Jesus Camp $$$$

Is it irony that the Americans who thrive on the so-called War on Terror are not so unlike the extreme Islamists on which the war is supposedly declared?  Or is it scary?  Jesus Camp may be one of the freakiest movies (documentary) I've ever seen.  I'd rather see that little Excorcist girl spin her head and vomit than watch the flopping and moaning and screeching of the bible tykes of Jesus camp.  Becky Fisher, the founder of Jesus Camp, and a good argument for the resurgence of the lobotomy, claims we must infuse the kids with Jesus.  Not the loving Jesus you might be familiar with, but the gay-bashing, warmonger Jesus who's cleaning his sniper rifle outside an obstetrician's office.    

You'll love seeing Ted Haggard teach the kids some of his version of morality.  Not sure if the quickest learners got to pick the gender of their hooker, or if the field trips were all done Ted's way.

Less Rattly and More Smooth

Sarah got back last night and buzzed like a little girl describing Christmas.  There was more exciting news than could fit in practical conversation.   She waved her arms to give me a feel for its size.  Her eyes got big as she plowed into her husband the importance of its proximity.  Sometimes she had to pause to organize the thoughts storming towards their exit.

Super Target  had just opened it's new store mere blocks from our house.

For months she's been my suburban Magellan, bringing back updates from the light rail.

She takes it to work everyday and it runs right past the new shopping center, Riverpoint at something. I don’t know…something about Rivers and Nature and Crossings and there’s a Chiles.

I can see everybody in their power suits, buried in Donald Trump’s latest book or fidgeting with their Blackberry, and my wife with her face pressed against the window, watching convenience sprout from the ground.  One day she even told me she thought the digging and hauling of the earth movers could be put to a ballet.   And somebody would say, “Ma’am, ma’am…I think this is your stop.”

And so it finally happened. While the real gem, Costco, is still a few weeks out, Sarah caught the tail end of Target’s second day. She raved about the wide aisles and the clean displays. The new grocery carts are so beautiful, I am told, that for a moment one might think they are sculptures. Pushing them, it is reported, is like a dream. Describing the fluid motion of the conveyance requires you pause, take in a breath, and then exhale an even breeze whilst pushing away with both hands. It’s not just shopping, it’s Tai Chi, or something so deep and healing that my wife has said she'll work weekend nights just to fully savor the experience.

I can understand.  Englewood used to be home to the world's largest shopping mall, but then Minneapolis' Mall of America stole our thunder, and Cinderella City came crashing down.   Today, Englewood's city council has banners promoting our  "125 Great Shops".  That might be true if you wanted clothing for your cat, a vacuum from one of our two vacuum specialty stores, or a shotgun from a dizzying array of pawn shops.  Oh, and you can buy a thing to put your weed in from a head shop the size of a Bennagins.

We do have a Walmart and a Ross, but we only used to go there to feel better about our odds as decent parents.   And if you could imagine our new city center as polished tile, the Walmart would be that place behind the toilet you rarely deign to clean.

So here's the sign that has my wife celebrating shopping carts that move like apparitions.  Soon she'll be pantomiming the near indescribable hugeness of Costco. 
This is what we have for now.  To see what used to be there, and what we did with our time BQ, click here.

It’s week two without my cellular

I cancelled it because I thought I was wasting too much time talking on the phone. Now I spend a lot of time caressing myself.

The other day I was in a hurry to meet my wife. I was thinking I needed to get a hold of her to tell her I would be late, when I suddenly found myself stopped in busy pedestrian traffic, alternately patting my buttocks and pawing my thighs. That’s what I do now. Whenever I’m tardy, I madly grope my pants. Sometimes I even run my hands across my chest. It might help to reduce stress.

I’ve got to have a cell phone somewhere, my brain says to my body. But I don’t. I only have concerned mothers pulling their children closer as they pass the lonely man intensely frisking his nethers.

I’ve also experienced phantom vibrations. I think I feel a call coming in, excuse myself from a conversation, and end up in front of bewildered onlookers wondering what I’ll eventually find in my pocket.

How did we even live in 1995? Were there pay phones in the bread aisle? Before ditching my mobile, I never needed a list. I’d leave our house for the store only to call my wife and ask what we needed. Now I have to find someone who looks somewhat healthy and take inconspicuous glances at their grocery cart. I typically don’t have to be too coy as often they’re busy on the phone.

This means I’m going to have start planning. There’s the shopping lists, and I never realized how accustomed I’d become to running late. But it didn’t matter as long as I gave the waiting party a quick call. And that’s what people always say, “I’m not mad you’re late, I just wish you would have called.” The silver lining here is that I’ve been surprising a lot of old friends with quick stops to use their phone. Sometimes they say, “Come by anytime, just make sure to call.” So I’ll have to create a network of people who I can call to say I’ll be by to use their phone to call the people waiting for me to call.

So going cell-less won’t be too awful, as long as when you see some guy tugging at his jeans in the street, you let him in to use your phone.

Decaf diet offset by adrenaline breakfast

I knew Jim shouldn't have said what he said.  I didn't know it would lead to me stabbing myself in the nipple, but it just seemed like a bad omen.  As I pulled away from the plastics shop he lamented, "You get to drive the new truck before me!"  I wouldn't think of a comeback for another few miles.  (for the record: "it's good to have a  more competent driver test it")

A few miles after that I was merging onto I-25.  I was running out of lane space when I glimpsed my moment to get over.  About right then some prick in a little car most likely bought after several sweaty viewings of the Fast and the Furious, cut me off.  I had to stop before I hit the guy ahead of me.   I could see the dude in the truck behind me still looking out his window for a break in traffic.  All I could do is sit there and wonder how much it was going to hurt.  I was actually a little jealous that he didn't even get to see it coming.  But then, possessed with equal parts goodness and agility, Randy, as I'd later find out his name, turned his head just in time to avoid me.  He was even so gracious as to ram his truck into the concrete barrier.  

He was OK.   His driving and bowel control are above average.  The truck needs some work.

Anyway, later, I was back at the shop unloading sheets of plastic.  I don't know if you know this, but plastic is fricken sharp.  Because of this I've tried to curb my caffeine.  It makes me all herky-jerky and I hurt myself.  However, haunted with thoughts of dying on the freeway, I wasn't much better.  The first thing I did was, while aiming to grab the plastic, completely miss the gap between my fingers and opposable thumb, and jam my knuckles into the edge of some 1/4 inch polycarb.  On the 120" inches of its shiny whiteness my blood looked pretty cool.  Like an Andy Warhol American flag.  

Then I bent down to grab my hand, and curse my derailing thousand of years of evolution, and one of the corners stabbed me in the boob, perforating my generous areola. 

It hurt.  And worse was imagining lifting my shirt and having it fall to the floor.  I'm not sure if a lot of people lose nipples, but I imagine you'd look for it like you would a contact lens, but a little more freaked out.  

Luckily, everything is there and intact.  I've been looking at it to ascertain how to explain how it looks.  I don't know, imagine a crop circle on a hair farm, but with a river of lava flowing into the neighboring vegetation.   I hope that works for you.

So I hired this plumber...

Seemed like a decent guy. Right away he shot me straight about the situation.

 

It wasn't going to be cheap.  

He'd already found a leak.

So he went right to work.

I tried to make small talk like, "So you guys just gave up on the pants?" 


He was undeterred.

Finally, he explained to me that he'd need more tools.

And then was distracted by something shiny.

But I like this guy.

Other service providers bristle at anything but cash.

X-Files $$

Or Y Files.  It is the sequel after all. 

Or maybe Why? Files. 

If this were the exact same movie but called Psychic Torment, it would go straight to cable.  But it has Scully and Mulder.  Not seeing them for ten years makes it a little like catching Donnie and Marie at a Chiles. 

Lots of A-ha! moments for X-Philes.  "David Duchovny has a beard!" begs his introduction shot.  I was just annoyed.

Step Brothers $$$

You can see funnier Will Ferrell stuff online, but he and John C. Reilly come up with enough entertaining insults to keep you watching. You'll hate yourself for laughing. If you laugh too much, don't vote. If you laugh AND repeat the jokes, don't breed. If anything, stick it out for the Volare"