So Ernesto is leaving Cuba and heading our way. It looks like it will stay a Tropical Storm and even if it gains strength, it seems that it will only be a Category one Hurricane and won’t cause too much damage. Of course that’s easy for me to say; I’m in a new house with poured concrete walls and it will take quite a bit to hurt this place.
Working at a Supermarket, I see so many different people, each with a different way of looking at the coming storm. There are those that are of the Chicken Little persuasion; they have their SUV’s filled with gas cans and are buying hundreds of dollars worth of batteries, canned goods and water. They have their generators at home and are ready for the apocalypse.
The complete opposite of that is a woman I met yesterday by the name of Sara. I was in the checkstand helping get these people out of the store with their huge orders and along came Sara. Sara’s probably in her late twenties, early thirties. She only had a few items. She had three six packs of those little containers of chocolate pudding that need no refrigeration, a huge jar of peanut butter, plastic spoons and two cases of beer. She said she’d been through Wilma last year and found that when the power goes out and everything around you seems to be falling apart, nothing soothes better than pure comfort food. She told me she was freezing the beer and had a few coolers to put ice in and that even if the power was out for three days, as it was with Wilma, she could have her cold beer. She even told me her address so I could come by and join her if it got to that point.
With Maegan living with me now, you would think I’d be preparing for the worst. C’mon, if you know me at all you know I’m much better at reacting than being proactive. I know my ex wife knows that I would make sure that our daughter is safe and if I really felt there was something to worry about I would take more action. I think both of us are looking at this as kind of an adventure. My brother lives close by and if he does evacuate I’m sure he’ll take Maegan with him. I can’t leave because of work.
I’m not totally dismissing the storm; we’re all watching the weather channel and are quite confident that it won’t be that bad. If we do get hit, and the power goes out, I did bring home the essentials. I’ll have my chocolate pudding, peanut butter and beer. Thanks Sara for putting this in the proper perspective.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Baseball
I love the game of baseball. I have for as long as I can remember. My biggest dream as a child was to be a professional baseball player. I remember as a four year old following my older brothers to Affolter Park on my bike (it still had training wheels) to watch them play tee ball. The coach at the time was a guy named Bob Samms. He asked one day why I wasn’t playing? When I told him that I wasn’t old enough, you had to be five, he told me to just get out there. He even gave me a mitt to use.
I fell in love with the Detroit Tigers in the summer of 67, I was six, the season came down to the last game of the year and Fred Gladding was the losing pitcher as the Boston Red Sox won the pennant. My brothers and I were in the car listening to the game as my mother was shopping in the local fruit market. I’ll never forget my oldest brother crying in the back seat as the final out was made.
My first live game was in the magical season of 1968. My mother along with a friend of hers, Jean Knauss, took all of us to see the Tigers against the Oakland A’s. Denny McLain pitched and won his 17’th game of the year, he went on to win 31 as the Tigers went on to win the World Series. I will always remember the vastness of the field, how green it was, the smell and the sounds. I went down to where the visiting teams’ bullpen was and got autographs from Rollie Fingers and Ken Holtzman, both future stars. 1968 was also the year I started to read the sports section religiously. I would devour the stats and memorize lineups for all the teams that the Tigers would play.
Every year in April when opening day comes around, it’s very much like a religious experience for me. It’s almost laughable, I don’t sleep the night before and I’m so excited it’s almost like a little kid at Christmas. Since the advent of cable television, I can watch games from noon on opening day till past midnight. I have been known to tell people that opening day is the only thing I’ve ever seen that could be proof of a living god. I know it’s been said before but I truly feel that once a new season starts, all is well with the world; things are as they should be. Baseball has given me every emotion known to man. Hell, the anticipation alone of a new season is enough to put me completely at ease with my lot in life.
There is no way I could ever count the amount of games I’ve seen live at Tiger Stadium, and after moving to California, the different stadiums out there. I still get the same feeling when I walk into a stadium to see a live game. The life that emanates from the field almost feels like it was meant for me. I love having my scorecard, keeping track of each pitch and watching the drama unfold. I know most of you don’t understand that but there really is drama unfolding with every pitch. Watching a game, be it live or on the tube, gives me that peaceful easy feeling the Eagles sang about. If I ever feel the need to recharge my batteries all I need to do is watch a game. It really doesn’t matter who’s playing, as long as the field is green and the vendors are hawking, all is well. I think most would agree that there is little in life that can make you feel better than seeing a little kid, five or six, with a glove three times the size of their hand, pounding their little fists into it waiting for that foul ball or homerun to land in it. I think all of us have wanted to be that kid at one point. I know I do everyday.
I fell in love with the Detroit Tigers in the summer of 67, I was six, the season came down to the last game of the year and Fred Gladding was the losing pitcher as the Boston Red Sox won the pennant. My brothers and I were in the car listening to the game as my mother was shopping in the local fruit market. I’ll never forget my oldest brother crying in the back seat as the final out was made.
My first live game was in the magical season of 1968. My mother along with a friend of hers, Jean Knauss, took all of us to see the Tigers against the Oakland A’s. Denny McLain pitched and won his 17’th game of the year, he went on to win 31 as the Tigers went on to win the World Series. I will always remember the vastness of the field, how green it was, the smell and the sounds. I went down to where the visiting teams’ bullpen was and got autographs from Rollie Fingers and Ken Holtzman, both future stars. 1968 was also the year I started to read the sports section religiously. I would devour the stats and memorize lineups for all the teams that the Tigers would play.
Every year in April when opening day comes around, it’s very much like a religious experience for me. It’s almost laughable, I don’t sleep the night before and I’m so excited it’s almost like a little kid at Christmas. Since the advent of cable television, I can watch games from noon on opening day till past midnight. I have been known to tell people that opening day is the only thing I’ve ever seen that could be proof of a living god. I know it’s been said before but I truly feel that once a new season starts, all is well with the world; things are as they should be. Baseball has given me every emotion known to man. Hell, the anticipation alone of a new season is enough to put me completely at ease with my lot in life.
There is no way I could ever count the amount of games I’ve seen live at Tiger Stadium, and after moving to California, the different stadiums out there. I still get the same feeling when I walk into a stadium to see a live game. The life that emanates from the field almost feels like it was meant for me. I love having my scorecard, keeping track of each pitch and watching the drama unfold. I know most of you don’t understand that but there really is drama unfolding with every pitch. Watching a game, be it live or on the tube, gives me that peaceful easy feeling the Eagles sang about. If I ever feel the need to recharge my batteries all I need to do is watch a game. It really doesn’t matter who’s playing, as long as the field is green and the vendors are hawking, all is well. I think most would agree that there is little in life that can make you feel better than seeing a little kid, five or six, with a glove three times the size of their hand, pounding their little fists into it waiting for that foul ball or homerun to land in it. I think all of us have wanted to be that kid at one point. I know I do everyday.
"Dear God"
Dear God,
I really don’t want to bother you but I’m just baffled by the way you work. I’ve never been a follower let alone a true believer and I’ve hit a stage in my life where I’m almost looking for that something that people always talk about. You know, all those unanswered questions about life and things like that.
Of course there are the basics, things like why bad things happen to good people, but those types of questions are too general. In order for me to buy into the whole concept I need specifics. The idea that the Middle East has been at war practically since day one makes no sense to me or anyone else for that matter. How can one allow so many deaths of innocent people in your name? I don’t have to tell you how many children have died in this region over the years. How could you allow this to happen? I’m just asking.
It’s almost two years now since the great tsunami in Indonesia. Once again, the amount of senseless damage and death is astounding. What, did we just need a quick cleansing? 229,866 people lost. Of course you would know how many of those were kids. Was there a point to any of this? I’m just asking.
I think I’ll take this to a more personal level. Being a Jew, I was taught that the Jewish people were your chosen people. I must ask, chosen for what? Ever since the beginning of time the Jewish people have been persecuted for no other reason than the simple fact that they were Jews. It just doesn’t make sense. Again I ask why? If we are the chosen, as all who believe in the Judeao Christian god believe, how could you let your chosen be treated so poorly? No offense, I’m just asking.
I’ve spent my life being looked down upon, pitied and even vilified for not believing in this almighty higher power and I keep wondering what I’m missing. I find myself getting angry sometimes with those that do believe in you and I know I shouldn’t. To each his own and all that. Those that believe in you can be some of the most sincere people I’ve ever met and of course there are those that use your name to further their own cause, financially and for other different types of personal gain. I would like to think that if there is this judgment day that people speak of, that people of such character would get what they deserve. I would also hope that in the case of children things would be like the movie, “Defending Your Life” where kids get an automatic pass to heaven with no judgment whatsoever. I’d like to believe these things but I just haven’t seen anything here to allow myself to.
I don’t know if one could call me an atheist. I guess that this essay alone makes me more of an agnostic. My understanding of the word agnostic is one who questions the belief in a higher power, which is what I’m doing here. Like I said before, I’m just asking.
I really don’t want to bother you but I’m just baffled by the way you work. I’ve never been a follower let alone a true believer and I’ve hit a stage in my life where I’m almost looking for that something that people always talk about. You know, all those unanswered questions about life and things like that.
Of course there are the basics, things like why bad things happen to good people, but those types of questions are too general. In order for me to buy into the whole concept I need specifics. The idea that the Middle East has been at war practically since day one makes no sense to me or anyone else for that matter. How can one allow so many deaths of innocent people in your name? I don’t have to tell you how many children have died in this region over the years. How could you allow this to happen? I’m just asking.
It’s almost two years now since the great tsunami in Indonesia. Once again, the amount of senseless damage and death is astounding. What, did we just need a quick cleansing? 229,866 people lost. Of course you would know how many of those were kids. Was there a point to any of this? I’m just asking.
I think I’ll take this to a more personal level. Being a Jew, I was taught that the Jewish people were your chosen people. I must ask, chosen for what? Ever since the beginning of time the Jewish people have been persecuted for no other reason than the simple fact that they were Jews. It just doesn’t make sense. Again I ask why? If we are the chosen, as all who believe in the Judeao Christian god believe, how could you let your chosen be treated so poorly? No offense, I’m just asking.
I’ve spent my life being looked down upon, pitied and even vilified for not believing in this almighty higher power and I keep wondering what I’m missing. I find myself getting angry sometimes with those that do believe in you and I know I shouldn’t. To each his own and all that. Those that believe in you can be some of the most sincere people I’ve ever met and of course there are those that use your name to further their own cause, financially and for other different types of personal gain. I would like to think that if there is this judgment day that people speak of, that people of such character would get what they deserve. I would also hope that in the case of children things would be like the movie, “Defending Your Life” where kids get an automatic pass to heaven with no judgment whatsoever. I’d like to believe these things but I just haven’t seen anything here to allow myself to.
I don’t know if one could call me an atheist. I guess that this essay alone makes me more of an agnostic. My understanding of the word agnostic is one who questions the belief in a higher power, which is what I’m doing here. Like I said before, I’m just asking.
"I Don't Like Mondays"
The writings and journals of the Columbine killers were released yesterday. Fascinating? No doubt. Necessary? I’m just not sure. I don’t see what’s to be learned from the ramblings of a couple troubled teens. I can see others looking at this stuff as gospel. I naturally assume that we will soon be hearing of more copycat stuff going on in a few schools around the country.
I don’t have any stats but I think I’m pretty safe to say that ever since Brenda Spencer shot at those kids in San Diego back in 1979, we seem to be hearing this story at least once every school year. As a side note, that shooting spree was the inspiration behind the Boomtown Rats hit, “I Don’t Like Mondays”. I think it fascinating that Brenda got the gun as a present from her father. I know, I know. Guns don’t kill, people do.
I recently saw a documentary about two kids in Arkansas I think, that set off the fire alarm at school and were waiting in the woods for the people to come outside and then opened fire. They killed a few kids and adults. I think the killers’ ages were 11 and 14. They got the guns from one of their Grandfathers’ houses. Once again, guns don’t kill, people do.
From February of 1996 through November 2005 there were 30 school shootings in the U.S. (even more world wide) leaving 57 students and administrators dead and countless others injured. This doesn’t come close to accounting for all that were affected by it. In each of these 30 instances, the perpetrators were either current or former students of the school where the action took place.
Of the 30 school shootings mentioned above, no less than 80% of the weapons used were obtained in some way from a close relative of the shooter. In a couple cases the shooter had killed the relatives before heading to school to finish the job they had set out to do. I find this 80% rather fascinating in that these weapons were there for the taking by “normal, good” kids. Here’s where the guns don’t kill argument fizzles.
If these normal kids had no access to guns there is a high probability that no one would have ever gotten hurt. The use of a gun gives one many more opportunities to kill or maim than any other type of weapon. It’s that simple. These kids would be alive if there were no guns. Yes, I know the argument, proper gun safety and education blah, blah, blah. The only proper gun safety is no gun at all.
I know we can’t get all firearms off the street; the proverbial toothpaste back in the tube, but there has to be something that can be done. Why on earth would anyone logically need a handgun? In today’s society the excuse is for protection. All right. Then let’s say that if you are caught with one outside the home, you go to jail. Extreme? I don’t care. Read the papers, it’s not a liberal fantasy, guns are killing people everyday. Students didn’t come home from school on 30 different occasions and not once was anyone able to explain how without guns we would have been worse off. I know I’m starting to ramble so I’ll close but these numbers have to scare you. If not, you scare me.
I don’t have any stats but I think I’m pretty safe to say that ever since Brenda Spencer shot at those kids in San Diego back in 1979, we seem to be hearing this story at least once every school year. As a side note, that shooting spree was the inspiration behind the Boomtown Rats hit, “I Don’t Like Mondays”. I think it fascinating that Brenda got the gun as a present from her father. I know, I know. Guns don’t kill, people do.
I recently saw a documentary about two kids in Arkansas I think, that set off the fire alarm at school and were waiting in the woods for the people to come outside and then opened fire. They killed a few kids and adults. I think the killers’ ages were 11 and 14. They got the guns from one of their Grandfathers’ houses. Once again, guns don’t kill, people do.
From February of 1996 through November 2005 there were 30 school shootings in the U.S. (even more world wide) leaving 57 students and administrators dead and countless others injured. This doesn’t come close to accounting for all that were affected by it. In each of these 30 instances, the perpetrators were either current or former students of the school where the action took place.
Of the 30 school shootings mentioned above, no less than 80% of the weapons used were obtained in some way from a close relative of the shooter. In a couple cases the shooter had killed the relatives before heading to school to finish the job they had set out to do. I find this 80% rather fascinating in that these weapons were there for the taking by “normal, good” kids. Here’s where the guns don’t kill argument fizzles.
If these normal kids had no access to guns there is a high probability that no one would have ever gotten hurt. The use of a gun gives one many more opportunities to kill or maim than any other type of weapon. It’s that simple. These kids would be alive if there were no guns. Yes, I know the argument, proper gun safety and education blah, blah, blah. The only proper gun safety is no gun at all.
I know we can’t get all firearms off the street; the proverbial toothpaste back in the tube, but there has to be something that can be done. Why on earth would anyone logically need a handgun? In today’s society the excuse is for protection. All right. Then let’s say that if you are caught with one outside the home, you go to jail. Extreme? I don’t care. Read the papers, it’s not a liberal fantasy, guns are killing people everyday. Students didn’t come home from school on 30 different occasions and not once was anyone able to explain how without guns we would have been worse off. I know I’m starting to ramble so I’ll close but these numbers have to scare you. If not, you scare me.
Adventures In Karaoke
Karaoke has always fascinated me. How can people get up in front of total strangers and sing? It’s really something else if you see someone with talent and almost painful if you see someone without it. I do have to give them props though. If you’ve got the guts to do it, and you are really bad at it, well, more power to you.
I went to a bar nearby recently to watch some people sing. It just so happened that they were having some sort of Elton John night. As I was sitting there I decided to order some Malibu on ice. As the night wore on I was feeling pretty good and started thinking more and more that I could sing just as well as they could. Hell, I know a million songs by this guy. Well the mixture of Malibu and the singing must have done something to me because I started looking at the list of songs they offered.
I found a number of songs that I knew well and thought I might actually get up and put my name on the list. I must have taken 20 minutes going back and forth between getting up and staying put. One of the advantages of going out by yourself is that there is no one there to put pressure on you to do something you don’t want to do. You know, no peer pressure. Well I ended up throwing my name onto their list with the song “Blues for Baby and Me”. I’d had four or five drinks and started feeling more and more confident. Hey, I could do this, I really could.
Well then the worst thing possible happened. They called my name. I actually thought I was going to have a heart attack. I sat still as a mouse, hoping they would think I went home or something. It seemed like hours but I’m sure it was more like 30 seconds and they called me again. I felt like sweat was just pouring off me.
I then did something I thought I’d never do. I stood up and started walking to the stage area. I was pretty numb from the Malibu but still nervous as could be. I got to the mike and asked for a barstool. There was no way I was going to be able to stand up much longer as my knees were knocking so loud I thought I could actually hear them. Once I was seated they started the music and all I could think of was what was I going to look at? There’s no way I’m looking into the crowd and the screen that shows the lyrics scared me. I was wondering what would happen if I was looking at it and they put up the wrong words. Oh god, the intro was getting to its end and they’re going to expect me to start singing. I don’t believe I have ever been as nervous in my life. I’m shaking right now writing about it.
The next thing I remember, I’m midway through the second verse. My eyes are shut and I hear nothing from the crowd. It was like I was completely alone. I hear the song but it doesn’t feel like I’m singing. I opened my eyes to peek and there’s maybe 30 or 40 people sitting there watching me. I think I messed up a word and started sweating like crazy. Man, why didn’t I bring my sunglasses? I’ve always been so good at hiding behind them. Now I’m at the last repeat of the chorus and it’s where the song gets a little forceful. I’ve sung this song in my car a million times and know that it’s hard for me to hit all the notes without my voice cracking. Here goes…
I don’t remember feeling anything during the entire song. I didn’t hear myself sing at all. I can only assume that I did an all right job as a few people came to the bar afterwards and said they liked it. I do remember thinking about the semantics of doing what I was doing the entire time. I know that I did do something I thought I’d never do. I’m kind of proud of that. I don’t believe I’ll ever do it again but who knows, enough Malibu and I’d have probably even danced.
I went to a bar nearby recently to watch some people sing. It just so happened that they were having some sort of Elton John night. As I was sitting there I decided to order some Malibu on ice. As the night wore on I was feeling pretty good and started thinking more and more that I could sing just as well as they could. Hell, I know a million songs by this guy. Well the mixture of Malibu and the singing must have done something to me because I started looking at the list of songs they offered.
I found a number of songs that I knew well and thought I might actually get up and put my name on the list. I must have taken 20 minutes going back and forth between getting up and staying put. One of the advantages of going out by yourself is that there is no one there to put pressure on you to do something you don’t want to do. You know, no peer pressure. Well I ended up throwing my name onto their list with the song “Blues for Baby and Me”. I’d had four or five drinks and started feeling more and more confident. Hey, I could do this, I really could.
Well then the worst thing possible happened. They called my name. I actually thought I was going to have a heart attack. I sat still as a mouse, hoping they would think I went home or something. It seemed like hours but I’m sure it was more like 30 seconds and they called me again. I felt like sweat was just pouring off me.
I then did something I thought I’d never do. I stood up and started walking to the stage area. I was pretty numb from the Malibu but still nervous as could be. I got to the mike and asked for a barstool. There was no way I was going to be able to stand up much longer as my knees were knocking so loud I thought I could actually hear them. Once I was seated they started the music and all I could think of was what was I going to look at? There’s no way I’m looking into the crowd and the screen that shows the lyrics scared me. I was wondering what would happen if I was looking at it and they put up the wrong words. Oh god, the intro was getting to its end and they’re going to expect me to start singing. I don’t believe I have ever been as nervous in my life. I’m shaking right now writing about it.
The next thing I remember, I’m midway through the second verse. My eyes are shut and I hear nothing from the crowd. It was like I was completely alone. I hear the song but it doesn’t feel like I’m singing. I opened my eyes to peek and there’s maybe 30 or 40 people sitting there watching me. I think I messed up a word and started sweating like crazy. Man, why didn’t I bring my sunglasses? I’ve always been so good at hiding behind them. Now I’m at the last repeat of the chorus and it’s where the song gets a little forceful. I’ve sung this song in my car a million times and know that it’s hard for me to hit all the notes without my voice cracking. Here goes…
I don’t remember feeling anything during the entire song. I didn’t hear myself sing at all. I can only assume that I did an all right job as a few people came to the bar afterwards and said they liked it. I do remember thinking about the semantics of doing what I was doing the entire time. I know that I did do something I thought I’d never do. I’m kind of proud of that. I don’t believe I’ll ever do it again but who knows, enough Malibu and I’d have probably even danced.
It's All About Me!
When I moved to Florida last August, it was a rather down time in my life. Just getting divorced, new job, new home, etc… To quote Don Henley, “All the things I thought I’d figured out, I have to learn again.” I never felt more alone and unsure of myself in my life. I had Lucky, my television and my laptop. Yes, I have a brother that lives down here and he and his wife have been a tremendous help, but it’s not the same. It was a time of looking back at my life and figuring out what mattered and what didn’t.
I decided to try to find the people that meant something to me and see if I could make a connection again. It wasn’t too difficult and I have found almost everyone I’m looking for. Some have actually visited me down here, which is an amazing story for another time; some I speak to on the phone once in a while and some are strictly email pals.
In most of these new-old relationships I am the one forcing the issue and ensuring contact. I am totally ok with that. I won’t lie. I am talking to you guys for purely selfish reasons. I miss you all and it makes me feel good to hear your voices or see your name on the in box list in my email. I look for them everyday and get a huge thrill when I see or hear from you.
I am just writing this to let you guys know how much I appreciate what you all have meant to me in the past and how fortunate I feel to have you back in my life again. Thanks for humoring me with your time and energy. I only hope I can add to your lives as much as you have added to mine.
Now excuse me while I go put on my dress and bonnet and get ready for my day…
I decided to try to find the people that meant something to me and see if I could make a connection again. It wasn’t too difficult and I have found almost everyone I’m looking for. Some have actually visited me down here, which is an amazing story for another time; some I speak to on the phone once in a while and some are strictly email pals.
In most of these new-old relationships I am the one forcing the issue and ensuring contact. I am totally ok with that. I won’t lie. I am talking to you guys for purely selfish reasons. I miss you all and it makes me feel good to hear your voices or see your name on the in box list in my email. I look for them everyday and get a huge thrill when I see or hear from you.
I am just writing this to let you guys know how much I appreciate what you all have meant to me in the past and how fortunate I feel to have you back in my life again. Thanks for humoring me with your time and energy. I only hope I can add to your lives as much as you have added to mine.
Now excuse me while I go put on my dress and bonnet and get ready for my day…
Mmmmm Scarlet Johansson UHHHhhhhhh
There are only a couple fantasies of mine that don't include Scarlet Johansson. One is to attend a final four, which I've wanted to do forever and the other is to sit in the corner of the room during a writing session of the Simpsons. The Final Four, because of the excitement, the glamour and the competition. The Simpsons gig for some of the most intelligent, thought provoking humor I have ever seen or heard.
I truly believe Homer Simpson's life is one of those that men everywhere dream about. No, it's nothing we want to admit and we certainly want to keep it in the most private places in our mind, but let's just look at the basics. A wife whose love is utterly and completely unconditional. A job that seemingly pays all the bills and allows his wife to stay at home and take care of the house and three kids. The local bar being his home away from home where yes, everybody knows his name and the ability to stay consistently drunk with little or no consequences, and best of all, a conscience that only shows up every three or four months. Homer is never really held accountable for anything he does, whether at home or at work.
Though there is never an episode that in some way doesn't involve the church, for Homer, religion is just a crutch to use in times of absolute crisis. So uninvolved in a belief in a higher power is he, that when he realizes that the plane he is on is taking him to be a missionary he screams "Help me Jebus". No, that's not a typo.
When the Simpsons first went on the air as a series, Bart was the main character and the show was about a 10 year old boy who was every parents nightmare. The Producers and Writers, I believe wisely, saw that there was only so much to be done with those story lines and moved the focus of most of the show to Homer and his imbecilic ways. These episodes started around season four and continue to this day, well into season 18.
The series has just been extended another two seasons, which will make it the longest running series in television history. What this tells me is that I'm not alone in my appreciation of the show. If you're a fan, you know of what I speak. If not, I think you may be missing something. The writing is topical and consistently biting. It also follows my credo of nothing is sacred when it comes to humor.
I truly believe Homer Simpson's life is one of those that men everywhere dream about. No, it's nothing we want to admit and we certainly want to keep it in the most private places in our mind, but let's just look at the basics. A wife whose love is utterly and completely unconditional. A job that seemingly pays all the bills and allows his wife to stay at home and take care of the house and three kids. The local bar being his home away from home where yes, everybody knows his name and the ability to stay consistently drunk with little or no consequences, and best of all, a conscience that only shows up every three or four months. Homer is never really held accountable for anything he does, whether at home or at work.
Though there is never an episode that in some way doesn't involve the church, for Homer, religion is just a crutch to use in times of absolute crisis. So uninvolved in a belief in a higher power is he, that when he realizes that the plane he is on is taking him to be a missionary he screams "Help me Jebus". No, that's not a typo.
When the Simpsons first went on the air as a series, Bart was the main character and the show was about a 10 year old boy who was every parents nightmare. The Producers and Writers, I believe wisely, saw that there was only so much to be done with those story lines and moved the focus of most of the show to Homer and his imbecilic ways. These episodes started around season four and continue to this day, well into season 18.
The series has just been extended another two seasons, which will make it the longest running series in television history. What this tells me is that I'm not alone in my appreciation of the show. If you're a fan, you know of what I speak. If not, I think you may be missing something. The writing is topical and consistently biting. It also follows my credo of nothing is sacred when it comes to humor.
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