Wednesday, September 22, 2004

When I was a teenager in North East Texas, one of the tortures my folks put me through was TOFTY. Some stupid temple youth group. So not only would I get to be shunned by babptists in small town northeast Texas for being a Jew (yes, I was Kyle), but I would get shunned by Jews from all over the state for being from a small town.

They had weekend meetings, called conclaves, usually during the year. You can imagine the drill, travel to some foreign town, get put in some gracious congregation member's house, spend all weekend at the Temple being teased unmercifully, Oh, I mean participating in fun events, then be forced to sing crappy early 1970's songs sung by some frizzy haired idiot with an acoustic guitar.

You know WHY frizzy haired idiots play crappy early 70's tunes on their acoustic guitar? Cause you only have to know 2 chords, you don't have to be talented, and chicks MAY think you are cool. Unless said frizzy haired idiot is a girl, in which case she is overweight with a trendy haircut, bound for a life of angry feminism. They should all have their guitars smashed to bits, like Belushi did to Steven Bishop in Animal House.

Anyhow, yesterday justice was misserved. I don't approve of the Homeland Security Office, or their actions, or their reasons for deporting Cat Stevens, but somewhere, deep inside me, a tortured young kid who hates singing frizzy haired idiot songs shouted "Heck Pecker Yeah!"

You're NOT being followed by a moon shadow, mooooon shadow- moon shadow, no sir, your ass is leaving. as in Leavin', on a Jet Plane!

YAY! Let's hear it for those of us and those like us, who hate singing those damn songs!

On my way in to work today I phoned my favorite Uncle. Okay, my only Uncle, but if Uncle Irv wasn't my only uncle, he'd still be my favorite. Years ago (before the frizzy haired idiots tortured me even) my grandmother Manya (may she rest in peace) told me she had 2 boys. Irving and Max. Max is my dad, and one of my heroes. Irving is my uncle, and another one of my heroes.

Grandma told me, I was the first son, Irving was the first son. Louis (my brother) was the second son, Max (my dad) was the second son. My kid brother looks exactly like my dad. Grandma told me I would probably look like my uncle. It's true, we are both more,... ummm, AERODYNAMICALLY STREAMLINED! Yes, that's it! Streamlined!

I love my dad, he gave me my life, my sense of how to complete tasks, any engineering ability I have, and is an all around good man. But my Uncle Irving? He gave me a sense of cool! He drove a Pontiac Firebird Formula 400 a freakin RACE Car, when my pop had an Oldsmobile Delta 88. My uncle made fun of FBI men while being interviewed by the Warren Commission. Gangsters in Dallas KNEW him. He married a hottie! Irving Statman is one of the coolest men I know.

It sure was nice talking to him this morning.

In conclusion, I heard from the ex-wife of the guy I sorta worked with who kilt hisself. She is doing okay, they have been seperated for 5 years, the kids are allright. It's just sad he couldn't wrestle his demons.

no matter what kids, as long as you are alive, you can work to make things better. Once you are dead? that's it. Don't do it.

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