Got this from my uncle in Oregon:
Anti-Terrorist Day, next Saturday...
As we all know, the Taliban considers it a sin for a man to see a naked woman who is not his wife. So, next Saturday at 2:00 PM Eastern time all American women are asked to walk out of their house completely naked to help weed out any neighborhood terrorists. Circling your block for one hour is recommended for this anti-terrorist effort.
All men are to position themselves in lawn chairs in front of their house to prove they are not Taliban, demonstrate that they think it's okay to see nude women other than their wife and to show support for all American women. And since the Taliban also does not approve of alcohol, a cold six-pack at your side is further proof of your anti-Taliban sentiment.
The American Government appreciates your efforts to root out terrorists and applauds your participation in this anti-terrorist activity.
God bless America!
IT IS YOUR PATRIOTIC DUTY TO PASS THIS ON!
Reminds me a little bit of my favorite e-mail forward of all time . . .
With all the virus and scam warnings & false urban legends floating around, I usually just throw stuff like this in the garbage. But this one seems important enough to forward to all the women that I really care about.
Men, I thought I'd cc: you so you can pass this on to women who may be in danger and keep those you love safe.
WARNING !!!!!
If a man comes to your front door and says he is conducting a survey and asks you to show him your tits, DO NOT SHOW HIM YOUR TITS.
This is a scam and he is only trying to SEE YOUR TITS.
* * * * * * * * * * * *So I'm at my mom's (which is right on the shore of the San Francisco Bay) and it's been kind of rainy. And I look out, and the clouds are starting to clear, and there's a rainbow stretched out over the water.
I can't help but remember my dad's funeral. About three years ago, he died pretty suddenly. Right after New Year's, two five mile runs on consecutive days. No problem. The next weekend, he was in the hospital because he couldn't breathe. Six weeks later, he was dead of lung cancer.
He died pretty easily, all things considered. He basically just went to sleep in the chair at the doctor's office while he was receiving his second round of chemo. And then his heart stopped. He had been losing hair and weight from the chemo, but otherwise he seemed to be doing really well. He had driven himself to the doctor's office that day.
His funeral was on a rainy day a lot like today. Everyone's shoes got muddy at the gravesite. Afterwards, we came back here to the house.
My dad was an attorney, and one of his clients was the owner of a fleet of Alaskan fishing boats. My dad had become very close with this guy, because during their case together the fishing-boat owner had made it through a nearly fatal brush with prostate cancer.
He sent us a wreath for the funeral that was wrapped with blue and gold ribbon and flowers. To be honest, we initially thought it was kind of unattractive. But then we realized it wasn't a wreath . . . it was actually a circular life preserver. Seen in that light, it was perfect. And the note that came with it explained that we should throw it into the Bay in memory of my dad.
As the day wore on, the sorrow and fatigue and alcohol reached a level where someone finally said, "I think it's time to throw this thing in the water."
There's a levee that runs along the Bay, a raised bank that keeps the Bay from flooding the town, which is built on landfill below the water level. Along the top of the levee there's a bike path. And within moments, a mob of about fifty of us was marching down this path, looking for a good spot to throw the wreath from.
I wonder what the passing joggers thought?
The water was low in the Bay . . . which is quite shallow in some parts. Not too far from the house, we actually found a spur of land that had been revealed by the low tide which stretched a good thirty yards out into the water.
No thinking . . . shoes off. Socks off. Cuffs and sleeves rolled up. Barefoot people in funeral best running out into the water. The spur was narrow and still submerged by a few inches. It wasn't firm ground, but a shelf of sharp stones and shells formed by some odd pattern of currents. It scraped and tore our feet. But who noticed, who cared?
The wind wailed and the air still smelled of rain, and we were freezing with torn feet and ruining our clothes, but it was the only experience so far that was reaching through the numbness of the grief. We marched out of time, out of our lives, out of suburbia, and into some great, throbbing pagan festival. We were Romans at Saturnalia . . . Indians at the Ganges . . . ecstatic Jews being baptized in the river Jordan. The depression was giving way to anger and insanity, which in turn gave way to exhiliration.
We reached the end of the spur. One of my brothers had just had knee surgery. He had to be carried out. We waited for him. And then my biggest brother threw the life preserver as far out as he could. It caught a current, and we watched it float slowly away.
We watched it for a long time. We watched it as the tide rose. And then the trance began to fade, and we realized the water had risen a good four or five inches . . . was now up above our ankles. And the spur which would lead us back to dry land was becoming hard to see. We started to pick our way carefully back, the pain in our feet now more immediate, less ignorable. We made it to land, wandered back to the house, exhausted, bodies frozen, feet tortured. We took turns in the bathrooms washing the grime out of our lacerated heels, arches, and toes.
And then we saw the rainbow. Just like I see right now outside the window. A rainbow that was way too perfect to be real. A rainbow which, obviously, was just an optical illusion of sun shining through water droplets. But to that primal part of us that had sent us charging out into the water . . . it meant so much more.
I see the rainbow today and I think . . . "Hi, dad!"
* * * * * * * * * * * *On another family note . . . a while back I shared with you a series of e-mails exchanged amongst my syblings. We had another one of these "conversations" recently. My youngest brother and my sister are graduating from different colleges in San Francisco at the end of May. Drama was already impending, because their graduations (and associated events) were sheduled for the same weekend. But then the unthinkable happened:
Catie: Tommy's graduation was moved to the same day and time as mine. You have to choose who you like better (or whether you want to sit in bleachers or in a Church).
Joe: I am open to any and all bribes including cash, jewelry (i.e. pinky rings) and real estate.
William Ted: I have an idea! We can boycott both graduations, you two can just get your diplomas in the mail, and we can all go out together and get drunk at a sleazy strip joint in North Beach.
Joe: Let's hire some look-alikes . . . better yet, let's get clones made of ourselves. After the graduations we can use the clones for spare parts.
Catie: I have a small fake graduation on Friday night for my department. If you flip a coin and have to go to Tommy's on Saturday you can still go to the little graduation for me on Friday, but I still want someone to come to mine on Saturday. Maybe the cousins? I think Mom should go to Tommy's on Saturday so that she can see the NICE graduation and be in the church.
William Ted: If Tommy's is the "NICE" graduation, then what's yours, Catie? The NAUGHTY graduation? The RUDE graduation? The SKANKY graduation? The GHETTO graduation? If so, I'll probably have to go to yours. It sounds more fun.
Maybe we should have a point-system. Make it like Weight Watchers or Deal-A-Meal or something. Mom is worth eight points. Brothers are worth four points each. Cousins and boyfriends / girlfriends of brothers are worth three points each. Catie gets one point for each person that goes to her Friday event. Then someone just does the math to make all the points work out evenly.
Or it can be like picking teams in grade school . . . Tommy and Catie can be the Captains, they flip a coin to see who picks first, and then THEY tell US which graduation to go to.
Jon: I think [family friend] should be worth at least .5 of a point, and if someone can somehow get [our former live-in housekeeper] to come to one of the graduations, that is worth 15 points.
Joe: Are there negative points? Like if [unnamed person] shows up is that -15?
[This spawned a side conversation about people who would be considered "negative points."]
Tommy: Can I get a Swiss au pair for 10 points? [We had several growing up.]
Due to the recent deaths at over-capacitated clubs making headlines, the school decided to split the ceremonies. I can not promise pyrotechnics, however a large banner with a crest on it depicting the silhouette of two squirrels drawing water from a well will be hung.
Admission will be denied without a ticket. I have eight tickets. If more than eight want to come, they will have to sneak through the sanctuary in altar boy robes. I will keep everyone posted.
Jon: That's it, I am not going . . . my policy is no "Great White", no graduation attendance by me. I have to say, I will consider it if "White Snake" or "White Lion" shows up . . . but if you try to come at me saying, "Hey Jon, I think Jackal is playing my graduation," it just wont fly. We all know it was not a hair band without a "white" in the name.
As with many family plans, this one is shady at best. I even think Catie mentioned a post party. But at this point I am expecting wrong directions, rain and power outages . . . so I will bring my coal miner's helmet and a military MRE (meal ready to eat) to whatever graduation ceremonies / graduation parties I go to.
[As of today, the issue of who is going to what graduation remains completely unresolved. What are your suggestions, Dear Readers?]