Based On A True Story

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess. As befitting a princess, she lived a life of leisure.
She awoke approximately at noon each day, drank copious amounts of Diet Coke, ate a breakfast of whatever was handy, and then proceeded to play video games until the moon rose in the sky and the need for food, or booze, or marijuana, or what-have-you, drove her from her palatial apartment and out into the streets with her other (less) royal merrymaking friends.

There they flitted from pub to pub, sharing stories, quaffing ales and spirits, dancing and falling, singing and puking until the sun threatened the night and it was time to return.

And this was how her life went, give or take some studying here and there for her royal degree.

Among her royal merrymakers, there was a handsome and charming commoner. Quick with a joke and a laugh, he befriended the princess. And her suitor, the duke. The duke came from a wealthy family, known far and wide for their taste and generosity. He was a fine duke and a good man, and he treated the princess with respect and dignity.

The handsome and charming commoner took to living in the castle of the princess and the duke. He became close friends with both of them.

And here is where our story turns. For the commoner loved the duke and so gave him his love where he could. They laughed at the mummers farce known as the Simpsons, walked to the great bizarre called Harvard Square, drank Heffenreffer Private Stock (The Malt Liquor with the Imported Taste) as a point of pride, and it was good. But while the commoner loved the duke, he was in love with the princess. Of course. She was a princess, after all. But that love was not to be. And befitting his place, he knew this, and did not despair, but rather lived in the glow of the royal couple, happy to play their fool. He was really good at playing that fool. He could fool the shit out of whatever needed fooling. He even fooled himself, from time to time.

The duke was good and faithful. Emotionally unavailable at times, but still, very nice. Also smart. Really smart. And the princess loved him.  Here and there, the relationship lacked passion, and there was an occasional misunderstanding of need, and perhaps a smidgen of different priorities, but what relationship doesn't suffer from these things, from time to time? Besides, it was none of the fool's business.

The fool provided laughter at a moment's notice, and a sympathetic ear to which ever royal seemed to need one. The feelings he felt (because that's how you know they're feelings. you feel them) for the princess were almost never considered. The fool buried them--along with many other metaphorical bodies--in a haze of pot smoke and beer and general goofing off. Which, everyone agreed, was for the best. The fool was as good at goofing off as he was at fooling around, and so a delight at parties or other gatherings that had need of energetic and unapologetic frivolity.

This went on for many years. And never did the fool reveal his feelings to anyone. Especially himself. The only tell tale sign that the fool was anything other than the loyal jester that he appeared to be was his friendship. Or rather, how that friendship was applied. For everyone thought that he was the duke's best friend. And why wouldn't they? They drank awful beer together, they got drunk and jumped off things for fun, they saw Barb Wire together. I mean, c'mon. Total besties.

It happened, however, that this was not the case. The truth was, the commoner was the princess's best friend, and she was his. And this only the two of them knew. And they spoke of it almost never. It would take a mighty pull of the tube and a rare moment alone for either one of them to even hint that the one was the other's best friend. They talked and laughed with each other like no one else, but smoked a shit ton of weed together too, so six of one a half dozen of the other, if you get my drift.

And so it went, year after year. The couple going on, the fool staying with them. Until . . . the duke wanted to travel. He wanted to backpack through Europe. He hadn't done it in college. Nothing wrong with that. The fool couldn't afford it, and at the point was attempting to fool people professionally, and the princess was involved in the beginning of her career. But the duke didn't care. He'd go alone, if he had too. And so he and the princess talked and talked. Blah blah blah. And it came to pass that there was no longer a romantic love between them. And so he went. And left the princess alone with the fool.

And the fool, seeing his chance, jumped all over that shit. He confessed his love to the princess and to his delight, she did the same. He emailed the duke at an internet cafe in Belgium. The duke was pretty cool with it. And it's been happily ever after ever since.

Turns out that fool was pretty fucking clever, for a fool.

The End.

MONEY TIME! Update!

As you can all see, there is a new widget over there. No there. Right next to the post. At the top. The top. There we go. Juvenile Myositis is something no family should ever have to live with, but many do. I'm not really the person to articulate how frightening a diagnosis of this disease can be for a family. Or how long and hard the fight is against it. Or how there is no cure. For that you need to visit here, here, here, here, and here.

It's a rare disease that afflicts relatively few but affects many. Including this little girl and her family. As written about by her dad, Always Home and Uncool. I'm pretty sure I buffeted whatever readership I have with this cause last year. And now it's here again. Like hurricane season. Let me offer you a deal: 

Think of it like a public radio fundraiser. Around my parts, the public radio station promises that if they raise so much money for programming by a certain point, they'll skip the next scheduled fundraiser. And they make good on that promise, too. I will make you the same promise right here and now and in print. If we can raise a mere 250$ for this cause by the end of the month--and we're already 1/5 there--I  promise that I too will skip the next public radio station fundraiser.

HM 

I almost forgot . . . The above mentioned dad, Always home etc., is running--along with his son--his first ever 5k in order to raise money for Cure JM. So please pledge your support. Whatever you can afford. Because this man, he runs like the wind when you consider that the wind has no legs.

Boston in Film

We re-watched the last third of The Town last night. Don't hate.

There was Ben Affleck deftly slinging his Boston accent. There was Boston once again being portrayed as a modern day version of prohibition era Chicago. Violent Irish (in this case) mobsters, shooting it out in broad daylight in front of a really good place to get clam chowdah. That shit never happens around here. We almost never have shootouts. At least not in front of the places where you can get good clam chowdah.

And that accent. And the dialogue. In the movies, at least within a certain socio-economic archetype, the word Fahkin' is unnecessarily prevalent. Ubiquitous, even. Very.

Every pause or salient point is brought home with a "fahkin'."  Everyone in the city is a fahkin' tough guy. It's like punctuation. "I like fahkin' ice cream fahkin cake fahkin cookies fahkin pie.  I gotta huge fahkin' sweet tooth." People here don't talk like that in real life.  Mostly. Basically. At least not all the time.

"My parents owned a floweh shop when I was growin' up, so I know all yaw fahkin' flowehs. Ya gotchah fahkin' peonies, fahkin' alestroemedia, fahkin' black eyed susans, fahkin' snap dragons, fahkin' Irises. All that fahkin' shit. That shit fahkin smells great and it's fahkin beautiful, too."

We watch a show called Falling Skies on TBS. Don't hate. It's post the alien invasion of earth and the humans have formed a resistance. The aliens are these crab/lobster looking things. It has Noah Wiley, but we watch it anyway because we like sci-fi stuff and the first season is set in and around Boston.

The thing is, no one has a Boston accent. Not the worst thing. The acting is shaky enough without throwing a bad accent into it. But I wish someone would make a sci-fi movie with Marky Mark as the hero where he just rips into his Boston accent, Hollywood style.

"O, what? You fahkin' aliens ah gonna come to my fahkin town and kill my fahkin' family? Fahhhk you, you fahkin' quee-ah. I'll fahkin dip you in buttah, you lobstah lookin' mutha fahkah. I'll kick yaw fahkin' ass"

As he hits the self-destruct button on the mother ship:

"Look, I don't caiah if yaw name is fahkin' President Roosevelt thaiah Chahlie. We got fouah minutes until this fahkin' place fahkin explodes big time and shit."

You wouldn't sit down for ninety minutes of that if the special effects were good?  Of fahkin' course you would.

HM

Elderberry Wine

It's hard to respect my elders. I used to. Back in the day, elders were people who deserved respect. Because they'd made it to being elder and that was amazing. The village elder was respected by all as a voice of reason and leadership because no one could figure out how he became so elder. This is something on which we all pretty much agree. As late as 1900, it took a rare combination of smarts and luck to make it past 40.

But now medical science has conspired to make us all into elders. It doesn't take anyone special to be old now. Nowadays old people are--or will be--the same dopes and morons you see bumbling around at 25--or 50--texting while driving and drinking 5 hour energy drink. An endless supply of selfish, mediocre, old people riding medical science into the future. Evolution's oopsy.

The largest and most annoying wave of these defilers of Nature (these scornful, mocking, ancient, deriders of God's Will!) are the Baby Boomers. I'm not saying all Baby Boomers are bad, I'm just saying generally, as a generation, they remind me of the seagulls from Finding Nemo ("MINE. MINE. MINE."). Entitled egoists grasping at old age the way they grasp at everything else not nailed down in this country. Aging beyond reason while they continue to go up and down the 12 Steps, read self-help books, write self-help books, and take credit for everything good that happened after 1960.

Here's a list of people who are not Baby Boomers: Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, Janice Joplin, Bob Dylan, Ken Kesey, Gloria Steinem, Allen Ginsburg, Jack Kerouac, John F. Kennedy, Malcom X, Martin Luther King Jr., Medgar Evers, and Rosa Parks. Here's a list of people who are Baby Boomers: The fucking BeeGees.

Politically, the first time the very oldest of the Baby Boomers got to vote was 1964. Lyndon Johnson. I think we can agree that their voting record has been a little spotty ever since. Really though, I'm generalizing. Some of my best friends are Baby Boomers.

Besides, what are you going to do? We're stuck with them. An entire generation of people who didn't eat right, didn't exercise, did drugs like other generations do air, polluted the planet, ran up our debt, and sold out everything, living on and on and on all the while telling us how great they were because Woodstock and Civil Rights*. Civil Rights are cool--eroding* in the face of a largely baby boomer controlled government--but cool. And Woodstock sounds like it was great fun. Otherwise, meh, Baby Boomers. Meh.  The largest voting block in history gets everything it wants and then realizes what it really wants is money and food. Where is the shame? I mean c'mon. You gave us the 80's.

HM

*With the help of a government not at that time governed by baby boomers.

*Except for gun rights and corporate personhood rights. So you know, way to go Baby Boomers. Civil rights and stuff, yay.


Over at DadCentric, I wrote something that while much less confrontational, is at least as inflammatory. It's about camping and bathing. Good luck.

Meatballs

The Great Outdoors. It's Great, isn't it? And it's really, really outside. And big. And not inside. And we are going camping in it. This week. In the White Mountains. Crawford's Notch area. On Tuesday. I post this so if no one hears from us for a while, you'll know what to tell the authorities. We're due back Saturday night. I'll be getting a pizza.

We're going to be just like that family of campers in that one book you read/tv survivalist expert show you watch with the small, almost not worth noting exceptions that: we'll be in a campground and our car will be parked less than 25 yards away. And we have a pop-up tent. No assembly required, just extend the poles and pop-up the middle and bam, instant wilderness shelter. And a big ass cooler full of food. And beer. And we'll be less than 20 miles from Story Land theme park (excited? you bet). But otherwise, totally hard core wilderness conquering motherfuckers. Like Lewis and Clark with a propane stove and an after theme park dinner planned at local landmark the Spaghetti Shed. But without any sort of Native American guide. Except for Mapquest. Also, there's a ton of outlet shopping. But that's including an L.L. Bean Outlet so again, nature and down vests and shit.

This is the 2nd time we've camped both this summer and ever. The first was at a campground in western Massachusetts on the shore of Tully Lake. Really had fun. Only went for two days. This trip is four straight days of nature lovin', private showerless fun. There are showers on the campground. And a store where we can get most anything we'll need. But still, trees and chipmunks and shit everywhere.

Also, this is supposedly bear country. I have always wanted to wrassle a bear. I think I can win. I've been sharpening my claws on the local telephone poles and Bear Necessities is practically my theme song.

Other things to tell you: I quit my job at Foods That Are Not Broken. Just wanted more time with the flim-fam. Especially with school bearing down and the Peanut has/has had a bunch of doctor's appointments mostly due to her stature. In the Fairy Princess community, she's considered average height.

And, the Pumpkin Man had his first rush to the emergency room injury. I wrote about that over at Dadcentric.

Finally, remember, if anyone asks: White Mountains, Crawford's Notch, last seen trying to suplex a black bear.  Thank you.

HM

P. S. For a real "stuff that happens to me when I try to go camping post," fuck this pithy bullshit and go here, if you haven't already. Oy.

Camping Checklist

Tent and rainfly? Check

Sleeping bags and bedding? Check

Food (and beer) stuffs packed and prepared to be loaded into cooler first thing in the morning? Check

Clothes and toiletries? Check

Games, cards, books and other rainy day necessities? Check

Take the dog out for a walk at 12:30 am before going to bed and watch helplessly as she gets nailed in the face and chest by a skunk while you're only 4 steps from your back gate? Fucking check.

Skunk spray is yellow and has a very strong chemical smell to it up close. We used a combination of wd-40 sprayed right on her fur and a solution made of 1qt 3% hydrogen peroxide, 1/4 cup of baking soda, and a teaspoon of dawn dish detergent.

It seems to have worked after 3 applications. I am now drinking. Thank goodness my wife heard me screaming--tragically ineffectively--outside at the dog right below our bedroom window and got up to check on us.

Fucking skunk even tried to scamper away and my moron dog just couldn't let her. Wish us luck on our camping trip. Maybe she'll get eaten by a bear.

HM

Believe That

"They baptized the baby on the 16th."

"Yeah I know, at the Methodist church. How'd you feel about it?"

"Well, it's not Catholic, but at least they believe in something."

We hear that kind of thing all the time. "Well, at least they believe in something. 1"

Even leaving aside the condescending nature of the phrase what really floors my wife and I is how widely that sentiment is thrown around.

In the interest of full disclosure, we're atheists. Not in your face, religion sucks, my-Nothingness-shark-ate-your-Jesus-Fish atheists, but mind our own business, keep our lack of faith to ourselves, mention it only if it comes up in conversation, atheists.2

"Hey, you wanna watch the Red Sox game?"

"No thanks, I'm an atheist."

So maybe that phrase rankles us more that it does other people. Or maybe we get to hear it more often than some. Mostly though, it feels like a widely held belief in our area of the world. Like automatically, just the act of believing in something makes everything better. Like that's the important thing. Faith itself. It matters little what people believe, as long as they believe in something.

"Tiny beanies and magic underwear they have to wear all the time? And they can't eat bacon like, ever? Holy shit. But you know, at least they believe in something."

"Jesus's Non-existent American vacation and Hebrews in America thousands of years before BC and no archaeological proof and magic spectacles and Utah? That is weird. But you know, at least they believe in something."

"Mind control and cutting you off from your family and threats and evil space aliens? And the Tom Cruise?!  Freaky but . . .  at least they believe in something."

"Hell fires and horned demons? Crazy tall hats? Magic cannibalism? And no sex at all unless it's between a clergyman and a little boy3? That 's pretty fucked up but well . . . at least they believe in something."

It almost feels like as long as a monotheistic God4 is involved it doesn't matter how a person worships. Human sacrifice, bestiality, worshiping at Carl Jr's, calling Jesus "Mr. Jeezle." Whatever. As long as a person believes in something, they have a shot at the presidency.

If you're going to believe in something, then believe in it. And when someone believes in something different, good for them. We'll find out who's right eventually. Until then though, a little respect please. If we can't drop that sentiment from our culture altogether then just once I'd like someone to say, "You believe that death is it, no greater power has its hand on the steering wheel, Michael J Fox was once upon a time one of comedy's greatest treasures, a good beach day is better than a day at the spa, Moonlighting never gets it's due as a classic, and if you just keep eating ice cream and pizza you'll eventually emerge through a cholesterol wormhole where on the other side those things are actually good for you? That is some dumb shit. But, I mean well, at least you believe in something."

---

1 Maybe this phrase is some sort of attempt at religious tolerance. I doubt it though. I'm pretty sure when people start lining up for Holy Wars, you don't really get a lot of "We'd kill you as a heretic but you know, at least you believe in something.

2 For those who've read here before and are wondering about our quest for religion, or at least a temple we can go to for some good, clean, Passover fun, no, we haven't completely abandoned it. We've visited a couple temples and it still comes up in conversation. It's just a big commitment for us in terms of my wife converting. Also, we haven't found a temple that feels right yet. Maybe the feeling of pursuing religion doesn't feel quite right either. I'm not sure.  Either way, Homemaker Family and the Quest for Guilt continues. 

3Possible cheap shot. 

4 And white. Or at least followed by lots of whites.  And vaguely Christian. Probably, someone who practiced voodoo or believed in Santeria could not be elected president in this country. Unless they were running against an atheist.

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