Oh, and I got her a stomach ache. The dinner we ate at Province was sooooooo filling. We were both wallowing in grunts afterward.
Mind you, the meal was delectable. But food shouldn’t be consumed in great excess. Not because it says so in the bible. But because sometimes I want enough room in my innards to drink a beer after dinner.
But this damn rug. What the hell was I thinking? We shopped for jewelry that day, too. But shopping for jewelry is goddamn worthless to me. I know, I’m a guy.
Here’s a really, REALLY stupid article called, “How clothes should fit” which claims to be a how-to for men and clothing.
It’s narrow-minded, ridiculous, and targeting primarily one style of man.
What a base, silly-minded, shit-filled pamper article.
Anyone who says “should” as many times as they do, don’t have your best interest in mind when they are providing information. Here’s a snippet:
About 2cm of shirt collar should be revealed by the jacket collar.
The shoulder seam should lie on the edge of your shoulder. The aim is to reduce the amount of buckling, as the shoulders should have no apparent wrinkles or divots while the arms are down at the sides.
Similarly to shirts, armholes must be sufficiently high, and alternatively should not be cutting into your armpit. The arms should move somewhat independently of the jacket during normal motions.
While buttoned, the jacket should not pull across the chest (fabric making an ‘X’ shape across your abdomen). Similarly, it should not pull across the shoulders when arms are folded.
Holding your hand flat, you should easily be able to fit it inside the jacket under the lapels.
The jacket’s second button from the bottom should lie just above your belly-button, never below.
With your arms at your sides, the sleeves should cover the wrist bone.
If a jacket doesn’t fit your shape properly, sometimes the bottoms will flare out, a product of the jacket being too slim in the waist, so your hips push out the fabric.
A suit jacket’s length – like a good lawyer – should cover your ass
The article should be retitled, “How to dress as a particular kind of man who wants to impress a similarly-minded group of people.”
Or, “How to sell out when buying clothes and dressing yourself.”
Or, “How to look like everyone else.”
Or, “Fit the cookie cutter mold or please immerse yourself in this warm bath. Here’s a box-cutter blade and a sign that shows a bare wrist that reads, ‘Cut along the grain not against it’.”
As if naming your enemies is going to cure the world of inconvenient travel partners.
Among the list are babies. Sorry, kids, if you were born a baby … you’re not allowed to fly with Amanda Baby-Hatin’ Black.
Also on the list … smelly people, talkers, tech fanatics, overhead bin offenders, and people who don’t wash their hands.
People who don’t wash their hands?
Next time you go to the bathroom on any flight, make sure you look over your shoulder while you are (or are not) washing up. Amanda Hand-Washing Police Black is likely in there with you determining whether or not she can judge you for being a non-hand washer.
Can you say Psycho!
Amanda Hug-n-Kiss Black stops just shy of recommending that if you travel, charter your own plane and fly yourself. Unless you fly with your mouth shut, your armpits clean, your rear sphincter corked, lugguge-less, perfectly quiet, and a blind sheep, she does NOT want you on her airplane.
So get off!
I’m not sure Amanda Black knows how to count. Her list title specifies 10 (ten!) people to avoid, but she recommends a total of 16 different types. Number 5 is the sick or smelly person. This is not always one person. You can be sick and not smell. And you can smell and certainly not be sick. Added, she ends her 11-people — I mean — 10-people list and then throws in five more types of assholes that bother her while traveling.
Hey, Amanda Black, I gotta recommendation for you: Don’t fucking travel.
In the conversation I’m having with Amanda in my mind, she’d respond, “Jeremy, it’s a jovial, hyperbolic list. It’s not to be taken seriously.”
And you may be right, Amanda Black.
But you can’t name EVERYONE as offensive and avoidable. You might as well write, “If you see me — Amanda Dumb Butt Black — rolling my oversized bag while sneezing onto your plane, wreaking of whiskey and carrying my iPad, listening to my iPod and talking on my iPhone, clear the plane, bitches … I just ate a pot of pinto beans and I’ve got stellar gas.”
If I wrote the article, I would post a picture of this guy I’ve traveled quite a bit with. I’m not naming any names, but I’ve been on planes with my dad, and he can handily clear an entire economy cabin with one single flatulent blow.
I’m sure I’ve been on planes that I wasn’t exactly the best candidate for travel partnership for Amanda Black.
The point is, if you can’t embrace that at least 8 to 12 of the people-types Amanda listed on her pathetic excuse for travel advice, then you’re not a good traveler.
Love the ones your with.
People watching and dealing with variety of people is what life is all about.
I’m sorry that Amanda Black arrived so stinking late to the party.
They teach you in church that everyone is different. But we’re not. That’s why there are 16 identifiable types whom you should look for during flights. We aren’t all that different, you, me, them and us.
Murderers will murder with or without a gun. Guns are not the problem.
I’m sharing this, because if you think these things, that’s up to you. And if gun loving assholery is your game, let me help you burn your photos of Jesus, your bibles, and your entire idea of love and belief.
If you think guns are not the problem, tell that to the people who love these people:
My heart hurts about Friday.
My brain hurts.
And this conversation is too bogged down with pain for any of you to invoke the idea that guns aren’t the problem.
Maybe they aren’t the problem.
But they are in the formula.
And there appears to be a slew of beautiful people who could be spared pain, torture and agony if a dumbfuck didn’t get his hands on guns and ammunition on Friday morning.
Please let us all mourn without questioning whether guns are the problem.
The Christian’s Bible is a drug store. Its contents remain the same; but the medical practice changes…The world has corrected the Bible. The church never corrects it; and also never fails to drop in at the tail of the procession- and take the credit of the correction. During many ages there were witches. The Bible said so. the Bible commanded that they should not be allowed to live. Therefore the Church, after eight hundred years, gathered up its halters, thumb-screws, and firebrands, and set about its holy work in earnest. She worked hard at it night and day during nine centuries and imprisoned, tortured, hanged, and burned whole hordes and armies of witches, and washed the Christian world clean with their foul blood.
Then it was discovered that there was no such thing as witches, and never had been. One does not know whether to laugh or to cry…..There are no witches. The witch text remains; only the practice has changed. Hell fire is gone, but the text remains. Infant damnation is gone, but the text remains. More than two hundred death penalties are gone from the law books, but the texts that authorized them remain.
– “Bible Teaching and Religious Practice,” Europe and Elsewhere
Tina and I were out of town during this year’s Gay Pride Parade. This was the first time it started right in our neighborhood, and the photos from Time Out Chicago are mainly in our ‘hood.
So check out Max Herman‘s photos from Time Out Chicago found here.
I experienced my first gay pride parade back in 2000 when I moved here. I video taped it, and made a music video out of the footage.
I remember being shocked. But then there was mental expansion. I knew I was meant to be in a city after visiting here. But then to see just how accepting city folk are of different ideas and lifestyles, I had to say, “See you later, small towns and small minds.”
The best thing about the parade is how unifying it is. Everyone is at the parade, families, churches to partying teens.
You get a lot of churches in the parade showing off how accepting they are which is a welcome difference to the parts of this country who are hung up on biblical nonsense.
I personally don’t think you can reconcile the biblical view with reality. But there are people who absolutely need the idea of a higher power loving them, and, in a weird way, I’m thankful that these churches exist for them.
Last night we had dinner with a couple whom I marched with in a protest a few years ago hoping for equal rights for gay couples. And there is absolutely no way that hell exists when two people like Jay and Miles are a hospitable, kind and cool as they are.
Shame on him or her who looks down on a couple, who have been together just as long as Tina and me.
And by looks down, I mean he or she says shit like, “Love the sinner hate the sin.” Or whatever your church told you to say.
“The secret to happiness,” says pope Mohammed just before plugging the tip of his thumb in his mouth, withdrawing it quickly making a smack sound. He reaches for a flute of a 1998 Krug Clos du Mesnil.
“The secret to happiness,” repeats Pope Mohammed, “is complete selflessness.” You are sitting across from Pope Mohammed sipping a beer. Your hands are crossed on the place mat in front of you.
There’s a plate of canapés topped with Iranian Caviar in front of Pope Mohammed. There’s alittle more on his thumb and he licks it off.
Pope Mohammed says, “My flock easily loses sight of the formula which is to devote their savings to Gollah. Money is temporary. Gollah’s love is forever for the simple price of 9% of their income.”
“You know,” says Pope Mohammed. “We’re not greedy like those Christians.”
Pope Mohammed pauses. Picks up a canapé topped with caviar with two fingers, lays it on his tongue and closes his mouth. His brows furrow.
The dining room you’re in is dimly lighted with incandescent lights and lots of candles. The hushed murmurs of quiet conversations and forks clanking against plates is all around your table.
You wonder if the diamond in the ring on his right hand is four or five karats.
“Did you know that the Russians [he leans forward forward] — those liver-soaked commies — package caviar and put the Iranian Caviar labels on it and pass it as the real stuff? Could you imagine … tarnishing your palate with counterfeit caviar,” says Pope Mohammed.
There’s a man wearing an expensive looking suit to your right. A waiter puts a plate in front of him. Pope Mohammed leans over and says, “Crème brûlée of foie gras with tonga beans. Good choice.“
“Where was I?” asks Pope Mohammed.
“Russian caviar?” You say.
“Oh yeah,” he says. “Our mission is to help those who can’t help themselves. Our goal should be helping the needy, the destitute, like Gollah did when he came to earth.
Pope Mohammed places another canapé on his tongue. Starts chewing, but doesn’t finish before saying, “But they gotta pay the rates to stay in the church, right?”
A waiter appears. He’s wearing a bow tie and a cumber bun. “How’s everything, sir Mohammed?” which is how he prefers to be called in public.
“You know what,” Pope Mohammed says. “The temperature on the caviar is wrong.
One of the places we visited in Bali was a coffee farm on the way to a volcano.
A little 16-year-old girl took us on the tour where were able to see lots of different plants growing, like clove, vanilla, cocoa, etc.
While on the tour, we were able have our photo taken while stirring up some beans.
We also tried Luwak coffee, which is made from feeding a cat-like animal coffee beans. The workers collect the shit from said animal, and roast the shat beans and sell for about a zillion dollars a pound.
Okay, maybe it was $50 or more a pound. I’m not sure it was that good.
Here are a couple other shots we’re editing this afternoon: