Worst. Babysitter. Ever.

Last night I traveled up to Evanston to babysit Diana's kids, Eli and Luca.  Rick was working late at the office and Diana had a wine-related event to attend and since everyone else they typically ask to babysit--their paid babysitter, Rick's brother, that Chicago cop who beat the shit out of the waitress and was caught on video doings so--was busy or in jail, they scanned the list all the way down to choice 43:  Mike Jacklich. 

I like Eli and Luca.  Most importantly, they seem to like me.  Maybe it's my choice of babysitting styles:  "Playing with Legos while we watch TV and as long as they don't accidentally kick me in the nuts I reward them with more TV and a popsicle."

 

Plus I use a cotton candy-scented knock-out gas

Diana rewarded the kids for accepting their number 43 rated babysitter by ordering pizza.  While waiting for the delivery guy to show up, I spotted some strawberries in the fridge.  Since I am on a moderate healthy-eating kick--by which I mean I'm cutting Macaroni and Cheese down to two meals a day--I cut some berries up, accented them with some blueberries and brought out the healthy snack for all to enjoy.  The older child, Eli, ate half a strawberry and then ignored the rest in favor of "Johnny Test" re-runs on Netflix.  

                                  Not gonna lie:  those spunky red-heads grew on me.

Luca and I happily shared the strawberries and when they were gone, Luca held the bowl up to me, Oliver-style, and said "More stawbewies please!."  Since he was so polite and showing an interest in yummy, healthy foods, I happily complied.  I diced up 6 more strawberries and returned to the couch.  Luca lapped them up like he hadn't yet eaten that day (You had fed him previously, correct Diana?).  He looked at the empty bowl, then looked up at me with a rather long face and said, "More please?"

It was then that I actually said the following:  "More strawberries!  But Luca, you're going to spoil your dinner!"  His pizza dinner.  I realized the silliness of this comment as it came out of my mouth and Luca--being almost 3--didn't understand the hilarity of me suggesting he shouldn't eat strawberries or he'd spoil his cholesterol-riffic cheese-disc.  

Like I said, Worst.  Babysitter.  Ever.  

I did eventually cut up some more fruit for him and happily--for me--the pizza arrived shortly thereafter.  I eventually got them bathed and changed and put to bed.  And then I watched the Sox game on their couch.  It was a good night.

I don't really have anything else to say about the experience except that I built a pretty cool spaceship with R2 riding shotgun:

The Godparents part II

I've been thinking about my Godparents a lot lately.  Janice recently died and Don died almost two years ago now.  I haven't really had a chance to mourn either of them because almost immediately after Don's passing I got involved with a ridiculous estate lawsuit that is ongoing.  Needless to say, such a lawsuit is not the proper way to honor such amazing people.  

Here they are, pictured in happier times somewhere in Alaska.

Don and Janice were loving, kind, generous and sharp as all get-out.  And they loved to travel.  As I mentioned in my last post, they enjoyed bringing me along on their trips, not only because I was good company but also because I was able to carry most of their luggage.  

A few months back, my sister Peggy found a big bag of my childhood at my parents place.  Included within were old birthday cards, my baby book and several hundred photos from my travels with Don and Janice.  These photos are hilarious on many levels.  

Not only does this collection of photos document a fashion era of my life that is best forgotten--apparently I loved, loved, LOVED neon--but they are also a sort of microcosm of Don and Janice themselves. 

Within this stack of Kodak envelopes, I could only find two half-way decent pictures of Janice.  Not because she wasn't photogenic; it was just because she didn't like anyone else handling her camera.  

Or maybe it was because Don enjoyed snapping pictures like this

However, her insistance on being the sole photographer is not to imply that Janice was Annie Leibovitz with a one-button camera.  Quite the contrary.  Janice was not a gifted photographer, which is how I ended up with dozens upon dozens of pictures like this:

Or this great one of Old Glory:

Or this picture of our tour bus window locking system:

Or this picture of, uh, you know, that thing:

Also, I must have been real young because I don't remember going to Jurassic Park:

 

To be fair, it wasn't all oddly framed shots of what appears to be nothing.  Sometimes she would successfully frame an interesting shot but there would be just something sort of off about it:

 

You know, like the pissed-off sextegenarian in the foreground.  

Speaking of something being sort of off about pictures, here's a photo of Don and me in front of the Forbidden City in Beijing, China:

Memories!

I can't quite tell, but I'm pretty sure those are Chinese people next to us. 

I'm kidding of course.  I have thousands of pictures that Janice took and most of them are wonderful.  She had a thing for landscapes and my only real complaint is that I wish we had more pictures of her.  Later on, as I grew older, I became the chief photographer on our trips so I have some great pictures of her in her 70s and early 80s but I wish I had more of her during my childhood.  

Fortunately, she very much loved her husband and me so she shot some downright amazing photographs of the two of us.  Thanks for that, Janice.  

Editors note:  I have no idea why that top photograph came out so large but I love it so I'm leaving it as is.

The Godfather x 3

I was lucky enough to have been given two Godparents who loved me dearly and I in turn loved them.  They were kind enough to come to my piano recitals and baseball games while also taking me along on their travels, allowing me to set foot on 6 different continents and roughly 40 states.  They also took me to Disney World 28 times.  Not bad.  

But the only way they put the "God" in "Godparents" was to drag me to about 100 cathedrals on our travels and just as many statues of Budda.  We rarely spoke of this "God" fellow and when we did, it was when Don said cryptic things like "You know where God is Michael?  He doesn't exist" while simultaneously cursing the Catholic church for destroying itself with Vatican II.  He was a mixed bag, that Don McCarron.  

My Godmother, Janice, was the far more consistent Catholic; she went to mass every Sunday and would complain incessantly between glasses of wine when she was unable to find a Catholic mass on a Sunday in, say, Hiroshima. 

To their credit, they never pushed religion on me despite being my Godparents.  Depending on your point of view, this made them either the best Godparents in the world or the worst.  I prefer to think of them as the former.

I miss them terribly.  

Why do I bring this up now?  Well,this past weekend Krishni and I were present at the baptism of Sheila Grace Harris--my Sister Peggy's kid--as we stood as her newly minted Godparents.  For those counting, this now makes me a 3 time All-Star Godfather.

"But wait, Mike," you interrupt, "Why do you even want to be a Godparent when, you know, you sorta don't believe in God?"  

Well, it's not that I don't believe in God.  While I don't necessarily believe in him, I also don't not believe.  Some people would say that I am agnostic but that implies that I've given God some serious thought.  The reality is that I haven't; I never think of God at all.  In fact, I'm going to stop capitalizing "God" from here on out.  Religion is only a blip on my radar anymore because I seem to enjoy mocking it. 

However, despite my treatment of the Catholic church in this blog, I'm not really anti-religion.  Religion seems to have done some amazing things for folks over the last couple of thousand years.  Who am I to argue?  Conversely, it's also been the source of many of the worlds bloodiest atrocities, a fact my beloved Godfather liked to point out (Don was awesome.  As such, while I may not be capitalizing "god" from here on out, I will be capitalizing "Godfather" because--even from the grave--I'm pretty sure he can kick our asses.  The man deserves our respect).

What bugs me is the hypocrisy of the self-righteous.  Isn't that a sin?  Well, it should be.  I hate it when people quote Leviticus as an excuse to hate on gays while ignoring all the other crazy stuff Leviticus spits out*.

Like how tattoos are forbidden by god

*Quick side note:  You know how people often put a meaningful bible quote on their wedding invitations?  One of my better ideas for our wedding was to put the chapter and verse from Leviticus specifically forbidding the consumption of shellfish and then serve scallops during the cocktail hour at our reception.  Sure, most people wouldn't have bothered to look up--or even notice--"Leviticus 11:10" at the bottom of our invite but I would have been telling the story for years.  Sigh.  Lost opportunities. 

I also hate it when politicians talk about god while spouting about family values...then get caught blowing a dude in an airport bathroom.  I hate it when priests live in lavish homes while they ask a homeless family if they are catholic/baptist/methodist before allowing them to spend the night in a gymnasium.  Also, I am firmly against child-rape. Biblical hypocrisy bothers me to no end. 

There was this guy that I hated in my fraternity back in college.  He claimed to be religious and would spout about god and how he was a better person than those that didn't believe...and then turn around and drink a dozen beers, grind on four or five girls on the dance floor at a party, bang one of them and then call his girlfriend when he got home to tell her how much he loved her.  All while wearing a little golden Jesus chain.  Man, even today, thinking about that little self-righteous prick gets my blood boiling. 

One night, he and I got into an argument about the benefits of religion and he dropped down something to the effect of "Fuck you, Jacklich.  At least I believe in something."  That set me off.  I ripped him down to the studs.  Not only did I give him a list of everything I did, in fact, believe in (myself, my friends, my family, pie) but I also called him out on his collegiate infidelity--he loved that--and asked how one can get so many different blow jobs from so many different sorority girls while wearing Christ's cross around his neck.  I followed that up by giving him a little one-two punch on the history of Jesus and Catholicism and how maybe, just maybe, Jesus wasn't the son of god.  Trust me, if there is one thing that I know about, it's history.  He walked back to his room in a huff, swearing the whole way.  I'm pretty sure I ruined his sodomy that night. 

Not gonna lie: it was a fun evening.  

***************

Ok, so certain religious people bug me.  You know how homophobes are always saying that they don't hate gay people, they just wish gay folks would "stop shoving it" in their faces?  As if holding hands is in any way "shoving it"?  That's sort of how I feel about religious people.  I'll respect your religion as long as you respect me for not giving a fuck**.

**Side note II:  You know who is an awesome religious person?  My old roommate Mel.  She went to church, volunteered to help the less fortunate, sang in her choir and truly believed in the "Do unto others" stuff.  In addition, she had the patience to quote "John 3:16" whenever I demanded it.  She also never brought up this stuff at home unless it was Christmas and even then, it only took the form of a nativity set or "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" playing on a constant loop.  In short, she is an honest, good religious person.  Sure, she is no saint but then again, she never claimed to be.  Which is sorta my point.  Every religious person can only hope to be like Mel.  

I wish we could talk about politics or touchdowns without mentioning god or Jesus or the bible.  But again, I'm not anti-religion.  Religion just happens to not be for me.  I would much rather believe in my wife than believe in god. 

So why do I continue to say "yes" when asked to be a Godparent?  It's an honor, I suppose.  Again, this all goes back to how devastatingly awesome my own Godparents were.  The two of them enriched my life and made more of an impression on me than I think they ever knew.  I don't think I could ever influence one of my Godkids lives the way my Godparents influenced mine.  But I will sure as hell try. 

So the question isn't why I keep saying "yes" when asked to be a Godparent.  Really, the question should be "Why on earth do these parents want me influencing their children in any way?"

It probably has more to do with Krishni. 

Today in Sheer Internet Joy

Today in Sheer Internet Joy

Am I the only one that thinks it's weird that a Catholic Cardinal gets to chime in about gay marriage?

So people hate Chick-fil-a.  Or they love it.  There really is no middle ground on this one.  Who knew that the most polarizing company in the world wouldn't be named something like "The Mel Gibson Child Porn and Violent Rape Super Store of Greater North Korea"?

If you haven't heard, the owner of Chick-fil-a said in an interview that he was "Guilty as charged" when asked if he was against gay marriage.  People on both sides of the debate, naturally, flipped the fuck out.  There is now a national boycott of delicious, delicious chik'n sandwiches and a Mike Huckabee sponsored "National Chik-fil-a Day" for which kids in Alabama will now probably get a day off of school.  Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel delighted one side by saying that Chick-fil-a's values "are not Chicago's values"--echoing similar statements by the Mayors of Boston and Philadelphia--and supporting an alderman that is denying Chick-fil-a a building permit in his ward.  Rush Limbaugh and many in the GOP immediately complained that such thoughts are hateful and bad business. 

Even The Onion chimed in in their own delightful manner. 

Now, we all know that Chick-fil-a has some abhorrent politics.  I've said as much in this very space.  They donate a shit-ton of money to organizations that have been designated as hate groups and their owner is a dick.  But they also have the best ad campaign in the world and serve a cholesterol-riffic good lunch.  I'm torn between my hatred of assholes and my love of fatty foods. 

It's times like this that I think, "What would the Catholic church have to say about this?"

Fortunately for all of us, Cardinal Francis George didn't leave us waiting long.  “Recent comments by those who administer our city seem to assume that the city government can decide for everyone what are the ‘values’ that must be held by citizens of Chicago,” George wrote on the Archdiocese of Chicago's blog Sunday. “I was born and raised here, and my understanding of being a Chicagoan never included submitting my value system to the government for approval. Must those whose personal values do not conform to those of the government of the day move from the city?”

George went on to write: “Approval of state-sponsored homosexual unions has very quickly become a litmus test for bigotry. … Surely there must be a way to properly respect people who are gay or lesbian without using civil law to undermine the nature of marriage.”

Jesus, where to begin?  Let's ignore the fact that Cardinal George here wants us to "properly respect" gay folks while simultaneously denying them dignity and equal rights.  That's a helluva magic trick.

But why on earth are we listening to a priest's opinion on marriage when priests themselves are not allowed to get married?  What insight does he have on the institution of marriage?

I'm an immature--sometimes drunk--guy who thinks about fantasy baseball and sex far too often to be healthy.  But I'm also married.  That little ceremony performed by my sister and attended by many of you gives me far more insight into marriage than a guy who has presided over an organization involved in one of the biggest pedophilia controversies in history. 

Want to know the secret of marriage?  Love.  And separate bathrooms. 

Francis George, however, seems to think the secret of marriage is one penis and one vagina making Catholic babies who in the future can be fingered by priests.   

**********

Every day as I wake up, I turn off the white noise app on my iPhone and read the morning news.  I check in at the Chicago Tribune website, I go to the Seattle weekly alternative blog to which Dan Savage contributes, I check my fantasy team and then I make one more pit-stop before eating breakfast:  the NOM blog. 

For those not in the know, NOM stands for the "National Organization for Marriage".  NOM is an uber-religious organization whose sole purpose is to fight the marriage equality movement.  It's run by a totally irrational guy named Brian Brown and a crusty vagina named Maggie Gallagher.  They organize various boycotts of just about any corporation who donates to the equality movement (a surprising number of companies that I use and consume on a daily basis:  General Mills, Apple, Microsoft, Starbucks, McDonalds, Disney, etc) while simultaneously decrying as fascists anyone who dares boycott Chik-fil-a. 

You may ask yourself why--as a guy who is passionate about allowing dudes to marry--would bother to read such hate-filled drivel.  Well, two reasons.  For one, we should know the enemy, whether that enemy is in al-Qaeda or just a fat guy from Mississippi with a 7th grade education and an incomplete comprehension of the Bill of Rights. 

Secondly, and most importantly, I like to rile these folks up. 

Since the NOM blog is, in fact, a blog, they allow space for folks to comment on the individual posts.  Anyone who spends any amount of time with me knows the comments section for stories on the internet is one of my favorite places to be.  Given enough time, any discussion on any article will break down into an insult-filled back and forth that always ends up with one guy calling another guy a Nazi.  Even if that article is about bunny rabbits shitting rainbows while winning an Olympic gold medal.  It's quite fascinating to watch. 

Thus, when you begin with an article that is already filled with hate, the comments section is downright delightful. 

I like to post things like "I'm sorry you feel that way 'OnlyGay4Christ69', but soon you'll be dead and I guarantee your grandkids just won't hate gays like you do" and "Does it just suck living in Arkansas?"  (for those keeping tabs, I've now generalized and offended people from Alabama, Mississippi and Arkansas.  Sorry Jon.)

Many times, these posts get deleted by the moderator but if you state your case quietly and eloquently in a non-offensive manner, the post will stay up on the blog forever.  I encourage you to go and post something today.  Pissing off a fag-hatin' fatty from Kansas (bam!  I got another one!) soothes the soul. 

**********

This fall, gay marriage is on the ballots in Washington state, Maryland and Minnesota.  I don't have high hopes for any of them--Washington might pass--but even in defeat, the movement is clearly winning.   Hell, I never thought I'd see the Democrats adding marriage equality to their platform but that appears to be the exactly what they are doing.  Think about that for a moment:  in the last few years we've seen the numbers in favor of gay marriage consistently tick up to roughly 50-55% while also getting one of the two major political parties and the goddamed President of the United States to state their support.  Hell, even Republicans are starting to see that the fight is lost.  The Rick Santorums and Mike Huckabees are a dying breed. 

Hopefully soon Adam will finally be able to legally wed Steve.  The religious right will still be able to wallow in their hypocrisy, decrying sodomy and screaming about how gay marriage is destroying the fabric of their own marriages and children...all the while vigorously masturbating to some hot girl-on-girl porn and not understanding the meaning of the word "irony". 

Know where I'll be when the LGBT movement wins?  Sipping some celebretory Veuve Clicquot with my wife while joyously reading about judgement day on the NOM blog. 

Somewhere in Utah, OnlyGay4Christ69 will be weeping.  It'll be a good day.