Pathogen

Pathogen

Jen is my sister. She is athletic and a medical professional.

Al’ ler Jen – Why Jen sneezes when dusting. "Allergen"

Car cin’ o Jen – When Jen cuts one in the back seat, ultimately resulting in a sinus cancer. "Car sin o' Jen"

Con Jen’ i tal – Jen ‘s innate ability to talk you out of, or into, anything. "Con Jen it all"

Cry o Jen’ ic – What you hear when Jen gets something gross in her Dippin’ Dots. "Cry o' Jen: ick"

Cur mud’ Jen – The personality of Jen when she gets schmutz on her shoe. "Crrr mud Jen"

Dun Jen’ – The dark hole where you contemplate what you’ve done, and the status of your relationship, after defying Jen’s rule. "Dungeon"

Jen’ der – When Jen thinks something is totally obvious and a boy doesn’t. "Jen: Der!"

Jen’ er al – What Jen is when a bunch of people do whatever Jen says. "General"

Jen’ er a list – All the trivial stuff that same bunch of people do. "General list"

Jen er a li za’ tion – The arbitrary act of succumbing to the power of Jen. "Generaliztion"

Jen’ er a ly – Overall, Jen’s command of the South during the civil war. "General Lee"

Jen er a’ tion – ‘round about 20 year age span of people heavily influenced by Jen and all that implies. "Generation"

Jen’ e rat or – coiled wire + magnets + attached to giant hamster wheel + Jen + Reeses Peanut Butter Cups on a stick. Run, Jen, run! "Generator"

Jen er’ ic – The indescriminate foul smell of Jen before she showers. "Jen air: ick"

Jen’ o cide – “Waiter, I’ll have the Prime Rib with… oooo! Jenocide! You have just got to try this! To die for!” "Jen o' side"

Jen er o’ si ty – Giving in large amounts to Jen out of the goodness of your heart…or pity. "Generosity"

Jen’ er ous – What it comes down to in a revolt against Jen, and you just decide to give her all of it. "Jen or us?"

Jen’ e sis – Theresa, Cindy, Chrissy and Jen gettin’ together and startin’ somethin’. "Jenny sis"

Jen e’ tic – The reason inferior little parasites must die after sampling Jen’s DNA. "Jenny tick"

Jen e’ ti cist – Jen’s contribution to your lay-up playing hoops, for a team of people who study DNA. "Jen net assist"

Jen e’ tics – What you will experience futiley trying to score goals against Jen’s God-given abilities. "Jen net ticks"

Jen’ i tal – what short people think looking up at Jen. "Jenny tall"

Jen’ i tive – a case in which you must give Jen what she wants. "Genitive"

Jent – Jen’s arm charm. "Gent"

Jen teel’ – The particular shade of green you will turn when Jen daintily asuages her frustration with your crap. "Jen teal"

Jen’ tle – The way Jen pets the rabbits in Of Mice and Jen. "Gentle"

Jen’ u flect – the reason and particular way in which you have to duck when Jen picks her nose. "Jen you flicked"

Jen’ u ine – The quality of receiving the Jen, the whole Jen, and nothing but the Jen. "Genuine"

Nor we’ Jen – the ancestral heritage from whence Jen gets her lickety-split grasp of the obvious and her rapier witt. Sharp as a tack, dat Jen. "Norwegian"

Oxy Jen’ – What you will be sucking after a tug-o-war against Jen. "Oxygen"

Path’ o Jen – 1) The route of the epic journey Jen takes to rid the world of cooties. 2) Another name for cooties . 3) The word I happen to see on a first aid kit that started this whole thing. "Path o' Jen"

Stur’ Jen – Unique and ancient fish lounging in deep cool water that will bite your dumb ass for disturbing it. "Sturgeon"

Sur’ Jen – Jen takin’ charge in the operating room. "Sir Jen"

Cut It Out!

Cut It Out!

How many times recently have you heard someone say something like, “I cut out [fill in the blank] and now I have more energy. I feel great!”
“I cut out caffeine. I have more energy. I feel great!”
“I cut out TV. I have more energy. I feel great!”
“I stopped eating meat. I have more energy. I feel great”
Call me crazy, but all of this is more than a little contradictory. If everyone cut out everything that everyone was suggesting cutting out, we would end up that crazy hermit that lives at the top of the mountain and never eats (what food sources are available at the top of a mountain, anyway?) If I was that hermit, I would send everyone back down for a Big Mac before I “saged” them. Bring me back a super-size fries! I guess that is why people write to Dear Abby instead.

Do you remember that mass-suicide cult from a few years ago with the Hale-Bopp comet? They were the geniuses who believed if they wore the right Nikes and died at the right time they could hop a flight on the comet and get on with the life they were supposed to be living—as opposed to the miserable existence they evidently were having living amongst you and I. Because their deaths made the news, so did some of their other stories. Evidently, some of them relieved unwanted pressure in their lives with castration. So, there is video of some bloke essentially saying, “I cut out my genitals! I have more energy! I feel great!”

Does anyone really believe that the more we cut out of our lives the better our quality of life will be?

My theory is that quitting itself has a placebo effect. Good for you that you stopped drinking! I’m glad you feel great! But, why did you start in the first place? Let’s be honest, if drinking made everyone who did it feel miserable while they were doing it, it would not be a problem, would it? Smokers quit for a while, they start to feel great. Then, they get really obnoxious and crabby and both they and their families are relieved when they start again. It feels great, at first, when you stop watching TV and start exercising. Then, it feels great when you stop exercising, grab a bag of chips, and get back to your TiVo.

It feels great to quit, but quitting the quitting feels even better. Not an option with castration, however. Most people don’t make as big of a spectacle when they quit quitting. That seems to be the biggest difference. Some of this may be the guilt. So, you just ate a whole bag of Oreos after a week of dieting. Chances are you are not going to call your best friend and gleefully announce, “Hey! Guess what I just did!” I would, but that’s just me.

I enjoy being fickle. I do not have any tattoos because I know that I am fickle. I am not bothered by tattoos on other people. I admire people who express themselves in that way and every other way. If you want to dress like a bum or a hooker, I don’t care (unless you are my wife or daughter). Just don’t be surprised if I mistake you for a bum or a hooker. Do you curse like a sailor? That certainly splashes a lot of color on your personality. Many comedians have built their careers on doing little more than that. It’s just one more way a person defines them, for better or worse.

On the other hand, you could change any or all of these things and feel good about it. Or, you could start doing any or all of these things and feel good about it. Either way, you are not alone. You can find loads of new friends ready to say, “Hey, me too!” There is even a group for people who join groups and never do anything after that. They seem pretty happy.

Sorry I haven’t written for so long. Guess why? But, I have more energy! I feel great!

The Customer is Always Right

June was fat. I know you can’t say people are fat anymore, so I’ll say it again: June was fat. She had a puffy fat face, she had thick fat legs, and she was as wide as she was tall. But, she had an entertaining personality. I don’t know how she got the job or when, but she was waitress at the restaurant long before I showed up. And, as waitresses go, she was pretty good at it.

The problem was not her, it was the customers. The world has gone too soft on customers, especially in restaurants. I am always amazed at how many restaurants exist, even in a small town, and how so many can remain open. I just assume they are all making money, or else they would have to close, right? Either way, apparently it is too much competition, because they all are insane about their customers. I don’t know who said, “The customer is always right” but it was the restaurants that listened. Customers in restaurants get away with the lowest, sleaziest crap this way. And it is the restaurant staff that pays the price for it. They don’t call it the service industry for nothing. People certainly treat them like servants and expect them to act like it, too.

It is quite common for customers to come in just before closing-- too close, in fact. This really stresses the staff. They want to get home or at least off work just like everyone else. Another issue is the resources themselves—do they have enough food, dishes, napkins, etc. for more customers so late in the day? Trying to get done early as a cook is especially risky. They need to clean everything before they can go. If someone comes in after they start cleaning, they are just going to have to start all over again.

The biggest problem on this particular day was that these late customers were regular customers. They were not favorite customers since no one really liked them. But they were regular customers and repeat business is absolutely essential to the survival of a restaurant (or so “they” say.) They ordered their usual, which was one T-Bone well done and one T-Bone rare. It takes about 45 minutes to cook a steak well done. This meant everyone involved would be getting done late. Everyone was expecting that already when they walked in, and nerves were frayed because of it. But, they knew enough to not show it, of course.

Then the final straw happened. The customers sent the steak back. Ironically, it was not the well-done order that came back, it was the rare steak. Why was it sent back? It wasn’t cooked enough! The rare steak was not cooked enough! You have got to be kidding, right?

June was furious! But, not in front of the customers, of course. She politely took the complaint and the steak back to the kitchen. That’s where she lost control. She grabbed the steak with both hands, raised it above her head, and with all her might, threw it to the ground with a loud slap! But she wasn’t through. She, all 270 pounds of her, bent her knees as far as she dared, and thrust her massive frame as high and taught into the air as she could go. At the apex, she curled her knees up under herself again, and before she landed, she quickly extended both feet on the steak at the same time, stomping it into the floor. Without the slightest hesitation, she picked the steak up, and tossed it onto the grill. She let it sizzle for about a minute, then flipped it over for another minute. Satisfied it was now cooked, but still “rare” she plated the steak, fixed a grin from ear to ear and marched the steak back to the customer.

The customer never knew a thing about it. I am sure that June was able to channel her vindication like a wave of second wind. I am sure the customer was cooed and coddled like the baby they were and felt just exactly how they wanted on their big night. In fact, I found out later that the customer ended up giving June an unusually generous tip, which did not surprise me. What still gets everyone laughing to this day is how they gushed and praised about how tender that steak became!

How to Become an Atheist

I was not surprised that my Dad was having an argument. It’s not that he likes to argue, mind you. No, what he seems to like so much is having an argument. Over the years he has argued with township boards and county commissioners about taxes and roads and culverts. He has argued about the actual location of section lines and property lines. He has even argued with the railroad about the speed at which crossing arms descend.

So, when I heard that he was arguing with his son-in-laws church, I was not entirely surprised. What was new, though, was the topic. When my littlest sister got married (to this son-in-law) Dad freaked. It was not because she was the youngest (maybe a little.) She was not the first (or the last) to marry outside the Catholic Church (which was also a factor.) Actually, it was because of four words. That is how he finally put it to me.

I have the unenviable position of being someone with which Dad felt somewhat comfortable having real discussions. This is a skill I self-learned for survival’s sake. So, that is how and why I became involved. And that is how I learned it came down to four words. The words were spoken by the son-in-law in relation to the discussion topic of not being Catholic. Son-in-law made the mistake of expressing the position of actually being anti-Catholic. This is a far more confrontational position. One that his own dad and church seemed to support. And that is the context within which he said four words: “We have the truth.”

If you are following me so far, I certainly hope you can understand how that would go over with my argumentative Dad. If there was ever a person on the earth who was going to claim to have the truth, well, they better check with Dad, first.

I said all that to say this: Dad’s reaction was to begin a full-scale investigation into this other church. And that is where I stepped into it. So, I needed to try to understand all of this from the inside out. To that end, I found out about this “chat group” that Dad was in. This was several years ago, mind you. Chat rooms have come a long way since then. This one was more of a discussion/bulletin board and everyone was accessing it from dial-up modems and computers so archaic in today’s terms you would laugh. Nevertheless, that is where I had to start. So, I joined the group (it was exclusive.)

That is where I met the atheist. It is somewhat puzzling that he would be there. To their credit, evidently, this particular group wanted to have worthwhile and enlightening discussions about “religion” and that meant (at least at one time) to be open to such opinions as that of this atheist. In reality, it meant no one could say anything because this guy was completely obnoxious. They were open minded, and he took full advantage to the point of actually monopolizing the whole thing. So, what was I going to do? I got to know the atheist.

And in that process I got to hear his story in his own words. He served in Vietnam. He had grown up Christian (though not Catholic, if I recall correctly). And he considered himself Christian when he went to Vietnam. It was horrific. It may not have been for everyone, but this guy saw many things that would haunt anybody for life. And on one particular day, on a hike, his group was ambushed. The ordeal lasted about an hour, I think. It was not quick, anyway. And in the end, everywhere this survivor looked was death. Death of soldiers, comrades, and friends. One such friend died in his arms. Again, not quickly. The only relevance of the time is that it was long enough to pray. And pray he did. Hard. With all his might. Like he had never prayed before. And in the end? Nothing. Death. Suffering and death.

And that is what did it for him. He concluded from that ordeal that there must not be a God. (Actually, he would have written it “must not be a god” because along with god, goes Satan, angels, heaven, hell, and all that goes with it, if you fully understand a-theism.) His conclusion was based on God 1) Not answering his prayer 2) how he wanted 3) and when he wanted, but those are my words. For him, that was just the foundation. After that, it was easy to find evidence to support the position. Actually, what he “found” was a lack of any credible evidence of the existence of God in anything he observed and anything any believers offered. Which is what brought him to the group—technically looking for their evidence, but ultimately debunking, discrediting, and disrupting everything that was being said.

I never changed his mind, either. I just stopped following the group. I just moved on. At the time, I was actually fearful for my safety and that of my family. This guy lived close enough and was persistent enough to track me down, if he wanted. I didn’t want to attract that kind of attention. But, I also really just gave up on the idea of changing his mind—or even wanting to change him.

My own faith has grown since that time. I realize now that I was right in thinking that I had no power to change him. That would only come from a higher power. Could I have been an instrument for that power? It’s possible. But, it’s also just as possible I was not supposed to be.

I often think about him. And I pray. Someday I’ll know what happened. So will you.