Craziest Holiday Ever!!!! Part 1

So, for this family, 2014 will officially be remembered as the most insane holiday ever. Gypsy and I are close to exhaustion, Alexa is going stir-crazy, Noob the wonder dog is close behind and the cats are even feeling it. Last night, Biggie kept cuddling with my daughter's Little Pony doll. In itself, this isn't overly-weird but the doll talks at the slightest touch. So all night I kept hearing "I love you Mommy" and the theme song of My Little Ponies. Let's explore the reasons why this insanity is so rampant and see if any donations come in.

I guess it's best to start at the beginning. Way back in August, we went to an agency that I will not name to talk about relocating. Long Island was rapidly becoming a place where  opportunity withered while responsibility grew.
This agency told us they could help. "We can absolutely set you up with temporary housing and help in finding a job!" they said. "Absolutely" being the key word. After all, if you can't trust a government agency...
So, we went about preparing for the big move. This was going to be the year of change. My wife was nervous but I assured her that everything would go smooth and easy-peasy. After all, "the agency" had our back. They would make the move to Miami as smooth as possible. The end of September was coming fast and we were confidant everything was good to go.
We had everything perfect. The moving pod was secured, the cable and post office taken care of, banks notified...everything was just right. The only problem was, the agency still hadn't given us an address in Miami. We just needed that and we were gone!

Then we got hit for the first time. The agency wasn't calling because they didn't know how to break it to me. They couldn't help, because the geniuses in Miami didn't want to work my case via phone and fax. They wanted me there in person. Reasonable, but where was my family and I supposed to stay while they did their thing in Miami? Never fear, the agency had an answer for that too.
"We'll get you into a homeless shelter" they said gleefully. A homeless shelter? A fucking homeless shelter???
"It's nothing to be ashamed of. We all hit hard times. You'll only be there for a month or two."
So now the scramble begins. Our funds had been depleted with enough budgeted to get to Miami. Except we're not going to Miami. We can't do anything now until February. So there we are on Long Island, everything we own in a moving pod, and absolutely no idea of where to go. Then I remember an offer we got a few months back. Friends had offered us their third floor. YES!!!, We have a place to go. A quick confirmation and a few schedule changes and we were on our way to North Carolina.

Now my wife was still unfamiliar with the concept of letting go. To be honest, even I had not grasped it fully. We had too much stuff for the car. So, we had to get one of those pods for the roof and we still didn't have enough room. So there we were, cruising down I-95 with the entire back area filled with toys, clothes, cats and anything else that was a last minute thought. Noob the wonder dog had his spot, on my wife's lap secured while my daughter and aunt shared the back seat with laptops and more clothes. We were on the road from the dawn's early light until 2 in the morning. Somehow, in all that driving time, we never even saw a cop.
This was a gift since we had way too much stuff in the car, my driver's license wasn't up to date and the car had a break light out. It had to be a very good omen right? We thought so too. We got to the friends home and amid lots of weary hugging and talks about the trip we finally settled in for the night. As we all slept contentedly, little did we know what was coming our way.

Before long, things would deteriorate...to put it delicately. In less than a month we would feel like new parents with a child that looked like Mr. Bean, wondering how many gods we had offended to be placed in such a hell.
What had we done so horrible to be put in such a pitiful existence? Our lives were rapidly crumbling, spiraling down into a crushed mash of emotions that ranged from hate to hate. We debated on what we needed to do with our Bean-baby and it wasn't pretty. We searched for a diplomatic route, but that was all taken away when...


Well, this is where it ends for now. Part two will be along soon and you'll see that we've gone from bad to worse to idiotic. But at least we got rid of that damned Bean-baby.

FREE!!! Everybody Loves Free Stuff!!!

So, who has anything against free stuff? I know that I certainly don't. I live for giveaways, contests, try-me-outs and any other way to get free stuff. Which brings me to the reason for this particular blog. You see, there are more than 70 books waiting to be snatched up by some lucky people.

A great group called Indie Books Be Seen has come up with the idea of their first annual Secret Santa Indie Book Giveaway Contest. There are some fantastic books available, including The Last Ranger of Sarn AND Blood Moon Sacrifice. Yeah baby, I'm sending both to the cause.
But let's examine why indie books are better than regular author books. The reasons are fairly obvious, but the majority of folks just don't see them.
1) Indie authors are new and exciting. They have stuff you just have not seen before. Steven King is great, but after all this time, you can almost tell it's his work even without seeing his name.
2) Indie books are usually less expensive. We need to get readers, so big price tags are like poison to us for now. Once I can afford a cabin in the woods where I can do my writing, I'll tack on another ten to twenty bucks per title.

3) Indies have new characters. For those that enjoy series-type tales, isn't it time to go out and meet new friends? How much fun can the party be when it's the same faces year in and year out? This is not to say kick your old friends to the curb, just broaden your social circles.
4) Indie authors deserve love too. We sit and write day after day, week after week, just to get a single book out. Most of the time we do all our own editing, all our own proofreading and in many cases, even our own covers. That is frikkin' dedication. We're doing this for a different reason than well-established writers.
We do it for love. We don't do it for a fan-base. Or to pay the mortgage on that cabin in the woods where we write in the blissful solitude of nature. We don't do it to fulfill the demands of publishers and agents. We do it because we have all these voices in our heads that demand to be heard. We do it because we love to oblige them.

We write for kids, pre-teens, teens, young adults, old adults, cranky adults, and anybody that can read. We even write for the lucky few at the start of life (or closer to the end of it) that have someone to read to them. We write about our lives, other people's lives, our dog's life and the risque tales of Fifi the Ruffled Guinea Pig's life. We write about real things, imagined things, true events and some weird space shit that might just happen one day.
We write to make you smile, cry, laugh and more importantly, to touch you in a way you'll remember for a lifetime. Not in an inappropriate way, despite what some of you might want, but on an emotional level that you've not felt before. In a way you'll demand to be touched again. That is what indie writers bring to the table. And they bring it every time!
So, what I want you to do is very simple. I want you to go to the Secret Santa Indie Book Giveaway and show support for the indie community. Say "Hell yes! I want a free book damnit!" and enter the contest. Then, read the book and remember this. The best way to thank an author is to leave a review. Nothing elaborate, unless you happen to work for the reviews at the New York Times Bestsellers List, but just a few words about what you liked.
Thanks for your time and remember, have a safe and happy holiday season!

Milestones

Well, today I have reached a milestone in my life. I have reached the ripe age of 60. To all of you folks that have also reached this milestone and made the statement "I don't feel 60", screw you! I want you to know, I feel 60! Physically that is. My friggin' knees hurt, my back hurts and yeah, there's a little dry skin!
The worst part to this is that mentally, my age ranges from 17 to about 24. This means I see stuff and I want to do it. That's when my support group comes in. My wife who warns me about breaking a hip, my daughter who giggles exuberantly and tells me "you're silly Daddy" and of course, Noob the wonder dog who runs me down the street. He can't talk so that's his way of saying "stop it old man".

There are certain advantages to age though. For instance, I can be goofy (er) in public now and people think it's cute. I can also just speak my mind and not worry about being politically correct or worrying about hurting the feelings of some overly-sensitive little prick.
I can wear what I want for the most part without wondering if it's hip. Virtually EVERYTHING I wear is hip...well, it was in other time periods. I'm just pissed that I threw away my paisley-print Nehru jacket! Now THAT would have been one helluva fashion statement.
I've gotten lots of well-wishes from my very dear friends on FaceBook. I actually know some of them too! Same with all my other social networks. I have more birthday greetings than I know what to do with. At the same time, I can fake being confused and let thanking everybody wait for a few days. That seems to be the secret weapon of the elderly...one of them at least. I'm learning them quickly and I have to say, old people have been pulling this shit and completely fooling the world.

For instance, whenever I fly or use the train now, I carry my cane. I don't need it, but I found that if an older man carries one, nobody rushes them and the better seats are usually up for grabs. The first time my son met me at the airport and I had my cane, he freaked out and immediately took my bag. As soon as I told him the reasons behind it, he handed it back to me. Another ploy is to stand in the middle of the aisle at the supermarket and squint at the boxes. You can expect someone to grab your shopping list and fill your cart in minutes. With any luck, you can hear them cursing your loved ones for not taking better care of you.
Admittedly, my eyes have gone south from all the computer working, so I wear reading glasses. Not real reading glasses, the ones you get in the dollar store. Just the same, I can say I don't have my glasses and get people to read to me. Yes, old folks have been playing us for years.

But to be fair, there are limits now that I didn't have before. Roller-coasters are out now. In fact, anything that spins, twists, zips or loops is out. Log flume rides are still working for me though. Swimming is a little different too. I used to be able to swim the length of a pool underwater. Now, I'm lucky if I can do a quarter of the pool. I'm pretty sure that's a result of cigarettes, but still, if not for all the years I spent smoking them I'd be fine.
I quit smoking four years ago and got my taste buds back. Now I just wonder if food tastes bad because I'm old or because it always tasted like that and I just didn't know. I can climb stairs without sounding like Darth Vader now, but my knees hurt when I get done.
There are pros and cons to getting old, just like everything else. It sounds odd, but the longer you've lived, the more memories you have. I'm not sure if they seem so great because you can remember them or because they are reminders that you've done so many great things.
Your common sense takes over when you get older too. If something is stupid (planking, ass-level waistbands, skateboarding down steps), you realize it's stupid no matter how many people do it. Instead, you get to remember the stupid things you've done in your life and thank your maker that you are still alive.

You get to retire too. No more getting up to drag your ass to work. You can do whatever you want or nothing at all. You can wear pajamas all day and nobody can say anything because, you've earned the right!
So when they bring out that birthday cake tonight, and the candles are so bright that the space station reports seeing them, I'll be one happy old geezer. I've lived a good life, grew up in a great place with tons of friends, made lots of choices, some good and some not so good but none regretted and forged the life that was best for me.
Now, as this article slips to the ending, I'm going to put on Frank Sinatra singing "My Way", grab my cane and glasses and make my way to the supermarket to get some young chippie to do my shopping for me. After that, I might go to the park and toss a chicken sandwich to the squirrels and eat some peanuts.

North Carolina is NOT Florida

So, part one of my move is finished and New York is just a bad memory. Wonderful people have accepted us here in North Carolina till we get straightened out, but North Carolina itself is not holding her arms open for us. She is however, holding her hands open for us to drop money in. It seems, nothing comes easy in NC.

North Carolina is a beautiful state. There's no mistaking that. Even though there is no tar on my heels or even on my soles for that matter, I can see the untapped potential for a writer here.
The scenery is spectacular, and the people are all so nice. Of course, it could be a sugar rush from the sweet tea, but I'm raring to go. I'm waiting to take in everything, and eventually I'll get to it. But, there are a few dozen things I need to do before I can explore.
There is the North Carolina DMV lurking over my shoulders, just waiting for me to attempt to even start my car. The ticket books are poised.
At least that is what I'm told. I am not yet ready to find out either. I firmly believe that you should live somewhere for at least a year before you obtain a criminal status. That's where New York screwed up. I wasn't there more than four hours before cops started handing me tickets.

It was as if radar went off somewhere and the warning of an out-of-state license filled all of them with visions of monthly ticket quotas. They flocked to me, setting road-blocks and bringing the dogs out to track me. They even had the boat cops patrolling the shoreline just in case.
I got 3 bullshit tickets for no registration, no insurance and no license. Not that we didn't have all of that, we just didn't have it with us. So just provide proof and the ticket gets dropped. Right.
We provided proof TWICE and now, 11 years later, they are still there. Yes, New York has a special kind of ineptitude.
Now in Florida, where I will be in a few months, I can go to the DMV and surrender my PA license, show proof of identity, pay $48.00 and walk out with a new Florida license. In North Carolina, I have to surrender my PA license, take the driver's test, pay at least $200.00 or better and then get a new NC license. Guess who ain't getting a NC license?
My wife is a licensed CNA. New York has the strictest guidelines and tests to get that license. In Florida, all she has to do is fill out paperwork and transfer it. In North Carolina, she has to fill out paperwork, take the test (which costs $101.00...don't ask what the extra fucking dollar is for) and maybe get a new license. Guess who ain't getting a NC CNA certificate?

 I'm not quite sure what all this money is for. The website says, these funds go towards keeping the state sales-tax free. My friends say they pay sales tax. They pay property tax, income tax, pet tax, car tax, school tax and sales tax. They pay taxes out the wazoo.
Somebody is making a lot of money, but it's not going where it's supposed to go. You should know, that I expect the government to steal. I expect them to steal the pennies from a dead man's eyes, but goddamnit, you need to give a break somewhere. You have to. Otherwise, you're no longer stealing like a well-dressed governmental career criminal, you're just a common mugger. A filthy mugger.
Now in Florida, I'm pretty sure the government officials steal too. However, they do have no sales tax. You need to throw the people a bone. North Carolina needs to figure this out yet. But you can't blame them. This is probably new to them...after all, North Carolina is the home of the legendary Mayberry. Sheriff Andy Taylor and Deputy Fife.

Andy, Barney, Opie and Aunt Bea gave the people in the dirt-boxes of Philadelphia, New York and Boston a look at the quaint life-style of North Carolina. In all honesty, I didn't really expect Mayberry when I planned this. Hell, I wasn't even expecting Mount Pilot.
But life outside of Raleigh is the same as life outside of Manhattan. Just hotter. And every bit as greedy. And that just doesn't sit well with the memories of that beautiful little town we all loved so much. It's what happens when you let Otis, Floyd and Goober pick the elected officials. It's just wrong.
But, Florida is the next and final stop for my crazy train. It's where I've wanted to be for the last ten years and now, it's on the horizon. The sights and sounds of the Cuban community, the celebrities on South Beach, swimmin' pools, movie stars...oh wait, that's Beverly Hills. But Florida is where I'm heading. We'll be living in Hialeah, laughing at the scenes of those New York winters and at the open hands of the greedy North Carolina DMV.

Marketing Yourself

I read an interesting blog the other day about marketing. It seems, I have been promoting instead of marketing myself and my books. There's a difference.

The marketing guru says to find something that is consistent in each book and then apply it to yourself. Like "The writer who talks about love" or "The writer of battles". So I looked through my books and came up with a few. There's "The writer with hands", "The writer who writes stuff" and my favorite at the time, "The writer that has pages".
Pretty snappy huh? Don't be a hater, those titles didn't fall into my lap...I worked hard for them. Granted, I did have hands before I started writing, but I didn't use them for writing until after I started writing.

Still, I wasn't satisfied. Those were nice, but they didn't really tell the world who I was, what I did. I thought harder and came up with "The writer that drinks coffee" and "The writer that uses a laptop". Again, both fine choices but absolutely not perfect for me.
Now it was getting serious. I had no identity of my own. I was doomed to walk the planet as simply "the old guy that owns Noob the Wonder Dog". It was not going to inspire people to read my books unless Noob growled at them. I needed to brainstorm.
I spent hours watching TV, hoping for a smackerel of inspiration, a dollop of genius...a smidgen of brain activity. Then it hit me...I was watching a "My Little Pony" marathon. The ponies were slowly but surely sapping my brain stem functions. Instead of being "The writer with higher brain functions", there was a strong possibility I would go through life as the leader of Team Fluttershy.

I was getting frantic. If I couldn't think of something soon, I would be no better than the Justice League...highly anticipated and probably horrible. I was downcast, trodden and generally feeling blue.
My hopes and dreams were about to be bashed against the rocks by the angry waves of the marketing seas. I returned to my books and scoured them for a clue as to who I was. Even my muses...writers have muses as opposed to crazy people who have voices in their heads...even my muses were mocking me now. I could hear them giggling.
Then it happened. It. The defining moment of my literary career. The inspiration of inspirations, the shining beacon on the hill, the one thing everybody wants...I got a fan letter. It was an email, but it was from a fan and goddamnit, it was mine! I toyed with making it full screen and nailing the laptop to the wall, but I figured it would be a drag to keep refreshing it. But here it is in all its inspiring awesomeness.

"I just finished The Last Ranger of Sarn and it was wonderful. You make the characters come alive. I can't wait to read more."
Huh? Isn't that something? My fan base came to my rescue. I love that lady. There was my identity, the person the literary world would know me as... "The writer that got fan mail"! HA! Now I know what Elvis felt like, what The Beatles felt like. I wondered if I would have to get a disguise when I went to Shop-Rite for milk now.
My public was out there, waiting for their chance to be around "The writer that got fan mail". It was dizzying! Even Noob the Wonder Dog was impressed. I could tell because he licked his nuts extra clean for our walk.
Yet there was still no recognition from the populace. I figured it was time to get serious, turn off the Pony marathon and get to work. She said my characters came alive. I started looking through reviews and sure enough, every book had a review that stated the characters were the kind that you felt for, cared about, believed in, ect. There was the common bond between four high fantasy, two crime dramas and one collection of short stories.
If one wanted to market themselves, attention to details and research into character development were good things to build on. The characters in all of my books read like real people because, in essence, they are exactly that. The character of Fire in my Chronicles of the Free People Series is based on my wife. She's quiet yet strong when need be and she has a heart of gold. Sal DeSantos, the hit man in Crime Scene is a blend of my Uncle Frank and a couple of guys I hung around with as a ne'er-do-well youth.
My characters are very alive to me. Maybe that's why they come across to my readers as so lifelike. I also happen to think that the more you care about a character, the more you'll keep turning pages to see what happens to them. So the marketing wheel turned again and it stopped at the one I hope will catch on... Ed Ireland, The Author that creates people.
I thought it had a nice flow to it. It says what I do in a unique way and should be a very marketable title to work with. Now I just need to get my fan base into a group that needs a bus to get around instead of a scooter.

The Joys of Moving

Well, the much anticipated move is finally here. We're moving, lock, stock and barrel from the center of Long Island to Hialeah, Fl.
Maybe...
The move is supposed to happen at the end of August when our lease runs out. I say supposed to, because this is getting crazy. There are so many things to do. We've shopped around for ways to do this and have settled on getting a storage container to fill with all our worldly goods and then send off to sunny Hialeah. We all decided that the drive will be a study on insanity with a four year old in a child seat.

Therefore, we will be taking the auto train. This marvel of engineering will save us a ton of driving time and even more brain cells. Unfortunately, the train does not load in New York. Or in New Jersey. The train loads in Lorton, Virginia. It starts loading at 11:30 AM. Last car taken is at 3:00 PM and the train leaves at 4:00.
Now, according to MapQuest, this little jaunt from my home to Lorton takes 4 hours and 43 minutes. Not bad right? The only problem is that there have been times when it has taken me 4 hours to get from Brooklyn to my house. The plan we're working with now is to leave here at midnight and drive through the night. Best case scenario is that we miss all the traffic and arrive in beautiful Lorton at around 5:00 AM. Worst case scenario is that somewhere along the way, the traffic gods throw a wrench into our well-oiled machine.
But, we are confidant that the roads will be fine and we'll get there at a good time. The next problem is that it arrives in Sanford, Florida and spits out all the cars. Again, according to MapQuest, the ride from Sanford to Hialeah is just under four hours. I have no frame of reference for the roads in Florida but somehow, I suspect this time frame is another joke. But this is still the best way to get there.
So, we have the apartment contents taken care of and we have ourselves taken care of. Everything is good right? Wrong.

Remember when trains used to haul animals? We know they did from many sources such as the Three Stooges. We saw them on trains with the king of beasts and monkeys.
Lo and behold, they don't haul animals anymore. No more putting your lion in the baggage cars when you travel by rail. So now, the problem arises with getting Anubis the wonder dog there. Not to mention the two cats that together have more needs than a combined orphanage and home for unwed mothers. Now I have to get these three stooges of my own to Florida. So, now it's time for Pet Travel services.
You just know, this is not going to be simple. Pets are more pampered in American than in every other country combined. We have thousands of different foods for them, thousands of toys to keep their little brains happy and we'll even dress them as ballerinas and the Pope if it strikes our fancy. So there are two methods to transport your pets.
You can hire a chauffeur to drive them there. They'll pick them up and transport the darlings for a nominal fee. The problem is, they often transport a lot of other pets and have a lot of stops. There's no reason for Noob and his partners in crime to visit Tennessee on the way here. Besides, the way my luck goes, they'll drop Noob off to a hunter in the Ozarks and leave me an even stupider dog.

The second method is a gem. They fly and arrive there long before I do. So now, I need someone to go to the airport and pick them up. Of course, they won't know the person and they'll freak out, possibly causing even more brain-damage to themselves.
And the costs are staggering. The one price I have so far is higher than all of us AND the car going by rail. Really?
Because of these three, I might have to drive the entire distance myself. Of course the non-pet people have already told me to "just put them up for adoption and get new ones down there". They just don't get it.
Noob the wonder dog might be stupid and half brain-dead, but he's MY dumb dog. Same thing with the needy, pain-in-the-ass cats. I have time invested. Where am I going to find another cat that will ambush me while I write and head-butt my glasses off? Or a cat that drools puddles while you pet him? And then there's Noob. You tell me where I'll find another dog that ends up in the corner on his head and chewing on his back leg. You think that kind of dull grows on trees?
The joys of moving are just another way for life to provide stimulation to our lives. Like putting a new truck tire in the gorilla enclosure at the zoo. We get to inspect this stimuli, touch it, sniff it and finally climb into it. Sometimes, like the gorilla we'll swing contently.
The other times, we'll lose control, fall and split our heads open on the ground. And our stupid dogs will lay next to us and lick their nuts.

The Intelligence of Readers

I've been following a discussion the last few days on one of my writer groups about naming characters. For my part, I want my readers to set my book down after reading it and feel as if they know my characters on a personal level. Kind of like they met them at the Harrison's pool party last month. I'm of the opinion that well thought out characters elevate the story by making it a bit more personal.

My characters have personalities and personality can only be full if you know certain events that formed that personality. Real people don't have insecurities for the hell of it. Events caused them and the people around them either fed them and grew them or helped the character lessen them. So not only does the character have center stage, but all the other characters that made him or her the way they are need their spot as well.
I name my characters for several reasons. They are directly involved with the main character as a love interest, a guiding figure, a friend figure or a nemesis figure.
So taking my first novel, the main character is Vespias Firstlight. Her world was shaped by her parents Vesperis and Vashnir. In the society they come from, the first child usually has a name that mimics the father. She also had three younger siblings, Veron, Vashira and Windsong. Veron was named after his grandfather who also contributed to the children's growth as did his wife Yava. They were the parents of Vashnir who was the third of eight children.

So before two chapters are through, the character list is at nine, simply because I only named two of the other seven children that Veron and Yava had.
The main message that I'm getting is that a lot of writers don't name as many characters because they "don't want to confuse" their readers. To me, what is being said is "my readers are too stupid to follow character interactions".
If you go to a friend's house one day and they introduce you to their family, does it throw you for a loop? Of course not. What it does, is give you a frame of reference for when they relate a story from their youth. A story might be funny because when the character talks about the stupid look on their brother's face, knowing the face helps to make the story funnier. Knowing what role supporting characters have in the protagonist's life makes it that much easier to accept the fictional character as being real. Once that is established, their story is that much better.

I just find it odd that a writer would think of his readers as stupid, or at least lacking the intelligence to understand who is who and the amount of importance they carry. I like to think my readers are smart. Very smart. Genius-level smart. The smarter my readers are, the smarter it makes me because I can keep them entertained. I can spark an intelligent person's imagination and speak to them on intelligent levels.
I like to think of myself as intelligent. Certainly above the neanderthal stage of evolution. And as a member of the intelligent portion of society, why would I ever want to write for the other ones? You know, the people that only buy books with pictures. To me, to dumb down your work because you think your readers can't handle what amounts to normal life is in itself...well, to put it mildly, stupid.
Even stupid people remember the people in their life. To say that readers can't follow characters in a book implies that they are extraordinarily stupid. Epically stupid.
Thankfully, not every writer thinks this way. Writers want you to feel the full experience of their work. At least I do. I want my readers to feel the joy and pain my characters feel. I want them to smile when good things happen.
I had a reader yell at me when a character died because it made her cry. She cried at a fictional character's fictional death. She threatened to never forgive me if I didn't find a way to bring him back. To me, that was a big, fat EXCELLENT! To bring emotions to my readers is what I want. To elicit an emotion like sorrow means I made that character real enough and human enough for my reader to see him or her as a real person. And I did it by using my readers intelligence, not by thinking they're stupid.

The Problems With Wicca

In case anybody doesn't know, I happen to be Wiccan. Wiccan as in card-carrying, spell-casting witch. I take my faith seriously and I have often been involved in debates about the way my faith is portrayed. Basically, they all break down to "it's my life and I can do what I want" arguments. My point is and always has been, that at the current state of Wiccan acceptance, you have to look at the bigger picture and if it means sacrificing your "freedoms" a bit, isn't your faith worth that?

A recent debate with a well-known figure was a prime example of this. My point was simply that we as a whole, have a responsibility to the Wiccan Community as a whole to help bring our faith to the mainstream.
I tried explaining that the greater majority of Wiccans cannot dress in ritual clothes as a daily choice, cannot practice their faith in public and cannot even tell others what their faith is.
I tried explaining that many Wiccans are still under the threat of losing their job, losing their homes, losing their children...all because of the fear America holds still. Fear that isn't diminished at all when one of our own appear on television drinking from a skull, rattling bones and generally looking every inch the Halloween witch.
Appearance is everything. There are a ton of religious figures that are 100% bat-shit crazy, but since they dress normally, they are accepted. Even when their ignorance and viciousness are made public, their religion is still accepted.
That is the point of everything. Wicca is not accepted yet and as part of this faith, it falls to all of us to help the image of Wicca. I'm not saying don't appear on television in ritual robes, but try to be a little cognoscente of how you'll be portrayed. Think about the show you'll be on and think about why they want you. Are you prepared to screw over hundreds of thousands of your fellow Wiccans who can't express themselves the way you can?

If you say the word discrimination in America today, the first thing that comes to mind is racial discrimination. Then, gender discrimination or sexual discrimination. Religious discrimination is almost never thought of here.
The truth of the matter is, that Wicca was not even recognized as a religion by the U.S. Government until 1985. The pentagram, the symbol of our faith, was not allowed in military graveyards until 2007. Once a symbol is submitted, it generally takes a few months for the V.A. to approve. In the case of the pentagram, a symbol of a "recognized" religion, it took 10 years and a damned lawsuit.
Take a look at Carole Smith, a TSA worker that was fired for her faith. Her record was spotless until her religion came out. How about Gina Uberti, an employee of Bath and Body Works. Gina had been employed for 8 years. For the last 6 years, she would take the week of Samhain off to go to Salem. She would have her time approved a year in advance. Then a new manager came to her store and pressed her for the reason she took that particular week off. When she told him why she got this response; “Well, you will need a new career in your new year” and “I will be damned if I have a devil-worshipper on my team.” 

 Several Wiccans have had their religion become a major factor in child-custody cases. While religion cannot be material in custody cases, the "harmful" ritual and coven association is called in and judges must address these issues.
There have been cases of grandparents bringing their children to court for pagan and Wiccan affiliations. There is a case in Indiana of a Judge Cale Bradford that put a stipulation in a divorce decree keeping the parents from exposing their child to "non-mainstream religious beliefs and rituals." Both parents are Wiccan.
Clearly, there is still a ton of prejudice and discrimination about Wicca and those who practice it. Wicca needs much more "good press" and no more practitioners that pander to sensationalism. The country has to see Wiccans as people that contribute to their community, not those that are out there making blood sacrifices, people that are positive and strong in their faith, not those that are willing to sell out themselves and their faith.
Wicca does not have a central figure or group that controls it. Who we are and what we are becomes the responsibility of each and every member. Some of us came out and everything worked out fine. The world around us didn't turn its back on us. Some of us are still afraid that will happen so they stay in the closet. None of us chose Wicca as a way to make money. If that was the reason, you're just another con artist and karma will have some words for you eventually.

The majority of Wiccans are the normal, everyday people in mainstream America. They are truck drivers, doctors, nurses, writers, waitresses, carpenters...any occupation you can think of. Very few of the rising population of Wiccans are shop owners in Salem, a community that is founded on a tragedy and fed by tourists dollars to keep Halloween-town up and running.
Mind me, I have nothing against Salem. I've been there several times. I'm just practical and understand that the people there have a certain image to maintain in order to keep their livelihood steady. But can any of these characters claim to represent the average witch?
The answer is a resounding no, and yet that is where the news goes when they want a Wiccan point of view. It's where TV goes when they want a Wiccan in their show. It's where the entire country looks when anyone speaks about witches. That's great for business, not so great for those trying to bring our faith away from harmful stereotypes.
There are those of us who have empathy for the number still imprisoned in their faith. Rather the lack of respect or the out-and-out fear the rest of America has for Wicca that keeps them imprisoned. Imagine the outcry if a Christian or Jewish woman in Florida that wrote children's books became a target for her faith. Imagine if her home was vandalized by having windows shot out or exploding bottles thrown at the home with as yet, unidentified liquids. Then imagine if the attacks were accompanied by the attackers yelling out "Fucking Jesus-freak" or "Fucking Jew".
The outcry would be international! The news would rush to community religious leaders for their statements on what happened and what should be done. Those things happened to Kyrja Withers, a pagan. There was no outcry from the so-called Pagan leaders. The news didn't run to Salem to gather thoughts from those that claim to be among Pagan and Wiccan hierarchy. Any guesses why? OK, I'll tell you why then.
The simple truth is, the news doesn't think anybody is important enough to talk about anything other than Halloween tales and de-hexing baseball teams. The incidents happened within sight of the police station and the investigation is "stalled" despite eye-witness accounts and descriptions of the car. So obviously, the law doesn't think that much of helping the Pagan community.

With the law unwilling to help, with people that claim themselves to be the "voice of the Pagan community" more interested in sales , then who is supposed to look out for us? Who does the job of making the country look at our faith as being legitimate fall to?
It falls to every practitioner. It falls to common sense when speaking of it to outsiders. Think about this; would the Gay Community have all the breakthroughs and success they've achieved (and Goddess knows they're still far off from total acceptance) if the people who spoke on their behalf epitomized the fear that mainstream America had of them? If the people that spoke before congress and on television were dressed as Las Vegas showgirls or looked like stereotypical and derogatory images of gay people, how much credibility do you think they would have gotten? Yes, it sounds terrible to hear it put that way, but the truth is that you are not going to ease fear...and that's all any hateful feelings are...by ramming the more flamboyant aspects down America's throat. Just like we will not advance towards acceptance by ramming our more flamboyant practitioners down America's throat.
It falls to each of us to present Wicca for what it is. A religion. Plain and simple, a religion. Nobody questions how the church carries out their mass or how the synagogs carry out their services. If a religion is accepted, those things are secondary and non-issues. Those should not be addressed unless it's to correct a fallacy like human or animal sacrifices.
It falls to the common among us to answer questions honestly. Without a business to support, that should be easy. It falls to the people who are questioned to let go of their wallets and start telling the media how it really is. It falls to them to either help the Pagan and Wiccan community or stop acting like they care.
It falls to those who have come out, to help and support those that can't. It falls on the Pagan community to become a little more united and start throwing our numbers around. It falls on us to be a little bolder and tell that political system that we vote against them en mass unless they start to support and protect our community.
It falls to us to do all of these things and to stick to them. Yes, if I see bullshit I call it. If that ostracizes me from the community, who cares. My Goddess knows what I did and why I did it. I have nothing to apologize for.

Coulrophobia - Scared Silly

Of all the legitimate things to be afraid of, like spiders, snakes and/or woodpeckers, my wife is afraid of clowns. I'm talking push-me-to-the-ground, run-off-screaming afraid. The real thing. She even has clown-sense. It's like Spider Man's Spidey-Sense but it works with clowns. We were in the mall once and she gripped my arm and in a squeaky voice said "There's a clown here!".
A few minutes later we turned a corner, and I shit you not, there she was. Red nose, big funny shoes and clothes that had 43 shades of color in them. It was a lady clown making balloon animals for kids I think. I didn't get a good look since my wife threw me down to facilitate her escape. She figures that if I'm down, the clown will eat me first, giving her plenty of time to escape.

The first clown to terrify her was not Pennywise. It was not one of the Killer Klowns from Outer Space. It was not even one of those creepy circus clowns. It was Ronald MacDonald.
Granted, the product he stands for is pretty damned scarey, but the clown himself isn't made to scare the bejesus out of kids.
Market research says Ronald is a fun-loving symbol of good times and good food. Well, since they lied about the food, I figure they lied about the clown's image too. Personally, I think Mayor McCheese is a lot scarier, but what do I know?
Apparently, coulrophobia...the fear of clowns...keeps a lot of people awake at night.
California State University did a study that told them, kids did not like clowns because of a familiar body type with an unfamiliar face conflict. I have no idea what that means because it doesn't tell me shit. My wife has no fear of zombies. Familiar body type and unfamiliar face. No fear of werewolves and their familiar body type and unfamiliar face. So that offered reasoning doesn't work. I want my tax dollars refunded.

I need to understand the reasons behind this fear of clowns. Let's face it, I'm getting closer to the break-a-hip stage when I fall or get thrown down. Before I end up in a wheelchair, maybe if I understand why I can help her overcome it.
It doesn't help to ask her. Here is a typical exchange over why she is afraid of clowns:
Me: Why are you afraid of clowns?
Her: Mustn't say...clowns will eat me.
Me: Why would they eat you?
Her: Clowns are evil.
Me: Why do you think clowns are evil?
Her: Because they scare me.
Me: But why are you afraid of clowns?
Her: Mustn't say...clowns will eat me.
Get the drift? There's no logical explaining for this unnatural fear of such jolly folk. The entire purpose of clowns is mirth and merriment. The whimsical faces, the big shoes and bright red nose... all there to make you laugh.
Most researchers will tell you that coulrophobia is quite the modern problem. Among phobias, it's a fairly new fear. To understand phobias, you need to know what it is that begins one. If a child is bitten by a dog, that child can grow with cynophobia, an abnormal fear of dogs. Very few children are bitten by free-roaming clowns so we can rule that out.
Another way to acquire a phobia is to witness the reaction of another who fears the object. In other words, if Aunt Lois is wheeling you along in your stroller at the tender age of 2 or 3, and she sees a clown and rockets you towards it while she runs off screaming,...well there you have it.

Now then, we've established a very feasible way to explain how one gets a phobia. The clown has gained popularity as the antagonist in plenty of movies since Steven King decided that the lowest common denominator of fear is the clown. Hence, in his story It, the antagonist will appear to victims as their worst fear. But when the potential victims are in a group, enter the film world's scariest clown, Pennywise. That slightly insane killer with his balloons.
Since Penny, there have been more killing clowns than comedic clowns. We've seen Rob Zombie's Captain Spaulding, Violator, the nemesis of comic hero Spawn, the entire cast of Killer Klowns from Outer Space, aliens that just happen to look like clowns, Side-show Bob, out to kill Bart Simpson and last but not  least, that creepy frigging clown doll from Poltergeist. I mean really, who buys their kid that thing? It just screams homicidal maniac.

Speaking of homicidal maniacs, let's not forget what John Wayne Gacy did for clowns and their image. Pogo the Clown was his alter-ego, that funny, whimsical party animal. How often did he look out from that clown make up and think about raping some young guy at the party and then strangle him?
Another reason people fear clowns is the make up. The happy face with the big smile hides any true intent. Look at Gacy...you would say a million things looking at him in his clown make up and not one of them would be killer. Unless of course you suffer from coulrophobia. Then you'd have him nailed the minute he showed up.
So after doing the research, reading the psychiatric reports, interviewing the sufferers and looking at the pictures, I'm no closer to finding a cure. I suggested dressing as a clown thinking that if my wife actually watched me put the make up on and knowing who it was, it would cure her.
The kick in the knee to drop me and the broken nose from getting rammed into the dresser in her bid to escape before I ate her told me that approach was wrong. Then I suggested she dress herself as a clown. Amazingly, she threw me down in a bid to get away from herself...then ran over me four times trying to escape the "demon clown that was chasing her through the mirrors".

I thought about buying a nice clown doll but realized I could never stand up to the beating if it were to be used as a weapon. Besides, she would never sleep again and would eventually deteriorate into a zombie. But at least seeing a zombie in the mirror would not set off a phobia where the ultimate loser is me.
But all this research has benefited me somewhat. The next time people are helping me up from the mall floor, I'll just go see my lawyer after I manage to capture my wife and I'm going to sue the crap out of Steven King!

Father's Day

Today is my day. Father's Day. Today I rule supreme! That's right, today is my day. It is the one day set aside for Dad. Somewhere in history, June 19, 1910 to be exact, the very first Father's Day was celebrated in Spokane, Washington.

First time Dads have a lot of expectations during the nine months of pregnancy. They have this whole per-conceived notion of how they will act and then...baby. All that shit you thought and said is out the window when you see that little bundle. The first time you hold him or her, you get flooded with all these feelings you never experienced before.

It is a lot like when they put that emotion chip in Data on the Enterprise and he lost his positronic brain. He was nailed with things he had no knowledge of all at once and it overloaded him.
Same thing when you hold that baby. Things you have no concept of...like the idea that someone comes before you...start popping into your brain. Concepts like unconditional love...that alone will shift you into a gear you never knew you had and the next thing you know, you've spun out on the track and here comes the wall. Emotions can be deadly in the wrong circumstances and a baby is the fast track to those emotions.
But the subject is Father's Day. My day! The day when I can do damn-well what I please. Go where I want to go, do what I want to do and eat whatever I please. Yup, I can eat a big bag of chips if I want, I can watch boxing on TV all day, lounging in my underwear if I want and after that, I can go sit in the park and throw walnuts at the squirrels if I so desire. So far, what I have done is pretty much what I've planned. Somewhat. Kind of. In the ballpark.

I spent my morning catching up on some writing deadlines. That was fun. Well, it was a necessary evil. After all, I can watch boxing anytime I want right?
Then, since my wife works nights and her aunt is away this weekend, it was time for my daughter's bath. First of all, how can such a small child get so much water on the floor? And why do they need so many toys in the tub? Is it really more fun with the entire Disney family in there? I can understand Donald and Daisy, they're ducks. But Mickey and the gang? Really?
Well, that was interesting and really, I can throw walnuts at the squirrels anytime. It's not like they remember former concussions.
I did finally settle down with that bag of chips at least. I popped it open just around the time my wife woke up. So, I'm taking the roll of the househusband here and there's absolutely no problem with fixing her lunch. Hey, when duty calls, I'm there!
Apparently, when Dad gets called away, Anubis the wonder-dog springs into action too. Anubis, whom I affectionately call "Noob" looks a lot like Santa's Little Helper, the Simpson's dog.

Forget Marley, Noob is the worst dog in the world. This is a dog that would stay on the riverbank and watch you drown because ball-licking is so much more fun than rescuing. The kind of dog that farts in the room and gives you that look of disgust as he walks out.
At any rate, Noob saw an open bag of chips and no guard...it took all of three minutes for the bag to be emptied and for him to prance into the kitchen wearing it like the latest Gucci design.
But hey, I can eat chips anytime right? In fact, I'll be eating them one year from now! Right after I toss a few walnuts at the squirrels and while I sit around in my underwear and watch boxing. That's right, because it will be my day! That day set aside to let Dad know just what he means to those around him.
To his stupid dog with the empty chip bag over his head, to his squeaky-clean daughter and her squeaky-clean Disney toys, to his wife and her well-deserved and filling lunch and to his clients and their highly-anticipated ghostwritten projects. Yes indeed, my day! Dad's day!
Next year will be here fast. I'll just have to finish another sticky, hot summer up. Then it'll be winter before you know. Two or three blizzards and maybe another super-storm and before you know it, the third Sunday in June will be here and I'll be eating chips!
Happy Father's Day for all of you out there who have raised or are raising kids. For all of you that didn't have kids and are stepping up to the plate for some other guy's kids. For all of you that are tasked with teaching kids or watching them on the beach or volunteering to be someone they can count on and talk to. And for you single moms that pull double-duty, this day is yours too. Grab a bag of chips and a bag of walnuts and head down to the park...the squirrels are waiting.

Teach Your Children

In my younger days, one of the popular songs was from Crosby, Stills & Nash,  entitled "Teach Your Children". It told the listener to teach their children well. Most of us from that generation did not succeed. Sure, our kids might be raised right, the thirty-somethings, but they seemed to have missed that very important lesson of "teach your children well".

Today at the local mall, they had a super-hero camp for the kids, with Spider Man as the guest hero. When the area opened, I saw mothers push their children towards the arts and crafts tables with no regards for children that were already there.
I watched parents step over children sitting in front of the small stage where the blue and red costumed hero would speak, and plop themselves and their children down blocking the view of those who already had spots.
What happened next was disgusting. It was one of the worst examples of parenting I have ever seen, and I've seen some really stupid parents. Spider Man took the stage amid the cheering crowd and immediately asked for volunteers.
Among the children there was one that had either social problems or just needed a huge kick in the ass. His mother just pointed him towards the front and he screamed at the other children on his way past them. He screamed loudly! Maniacal loud. I was glad there was a super hero there because this kid had the makings of an arch-criminal.
He kept climbing on the stage and Spider Man had to keep escorting him down. Every time I looked at Mom, she was busy taking pictures of her treasure as he disrupted life all around him. Arch-criminal. Above and beyond ordinary criminals.

While the Joker Jr. was disrupting the front of the stage area, at the back of the crowd was a Honey Boo Boo clone rolling around the floor in an anger fit. When Dad tried to calm her he took a right cross to the chin. Apparently, either he didn't know any boxing moves because this was fine with him.
This makes me wonder, What in the wild, wild west of Fuckville is happening to parenting? Why is there a problem with using discipline anymore? Why are people afraid to punish their children for bad behavior? I'm not saying Dad should have given Boo Boo a good gut buster followed by an uppercut, but jeez, even a stern look would have been something!
Then, just when I thought things couldn't get worse, the show came to an end and Spidey announced that he would be giving away a special trading card and taking pictures with the kids. He then pointed towards a long corridor made from those mall cattle chute dividers. The ones with the red canvas belt that winds out and hooks on to the next pylon.

Let's put aside the twenty-something guy that ran for the lane, pushing children out of the way so that he could get his picture with his hero. I'm chalking that one up to retardation.
But a good number of people did as instructed and walked to where the line started, entered the chute and waited their turn. That's when the ignorance swept through. I watched several women unhook the lanyard and push their children ahead of everybody that had done the right thing. By the time the guard reached the breech, at least a dozen of the rug rats had gotten in.
I was expecting tazers to be drawn but it didn't happen. Clearly, he had seen the assault the same as I had, but there was no repercussion.
I looked at the children who stood next to their parents and saw their eyes had become soft and full as the guard approached. Little halos appeared and settled into a soft orbit around their heads and their parents avoided eye-contact with the guard at all cost. All he did was shake his head and re-hook the lanyard. By the time he reached the end of the line, the lanyard had been undone again and more children poured in to the breech.

I wanted blood. I wanted Russel Crowe to enter the arena and begin chopping heads. I wanted these families pitted against each other in mortal combat, until only one family stood strong. Then I wanted them thrown to the lions.
For a moment I thought about releasing Honey Boo Boo from her leash and springing Joker Jr. from his mother and turning them loose on these maladjusted, confused parents. I wanted to see blood spilled.
I thought about the lesson these dysfunctional people were teaching their children. They were too good to wait, other people are not important, rules are not important, fair play is not important...nothing is more important than getting yours ahead of everybody else. Nothing was more important than getting to Spider Man before anybody else did. Long story short, they were taught the golden lesson of the penitentiary, fuck everybody.
Then I thought about these wacko's that enter schools and movie theaters, and start shooting people. I laugh when people are shocked and surprised and they wonder why these things happen. Come closer, I'll explain... It happens because YOU DIDN'T TEACH YOUR FUCKING CHILDREN WELL!!!
You put them on sports teams where "everybody wins" and you teach them to face adversity by being quiet and unassuming. What you've actually done, is set the kid up for hard times because...come close again...LIFE DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY!!! People lose out. Not everybody wins the promotion. Sometimes you need to smack somebody or the world will saddle you with a pussy label. Once you wear that label, somehow people know and you can expect to find shit on your clothes forever.
When you show your kids that courtesy and rules and fair play doesn't exist, you show them that people were meant to be fucked over. So when your treasure picks up a gun one day because he didn't get what he wanted and kills 4 or 5 people, don't cry.
You didn't teach your children well.

Birthdays

Today is my wife's birthday. She's 35 today and is fine with that. A lot of people start to freak when they hit these little "milestones" in age. Truth be told, like the old saying goes, you're only as old as you feel.

For instance, when one of those favorite songs comes on the radio you'll move around. No matter what the age, you'll move. Especially if you're in a car, safe in that invisible cocoon of leather and steering wheel. Just a note though, those clear things all around you are called "windows" and we can all see you.
But it doesn't matter, because something has taken hold and you no longer feel your age. You're now as young as you were when you first heard that song and just as dumb. The song has transcended the years on you. You are now as young as you feel.
So, are you at a party getting your first kiss? Maybe you're with some great friends you've lost contact with over the years. Or maybe you're driving around through the old neighborhood, laughing and joking when the same song came on the radio. Whatever it is, you were younger then and through the magic of music, you're younger now.
Birthdays are also a sign of maturity in some cases. Or at least some people think so. We've all heard the stern lecture of "You're 21 now and it's time to act like an adult." What in the hell does that mean???
Lets see, you've spent the last few years in serious school...you know, the one where you actually learn stuff that might be useful...I'd say that was pretty adult. All things considered, that was your job and you did it. Yeah, you also played beer pong, went to or joined in wet t-shirt competitions and most likely smoked some funny stuff. Is that acting childish or just unwinding from work like the old folks do with their beers and martinis at the weekend parties?

Often times, life is likened to a highway...there's even a song that says so...and each birthday is a road marker. There are lots of other metaphors that keep that trend going. Don't burn your bridges behind you, don't blow a gasket,  don't live life in the fast lane...the list goes on and on. Maybe the thing is, life actually is a road.
The secret is, don't pay so much attention to the road. It's not the kind of road where you crash and burn. All the dangerous stuff...and the great stuff is along the side of the road. Focus on the scenery instead of the asphalt.
Unless you're so old that you're on a dirt road. Then you still have to watch out for stones because they can trip you up. I'm getting to that spot now. I told you my wife was 35 today. In September, I'll be 60. Yes, I got lucky and had a young girl fall in love with me. But before you envy me too much, allow me a moment. Young wives are great, but in rushing headlong into it, most of us forget something very important. Young wives can still get pregnant!

My Girls

Yes, we can still make children even though our body is no longer equipped to deal with them. But children have this great effect on older fathers like me. They make you feel young and alive while they slowly kill you. It's very euphoric you know.
My little one has me attending tea parties and judging fashion shows with stuffed animals. All manageable and easy on the back. She also wants to run around the playground and go down slides and swing. Not so easy on the back.
She's four now which means she has an attitude developing and being who I am, it's not turning out good. She refers to the cat as "her bitch"...not the best of terms, I'll give you that...but much better than what she calls drivers that honk their horns when Mom is driving too slow.
Being four, she also knows when to run. The nemesis for older fathers like me. Luckily I have no problems in tripping her as she streaks off.

So the bottom line is, like they say...you're as young as you feel. My wife doesn't feel as if she's stumbled over some invisible road marker that turned her towards middle age. My daughter doesn't count because her life is still nothing but Barbies, My Little Pony and M&Ms. She doesn't even know she's driving down a road yet.
As for me, I've figured it out and have somehow reversed the age problem. When I first met my wife I was 50 and she was 25. She was half my age. Now, she's 35 but I'm not quite 60. See? She's not even close to being half my age anymore. Somehow, I'm managing to leech life away from her while slowing down my advance. Before you know it, she'll be 50 and I'll be 75 and will have cut her down from 50% to a mere 25%. If I live long enough, she'll eventually be older than me.
And when she does pass me on the road of life I'll be sure to smile and wave...but I won't honk the horn. I don't want my daughter to let me know what she thinks of my driving.

Philly Pride

Looking back on my life, the thing I notice is my inability to stay rooted. Even when I've stayed in one particular city, the urge to move all around is always there.

My home was, and in my heart, always will be South Philly. To me, there's nowhere like it in the world. It might as well be from another planet. We just do things different there. Whenever I tell people I'm from Philly, the reaction I get most is that look like the person just put something sour in their mouth.
It doesn't bother me. Philly has this reputation for some reason but if you never lived there, you wouldn't understand. I had a co-worker tell me that he went to a Eagles/Giants game in Philly and someone threw soda at him. It struck me as odd until he said he was wearing a brand-new Giants jacket. What the hell did he expect?
Philadelphia is a lot of things, some of them not so pleasant. If you want that, there's a place in Jersey named Mount Pleasant. Go there. What Philly is though, is a place where very strong ideals and convictions are formed. We learn loyalty at a young age, and understand that it stays there in good time and bad. We learn honesty at a young age and if my honesty hurts your feelings, I don't know what you want me to do. My wife will often tell people "He's from Philly...he doesn't know any better" and she's right. I call it like I see it.

This look says it all

If I see stupid, I don't try to find an excuse for it, I call it stupid. We don't have excuses in Philly. We have stories though. We have at least a dozen stories for any situation. In the end, if we did something stupid, the story says we should have known better so we wouldn't be standing there all stupid-like. We take responsibility for ourselves. If our kid breaks a window it's because he's a dumb-ass and has nothing to do with the way he was breast-fed or the way his grandfather spoke to him. Likewise, the proper way to deal with such an incident is a good kick in the ass...we have our own kind of therapy in Philly.
We learn to laugh at ourselves. We think funny is funny and the rest of the world should pull that stick out of their ass and stop trying to be so damned polite. If you do something that makes people laugh, why in the hell would it offend you? It would make me feel much worse if I did something that made people throw bottles at me. Listen, everybody does dumb things...if someone gets a laugh out of it, go for the ride. They'll do something just as stupid one day and then you can laugh.

We have a unique way of talking. Nine times out of ten, people have no idea where I'm from. When I first moved to New York, one guy asked me if I was from Oklahoma...Okla-frikkin-homa. Other bets were Florida, Minnesota and my favorite, Hawaii. A lot of people joke about the way we talk and that's OK. I do pronounce water as wooder, sausage as saaahsage and according to my wife, I enunciate every single letter in the word beautiful when I say it. I also say "y'all" when referring to a crowd and "youse" when referring to singles or small groups. The word "Yo" is standard and not an option to drop.

We have an attitude in Philly too, only we pronounce it "atty-tood" and we mean it. The funny thing about that, is that apparently it is genetic. My daughter has it and has only been to Philly twice for a day each time. Sometimes we are accused of being mean. It's not a matter of meanness, it's a matter of low tolerance for stupidity. If I explain something to you and you don't get it, I'll explain it again. There will be no "mean" spirit in it. If, after I've explained the fourth time and you still look at me like I have an extra eye in my forehead, then I'll have to tell you to go fuck yourself. It's not being mean, it's a matter of survival. Stupid people will leech your brain cells right out if you let them. Their greatest asset is to make you as dumb as they are. This way you're on new ground and they have the upper hand since they have more experience.
People think we're rude and unrefined. Simply not true. We don't like outsiders for the above mentioned reason. We do things a certain way, a way we were taught as children, and when you come to visit our city you just screw things up. Like when we drive, it's slow on the right, fast on the left. If you come here and have no idea where you're going, you better have your ass in that right lane. But more often you don't and we have to get rude.
You say we're unrefined, we answer "Your mother is unrefined!" Yes, we're very big on dragging mothers into arguments in Philly. Truth of the matter is, Philly is very refined. Philly is on the leading edge in fancy. We have great museums, the nation's oldest zoo, some of the country's leading restaurants and top innovators in industry.

 We have history! Philly was the first capitol of America. Philly was where our forefathers declared independence from England. Philly is where the first flag was sewn.  Philly is loaded with history. We have places like Elfreth's Alley, Independence Hall, The Liberty Bell, The Benjamin Franklin Monument, Old Christ Church...we have it all. We even have a plaque that tells you where Larry Fine was born! We don't play around.
We have historic Fort Mifflin, we have sites from America's Centennial Celebration, we have Betsy Ross's  house, Edgar Allen Poe's house, Thomas Jefferson's house and Ben Franklin's Post Office.
We have the First and Second Banks of the United States. We have Pennsylvania Hospital, the Fairmount Waterworks and the New Market/Head House Square Historic District.

 Philly has plenty of green too. We have places like East River Drive, renamed Kelly Drive after local politician Jack Kelly, brother of Princess Grace Kelly of Monaco. The drive winds along 4 miles of the Schuylkill River and has plenty of room for hikers and bikers.
Philly has Fairmount Park. Fairmount Park is made up from 63 parks with 9,200 acres of land. It is the largest landscaped urban park in the world. Not too shabby huh?
There's greenery all over Philly with local parks and squares everywhere.

 Philly loves a good time. We have the Mummers Parade, a one-of-a-kind celebration every start of the New Year. The Mummers have been parading since the mid-17th century and it is the oldest folk festival in the United States.
While the parade started almost at the same time as the country did, the first official parade didn't happen until January 1, 1901. "Wenches" and other women's parts were played by men. In fact, women were not allowed to participate in the parade until the 1970s.
The Mummers are such a tradition in Philly that there are often generational marchers from the same family. We even have the Mummers Museum in Philly.

Most of all, Philly has people. We have a diversity of people that bring so many different traditions and customs and somehow it all melds together and forms this amazing thing that is Philly. Yeah, we have problems but so what! Show me a city that doesn't. If you try to, every single person in Philly will stand united in their diversions just to flip you off. Philly is a treasure trove of ethnic diversity, meaning all the best and worst of such a mix is there. Without such diversity however, growth just moves along at a snails pace.
So Philly might not be such a bad place. Despite everything that Philly has, it seems that the true treasure of Philly, the things that make Philadelphians who they are, are unseen by the rest of the world. They'll still see us as rude, arrogant, loud and boisterous with very little regard for manners. We'll continue to laugh at that assessment. We know exactly who we are and what we have and in the finest Philly tradition, if anybody doesn't want to take the time to see that, screw 'em.