Thicker Than Water

On my dad's side of the family, I have approximately fifty first cousins and seventy five second cousins.  And I  don't know hardly any of them.  I don't go to family reunions because they're always in Idaho and I live in California and I haven't made the effort to make the trip.  Truthfully, I suppose there is a part of me that is a little uncomfortable with the possibility of any of them not accepting my family as much as everyone else's.  This doesn't really hold water, though, because none of these 100+ blood relations has ever said or done anything to indicate that they would react negatively.  Besides, they're a pretty down to earth and/or quirky bunch for the most part, which would make you think that in all their calm thinking and/or weirdness they would accept someone who is somewhat different.  On top of that, we aren't really a close knit family per se; it seems most of us pretty much keep to ourselves.

When I was a teenager one of my uncles and his family lived with us for a few months while he was finishing his university degree.  They had two little girls at the time, Lisa who was 3, and Audrey, who was 1.   I fell in love with these little girls and at the time loved them even more than my own siblings.
 
Then they moved to Kansas.  I was devastated.  I helped my grandparents load the back of their pickup truck with my some of my cousins' belongings and drove across the never ending plains of Nebraska and Kansas to their apartment.  As I lay in a sleeping bag on the floor of the little girls' room, I worried about the current tornado watch but also sobbed knowing that I wouldn't really be seeing them anymore.  And I was right.

Until last night.

Lisa and her husband and two adorable little ones recently moved to the Los Angeles area, and they came to our house for dinner last night.   We all had an agreeable time, but I think I enjoyed myself the most.  It charmed me to see the family resemblance in the faces of the kids and the familial similarities in the way Lisa expresses herself.  It felt good to talk to someone who knew and understood our family.  It was refreshing to have a relative make conversation with me and show interest in my life and my own immediate family.

Somehow our evening sparked a renewed interest in my extended family, and I felt that curious bond that can exist between blood relations.  I guess blood sometimes is thicker than water.

What about you?  How many cousins do you have?  Are you close to them, or have you become distanced?
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From Vallarta to Whole Foods

Today I was taught lesson in contrast.  I went to Vallarta to buy some things that were on sale there at a very good price, and on my way home I stopped at Whole Foods to use a gift card I got for my birthday.As I drove home and put away my groceries, I contemplated the two separate worlds that I had just visited.

Vallarta is a Mexican market that specializes in all foods, well, Mexican.  I'm not talking Pace Picante Sauce Mexican, this is an authentic that at times can be too much for my taste, especially walking past the meat counter.  But for the most part, I love the authenticity of things such as the tortillas and salsa and the made to order counter that offers enchiladas, chile rellenos, tacos, and beans that rival those that can be found in Guadalajara or  Mazatlan.  The prices on many items are the cheapest in town.  Entering Vallarta is enough to put one in sensory overload.  There is loud Mexican music, many children (often my own students) and tall shelves and displays of sale items that threaten to fall over.  And the smell.  The smell is a mixture of tortilla chips frying in hot oil and overly ripe, raw fish, beef, pork and poultry.

The clientel at Vallarta is, in general, humble.  The shoppers tend to be Latino, but certainly not all.  Some shoppers are there simply because they can find certain items there that are difficult to find in the typical "American" markets.  But most of us who frequent Vallarta share one common denominator:  We're looking to feed our families as economically as possible.   Deals like oranges, onions, fresh tomatoes, and bulk rice, 3 lbs for $1.00; dry beans 4 lbs $1.00; and a 100 count package of corn tortillas for $1.49 keep us coming back.  These things aren't organic, I'm sure.  They're made as cheaply as possible in order to offer them inexpensively to those who may not be able to spend more than $50.00 a week on food to feed a family of five.  It may be my imagination, but could there be an underlying sense of desperation amongst Vallarta shoppers?  Often I will see people walking down long expanses of main thoroughfares in our city with arms loaded with Vallarta bags.  It used to be Vallarta would give its customers free rides home with purchase, but now one must spend $75.00 in order to get that free ride.  This makes many of them ineligible.  I sometimes feel guilty or displaced as I put my bulk beans and rice and cheap produce into my Lexus, which, ironically, may be the very reason I feel the need to shop at Vallarta!

Walking into Whole Foods, one is immediately greeted with innumerable signs that say "organic".  The lighting is dim.  The music is softer.  The displays are lower.  And the prices are higher.  Much higher.  Tomatoes are $4.99 per pound as opposed to $0.33 per pound, for example.  A noticeably whiter client base (although certainly not all white) is more concerned with pesticide free, preservative free, gluten free, wheat free, cruelty free food.  They are not looking just to fill tummies, they are thinking extensively about what exactly will that food do to their bodies other than provide satisfaction and energy.  Dare I say that Whole Foods shoppers often seem to carry with them a sense of virtue as they stroll through the store?

So what are you?  A Vallarta shopper or a Whole Foods shopper?  I'm stuck somewhere in the middle and I'm not sure where I belong.   

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A Letter to An Eighth Grade Me

Dear Thirteen-Year-Old Jason,

Now for a word about the Boy Scouts of America.  I know that the scouting program is a big part of the young men's organization in the Church, and you've heard it described as "the right hand of the priesthood" time and time again.  Well, I'll let you in on a little secret.  It is not actual church doctrine.  It is not actually critical to your salvation.  It has brought you so much grief, just as some of the young men's activities like church basketball, and you just don't have to be involved in it.  I know this goes completely against your grain of wanting to please everyone, but, Jason, just politely inform your parents that you will not be a part of the scouting program anymore.  You've dreaded scouts ever since you were eight years old.   Let's put you out of your misery, shall we?  People will probably make efforts to get you involved, but just stand your ground.  Trust me.  You'll be much happier.

Remember when you were six and you asked Mom about where babies came from because you needed to see if the next door neighbor boy was telling the truth?  And how she told you that it was called "making love" and how it is a very beautiful thing?  And then remember when Dad decided he needed to make the talk official by calling you into their bedroom with a book about the human body?  They did as well as to be expected in explaining the basic physiology of the whole thing.  But they left out some pretty important details.  I can't get into all of them here and now or this letter would be chapters long, but let me tell you this:  Don't beat yourself up for beating off!  How well I remember that vicious cycle of urges and guilt you were stuck in for the entirety of your teenage years.  How much valuable time and mental and emotional energy have you already wasted worrying about your fantasies and providing yourself release?  In spite of what you have heard, it is normal.  Ninety nine point nine nine nine nine percent of all human males do it regularly or have done it regularly at some point in their lives.  Your palms will not get hairy.  You will not go blind.  You will not go to hell.  You will not be any less spiritual or worthy of God's love and spirit.  Just enjoy your body and then get back to the business of your life without that horrible, dark, dehabilitating GUILT that needlessly plagues you.  Believe me.  You've got bigger fish to fry.

So the moral of this particular letter, Jason, is to stop doing things that you don't need to be doing that bring you grief (like going to scouts) and start doing things that you need to do that will bring your hormone wracked body some physical release and relaxation (like spanking your monkey)  and to stop scourging yourself for doing something that you were programmed to do.

Until next time, try to relax and enjoy life a little bit.  And for heaven's sake, don't worry so much!

Love, your friend,

An Older You

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P.S.  Now what are you waiting for?  Go lock yourself in the bathroom.

A Letter to a Seventh Grade Me

Dear Twelve Year Old Me,

Hi there!  It's me again, the forty one year old you.  You haven't heard from me for a couple of years because I wanted to give you some time to mull my first message to you over, let it sink in, and practice doing what I tell you to do.  You could really call that last message I sent to you when you were ten kind of a dry run, because things are only going to get hairier from here on.

Starting with your legs and armpits, your crotch, and your face.  You are already noticing some of that going on, aren't you?  You're mortified about it.  Oh yes, you are.  I know you.  When people point out the peach fuzz above your lip or the hair on your legs or even your armpits if you're shirtless or in a tank top, don't let it bug you.  Let it roll off your back.  People don't mean anything by it, they're just making careless observations and they don't remember what an uncomfortable experience puberty can be.  I know when someone tells you to get thicker skin, that's the last thing you want to do.  But, dude (I can't believe I just called myself  "dude") you need to get thicker skin!  Don't sweat the small stuff.  You'll have plenty of real problems to worry about.

Which brings me to another point.  You are super skinny.  This bothers you a lot.  Other guys are going to be growing much bigger than you, they're going to be muscular and tall, and you're going to remain puny, pasty, and mousy.  IT DOESN'T MATTER.  You don't have to be big and muscular to be attractive.  And you wanna know a little secret?  Those guys who are super good at sports and have big biceps and pecs in junior high and high school?  Time is not being kind to many of them.  But you...you are still in size 30 jeans and you've kind of grown into your looks.  You look better in your early forties than you ever have.

And those unfortunate chunks of yellow calcium you have in your mouth right now?  They're straight and white and beautiful in your adult years.

Now one last thing about appearance.  You've already had a few complexion issues.  Any minute now your face is going to break out like nobody's business.  Basically, your acne will become one big, red, infected, oozing wound with a mouth and eyes.  They are just now, in 1981, releasing a miracle drug called Acutane.  Skip all of that other nonsense from Clearasil to Tetrycycline  to Retin-A, along with the excruciating weekly visits to the doctor to get your zits scraped off your face.  Insist to Mom and Dad and Dr. Johnson that you MUST have Acutane immediately before this goes any further.  You'll thank me later, I promise.  Three needless years of grief and phenomenally low self-esteem will not have to happen.

Well, that's all for now.  Chew on this for a while, and I'll be back when you're thirteen for another one of our chats.   

Love,

An Older, Wiser, and Hotter You
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A Letter to A Fourth Grade Me

Dear Ten-Year-Old Jason,

Hi!  It's me, a forty one year old you!  Can you believe it?  They've figured out a way for us to send messages to the past via something called the "internet," which is done through computers, which everyone has, along with something called a "blog" which stands for "web-blog".  "Web" refers to the world-wide-web, which is a virtual system of....

Never mind that.  I'm not sure you would understand all of that back then in 1979.  The important thing is that I've been able to get this message to you, and I hope that by reading it and thinking very seriously about it, the next few years will be much easier and happier for you.

The first thing you need to know is, as a grown-up, you are happy and pretty well-adjusted.  You have a beautiful family, a good job that pays the bills well enough, a home that you never would have imagined you would ever lived in, and your health.  I'm not going to give away all the details because what would the fun be of doing that?

Next.  Brace yourself.  You're about to embark on the most emotionally and psychologically tumultuous years of your life.   There will be misery.  It is a given.  We can't prevent it.  However, the 2010 Jason can help the 1979 Jason by sharing a few little bits of advice.

1-  No matter how bad it gets, remember, it will all work itself out, you will figure yourself out, and everything comes out okay in the end.  Well, up until you're 41 at least.   I may be able to send a message to the past, but they still haven't figured out a way for us to see the future.  So, keep your chin up.  Don't despair.  You'll be fine.  You really will.

2-You've got a great family.  Don't let them or your house or anything about your home life get you down.  There are people who have it WAY worse than you.  Sure, Mom and Dad aren't perfect people.  Sure, they will make mistakes with you and the rest of the kids.  Some of those mistakes will seem kind of huge.  But all parents make mistakes, and you've got a good set of parents.  By the way, it may shock you to know that you are still going to have two more little brothers, making you the oldest of six!

3-I know that the primary source grief for you at this point in your life is the other kids.  I remember what days were like for you...the name calling, the bullying, the cruel treatment.  It hurt like hell. (Yes, I said hell.  Get over it.)  It won't go away completely, but if you do what I tell you to do, it will diminish sooner.  Kids think you're weird.  Especially some of the other boys.  Something about the way you act really bothers them, makes them uncomfortable, and makes them want to squash you.  So...stand back and take a good look at how you act.  What do you do that causes this?  I know you may have a hard time doing this, and correcting it may be even harder, but you have to play the game in order to win.  You know that word "fem" they keep calling you?  You know how they say you act like a girl?  Well. . .you do.  There's nothing wrong with that, except that it makes them hate you, which makes you miserable.  So, stop it.  I know you always hear, "be yourself."  You go ahead and keep being yourself!  But not outwardly, not for quite a few years.  I know, I know, it's awful.  But if you want a greater sense of peace over the next few years, you have to do it.  This may mean that you will have to become really quiet.  You won't be able to express yourself the way you naturally would.  And above all you can't tell people that you like barbies and that you love Olivia Newton-John as much as the other girls in your class!

All of that being said, much more importantly, there is nothing wrong with you.  Don't be ashamed of the way you naturally act or the things you like or the feelings you feel.  Be proud of it!  Just be proud of it quietly.  Some day, maybe when your kids are in school, things will change and people won't hate people because they're different.  Maybe.

There is so much more that I want to tell you about yourself and your life, but I can't do it all at once.  I'm not sure how you would handle it.  So let's just leave it at this for now.  You're a great kid.  You're smart and lovable, and fun.  You're going to have a wonderful life.

Until next time,

Love,

A Grown-Up You

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Agnostic Blessings: February Blossoms

Blessing #492

February Blossoms

I looked out the window, and what did I see?

Popcorn popping on the apricot tree.

February has brought me such a nice surprise,

Popcorn popping right before my eyes.

I can take an armful and make a treat,

A popcorn ball that would smell so sweet.

It wasn't really so, but it seemed to me,

Popcorn popping on the apricot tree.

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Love Yourself!

As the producers of The Jason Show were wondering whether we would air any sort of Valentine's Day episode, we came across this post title the, for obvious reasons, caught our eye:  "Not About Masturbation..Unless You Want To..."  Of course, this linky will take you right to the fabulous Sybil Law.   And it looks like she yoinked the idea from Snackie Poo, someone whom I believe I will begin stalking tomorrow.

That's right - it's here again:

HAPPY SELF-LOVE DAY!!

Feb. 14th & 15th, 2010

Here’s how the whole thing works:

1.) Choose a banner.  You may use one of the banners I've included here, or you may find your own.

2.) You’re gonna post that banner and then tell us all something that you really like love about yourself (thus, the “self-love” portion of our program).

3.) Ask or beg your readers to post one thing that they too love about you!!! If your blog friends are nice, you shouldn’t have to beg…much.

4.) Enjoy yourself and spread the love by doing this on your blog! If you want to, drop me a line or a trackback so that I know you participated too!

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I love that I am happy...and even in the worst times I know that beneath it all I am still an overall content person.  

 I fully subscribe the the notion that you must make your own happiness, one way or another.  You're in charge.  If you're not happy, then get happy.  Happiness takes work.  If you're not willing to do the work to get happy, then don't complain about your misery!

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Happy Self Love Day, Everyone!

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Q & A With Your Token Gay, Volume XXIV

Your question is important to us. Please stay on the line. Questions will be answered in the order in which they were received.

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Fragrant Liar asks:

Gosh, Jason. I feel like I should be all kinds of curious, but since you're not my token gay guy, I just wanna ask a straight question. How has blogging changed your life? 

When I started blogging about three years ago, I never thought I would take to it as much as I did.  First of all, I was in need of some sort of creative outlet, and combining that with my joy for writing turned out to be just what I needed!  Second, meeting so many online friends, some of whom have become IRL friends, has been a very positive experience. I've met Motherscribe, Ask Grandma J, A Sense of Humor is Essential, Hula Hank, Blog This Mom!, Choosing My Own, Katydidnot,  Doves Today, Tootsie Farklepants, Undomestic Diva, and a rather obscure woman named Bossy--you may have heard of her.   Negatives?  Well, I read less and I watch TV less than before.  And I owe all of this to my sister-in-law-whom-i-wish-was-my-wife and my actual sister for convincing me to give it a try.  They can take the credit or the blame, whichever way you look at it.

Suz Broughton asks:

What's your favorite flavor Lip Smackers? Mine is Watermelon. Followed second by 7-Up. I don't know if this fall into the right subject matter, but I really want to know that about you.

I don't use Lip Smackers, Suz.  Sorry to disappoint.  However, I am a recovering Carmex addict; I've weaned myself over to Chapstick now.  My favorite kind of Chapstick is spearmint, then vanilla.  I apply liberally several times a day, and you should see me do it; I do it like a pro!

Ana asks:

What are your feelings on panettone?

Do you get the same urge to throw that oddly shaped box out the window like I do?

Don't even get me started on panettone or any other Italian desserts, for that matter.  It's a funny thing how I love Mexican and Italian food, and married into a Mexican-Italian family, and I love my Mexican-Italian man, but I think Mexican and Italian desserts are just stupid.  I don't like them, I don't understand them, and I don't see the appeal in any of them.  Panettone being the worst of all.  Panettone (pronounced pon-ay-tone-ay), for those of you who may not know, is a big airy glorified  Italian fruitcake so chock full of preservatives, I don't believe they ever go bad.  Panettone has a pungent smell not unlike feet and sour B.O.  It is dry.  Sometimes it tastes funny and sometimes it tastes like almost nothing at all.  And of course, it has little, unidentified pieces of dried fruity things in it.   Italians think it is the best thing to come out of their country besides pasta and the popemobile.

Panettone is also popular in Latin American countries, including Peru, which is where I was first introduced to it.  Peruvians like it almost as much as Italians do, and at Christmas time Peruvians and Italians alike become giddy with glee at the thought of this inexplicably popular pastry.

I sound so bitter!  Good grief.  It's just a pastry.  Why does it stir up such bitterness?

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Your question is important to us. Please stay on the line. Questions will be answered in the order in which they were received.

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A Bad Dad

I'm a bad dad.

I give my child a bath even when he's sick.

I don't take him straight to the doctor when the very first symptom manifests itself.

I allow my child to decide whether he wants to wear socks or go barefoot around the house.

I don't force baking soda down his throat when his tummy is upset.

I don't give him his way just to get him to be quiet when he is throwing a huge tantrum.

I don't force him to eat every single thing on his plate.

I don't micromanage the way he eats a meal.

I don't make him sit perfectly still when he eats a meal.

I allow him to take off his jacket if he is feeling warm.

I don't take him to mass; rather I actively speak to him on a regular basis about responsibility and kindness.

I am "raising my children like animals."

I don't want him to have coffee.

I take him to Taekwan Doe.

I don't give him tranquilizers to calm him down.  

I don't insist that my teenage daughter keep her room spotless and make her bed every day.

I don't spank my son.

I put him on time out.

If he is throwing a tantrum, I let him throw it and get it out of his system before I try to reason with him, rather than force him to stop immediately.

I do not try to scare him with empty threats.

I tell him in a calm voice what his consequences will be, and the punishment always fits the crime.

I do not try to guilt him into behaving.

I do not argue with him.

I tell him the truth.

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Release and replace, release and replace, release and replace. . .
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My Favorite Lube

Did you know that WD-40 has over 2,000 official uses?  I'll bet you didn't.  I'll also bet you didn't know that if you go to the WD-40 website, it will give you a complete and unabridged list of these uses.  But I won't make you go and see for yourself...I found some of these uses so darn entertaining I'll post them in this very episode, right here, right now, baby, baby.

WD-40:


Penetrates and frees stuck toilet shutoff valve

Lubricates antique waffle irons

Loosens screws on toilet seats (I much prefer my toilet seats nice and loose when I sit on them.)

Frees stuck LEGO� blocks (How often do your Legos get stuck?)

Lubricates cigarette case hinges (Lauren Becall is the only one to whom this applies.)

Removes stickers from crystal (Diego!  How many times do I have to tell you to stop putting stickers on the crystal!)

Removes stubborn temporary tattoos (How about stubborn real tattoos?)

Cleans gunk from safety glasses/goggles (Stupid gunk.)

Cleans magazines for an AK-47.  (I'll keep that in mind.)

Cleans salt-impregnated ice from the soles of my work boots (Rats!  My work boots have gone and gotten themselves impregnated again!)

Protects motors coupled to pumps to prevent faulty packing glands.  (I don't even know what that means but I don't like the sound of packing glands.)

Protects plumbing "runner" ropes from being burned by molten lead.  (YOWCH!)

Lubricates and protects antique weapons for historical reenactments.  (Every Saturday afternoon.)

Protects and polishes bronze grave markers (I take my WD-40 along with my flowers to the cemetary.)

Protects and maintains armor suits.  (Always getting so rusty!)

Spray on rag and wipe exterior to help clean CPR mannequins (Nobody likes to do a grimy Resuci-Annie!)

Removes tar from feet (I actually needed this last time I went to the beach for this reason. Just ask JLo.)

Spray stainless steel tables (used to collect/pack fish) to prevent "pits" from rusting

Lubricates power injecting device strung from the ceiling in Cardiac Catheterization Lab (Power injecting device strung from the ceiling?)

Lubricates hell hole micro switches (What the hell is a hell hole?)

Lubricates hell hole roller switches (Oh, I remember.   A hell hole is what this blogger calls her place of employment!)

Keeps missile silo doors swinging freely (Gotta have easy access to those silo missiles!)

Contractors use bottom of can to draw perfect circles while in the field. Use cap for smaller circles.  (Well, that's just downright practical.)

Lubricates worm gears in chicken house on poultry farm.  (Those darn worm gears in my chicken house!  They're always getting so dry and unwelcoming.)

Cleans and protects shoelace eyelets (Finally!  I've found a way to protect my shoelace eyelets!)

Lubricates hinges on crawfish traps (Because a squeaky hinge would scare away the crawfish.)

Stops crutches from squeaking (That could truly get annoying.)

Cleans ostrich eggs for craft use (This is a typical craft in Pahrump).

Cleans, protects and lubricates bells on antique sleighs (Because without that, the bells won't jingle!)

Lubricates squeaky weathervanes (My squeaky weathervane is always keeping me up at night.)

Lubricates choke linkage  (When I choke, I like my linkage to be nice and lubed.)

Prevents metal components on Christmas decorations from rusting (Damn those metal components on my Christmas decorations!)

Lubricates hinges on beer steins (Hey, Ed!  Mah damn beer stein is squeakin' agin!)

Lubricates automatic envelope making machine (Where do you keep yours?)

And my absolute favorites:

Lubricates antique cuckoo clock pendulum (They say you should do that every time you turn the clock back.)

Removes paint rub caused by 9 vehicles (That really makes me mad!)

Lubricates fingers stuck in hole (Actually I never get my fingers get stuck in holes.  Do you?)

Lubricates bed wheels for more speed while bed racing

I Made Out in Front of My Mother

LeAnne kissed me hard, on the lips, with a slight hint of tongue.  She paused.  Then once again, only more fervently.  More urgently.  I turned my head to catch my breath and she thrust her long pink tongue into my ear, bathing it as only a lover can.  The thought ran through my head for a moment that my mother could see, but the wave of passion that overcame me surpassed all need for decency.

My mother stood directly in front of us, leading the Sunday School children in, "Give, Said the Little Stream."  She didn't even realize we were making out until she glanced down.  Then, with eyes wide, she abruptly stopped singing and yanked a three year old me away from that three year old brazen hussy.

And so began my countless lustful encounters with the opposite sex.  

Stream of Consciousness Blogging: Super Mario Bros and Financial Aid

It has been a while since I just sat down and unloaded my brain on this here Jason Show.  So often I feel that each and every post should have a theme, but sometimes it feels good to just let your fingers do the walkin and your stream of conciousness do the talkin!  Although I will say that when other people do this sort of post it is much harder to follow and make any sense of them!

Tonight Amelia and I are attending a financial aid workshop for her upcoming freshman year in college!  She has applied to several California universities and we are waiting to hear back from most of them; one in San Francisco already accepted her--can you imagine Amelia in San Francisco?  She'd be in heaven.  However, our top choice is Cal Poly San Luis Obispo because of the quality of the school and the fact that they offer a political science/pre-law major.  I also like the fact that it is only three hours away by car, as opposed to several of the other places we were considering.  So I'll let you know!

A word about Super Mario Bros on the Wii.  For my birthday I got a pair of shoes and a belt.  Both of which I promptly returned to Target and bought Super Mario Bros instead.  Amelia finds that amusing.  Diego and I both love to play it and we get to spend some great quality daddy/son time as well.  My thumbs are calloused and sore.  Is that bad?

Manicotti.  Stuffed with cheese, brocolli, and spinach.  It's what's for dinner and I made it myself from scratch.
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