All of Pharoah's Horses, And His Chariots...

Brevity must be a fairly new concept. I was mulling this over during the epic Easter Vigil Saturday night. The service was at least twice as long as your standard Sunday Mass, with seven readings as opposed to the usual two. Seven readings! It was like The Best of the Bible, featuring all your favorites from Genesis right through to Corinthians! But it wasn't the sheer number of readings, but the excessive repetitions in the readings themselves. In Exudus, when Moses parts the Red Sea, instead of simply saying "Pharoah's army," it's "Pharoah's horses and chariots and charioteers." By the time they get swept into the sea, you just feeling like yelling "Yeah, his whole army. We get it!"

The Easter Vigil starts in complete darkness, then one by one everyone's candle is lit, until the entire church is lit by our candles. The house lights come on and the candles are extinguished just before the Gospel is read. So while the lector was reading about Pharoah's horses, and his chariots, and his charioteers, the rest of the congregation stood at our pews holding candles, hoping that we can blow them out before the hot wax makes it's way down to our hands. The candles had circular cardboard dividers to catch the falling wax and protect our hands, but somehow every year my mom gets hot wax on her wrist. I can't explain it; her candle always seems to melt faster than everyone else's.

All this was happening at St. Francis, by no means an unfriendly place, just different than what I've grown accustomed to. The inside doesn't really look like a church, but one of the fabled cafegymatoriums made popular in our elementary schools. And the walls of the staircase leading up to the church look like the walls from a YMCA pool. And there's a weird piece of artwork above the crucifix that's supposed to represent the connection between Jesus, Mary and us, but it looks more like two people holding a limbo stick while Jesus goes under. Michele has been going to classes there every Tuesday night to prepare for her confirmation and first communion, both of which she received on Saturday. Brianna was also baptized, so it was a big day for her. Her mother and sister made the trip up to be there, and sat with us and my family.

After the homoly, Michele and two others were asked to come up to the altar with their sponsors. I was Michele's sponsor, so I got up and stood behind her as I've done the past few weeks. But this time they threw a curveball. When the time came, the deacon (who I knew as Mr. Canova the carpentry teacher at the high school) asked me what Michele's Confirmation name was. Crap. She must have told me a hundred times. I knew what it was, but I wasn't expecting to be asked any questions and when he did I froze up.

It's Catherine, right?"

Catherine.

Whew.

By the time mass was over, it was nearly ten o'clock. I had promised Michele that I would go with her on her new paper route on Sunday morning, so we both went straight to bed while her mother and Misty assembled Brianna's Easter basket. The last one was the route from Hell. This one was the route from, well...Hull. Even though it's twenty minutes away, it's still infinitely better than that last one. There's a lot of nice houses in Hull, and almost every house we delivered to had an ocean view. One of them was practically a mansion, with a three car garage and a hilltop view of the ocean and a lighthouse off in the distance. We stopped several times for, you know, us time, and still finished two hours earlier than the old route. We had breakfast at IHOP, then went back home to get ready for church. Again.

But this time was special. Seven months ago, the Archdiocese of Boston saw fit to close one of it's most vibrant parishes, on the grounds that it wasn't necessary for the town to have five Catholic churches, and Saint Albert's had the smallest seating capacity and was the only one of the five without a school. It was also the only one with an elevator to accomodate the elderly and disabled, and the only one with air conditioning. Oh yeah, there was also the pastor that started reinvigorated the parish, starting a girl's color guard and boy's hockey team, held an annual game of Family Feud with buzzers and everything, not to mention got people who had left the church for years to come back. But some of his sermons were apparently a little too critical of the Archdiocese, something that must have at least in some way persuaded their decision to close Saint Albert's.



The final Mass with Fr. Ron Coyne was on August 29, 2004. Since then, many of the parishioners have staged a round-the-clock vigil, one that has been the subject of countless newspaper articles and media outlets. Yellow and black "Keep Saint Albert's Open" bumper stickers can be seen all over the South Shore. Other shuttered parishes have started their own vigils. But the most amazing thing about it all, every weekend, the place is still packed. Packed. Pelly Tulimieri, an 86-year-old parishioner, has been leading prayer services. They aren't official Masses, since there's no priest to bless the Eucharist, but they still hand out Communion, pre-blessed and smuggled in by a priest sympathetic to our cause. A letter was sent to Bishop O'Malley requesting permission to hold Easter Mass, and if it was at all possible, to have Fr. Coyne officiate. He granted the request for two Easter Masses, although he said that Father Borges would say them. Bishop O'Malley similarly allowed the church to open for two Christmas Masses, which were also said by Fr. Borges. Fr. Borges is a nice guy. He's a former pastor of St. Albert's and he sounds like Winnie the Pooh. Although some people were disappointed that Fr. Coyne would not be saying the Mass, I think it's safe to say that even allowing us to have an Easter service at all is a step in the right direction. Addionally, the decision to close Saint Albert's has been referred to the Committee for External Review, formed by O'Malley to examine the closing process and certain parishes. They will announce their results by May 10.

One more thing...there is a shortage of priests in the Catholic church, and with the sex scandals and many of the older priests being too weak to say Mass, the Archdiocese is scrambling to find replacement priests. Oddly enough, Fr. Coyne has been sitting at home since August 29, waiting for the phone to ring.

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Hannibal Lector's Chili Cook Off

Joe's back today. No mention of dead cousins whatsoever. I wanted to ask about the service, but I think I'd rather just let him think he's smart. It makes me feel less guilty about all the stuff I've written about him online.

I hope that brought some closure for you. If not, here's one of the best quotes ever, taken from a story I read in the paper this morning:

"Then they had some kind of emotional reaction and vomited."

It was a story about someone who found a human finger in their bowl of chili at a Wendy's in San Jose, CA. "This individual apparently did take a spoonful, did have a finger in their mouth and then, you know, spit it out and recognized it," said Ben Gale, director of the department of environmental health for Santa Clara County. "Then they had some kind of emotional reaction and vomited." You can read more about it here, although that quote isn't used. If you don't feel like reading the whole thing, the finger turned out to be that of Wendy's founder Dave Thomas, whose last request was to be cut into several pieces and served at Wendy's across the country. Is anyone still thinking about Joe now?

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Joe Rides Again

When I got to work this morning, a co-worker informed me that Joe would be out of the office for the next two days because his cousin died. He got a call after he got home from work last and he had to go to Vermont for the funeral. When asked, he said he didn't know the name of the funeral home; he was going to find out when he got there. I guess he and his cousin were pretty close, since he'd be taking two days off to grieve.

Then, he told me this: last week, Joe told him that he might have to use a couple of vacation days this week to do something with his kids. He said he told Joe that he's using up a lot of vacation days early in the year, especially since he had to borrow two from this year to go to the Army/Navy football game last year. Joe started counting out the days he'd used and that was the last time he mentioned taking any time off for this week. Now, today, he called in and said that his cousin was in a fatal car accident and he had to go to Vermont for two days.

Hmm...two days. The exact same number of days that he'd planned on taking off this week.

I really don't want to believe that he's pretending someone died so he could skip work. I don't. But even Oliver Grendall could see what's going on here.

Last week he found out that he's running low on vacation days. Now he calls and says there's been a death in the family, which falls under personal days so he still has his two vacation days. And the thing that bugs me is that you are allowed to take personal days at any time for no reason. If he wanted those days off, why not just take them off? Why make up some story? There's no point. He could have at least called in sick. Everybody does that. It may not be entirely truthful, but it's considerably less evil than pretending someone died.

Another thing that's highly suspect is the use of the word "cousin." Joe has a friend named Skippy. And another named Frodo. I know this because he always uses names when talking about his friends or family. But he didn't mention his cousin's name. In fact, he'd never mentioned his cousin at all before now. He's talked at great length about other relatives, but this is the first anyone's heard of the dearly departed.

I suppose we could give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he did have plans with his son, but they had to be put aside due to this tragedy. And maybe the pain is still too deep for him to say their name right now. After all, If it were anyone else, I don't think anyone would think twice about believing them. But Joe has been known to lie for the sake of lying.

I guess part of it is his larger-than-life persona. In Joe's world, he's the ultimate workaholic. Mention to him that you stayed at work late, and he'll inform you that your feat is nothing compared to his mighty work ethic. Why, he used to work 80 hour weeks. Back at his old job.

One of my co-workers was talking about a time he was so busy at work that he didn't have a day off in three months.

"That's nothing." Joe says. "I once went three years." They even had his eyelids removed to keep him from wasting precious hours on sleep.

Sometimes our workload can get a little hefty. For all of us. When there's only four employees the work can pile up pretty fast. But that Joe, he must be working harder then the rest of us, and he let's it be known by letting out a frustrated sigh several times an hour and repeatedly dropping the F-bomb. To really drive the point home that he's just flooded with work, he'll say "Shoot me now and get it over with." You know, because he just has so much work to do and the clients are so difficult to work with.

I don't know when he used to work 80 hour weeks, but now he leaves every day at ten minutes to five. I can't imagine where he got his energy from back then, because he also used to ride his bike for miles upon miles. I'll bet he still would, too, but every time one of us--who happens to be an avid biker--invites him to go moutain biking, he always as some kind of family emergency to address.

It is rather strange that someone of this Herculean will to get the job done always leaves early. Even moreso concidering he frequently says "I'll be here tonight with my sleeping bag and a flashlight." Yes, he actually says that. And yes, it is stupid to say you'll bring a flashlight, because if you were staying late at night, you'd just leave the studio lights on. By the way, one of the other guys used to live far away from the city and has indeed stayed the night on several occassions. Joe has never actually brought in his sleeping bag.

One time at our old office, Joe had to leave work early, because a relative of his wife was having an operation, but he said that he'd probably come back later at night. We all wanted to know if he really was going to come back, so cyclist guy taped a large piece of paper to Joe's monitor. If Joe was going to do work, he'd obviously have to take the paper off his screen.

The other guy got work early the next morning and saw the paper still taped to Joe's screen. he asked Joe if he came back that night.

"Yeah, I stayed for a couple hours. I was f*cking tired!"

Even though he was caught in a lie, we didn't tell him about the little test. We just all laughed about it. But eventually it stops being funny because you start to wonder if this guy thinks he's smarter than us because he can get away with this stuff, that he can insult our intelligence that way. But that's our Joe. And the thing is, maybe he really is at a funeral right now. Who knows? He's lied so many times now that no one can tell when he's speaking the truth. On the other hand, yes, of course he's lying.

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Solid Gold!

You may remember last year I told you that my friend Nick is getting married on Spleen Day. Well, it's only a couple of weeks away now, which means I'm going to have to polish up the speech I'll be giving at the reception. And by polish up, I mean start. It has to be good, not only because Nick is my best friend, but it's the only thing I was required to do.

Nick couldn't choose a best man, so he opted for four "better men," each with their own responsibility. I'm giving the speech, Jose is going to be standing at the altar for the ceremony, Wah-Kee arranged the bachelor party, and Chris...I'm not actually sure what Chris does. He's kind of like the Professor and Mary Anne. You know, Jose, John, Wah-Kee and the rest.

Wah-Kee got his duties out of the way on Saturday with the bachelor party at the Foxy Lady in Providence. In addition to the groom and the four best men, a couple of guys Nick knows from Best Buy (Frank and Donut) and Kee's brother Wah-Shing came along. So the eight of us crammed into my mom's minivan. There wasn't enough room, so I opted to climb in the back and lie down in the trunk like I did when we went to New Jersey a few years ago. The trunk is really just the space behind the last row of seats, so it's not like being in the trunk of a car, although I guess Wah-Kee would know about that more than I would. He once rode in the trunk of his brother's car because there was no room. So he climbed in the trunk, and pounded on the seats because he wanted then to turn the music up. Then the pounding stopped. When they opened the trunk, he was curled up in a ball, not moving. After poking him for a while, he finally woke up. Aparently, there was a leak in Wah-Shing's exhaust, which made Wah-Kee sleepy.

The back of the minivan wasn't so bad. It's kind of comfortable. Until a car in front of us stopped short and Kee, who was driving for some reason, swerved violently into the breakdown lane. My life once again flashed before my eyes, and looking back I realized that the scariest moments involved Wah-Kee behind the wheel.

When we finally got to the place, we each threw down the fifteen dollar cover charge, in exchange for an oversized coin that opens the turnstile. I had some issues trying to get through. The coin would not go in. I tried angling it differently and it still wouldn't fit. Eventually, I got it, but not before dropping my wallet and providing some unintentional pre-show entertainment for the others.

Wah-Kee is something of a strip club junkie. He couldn't wait to go, and it's a pretty safe bet that he was more excited about this little trip than Nick or the rest of us. I felt a little uncomfortable, honestly. I've never really been to a gentleman's club before. A guy from work did take me to a seedy back alley place on my 21st birthday, where a stripper with an AARP card was eyeing me like I was the last can of Ensure. But the Foxy Lady is swank. It's more than swank. It's solid gold.There were black lights and purple neon signs everywhere. It looked like the strip clubs you see in movies. Not the movies about strip clubs, but the movies that have one or two scenes in a strip club, like when someone's making a drug deal or ordering a mob hit. There might have even been some drug deals and mob hits going down that night. Solid gold. Every once in a while, a big hulking monstrosity with a neck thicker than my waist would walk by. There were a couple of them. Big, bald slabs of intimidation squeezed into fancy tuxes. I guess every strip club needs to have a few guys like that on their payroll, incase some of the more frisky clientele need to be gently persuaded off the premises. Solid gold.

The waitresses were easy to spot because they all wore white lingerie, while there was another set of women dressed as nurses offering back rubs. Offering probably isn't the right word, since they cost a minimum of $10. And they're not too keen on the barter system. Nick tried to convince one girl to give him a back rub in exchange for one from him. Wah-Shing said he would pay for Nick if he wanted, but Nick said, "Na. Hedie gives better back rubs anyway." That was sort of sweet. Maybe I'll use that in my speech.

Before we got to the club, Wah-Kee told us that we'd be hearing a lot of "Girls Girls Girls" by AC/DC. I looked at Jose, then Jose said "Don't you mean Motley Crue?"

"Whatever. Eighties hair band. Same thing."

AC/DC is not an eighties hair band; they've been around since the seventies. And they don't have big hair. How can you confuse the two? Motley Crue is the one with Tommy Lee. AC/DC is the one with Cobra Commander.

But he was right about one thing. Every hour, on the hour, the sound of engines revving was piped through the sound system, followed by the increasingly familiar first hooks of "Girls Girls Girls" For this was the Super Saturday Night Spectacular featuring the Solid Gold Foxy Ladies of 2005, or something. The announcer probably threw "Solid Gold" in there a few more times. That was his thing. He kept saying "Solid Gold," working it into almost every sentence. And since he spoke after every song, we heard it quite a few times. It's not as if he was just arbitrarily saying "Solid Gold" though, there was a reason behind it. All of the dancers on stage went through various stages of undress, stopping when they were topless. But downstairs in the Gold Room or whatever they called it, they were completely nude. If a girl was "Solid Gold" that meant that you could also see her downstairs. But I don't think there was one girl that wasn't solid gold, because he said it at the end of every sentence. Solid gold.

Anyway, they played "Girls Girls Girls" and all the girls who had previously been on stage by themselves came out at the same time, then walked out into the club, asking patrons if they would like a lap dance. For $30. Or, you could take advantage of their special two for one deal, two songs for $40. Come to think of it, I'm not sure why they called it two for one, since two songs for the price of one would still only be $30. It should have been "two for one and a half." I was asked a few times if I would like a dance. The presence of those scary bald guys kept me in check, so I opted for a polite "No thank you." instead of "Not if I have to pay for it I don't." $30. Psssh. I don't even get to pick the song. That would be different, because then you could pick one of those twenty minute Pink Floyd songs, or better yet, an hour and a half of Native American chanting. That would be worth a couple twenties. I got a bit of a rush saying no to beautiful women. It was like "No. Ha! The tables have turned! How do you like the bitter sting of rejection? Hurts, don't it?"

One of them got a little aggressive, asking why I was here if I didn't want I dance. I told her I was here for my friend's bachelor party. "Are you afraid of women or something?" This might have been more directed at Chris, who did, in fact, appear to be frightened, but I told her that my girlfriend would smell another girl on me and I'd just rather watch. What's wrong with just watching? I like Bruce Willis movies, but that doesn't mean I'd pay him to find my kidnapped family.

I didn't end up spending any money on strippers. I just felt too weird about it. It's not that they weren't good or anything (although there was one girl with pancake boobs.) it's just that I'm a one-woman guy. I don't want to pay some strange woman who doesn't even know me for something I can get at home for free, from a woman who actually cares about me. I did part with some cash, though. The $15 cover, for starters, and an $8 Woo Woo. A Woo Woo is vodka, cranberry juice and peach schnapps. Nick says Woo Woos taste like happy. I'd have to say that I concur. I had a couple of Woo Woos, but only paid for one of them. I almost bought Nick one, but it was only because the waitress put my drink down in front of him and he drank it while I was paying for it. He gave me some money to by another one, but I should have told him to keep it, since it was his bachelor party, after all. But I didn't, because I didn't have enough money and I really wanted some more happy.

By the end of the night, Jose, Chris and I hadn't done much of anything except change seats a few times. Donut only got up once in a while to go outside and smoke. Nick had a few drinks, but that was it. Frank had a few beers and got a three-song dance for at least $70. But Wah 1 and Wah 2...they were living it up. I think Wah Shing got a couple of back rubs, and I don't think the second one was really necessary. I mean really, how tense could he be?I think Wah-Kee got himself a lap dance or three as well. Overall, I have no idea how much those two spent, but it was easily more than the rest of us combined, even with Frank's dance.

I fell asleep in the trunk on the ride home, so I missed all the excitement. I guess I just assumed Jose was going to drive home, since he didn't touch a drink all night, but Wah-Kee ended up driving again and somehow took a wrong turn. He got off 95 and got on 295, then got back onto 95 again. Or something like that, I was trying to sleep. Even though I didn't take full advantage of being in a room full of topless women, I still had a fun time. Not just a fun time. A solid gold time.

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Get Thee to a Doctor

I just got back from Viga, which, according to the box they gave me, is an Italian eatery and caterer. I went there to get a slice of pizza and a soda, as I've done several times before without incident. But this time...this time was different.

As I reached in with my left hand to pick up a can of soda, I felt a weird sensation in my wrist and looked down to see the bones in my thumb jump out of place under the skin. I don't know any other way to explain it. There was a big lump were the thumb meets the palm that shifted forward towards that fleshy area between the thumb and index finger, and it left a huge gap in my wrist.

It got stuck that way for about thirty seconds, then sort of went back into place, but the gap remained. It wasn't pleasant.

I called my mom, who said to go to the emergency room. But it didn't hurt or anything. Scared the hell out of me, but it didn't hurt. However, my whole hand has been shaking since I got back. I can still move my thumb around, but when I hold both my hands up, you can see that the thumb of the left hand sticks out farther than the one on the right. And the area on my palm where the thumb and index finger meet is all red.

It's probably been about half an hour now, and the shaking has gone down. It seems to be fixing itself, and in another hour or so might go completely back to normal, so I don't know what good trying to show it to a doctor would do. My thumb just dislocated itself for no reason whatsoever. That's new.

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Something Stupid This Way Comes

"Sometimes I do stupid stuff, and I don't even know why - as if my body were being controlled by some demented, sadistic puppet-master."
- Bernard Bernoulli, Day of the Tentacle


I've done some bone-headed things in my time. It usually starts with something small, that wouldn't seem so bad on it's own, but then things start snowballing out of control at an ever escalating pace.

Last week, for example, I went out for a simple night at the movies with my friends. We saw Cursed, a craptacular piece of trash about werewolves that made me question my will to live. After the movie, Nick dropped me off at home. Before he left, he asked if I had my keys. I felt around in my pocket and said "yes."

I got to the door and put my hands in my pockets. Hmm. That rattling noise I heard earlier turned out to be almost four dollars in change, but no keys. Just then, almost violently, an image of my keys sitting on the ledge next to a candle jolted to my head. I left them there when I went out that morning. Crap.

I knocked on the door.

Because of her paper route, Michele has been going to bed early. Usually around eight, but sometimes as early as seven. I looked at the time on my phone. 9:10. Crap.

So I called our home phone. Several times. It was no use. That girl could sleep through the Loudsville Loud Convention, with special performance by Loudy McLoud and the Loudsters. Okay, that might have been the dumbest sentence since "Honey, I just dropped Timmy off at Neverland Ranch," but you get the idea.

Here's where the snowballing comes in. See, we have two phones. One in the living room, and a cordless one that, until recently, was in the kitchen. The cordless phone hasn't worked in months, though. Most of the time, it says "Battery Dead" even though it's been sitting in the base recharging for days. A few weeks ago, the brand new vacuum cleaner stopped for no reason. Later, when it was plugged into another outlet, it worked fine. So it was determined that the outlets on that wall were faulty, so the cordless phone was moved to the bedroom.

So now there was a phone in the bedroom, meaning even though she couldn't hear the living room phone through the closed bedroom door, surely she could hear the one just a few inches from her face, right? Well, yes, if it worked. But it STILL says "Battery Dead" so it didn't ring at all. Crap.

I alternated between calling our home phone and her cell phone for fifteen minutes straight, hoping that maybe she'd hear one of them. But I knew even as I was doing it that there wasn't a chance, because I could hear the cell phone through the door. It sounded like it was on the kitchen table. There was no way she'd be able to hear that from the bedroom, heavy sleeper or not.

Craaaaaap.

I briefly considered tapping on the window, but (another snowball moment) the window is just slightly too high for me to reach, and I almost slipped on a patch of ice while attempting it, further straining my right shoulder that I hurt a few days earlier. Knocking on Brianna's window would have been easier, but you do not want to bang on a six year old's window and wake her up in the middle of the night, unless you have some cash sitting around for the years of therapy it would cause.

In a last ditch effort, I called my parents. I told my mom that I couldn't get into the house and asked if she would please drive over with the spare key. As usual, mom bailed me out. I sat on the steps inside the building, waiting for the keys. I finally got the door open a little after ten o'clock, an hour after I got home.

Another thing I should point out is that my landlord, who lives across the hall, was home and he has a key to my apartment. I could have knocked on his door at any time and got the key, but I didn't because I was too embarrassed. Especially since this was the second time this happened (the first time, Michele and Brianna were at the Laundromat.)

Amazingly, I actually trumped that the other day. But I'm not going to talk about that, because, well, some things are off limits. Instead, I will say this. And it's not directed at anyone in particular, but rather to anyone who found their way onto this page. Taking the time to get to know someone can be a very rewarding experience. The people who frequent this site are perfect examples of that. These are all very talented people with vibrant lives and it's exciting to check that sidebar every day to see what's new. And it really bothers me the way some people would rather just hate someone than try to understand them. It just doesn't make any sense to me, because they're missing out on so much and they'll never even know it. Writing someone off ultimately says more about your character than about theirs.

I hope you take that to heart. Yeah, go ahead and laugh about all the stupid things I've done, and all the stupid things I'm going to do before I die (hopefully in a non-stupid way) but don't let it take any validity away from what I say, because this is really important. And it goes for things as simple as friendships to as big as war. Most, if not all wars are started because the two sides don't understand each other. And again, in most cases, it's people of one faith versus people of another.

Our founding fathers made it clear that there should be a separation of church and state, and rightly so. But that can get difficult sometimes, because people's personal politics are directly related to their beliefs. And that is the key word there, beliefs.

I am a Catholic. That means that I believe in God, and that Jesus is His son. I believe it. See, I even capitalize "His." I probably have more faith in God than most people my age. But I don't hold it to be a fact. No one can. You cannot say, for a fact, that God exists, or that He doesn't, for that matter. And since no one knows for sure, people have developed different beliefs. And so what? What does it matter if someone else believes something else, especially when there isn't any proof that either one of them are right? There's no point in fighting about it. It's just stupid. I can't understand people who go to war in the name of God. Be it Christian or Muslim or whatever.

If you say that you believe man was created in the image of God, and you kill another man, aren't you just killing God? How exactly is that supposed to appease Him?

Religious wars leads to people, like Wah-Kee, saying all the problems in the world are because of religion. And then they go off on these ant-God rants. And that's just as bad. Look, people need their faith. They need to believe in something. But they also need to understand that there are people who have different beliefs that are no more or less valid than their own. Remember what faith means; it's belief in something without proof. I support my faith; my beliefs, but I would never mock or hurt anyone else for supporting theirs.

I guess I kind of got away from my original point, but this stuff has been weighing heavily on me for a long time and I really just couldn't take it anymore. It got to the point where even thinking about it made my chest feel tight and my throat dry up. I'll have some much funnier subject matter Wednesday, I promise. I just thought I'd pass along some things that I've come to realize other the years. Another thing I realized is when someone tells you that they are not a card-carrying member of a political group, what they actually mean is that their card hasn't been mailed to them yet.

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Rebuttal

You there, pathetic whelps! You may not know it yet, but you are staring into the menacing eyes of your future...what? Amazo was already here? Well, that's just PERFECT. He's always doing this to me. So I guess you already know that I am in fact the Amazing Greato, sworn nemisis of the Great Amazo. But what you probably don't know is that we're brothers.

Technically, my entire race are brothers. We don't reproduce the way you do. If someone thinks there should be another one of us, they just will it so. And if someone thinks there are too many of us, they just will one of us to die. I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've been dead, but I can tell you each and every time was the result of the Great Amazo. I don't know why he doesn't just give up; I always get willed back to life anyway. One of the perks of living in a society of omnipotent beings.

But it's not all great in The First Dimension. When everyone is all-powerful, things can get a little heady. For example, we tried to play a simple game of baseball one time. Being omnipotent, there was absolutely no way that the pitcher would throw anything but a strike. However, since the batter was also omnipotent, there was absolutely no way he would not knock the ball out of the park. The ensuing paradox caused the entire east quadrant to collapse into itself. It wasn't pretty. And the poor guy who had to write the questions for our never-aired quiz show? Sucked into nothingness before he could even write the first question, since it would have been impossible for him to succeed at coming up with a question that no one could answer, yet equally impossible for him to fail.

But your dimension, which our cartographers consider The Second Dimension, consists of trillions of universes, which themselves each hold trillions of galaxies, and not one omnipotent being to be found. I guess that's why we like to come here. Our feats sound much more impressive to people who could work their whole lives without ever accomplishing them themselves. Also, I am enthralled with your "Denny's." This place is a delight.

Alright, so back to business. Oh yeah, and I apologize for the whole "whelps" thing. It's just a formality. An archaic holdover from the days when the only way we could communicate with the Lessers was to insight fear into their hearts. We all do it, I hate it, but what can you do, you know? Anyway, I'll make a deal with you. You don't have to cower in fear at me or anything like that. There's literally billions of trillions of galaxies that already do that. All I ask is that you just not listen to this Amazo character. Seriously, the man has issues. I'd say he wasn't hugged enough as a child, but since none of us were hugged, or ever children, for that matter, well...he's just got some things to work out. But I'm sure he'll be fine. And don't worry about him imploding you; he's all talk, that one. And even if he does, I can always reverse it. I've got your back. Okay, so if Amazo comes back with any of his empty threats, just smile and nod, and send him on his way. You'll be fine.

So, huh. See you around, I guess. Again, Denny's...just marvelous. Okay, bye now.

What's that? He called me a dick? Son of a bitch. Oh, it's on now.

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The Napkin

Yesterday, Jose turned 27. It's not a particularly important age, just one more bump in the road until the big three-oh, when every event in your life is painstakingly scrutinized and it is determined whether or not you've done anything worthwhile in your life. Won't that be fun? But that's still a few years off, so today, let's take a look back to the last so-called meaningful birthday, the 21st.

As depressing as it may be, 1999 was six years ago. Jose was coming off a somewhat nasty breakup with his girlfriend. Part, if not all, of which had to do with her tendency to find reasons to be jealous. Not only did she get mad when he so much as looked at another girl, she was even jealous of the Britney Spears and Shania Twain CDs he had in his car. He also had a Lionel Richie CD in there, but I don't know how she felt about that. He didn't do much to help the situation. When asked if he thought Shania was more attractive then her, he said something along the lines of "Of course!" I don't know what kind of answer she thought she was going to get, but he probably could have been a little more tactful in his response.

On Valentine's Day, I got a call from him to see if I wanted to go to Hooters. She heard him talking to someone over the phone and immediately thought it was a girl. And that was the last straw. Instead of telling her it was only me, he told her it was in fact a girl. Not just any girl, but the one he ran into at college a few weeks earlier that had gone to high school with us. I think he might have taken her out for a friendly lunch once and never saw her again, but for some reason he told his girlfriend that's who was on the other end of the phone. I guess he'd just had enough. I could hear her yelling and cursing in the background. And that was pretty much the end of their relationship.

A little over a month later, he was still depressed about the whole thing. We went to Uno's for his birthday, albeit a few weeks late. Our waitress, Kim, I think, was very friendly and attractive, a refreshing change of pace from the angry rat-faced woman at Bickford's. Jose ordered his first official alcoholic beverage as an adult, a Corona. When she checked his ID, she noticed that he had just turned 21.

"Oh, you're a Pisces. Cool. So am I."

Well, that cheered him right up.

When she brought our drinks over, she placed his Corona in front of him and said "Here you go, darling." And although it's not how I remember it, Jose maintains that she then swiveled around to me and growled "Here." as she slammed my root beer down. In any case, she definitely was a bit more sympathetic to her fellow Pisces.

The entire ride home, all Jose talked about was the waitress. He was positive that they had some kind of connection and he wouldn't stop gloating about how she was flirting with him. It got kind of annoying, so I thought I'd have a little fun with it.

The following night, I went back to Uno's with my family. I invited them to go, but really the only reason I was there was to get an Uno's napkin. April Fool's Day was just around the corner and I had a deliciously eeeevil idea to get back at Jose for all his gloating. The next time I saw him, I told him the following story:

"I went back to Uno's the other night with my family and saw your waitress. She was at another table, but she came over and asked where my friend was. I told her you were working. So she pulls out a pen starts writing on my napkin. 'Here. Tell him call me,' she says. Then she walked away. Can you believe that? Like I'm your messenger boy or something."

I gave him the napkin, which read "Call me," followed by the number and her name. He started laughing at me and saying "I told you! I told you!" It was almost too easy. He was a little suspicious, though. Enough that he wasn't sure if he should call her, but not enough to prevent him from bragging to his ex-girlfriend that another woman gave him her phone number. Even though they had broken up, and she was already dating someone else, she didn't take it well.

For days he was hesitant to call, but he knew that if it was real, his window of opportunities was closing fast. So he finally picked up the phone. A short time later, I got a call from him that went something like ""I'll get you. I'll get your mother. I'll get your family."

The number, written by my mom to give it that feminine look, was Wah-Kee's. Or rather, Wah-Kee's old number. We didn't see him as often in those days, so I didn't know that his family had moved. Some random person answered the phone, which didn't have quite the same effect as say, if Kee's Chinese-speaking mother had answered, but it was still funny. I thought so, anyway. Jose had a slightly different take on it.

Meanwhile, his ex-girlfriend was apparently still reeling from seeing the napkin. When a Shania Twain song came on the car stereo, she became even more frustrated and bent down to change the station. At that point, the car skidded off the road and crashed. She wasn't seriously hurt, but Jose insisted the accident was my fault. Logic be damned! Even though he was the one who showed the napkin to his jealousy prone ex, I was clearly to blame. It's not like I told him to show it to her. And what if the waitress really did give him her number? Would it still be my fault that he shoved it in his ex's face?

Later, he told me that he planned on getting back at me by having a male stripper dressed as a clown come to my house on my birthday, but wisely decided against it.

Anyway, happy birthday, buddy. And if it makes you feel any better, I wrecked my arm last night in the stupidest way possible. Brianna was swinging her arm around and asked me if I could do it. I thought, "What a silly question." Of course I could, at least I could before (I finally get to say this) my old football injury started acting up. As soon as my arm went over my head, I heard a loud pop, then an even louder crack, and it felt like my arm fell off at the shoulder. Didn't see that one coming. It's twelve hours later and I can still barely lift it.

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And Now For Something Completely Different...

Behold! I am the Great Amazo! Behold! Did I say that already? No matter, it is worth beholding me twice, or perhaps even a third time, for my powers are that impressive. How impressive, you ask? Well, for starters, I'm an excellent speller. Observe. Pneumatic, P-N-E-U-M-A-T-I-C. See? That one was pretty tough. I mean, I've seen some people spell it wrong, like, they forget the "E" or something.

Hmm...my well-tuned telepathic abilities tell me that you are not impressed. Well, consider this: I can bat over .400! That alone should be enough for you, but when you consider that I have no arms it becomes exponentially more impressive, eh? C'mon, I'm just a head for crying out loud, the fact that I'm able to function at all should warrant at least an "ooh" or an "aah."

THE THIRTEENTH PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES WAS MILLARD FILLMORE!!

Huh. Nothing. Very well. Be that way. I suppose I could use my mind to turn a duck into soap, or make a monster truck appear out of thin air, but I refuse to waste my time on parlor tricks for small-minded fools such as yourselves. However, I did interrupt the monotony of this ridiculous website for a reason. I mean, really. How many stories about weird homeless people or high school memories are we supposed to endure? And what ever happened to the haikus? That page hasn't been updates in months!

Where was I? Ah, yes. The reason I'm here today is that my arch-rival, the Amazing Greato has been making the rounds, proclaiming he is the most powerful entity in the known universe. Obviously a fraudulent claim, as I am clearly at least twice as powerful. He tries to win people over by saying what a great swimmer he is, or how many decimals he can recite Pi to. Big deal. Did the Amazing Greato ever toast a Pop Tart using only his mind? Well, yes. Probably every morning. But certainly without the flair and panache with which I do it. And that is why I am the superior omnipotent floating head. He just goes through the motions, whereas I put a lot of time and thought into giving the people what they want. And isn't that what it's all about? I mean, if i wanted to, I could make each and every creature on Earth implode. But I don't, because you're my people. You're the reason I get up in the morning.

The Amazing Greato would never say anything as compassionate as that. You know why? Because he's a dick, that's why.

You know, despite my vast wellsprings of knowledge and intuition, I still cannot understand your steadfast refusal to pledge allegiance to me. It doesn't make any sense. Is it the lightning? It's the lightning. I knew it, it's too imposing. Well, try this on for size.



Now, WORSHIP ME!! WORSHIP ME!! C'mon, worship me. Hey, where are you going? Come back here! All right, that's it. I didn't want it to come to this, but you leave me no choice. I'm just going to have to turn your innards into pudding. I'll do it. I swear. Okay, come back, I didn't mean that. Please! Come back, I won't hurt you. Oh...I just want to be loved.

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I Ain't Got Nothin' to Say To You

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