Mission Maybe

In case you didn't notice, Hopeful Curmudgeon now has an official mission statement. (Subject to change, of course.) See above - under "Hopeful Curmudgeon."

The Crippling Curveball

Doing the radio thing on the way to work, I heard a local (retired) sports star speaking about a charity event. (Sadly, they first had to discuss the fact that he was chosen as one of about 6 people in the city to be invited to breakfast with the Lost-Texas-Village-Idiot in-Chief, who happened to be in town this week. Sports Star actually said he thought The Idiot was a good man - which, I guess, MIGHT be true, and that he was doing a good job as Idiot-in-Chief, which is irrefutably NOT true.) But I digress...

By continuing to listen, I was able to hear a far better message, despite this proselytizing propogandic bullshit...

The charity he was pimping was founded by a woman and her husband several years ago. It raises money for research into spinal cord injuries. The reason they were into it just blew me away: The woman (who wasn't an old lady) went to sit in a hammock on a fine autumn day. Said hammock was about 2 feet off the ground. The hammock (as hammocks are wont to do) slid around on her and she fell to the ground - and broke her friggin back. She has been paralyzed ever since.

I'd like to say that in the ensuing days, I haven't felt a moment of self-pity - that I have been fully appreciative and grateful for all that I have. And for all that hasn't happened to me. But that, too, would be proselytizing propogandic bullshit. And I don't want to contribute to the huge gaping hole of ozone in the Sky of Truth. So I will just be honest: there have been many moments since I heard that woman's story when - after realizing I'd fallen into my shallow toilet bowl of how I'd like things to be different than they are - I was pulled back into reality...the reality that I have absolutely nothing to bitch about.

Life isn't fair. And for that ( so far) I am grateful.

Oh...yeah...I had to give a little something to the charity, too, because it always makes me feel a bit sleazy when I feel better about my life after hearing of another's misfortune. But her story certainly has given me some perspective.

If you see me, ask if I'm still grateful that life ain't fair - because you never know - life might just throw me one of those crippling curveballs between now and then.

Ancient Document Proves Christians to Blame for Letter "T"

Sardinia, Italy - A discovery on the island of Sardinia, nestled between the Tyrrhenian and Meditarranean Seas, has brought into question the origins of the letter "T." A group of anthropologists - accompanied by linguistic experts and etymologists - claims to have uncovered evidence that the letter "T" originated as a propoganda tool by early Christians.

The symbol in English for the sound "T" originated from "tau," the twenty-second and last character of the ancient Hebrew alphabet. In its earliest form, it was written "X" but represents the letter "T."

Conspiracy theorists have long speculated that early Christians altered the letter's representation into the alphabet as Christianity moved from the underground - when use of the ichthus, or "Jesus fish," fell out of favor. The recently uncovered document - carbon dated to the second century A.D. - details an early Christian power struggle over the use of ichthus, which had been a pagan symbol of the Mother Godess' vulva. [See above illustration.]

"Although the letter 'T' had been in use prior to this," said Dr. Lowell Cunningham, the director of the project, "this document proves that early Christians played a significant role in altering the letter from what was essentially a plus sign [+] - with equal lines - to its current incarnation as symbolic of the cross [ T ]."

Pagans plan to march on the Vatican later this year in an effort to raise support for their calls to return the letter "T" to a plus sign. "What this does," exclaimed self-described pagan, Marcus Cross, "is verify everything we have felt to be true but couldn't prove. Christianity usurped not only our holidays, our symbols and many of our rituals - including the drinking of lamb's blood - but they have altered all English-speaking people's consciousness. Subliminally, every time a 'T' is written or read, at a subconscious level, you are forced to pray...we think the world has had enough!"

When asked about the fact that this is only true when one writes a small 'T' and not the capitalized version, he said the group is open to compromise.

A spokeswoman for the Pope officially denies any involvement by the Catholic Church.

Effing Funny

The Sweetest Mortgage Partner Ever! had her 7-year-old nephew and 9-year-old niece stay with us for a few days. While they are incredibly sweet and ridiculously well-behaved, it didn't matter in terms of lessening my aversion to the apparently normal instinct that most mammals have to recreate themselves in their own image and likeness. (I just don't get it: It's like signing up for 20-25 years of indentured servitude. Really? You want to do that? I mean, willingly? Even enthusiastically?)

Whatever I am lacking or whatever defect I have, I thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster - daily.

The highlight of their stay may have been when we took them to their first big-league ballgame. They wanted to go back the next night. (Our measley money pile - an anthill, really - would not allow it.)

They are as good and as fun as kids can be...and it still made me check Sweetest Mortgage Partner Ever!'s birth control schedule and the condom stash. (Two-ply, thank you very much.)

Okay...on with the Effing Funny show...

The youngest nephew, who is three, had the following contribution to "Effing Funniest" while eating at a fast-food restaurant (that shall remain anonymous) during the kid drop-off:

Mom (eating a salad with soybeans): "What's the other name for these, besides 'soy'?"

SMPE!: "Edamame."

Youngest Nephew, not missing a beat: "And a daddy." Then he casually took another bite of burger.

And, while at the African section of the zoo:

SMPE!: "Doesn't this look a lot like the real African savanna?"

Nine-year-old niece: "Yes, it does. Except for all the park benches."

Gotta love the 9-year-old smartass. (Especially one who is too sweet to be aware of her own sarcasm.)

Blue-eyed Mullah

some still wonder why
the blue-eyed prophet
passed with the new millennium


the twins were merely pawns
of the underworld
trudging toward a destiny


irrevocably
unspeakably
invoked


from the ancient dust
of father's
swollen tongue


weeping


the blue-eyed mullah
gathers his minions
for the quickening


as we rush to folly
marching with
a mad jester


one hand
touching the sun
as the other


drips red
upon corpses in the sand
mummified


by the evil
of our indifference
and their own


willingness to burn
for a blind
puppeteer

The Department of Homeland Ontology

Destinations are never what we expect them to be. That is perhaps the greatest joy of travel.

We pack our miniscule lives into suitcases, pretend to be unburdened gypsies for a weekend...a fortnight...a month. But really, we are cramming our whole selves in there. Our obese lives. Our obscene egos. Our gargantuan hopes and dreams and delusions. Fears and passions and loves.

Whoever said, "You can't take It with you," lied. (It was probably a beauracrat or a businessman.) You can't NOT take It with you. Amazing that It ever all fits.

How do we decide what to carry? What to leave behind? The Department of Homeland Ontology has suggestions, but they are not very practical.

If you expect to encounter the unknown, and plan accordingly, does that remove the element of surprise from the Unexpected. Does it keep the breath from being knocked out of you? And if so, does preservation of breath curb the awe? If you wish to curb your awe, why even step beyond the curb?

And what of the journey? If destinations are pleasantly unpredictable, journeys are the inexplicable phenomena of chaos theory. Why do we always plan for the destination and treat the journey itself as a heroin-chic Harlot? Is it because the Harlot is too feral, too turbulent, too rapacious to prepare for? Or is it, rather, that we judge her unworthy of our wrapt attention? An obstacle to be side-stepped. A burden from which to be freed. A gnat darting in and out of our aural periphery.

The things we lose may be more important than the things we bring back with us. It is sinful to return more beset than upon departure...unless you unburden by laying your quixotic density on others. But then, aren't you saddling them with more things...things that further terrestrialize their existences?

Although it is good to go and and even better to return, there is a part of us that would prefer never leaving the cold comfort of our heroine, the Harlot. After all, it is what we don't know that makes travel so consumingly fascinating. The surprises along the way. And she is always revealing more to us. An ankle here, an earlobe there. The curve of her collarbone. The way afternoon shadows from the tree outside the window play with the color and texture of her skin.

And every once in awhile, if we watch closely, we see something ethereal yet substanial. Mind-boggling. Inspiring to the brink of madness. Don't take your eyes off of her - especially when she holds the mirror to herself. Be myopic when the time and place are right. She holds a treasure worth keeping at such moments.

You just might return home with the memory of having seen yourself through her untainted eyes.

Is 32 years of a Bush-Clinton White House Really a Democracy?

What the hell is wrong with the American people? Counting the two terms that Bush senior served as V.P. - if Hillary is elected President - we are guaranteed at least 32 years of a Bush or Clinton in the White House! Is this the country that brought modern democratic principles to the world, or a friggin' aristocracy?

Look, if the Dems end up nominating Hillary, I will (almost) certainly have to vote for her. (Know this, though: I'd prefer Ron Paul over continuing this abhorrent rut we are in.) But let's not candy-coat a poopscicle, okay? She is the pure embodiment of an entrenched politician, albeit a female. Although it may not necessarily be her fault, she will perpetuate the divisiveness preventing us from solving our most serious problems. We really need someone who can, and will, break through this 51/49, Red versus Blue bullshit. And if you think Hillary Clinton is the woMan, you are delusional.

Edwards had plenty of promise...until he built a 30,000 sq. foot home. For a family of 4. The year before running for President. On a "Let's Help the Poor" platform. (Even if you dismiss the hypocrisy, the timing shows a serious lack of good judgement.) Oh, and did I mention that he railed against predatory lending, then went to work for one of the worst perpetraitors of such practices? Or that he went off on the rich for using off-shore accounts to avoid taxes, then did it himself? Or that he voted for "No Child Left Behind," and then spent years bashing Bush for the law. The Iraq debacle and the Patriot Act? He voted for them.

The John McCain of 2000 seemed like a decent man. That dude is gone-daddy-gone.

Of the remaining serious candidates who should be considered, that leaves us with Obama. Entrenched politician? No. (Not yet.) Does he seem to have the ability to unite a nation? Yes...he has the oratory skills, the ideas, the charisma and the ability to think critically. He has the best chance of bringing the nation together in a way we haven't been for a long, long time. His ideas for education, for helping the poor, protecting the environment, and his foreign policies all look promising. (The healthcare issue might have to be tackled in bits and pieces - maybe he is hoping to eat that monster a small piece at a time?)

Anyway, the Hopeful Curmudgeon is officially endorsing Barack Obama. And I am sure that means the world to him!

www.barackobama.com

CM

Funniest Effing Things I've Heard in Awhile

"It was there when I was still alive."
(My good friend LT, discussing a landmark from her hometown.)

"Are you trying to poison me with your boobs?"
(Cranial Midget, to Sweetness, after kissing her bare right breast. I'd just showered and applied deodorant. Shortly after that, we were in preseason mode. I draped my arm across her chest just before the nuzzle. Her boob tasted like a combination of "Off" and strychnine. It took me a moment to realize what had happened...and even longer to recover.)

"Ouch!"
(CM, again to Sweetness, just moments after the above incident. This was my response to having a moustache hair yanked from my lip via her earring. Hey - I never said I was Cyrano de Romeo...)

"General Peter Pace said he didn't want homosexuals in his army. Well Peter, at least they know when to pull out of a shit hole." (Bill Maher, on his HBO special, "The Decider.")

"I always exaggerate."
(My friend, Dr. Do Little.)

Transcript from google chat:
Monkey: These emoticons are campy and girly and should only be used by gay or emasculated men.
CM: But what about non-emasculated straight men like me who adore David Bowie and Barney Frank?
Monkey: That's okay - as long as it's not both. One or the other.
CM: Why not?
Monkey: Because they're not artistic enough for Bowie and they don't look young enough for Barney.

And, speaking of Bowie (though it's far more funny to see the video):
"Does the space cold make your nipples go pointy, Bowie?
Do you use your pointy nipples as telescopic antennae to transmit data back to
Earth?" (From "Flight of the Conchords," Episode 6: Bowie)

Genesis Redux

As promised, the Cranial Midget explains (or tries to provide some sort of illumination regarding) the rationale behind the second word of his blog's title. (If you missed the explanation of "hopeful," scroll down to "Genesis.")

The American Heritage Dictionary defines "curmudgeon" as "an ill-tempered person full of resentment and stubborn notions." Etymologically, the word first appeared in print nearly 500 years ago, and most etymologists concede that its origins remain a mystery.

So that leaves us with nothing but the definition to play with. And play we will...

Does the definition "fit" the Cranial Midget? While I concede that I most certainly possess stubborn notions, the ill-tempered person full of resentment label is more difficult.

My stubborn notions include things like: believing people should be kind to one another and to animals...we should try much more than we do to be good stewards of the earth...working just to make a buck is a sad waste of one's existence...big pharmaceutical companies and health insurance companies should be banned from lobbying legislators (and should probably be forced into "non-profit" status)...you are either part of the problem or you are part of the solution (regardless of the problem)- and living in the suburbs is part of the problem; those who contribute to suburban sprawl and then want to kill the wildlife (mountain lions, bears, wolves, alligators, etc) that threatens their babies and domesticated pets should themselves be shot...if America used its wealth and power more for humanitarian purposes and less for destructive purposes, it would have far greater success in achieving the ends it desires than by current methods...prosperous, prospective parents in the developed world should think more about adopting babies than creating replicas of themselves in their own image and likeness (and doing so shouldn't cost a friggin' arm and a leg)...the Kansas City Royals will play meaningful baseball games in September next year...Yankees fans who don't live in New York or weren't born there should be permanently demoted to double A fan-dom somewhere within Dante's 6th circle of hardball hell - say, the Tulsa Drillers, maybe?

Shewww...

...and those are just a few of my stubborn notions...

I concede: there are an almost infinite number of stubborn notions I possess which I firmly believe - should I awaken tomorrow endowed as dictator of the world - would make the world a better place. And some of them are quite stubborn. I relish inviting you to try banishing one of the above brain-barnacles from me.

But do I walk around in my internal daily life full of resentment, spewing vitrol and bitterness, ill-tempered and angry? No. (Well, okay - some days are better than others - but as a rule? Huh-uh...that ain't me.)

Hence, softening the hard edges of "curmudgeon" with the sweetly effervescent "hope." The word starts deep in the throat, with an exhalation, turning in the mouth to the "O" of surprise, of awe, demonstrating one's capacity for curiosity, realizing there is much still unknown, much to be enthused by and about. It ends with the satisfying smack of the lips...as in an air kiss or the culmination of a delightful culinary experience.

"Hope" is a great word (and an indispensible thing to have when needed), and not something I meant to diss(miss) too summarily in the last posting.

I'll just refer back to Lord Byron's quote and leave it with this: What the hell is wrong with "hollow-cheeked harlots?" Now, they give me hope...

Genesis

In the beginning was the word. Words begat phrases and phrases begat names. Why did I choose "Hopeful Curmudgeon" as a name?

One thing at a time, dear cicadas. Let's begin with "hope," from which "hopeful" is derived. Hope, like happiness (and like most pharmaceutical drugs), is overrated and abused (at least, in America). But I wanted to offset the negative connotations of the second word in the blog name with the misperceived connotations of the first.

Etymologically, hope comes from the Old English "hopian," meaning "wish, expect, look forward to something." Some wordophiles suggest there is a connection with the verb "hop," as in "leaping in expectation."

Whatever.

The point is that if you are seeking hope, it implies you are not content with the present...with the moment - the now. It implies you want something you currently don't have, or you wish things were different than they actually are right now.

Hey, I don't deny there have been times in my life that I needed hope. I needed it more than I did the next hit of that sweet, sweet liquid or smoke. In fact, I needed hope in order to not take another hit of the sweet stuff that had turned so sour - and had made me bitter. I also needed it several years ago, when I'd lost a job I hated but subsequently struggled to find something else. I'd nearly given up, was close to throwing in the humanitarian towel and going to work for the Man...helping rich people get richer, when voila! something decent came through.

So I've been there - many times. And I undoubtedly will find myself in an untenable place again.

But in the meantime, I am gonna breathe THIS breath...feel the earth under THIS step...and fully appreciate all that I DO have right now. And the next time I think I need hope, maybe one of you will remind me of this truth:

Most of us here in the so-called developed world have everything we need. Your life will never be any better than it is right now (since it is always now). Waiting to enjoy it until some future something comes along or goes away places you in a perpeptual state of Never-Never land...might as well dig it as it is.

Lest you think I am on the verge of sounding hopeful, check back. I'll explain the use of "curmudgeon" soon.

So, what does "hope" mean to you? What am I missing? What do you think?

CM