Holy Crap.

A recent relationship ended because I wasn't the right religion for her. Now, I'm not going to hold it against the woman who ended the relationship, because that's her prerogative. She's a nice, sweet person, and we got along really well. It's just that once things looked like they might be getting more serious, she felt it couldn't go any further because I wasn't the same religion. It was a first for me.

It wasn't because I have a large ceramic bust of Elvis in my living room that she found creepy, or my Rocky impersonation got stale, or I showed her the video of my friends and I performing as the Village People, or my goatee scratched her...chin. Everything about the relationship was pretty good. She ended it because I used to pray to Saint Anthony whenever I lost something, and she would pray to God. No middle man for her religion. She's not Jewish, which can cause some logistical problems as far as who's holiday is better and all. No, we are not complete opposites, it's still the same God and all, just different approaches to how you appreciate the Big Guy.

Okay, I'm not a holy roller or anything. (In fact, does anyone actually use the term "holy roller" anymore? What the hell is a "holy roller" exactly? Christ on skates? Ouch, sorry.)I'm very willing to compromise on the religious beliefs of the woman I'm with. Hell, she can worship Ishtar for all I care(the god or the movie), as long as she's willing to watch "The Big Lebowski" once in a while and enjoys dancing naked. Although, allegiance to Satan is pretty much out. I was married to the Dark One's minion and it was far from a rewarding relationship. Biting the heads off chickens and sucking the blood may be fine for some, but it doesn't get me horned up, thank you.

My faith is basically rooted in nuns slapping me silly, serving mass as an altar boy for narcoleptic priests and paintings of the crucifixion that freaked me out from this big old Bible my parents had. But for the past 44 years, it's worked for me. I have my faith and my beliefs, which are personal. I'm not out to convert anyone to the Catholic Church. I have no plans to find an Amazonian tribe and get them to switch from eating people to eating wafers that represent a person. And I'm not the kind of guy to go around helping neighbors in the name of Jesus. My neighbors often take up two parking spots, so they can go to hell for all I care.

Of course, there's the whole thing with the pedophile priests. It never fails to come up when I mention I'm Catholic. You know what? There are pedophiles everywhere, so there will be priests who like little boy nookie, just as there are waiters, teachers, rabbis and ministers who like it. Sick and twisted all. Bottom line, the church was wrong. But I don't believe in my church. I have a belief in my faith. The church is run by humans. Some humans steal wallets, some kick puppies or drive like selfish pricks, and others cover up mistakes by other stupid humans. I don't have faith in them.

The thing is, I just don't think I have the capacity to relearn 44 years of Catholic conditioning and embrace a new religious direction, no matter who I'm with. I have a hard enough time believing man really landed on the moon, so how could I possibly believe in an all-knowing, all-forgiving Being who molded the moon with lint and sand from His belly button?

Well, I don't necessarily believe all that. Some people hold the Old Testament as a non-fictional account of the world. Again, I have a hard time with that. I get the message those stories are trying to get across, but, I mean, come on...Adam and Eve? Noah? Samson? Okay, Hedy Lamarr was freakin' hot as Delilah in that movie, and I would've cut off my hair for her. But show me proof that those things really happened, and maybe I'll start to believe they're true. Dinosaurs? Yes, millions of fossils found. They existed. Cavemen? Yes, hundreds of thousands of pieces of proof. King Tut? We have a body and lots of mummified cats. Noah's Ark? Not even a hunk of wood. Good story though. So, then why believe that Jesus rose from the dead?

Personally, I don't think that's what it's all about. Whether I believe in that or not is kind of irrelevant to my point. I believe what I believe because it works for me and it gets me through the day, sometimes the night, often through bouts of stomach viruses. It definitely got me through a hellacious second marriage. It keeps me from doing the really, really bad stuff. It's often my conscience when Jiminy is off busy banging lightning bugs. It's not for everyone, and I don't expect it to be. That's not my job.

And if I meet a nice Jewish girl who digs me even though I have a cross hanging in my apartment, that's fine with me. My mother probably wouldn't approve, but then again, she would never watch "The Big Lebowski" with me.

Amen.

Mandals.

Now that the weather is warmer, I see guys walking around wearing mandals (you know, men's sandals = mandals), their big finger toes out in the open, those hairy foot digits displayed to the world. And while I understand the desire to keep your feet cool in the hot weather, do I have to be subjected to them?

There are basically three places sandals on men should be allowed:
1. At the beach. And I'm talking about on the sand, by the water. Makes sense, right? It actually looks silly walking on the beach in anything other than sandals, or bare feet. Unless you're from South Philly, then white sneakers are okay anywhere.

2. Around a pool or in a sauna. Not that I've ever been in a sauna, nor do I have the desire to share a sweat with other guys. No, sitting in a steamroom with a towel draped over my naughty bits with a bunch of fat, clammy men is not something I have ever wanted to experience. But I can understand wearing sandals in there. No bare feet in hot rooms where men perspire. It's a good rule to live by.

3. In a movie about Jesus or ancient Egypt or something. For the sake of historical accuracy, I don't think Moses would have been seen parting the Red Sea in a pair of Italian loafers.

Other than those things, guys should be wearing shoes. It's pretty casual where I work, and some guys show up with sandals. I find it very disconcerting seeing your coworker's or boss's almost bare feet in a meeting. With those little leather toe g-strings between each digit. Kinda nasty. I don't mind women in sandals, of course. It just seems more natural. Not that I'm a foot fetishist or anything, but most women have pretty nice feet, especially when they put the nail polish on them like colorful little hats on each toe. Cute. On guys, not so.

I will never wear sandals anywhere but the beach, unless, of course, I get a bit part in the remake of "Samson and Delilah". First off, I don't want people seeing my feet. Secondly, people don't want to see my feet. And third, I don't want to see my feet.

Would I say that I have bad looking feet? I would. I have bad looking feet. There, I said it. I won't get into any details, because someone reading this may be eating corn on the cob or beef jerky or something, but let me just put this out there: Remember how Fred Flintstone would start his car by putting his boats out the bottom and running over gravel? My PT Cruiser may not actually require this kind of power, (not yet anyway, but soon) but by the looks of my feet, it might as well have.

Yeah, tough, leathery and just as big as Fred's. Yeah, I could wear the shoeboxes instead of the shoes.

So, no. I won't be wearing sandals. But even those guys who get pedicures and care for their feet as if they were newborn babies shouldn't wear sandals. Especially to work. Or the mall. Or restaurants. Or on the streets.

I'm looking forward to the fall, when the mandals get put away and feet get completely covered in leather or suede again. For now, I'm just gonna have to get used to looking up.

What's goin' on?

Yo! I'm back after a long blogless hiatus. And I'm tired of not writing fun stuff. So here I am.

So, what's been going on with you since our last communication? Not much? Are you kidding? Have you looked at the friggin' news even once over the last month or so? Damn, some crazy shit going on out there. Which is why I'm glad I live in my little nihilistic cocoon, safely surrounded by my DVDs and bobbleheads. Do I need to peek out and be part of all that nasty shit that's happening outside my door or in another state or across the ocean? No, of course not. But at least I know what's up.

For example, there were two, count 'em, TWO natural disasters in the past month. I'm sure you've heard about them when they first happened. They're not so newsworthy anymore. After all, Ashlee Simpson being pregnant is far more happening than several thousand Chinese people being killed in an earthquake or a couple hundred thousand dying in a cyclone in Myanmar. Hey, Myanmar wasn't ever mentioned in social studies, so why should we care, right? Besides, it was basketball playoff time. I gave to a charitable cause. I can't do anything about the money actually reaching there. But at least my conscience isn't stabbing my brain with a pitchfork.

Ahhh, I'll never forget the day I spent $4.00 on a gallon of gas. It's a moment I will always remember. But is it me, or are there still lots of SUVs on the road. Smart choice there. I'm sorry, if I have to feel more adequate in life, there are a lot of other ways to do it rather than buy a gas guzzling yacht on wheels. And people still drive like imbeciles too. I read about something called "hypermiling" which is basic driving techniques to save gas. Coasting, driving the speed limit, no hard breaking. So I'm trying to coast more and stay at the speed limit, but that's damn near impossible, because everyone else around me drives like gas is as free as piss. I guess everyone else is making a hell of a lot more money than me and has no problem supporting the big fat oil company a-holes.

Oh yeah, the economy is failing, Hilary is out of the running, finally, and Obama knows how to fist pump with his wife. More important news coverage. Good for him, I'm sure that if he becomes president, that fist pump will help him solve all the country's ills. First, he'll take his magic dust of change and sprinkle it over the economy and the war and global warming and all will be better, just as he promised. Fist pumps all around! Honestly, I'm not a very political person, and I don't think any candidate will make any bit of difference. But it's disconcerting when half a nation can drink the Kool-Aid of a guy who has no experience at all and believe him when he preaches about change and hope. Yeah, we all want change, Mr. O., but I don't think a bunch of well-spoken words are going to get us very far. Where's Ross Perot when you need him? At least he had charts.

Oh, and another season of American Idol has come and gone. And now that it's all over, America can go back to not giving a damn about who won. I mean really, when can that madness stop. Idol, "So You Think You Can Dance?", "America's Got Talent", "Look At Me, I'm an Idiot, But I'm On TV". I know I'm not the only one annoyed by the hoopla that surrounds these shows, but most can avoid them. My 9-year-old daughter is hooked on Idol. I had to watch whenever she was here. Ouch. Well, it's over, until next year. Maybe she won't be into it as much next year. One can hope, right?

Finally, Iron Man was awesome. Speed Racer loses torque about 25 minutes in, and Indiana Jones was just missing something. Summer movies are here with a wallop. There are still a few I'm looking forward to, and none of them star Adam Sandler. I saw the recent Patrick Dempsey entry into the Hall of Shitty RomComs, and man, was it sad. I can't believe that there are screenwriters and directors and producers and actors out there willing to commit to a project like this. Every cliche and inane plot device you can imagine, thrown onto a steaming pile of celluloid. For example, he's trying to get to the church before the woman he really loves but could never tell gets married to someone else. The only way there is to go around a lake. There's no time to run! What to do? Well, thankfully, a guy with a horse trailer shows up. Does he borrow the truck or ask for a ride? NO. Guess...yeah, he rides the horse. Oh, sweet Mother of Mercy. I threw up in my mouth a bit on that one.

Did I ramble enough? Sorry. I have to run. One of the highlights of my summer is here. I picked up the special edition of Dirty Harry on DVD. "Do ya' feel lucky? Well, do ya', punk?" Oh yeah, it's gonna be a good afternoon.