The Conspiracy

(This was written in the summer of 2007. I am posting it here for the first time for a comrade in arms. Thanks for the saw, Doug!)

I am a home owner. Or as the saying goes, the home owns me. Taking out a mortgage is somewhat like buying yourself into slavery. Would people clamour and shop for just the right loan, at just the right interest rate and look for the just the right neighborhood with just the right house if they really understood the reality of the transaction? I am not even really talking about the monetary slavery that we willing run towards like lemmings to the sea. After all it’s the American dream…and we sign our names on the dotted line. The real nature of the servitude is not the money, no… I submit that it’s the incessant demands of the house itself.

Yet I am not alone in my confinement. My enslavement isn’t individual in nature, it’s a way of life for most of the country. A lifestyle propagated and encouraged by our peers, the government, lending institutions and major retailers. It’s a conspiracy, a sham and damned con-job. How bitter is the irony that the very instrument of our slavery is seen as a symbol of our independence? It’s been cleverly woven it into our world view, our very ideals of the “good life.” Home ownership is seen as a rite of passage, a sign of financial security.

I can see the room full of powerful men, a secret society that quietly behind the scenes runs the entire country. They are thinking of ways to retain their power when someone suggests, “The tattered masses will be too busy to revolt, if they know they have to paint the fence this weekend!” The Freemasons or whomever they are chuckle in their secret lair as they count their money.

I remember when I moved in to my current home and I thought, “WOW! I’ll have to put my tools away – I’ll never need them here!” I was like a teenager in love, and I was completely blind to any faults the object of my affection might have. When you first move in, you see nothing but the glittering potential.

“One day we’ll get new countertops!!,” you exclaim breathlessly.

After a few months of living together, the veneer begins to peel away.

“Why does this door stick?”

“Why is the basement flooding?”

“How many different types light bulbs does this fucking house have and are they having a contest to see how many can burn out at once?

And then there is the outdoors.

“25 god damned flower beds and the only thing that grows well are the fucking weeds!”

“I swear to God, if that pool doesn’t clear up, I’m going to fill it with sand.”

“Well, at least crabgrass could be construed as a type of grass.”


I admit that part of the problem is the current American obsession with DIY, or Do-It-Yourself. Home Depot seduces you with the tag line, “You can do it, we can help!” (The clever co-conspiritors!!) I admit to being susceptible to this message. I even subscribe to Handyman Magazine, and I have Peg Board up in my garage to organize my ever burgeoning tool collection! I am embarrassed at just how desperate and lame I have become. But how could I not! Consider my heritage! Take the fact that my Dad can do just about anything when it comes to “home improvement”. He was doing DIY when most guys in the 80’s where busy buying Members Only Jackets! I swear to God if we dropped him in the woods with an ax, a hammer and a crate of nails he would have erected a 10,000 square foot cabin, with running water and electricity up within a week. I would stop by to check on the progress and he would have already started a putting green right off the massive, fresh-stained back deck. How do you keep up with that? (The answer, I am beginning to discover is…you cannot!)

Why do you think immigration is such a hot topic now? The Free Mason, Illuminati, String-Pulling, WASP Bastards, know that the Mexicans waiting outside Home Depot represent for many of us homeowners, our only hope at ever getting caught up. They are like soldiers for hire in our struggle for true independence. Soldiers who work very…very cheap. For a hundred bucks and a sack of McDonalds, I could get 9 or 10 things off my list in one day! With Jesus and Hector by our sides, I and the countless other home owners have a chance. But that chance is perceived at being to dangerous to those in control, and so each day the INS rounds up thousands of willing soldiers and sends them home, and a few more miles of fence go up. Soon they will all be gone! The Cabal will sleep better at night and middle class, home owning America will toil on alone.

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and as I look around the house and all I see are things which need to be done. I begin to make a mental list and as it grows longer my mood darkens.

“Look at that bullshit! There must be a leak in the master bath shower….I wonder how long this fridge is going to last, look at this goddamned carpet…disgusting, I have to replace it, that curtain rod is loose. Scratches in hard wood floors…..”

My wife will come down and see the look on my face, “ What is wrong with you? Oh Chris! Dammit! Don’t tell me you’re thinking about the house again. I can’t handle this today!”

She half threatens, half pleads.

“I can’t help it!” I explain, “Look at this…this….crap shack! We’re living like animals!! I could work on this house everyday for my entire life and never be done! ”

I jump up and grab my keys.

“Where are you going?!” she asks chasing me down the hallway towards the front door.

“I have to find some Mexicans before its too late!” I shout as I head for the car.

At this point it is appropriate to feel pity for my wife. She’s a very talented, intelligent woman who happened to marry a very strange man. Well….A strange man who happens to be on to this massive charade in which we all live.

In the end, it’s the constant erosion of time that gets you. For even if you do repair every little thing, update and improve all the flowerbeds, doorknobs, faucets and counters, you realize that the Unholy Cabal enslaving us, has a silent partner in their venture. A devious and cunning addition…Time itself. Time is the catalyst, it’s the hand that stirs the pot. Even as we sleep it continues to work, undoing what we have done and creating new projects. Its like a malignant currency in which we trade and barter through out our daily lives. The constant balancing act between Work, Family and Home Improvement.

“I cannot tackle that project today! Our kid has baseball practice and we are supposed to go the park today.” There is always a reason, always a commitment that keeps you from tackling the List. Time snickers at us as we back out of the garage. I look in as the door rolls shut and add another item to the list, “This garage is trashed, I have got to organize that!”

I have two great hopes in my personal revolution. For the only way to win, is to finish. The only way to finish is to get help. And if I cannot find a Mexican, then there is only one other way. Thus, my great remaining hopes. One is my son Jonathan. He is only 4 right now, but I hope one day to enlist him in my battle. He could weed, mow and skim the pool, maybe do some cleaning inside as well. That will allow me to focus on the stuck door, the leaking shower and the cracking chimney. Maybe I’ll even get to that damned garage! The other hope currently resides in my wife’s belly with an anticipated arrival date of October. Sometime as I set on the couch, with my wife by my side, surveying the crap shack I pat her stomach.

“Bring me a son!” I think to myself. “It’s our only hope. With two son’s and myself, I just might have a chance.” I glance across the room and see a light bulb has just burned out, I mentally revise my list for 9th time that evening.

Even in my greatest hope, the seeds of my destruction lie. It takes years to make a child truly useful in this epic battle, and by then they may be too “busy” with school or college or girls or whatever to help their old man out. Even what help they do bring will be begrudging. They’ll never be true believers. It will never be a personal struggle for them. That is, until it’s too late and the cycle repeats itself with them.

I can see Jonathan with his future wife now, touring developments with a realtor Realtors are also in on this scam big time.

“ My dad used to do all sorts of projects and I would help. We can fix this place up!”

His sweetie will hug him and silently think about how lucky she is to have a beau who is good with his hands.

My Dad used to tell me, between expletives as he worked on my childhood home, “ Don’t ever by an old goddamn house!” He should have said, “ Don’t ever buy a house!” But it wouldn’t have mattered. I didn’t listen to him and my son won’t listen to me.

Black Wednesday

I recently started back at work full time, in the office. I quickly realized that after taking a year off, I was running really low on work-appropriate clothes. My shirts were stained, ratty or both and all my pants were worn looking and fit kinda funny. I looked like a homeless guy impersonating an office worker.

So I met up with my wife for lunch and we went on a shopping trip. Shopping for me has always been pretty easy. I've worn the same size clothes for like 15 years. I quickly went through the racks, picked out some clothes and headed for the dressing room. That's when it all went wrong.

I tried the first pair of pants. Hmmmm...a little tight....must be the brand.

I tried the next pair of pants......Are you sure this is the right size?? I quickly checked the label and confirmed that yes...the pants were my size.

I tried the third pair. I thought, "You have got to be fucking kidding me!" I tried sucking in, but that wasn't an effective long term solution. I reflected on the number of times since I started working again that I had untucked my shirt and taken my belt off in the car on the way home, then raced to change immediately on entering the house. It wasn't the old pants...nothing shrunk. It was me.

Do they make grown up pants in Husky sizes????

My wife, aware of the lapse in time since I had gone in there, tapped on the door, "Everything OK?"

Never...in my life, since maybe I was 16 did I have to utter these word....

"Uhhhh.....(deep breath)....I think I need the next size up."

Not that anybody does....but I really don't want a gut. For as long as I can remember, I have always been able to eat whatever the hell I want, and still wear my pants from 10 years ago. Its more than just a pants size, it's a lifestyle. A bag of Keebler Chocolate Lovers Cookies and 12 pack of High Life a week, limited exercise - that's how I roll. I don't want to diet and I don't want to feel compelled to exercise.

As my wife searched for the Husky size, I began to hear murmers and sounds reverberating through the changing area.

It was every other boring, overweight and underpaid sales guy with a gut and an ugly shirt saying, " Welcome to the Club! What took you so long?....Want a Twinkie? Have I told you about my Fantasy Football team yet? "

It was the sound of thousands of attractive women getting a little more disinterested. Assuming of course they could be any less interested in a 30 something, married, bald guy with outrageous debt and bad teeth.

It was the Grim Reaper snickering from the other stall, laughing at the passing of my invincibility. "I've been waiting for you..." he commented with an outstretched boney finger.

My wife dutifully returned with the next size. Much to my dismay, they fit. In fact, they felt great.

Time to find some ugly shirts.

Product Review: The Dual Fan

If you find yourself in need of fan, as I did this past weekend, allow me to help you in your selection.

Target had this little gem (the fan on the left...) on sale along with all their other fans. It priced just under $30.00 and offers the unique benefit of being two fans in one, which you can position independently to draw air flow. The picture on the box sold me, as it depicted a Kama Sutra-esque montage of positions you could use depending on your specific cooling needs. I was interested by the one showing the Kneeling Camel Position, which is where the fan being placed at the bottom of stairs, has the top fan reaching skyward and bottom fan angled slightly upwards....I know.....dirty.

Right away, when I removed it from the box, which was easily 3 ft tall and 2 feet wide, I was underwhelmed by the size. The package was approx 45 % Styrofoam by volume. What emerged was two tiny little fans, the bottom one you cannot even swivel! But I thought perhaps... little fan, big heart. After plugging it in and putting in position, I discovered I can move more air hyperventilating while watching Kim Kardashian dance.

In summary....a double fan does not a good fan make. For that matter, two small fans, does not a big fan equal. However, Kim on Dancing With Stars does me, a fan make. Is that proper grammar???

The Games Kids are Playing these days...

During dinner conversation my son told us he was playing a game called "Pinch Your Weenie!" at school today. On further discussion, and after I shot water out my nose, the game is exactly what you think it is, only it was a girl running around pinching the boy's weenies. They of course were running away and trying avoid the Weenie Pinch. I think that's logical. It doesn't sound like a good idea to me.

However, I want that girl's full name. If Jonathan's smart, he'll remember this as well. By the time they get to high school....she could be a lot of fun. Maybe to much fun...I cannot wait until he starts dating, and I can say, " So Sport, whatcha gonna do with Donna tonight, play a little Pinch the Weenie? You used to love that game back in the day. Donna, what you think? Are you a fan?"

Yup...that ought to mortify him and her.

How Long has it Been?

In the spirit of the blog, http://www.thingsyoungerthanmccain.com/, I started thinking about how much the world has changed since the Bengals last won a playoff game. My first pick... Russia.

The USSR dissolved in 1991 and when the dust settled we were left with Russia, Ukriane and a handful of Baltic states. Which paved the way for our current diplomatic crisis over Georgia. So there you go Bengal fans, our new/old enemy Russia is newer than the last playoff win.

Disturbance on Cincinnati Streets!!!

You all know I am highly anxious to say the least about Sunday's game. A stange thing happened to me a few minutes ago when I was walking downtown. As I walked through Fountain Square, I saw wrappers, paper cups, all sorts of garbage being blown south towards the river. Which was weird, because it wan't that windy. I crossed over and walked up towards Main, and the garbage was rolling more Southwest. How curious I thought, after all the wind hadn't changed directions.

I started to follow a Skyline cup, as it rolled down Main and then took a right onto 4th....What the Hell is going on here? As I continued to walk, I saw more and more trash, garbage and detritus rolling along, all in the same direction. I followed the flow to 3rd street, and that's when it hit me.

It wasn't the wind blowing the trash, it was some sort of enormous vacuum emanating from PBS. The suckiness of it, it was so strong, it was pulling all the garbage into the stadium area. Then I noticed, all the leaves on the trees sorta pointed towards PBS, the blades of grass all leaned towards it too, the clouds seemed to dip a little lower in the sky immediately above the stadium, birds wouldn't fly over it.....

Strangest thing I have ever seen.

Do you think this is a bad omen for Sundays game???

A Vince Young Moment

As my Mother will tell you, I've been hurtin' for a while now. I've been hit pretty hard by how poorly we played this past weekend. The looming home opener on my mind kept me from sleeping last night. I decided, impulsively to go for a drive. I forgot my cell phone. Strange that I should have found myself on the Roebling Bridge, holding my season tickets.
Even stranger, the next thing I know, Marvin's there! He came with the Police, a Psychiatrist, a Negotiator and Mike Brown!

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"Your family is concerned about you. They were afraid you might do something rash. Put the tickets down, son." Mike smiled at me encouragingly.

Meanwhile, Marvin was screaming at me," YOU DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO!!"

Mike Brown, wrestled past the Police Line, and pleaded for me to please place my tickets on the ground. "Don't do anything rash!" he counselled.

"But Mike....Marvin..." I stammered, "I'm just so tired. It's been so long! I don't know if I can do it anymore! What happened to the O-line?"

As I said that, I sub consciously extended my arms, my tickets flapping in the late night breeze, dangling above the muddy waters of the Ohio.

"I won't even get face value for these....WHY...Oh God....Why did I commit to the seat license!"
Marvin laughed inappropriately, "If you are a fan, be a fan!"

And the laugh is what saved me. For there right next to me was Mike Brown. The whole time Mike had been creeping ever so closer, his pruney fingers ever so slowly getting closer and closer to the tickets. Distracted by the flashing lights and calming voice of the negotiator, I hadn't even seen him! Twelve hours later, it still creeps me out to think of how fast....how sneaky he was.
I stepped away and jerked the tickets back, just before they fell in his grasp!

"You dirtballs! You tried to take advantage of me.....AGAIN! You're not here to help!"

I stuffed the tickets back into my pocket and backed away. The Police quickly surrounded me. After a few nods of sympathy, and a brief conversation with the Negotiator, who offered be $30.00 for my two seats (he has friends in Memphis), I was released.

Marvin and Mike, of course, will chalk this whole incident up to a big misunderstanding. Which in a way it was, I mis-understood the direction the team was going in I guess. I'm still going to the game on Sunday, but I might watch it from behind my hands. I'm scared of what I might see. But I'm not unloading my tickets just yet. One things for sure, don't underestimate Mikey....he's sneaky-fast! He got us all once and he almost got me a second time last night!

Bengals Game 1: Its Not Their Fault

Everything that can be said about Sunday's game, has been said and will be repeated through out the week. From the weary "What else did you really expect?" to the "Blame Brat!" to of course, "Its all Mike Brown's fault." Marvin claims we were out-played and there are no excuses. Being a delusional season ticket holder, I cannot accept that we are as bad the pre-season and game one showed us to be. Therefore, I NEED excuses to keep me from going off the deep end and realizing the amount of money I have and will continue to waste this year. So, here is my excuses for why they played so poorly.

1. We didn't know the Ravens could run that fast and hit that hard. I mean the Raven's hit really, really hard. I know they have pads and all, but I was intimidated watching on TV. And they way they went after Carson....they're not suppossed to do that!

2. We had a really good game plan coming into the game...in fact it was awesome, its just that the Raven's didn't do what they were supposed to do. What are we supposed to do...make adjustments? Come on ! That's not the coaching staff's fault, tip you hat to the other sideline I guess.

3. Chad couldn't wear his new jersey, and that was very upsetting for the whole team. I'm suprised they had the heart to even take the field.

4. It was very, very loud in that stadium and and we couldn't hear the blitz coming, sure they had 8 guys on the line with 4 of them pointing right at Levi - but we never heard them coming. The commissioner should make it a priority to handle excessive crowd noise. Deal with that , please, especially on make or break 4th downs. How are they supposed to play if nobody can hear anything?

5. We didn't have enough film on Flacco or the new head coach....I mean come on....we were going in blind. How were we to know that Ravens would Blitz in a dizzing array of packages and then pound the ball? Where did that come from?!! And that Linebacking core.....who knew???? Next week it's Kerry Collins and he's been around forever! Lots of tape on him! We'll be fine!

6. The Defense was sooooo tired by the end of the game. We'd been on the field soooooo long. You cannot expect these poor guys to be in football shape after 6 weeks of camp and preseason. They needed a rest. Luckily we'll have from January until OTA's to catch up.

7. Like NBC's annoucing team said, this is the first time the recievers have been together with Palmer in a game situation. In today's game you cannot expect your top players to practice with rest of the team and be just like everyone else. They're too special.

I'm excited about Sunday against the Titans, and I'm not worried at all about their rushing performance this week or their aggressive defense. The Bengals will be fine.....I will be fine....and everything......is...going.....to....be......(deep breath)....OK