August 2005

Ribbon Certified.

It’s official. I’m have had it up to here (way above my head) with these stupid magnetic ribbons that are plastered all over the cars around here. I used to tolerate them. I used to think of our troops in Iraq and silently thank them for their contribution to the world when I saw a yellow ribbon.

Now I just want to run the fuckin’ car off the road.

The original intent of these ribbons was admirable. I thought it was a bit cheesy to buy a pre-fabbed magnet ribbon at Wal*Mart (Always White Trash, Always) and slap it on your car, but I dealt with it. Personally, if you feel that strongly about showing your yellow ribbon off, I feel you should take the time to get a piece of actual yellow ribbon and tie it around your car antenna, or your cell phones, or your neck for all I care, but you should at least make an effort. Nope, it’s grab, scan, plop, and “Look I’m Patriotic!”. At least when the original yellow ribbons were out and about, I believe during the Iran Hostage situation back in 1979 and 1980, people took actual yellow ribbons and tied them around actual oak trees in their front yards. Now that said something.

Now we have these ribbons popping up for all sorts of causes. Yesterday, I saw a ribbon that said “Autism Awareness”. How about “Help Find A Cure for Autism.” I’m fully aware that autism exists. Why be so passive? “Autism Awareness”. Don’t make people aware of it, do something about it!

Then there’s those lovely pink ribbons that say “Support breast cancer.” Well, no I don’t really support breast cancer as I came thisclose to losing my godmother to the disease. Sure, I’ll support the cause to find a cure for breast cancer, but support breast cancer itself? Not on your life. If you’re going to write something on a ribbon, please have the decency to have it make sense.

I hate to generalize about people, actually I’m lying, I love the sport, but these ribbons are like a USDA seal of “really bad driver”. These cheap imitation ribbons on a car usually indicate that the driver is going to make erratic movements, neglect the turn signal stalk on the steering wheel, talk on the cell phone and make an illegal U turn over my foot as I jay walk.

I guess in that way they’re really helpful. It’s like a little note to others, “I’m an asshat!”

I find it really ironic that these men with small penises lots of money the means to own a Hummer have the “Support Our Troops” ribbons on the back of their tanks, especially as our troops lose their lives in their real Hummers so you can drive around suburbia in your fake one.

“You don’t care.” “You’re not patriotic.” “You don’t give a damn about your country.”

That’s bullshit. Like my spiritual beliefs, I don’t need to run around bashing people over the head with my patriotism, waving an American flag and having a “W” tattoo etched into my right bicep. I’d fight for my country if she wanted me and would let me. But no, I have to tolerate these mass produced imitation ribbons.

Lightning Strikes.

As I type this short little blog entry, there’s an beautifully breathtaking thunderstorm in progress. The rumble of thunder is shaking the house right down to the foundation and lightning is lighting up the sky more spectacularly than any human fireworks display can do.

I love storms like these. It’s awe inspiring and humbling all at the same time. Mother Nature is reminding us who is boss.

And she does it with such a flair.

Monday.

It’s not easy heading back to work after a great weekend. The weather is hot and humid again. People seem to have issue with dialing internationally today (remember, by day, I’m Mr. Telephone Man.) After dancing through the weekend, it’s like reality has slapped you across the face. The alarm clock blares and off you go into the rat race.

Last night my sister called. My Aunt Rose passed away yesterday. She’s had some health problems for the past couple of months or so and apparently her death was related to that. She went quickly in her home before the ambulance had the chance to arrive. She was my sister’s godmother. I’m happy that we had the opportunity to see her a couple weeks ago at a graduation party. She seemed happy, despite side effects from her medication. She smiled. We hugged.

I find it hard to see others at funeral services. I don’t mind seeing the deceased, as I know that they’ve already left this world and are now experiencing eternal happiness. When I look in a casket, I don’t see my relative or friend, I see what they’ve left behind. A car without the driver, if you will. I prefer closed casket services, simply because it allows me to focus on the memories instead of the body. But what I really don’t like is to to see others grieve. (Who would like it, after all?) It’s because I can’t help them. I can’t take their pain away. I want to say “They’re happy now. They’re at peace! They’re looking down upon us. They’re right here. Smile, celebrate their life and dream about them tonight. Close your eyes and listen to their whispers. Feel the eternal love they’re feeling. Give them a great big hug and tell them to give God a kiss for you.” But I never say those things. I’m afraid I’ll cross a line. Everyone has a grieving process that they go through. I must allow them the luxury of their personal journey. So I hold a hand, I hug, I mumble my sympathy, I relive some memories and I try to make them smile.

Rest in peace, Aunt Rose. Make sure God doesn’t get too sweaty.*

* inside family joke.