Top 20 Favorite Songs

Not sure if these lists really appeal to anyone, but me and my sons.  However, I need to state to all you fathers out there that nothing, NOTHING, connects you to your children more than taking an interest in their music.  I have found this to be true as a teacher, and I especially find this to be true as a father.  My sons constantly play songs for me.  And I send them a number of songs that I've heard when they aren't around.  To us, our music connects especially when we can't be together.  If I'm not listening to their music, I'm searching, seeking, and thinking about new songs that I think they will like.  I sincerely hope that we never lose this connection.  And judging by our lists, I don't think we will.  Hopefully, we have named a few that you like as well.  If not, well, give 'em a listen and discover a world beyond Eminem, Katy Perry, and the Bieber.

Ben

20.  "My Cabin" Ylvis
19.  "A Tale of Six Trillion Years and One Night" Vocabid
18.  "House of Gold"  21 Pilots
17.  "Do I Wanna Know"  Arctic Monkeys
16.  "No More Pirates"  Chris Garneau
15.  "Pumped Up Kicks"  Foster the People
14.  "C'mon"  Panic! at the Disco
13.  "Wonder Wall"  Oasis
12.  "Boulevard of Broken Dreams"  Green Day
11.  "The Cave"  Mumford and Sons
10.  "Rolling Girl"  Vocabid
9.    "Taken for a Ride"  Tally Hall
8.    "Cigarette Daydreams"  Cage the Elephant
7.    "Volitile Times"  IAMX
6.    "Jesus of Suburbia"  Green Day
5.    "This is Gospel"  Panic! at the Disco
4.    "Bohemian Rhapsody"  Queen
3.    "Some Nights"  Fun
2.    "Spring and a Storm"  Tally Hall
1.    "We Are Young" Fun

Jonah

20.  "Tonight"  Hot Chelle Rae
19.  "Sideburns"  Tobuscus
18.  "Thistle and Weeds"  Mumford and Sons
17.  "White Blank Page"  Mumford and Sons
16.  "Riptide"  Vance Joy
15.  "Bernadette"  IAMX
14.  "One Day More"  Les Miserables
13.  "Bring Him Home"  Les Miserables
12.  "Bohemian Rhapsody"  Queen
11.  "Beautiful Boy"  Ben Harper cover
10.  "Soul Sister"  Train
  9.  "Somebody That I Used to Know"  Goyte
  8.  "Carry On"  Fun
  7.  "We Are Young"  Fun
  6.  "21 Guns"  Green Day
  5.  "Jesus of Suburbia"  Green Day
  4.  "Miss Atomic"  The Killers
  3.  "Mr. Brightside"  The Killers
  2.  "Taxicab"  21 Pilots
  1.  "A Car, a Torch, a Death"  21 Pilots

Daddy

20.  "Two Step"  Dave Matthews Band
19.  "Me and Bobby McGee"  Janis Joplin
18.  "Father and Son"  Cat Stevens
17.  "One Last"  Avi Buffalo
16.  "No Rain"  Blind Melon
15.  "Especially Me"  Low
14.  "Moment in the Sun"  Clem Snide
13.  "Believing is Art"  Spoon
12.  "The Cave"  Mumford and Sons
11.  "Let It Be"  The Beatles
10.  "Into the Mystic"  Van Morrison
  9.  "Seven Nation Army"  The White Stripes
  8.  "Jesus of Suburbia"  Green Day
  7.  "Lonely Boy"  The Black Keys
  6.  "Otherside"  The Red Hot Chili Peppers
  5.  "Black"  Pearl Jam
  4.  "Runaway"  The National
  3.  "Modern Leper"  Frightened Rabbit
  2.  "With or Without You"  U2
  1.  "Amen Omen"  Ben Harper

Top Twenty Movie Lists

My sons and I have had an incredible time watching The Nostalgia Critic on Youtube for quite some time.  For those of you who haven't watched it yet, here is a link to one of his reviews:   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3488QwxmQU

I hope you like it and you're welcome.  

For as long as they can remember, my sons and I have had a number of movie nights together.  And as my older ones approach their teenage years, I am having a blast showing them the movies I have loved for years.  To watch them stare in awe at the musical numbers in Amadeus, laugh hysterically at Monty Python's The Holy Grail and A Fish Called Wanda, and get drawn into Silence of the Lambs, The Sixth Sense, and The Green Mile has been joyful and bonding experience. 

This past weekend, at my sons' suggestion, we each decided to complete a top 20 list of our favorite movies of all time.  It took us two days to compile, organize, and discuss our lists. What a fine way to spend a weekend!  Here are our lists...

Jonah's List

1. The Empire Strikes Back
2. The Green Mile/Forrest Gump
3. Castle in the Sky
4. Amadeus
5. Les Miserables
6. Spirited Away
7. 42
8. Lord of the Rings Trilogy
9. Batman (Tim Burton's)
10. Raiders of the Lost Ark/The Last Crusade
11. The Simpson's Movie/Howl's Moving Castle
12. Monty Python and the Holy Grail
13. A Fish Called Wanda
14. Kung Fu Hustle
15. Jurassic Park
16. Fiddler on the Roof
17. Hugo/Die Hard
18. Revenge of the Sith
19. SpongeBob the Movie
20. Emperor's New Groove

Ben's List

1. Silence of the Lambs
2. The Simpson's Movie
3. The Nightmare Before Christmas
4. Amadeus
5. Spirited Away
6. Monty Python and the Holy Grail
7. Fiddler on the Roof
8. Spaceballs
9. Raiders of the Lost Ark
10. The Green Mile
11. Forest Gump
12. The Secret of Nimh
13. Coraline
14. The Princess Bride
15. Finding Nemo
16. Dead Poets Society
17. A Fish Called Wanda
18. Howl's Moving Castle
19. Jurassic Park
20. Suburban Knights

Daddy's List

1. Pulp Fiction
2. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
3. Marty
4. The Goodbye Girl
5. Amadeus
6. Goodfellas
7. Pan's Labyrinth
8. Old Boy
9. Oasis
10. Slumdog Millionaire
11. Raiders of the Lost Ark
12. The Fisher King
13. Rushmore
14. When Harry Met Sally
15. In Bruge
16. The Shawshank Redemption
17. Howl's Moving Castle
18. Ratatouille
19. Fiddler on the Roof
20. Thank You for Smoking

Feel free to post your list below if you like.  

The Power of the Absent Father

There is perhaps nothing more powerful than an absent father.

It is a force that can cause,and has caused, more damage than any weapon ever created. You know the old the saying, "Guns don't kill people. People who are trying to get back at their fathers kill people."

Or something like that.

Adolf Hitler had an absent father.
So did Jeffery Dahmer.
And Tonya Harding.
And the person who invented the term "swag."
And the person who invented the portable air horn.

A person can, I believe, credit the increase in video game usage as a direct result of the neglect of fathers. Sure, many fathers play video games with their children. Some may say that it is a major source of connection between the father and his child. But it is a connection far, far away from real life.

If I could relate a story I recently heard of a real-life connection between a father and his son?

Thanks y'all.

A few of months ago, my future father-in-law invited me to a hunter's banquet. It was not something that I felt obligated to attend. I was happy and willing to go. Even though I'm a vegetarian. Of course, I'm a vegetarian purely for the health benefits not because I'm against killing animals. I believe that any person has the right to eat all of the animals he can kill. Bear. Mountain lions. Goats. Any animal. Except people. And dogs. In other words, eat what you want and let me eat what I want and we can live without having to shank each other. Because, as you will find out, I'm against shanking any animal. When at all possible...

Now that is out of my system, back to my story...

The banquet was at a church, which I guess these things usually are. Hunters are very reverent people. I guess when one is out in the woods pursuing his quarry, he may see some evidence of a higher power. Plus, as we all know, Jesus was a hunter. He used a bow, but I think everyone would agree that he would have used a Remington 700 if it were available. Long range of course. Without a scope. Because the son of God don't need no scope. His aim is perfect.

A moment of silence as we visualize of our lord and savior shooting down a 12-pointed buck from 400 yards with one precise shot in the head.
Pow.
And the lord giveth.
Amen.

Anyway, again...back to my story...

I don't think that a vegetarian is supposed to eat as much meat as I ate that day. I ate elk burritos, muskrat balls, (muskrat meat rolled up into balls. Not the actual balls of a muskrat, you sickos.) venison chili, pheasant wings, boar chops, and a salad (Gotta keep to my roots. Or my root vegetables! Am I right? Carrot power!) Anyway, in the middle of our meal, we had a guest speaker who was a professional hunter. He was an imposing figure...everything about him exuded man. Not the macho, meathead type. The enlightened type who was so confident in his man-ness that he didn't need to advertise...it was just accepted, like he had been a man since he was a fetus.

He was an engaging speaker, as everybody in the room hung onto the adventures he told about his expeditions in Alaska which he called "God's Last Frontier." And he said that phrase with the perfect blend of sincerity and strength and it made everyone in the room long to go there and we all felt guilty that we haven't been there because we could use a taste of God in our lives.

Upon hearing these stories, I was ready to slap on some war paint and my hunter orange fatigues and kill me some grizzlies (although I wouldn't eat them); however, I was particularly moved by the connection he stated that he made with his sons.  Especially when he said that there was nothing more that a father can do than to take his sons outdoors--away from TV's, cellphones, and computers and experience the natural world. And the bonding experiences that a father creates with his sons while fishing, camping, and hunting will last a lifetime. And will help them become confident, strong men.

I immediately felt like my pride had just been bitch-slapped. Not because this man was forceful with his words, he wasn't. Nor was he accusatory. He was just right. I should have known better. As a child, I loved being outdoors. Fishing, camping, hiking--you name it. I was a Eagle scout for chrise-sakes! My father, for all his faults, still took the time to take me out on weekends despite the fact that he worked the night before and probably wouldn't get any sleep throughout the weekend. And yet, I have the entire summer off and I've only taken my sons out fishing and camping about three times. And during those times, I was deficient in teaching them any survival skills. They wouldn't know poison ivy from...well, non-poison ivy. (One of them is furry, I think. )They wouldn't know how to make a fire without matches. They wouldn't know how to make a shelter without tools. Or how to dig for worms. Or make a spear. Or tell time without a watch. So...in the time of the apocalypse...they're screwed. Their only hope for survival is to hook up with this speaker's son. And he could lead them to a cellphone before they die from boredom.

My sons and I have spent a lot of time indoors. We have watched every episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender. We have read several books from The Fudge series to Percy Jackson to One Piece. I introduced them to the genius of Hayao Miyazaki. I have helped them discover the fun and delight of chain stories. And we have examined every aspect of Indiana Jones, Marvel vs. DC, and Naruto. If life were a like a Trivia Pursuit game, then my sons would be generals, but life doesn't just give pie to smart people. Or perhaps that's my perception and fear that comes with the ever-growing phenomenon of the apocalyptic culture. Real men kill animals, gut them, strip off their fur, slap the meat on some open flame that they make with sticks and rocks and eat it with their dirty hands. Real men don't know much about Tortoro or the intricate lives that occur down in Bikini Bottom. In short, real men are prepared to face the true cold nature of the world, not the warm comfortable world of the imagination. And true fathers prepare their sons for reality, not fiction.

The speaker then related a story that was an example of the kind of reality he faced with his son when they were on "God's Frontier"in mid September.  They decided to go out fishing even though the forecast called for a storm...you know, I feel rather deficient telling this story, let me attempt to summon the voice of this man so he can tell it himself:

"The river was angry...and suddenly we found ourselves on an island surrounded by the roughest and scariest current known to man.  My son and I needed to find a way out.  The cold rain was pelting in every direction and I could feel my son's shivering body up against me.

 I had to do something...

We were only a few yards away from the main land.  I could see our gear.  I felt that if I could make it to the other side.  Then, I could throw a rope to my son and we could hike back to our car.

I then attempted to cross the river when I was suddenly swept up under the water.  It was much deeper than I imagined.  And I struggled to make it to the top, but the water was too strong.  And then, something inside told me, 'Stop fighting.  Let yourself sink.  And a solution will present itself.'

So I just let myself go.  And let me tell you, it was the hardest thing I ever had to do.  I thought of my family, my son stranded on the island all by myself, and the mistake I had made that put us in this kind of danger.  I felt myself sink down to the bottom, and then I felt a sudden surge of strength in my legs and was able to push off the bottom of the river and get to the top.  When I got there, I heard my son screaming for help and I told him, 'It's OK, Son.  I'm OK.'

And then, off in the distance, we heard the DNR and his sons running down the hill.  They threw a rope out to me and rescued my son and guided us to safety.  Now, how did they happen to find us, I don't know, but I believe that it was divine intervention...the existence of God.  And it was his presence I heard in my head when I was in the water.  And it dawned on me...when I think back on it now.  The symbolism of me in that water, deep over my head...how that applies to other areas in my life: my job, my bills, my responsibilities...so often, like many of you, I feel like I'm downing.  And my natural urge is to fight...fight against that current. Fight against those problems until I find a solution.  I fight because that's what I know. Because it is what I was taught.  When life gets rough, you keep fighting, searching, striving...but that's not the way.  Because the more we fight, scratch, and claw through our problems,  the more we miss the plan that God has for us.  And the moment we surrender to his power and trust that he will help us find our footing, he will give you that strength you need to make it through your problems and the stress that comes with your job, finances, and responsibilities and help you embrace what is important.  And that's why I'm here.  I am here to spread this message. That is my purpose.

I looked at my son, and I apologized to him for putting him out there in such terrible conditions.  And he just looked up at me and said that he was just happy that I am with him and that we are going home.  And no matter what, THAT is what I take from this experience:that my son and I will always have this story...this true experience.  Not the kind of experience you get on the TV, video game, or the internet.  A true bond.  It was our worst and best moment.  And it was one that we will always have."

I listened to this man.  And saw the mist in his eyes when he talked about his son.  And felt the honest connection between them through his story.  A connection I envied.  I always thought that I had a strong connection with my sons...but I never had a near death experience with them.   I pondered the possibilities and imagined the power such an experience would have on us.  WE WOULD BE THE ENVY OF THE WORLD!  Since the Alaska experience has already been done, I started thinking about others...bungee jumping in Canada, bicycling on the north side of Flint, sporting sandwich board signs at a Republican Convention that says "Obama and the Gays love you."  But these seem more like adolescent pranks and not real, life-changing events.  And they may bond us together...but it would be more like a bond that frat brothers feel, not one between a father and son.

Of course, the real question: Do I have to put me and my sons through a near-death experience to feel a real bond with them?  God, I hope not.  And although camping in "God's Country" does sound exhilarating and I would love every moose-filled moment of it, I think I'll stick with renting cabins at Outdoor Adventures in Davison, MI.    At least for now.  It's a nice sterile intro to outdoor life and it gives me the enough pleasure that I am doing something that a father should do with his sons that doesn't involve any kind of technology.  We swim.  We hike.  Play mini-golf.  Build fires and roast marshmallows.  The basics.  And since the divorce and my days with them have been seriously (and some may say criminally, although I wouldn't say that, but it has been said by other people) reduced, I prefer experiences grounded in comfort.  With WiFi.  And popcorn.  It is actually my hope that my sons will forever link their memory of me to the smell of popcorn.  I can't think of a more powerful element to be linked to, nor a happier one to help them through those long stretches of absence.

Toy Lion

Purchased for $1.50 it was able to lie
comfortably next to my son in his isolate.
And when I first saw them together,
they were positioned like a double rainbow,
and I was reminded of the first magic trick
I had learned that gave the
illusion that the bottom arch was longer than the top.

That night, I dreamt that I was a lion
lying next to my cub
licking the grime from his fur
and running my paw through
his baby mane as he nibbled on my chin.
Then I picked him up by the nape of his neck with my teeth
and carried him to my den
and placed him safely next to me.
And while I purred to him the ancient
melody
every lion used for centuries to lull his cub
to sleep,
I was able to see him smile
as he closed his eyes safely within
the dark jungle full of wild noises.

Now, as my body clenches to fight the unexpected cold
from the air conditioner
in the doctor’s consultation room,
the nurse hands me the toy lion.
My son's companion is more lifeless now.
Yet smiles.  And its eyes reminds me
of my son searching for me when I called
to him around the screaming machines
and the doctors shaking their heads
as they tried to pump air into him.

“Call to him," the nurse said, "It will help.”
And as I did, my son opened his eyes:
two opaque knobs of black plastic searched for my voice
as if he was lost in the thick brushes deep in the savannah
and he tried to follow my voice to safety
it but his fresh ears deceived him
and instead he followed an echo that lured him farther into the brighter regions of the pride land where the dry grains of sand were needles in his feet and one by one they wore down to the tender threads until he buckled into a patch of tall grass...
leaving only his eyes...
forever searching...
in silence.

What Wikipedia Doesn't Know About Seahorses.

Here is some Wikipedia knowledge:

The male seahorse is equipped with a brood pouch on the ventral, or front-facing, side of the tail. When mating, the female seahorse deposits up to 1,500 eggs in the male's pouch.

Here’s what Wikipedia doesn’t know:

Pretty early in the history of the ocean, the first lady seahorse sleeked out of the holes in the coral reef, and saw him.  He was curling a sea twig with his tail.  She was impressed by the bulge that proceeded the descending first string of the tail that seemed to throb with every curl.  In and out.  In and out. It entranced her and she felt drawn to him.  As she inched over to him, she felt as if the ocean had been placed on a stove on high heat.  And she didn’t even know what a stove was, which really freaked her out, but she knew heat.  But she never knew heat like this.  Just inches away from him and he didn’t notice her.  He was lost in his curl.

“Hundred and one...breath…hundred two…breath…hundred three…breath”

He was already over a hundred.  Just how far could he keep this up?  Who knew?  There seemed to be no end in sight.  She floated closer to him, revealing her left side to him, the side, she thought, showed her best curves.  There is nothing more attractive in the seahorse world than a perfect S.  Artists have attempted to portray it, but no one could do justice to the real shape of the S.  And she had the best S in the reef.  And she knew it. 

“hundred twenty-one…breath…hundred twenty-two…breath…”

She refused to be overshadowed by sea twig.  She didn’t need this.  And she turned to walk away, but something kept her.  Something inside her needed him to notice her.  Was it destiny?  Desire?  Or the fact that there she was, this perfect S seahorse woman who is putting out her best side to this lunk, and he doesn’t even break from his curling trance to at least cop a look.  Was he gay?  She had to find out and repair her ego. 

She quickly picked up a rock and whipped it at his head.

“Hey!  What the…”  He was ready to fight, until his eyes were able to regain their focus and he saw that it was a chick who threw it at him.  He doesn’t fight chicks.  And what a chick!  She had about the fourth or fifth best S in the reef.  And the other three or four he had only seen in movies, so she was actually the best he had seen in person.  His heart raced when he saw her looking at him the way she that was looking at him.  It was like that one time when he saw a barracuda look at his friend Willie before it devoured him.  It was like that, but he was sure that she didn’t want to eat him.  Or did she?  No, he thought, her mouth is too small to devour him.  So he was safe.  Physically.  From getting eaten.  So, he could relax.  Play this cool.  He knew what to do.  All of his training and breeding had prepared him for this moment.

“Hey!” she says.

He whipped the sea twig down so hard that is stuck into the reef.  Slicked down his head fin with his tail, and positioned it down and slightly to the left and grinned at her.

“Hay is for horses.”

She returned his grin with one slightly more confident than his.  Not too confident that it over powered him, but just enough to let him know that she could match him: look for look, pose for pose, confidence for confidence.

“What’s a horse?”  She didn’t really ask.  She didn’t really care to know the answer.  She just wanted to play the game. 

And he knew it. 

He slightly lowered his head a little further and inched closer to her, just hovering the comfort zone, but not crossing it. 

“What’s hay?”

The temperature of the reef seemed to boil.  She thought that’s what water must do on this stove thingy she thought about earlier.  But then she pushed that thought out of her head.  Hot seahorse guys like this one don’t like seahorse girls who think about a world full of crazy things like stoves and stuff.  She concentrated on being cool.  As ice.  Actually, more like an iceberg. 

“I don’t know what hay is, but I have a sudden urge to roll around in it.”

“Rolling in the hay?”  He was trying to keep up.  She was obvious one of those smart-thinking types.  “Sounds kinky.  What is it?”

She slid her tail slowly up the ridges of his chest.  Taking in every bump.  Every cranny. 

“Care to find out?” 

And with that, like a dominatrix, she whipped her tail around his neck and pulled him in a coral cave just around the corner. 

Definitely not gay, she thought.

Jalapenos

Fermenting in their own juices they

sit in a mason jar on a table next to

my father.  And one by one, he pulled each out and ate them whole,

 

saving the stems

which he collected like trophies on the

rim of his plate.  The satisfaction in

his face as he bit into each, as if

he were sitting on his father’s shoulders

after working in the fields and together

they grew something

they would always share

even in separation—

even in death.

 

He forked one and offered it to me.

This green, kidney-shaped vessel covered

in moisture dripped on the table

in slow, broken rhythms. And I

hesitated.

“Is this thing hot?”

“No, not at all.”
“Are you sure?”

“Trust me.”

I then took a bite as deep as the pride I felt

when I heard the stories of my grandfather

who worked with my father in the

fields.

 

The heat was a belt cracked across

my face and lightning strikes of white

light segued through a kaleidoscope

of red, green, and brown that converged

into the shape of my father’s eyes—hot  

with impatience because I was too

slow to learn:

the family ritual, my grandfather’s language, the strength

of the men who worked

long after their eyes burned, their  

hands bled, their backs stained

with the permanent mark of the heat.

Heat that grows from the ground

and created entire cultures of men

who passed this heat

onto their sons.  Heat that cannot be

softened by water, or sweat, or tears, or the

trust a son has for his father. 

Heaven, Hell, and Kid’s Meal Toys: A Meditation

I once heard a story on NPR about an Evangelical minister who was excommunicated because he no longer believed in Hell.  He was a very charismatic minister, a disciple of Oral Roberts, and lost everything because he came to discover that Hell didn’t exist in the afterlife.  Instead, he believed that Hell is right here on earth.  I happen to agree with him.  Because it’s right here, in my car.

           We have to save Springfield.  We have to save Springfield.  We have to save Springfield.  We have to save Springfield.  We have to save Springfield.  We have to save Springfield.  We have to save Springfield.

            Hey-Hey, it’s your old pal, Krusty.  Hey-Hey, it’s your old pal, Krusty.  Hey-Hey, it’s your old pal, Krusty.  Hey-Hey, it’s your old pal, Krusty.  Hey-Hey, it’s your old pal, Krusty.

            We have to save Springfield it’s your old pal, Krusty, we have to save Springfield, it’s your old pal, Krusty, we have to save your old pal, Krusty, Springfield Hey-Hey Springfield Krusty Krusty…

            Like most people in this country, I grew up with a predominately Christian view of Hell: Hell is a horrible place with fire, and bad people go there to burn for eternity.  It’s quite a powerful image.  Especially for a nine-year-old who burned his palm by keeping a grill from falling into an open pit fire.

            However, as I grew older, that image didn’t fit anymore.  Here are some of the reasons why:

1.      Burns eventually heal even if in various degrees.

2.      If one is burning for eternity, eventually, the nerve cells would die and that person would no longer feel any pain.

3.      After a while, one actually would become dependent, and maybe even begin to love or derive pleasure from the pain.  This would defeat the entire purpose of Hell.

4.      We are talking about a soul.  An abstract, intangible phenomenon.  So, what burns a soul?

…we have to save Springfield, it’s your old pal, Krusty, we have to save Springfield, it’s your old pal, Krusty, we have to save Springfield, it’s your old pal, Krusty…

           I never thought I would be the kind of father who would take his children to Burger King.  I was horrified by the idea.  When my ex-wife was pregnant with our first child, I would thumb my nose at those parents who would feed their kids fast food.  What kind of people were they?  Do they not care for their kids?

           Five years later, I have found my local Burger King to be a haven.  This is for one reason: the indoor play structure.  Those evil geniuses in the fast food industry have offered a necessity for every parent—the serenity of momentary separation.  And those money-sucking, manipulative, sons-of-many-ugly dogs have also beautifully constructed the most powerful tool in the history of propaganda—the kid’s meal toy.  Those cheap molds of plastic are like heroine to five-year-olds.  Also, short of locking my children in a small dark room, there is no way to escape it.  This is because they talk to other kids.  And those kids show them these cheap molds of plastic.  And they will judge my kids for not having the cheap molds of plastic.  And the other kids will band together and point at my kids as being those losers who are not the possessors of the cheap molds of plastic.  And this mark of Cain will eventually lead to a life mired in Dungeons & Dragons, on-line dating, and a permanent residence in my basement.  So, to save their lives, we went to Burger King.

…we have to save Springfield.  It’s your old pal, Krusty.  We have to save Springfield.  It’s your old pal, Krusty…

           I’ve never read Dante’s Inferno; although, I have pretended that I have.  But I did see the movies Seven and What Dreams May Come.  So, I think I’m covered.

           I’ve also never read The Five People You Meet in Heaven.  I have no intentions of reading it.  I’m not interested in Heaven.  I know what that’s like.  I only have to hold my children.  Also, I don’t believe that one meets people in Heaven.  Heaven is filled with people I have already met, liked, and enjoyed being around while I was alive.  I don’t have to cope with Heaven.  That’s why Hell is far more interesting.

           I have read Sartre’s No Exit and agree with his idea of hell: being locked in a room with people who cannot connect.  So, with this thought in mind, I’d like to share my idea of Hell: The Five Most Annoying People I Have Met and Have Purposely Devoted My Entire Life Avoiding, Locked in the Same Room Together, and They All Want to Be My Friend.

           The people in this room:

1.       Paris Hilton.  I know we don’t run in the same circles.  That’s because I’ve chosen to stay out of those circles.  She is useless and needs to get off my TV.

2.      My ugliest girlfriend who caught me at a weak moment.  A month after we broke up, she found out that I had set up a date with another girl.  The day before the date, she went to visit this girl in her dorm room and spent the entire night crying. The girl cancelled the next morning.  I don’t blame her.

3.      Evan.  A three hundred pound ego maniac.  A friend of a friend.  He once proclaimed that half the girls on our college campus wanted his body.  I laughed.  He told me that he wasn’t joking.

4.      My tenth-grade English teacher.  He once proclaimed to be a professional actor and thought that we were blessed to hear him read Julius Caesar in its entirety.

5.      My Grandma.  I know that most people’s grandmothers are grey-haired, sweet old ladies who baked muffins.  My grandmother had dark hair and fed me greasy tacos.

Eat your heart out Dante.

…we have to save Springfield, it’s your old pal, Krusty.  We have to save Springfield, it’s your old pal, Krusty…

           “Benny, Jonah.  Stop.”

           We have to save Springfield.

           “Jonah, give it a rest.”

           Hey-Hey!  It’s your old pal, Krusty.

           “Benny!”

           Hey-Hey!  It’s your old pal, Krusty.

           We have save Springfield.

           “STOP IT!  NOW!”

           Some would say that hell would be out living your children.

           I agree.

           You want a better life for your children.  You teach them to be good people.  You want them to be better than you.  But what happens when they become reflections of you?  When they show you the qualities others find annoying about you?

           We have to save Springfield.

           We have to save Springfield.

           “Hey.  Where’s that Maggie toy?”

           “Here, Daddy!”

           *Suckle-Suckle*

           Hey-Hey!  It’s your old pal, Krusty.

           *Suckle-Suckle*

           We have to save Springfield.

           *Suckle-Suckle.*

           *Suckle-Suckle*

           I guess, if I really think about it, Hell is being locked in a room with myself.  And to be forced to face myself.  My flaws.  My shame.  My annoying habits.  I need others.  If for no other reason than to remind me of the fine line between Heaven and Hell.

          

           *Suckle-Suckle*

           *Suckle-Suckle*

           *Suckle-Suckle*

           “Daddy!  Stop it!”

           *Suckle-Suckle*