Brian is not the Messiah

Someone, not a robot, seems to believe I have a significant dearth of crucifixions on this site. He (or she) seems to have ignored the point of this blog. Every post, every paragraph, every sentence, and yes, every word documents one or another kind of crucifixion that makes up my daily life.

But I concede - one might mistake the soon to be copyrighted tagline, Where every day is a crucifixion, as a promise for daily carnage. I can't keep up with that kind of demand on my schedule - I'm too busy living a life full of woe. So, instead, I offer you this cop-out. I try to avoid video links in my posts - they are too easy. Too much like cheating - but this seems so perfect for the occasion.

What a wonderful movie.

A lot of memories are stirred up when I think of this movie.

Jesus, God, and Mary vs. The Smooth Operator

Being a good Samaritan often pays off in unexpected ways. At least that is how it works according to what I've read - I can't swear I've ever acted as the "Good Samaritan." At least until last Monday afternoon.

My dear readers, you may not believe this, but I just happened to be sitting in the Fillmore Pub. Drinking a glass of water.

While enjoying my tasty wet beverage, I was working on a blog post that I intended to publish before the end of the year (I was only about 15 hours late). It was then that a young woman stepped through the doorway. She stopped there and looked over the various clusters of people in the bar. This was possible as it was not yet 6:00 and the manager had not yet lowered the lights to levels lower than one might find in most caves.

I have to say it came as no surprise when the young lady once she espied my devilishly handsome face and my adonis-like features, she made a beeline in my direction.

"You looked like the nicest person in here," she announced (rather unnecessarily), "and I hate to ask, but I was hoping you would let me use your phone."

I had seen this young lady outside in the frigid weather wearing a light jacket and trying to keep warm in the arms of her boyfriend. I promptly ignored her at the time. It's hard to resist the years of training I undertook when living in New York of the 1980s.

Clearly she had spotted me arriving at the Fillmore Pub and could not resist creating this thin excuse to come talk to me.

Telling me her name was Sarah (not her real name, or I don't think it is - nevertheless, it isn't the name she offered), she maintained the charade by taking my phone and spending the next 15 minutes calling number after number, occasionally leaving cryptic messages like, "I just got into town and I am stuck in downtown Plano. Can you come get me?"

She finally reached a live person and I helped her give directions to the person on the other end of the connection. I knew she wanted to spend more time with me, but as luck would have it, my friend Susan showed up at just this moment. I fear the girl misunderstood my relationship with Susan, and made a quick (and likely embarrassed) exit.

I checked my phone and saw that Sarah had made about ten calls to five or six different phone numbers. None of them looked like toll numbers, so I plugged my phone into a charger and pretty much forgot about my noble deed and its possible ramifications.

Susan and I kept each other company and I drank some beverages other than water. And that was all there was to it.

Wait - didn't I say something about noble deeds paying off in unexpected ways? Why yes, yes I did.

Much later that evening, while I was re-familiarizing myself with Chris Carter's oeuvre - someone was running an X-Files marathon - the payoff became manifest.

My phone gave off its familiar IMS notification tone, and I was presented with several messages, all from an unfamiliar number.

Immediately, it's pretty clear to me that these texts come from a none too bright male who knows Sarah, at least slightly, but I have strong doubts that his intentions are chivalrous. Aside from the obvious misspelling (your for you're is one of my greatest pet peeves), his lame, and pathetically cheap invite to a casino pretty much convinced me I was dealing with a douche-bag. And I don't mean that in a nice way.

A great light dimmed

For all those whose cares have been our concern, the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die.

-- Senator Edward M. Kennedy
1932 - 2009

Name This Post

I got a quick note from my buddy Chet.* It's total contents were:

You wanna bang Sarah Palin, don't you?
You hate her, but at the same time you find yourself wondering what she looks like naked.
Am I right?

I get lots of emails like this. Just because I have a dark sense of humor and call myself a liberal (Democrats are too conservative for me), people think they can send me anything, no matter how offensive.

Of course, I laughed my ass off. To be honest, even at this late date, I think I've seen maybe three pictures of the inexperienced celebrity. They did not stir my loins. In fact, she reminds me of a brunette Sally Jessy Raphael. When I first heard McCain had chosen this unknown, inexperienced woman from Alaska, I was certain the former POW had shot himself in his Vietnamese-tortured-foot.

Here was a woman no one had ever heard of, the former mayor of a town of less than 9,000, and governor of a state with less people than Wyoming -- I exaggerate -- Alaska is 48th in population -- it actually has18K more people than Vermont (49th) and 133K more than Wisconsin (50th)! Now, if you want to talk about population density, and figure in the size of the states, Alaska would have to be something like 54th. (When will they update the flag?)

Choosing her seemed like a cynical appeal to Clinton supporters. I doubted it would work, she may be female, but she is also anti-abortion, and far from being a feminist.

But I digress. There's a reason I don't often see pictures of any news-related stuff -- I am an NPR drone. That's National Public Radio (I said I was liberal - it's not a dirty word). So, while I only vaguely know what she looks like, I have heard quite a lot of her whiny, annoying voice.

Every time she stretches out her vowels in that nasally tone, "That's what's greeeat about this couuuntry, Charlie." I go just a little more crazy. At first it was really driving me nuts because I kept thinking, "I know I've I heard that voice before, but where?"

I thought she might be channeling one of the nuns from my youth. Her voice had that kind of instant visceral impact on me. It was like Sister Joseph Marie was sticking her fingers down my throat to induce vomiting.

I don't believe any of the nuns (mustachioed or not, and trust me, Sister Joseph Marie had a hell of a mustache) ever stuck their waxy fingers in my mouth, never mind down my throat, but that is the feeling I have every time Palin opens her big, fat, lying mouth. Instant retch-a-roni. We're talking the Spaghetti 500 and then some.

I thought of all the bullshit the catholic church tried to brainwash me with, but I still couldn't figure out where I'd heard such a school-marmie, condescending tone before. It turns out, the voice was the same, but I don't think the condescension was there in the original voice.

Sarah Palin sounds just like the chick on SNL that played Pat (or was it Patrick?) -- Julia Sweeney. Tell me you don't hear that.

So, if you're like me (and I doubt you are) you are hoping that you won't have to spend the next four years listening to that whiny sound and thinking of Pat in those overstuffed shirts saying things like, "Sorry if I'm a little grumpy, I have really bad cramps... I rode my bike over here, and my calf muscles are KILLING me!" But, knowing the way things seem to always turn out for me, you're probably thinking -- we're doomed.

But hell, her voice aside, you've got to admit that the idea of a gun toting beauty queen has its appeal.

Would you be able to say no to that? Get her in a muscle car, and there's no telling what might happen.

Of course, the whole idea is quite repellent, but that's the point of catholicism, right?

Hate yourself, do degrading and sinful acts, then entertain a guy in a dress with embarrassing tales of your misadventures. Once you do that, and if you hit all the right notes about being sorry and promising never to do it again, all you have to do is say a couple of Our Fathers, and you're set to start all over again.

That's what's great about this country.

And thankfully, the new TV season is just around the corner.