You're Entitled to Your Opinion, No Matter How Wrong It May Be

We have this goldfish named Fillet. At this very moment, he is in the aquarium next to me, swimming from one side of his tank to the other and back again, over and over and over. It's like he's an Olympic swimmer doing laps.

All I keep thinking is "Goddamn, Fillet. You're an idiot. Would you please relax?" Then I realize, there are a lot of people like Fillet, and sometimes I'm one of them.

Yesterday, a bright friend of mine brought an atrocity to my attention: a book was being used to brainwash seemingly impressionable children. Since I couldn't possibly reach all those children in time to fit them with aluminum foil hats, I dared enter the den of the brain washers themselves.

Before we go further on this blog post, it needs to be explicitly noted that I do not begrudge anyone their religious beliefs, or any other beliefs for that matter. I subscribe to the school of thought that everyone has a right to their opinions and preferences, and as long as no one tries to impose their lifestyle or belief system on me, my world is spinning in greased grooves.

My issue is when people try to manipulate easy prey, or are themselves intolerant. Case in point, the dastardly behavior of the zealots and lackies who were pushing their brain washing epistle on tykes.

The literary drivel in question featured a lovable dinosaur and a furry little monkey taking a guided tour through the Grand Canyon where they found the bible and its teachings. It hurts just thinking about it.

Since when did monkeys and dinosaurs start vacationing together, and why must they accept Jesus Christ as their savior? Is there a dinosaur hell and no one ever told me?

Attempting to patronize children with such brain-poison is ludicrous. Anyone who has children knows how intuitive they can be, and how suspicious they are of "lessons" being imparted with the subtlety of a flame thrower. Children are not going to read this book and think "gee whiz, I should go read the bible." If they're anything like my kids, they're going to read the book and be disappointed because, at no time did the monkey fling poo at an unsuspecting dinosaur.

I remember as a kid, someone gave me a stack of Archie comic books. We didn't have comic books at home, so this was a big deal to me. No sooner did I begin reading them, I realized these were not legitimate Archie comic books at all, but rather pseudo-Archie comic books trying to shove religion down my throat. I was a kid and I was appalled, not merely by the transparently offensive attempt to trick me into buying into some message, but also by the fact that now there was no way Archie was ever going to have sex with both Veronica and Betty, because he'd probably have to get married before he'd have sex, and therefore be forced to make an "either/or" choice. I was never able to look at Archie, Jughead, Moose or the rest of the gang the same way again.

Not only did I not fall prey to the author's mind control, but I actually had a strong desire to shun this and any other religious suggestion. Most children probably foster the same contempt for such manipulation, and will do the exact opposite of what is being suggested.

So why produce this book at all, if it's not going to elicit the desired result?

We entered an on-line discussion group to find the answer to that question, and we were greeted with hostility and intolerance.

Instead of debating the matter, or offering a logical defense for their tactics, the believers attacked us personally, asking how we could be so foolish as to not share their faith, and then instructing us to retreat back to the primordial ooze from which we had crawled. To this, we responded with requests for tolerance and an honest exchange of opinions, but were met flatly with contempt. This behavior was shocking, because at no time did we exhibit any sarcasm or silliness ... well, ... still, they were mean to us.

Fanatics don't do tolerance. Try convincing a staunch conservative to consider a liberal's agenda, or vice versa. Try enticing a militant vegan to taste a cheeseburger. Try getting a zealous Christian to consider an evolution that does not include god, a dinosaur, or a monkey traveling companion. You're suggestion probably won't be considered, discussed, or even tolerated. More than likely, you'll be dismissed as a fool, because zealots believe their opinions are right, and any dissenting opinions are wrong.

Even in the face of such rejection, though, I suspect I will, just like Fillet, continue to bang my head against the partitions that block me in, hoping to break through and find rampant enlightenment among my fellow man. Until then, I'll be drowning in frustration, and striving to protect young, fertile minds from the mind control of various oppressors. First, I need to get my hands on a boat-load of aluminum foil.

Brother, can you spare 10 million dimes?

What's the most addictive commodity known to mankind? Heroin? Meth? Crack? Chocolate? Well, if you ask me, my money is on ... money.

Anybody out there have enough money? I didn't think so.

All our lives we are taught that there are more important things in life than money, but once we leave school and start into our careers, what's the foremost motivator? Money. Oh sure, there will be some people out there who say the work itself is their reward, and that money isn't important to them, but if that was true, they wouldn't collect the salary at all. No matter what Human Resource studies say, money is the reason why people work. If they didn't need money, potential employees would pursue hobbies, or volunteer at clinics.

No one is immune to money. How could they be? Just ask Maslow about his hierarchy of needs. We need it to live, to pay for our food, shelter, clothing, recreational activity, etc. And it seems, the more we get, the more we spend, and then the more we need.

Remember your first car? it was probably a real piece of crap, but you loved it 'cause it was a means toward freedom and independence. As you began to earn money, though, that car was probably replaced with something better, and newer. Ultimately, as time went on, and your earning power improved, you began to buy or lease new cars, and progressively better ones. The same goes for homes, vacations and clothing.

It seems the more money we get, the more money we need, because we elect to purchase better, more expensive things.

Paychecks are most-addictive of all because, unlike win falls, paychecks are gradual, scheduled enablers, like a morphine drip. Gradually, pay-raise-by-pay-raise, promotion-by-promotion, we take on more obligations - mortgages, car payments, spouses, children, pets, the list goes on and on. No matter our intentions, rarely do we find the will to save the extra money we earn. Instead, we adapt our lifestyles to the new flow of cash.

Suddenly, decades later, once we've inflated our standard of living to stupid levels, we realize how precarious our lives have become, how dependent we are upon our current salaries, and how at risk we are if our jobs go away. We all know better-compensated jobs are more difficult to replace than lesser-paying ones, and once that reality hits us, and we recognize the tenuous predicament into which we've gotten ourselves, we start paying pharmaceutical companies for sleep-aids and ulcer medication.

If this economy has taught us anything, it's that excessive consumption is foolish, and excessive leverage can be fatal. But, like heroin dealers, banks and employers encourage us to voluntarily put our necks on the chopping block so they can enslave us. The more debt we assume, the more risk we take, but we seem to be oblivious to that when lenders (banks or credit card providers) throw money at us so we can buy necessities like bigger homes, or motorcycles, or trips around the world. Similarly, employers are always pleased when we improve our standards of living, because then they know we are less likely to leave our jobs.

One employer during my career spent weeks trying to convince me to have children. At that juncture in our lives, my wife and I lived in a humble home and we both worked. My employer saw me as a flight risk and actually told me they'd be more comfortable with me as an employee if I had a family. See? They're heroin dealers - "c'mon, take my product; I'll give it to you for free, for now, until you can't live without it. Then I'll own your soul!!!"

So where's the 12-step program for recovering money-holics? After the last two years of economic futility, how many of us look back and regret our frivolity of the past decade? And for those of us who recognize our problem, how many will remember this when the economy improves, and how many of us will forget and bury ourselves further in debt and insist on buying that 24-carat gold Mercedes Benz Convertible with diamond-encrusted door handles?

This is a conspiracy of the highest order, my friends, and not even aluminum foil hats can protect us when the enemy is within us.

Men and Women, together ... WHY?! Part 1

Why do men and women live together? Certainly, procreation is important (as are the acts leading up to it), but aside from that, why??? We're really incompatible beings. Case in point? Road trips.

This morning, my wife and I loaded the children into the family wagon and embarked on our 100 mile journey home after a week in the mountains. This trip can be made in anywhere from an hour-and-a-half to two-and-a-half-hours, depending on weather conditions, time of day, traffic, and one's tolerance for collecting speeding tickets.

As a male of the species, any road trip in excess of one hour is a time trial - a battle between man, conditions and the clock.

No, there's no prize to be awarded for completing the journey in record time, nor is there any deadline to beat. Once the motor is running, the clock begins ticking, and getting home more quickly than ever before becomes a personal challenge - a chance to set the bar higher so that next time, the challenge can be even greater.

Automotive journeys require a combination of strategy and tactics. Any slower-moving vehicle ahead of us must be passed if it is impeding our pace. Passing requires familiarity with the road, knowing where passing zones are, and where visibility is optimal. Tactically, when the passing zones are at hand, maneuvering around the slower vehicles amidst opposing traffic requires deft moves and nerves of steel.

Fundamentally speaking, once a vehicle is successfully passed it can never be permitted to overtake you in the future. It must disappear into the rearview mirror, never to be encountered again. For this reason, our vehicle can never pull over for a bag of Slim Jims, a fountain soda or, heaven forbid, an impromptu dispensation of urine. Every pit-stop is an opportunity for those behind us to get in front of us; therefore, stopping must be avoided, except under the most-dire of emergencies!

My wife has been taking car trips with me for nearly three decades, and even though the rules have never been discussed, she has inferred from my behavior how such trips transpire - beverages and snacks must be pre-loaded into the cabin, and all human emissions must be dispatched before we depart. Based upon experience, the methods employed during these marathons should not be an issue, unless the free radicals occupying the back seats create some sort of disturbance.

Our youngest is rarely an issue. He can be a distraction, between his portable video games and the excessively loud Kids Bop tunes on his ipod, but all-in-all, he's an intrepid traveling warrior.

His older brother is the real wild card.

Our oldest has never traveled well. He's a human puke machine. Bulimics send him fan mail. Today, ten minutes beyond the mid-point of our journey, our boy loudly "ralphed" into a Wal-Mart bag (which we always keep handy for just such situations). This explosion marked the moment when our well-orchestrated, record-setting jaunt home began to unravel.

I had just passed a slow-moving vehicle, and was on the verge of passing another when my wife insanely suggested I pull over so she could attend to the boy, and secure our new vomitous cargo.

PULL OVER?!!!

If I pulled over, I'd immediately surrender the two positions I had just gained after several minutes of plotting and scheming. Pulling over was not an option. By doing so, I would certainly forfeit my shot at the record, squandering the last hour-plus of strategic/tactical mastery. I couldn't accommodate her. There was no practical basis for doing so.

After pointing out two separate locations on the shoulder where I could have pulled off, my wife realized I was not willing to yield to her absurd request. Resigned to my resolve, she unbuckled herself, turned around in her seat and dealt with the issue at hand, wiping the boy's face, taking control of the bag and tying it off. All the while, she chided me for putting her at risk, and for hitting a bump which splashed a little bit of the yak onto her hands before she could secure the bag.

To me, this was all inconsequential. The situation was manageable, and didn't mandate any sort of detour. I offered encouraging comments to my son, and soldiered on, undaunted, never breaking stride.

The rest of the ride was eerily quiet. At first, I thought my wife had grasped the reality that we may be on the verge of setting a new travel record, and was maintaining cabin serenity so I could concentrate on heel-toeing through the curves, and accelerating when the traffic opened up, but then I began to suspect she was perturbed for some reason. Perhaps what gave her away was her muttering under her breath about smelling vomit, hoping the bag wouldn't leak, and what a juvenile moron I was.

Ultimately, we reached our final destination about twenty minutes slower than the record. Not to make excuses, but the conditions today were less than optimal, and the various distractions that occurred during the trip took their toll. Regardless, the trip was not a failure. I had made a few good passes, had managed some of the hairpin turns with notable acumen, and turned in, if not a record-setting effort, a respectable one.

Overall satisfied with the trip, I shut the vehicle down, closed the garage door, and everyone disembarked.

Once my wife and kids rushed into the house to relieve their bladders, I proceeded to relieve the car of its cargo. When I brought in the first load, I caught my wife's gaze. She was at the kitchen sink, feverishly washing dried vomit off her hands, wrist and sleeve. - fact is, upon reflection, I don't think it was so much a gaze, as a glare. She had stopped talking to me all together by this point, and was completely unreceptive to my titillating attempts to strike-up conversation.

See? There's the problem, incarnate. Even after three decades together, we're really not on the same page.

If my wife had a "y" chromosome, she'd have never suggested I pull over so the family could collect itself after my son's digesting detonation. A male co-pilot would have opened my son's window and instructed him how to throw up out of a moving car ( a lesson that would serve him well when he's college-aged). - no need for a bag, whatsoever!

Then, upon reaching the finish line, we'd reflect upon some of the more momentous incidents from the journey, and either strategize how we could travel more quickly in the future, or anecdotally rejoice over various passes or driving exhibitions.


Women are wired differently. They're just as likely to pull off to the side of the road to take photos of the scenery, or eat a picnic lunch as they are to scramble to manage a liquid belch. When put on the spot, they never seem to recall an individual car that was passed, or a precarious powerslide that placed the vehicle on the verge of plunging into the river.

Men are inherently competitive, and recognize such a trip as an opportunity to beat the clock and perform various feats of driving heroics. Women see it as a chance to spend time together and drink in the surrounding scenery, as if the destination is somehow less important than the journey itself.

There're infinitely more reasons why men and women are ill-suited for co-existing. For today, though, let's file car trips as just another obvious example.

Does the fact that we wear clothes and animals don't mean we're the superior race on the planet, or is it the other way around?

We think we're pretty special, right? After all, we have opposable thumbs. We innovate. We have created art, literature, philosophy, industry, consumerism and houses that big bad wolves can't blow down. We have created alternative means of transportation, and various systems to monitor our uses of it (ie: freaking traffic cops!!!).

Top THAT animal kingdom.

What have the animals produced? Oh sure, beavers create dams, and birds create nests, but monkeys fling poo for goodness sake.

Seems like a pretty open and shut case, but perhaps we're looking at this all wrong.

The animal kingdom is far from perfect, but with the exception of bovine flatulence, I really can't come up with too many ways animals are steering our planet toward an early demise. We, on the other hand, act non-sensically and have screwed this blue marble up beyond all recognition, and are threatening to obliterate it all together.

We produce emissions and waste that is defiling the Earth and the air. We voraciously consume artifical foods that make us fat, then exercise and diet to diminish our girth. We pay to plant grass and eradicate weeds, then we pay to fertilize and irrigate the grass, and then we pay to have it cut it down every week. And instead of going outside and engaging in activities, we turn on the television and watch reality TV. Worst of all, we have created incendiary devices that can vaporize the planet many times over.

Frankly, as the supreme beings on the planet, we're pretty shitty role models.

When's the last time you saw an animal stressed-out about making it's mortgage payment, or buying a new car to compete with the one the neighbors just drove home, or waiting in line for the newest iPad/Pod, etc? Come to think of it, when's the last time you saw one wearing clothes (excluding those poor miserable canines whose owners dress them in silly outfits), or plying a date with alochol and food to get sex?

No wonder the aliens are studying us so intently. They're not trying to enslave us; they're trying to alter our path before we ruin all the good fishing holes!