily a lesson of how the Jewish people overcame such great adversities, through their faith in God, and his love for them, and to remind us how his love can help us today.  Since my God, and my faith differ, it is merely a transposing of those lessons, that make it add up so perfectly.  My God, is merely love; the love of family, the love of friends, and the love of those most dear to our hearts (the love of porn is a different animal).  There is no greater heaven than to be surrounded by such love, and is that not what we all attain to in this world, a momentary promised land for the life weary.  For no matter what we may achieve in life, however great or small, what does it matter without those we love to share it with.  All through the great and petty hardships we deal with every passing day, we are sustained, through the love and support of those closest to us, by a word, a touch, or just the mere fact that they are there to endure along with us.  Even the simple mementos of our past times, whispering voices in our head, or solitary phone calls in the middles of the night, are the answers to our prayers, our unspoken pleas for help, reminders of what we are fighting for.

        How we, as group celebrate Seder, is the prime example of these truths.  We take such a solemn event, and through each other’s company (and large amounts of wine) take these remembrances of tragedy, and learn to laugh through them, and take comfort in each other.  We perform these ceremonies to help build our faith in religion, to in fact bring us closer to God.  In those moments we spend together, we are tightening the bonds between us, increasing the love we all share.  We create memories, finding the time to reconnect with each other, to express our love for each other, to extend that hand which might have been forgotten.

Seder is usually overseen by the elders of a group, in theory, those closest to God, those we attain to be one day.  In my view, it still is, those elders being Gilgepops and Gilgemom, and that God being the love of a couple carrying them throughout the days of this world, a goal all of us share.  In deeper pools, does not God embrace all those that would have Him, aid all those willing to accept his help?  It has been my experience that every group of friends when growing up, have at least one set of parents that accept everyone, make our problems their own, their love ours, hands ever outreached to aid us in our journey, and as we grow older and breed ourselves, it is our hope to turn into those very same parents for our own children and their friends.   Every one of us, at one point in time, have found them stretching out a hand, an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, or a bed to sleep in.  They offer these things willingly, because of their love of us; just as God would for those he loves.  Seder is also traditionally the time when elders are to reach out to those that have lost their faith, and help bring them back into the fold.  Taking that lesson, we often extend invitations outward, to people we know that seemingly have become lost, left feeling a little empty from the relationships born of work groups, sports teams, or Myspace pages.  We welcome them into a world of deeper bonds, provided they survive the jarring journey that our gatherings generally involve (if you saw Gilgemesh nekid, you’d understand).

But alas, I’ve parted from the true subject, back to Seder.  We discuss all the obstacles, persecutions, and trials that the Jewish people went through in their time in Egypt, and in life we as people, our friendships, our loves, go through a great many pains (again not trying to diminish), and like God, it is our love for each other sees us through.  Almost daily new weights are added to our shoulders, making life seem so much harder to bear, to cloud our eyes from what it’s all for.  And it is through those times that our love is tested, appears far more distant, an ethereal element we have lost grasp of, until the voice, the hand, the smile of that love shines through, and grows ever stronger, raising us up so much higher.  At one time I could even match up the plagues with mirror images (greed, hastily spoken words, jealousy, loss, etc), but that was merely an exercise in artistic fancy, and has no place here. We taste their tears, eat of their bitter food, all in remembrance of what pains they suffered, what little they had to sustain them.  In our lives, we have shed many painful tears, had times when there seemed nothing to give us the courage to go on, when there seemed no salvation to our plights, but it is through our love of each other, each others out stretched hands, unspoken sympathies, beers on moonless nights, that helped us to strive on. Many Jews have been lost throughout time due to the evils of others; the evils of life itself, just as we have lost loved ones, suffered shattered friendships, or just found gaping canyons where gentle paths once stood.  In those moments when we remember those lives lost/ those friendships broken, that their lives/those happy times, gain immortality, those pains gain reason.

  Even in the empty seat left for one foretold to come, I find reflections of my heart.  For there is always the loved one for whom we hope to return to us, the one we feel can ease our burdens, or simply wish to see again.  The Jews gathered this night, and marked their doors to protect their first born from deaths icy grasp.  And we as a group gather, our laughter marking our doors, declaring to life, that our love will not be broken this night.

        I have forever been fond, during gatherings of friends, to raise a toast at those most joyous of times, in remembrance to those that have gone before, to those not with us that night. But it is just as necessary to remember those that remain, that still see us through day to day.  Just as it is important it is to remind ourselves of all those that got us to this point, it is just as important to remember those that are still by our side, and carry us into tomorrow.  This is what Seder has become to me, a declaration to life; that all the love I have known, and share with those this night, shall continue to light my way, no matter how dark it may seem at times, and why I gladly participate in this celebration that would seem so alien to me, and yet, is a deeper part of me than even I realized.

Now lets get that stick, that beat the dog, that ate the cat, that humped the sheep, that ate the pants, that I took off while in the hot tub, that Gilgepops bought for 2 zuzum’s.

1.  Be a 12 year old with a voice pitched higher then a soprano who got kick in the groin.  I know this is a bit out of your control, but trust me, it helps immensely if you can swing it (although if you’re 12, you should be reading this blog, Go to your Room).  Maybe bring in your nephew or someone just to get in the first few kills.  Their preferred method of operation seems to be memorizing the map(either d/l’d off the Internet, or read about in a cheat book), where all the best weapons or snipe spots are, then upon spawning (appearing), immediately run to that spot and wait.  Sooner or later I’ll come walking by, most likely following a fleeting movement I saw (which was in fact the guy in front of me getting killed by these kids) and I’ll head right for your sights.  BAM, I’m dead.  Of course now I know where you are, so what do I do???  I run right back to that spot, determined to make you pay for killing me, where you’ll kill me again, in the exact same manner.  Which makes me even angrier, and more determined, and apparently dumber, as I’ll once again run that same path, right into your sights.  Again.  And so, the carcasses of my follies past lay atop each other in an ever increasing pile, till the timer runs out and you win the round, by killing me personally 47 times (as opposed to the other players that learned to avoid you and were only killed once or twice).  Upon returning to the lobby, you act cordial enough, except for a few slips of “ownage” and “noob” (terms that make me totally lose respect for anyone over 15) between discussing the new Pokemon game with the other children online (and at 2:30 AM of all times!), but your young voice leaving me only able to utter a small grunt as my mind, trying to comprehend getting killed by someone almost a third my age, debates whether to try and sound like a girl, or speak in a made up language just to save face.  If you don’t have a youngling available to you, or can’t get your voice that high, perhaps you should try strategy #2

2.  Be a racist, foul mouthed twitch without any regard for any kids that might be playing (and stealing your kills of me).  Be sure to have Kid Rock, or some classic rock blasting in the background, that you can sing along too, including guitar riffs, loudly into your microphone, totally obscuring any in-game sounds.  They actually have it pretty easy.  Simply wait for me to walk by, then follow.  Wait for me to get a little cocky by killing a guy or two, then get real close and blast me.  Seems I never look behind me.  This is easily accomplished simply by spawning right behind me (especially in COD 4), though how you can get the game to do that, I’m not sure, but it happens far too often not to be intentional.  Now here is where it gets tricky.  If someone should manage to kill you, you MUST call them “gay” or a “fag” repeatedly.  No simple, “you bastard” or simple one time “fag” is acceptable.  It must be repeated over and over and over, as in “God your gay.  Are you Gay??  You are totally gay.  Gay. Gay. Gay.  Dude, you;re so Gay.”   All in one shot, almost one long run on sentence.  Personally, I’m not sure how getting beaten BY a gay person actually makes things more acceptable to these folks, but their insistence on it seems to make their world right again.  Perhaps they are used to being a bottom or something.  But this does have the desired affect of giving me tunnel vision, determined to hunt you down and beat you with a rifle butt, which means, I don’t see you walking behind me, aiming at me, shooting me, etc.  If you can’t force yourself to be that closed mind, homophobic, or sheep loving, then the other 2 choices might be a bit easier.

3.  Just wait until we are in the “between match” lobby, where I, being tired of having to hear the shrill calls of “man, you just got pwned”, and “Jeffy, can you help me out on an achievement and let me kill you….” or the aforementioned “Man, you are so Gay”, will slip outside my house to grab a quick smoke.  The moment I walk away, chances are the game will launch at a lightning fast speed and throw all players directly around me, offering free sniper practice as I do my best mannequin imitation, taking a bullet from every player.  Meanwhile, my physical body is outside, inhaling deeply, and contemplating a strategy beyond running around and getting shot multiple times (as opposed to the current “standing still and getting shot” that is happening while I smoke, none the wiser).   Upon returning, and seeing the I am so far behind, I will completely and utterly panic.    This involves me cursing, screaming at the TV, and running around, not paying attention to anything, and getting shot.  Shot from behind.  Shot by the kid camping.  Shot by mothers interested in what their kids doing, and playing for the first time.  Shot by your neighbor’s friend’s dog.  Shot, shot, shot, shot, shot.  This of course, increases my panic, increases the calls of “loser”, “suckage”, and conversely, praising of my sexual prowess, since I’m not killing anyone, and therefore NOT gay, and ultimately making me really, really need a smoke the next time I’m in the Lobby.

4.  If by some strange twist of fate, you were having your own troubles that last match, or stuck on the other side of the match or something, just wait till the next round.  Eventually, my wife, disturbed by all the cursing, screaming, stomping, crying, and large clouds of smoke billowing up outside our bedroom window, will come downstairs to see what I’ve set on fire.  Finding no flames, she will then decide it is time to start discussing “why I’m playing the game if it upsets me so?”  She will also do this “discussing” as I’m trying to sight a quick moving target with my sniper scope, FINALLY about to get a kill (and maybe, hopefully, be accused of being gay).  Seeing that I’m “distracted” by the game, she’ll stand directly in front of the TV, obscuring all view, until I drop the controller and look up into her eyes, and promise to quit the game as soon as the round is done.  To insure this, she will wait ever so patiently and sweetly(with arms crossed and foot tapping), right next to the TV,  significantly frazzling me, encouraging my every death by taunting me and calling me “loser”, until I give up and shut everything off.  To complete my night of loserdom, as I slowly ascend the stairs to our bedroom, head lowered, arms limp, if I am to inquire about perhaps some “bedroom games”, my wife will simply reply, “No loser, you’re not gay enough.”

 See, its all that simple.  Pick your strategy, adjust your voice, and see you on the battlefield.  I’ll be the one dying, alot.

•     Take Judaism.  There’s interest to be found in even the most Orthodox of their faith, Like this Rabbi that interviews Porn stars for Mr Skin.  Well, I have enough trouble with English, not to mention Japanese, much less having to learn more Hebrew then I need to get through Seder, so I’ll still have to pass.
• There are good Christian churches out there, with good leaders, unfortunately they all seem to have to run out to Best Buy to fix their computers, then up end in Ohio, in a strip club.  Oh well, I guess I’ll have to pass on that one, though I’d like to know what’s on his PC.  At least he wasn’t getting a Table dance like this guy.
• Perhaps I should fall into that all too American realm, and idolize sports stars.  Trouble is, the only time the seem to want to talk to someone, is in a library or Stairwell.

Oh well, I guess I’ll have to continue my search…..