May 242017
 

I forget about May. May is hard. It doesn’t seem like it should be, but it is. The kids are prickly. Lea’s called on to be a superhero twice as often as normal. There are multiple concerts and football games (really).

Some days this month I’ve felt up on plane. Other days I’ve felt like I wiped out immediately but forgot to let go of the rope, and nobody in the boat is looking at me.

And people. Sigh. People are disappointing me. Now there aren’t very many folks who wake up considering my ongoing assessment of their choices as a significant factor in how they might make future ones, and I get that. I also get that there’s a pretty well-known verse about a mote and a plank.

And then I wonder: how much of it is my own filter I’m looking through? Am I disappointing people? Which ones?

“Can I explain this to Jesus in 30 seconds?”

Still not a bad way to live.

And beat it, May.

 Posted by at 11:40 am
May 172017
 

Personal liberty? Yeah, I’m a fan. I think everyone should be free to do with his/her time and money as s/he sees fit, so long as it does not infringe upon the rights of others. (But that doesn’t mean that if your personal choices beg for ridicule, that I won’t occasionally oblige you.)

Behold this Dodge Challenger, which I am reasonably assured is owned and operated by someone born earlier than 1995:

The muscle car phenomenon began 50 to 60 years ago, with American manufacturers putting upgraded powertrains (and, eventually, other bits) into pedestrian automotive platforms. Its 21st-century manifestation features retro styling—this Challenger strongly evokes one from the early ’70s—but not necessarily retro pricing. Young men don’t generally have the money to put together a car like this.

And here we have the big disconnect.

If a 20-something young man—dripping with attitude, coursing with testosterone, and still ejaculating a thousand times a year—emerged from this vehicle, he would look silly. But he would at least be understandable.

An old man just looks ridiculous.

Look, it’s not that it’s a Challenger. It’s not even that it’s yellow. (Well, maybe 5% of it is.) You have the means and want to get such a car, then go get one. I’ll (in my experience, justifiably) consider you a significantly elevated risk to be a jackass in traffic, and life will go on.

No, it’s the “prayer” on the front spoiler:

As I lay rubber down the street/I pray for traction I may keep/If I do begin to slide/Please dear God protect my ride. Amen

It’s that it’s meticulously parked in a handicap space, with no placard, decal, plate, or other credential entitling the driver to such.

It’s that it says MOVE OVER—helpfully printed backward, and with an arrow, to facilitate easier reading in rear-view mirrors of vehicles holding this very important man up.

(Let me tell you, nothing would make my testicles miserably retract more quickly into my pathetic, inferior body than seeing such a notice behind me. Yes, please, come through, you thrumming, powerful, alpha male. A thousand apologies for obstructing you. Please forgive me!)

It’s that this was the plan. It’s the intent. It’s that he’s being seen in this command-issuing car on purpose.

Really, man?

Well, I suppose if it’s this or cheat on your wife, you made the right call.

 Posted by at 11:52 am
May 162017
 

Donald Trump was inaugurated as our 45th president on January 20. Since then, I’ve been mostly quiet—and somewhat bemused. Because you see, according to the shrieking hordes, the end is nigh. The election of Trump is the final piece in place for the destruction of the United States. (Doesn’t it seem like said destruction should […]

 Posted by at 12:39 pm

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