An Atheist Christmas

Another Christmas has come and gone, and once again I enjoyed the holiday season. Despite my many protestations regarding religion, faith, and ridiculous rituals, I get a big kick out of Christmas. That may have something to do with the presents and cookies that come my way (I got a new laptop for Christmas!! WOOT!!), but I also enjoy the sappy Christmas carols and outlandish decorations too. It's likely the comfort of traditions that I remember every single year. In my family, religion has never really played a big part in Christmas, and this joyous holiday season when one appreciates his or her many blessings, I thank God that God was kept out of my holiday shenanigans.

This is not to imply that my entire family consists of heathens. It's just that church and Christmas always seemed to be rather separate... just as they should be.

Actually, if religion were taken out of the equation, Christmas would be a lot more fun for everyone. Every year on TV, people bemoan the increased commercialization of Christmas. There are interviews Christmas-philes who want to ensure that people remember that Christmas is about a poor Middle Eastern virgin with a penchant for turquoise robes getting knocked up and conning a trioka of gullible kings into giving up their gold, frankincense, and myrrh (though I suspect the king with the gold was the only one they invited) just for a chance to sit in a shitty barn staring at a fetal-fresh God-baby. They like to lay on the guilt to the poor befuddled Christian masses who often forget that Christmas is supposed to be about celebrating the birth of baby Jesus. I suspect that a lot of people feel bad about not making Christmas more meaningful.

If you're an atheist like yours truly, however, Christmas can be about whatever the fuck you want it to be.

Very little about Christmas has anything to do with Jesus anyway. Most of the traditions that we associate with it are taken from pagan celebrations of the winter solstice. And while I'm badmouthing traditions, what the hell is there to celebrate about the winter solstice?? "Oh boy!! I get to freeze my balls off for another three months! Let's shove a tree into the living room and eat a ham!" Either way, trying to ascribe some sort of larger meaning to Christmas is a futile endeavor. Hell, scientists have apparently figured out that Jesus couldn't have been born in the wintertime. Apparently, the star that the three kings must have followed to Bethlehem is only visible in the summertime. Astronomy: 1 Jesus: 0.

As an atheist, I can appreciate Christmas for what it really is: a celebration of friends, family, and traditions. When I'm decorating the tree, I don't give a shit if Mary and Joseph had a three-way with a goat in the manger. I enjoy it because the ornaments remind me of years gone by. When I see the crappy ornament that I made in Preschool 20 years ago, it brings a smile to this grizzled cynic's face. The Christmas songs don't make me long for a personal connection with my savior. They're the earliest songs that I ever knew the words to, and it's comforting to sing those ridiculously corny lyrics.

At least until they play them on the radio ten dozen times. For fuck's sake, give it a rest ye merry gentlemen!!

As for the increased commercialization of Christmas, I'm all for it. Santa is a much better mascot for Christmas than Jesus. If you're a bad little boy or girl, Santa just leaves you a lump of coal in your stocking. Jesus sends your ass to hell to burn for all eternity. Santa only demands milk and cookies. Jesus wants your money every week in the collection plate. Santa sits you on his lap and asks you what you want, and then he gives it to you. Jesus demands an obtuse series of prayers that may or may not be answered according to his whims because he works in mysterious ways.

That's why kids gravitate to Santa more than Jesus. He's a much more likeable guy.

I like Christmas in its current form. If you put religion back into Christmas, it's just going to fuck it all up. My boss is a pastor at a local church, and she's very dedicated to holiday traditions. I spent a full two weeks helping her to decorate her mansion of a house. I even decorated her ten-foot tall Christmas tree. All the while, she played Christmas songs almost every day. I also helped to make her weekly church bulletins, which were of course Christmas-themed. She gets a big kick out of every holiday tradition, whether it's religious or not; however, the religious crap always seems completely unrelated to anything else that happens at Christmas. But the Christmas story takes place in a desert in the Middle East. For crying out loud, there wasn't a pine tree for hundreds of miles!! And I have my doubts about there being egg nog or gingerbread cookies present, too.

If Christmas brings you closer to God, then that's great. But I think the whole season can be just as fun for the atheist. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go light our Christmas tree on fire, strip naked, and dance in the moonlight while worshipping the dark lord Satan.

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9 out of 10 readers find JP's comments offensive. The last reader is Jesus, and he's busy personally picking out a special place in Hell for JP.

Of Mice and Men and Cats

I have a mouse in my ceiling, and it's driving me crazy.

This is not the first mouse that I've had in my room recently. About a month ago, a mouse peeked out from under my bed late one night, which sent me into a frenzy. I ran out of the room, threw my freeloading cat into the room to take care of it, and shut her in with the mouse. I then went to find a broom, which I brandished like a lightsaber as I waited to see if the cat would take care of business.

Naturally, my worthless cat was perfectly content to paw at the little vermin and chase it around the room, but she wouldn't go in for the kill. The mouse escaped under my door, which caused me to squeal like a girl and bounce around the room in a comical fashion. My attempts to swat the mouse were futile. Frightened mice are surprisingly agile.

So like the coward that I am, I drafted my brother into the fight. This was, I might add, just after midnight, and he wasn't too pleased about the ruckus I was making. The two of us managed to corner the little critter and smack it with the broom.

If you're reading this and preparing to yell "ANIMAL CRUELTY!!" then you best just stop right now.

I have no love of mice. If they're in my space, they best be prepared to meet their rodent maker. You can imagine my mindset then when I discovered that something had chewed through and devoured almost half of the secretly-stashed Snickers bar that I was hiding on the top shelf of my closet. It didn't take a zoologist to deduce that a mouse was responsible. For over a year, the ceiling tile in my closet has been missing, so I figured the candy-raider had been using my closet as his own personal lunch buffet.

I quickly disposed of the offending Snickers bar, and I managed to craft a replacement ceiling tile for my closet. I couldn't find the mouse, and I really didn't want to find it. He was scurrying around somewhere above the suspended ceiling in our basement, so he had the high ground. Instead, I procured some mouse poison, and I stuffed a whole box of it up in my ceiling yesterday morning. I figured that would nail the little fucker.

Last night at about 2:30 in the morning as I was getting ready for bed (too much time spent Googling "Toaster fetish" I guess), I heard a distinct skittering in my ceiling. There was no doubt in my mind that Ralph had returned (sans motorcycle). I literally cackled with glee as I heard him head straight for where I'd planted the mouse poison. I figured he'd be dead within minutes. I'm a sick human being.

What I failed to realize is that mouse poison is slow-acting. I learned today that it could take up to four days for Ralph to kick the bucket. The dose of poison in each pellet is intentionally kept small so that the mouse will eat it. This did not bode well for the rest of my night. Not only was Ralph still alive, he apparently brought in his own stash of Mouse Meth because he was going ape-shit up in my ceiling. He was skittering all over the place. Not being a big fan of mice, and not being particularly convinced that the ceiling was completely sealed, I couldn't fall asleep.

It didn't help when I started hearing my cat going nuts out in the next room (Miss Cleo does NOT sleep with me very often... unless I decide that I WANT to wake up with claw marks in my abdomen). Apparently, Ralph was bolting across the ceiling into the next room and peeking out where a few ceiling tiles are missing. This was not pleasing Miss Cleo since she could clearly see her desired prey, but she couldn't get to him. Under different circumstances, I would have found this highly entertaining; Cleo leaping straight up into the air trying to jump into the ceiling is actually a pretty impressive-looking feat. Unfortunately, she's also incredibly loud. So I have a meth-head mouse darting around in my ceiling and an overzealous fatass cat believing she was fucking Batman. Sleep was not forthcoming.

Miss Cleo in rare action shot

I tried to go upstairs to sleep on the couch for a bit, but since my dad wakes up at 5:30 in the morning (these people with their legitimate jobs and lives), this was not a long-term solution. Fortunately, when I came back downstairs an hour later (keep in mind, it's now like 4:30 in the morning), the cat was sleeping on the chair, and Ralph must have crashed because I couldn't hear anything. I turned on the radio and drifted off to sleep around 5:30 a.m.

This morning, I went to the store and bought two more containers of mouse poison, and I put them in the ceiling as well. If Ralph is still alive, he won't be for long. What I love about mouse poison is the horiffically ironic death that it provides. The poison causes the mouse to get incredibly hungry, which causes the mouse to eat more poison.... which causes the mouse to eventually eat so much that he literally gorges himself to death. At least, that's what one website promised. That website was trying to garner sympathy for mice, but I rubbed my hands with delight knowing that the candy-pilfering, meth-popping mouse in my ceiling was going to meet a gruesome fate!

I don't like mice. Although they're not nearly as creepy as spiders and cockroaches, they still freak me out. I have no desire to see one in my room again. The sooner Ralph's corpse starts to stink up my ceiling the better! He should be dead by Christmas Eve.

Happy Holidays, Ralph! Rest in pieces you little bastard!

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I HATE THOSE MEECES TO PIECES!!!

And The Actual Retail Price Is...

Take a look at that!! Some poor shmuck got the showcase EXACTLY right. And if that weren't bad enough, the person he beat was only off by $494. That's like me hooking up a secret webcam in Angelina Jolie's shower only to see Batmite suddenly get in with her. There can be only one winner in each case.

Naturally, the man wins both showcases, and I'm happy for the guy. He looks like someone who's greatest thrill in life is finding an extra stick of deodorant in his sock drawer. After decades of mediocrity and failure, this old kook finally gets his moment to shine.

But who's there to bring the moment down? None other than funny-man Drew Carey. The contestant beat astronomical odds and did something that hasn't happened since the '70s, and you announce his victory in the same tone of voice as a doctor telling a patient that he has prostate cancer. You could barely contain your excitement on Whose Line is it Anyway? when Colin Mochrie won a billion fake-points for imitating an ostrich, but you can't even high-five the guy who got the Showcase EXACTLY right and was having the time of his life? You look like his winnings are coming directly out of your paycheck.

Drew Carey is a terrible host. I don't even watch the show all that much anymore because I have to put up with Carey's barely comprehensible directions and his complete lack of vocal inflection. He's the only game show host that I've ever seen who looks like he's doing his job against his will. Even Alex Trebek seems to get some joy out of heckling the socially-awkward geeks who appear on his show. Ben Stein had more charisma on Win Ben Stein's Money than you have on The Price is Right, and he actually WAS giving away his own money.

I'm happy for the hapless contestant. It's always fun to see something out of the ordinary happen on a game show. Too bad Drew Carey only gets his kicks from watching contestants fail miserably.

Now if someone could only win $50,000 at Plinko we'd have ourselves a day!

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Help control the pet population... eat a kitten!

Man of the Quarter-Century

Today was my birthday. I turned 25. I can now legally rent a car on my own.

Having a birthday so close to Christmas is not as big a deal as some people think. Since the Christmas season is already in full swing, relatives and friends are often in a very giving mood. My birthday is also a good trial run for any sub-par gifts that may have been purchased. Was my reaction to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sweater-vest less enthusiastic than you expected (though I don't know why it would be)? Well then, Christmas is only ten days away, and you can make up for it then. (Hint: earmuffs shaped like Spock ears)

This is actually the first year that I really got to celebrate my birthday on the actual day. For as long as I can remember, December 15th was the nexus for school-related obligations. In high school, the Christmas band concert fell on December 15th every year. In college, I always seemed to have a final either on my birthday or early the next day. College professors are notoriously hostile towards "I didn't want to because I was too busy eating cake" as an excuse for not showing up to a final.

The present I got this year was a nice new coat. It's black wool coat that actually makes me look like an adult. Fashionable folks may call it a pea-coat and label me a pretentious douchebag for having it. But I look fucking good in it, and I was sensible enough to avoid asking for a scarf or emo-glasses to complete the ensemble. The coat is from London Fog, and it's warm, comfortable, and stylish. The simple elegance of its sleek design belies the cozy warmth that only a genuine London Fog garment can provide.

[London Fog representatives can make their checks payable to "JP" for this endorsement.]

Part of the fun of celebrating a full quarter-century of living is taking stock of one's life. I can recall some major milestones:
1983: JP is born. Sales of joke books in Pittsburgh skyrocket as doctors hurry to find witty comments to make at the expense of the giant baby in the maternity ward.
1986: JP gets a Teddy Ruxpin for Christmas. The chilling voice of that cursed bear still haunts my dreams.
1988: JP goes to Kindergarten. Blames friend for breaking computer even though he was the one who put the disk in backwards - first sign of his complete lack of scruples.
1990: JP enters the new decade completely unaware that he wouldn't discover the awesomeness of 80s music for another decade.
1992: JP moves from Ford City to Kittanning. New town has same smell of failure as old town.
1996: JP enters puberty. Kleenex sales skyrocket.
1998: JP goes to high school. JP begins publishing his own "newspaper" to amuse his friends with such riveting stories as "Joe is Gay!" and "School Cafeteria Puts Poop in Chili." Maturity level has not improved in ten years.
2001: JP takes over band website. JP starts internet jijad with Ford City by making inappropriate comments about their band members and insinuating that their performances were subpar. I was a fucking rebel!!
2002: JP graduates high school -ranked tenth in high school class. Currently, JP is the only one in his high school top ten to be unemployed!
2002: JP goes to Penn State Erie for college. Decides to try to be an engineer. Realizes that being an engineer requires giving a shit about engineering. Drops out of program.
2003: JP choose "English" as his undergraduate major. In an attempt to prevent the horrible events that this choice will create, Future JP goes back in time and changes the Major Declaration form to read "Super-Lucrative Business," but a clerical error keeps the plan from working.
2004: JP kills God.
2006: JP creates THE UNDESIRABLE ELEMENT. The blogosphere trembles!
2007: JP is accosted by a hobo on the Rail Trail, foiled by the Morgantown traffic court, hit on by a gay man, and he discovers that the turducken exists.
2008: The year that THE UNDESIRABLE ELEMENT will start making millions of dollars in revenue!

That's a pretty sweet life. You don't need do-overs when you once owned a Teddy Ruxpin!

So while I hope that the next 25 years promises money-dollars, a few good jobs, and perhaps something resembling a wife (inflatable and/or Russian mail-order will suffice), I certainly won't knock the life I've already had.

But who knows? Maybe in the next 25 years, I'll lose enough weight to be able to safely jump out of an airplane. A man can dream!

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Portrait of a Blogger

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It Suits Me

Last night I went to see the River City Brass Band at Heinz Hall. Despite the aura of cultured sophistication that I exude, this is the first time that I'd ever gone to Heinz Hall, and it gave me a great excuse to dress up for the occasion.

I don't understand why so many men have an aversion to wearing a nice shirt and tie. Personally, I like the way I look in dress clothes and especially in a suit. It's one of the things I'm most looking forward to when I eventually find gainful employment. I can look good every day. I need a dress code because I have never had any sense of fashion; most of my clothes run the gamut from plaid to also-plaid. But formal clothes for men are simple, and I always look good in them. Last night, I wore a pair of black dress pants, a nice long-sleeved gray dress shirt, a blue tie. I even gelled my hair. It's not that Heinz Hall has a strict dress code, but in my day-to-day life as a lawn mower / church secretary / unemployed bum, I seldom have an excuse to pretend to be a cultured individual.

Truth be told, I find dress clothes to be exceptionally comfortable. Unless you shop at "CORDUROY AND POLYESTER UNLIMITED," most dress clothes are made of material that feels good against the skin. While I'm sure other people at the concert were uncomfortable with me rubbing my body while quietly moaning, "Ohhh, that feels nice," I thought it was a testament to the fine craftsmanship of my clothes.

The only thing I don't like about dressing up is the shoes. I can go to any shoe store in the country, and if I want some athletic shoes, the advertisements assure me that shoe scientists have made stunning breakthroughs in the cushioning and support of feet. My toes are always roomy and have plenty of wiggle-room. Dress shoes, however, are the shoe equivalent of a hard dining room chair. Sure it serves its function, but would a cushion and a proper shape have been too much to ask for? My black dress shoes squash my toes together in a very uncomfortable manner, and if I plan to walk for more than half a mile, I better be prepared to deal with blisters and callouses the next day.

Granted, that's probably what I get for buying a pair of $10 dress shoes, but even poor people want decent arch support, god dammit!!

My friend is getting married at the end of the month, and I'm actually IN the wedding, so I get the chance to wear the ultimate in men's formal wear: the tuxedo. Not only will I look good, I can bear a striking resemblance to the largest penguin in the Antarctic! And if I get shoes that are anything like the ones I have now, I'm sure I'll waddle around like one, too.

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Something's Been Bugging Me

From a very early age, I have had an unwavering hatred and fear of large insects. And even though arachnophiles may find fault with the technical definition, I'm lumping spiders into that group too. For accuracy's sake, let's just say I have a crippling fear of arthropods.

Large insects aren't my only phobia, but they creep me out the most. I haven't had enough experience with snakes to rule them out, so I'm not going to make a final judgment just yet. Mice make me jump around in a girlish manner, but it's not nearly the same sort of discomfort. But a creepy crawly with an exoskeleton and a penchant for traveling in a swarm is enough to make me want to live in a plastic bubble.

There are some insects that don't bother me much even if I'd prefer they don't exist. Little ones like flies, ladybugs, and some other friendlies are acceptable. Dragonflies give me pause because of their bizarre ability hover in the air like a hummingbird, but they're otherwise okay. I'm even understanding toward bees. Bees want nothing to do with people. If a bee wants to fuck up your day, it's only because YOU are the one who stumbled into his hive. Wasps are kind of the same way even though they hurt a lot more. Stinging insects tend to keep to themselves, and their behavior makes sense. If they get into your house, it's usually by accident, and they eagerly hover near a window wanting to get out.

Bigger bugs like spiders and cockroaches, on the other hand, are the deadbeat uncles of the arthropod family. They wander into your house, pick a damp corner, never leave, and mooch off of your food. (This is probably how Batmite's relatives currently view him.) Daddy-long-legs spiders are acceptable because they're about as harmless as a sprig of hair. But those big black hairy motherfuckers who love to scurry around the floor in the middle of the night when you're tired and on your way to take a leak need to be exterminated from the face of the planet. It's not that I'm afraid of getting bitten; they just freak me out! Cockroaches are the same way. They come out right when you don't want to deal with them. I never see a cockroach or a big spider when I'm wearing work gloves, a big pair of boots, and hanging out with someone else. I'm always alone, barefoot, and in my underwear.

No nightmare will keep me from a good night's sleep quite like a dream about dozens of spiders in my room. I once had a disturbingly realistic nightmare about dozens of spiders crawling all over me in my bed. I didn't sleep the rest of the night. Actually having a big bug in my room results in me brandishing a flyswatter or large broom like a katana blade while yelling at the bug as I try to work up the nerve to go kill it. You should see my victory dance after I've actually squashed one of the bastards. You would think I'd just taken down a cougar with a pen knife.

And this is how I deal with the relatively tame insects that are around Western Pennsylvania. I've heard tales from other parts of the country, and I swear to your fictional God, I'm never moving to the South!! I'd never be able to fall asleep.

On three separate occasions, people informed me of giant flying hissing cockroaches that have a love for landing in people's hair. They're common in Texas, Louisiana, and some other Southern states. The existence of this creature is proof enough of natural selection. No loving god would create such a organism. I mean, c'mon!! It's hisses AND flies... into your hair!!

Another guy I know rented a house in Arizona that had been unoccupied for a few months. Apparently, in Arizona one must fumigate frequently, and this house wasn't fumigated while it was vacant. The guy watched from outside as the exterminators fumigated the house, and SHEETS of cockroaches poured out of the house. It was RAINING cockroaches!!!

NO. Just.... no!

How about this little number from Japan:
I know I said that bees don't bother me, but I'd make an exception for our friend the Japanese Giant Hornet (aptly named). I also wouldn't mind if I never run into a swarm of killer bees in my lifetime. If I have to explain why I want to avoid KILLER BEES, then you clearly aren't understanding why the words "lethal" and "swarm" should sound so menacing when used together.

And while I'm covering the grotesquely giant critters:
Behold the Goliath Spider (again, appropriately named). It can eat a bird. Need I say more?

Seriously, I think I'd have a psychotic break if I ever encountered that thing in real life.

But these are not likely to be a part of my life anytime soon. I can barely handle the concept of having to deal with creepy crawlies getting into my house and confronting them by myself. What if I get a cockroach infestation when I'm living on my own? Am I just going to have a heart attack and die while the roaches feast on my carcass? Insects outnumber mankind by a wide margin. If they ever rise up to conquer us, I'm just swallowing a cyanide capsule and taking the coward's way out.

Say what you will about the bitter cold winters. At least they keep the bugs from growing to outrageous dimensions. You know that scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom where they have to go through the exotic bug cave? I'd never make it through. I'd rather have my still-beating heart ripped out by the religious zealot.

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