Holy F-grades, I graduated high school with morons

In case you didn’t know, the women’s U.S. soccer team played Japan in the World Cup finals today.

On Facebook, one of my fellow, high school graduates and soccer player friends updated with: “This one’s for Pearl Harbor!”

To which some other moron who graduated from my high school said (and I quote): “hell yeah, I ain’t forgot that shit either.”

My response was, well … fuck it, you can read above. I grabbed a screen capture.

I explained we got our revenge.

Apparently what I should have said was, “For fuck’s sake, MOVE ON and try to understand history while you’re at it.”

And you can read what idiotic response came next.

We retaliated for Pearl Harbor with, not one, but two fucking atomic bombs (thanks, Science!). And while the Japanese wreaked havoc on our military base and slaughtered over 2,000 Americans, we killed over 200,000 innocent Japanese citizens and who knows how many Japanese military during WWII.

We painted ourselves in the corner as douchebags with the second atomic bomb. We premeditated so much carnage that we deserve international disgust after the second bomb drop.

So no, other Jeremy from my high school, this one wasn’t for Pearl Harbor. It was for soccer. It was for a fucking game. And a game isn’t going to settle a death match … although I really wish they did. Less loss of life and a lot more fun to watch.

And to top the whole thing off, the U.S. lost.

So if this one was for Pearl Harbor, we showed no one anything except for the embarrassment of people like Jeremy who lay claim that a soccer game will finally lay to rest those who died Pearl Harbor attacks.


I hate ignorance … and this is pretty much the bottom of the barrel in award-winning, embarrassing idiocy.

Gervais: Don’t go with the fucking flow

There’s a Ricky Gervais opinion piece in HuffPo today (link) that I wanted to pass along. It’s called, “Life’s too short to go with the flow.”

There are a couple great moments in the piece, but I feel his perspective reflects mine. At least it reflects my perception of my perspective.

Gervais posted a picture of his 20-year old self next to his 50-year old self and he says,

But I love what Muhammed Ali said on the subject…

“The man who views the world at 50 the same as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his life.”

While my dad was here, he and I talked about how your views at 30 won’t reflect your views at 50 or 60. He claims he was liberal when he was my age too, and he claims that as I grow older, I’ll become more conservative.

I hope that doesn’t happen.

I wouldn’t want to oppress generations who are coming up behind me with conservative “values” simply because I look back and want them to avoid making decisions I made that completely oppose my perspectives.

I want people who choose religion to have the freedom to let religion dictate what’s right and wrong, and I want my absence of religion to be what perpetuates ideas.

Freedom is freedom.

And going with the flow? Dammit, I try my damnedest NOT to go with the flow. And Gervais says:

Going with the flow, for Christ sake? Don’t ever go with the flow. Stop the flow, go against the flow, start the flow, but don’t under any circumstance just go with the flow.

I view Christianity as “The Flow.” The Christians I meet, even the strong ones, front a Christianity that is unquestioned and informed through research that supports their current perspective. The non-believers I know research as many perspectives from that point of view as possible, which I find to be more realistic and necessary for any perspective.

In Christianity, if you don’t choose Christ, you’re a loon and you’re hell bound. If you don’t agree with evolution or secular values, you’re just a loon. And I can live with lunacy. So when I disagree with my own and look foolish, that’s alright by me. I like having the freedom not to agree with every thing that comes out of your mouth for fear of eternal torment.

I realize I offend people, and I do it on purpose. My hope is to offend you, me and everyone. I hope I make people think, too. Gervais writes:

And never just try to offend either. That’s churlish, pointless and frankly too easy. But always say what you mean. Be honest. No one should ever be offended by truth. That way you’ll never have to apologise. I hate when a comedian says “Sorry for what I said.” You shouldn’t have said it. You shouldn’t say it if you didn’t mean it and you should never regret anything you meant to do. As a comedian I think my job isn’t just to make people laugh but also make them think. As a famous comedian I also want a strict door policy on my club. Not everyone will like what I say or find it funny. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s enough comedians who try to please everyone as it is. Good luck to them, but that’s not my game I’m afraid.

I’ll end with this quick moment from Gervais’ shameless plug for his new series called, “Life’s too short.” Gervais writes:

Enjoying life. While it lasts. Because that’s all, folks. Make the most of it.

I don’t know why that scares the loads of believers who fall for Pascal’s Wager or all the people who suffer loss when people “go to heaven.” I don’t think I ever will.

For me, I’m making the most of it.

Blast from the past

This weekend, a childhood friend named Carson visited Chicago for a bachelor party.

I met Carson and the bachelor entourage on Friday night for about an hour. They had an extra ticket for the Cubs game on Saturday and asked if I wanted the ticket. I said, “Yeah!” So I met the group up for the game on Saturday afternoon.

The Cubs got walloped, but no one cared. None of those guys had been to a Cubs game before, and they all got a kick out of the historical stadium. Whether you’re a sports fan or not, a Cubs game at Wrigley should be on your bucket list.

At the game, Carson and I sat together catching up. We haven’t seen each other in over 15 years. He told me how he met his wife while in Miami on a business trip. He currently works with his father in the furniture industry. He has a one-year old son. He has a masters degree in business. He is a genuinely good guy and good opportunity is certainly a part of his life.

I met Carson when I was about 12. Growing up, I lived in a suburban neighborhood in which we were free to roam within a good mile of our house without care. We could ride our bikes in the street without our parents worrying about cars running us over. And we could play deep into the woods that backed up to a lake.

My family moved to the neighborhood where I met Carson when I was four. The neighborhood was chockfull of kids about my age. My childhood best friend Rick moved in next door when I was six. And when I was around 11 or 12, Carson’s family moved in two doors down.

Carson was four years younger, which in kids’ years, that’s a helluva difference. Carson insisted on hanging out with the big boys, and he became a staple of our little tribe that played war, jumped curbs on our bikes, playing with Matchbox cars, G.I. Joe, and Transformers. We built forts in the woods and spent hours playing Nintendo.

In a pinch, Carson’s mom would ask me to babysit him and his little sister Katherine. It was never like real babysitting, because we were pals. When we were a little older, his mom and dad asked me to watch him and Katherine for longer periods of time.

Carson reminded me that the day of a trash pickup, we’d hose out one of the two-wheeled trash bins that all our houses had. One of us would crawl inside, and the rest of us would pick it up and we’d push one another around. Carson’s little sister would get in their and she couldn’t see over the edges, so she’d freak out and cry.

He also reminded me that I was able to mimic his mom’s distinct whistle that she used to call Carson and Katherine inside. Carson and I would hide in some bushes near where Katherine was playing, and I would do the whistle. Katherine would say, “Yeah, mom!” or “Coming!” She’d run to where we were, and not see her mom. When she walked far enough away, I’d whistle again. It would drive her to tears.

Carson and I would laugh and laugh.

One time I broke my wrist playing at Carson’s house on a rope swing. I remember helping him try to learn to ride a two-wheeled bike, only having to put his training wheels back on after a noble, tear-filled effort.

I don’t think his voice deepened before his family moved to the other side of my hometown. When I was old enough to drive, I stopped by his house a few times. We grew apart when I went off to college. And through facebook, we’ve had a chance to reconnect.

Carson thanks my brother and I for his deep-seated love of Star Wars and other pop culture that he might not have been exposed to without two huge fans of lots of popular toys and culture.

Sometimes, when you’re not faced with the past, you forget so much of your own history. I probably wouldn’t have known what influence I had on Carson if it weren’t for this reunion.

Excuse me while I go sing a honky rendition of “Memories.”