Fags

Saw Alexander with my very fine buddy Scott over the Thanksgiving weekend and, I have to say, I think this film may take home the prize for 2004's Biggest Disappointment. Not quite as bad as Bridget Jones 2, but I had high expectations for this film, despite the scathing pre-reviews. Ach.

So Scott and I sit down in the theater... in the seats right next to each other, I might add. It reminded me of a pet peeve of mine:

"You know what I really hate? I don't know why, but I really find it annoying when two guys go to see a movie together and they insist on sitting with a seat in between them."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing it's especially frustrating in a crowded theater when people are trying to find seats together, but even beyond that... what's the point? Are they trying to prove to the world that they're not gay? Women don't seem to have a problem with this. You never see two women taking up three seats. For that matter, I don't think I've ever seen any straight woman worried that she's being perceived as a lesbian."

"Yeah, it goes to show how fucking homophobic we are in this country."

...which got me thinking about the word 'Homophobic'.

It's a word that's always kind of stuck in my craw. What is "homophobia"? A literal fear of gays and lesbians? A fear of what homosexuals represent? A fear of the influence of gay society on contemporary culture? A fear of being perceived as gay yourself? In this day and age... particularly in my neck of the woods... we're very quick to throw that label on people. I've never been comfortable with it.

Maybe it comes from having a rather intensely conservative upbringing, but I think it's a little unfair to automatically label those who have problems with what they see as immoral behaivior... as "homophobes". Gay is a very big, very old idea. Is it possible that people that resist it aren't necessarily doing so out of fear? There's a dash of schoolyard bully mixed into the spirit of the Homophobe label: "You don't like gays, huh? What're you, chicken?"

That's not to say that homophobia doesn't exist, I just think there should be a distinction between those that are afraid of Gay Germies as opposed to those that don't approve of a homosexual lifestyle. True homophobia is, let's face it, as ridiculous as racism. I guess that's going way out of the way to state the painfully obvious, but if we truly believe that the color of someone's skin has nothing to do with their intelligence, their ability to perform a job well, their likelihood of truly loving life and those around them... their hygiene for pete's sake... why should we think that who they happen to have sex with would make a difference in these specific areas?

"But what about morality?"

Honestly, everybody's got a wealth of "evidence" backing up their own thoughts on the Nature vs. Nurture aspect of homosexuality, so it's a fruitless argument. There is no "obviously". Choose to believe whatever you want - somebody out there'll back you up.

Anyhow, I think it's time to cut this nauseating diatribe short and to give a quick shout-out to Phil and Carlos (who are, without a doubt, the very best neighbors Carey and I have ever had).
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Belated birthday wishes to Lauren K. Martin, my sister. 26! Hooray!

Remembering what cold feels like

Nothing wrong with visiting Ohio in November, but it does tend to knock you on your ass with a nasty cold and that's why I haven't been writing.

It really was a very nice, relatively stress-free visit, which is something that I don't get very often when going home to visit. Anymore, it's usually filled with running from place to place, trying to get enough time in with everyone... well, that or visiting injured family members in the hospital and meeting with civil attorneys.

Mom continues to improve. Unfortunately, her insurance situation has forced her into a 30-hour work week, which, between you and me and the fence post, is too much too soon. She's struggling to keep her head above it all, but, you know, it's Mom, so she's making the best of a difficult situation.

But it was great to spend time with her. The time went far too quickly.

The Purest Communication

Had a discussion that was a little more than a volley and a little less than a debate with my good friend Scott last week: what's the purest form of written communication?

He says poetry. I say comics.

I'll admit that I've wholeheartedly bought into every manifesto Scott McCloud has ever spouted about the wonder and necessity of the medium. It makes sense: cave paintings, hieroglyphics, even words themselves are all, when you truly get down to it... comics. But what's a comic? In my opinion, any set of sequential illustrations (however naturalistic, stylized or abstract) formulated to communicate an idea or event to a viewer is a comic.

The beauty of comics is that they can be as elaborate or as simplified as they want to be. Like prose or film or friggin' radio plays, comics are just as powerful a medium of communication as anything else.

What's the most important piece of information an airline company can communicate to you while you sit on the tarmac, waiting for takeoff? Well, obviously, it's What To Do In Case Of An Emergency. The airlines could have written out a detailed description of exactly what you need to do to survive a sea landing, but they chose to, instead, place a little comic at the back of each seat to explain what they mean.

I probably love comics a little too much, I'll admit it. It's a passion I've never managed to shake (or "grow out of", if you want to be pretentious about it).

So why aren't I doing them for a living?
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Occasionally, Carey confronts me about the things I write on this blogger. "You exaggerate," she says, "It didn't happen like that. You twist the story around or leave out important bits to make it funnier or more clever."

I suppose that's true. I can't really blame her for protesting, either. The poor woman's been exploited and misquoted to pieces on this little corner of cyberspace.

I've had a couple of conversations with Gary, a fellow blogger, about the mysteries of this strange practice of weblogging. In the "diary" sense of a blogger, who cares about journalistic integrity? It's my thoughts on my life, does it really matter if I exaggerate or abreviate? On the other hand, there's the whole "published for the whole world" side of it, which makes it a bit more complicated.

But, whatever, it's everywhere. More and more, I'm finding old friends and casual acquaintances that have their own bloggers. Gary does, of course, and so do Jon and April (even though they're not exactly faithful with updates). But a quick poke around the web and it looks like Andy's got a blog, Joe's got one, Gabe, Dave, Megan, Drew, Eric, Adam, Jeremiah & Marcie... even Dallas has a weblog for pete's sake! Then, there are always the folks who manage to maintain their own website, journal or no journal, like Nate & Deb, Andrew, Kary, Kirk, Damien, Steve... ah, I'm leaving out hordes of folks, I'm sure..

It's everywhere. But I love it. I spend far too much time reading blogs, I'll admit, but I'm genuinely interested. In a weird way, I wish everyone would keep one.

By the way, if I weren't so lazy I'd probably set up a links page on my own website, but who has the time? After all, I've got blogs to read.

You're out of excuses! Buy! Buy! Buy!

Drunken Monkey is done, proofed, approved, and off to the printer.

First of all, if you're interested in my one lousy DM page, but don't want to brave the grimy horrors of an actual comic book shop, Rich Stahnke just informed me that issue #2 is available through a comics retail site that I've actually used in the past: Discount Comic Book Service. They're not only carrying the comic, they're discounting it substantially.

There.
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My latest complaint is with Democrats. Here goes:

Now, granted, I live in one of the most liberally-charged corners of the country, so I expect some anti-Bush, anti-Republican rhetoric. Long before election day, I expected the outrage, the doom-saying, the reports of dubious vote-counting practices and intimidation techniques. A fool could have seen that coming from miles offshore... but one thing I didn't expect was the giddiness I'm hearing from leftist media voices. Not an "optimism despite...", but, rather, a childish glee at the fact that so many people, both here and abroad, hate George W. Bush.

Yes, really.

A few days after the election, Michael Moore posted this note on his website. I was stunned. This man is actually celebrating the fact that a great deal of respect has been lost for the office of the Presidency of the United States. He'd rather be personally vindicated than bother to build or encourage. He's content that a lot of Americans hate who he hates.

I haven't seen Farenheit 9/11, but I can't imagine ever taking it seriously as a documentary, given Michael Moore's track record of fact-bending, half-truths and, now, personal vendettas. He doesn't want to report, he just wants people on His Side and, frankly, I don't have the patience for that.

Think the Republicans are just as bad? You're probably right, but this particular rant is against the Left, so get your own website.

And, to be reasonable, this is not most Democrats I'm complaining about. Unfortunately, much like Christianity, it's the loudest ones that ruin it for the rest. I guess I'm just starting to feel a little super-saturated with all the articles and commentaries and talk-radio about how the Good People need to band together to win back the nation from the dark days of the Religious Right.

Feh.
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Otherwise, uh. I dunno.

Going to see Blu tonight, which is a bit of a shame, because I've actually started to like the head of hair I've had for the last week or so. I suspect I'll have her make me look old again. I thought that worked out nicely last time.

Thanksgiving is going to come early this year. Since Carey and I will be in Ohio this weekend, we're having a Thanksgiving bash with Mom and the rest on Sunday evening. Then, a week later, it's Thanksgiving again with Steve and Rebecca Groff. It's rainin' turkeys!

LOT of stuff to catch up on, most of which are personal projects. In fact, thinking about it is stressing me out. So, bye.

The Hype (and why you should believe it)

A treasured comrade once told me, "Jer, you need to go see Fight Club. In fact, until you've seen it, you can't be my friend." So I did, and now it's quite possibly my all-time favorite flick.

So, now, I put it to you, dear readers:

UNTIL YOU'VE SEEN THE INCREDIBLES, YOU CAN'T BE MY FRIEND.
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For some reason, this article caught my eye.

Even though my April 1st entry was a joke, I wasn't lying about Carey being a big fan of contests, lotteries and sweepstakes. I've made the case to her many times that suddenly coming into ridiculous amounts of money that we didn't earn would very probably do more to ruin us than solve our problems. She disagrees wholeheartedly.

Reading that article, though, I have to say that those people are exceptionally stupid and it's difficult to see myself behaving like such a moron, no matter how many riches came flying our way. It's a sad fact: those who play the lottery the most tend to be the ignorant and uneducated, often the people with the least to spare on frivolous purchases.
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Congratulations to our good friend Kelly Larned and his new wife Kari, whose wedding we attended over the weekend. It was less than a year ago that Kelly first downloaded her internet profile and, hey! Look! Married!

A beautiful ceremony and reception and Carey and I were able to see some friends that we don't get to see nearly enough... not the least of which: Kent Currie, my old college roommate.

Kent is a very, very interesting fellow who resides in Manhattan and, somehow, has the world at his feet. Difficult to describe, but for as long as I've known Kent, he's just sort of fallen into good luck, nice jobs, cool surroundings and remarkable stories. Alas, he has been unlucky (or maybe ultra-choosy) in love, but he tells me he's ready to settle down with someone, as soon as she comes along.

Best moment of the Larned wedding:

KENT: You know, Jer, I've been thinking about the things I'd like at my own wedding someday. I think it would be really cool to have a few older, seasoned couples come up to me and my bride during the ceremony to give us a piece of advice. Really set the tone, you know?

JER: Kent, I see what you're getting at and, yes, Carey and I would be happy to give you marital advice when the time comes.

KENT: Yeah? So what would you say to me?

JER: ...uh...

KENT: Come on, some advice for old Kent!

JER: ...

KENT: Carey, what about you? What would you tell a newly married couple?

CAREY: "Don't expect much."

Inside Edition

Yeah, if you happened to catch Inside Edition late last week, that was indeed my mother you saw.

I really don't mind saying that our family was terribly disappointed with how the segment came out. It was sold to Mom as an opportunity to tell her side of the story, to relate how she had no way to predict her attack, to demonstrate how difficult it is to persevere after this kind of encounter.

Unfortunately, what came across was more along the lines of, "isn't this bizarre?" They capitalized on the shocking bits to create a freakish circus. Looking objectively at Inside Edition, that seems to be their standard M.O., but it's a bit harder to swallow when it's your family they're parading around.

To be fair, they did manage to grab a few genuinely important bits: there was a certain degree of satisfaction and finality to watching Bill plead guilty. It was good to see Mom relating her true feelings about Bill toward the end: "he wanted to destroy me, but he's only succeeded in destroying himself. I find that pathetic." That's my mom, all right.

"Guilty."

Since it's already in the news, I suppose there's no harm on mentioning this here...

Yesterday, Bill stood before Stark County Common Pleas Court and pleaded guilty to the charges against him: kidnapping, domestic violence and felonious assault. Essentially, this means that there will be no criminal trial, only a sentencing in December. He could get up to 10 years (not likely that he'll get the full penalty, but anything's possible).

I'll post a link to Mom's website tonight, but for the time being, you can read the story on The Canton Repository's website.

(By the way, despite what the article says, Mom does indeed have three children, not two.)

It's a relief, in many ways. I'm glad she won't have to endure the stress of a criminal trial. There's always the chance that he'd have gotten a stiffer sentence if he'd tried to fight it, but who knows? Selfishly, I have to admit that I was sort of looking forward to watching the prosecutor put the screws to that bastard in the courtroom, but maybe this is for the best.

Nevertheless, this is certainly good news for our family. Thanks for your prayers and support. Still a long, long road ahead (the civil case will soon begin in earnest), but the encouragement Mom's received from all sides has been a true blessing.

How I, Quite Literally, Rocked the Vote

Do not, under any circumstances, read this post.

No, seriously, you'll be much happier if you just skip this entry altogether. Way way more information than you'll ever desire follows. I mean it.

Seriously.

So, funny thing with kidney stones, you almost never get to choose for yourself when they'll be passed. Actually, I've found that if you're concentrating on it, it never happens. It's that first time that you completely zone out in the middle of a good, long pee that... *ZING*!

This morning, I woke up, did my business and, midway through... *ZIN--*

Apparently, it was "time", but only sorta.

The trouble is, when a kidney stone decides it's ready to leave, it just assumes that there'll be enough urine behind it to complete its journey. It doesn't bother to consider the possibility that said urine is in limited supply and could very well run out mid-trip.

I really couldn't believe it: there was a kidney stone lodged midway down my penis.

If you're not familiar with the anatomy of a kidney stone, allow me to paint a picture: these things are not smooth, microscopic pebbles that slide out of one's system with ease. Rather, they're sharp, hard, oblong and irregular beasties that tend to irritate and tear soft tissue. They've literally broken off from a calcium deposit in one's kidney, so they're much more akin to a little glass shard (or a big glass shard... my biggest was the size of a quarter) than a Tic-Tac.

Unfortunately, there was very little I could do about it, other than drink glass after glass of water like a fiend. (Carey suggested I try masturbating, but no way, no how, nothin' doin'. That would be suicide.) Anyhow, it was time to go to work and, before work, I needed to hit the polls.

So, in what may be the single greatest display of patriotism in the history of our great nation, I fought through an intensely personal pain and voted in the 2004 General Election with a kidney stone lodged in my penis.

As I type this, the votes are being tablulated across the country, so I have no idea who won. But I'm content in the knowledge that my sacrifice was not in vain.

Also, about an hour later, I purged the stone into the office urinal. Thank God that's over.

No worries, I'm sure I'll have another one worked up in time for Decision 2008.