Sunday, October 31, 2004

Gays and Monkeys

First off, let me begin by saying I was NOT raised in a home that harbored hatred for homosexuals. I don't want people thinking my family is a bunch of redneck hillbillies, shunning education and dental hygene. They're not all like me. Sure, my dad may not covort with the boys at the All-Male Review, but both of my folks are good Christian people and never raised me, or my sisters to be mean or look down on those different than us. We were brought up to love and respect those people unlike us, even if we didn't always see eye to eye on life style choices.
I had meant rather to say that there are people I know of, names omitted, that are really intolorant of homosexuals, especially men. I made a passing gay joke to one of these people the other day, the person didn't hear it, but I was told by another person that caught it not to repeat it, lest I be looked upon unfavorably. I don't censor myself too often, as I like to say what's on my mind, but this time I held my tongue. I don't need a another person hating me, I've already have my share of them.

Enough of that, moving on to monkeys...

Anybody that knows me really well, and Jennifer and the Smokesignals Crew can attest to this, is that I have a huge love of monkeys. In fact, I'm a little disappointed at myself that I don't have a monkey tattoo of some sort on my person. You show me a monkey in a fez, and I'll show you a happy monkey lover (not in that way, sickos!). Well, I have a fondess, besides the aformentioned monkey love, for weird websites. David Rutledge and Michael West are sadly the brunt of this oddity, although I haven't sent either or them anything strange in a while. But I would like to point out a site called Disturbing Auctions that I just think is the bee's knees. It has people listing different kinds of crazy objects that people try and sell on eBay. Sadly, it hasn't been updated in some time, and the last update was in May of this year, which before that was July of 2003. As you can see, not a lot of love on this site. I wish they would keep up with this. One of my favorite things on this site is the Drunken Monkey. I'm almost 100% positive I had this picture as my background while Smokesignals was in it's last days, when Smitty and I were more like union workers, moving desks and computers around, rather than a graphic designer and network flunky.

To sum up: Gays are people too. You don't have to love what they do, but I choose to love them regardless, especially friends I've had since 6th grade. Always have, and I suspect I always will. Monkeys are good too, and I plan to put that theory to the test when I go to Africa and eat one. That's it kids. Remember to vote Tuesday.

And somebody remind me to wish Smitty a Happy Birthday on Thursday. I need to get him a gift!! But where does one find a gift for such a man? I hear Spencers has some fake dog poo on sale... ;-)

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

The Art of the Friend

I have this friend, let's call him 'Adam' for example. 'Adam' is a multi-talented kind of guy that has been my best friend for several years. An accomplished artist, a design major with a master's degree in Theater Design, a comic book artist and he can even play a few songs on the clarinet. 'Adam' has been my best friend since the 6th grade. A valuable asset to my collective resorces.

I should also point out that this friend is gay. He came out of the proverbial closet in our senior year of high school and hasn't looked back since. Now, I consider myself a very open-minded person, and although I've got my own prejudices against certain things (of which I will not go into on this blog), being a homophobic jerkwad is not one of them. I have zero problem with the gay community.

This is where it gets complicated. My Christian upbringing tells me that I should hate those that are gay. Well, maybe not hate them, but hate the fact that they are 'not like me'. I should love the sinner but hate the sin. The only thing is, I can't give a good arguement why I should hate the sin. I am really hoping to get some dialoge going on this one. Michael, David and Smitty, I would value your input on this one. hint hint.

Now, granted, being gay isn't my cup of tea. I've never experimented and never had a desire to. Other than my straight but odd friend Pip kissing me at a bar one night while he was drunk and to see my reaction (I laughed it off), that's the closest I've come to the subject. Despite what my oldest sister thinks, I'm not gay. Not in the slightest, but if I was, I would be flamboiant and very much a queen. I think that's just my nature. I'm a very open person with my feelings I think. I would probably make a damn nice homosexual male. With the exception of being fat and sloppy, I've got the other signs down, such as my love of Broadway musicals. :-)

Anyway, I've gotten away from myself here. This post is about Adam. He's a great friend, one I'm sorry to say that I only see him once a year. He lives in New York right now, living out his dream. He's got a new car, a missing cell phone (lost in Canada!) and a super cool job. I envy him, always have. He is just the kind of person that I want to surround myself with, the ultra-creative type people that I can feed off of. My desire to create anything has been stifled these past few years because of a lack of stimuli. Other than the comic that Patrick and I did together, I haven't done anything noteworthy. Patrick is one of those type of people too, but I think with the job up here, he's having problems finding his muse too. Maybe that is what I need to find. A muse.

Anybody have Salma Hayek's number? :) Ok, that was a bad Kevin Smith reference... apologies.

Sunday, October 24, 2004

Who's your daddy?

I was talking about my father tonight with Bib and it got me to thinking about him. I would like to take this opportunity to tell my friends about my father, whom they may not know like I know him. If you're one of those friends who don't read my sappy posts, then that's ok. I forgive you. But you'll get none of my peaches!!

My dad was absent a lot it seems when I was growing up. He worked for Sears there in Ada for several years and since he worked on commission, and since he was a damn fine salesmen, he would have to work Saturdays, about three a month if memory serves, and so he missed a lot of my free time during the school year. And as a result of that, I didn't have a lot of free time to spend with dad. He was busy putting food on the table and making sure we had money for house payments and all that grown-up stuff that I didn't know about at that time. It's a shame I didn't appreciate that more growning up.

When I was down last weekend, he told me that he regreted deeply not being able to be with me as much as he wanted when I was a kid. This saddened me so much, as I know I was pretty distant from my dad, especially after my mom died. And even know I feel closer to Nancy/Mom than I do my own birth father. I guess this is a son/mother complex that would indicate that I'm a "mamma's boy". I'll accept this label and wear it proudly. I never viewed my father with hatred, but sometimes he and I didn't always see eye to eye.

I remember when I had my breakdown back in '97. I was angry at Dad, I was angry at God, and I was just a miserable person to be around. Thankfully I had a talk with some people that love me very much and they brought me out of it. You people should know who you are, and I thank you, even though not all of them read this blog. They are people that are special to me, people that have been friends for years, some only a short time, but all a near and dear to me even to this day.

Well, heck, ok. I guess that's really only what I wanted to say about dad. He was in the military, but he never discussed the details with me, so I never asked for fear that he may view them too personal. He was in Viet Nam, and if he doesn't want to think about the horrors he faced or the atrocities he witnessed, then I don't want to make him retell them. He's served his country, and he has served his family, very well I might add. I'm proud to be his son. And I love that man very much.

Why do all my posts deal with this family stuff? Am I losing my reading audience? Let me hear from you please! I crave validation. :-D

Saturday, October 16, 2004

It's a matter of instinct, a matter of conditioning, it's a matter of fact

I should make a statement that reflects how I feel about a certain subject. I don't think Jesus and Penn Jillete are of the same 'awesomeness' stature. The Son of the one who is called 'I Am" is top notch, I just meant in the capacity to do nifty stuff. Jesus can walk on water and turn water into wine, Penn can turn Sprite into Pepsi and can catch a bullet in his mouth. I'm sure if JC wanted to stop high-projectiles fired from a rifle he could, but the Bible failed to mention any of his 'parlor tricks' so I don't know how good he would be in Vegas... :-)

I should also make another statement. I've gotten pretty close to Brigette here lately. I don't know where this will go, as I'm still married, but I do have plans. I do feel very strongly for her, I love her in fact. Judge me as you will, I stand before you as I am, stripped bare of all facades and lies. If you want to call me names and would stop being with me because of this, then so be it. It's my life, and I will live it as I see fit.

That's about all. I'm dying to go see puppets blow stuff up. Anybody heard anything on Team America?

Thursday, October 14, 2004

Guess who's back...back again?

Eminem sings my story...

I guess I would be missed, so I figure I'll keep going with this. I'm just going to stop taking myself so seriously from now on. I'm tired people. I'm broke down. I'm looking to start my life over. Jen and myself have seperated, and it's not looking good on that front. I've got my own little place and I'm broke. I'm so broke I can't even pay attention. Ha!

"Badum* Thank you! I'll be here all evening! Be sure and tip your waitress...

Anyway, I'm craving jalapenos for some reason. I don't mean those pickled things you put on ballpark nachos. No sir. I'm talking the real deal, fresh from a garden jalapenoes. I would take them, roast them, put them in a bag for a few minutes so the skin comes off easily, then take out the membrane (Thank you Alton Brown!) and maybe make a little salsa with it. Fresh salsa sounds pretty good to me right now. Hmmm...yum!

I'm sorry I never got to try Aunt Bonnie's salsa, and I'm sorry that I never got to share my grandmother's peaches. I've got one jar left, and I'm saving it for a special occassion. The question is, who is special enough to warrent me cracking open the very last jar of oh-so-delicious peaches my grandmother canned that is left on this Earth? You would have to have the combined awesomeness of Jesus and Penn Jillete for me to share it with you. Who amoung you thinks you're worthy?

Sunday, October 10, 2004

Stop! In the name of Love!

It's been said that everybody has their person, their 'true love' in the world. And that you can find that person, if you have the patience and even if you need a compass, night goggles and a pickaxe, you'll find that person and if you're lucky you'll hold on to them and hold them tight.

But let say that this line of reasoning is flawed, which I think it is somewhat. I think a person can be loved by somebody for different reasons other than them being 'the one true one'. It can be that they came along at a time when they needed somebody, or maybe that they were a hero figure of sorts, or possibly they made themselves into a hero figure. Or maybe it was a chance meeting of two lonely people who needed somebody right then in their lives.

Well, regardless of what the reason is, I think it's vital to keep looking for that right one until you've found him or her. You never know when they'll pop up. But there is a catch, as there is always is a catch in fairy tale situations... the catch is to never let them go. If you have to go through dragons, wicked step-mothers, or crazy ex's, never stop in your persuit of your one true love.

I thank my readers for the love they have given me, some more than others. I think this will be my last post for a while. Maybe forever, I don't really know. I'm wanting to move on with my life, out of the blog department. Somethings change, but somethings remain the same. We'll see which is the constant and which is the variable with time.

Love to all
-Jaybird

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

Statement of sadness for O.L. (Whitey) Whiten

Monday was the funeral for mom's dad. I guess I can call him grandpa... I really didn't have much contact with him in the past few years, but I sure respected that man. I have to tell you about what I know and how I feel about it. If this gets lengthy, then I apologize in advance.

I had known he was a hard worker, but what I didn't know was that he was in World War II. Not only that, but he was awarded a bevy of bars and pins, amoung which was the Iron Cross for riflery. I honestly don't know what that entails, but I'm sure it's impressive, as I myself, am impressed by it. Dad told me that there was going to be all kinds of photos at the funeral home, but I never got to see them. I didn't know where they were, as we didnt' go through the main entrance, but rather the backdoor used for entering and exiting from the limos.

I sat behind 'the kids', that being Mom, her sisters Judy and Sandra, her brother David and their respective spouses. I sat next to Tilden, Brooke's husband and I was just a few feet from Mom. I kept looking over at her, wondering what I could do to comfort her. I'm sure there's nothing I could have done that Dad couldn't have, but I wanted to reach out to her, to let her know that I loved her and was there if she needed me.

Sandra told a story towards the end of the service, about a interaction she had with her father a few weeks before his passing. The girls had been staying with him everyday, 'rotating' in and out in the evenings, every night for the past month or so, as he needed constant care, and often times when he was fixed dinner, he didn't have much of an appetite, and sometimes would just lay in bed for hours. Sandra said that her and Austin, her husband, made dinner and brought it over to Daddy's house for a bite to eat. When she got there, grandpa was in his chair, sitting up and smiling, seemed to be a really good mood. She hadn't seen this side of him in several months, so she was pleasently surprised! She asked him why the change, and he told her of a dream he had that afternoon. He was feeling bad that morning and thought he would lay down for a nap to get some energy back. When he fell asleep, he dreamed that God had come to call him home to Heaven. O.L. said he didn't want to go, that he wasn't ready. He said that God then took his right shoulder in his hand and told him that it wasn't his time to go yet. When he woke up, there on his shoulder, the same one that God had placed his hand on in the dream, was a small bird perched there. A bird, in a house that was closed up, mind you, just sitting on his shoulder. I thought that was interesting that this happened. Sandra then went on to say that after she was told this story, she asked her father where the bird came from. He told her he didn't know, that he must have left a window cracked or it flew it a hole somewhere. But Sandra, as myself, believed something else. That bird was a message, and no matter how it got in, it was not an accident. That meal he ate that evening was the best he had in a long time. I'm sure it tasted delicious and he ate all he could. Sometimes a good attitude can do wonders for the appetite.

During the graveside service, there was a military group made up of retired men that served their country for the presention of the colors and the salute. Remembering that he was in WWII, this made sense to me. There was a wonderful 21 gunshot salute, and then the folding and presentation of the flag which went to the eldest child, Judy. I broke completely down when they folded that flag. It was if it wasn't really final until they did that. With such careful attention to detail and tradition, they folded it in the military style that I myself did in Boy Scouts and each member saluted that American symbol of Freedom. Even now I'm getting a little teary-eyed just remembering it. The seven men in the gun detail, which had been at ease since the gun salute, were back at attention and saluted the procedure as well. The honor O.L. commanded even now was great and it was a great privilage to witness it with the family.

After the precher said a final prayer, people would come down the line and offer condolences to the family. I stood behind Brooke and Amy, who were behind Mom and Dad. Amy said, "I'm going to see Mom." and I followed her. Mom was a wreck, as I imagine I'll be when my father passes on. Amy gave her a hug and tears flowed as emotion was shared. When Amy stepped to the side, I just held onto mom and burried my head in her shoulder. Who was comforting who here I now ask myself. I was so sad for her, for the family, for myself for the eventual death of my own father. She told me something to the effect that she was so glad I was there, that she loved me very much. All I could muster was "Ahhh loooow ooouuu" I couldn't form words I was crying so hard. Right now, I'm fighting back tears that are coming already. Just thinking back to it is hard to do dry-eyed. I pulled away and she looked me in the eyes and thanked me for being there. Thank me? Thank you Mom for being there for me!

I have to say, that even though Nancy is not my birth mom, she came into my life when I really needed a mother. Mine had lost her battle to cancer and I was in a really bad mood not to mention a very delicate place in my life. She did everything she could and did a damn fine job. Nancy had won me over very quickly, on the first day we were introduced and I'm very glad my father married her. I look on her with as much respect and love and admiration as I do my own mother, which is quite a bit. Nancy Jane is a wonderful person, and I'm honored I could have been there with her when she laid her father to rest. He fought a long, tough battle with cancer too and I know, I KNOW it is very painful to watch. I empathize with her and the rest of the family. She's my mom. And I love her very much.

It was a mostly silent ride back home in the limo from the graveside. With the exception of my cousin Mark telling us about the time he rolled his tractor trailer over a ledge, and his brother Jason telling me about his time at the Texas Speedway, we sat in morose contemplation of what just happened. We buried a great man that day, and we all respected him. Tears were shed, and lots of emotion was bared to all to witness. But the greatest thing was the stories people were telling of this man's life over the course of the day. I wish I had thought to bring my voice recorder, because I don't know if I'll ever get another chance for that many people gathered again, especially his brother and mom's cousins, all kinds of family that knew him in his younger days. I look forward to the next Christmas, as I'm sure everyone else is. I love this family, even though they are surroget to me. They are all wonderful and I love them as much as my blood kin.

Godspeed O.L., on your way to Heaven. Your hard battle is over, your long rest is due and your place next to God is ensured. I hope to see you on the other side some day.

Friday, October 01, 2004

The Man in Blue...and green and gold and...

In the old G.I. Joe cartoons, they would end with a public service announcement and as any Gen Xer can tell you, would end that PSA with the phrase, "..and knowing is half the battle."

Well tonight folks, I have won half the battle.

I was going to the restroom, as I'm oft to do, and who do I spy with my little eye but Vest-Guy. Normally, I would think about stopping him, but chicken out at the last second. Well, maybe because of the conversation I had with a friend tonight, maybe it was the full moon, or maybe it was because somebody pissed in my Wheaties, but I got that courage that I needed and I talked to Vest-Guy. That's right. I dared to dream and made my greatest hope come alive.

His name is Ralph Mitchell, and his wife makes all of his vests for him. I asked him why he wore them, his reply was that it was just something he liked doing.

And that, my dear readers, is what I hope to be one day. A guy that does what he wants to because he likes doing it. I think that's anybody's dream really. Maybe NECI isn't too far off after all...

Hmm. Looking back, I wished I hug around and could have gleened more info from the guy. All I got was just his name, his source for vests and why he wore them. Not exactly the life-changing event I was hoping for. But then, this is hardly my own personal Watership Down, is it?