A few notes on marriage

1)  This is the kind of thing you don't see in all those romantic movies HBO plays on a constant loop:  last night, I found myself watching a Cheers with my wife as we went to bed at about 10pm.  On a Friday night.  Woooooo!

2)  Our exhaustion was actually not our fault.  We spent the better part of the day at the bank arguing about our property taxes.  It seems that some fairly important information about said taxes was mailed to our neighbors instead of us and as such, we never received word of said information until a whole lot of bullshit financial penalties were added on.  Want to know what the problem was?  The "one half" in our address.  

See, we live at 5934.5 N Paulina (send money!).  Sometimes whatever system we're working with--be it the Chase bank system, Grub Hub, PizzaHut.com, etc--won't let us put a decimal point in the address.  Sometimes you have to list it as 1/2.  Sometimes you can't put any indication at all.  This leads so some moderately annoyed delivery guys and some important information about our taxes never actually reaching us.  

Yesterday, at the bank, Krishni and I sat with an incredibly patient banker for over 3 hours while she tried to make things right.  No shit:  we found four different versions of our address in the Chase bank system.  Three or four times, she shook her head and said "I've never seen anything like this."  At one point, I was on the phone with a rep from another department and that rep requested that I confirm my address.  When I did so, she said "That is not the address in our system" and demanded that I confirm the incorrect address at which she happened to be staring.  In a moment of frustration, I asked "I'm sorry ma'am, but I have no idea what incorrect address you're staring at.  How on earth am I supposed to confirm an address when I don't know how the address is wrong?  This is the whole point." 

3 hours later and nothing is resolved.  We're going back Monday.

While waiting to hail a cab outside the Chase tower yesterday, my gorgeous--and under the weather--wife, turned to me and asked if incredibly complicated situations like this ever happened to me before I met her.  "No," I replied, "This is just one of the added bonuses that comes along with being married to you."  She took it as an insult but honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.  

Maybe with less Chase Bank, anyway.

3)  As I mentioned, Krishni is a bit under the weather today.  She was all hopped up on DayQuil yesterday and chugged some NyQuil at night.  However, this morning at about 7am, I rolled my fat ass over in bed and noticed that she wasn't there.  Typically, I'm not awake at 7am unless the leafblower guy is asking to be murdered so it was just by sheer coincidence that I noticed she was no longer in bed.  

Well, it wasn't by sheer coincidence: I was just awakened by a nightmare where Krishni was still asleep but nonetheless cupping my balls in her hand and staring into my eyes as she slowly crushed them.  In the dream, I was screaming "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE THE FUCK UP!" while trying to slap her awake so that my balls may survive to eventually produce Vladimir Voorhees Jacklich, Supreme Ruler of the Universe. 

Now awake and thankful that my magnificent balls were still intact, I became concerned that I had shouted out "WAKE THE FUCK UP!" in my sleep for my entire condo to hear while simultaneously flailing about with my arms and driving my sick wife from our marital bed. 

Nope.  I found her on our couch and nudged her awake and asked if she needed anything.  She said no and then told me why she came out to the couch in the first place:  "I was cold so I turned off the air and then I was sleepy and then sneezy so I just went to sleep on the couch."  Being a smartass, I asked "Just how many dwarves are you?"  In her sleepiness, she just replied, "Doc?"

I love my wife.

4)  For the record, I do not believe my wife is trying to castrate me.  When I did wake up, alone and confused and concerned for my manly bits, I found that I had tangled myself up in my sheet and my bits were wrapped up tightly in said sheet.  I have to believe that was the cause of the dream.  Also, I'm oddly glad it was Krishni and, not, say, Brad crushing my nuts.

Because that would have been weird.   

5)  My concern for accidentally slapping my wife in her sleep is grounded in one actual incident.  It would appear that a few years ago, I was asleep with my arm over my head while my wife laid (lied?  Layed?  Whatever) next to me watching TV and researching the Ebola Virus on her iPhone.  Seems that my arm had a spasm and sort of karate chopped her in the face with such force that it woke me up immediately.  Holy fuck I never felt as bad as I did that night.  I apologized profusely and offered to go sleep on the couch but she declined.  

A few days later I made the mistake of telling this "humorous" anecdote to Krishni's Mother.  I know it's all in my head but I still feel Darlene looks at me funny every once in a while, suspecting me of beating her daughter.  Guilt and all that.

Again, these are the stories the rom-coms don't tell you about.  

6)  Finally, you know how I feel about gay marriage.  If you only ever read one thing on the subject, make it this.  That essay is a reply written by Minnesota Vikings Punter Chris Kluwe to a Maryland state delegate who was complaining about a different NFL player who stated his support for marriage equality.  The highlight?

"They won't magically turn you into a lustful cockmonster."

Seriously.  Go read it. 

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. 

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. 

Christ-fil-A

My morning commute lasts about 50 minutes, give or take.  I usually take the 84 bus to the 147 bus and then walk the 3 blocks from Michigan Avenue to my work at 680 N Lake Shore Drive.  Sometimes, unfortunately, the bus gods don't play nice and I'm forced to take the Red Line downtown.  I don't have anything against the train...it's just louder, more herky-jerky, and is super-crowded by the time I reach my destination.  Today was one of those train days.

One bonus of taking the train to work is that the exit of the Chicago red-line stop spills out at the front door of Chicago's newest fast-food joint, Chick-fil-A.  Those of you from south of the Mason-Dixon line are well versed in the deliciousness of Chick-fil-A.  Those from up north likely only recognize the establishment for those amazing cows that urge folks to avoid eating beef:

Seriously.  These cows SLAY me.

This morning, my second bus was running late so I reluctantly took the red line to work.  However, such a travel annoyance comes with the promise of a delicious chikin biscuit at the other end of my commute.  I ordered my biscuit, waited, like, 30 seconds and a nice lady delivered it to me.  I said "Thanks!", turned around and started to walk away when I'm 90% sure she replied with "God bless you!"  As I said, since I was running late, I had already turned to walk away but I'm pretty damn sure those were her words.

Now, Chick-fil-A's politics are well known.  The company was started by a deeply religious man down in Georgia and their mission statement is almost as funny as those cows:  "To glorify God by being a faithful steward of all that is entrusted to us. To have a positive influence on all who come in contact with Chick-fil-A.   And serving deep-fried chicken sandwiches to everyone but fags." 

Full disclosure:  I may have added that last part. 

However, they have donated a ton of money in the equally-hilarious (and terrifying) "National Organization for Marriage" and have been involved in a number of discrimination lawsuits.  Because, you know, its ok to hate on queers and Muslims because, like, God and stuff.

So by all means I should avoid this place like the plague.  Like Target, they have an abhorrent political stance and I should not support either organization but damned if I don't like the joint.  The chicken sandwiches are really good.  Plus, they serve waffle fries and their single serving ketchup doesn't come in annoying packets, it comes in an awesomely convenient cup that you can squeeze in the traditional fashion or peel back the top and dip stuff into it:

How cool is that?  And why has no one thought of this before?

Returning to my experience this morning, it was odd to be preached-to at a fast food restaurant.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not gonna go all Jimmy Johns and boycott the place.  It's just weird.  Growing up Catholic, I'm used to being surrounded by god-stuff: crucifixes, flying through our prayer before dinner ("blessusohlordandthesethygiftswhichweareabouttoreceivefromthybountythroughchristourlordamen"), morning prayers on the intercom at school, spending my Saturday mornings at stupid CCD class...I get it.  God is all around us if you want to believe that sort of thing.  I don't think, however, that if I was hit by a bus on Michigan Avenue later this morning, I would be granted the keys to the gates of heaven just because I ate a delicious $2 chicken sandwich and was blessed by the cashier before I did so. 

I dunno.  Maybe I'm wrong and the girl with the colorful beads in her hair that blessed me today is right.  And maybe I'm screwed anyway because despite my Chikin baptismal, I feel a dude should be able to marry another dude and "Christians" should just back the fuck off. 

And maybe--just maybe--nothing that occurred this morning matters at all in the cosmic scheme of things and all I really did was make a bunch of cows ludicrously happy because they won't face the slaughterhouse for another day. 

I'm sure we'll meet again soon at White Castle, cow.