Glinn Bekc spails reely ghUd

My first grade teacher couldn’t couldn’t spell. My parents used that bit of information to ridicule her for inferiority and lack of personal education, thus not fit to educate me. Imagine a teacher’s salary and what kind of responsibility one has to teach 20 students.

Even with a $50 million contract over 5 years, Glenn Beck can’t prepare a simple prepared segment on his show to degrade Obama correctly.

Hey, Beck, spell “Oligarchy.” Of course the irony of calling the kettle black is also lost on Beck.


Adoption Story was featured in the Chicago Tribune

I was adopted, and I’m going to tell you my story. Just like all stories, the details are altered by the storyteller. I realize I’m wrong on some facts, but this is my version …  I can’t figure out why people don’t realize that when reading the bible.

For the sake of the story, My birth mom is Maria. My parents are Pieter and Susan Witteveen. I have a brother and sister named Jon and Kelly. And I have a brother by birth named Mark.

Back in 1974, Pieter and Susan already had two children, Jon and Kelly, before I came along, and due to health complications, the doctor advised that Susan not have more children. Susan was torn; she wanted more kids.

My parents were (are) very religious and they were active in the community and church. They fostered a little boy before they met me, and they prayed for the chance to possibly adopt a child in the future.

One day, Pieter was driving to town, and he saw a cute, young girl hitchhiking. She had big curly black hair, and she stood maybe 5 feet tall. Pieter pulled over to pick the girl up. She was visibly pregnant. They talked a little. Her name was Maria, she was 16 and she was going to a friend’s house. Pieter dropped her off where she needed to go, and gave her Susan’s phone number and explained that the next time Maria needed a ride, please call Susan and she’d take her wherever, no questions asked. “Please don’t hitchhike again, it’s dangerous,” Pieter told Maria.

Pieter and Susan did not hear from Maria for some time.

They did, however, hear of a young girl in the community who was pregnant and needed some help. It appeared her home life had become very difficult. It happened to be the same girl that Pieter picked up hitchhiking. Through a church-affiliated organization, Maria and the Witteveens hooked up and were in contact.

A couple months after I was born, the Witteveens got a phone call from Maria. She told Pieter that she was at a trailer and the people there were putting my health at risk, so she asked if they would come pick me up. As I know the story, she wanted to stay and party and leave me with the Witteveens.

During the next couple years, Maria stayed with the Witteveens, and they acted as a sort of foster guardians for me. They had a social worker on the case.

Part of the deal of being my guardians was that the Witteveens had to sign a contract that said they would not eligible to adopt me. My dad had been reading a religious book about keeping promises and being contractually obligated was a godly virtue.

So despite the fact that Maria was thinking about putting me up for adoption, the couple who were already giving me the most love and affection weren’t going to be considered as possible parents.

In the meantime, Maria was a free spirit. She would disappear from time to time. She would hitchhike to Michigan, to California, all over the place. The social worker would stop by the house, and tell my parents, “If Maria isn’t here by the end of the week, we’re going to have to take Jeremy out of your foster care.”

As my parents tell the story, “Miraculously, Maria would call to check in, and we’d wire her money or a plane ticket to come home,” just in time for me to avoid being taken and thrown into the system.

Susan says things like, “Maria and I would sit out on the front porch, crying, talking about the painful decision whether to give up Jeremy for adoption or not.”

Through the help of a little prayerful mediation with the state, the hand of god swooped down and changed everyone’s mind and let me be adopted by the Witteveens.

Open adoption wasn’t allowed back in the 70s. But Maria lived close to the Witteveens, and she explained that she would run by the house hoping to catch me playing in the yard.

My parents never hid that I was adopted from me. I knew from an early age. They explained that I was chosen, and that made me special. They told me I was Puerto Rican, but that meant that it was why I didn’t look like the rest of the Witteveens, with their light complexions and fair hair. I was always singled out in public with my family, but it was okay.

When I was 18, my parents sat me down and told me parts of the story that they had left out. They told me it was my decision as an adult, if I wanted to start communicating with Maria. I did. We started a letter correspondence.

When I was 20, I drove to Florida to meet her and her son Mark. It was amazing. When you don’t know who you got your genes from, and then you finally find out, it’s like the best Christmas present you’ve ever opened. I met Maria and my grandmother and my step grandfather during that trip. My grandmother was incredible. She made me my first Puerto Rican meal and coddled me like I was 2, and she just changed my diaper and needed a nice hug.

After I met Maria, her son Mark, my grandmother and step grandfather, I was introduced to other family. I have four (I think) uncles and one aunt by birth. Maria’s youngest brother is Anthony, and he invited me to his wedding back in 1996 or 1997. There I met Bob and Dwight (I think) and Teresa. Uncle Mark and I met on Facebook recently.

I’ve also met cousins that I never knew about. It’s a long tangled story.

My parents think it was a miracle that they got me. Not to devalue their views, but I don’t think it’s any more a miracle than Glenn Beck getting awarded a $50 Million contract from FOX news to be a complete douchebag on television. People get lucky. I got really lucky. I may not win the State Lottery, but I won a life lottery when I was adopted by the Witteveens.

Facebook Can Be Fun!

I have posted a couple times from the blog Attempts at Rational Behavior. Julie, the blog’s brains, and I are friends now on facebook. I recently reposted an awful video that another facebook friend posted that proved god through a dynamic story of a piece of chalk not breaking when dropped by an atheist professor.

I had responded to the video explaining to the “friend” that the video was bullshit. And then I posted it to twitter to share with my atheist friends. Julie posted it to her wall, and one of her believer friends responded. I won’t bore you, with the whole exchange that happened after, but if you’re in the mood for an entertaining read, you can see the whole discussion here.


God’s Messenger: Shatera Leonard

Last weekend I finally got some responses to some posts. Damn if they weren’t from the same person. Remember this video I posted about Chicago going down?

The author of the video responded! Her name is Shatera Leonard and she said this: “My name is Shatera Leonard and you bet your behind that this is no joke. Despite my efforts the Lion sound is to represent the tribe of JUDAH which are the NEGROES here in America. I posted the video. Veteran of the United States Army and a believer in The Most High God and his son Christ. You will not be laughing when this happens.”

She must have been hit with the spirit of the stairway, because she returned and wrote: “It is not my job to make the graphics pretty sir.”

No, I will not be laughing if Chicago is destroyed by an evil jealous and — at the same time — loving sky being. But until that day when that quiet invisible psychotic monster rears his/her/its ugly destructive powers and wreaks havoc over the Windy City, I’m going to continue supporting gay rights in Chicago and around the country. It’s kind of why I decided to revisit the Gay Pride Pictures seen here.

In the meantime, go check out some of Shatera’s videos at YouTube. They’re really exciting and she seems to be on the right side of truth. Yay for her.

I’m pretty sure that Chicago is willing to take one for the team if it means proving — once and for all — that god exists and that he’s so evil that he’d destroy his creation rather than love them unconditionally.

That’s a sure-fire way to win people’s love and honor, murder some to set an example.


Gay Pride Redux

IMG_6593Wow, I’ve been busy lately. It hasn’t all been work related. But whatever it’s been, it’s distracted me from posting here.

I wanted to revisit some shots from the gay pride parade and post them up.

My wife Tina and I have been talking for some time about publishing a blog that is the contrast of The Sartorialist, because my photography tends to gravitate toward “normal” people.

LIke a lot of women, Tina has followed The Sartorialist with much gusto. I think watching his web site made her a bit nervous about visiting Europe on our honeymoon, because she thought everyone was perfect. It might have helped if Sartorialist pictured a couple women with sensible shoes before we went.

Continue reading “Gay Pride Redux”

Examination of Me, as a Redneck, Driving Redneck Vehicles at Two (2) Different Ages

I’m going to do something never done by anyone else EVER in the history of time.

I’m going to examine through photos two pictures of myself. They both are attempts to be a redneck chauffeur. In this next image, I’d be the driver of one fine dump truck. Don’t be alarmed, I don’t drive dump trucks often. It’s just something I thought I might like to try at one point in my life, but I gave it up. Check below the fold to see the image.

Continue reading “Examination of Me, as a Redneck, Driving Redneck Vehicles at Two (2) Different Ages”

Attempts at Rational Behavior of the Day

I have some blogs started, but nothing great. So I’m reposting an Attempt at Rational Behavior post that made me laugh. Although many of her posts make me giggle.

If you’re not familiar, she pulls tweets from religious people and posts them with a header that includes her commentary. Usually that’s the fare, but some times she posts more, or a video or a quote.

But all the quotes are real items she pulled from Twitter (some times from me when I send her ones from my facebook account).

Stop by and give her a honk. Or a Toot. Or a Honky Toot.

Picture 1

Open Letter to M. Night Shyamalan-ah-ding-dong

Dear Mr. Night Shyamalan,

MrShyamalanI finally got a chance to watch “The Happening” this weekend while at a friend’s house who pays for HBO. Wow, could you please send me the name and number of the person(s) responsible for funding your last few films? Are they just Sam Mercer and Barry Mendel? I would like to tell each one of them that they’ve been conned into funding your awful motion pictures.

We watched “Mr. Magoriums Wonder Emporium”, “Vantage Point” and “Out of Time” over the weekend. All three movies were better than “The Happening”, and all three of them were subpar to shitty.

Denzel Washington’s “Out of Time” was cinema fail 500, and it was still better than “The Happening”. The celluloid that “Vantage Point” was shot on is worth more than “The Happening”. Mr. Magoriums was okay, because I got to spend 90 minutes with Natalie Portman, which is not a bad way to spend time.

“The Happening” was like Glenn Beck. He tries really hard to scare his audience with whiny, tearful, cliché and poorly acted scripting. He rides a horse named Hackneyed and Proud of it. He sees dead people and he talks to them (Thank you, Jesus). And he’s overstayed his welcome as a reputible source for anything entertaining or valid.

Any intelligent person is going to yawn, roll eyes and blow him off.

I hope there’s an audience boycott on your pictures like there is on advertisers sponsoring Beck’s show.

Best regards for your awful, deluded talent,

Jeremy “I want those 90 minutes of my life back” Witteveen

Female Doctors: Exactly What I was Missing

Today I had my first physical checkup in probably five years.

My wife and I were at her doctor last Monday, and she was telling us about fertility treatments that we could pursue. My second semen sample results came back the week before, and the doctor was going over the results. My semen sucks. Apparently, I have a lot of positive semen attributes, and one bad attribute. What’s positive? I deliver a good-sized specimen. Mobility is good. Density is good. There’s one more aspect that’s good; I can’t remember what it is. Lemme see, it wasn’t the flavor. I’ll think of it later.

What’s bad? My semen morphology is only 12% normal. The rest of those bastards are either tail-less, two tailed, two headed, no headed, no tailed or any mixture therein.

Continue reading “Female Doctors: Exactly What I was Missing”