Good for evil...Fat veses Gay.

I have a ear for humor like people have an ear for music. A humorist can start a line and I can finish it. I feel funny. Deep in my skeleton I have a malignancy from the original funny bone and I am terminal.  It is a talent, a weak talent compared to the composing art of a master like Mozart or Beethoven, but then how many people commit suicide while listing to Brian Regan or Bill Cosby.  I can wager that most people draw their last breaths to a death dirge symphony by a master composer.  I feel better about a far less murderous talent.

Today I listened to a random audio clip of a comedian Hal Sparks, he was everything that a stand up comedian would be expected to be; quick witted, sly on subject and thought provoking.  The reason that he didn't conjure the medicinal laughter in me was found in his subject.  He said (and I restate imperfectly) "what kind of world do we live in where people can considered fat due to genetics, but not people who are genetically gay?"

I was turned off immediately.  The morality in me became awake and aware of a lie that was being perpetuated by the person of popularity.  I pondered what he said again and again as he spoke.

 He went on in his clip about how fat people can go to the gym and become skinnier, but gay people can't go to the gym to become less gay...if anything, they will probably become more gay.  Funny?  Yes.  True? Yes.
Factual to the laws of God and morality...No.

I thought of how it was that science has determined that people can be genetically subject to weight gain and retention and then I pondered on how sexual orientation implementation is 100% choice driven.  It is a scientific fact that people can be born with chromosomal irregularities, but sexual designation by gender is exemplified by specific anatomy to the gender.  In minute cases, gender anatomy can be dual, retarded or absent, but sexual preference is purely by driven choice and not by instinct.

Then I thought to myself; "what kind of world do we live in where comedians with a private motive can manipulate the morals of others by what they lie in humorous ways?"  My mind was caught up to a scripture found in the Bible in Isaiah and repeated in the Book of Mormon. Isaiah Chapter 5 verses;

 20 ¶Woe unto them that call ^aevil ^bgood, and good evil; that put ^cdarkness for ^dlight, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!

 21 Woe unto them that are ^awise in their own ^beyes, and ^cprudent in their own sight!

 23 Which ^ajustify the ^bwicked for reward, and ^ctake away the righteousness of the righteous from him!

 24 Therefore as the fire devoureth the ^astubble, and the flame consumeth the chaff, so their ^broot shall be as rottenness, and their blossom shall go up as dust: because they have cast away the law of the Lord of hosts, and despised the word of the Holy One of Israel.

 wheels like a whirlwind:

We simply do line in a world of the last days.

The way of the world.

A drip of water first receding,
pulled of gravity of point exceeding
Is drawn to drop and freely fall
A testimony of an inward call
To show, to signal and to sound
To fall from height, to travel down
To impact, to collide, to enter in
the gathered pool it’s sphere to spend
wherein it shares its whole and all
then spurned and cursed for its fall
the mass spreads wide and round
reverberates in sight and sound
waves move away in circular shutters
but then returns, retract and sputters
a droplet that scarcely entered in
is pushed and forced up and out again
the drop it rises fast unleashed
expelled by the collective deep
where it floats above, rejected and alone
a single drop silhouette again is shown
with nowhere to go and nothing to hold
its path is set, the future foretold
it collects itself, falls and softly now
spreads, absorbs and gently bends
to the motions below it extends
one and all and all in one will meld
a marriage, a merge, a solid weld
No rift, no wave, no sign, no sound
Now announce that the drop is bound
To the whole and is complete
One drop only, will it repeat?
For high above from whence if comes
The story is revealed, the total sum
Of thunderous drops yet unloosed
Or a drought betrayed in a ruse
This story tells a certain tale
Futile is that which would repel
Ours is not to reject or stop the gain
For we know not how we will be changed.
But accept and swell and grow
And allow all of like to join the flow.

He maketh his sun to rise on Ben too. "The 'tail' of the bouncing bunny"

In my genetic code there is embedded a grounded circuit, this has caused many problems for my extended pool while I have grown up and down. Familial tutelage has tried to curb the outcomes without much success. Hereditary were the founders of my misdeeds and often the preemptive exterminator of deeds undone.

So it is with DNA, our traits go on while the trail ends. The same eyes or nose, a familiar tick, a fear of spiders, disdain for broccoli, cowlicks and red hair, freckles and missing teeth. In other words, God's joke continues, just the audience changes.

This is where I found my daughter Lauren demonstrating hand me down genes. One summer day, out of school, nothing to really occupy the small areas between the grey matter, she found herself in the possession of a small defenseless rodent.

Raising my children I felt that rabbits might insure gentility to counter act the evils of the world. I had read Marjorie Williams “Velvetine Rabbit” late in life and wondered how such an incredible book had slipped past my parents in my proper rearing. With new bunny induced charity and clarity, I read other great rabbit works; Beatrix Potter's “Benjamin Bunny”, Lewis Carol's “Alice in Wonderland” and Richard Adams “Watership down”. Hazel, Fiver, Benjamin, Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail all wrought a sensitive change on my cruder side of reality.

With a passion of being a perfect parent I built a hutch complete with loft, lights and ramp. My rabbit husbandry was a diligent effort of parental supremacy. I figured the herd of hares raised by my paternal kin would give them the upper hand of kindness, tenderness, responsibility and charity. This theory proved out to be exactly opposite in application.

Resuming,

Lauren with a small beloved innocent creature of God in her hands, sees between the slat boards of the territorial fence of our neighbors property and ours the snorting snout and pulsing nose of the cordoned in "Canis lupus familiaris"...or better known as the Olson's Labrador Retriever "Ben". Curiosity serves more than cats and with bunny in hand a timid creature is introduced behind the security of cedar boards.
Snorts increase and nasal flecks flume out between the cracks and the "Lepus Capensis" or better known as "Buttercup" recedes into the cupped hands of the reckless god.

Seeing that this only stimulated her curiosity, Buttercup was propped over the fence ledge; small paws and head barely above the beam. Below situated with a perfect upward view was Ben, mouth open, tongue lagging the outside of his jowls, and eyes wide open intent on the prize. Ben watched as the cottontail recoiled back down into the upstretched arms of my daughter. Ben was old; arthritis had taken the retriever out of the lab. The best he could do was watch as this unlikely fortuitous event unfolded above him.

Again Lauren pushing her luck and the rabbit's life perched her on the ledge again. To Ben it must have seemed as a "pop goes the weasel" play with a rabbit as the understudy of the day. To worn out to leap, he barked his adulation for the act above him.

Somewhere in the gene pool that grounded circuit found its short, afflicted Lauren swooned then hefted then released the rabbit that went skyward where few rabbits ever go on their own fruition. As gently as a 10 year old with freckles and converse shoes can do, the rabbit fell to open grasping hands.

To Ben's amazement and his view, the furry enticement was levitating high above the boarded border. With the credulity that there was a god dog, Ben's head bobbed up and down in a graceful glide as if in a nod of agreement and anticipation. The rabbit, legs flailing and ears waving winged the air as if to control the accent from and decent into the eager hands that received it. Up went the rabbit; down came the rabbit, each time with adulation from the admirer of hungry fan below.

It is here in the story that we must approach that which we wish not to hear. Let it suffice to say happiness is the story that might have been, but instead by one small error in trajectory it was Hasenpfeffer for old Ben.

The cat lady

My wife said that I should write something about "Cats".

On the popular animation television show the "Simpsons" there is a character called the "Cat Lady". "Cat Lady" is an old, body worn, overweight, gunnysack fabric wearing, blathering, 60's something coot that has cats crawling through her hair, purse and in her coat pockets. She is written as a crazy, hoarding, flea infested, indigent societal pariah. Whereas by contradiction in the "Batman" films and it's sequels "Cat Woman" is a svelte leather clad 20's something, agile long body female, battling crime and committing it, as a nemesis, vamp and femme fatale to the hero. All who watch "Cat Woman" see extended youth, carnal desire and exciting exploits that beckon the viewer to step to the dark side.

We have by default or duplicity of our daughter's poor choices increased in cat activity. At every turn of tragedy that happens to this daughter, we have inherited her inventory of felines.

Oh it all starts out in fun, the cute furry little bundles of claws amuse all in a state of euphoria with scampers and scurrying, jumping and tackling. Kitty-hood: it's pleasures and laughter fill my daughter's home until a household emergency places her family and cat out of a household.

Sure the human occupants are able to find lodgings, but for the now teen-aged long tailed night marauders there is no room in the inn. Oh but what to do? Call Mom, she will take them for a little while, just while they find another place or a place for another one.

It always works the same way. Tragedy comes. Knocks on the door. Once opened, points it's long spidery finger at the tender eyed kitty and says; You are going to die if you don't go to live with Tamra. (by the way Tamra is my wife) My daughter terrified for the cat, (and I should say here; an animal that has been domesticated for over 4000 years, and has been doing fine on it's own before, during and after any house habitation with or without human approval) cries the whole "imminent death to the kitty story" to the compassion aching ears of my wife, with the same outcome; we take on another pity story.

Within weeks the cat(s) have moved in, pawing their way to entrenchment. They climb aboard my wife at opportunities where she is elongated and positioning themselves in a fetal position on her nurturing portion of her female body, paw back and forth with a dreamy eye glaze while staring at her with their lids half closed and purrs vibrating from chest to chest. Deep down this seems very reminiscent of having an infant.

We have so many cats now that they are equal to populace of the female humans in my home. I have learned something. It is like a portent of coming calamity. Just as you could imagine seeing sky darkening dust in the horizon of the approaching 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse, so it is with all my daughters who no longer live with my wife and I. Each one of the three have bought a kitten. These are cute kittens, which of course makes matters worse, and they are getting closer to cat pubescence. This can only mean tragedy is reaching for the door knocker. It is as if I can feel Kitty breath on my collar. They are probably packing their little cat luggage as I write.

Yesterday, I told my wife that I was going to write something on my blog. Another story for you my gentle reader. "Eww" Tamra squealed "you should write about the cats!" And so here am I writing something about the cats:

I pose this question: Cat Woman or Cat Lady, what does my future hold?
I think I am going to buy my wife some tight leather pants for her birthday.

The reason I am broke.

Teeth...this is the reason.

Before I married, I made a list of requirements that my soon to be bride needed to have as qualifications. These qualifications would help me in my personal quest to be wealthy.

I figured if I were wealthy I would be able to do great philanthropies for the poor and needy especially if I was the one in the need catagory. I would be good with my money and I would be fair and just and wise...I could have made a lot of people happy if I were wealthy. I know for a fact relatives would appear more willing to give me the white meat at holiday dinners.

A wife could free me up from the mundane issues that tap a fellow and bleed them dry of personality and wit, like working for someone else does. My wife's job would be the ticket towards me getting the college degree of power, the time to tinker and create the perfect invention just waiting to be patented and sold, and the guarantee of stress relief by allowing me to sleep should my nerves need a break.

This my wife could do if she had a great job, one that she could work at her leisure of course. One which she would make a lot of money for minimal hours. A Dental Hygienist seemed to be a perfect fit. That job pays great money for short hours. Yup a Dental Hygienist is what I needed.

Next it would be good if her Father was a dentist or Oral surgeon or Orthodontist. I come from a family of bad teeth genes and those genes skipped a couple of essential front teeth in me and all my blood siblings. I was known as the "smartie kid" in school. No I was the "smart kid", the smartie kid was the guy that could put 5 candy smarties between each of my 4 top front teeth, the spaces were so big. When ever pictures for the class year book came due, I would pop in 5 white smarties and smile wide, from 20 feet I looked normal.

The last qualification was that my wife needed to be cute. Cute is so much more important than the other appearance categories. I'll explain; there are 5 categories, Cute, Pretty, Beautiful, Common and Ugly. Pretty won't get dirty, that won't work. I mean that. Pretty doesn't work, they file nails while the phone rings at their job. Beautiful they cheat on you, divorce you and then take all your money, beside the often have bad breath, but nobody ever tells them cause they are just to beautiful. Common gets fat...once fat you will find as a mate you are saving your money for a new Lazy boy recliner instead of a vacation. Then there is Ugly. This is self explanatory. Ugly fits for so many bad decisions in a marraige; drunkenness, low self esteem, anger issues, gender confusion and so forth. It is amazing how many Ugly Beautiful, Ugly Pretty and Ugly Common people there are, but you never see a Ugly Cute person, they are just too Cute to be ugly. Oh and I should also mention there are Ugly Ugly people.

My plan didn't work out. My wife looked like a good candidate, she was studying to be a Dental Hygenist when we were first married and she was Cute. Unfortunately her Dad was not in the Oral business. He did sell toothpaste and other oral sundries, but that was because he was a Drug Store Manager. 2 out of 3 ain't bad.

As I said I am broke. My wife decided after working as a Dental Assistant that Dentists are creeps (at least the ones she worked for) and she hated being inside other peoples smelly mouths. So she decided to have babies instead. We will cover this in a moment and how it plays into the broke status. As I mentioned before she was Cute. So darn Cute that she was able to lull me out of my required qualifications. It is really hard to argue with cute people, it's like arguing with a kitty or a bunny. They listen for a while, flash some cuteness and scamper away.

Now it is 26 years later. The babies come into the picture here. Remember the bad oral genes, well they got'em. Just like me they needed dental work, braces, cavity repairs, TMJ repairs, wisdom extraction. (That's when they pull wisdom teeth, the wisdom goes with the teeth. I had one kid that had 8 wisdom teeth, she's got none now.) And then there is me. I have spent as much on my mouth as I would have on a fine restored Ford Mustang, and my mouth doesn't like near as nice as one of those.

Oh sometimes I rue the day I met Cute, for that is the day I embarked on broke.

The "squishy ball" effect

In the auto business I have to have a body shop to work on the dents pre-delivered or self inflicted to ready the vehicles for sale.

Around the corner within walking distance and sighing distance is my body shop. The trip always in entails walking one way or the other, dependent on whether I am dropping off or picking up a patient.

It was during Friday's jaunt that I was returning to my office that I encountered the "squishy ball". This is a ball made of foam encased in a fabric that lets water into the foam. They are great for playing in a swimming pool with, not so great for sucking up gutter water.

I kicked the ball in lieu of a rock towards the center of the road, up where the crown is. The ball skimmed out of the water from the force, spraying a rooster tail of dirty water two feet into the air. As the ball neared the top of the road it's momentum slowed and the ball casually rolled back down into the dirty water of the gutter.

I walked over to the ball and surveyed it's condition. It was wallowing in filth again and saturated with cold gutter water. It had lost it's round shape and looked flat and depressed. Even the vibrant colors of the material looked dingy.

I kicked the ball again, this time with more force than before and with a trajectory more in line with the top of the road. The ball went sailing for a second above the ground, but the weight of the contents brought it back to the pavement with a audible thud. It rolled as before with waste water flinging from the the roll inflicted. As the ball began to slow and thin from the form changed in to a more circular mass and less and less water came from it. Just as before, it didn't make it to the top of the road, but began to slowly roll towards the water of the recessed gutter. This time I noticed the the color of the ball without the dirty water was bright and attractive.

I ran to catch up to the ball and keep it from rolling into the gutter but I was to late. It rolled into a half ball deep stream of liquid slime. Disgruntled I kicked the ball again...hard, harder than I had kicked it before. The result was two fold. I got dirty from the splashing of the kick and the tail of the spray, but it made it to the top and center of the paved road. It slowed as it lost it's momentum and contents until it stopped it's forward movement in the dead center of the vacant road.

The next number of kicks were easy. The ball stayed on course and rolled straight down the center of the crown. Each time I kicked the ball I only needed little corrections to keep the ball where I wanted it. It look dry now. No impediments, no extra weight. The ball was brightly colored and had a nice round form as it rolled along.

As I puttered along I came to a corner and didn't navigate it well, the ball with all the intentions of going along as it had, didn't turn just right. It was yards in front of me when I noticed it going off the straight topped crown and slowly lagging to the right. By the time I was able to run to the ball it had drifted to the edge of the gutter. This was a different gutter, dirty water all the same, but this time there was mud. As the ball stopped it just touched the water on it's very edge. It wasn't submerged or even dipped, it just touched it.

With the horror of a parent watching a child fall into a rushing creek I ran to save it. I was too late, for as I ran I could see the ball where it touch the water seem to absorb water and wick it into it's foam body. With a little internal jog, the ball rolled toward the on coming weight of the intake...and plop, it was deep again into the water and covered with mud.

This time I picked the ball up and threw it with force against the pavement knocking the mud and water off and out of it. It was worse for the wear. I kicked it to the center of the crown and continued to my office.

While this exercise played out, my mind thought how analogous this event was to life: When we are in the filth of life, near saturated with the weight of sin that weighs us down, it takes a lot of force to get us out of the mire. We have to have our sights set for the highest ground. If we don't push in the right direction with enough force we will naturally roll back to the gutter.

Even when we have purged almost all of the filth out of us, if we don't have the momentum and proper aim, gravity of our situation will pull us down.

Many times we may have to start over and over again, experiencing the cold, saturating filth and painful expulsions to free ourselves from the wallow. It is only once we reach the top of our goal, the middle of the road, the crown of safety do we thin ourselves of all our extra baggage. Then we regain our creators shape, bright color and full potential.

But even then, if we are inattentive in direction, or we push past our present protection, we can drift towards the mire that once held us bloated. Even in our clean and lightened state, if we so much as touch that which held us down before, we will absorb it faster then we were originally tainted. It is then that trauma may be the only way that God has to pick us up and knock the sickness out of us.

The lesson of this parable is that once we extract ourselves from the mire of life and reach the high ground, we need to carefully chart a course and measure our propulsion to keep us on the straight and narrow path, always in control with an eye on the goal.