Conversations with Ben

I have a friend named Benito that I've known for quite a while and he really is a unique character. I regularly have conversations with him that leave me scratching my head and wondering afterwards. I'm not sure that his brand of strangeness can be translated through the blogosphere, but I thought I'd share a story or two and see how it goes. In order to protect his identity, I've decided to call him "Ben."

So Ben is a security guard for an office building in midtown. Some time ago, he told me that he was going to get his Armed Guard license, as this would mean better money and opportunities in his chosen career. The thought of this guy legally carrying a gun is a frightening prospect, however the conversation I had with him about it shows that its likelihood is basically nil.
Ben explained the process to me: he needed to have an interview or two with some official, then he would submit an application for the appropriate gun license. It takes two months to process these applications, and on approval, the applicant has sixty days from receipt of his or her license to acquire a regulation firearm or that person must begin the process all over again.
"And that, Reggie," he said ominously, "that's what's gonna fuck me."
I was puzzled about what he meant, so I asked, "What, do you think you won't get approved?"
"No, no, no," said Ben, hurriedly, "I shouldn't have any problem getting a license."
"So what's the problem?" I wondered aloud, "Are you worried about not having the money to get a gun?"
"No, I already have the money," explained Ben, "I know which one I want. A .45 Magnum, something with stopping power." (Yikes!)
I was really confused. "So what is it, Ben? What's the problem here?"
Ben was very serious when he said, "I'm afraid I'll forget to get the gun in time once I get the license."
I had to stop and think over what he said. Ben's worry was that, in a two month window of time, he would forget to get a firearm. After being prompted by receipt of a license. This, after a long application process and background check.
"Ben," I said, incredulously, "worrying about forgetting is practically the definition of remembering something!"
Ben was quiet for a moment, then said, "Well yeah, but you know me."

Only too well, Ben.

We only had one other conversation about him becoming an armed guard that I can remember, where I tried to impress upon him the importance of keeping the weapon holstered except under dire circumstances. Ben is definitely the kind of guy that would use his gun to crack walnuts or to threaten a slow fast food worker when he's hungry. Ben is kind of a loose cannon, prone to violent outbursts from time to time.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, Reggie," he assured me, "I hope I never have to use my gun for my entire career. I plan on keeping it either in my waist or ankle holster." I did a mental double-take.
"Ankle holster?" I said, "Are you planning on working undercover for the CIA at any point, Ben?"
"Well no, but it's a good place to keep a weapon," explained Ben.
"Yes, the ankle holster is great, Ben," I said, wearily, "if you plan on being subdued by captors and want to fake unconsciousness until such time that you can pull your secreted weapon. I don't see how a security guard would ever need this.
"Furthermore," I continued, "how do you plan on keeping a Colt .45 Magnum at your ankle?" For the uninitiated, the .45 is a relatively large handgun, not something you would stash in your ankle holster. Clint Eastwood regularly carried a Colt .45 in his Westerns, though with a longer barrel than usual.
Ben seemed stumped for a minute, then suddenly replied, "Well, maybe I'll saw off the barrel."

Great. Ben wants to carry a sawed-off .45 handgun at his ankle. Please, God, don't let him ever get a gun, lest he blow someone's face or his own foot off.

Kosher, kosher! That's what they're yelling

I consider myself a pretty tolerant, modern kind of guy. I don't begrudge people their personal choices and preferences. You're a guy that likes to tuck his penis between his legs and dress up like Marilyn Monroe? More power to you. Enjoy eating deep-fried lard balls and Tollhouse chocolate chips? Eat and be merry. Getting your ethical and moral direction from an out-of-touch recluse halfway around the world that protects and defends a group of boy-touchers? Hey, it could be worse. You could be listening to the wisdom of Maury Povich.
But just for the purposes of classification, we have to draw the line somewhere. We have to, as a society, say that one direction is up and the other is down, lest we start flying subway cars through the air and riding airplanes underground. So I'm taking a stand, right here, right now, against a group of people that claim to be one thing but behave in in the reverse. What I am trying to say is: if you're not keeping a kosher house, then you're not Jewish.
I don't think this is a lot to ask. I can understand that you don't want to wear a yarmulke in public. Those things are uncomfortable and can ruin a nice, expensive haircut. You don't want to observe Shabbat, and I don't blame you. It's the weekend, you've got things to do, and damn it all if you can't enjoy "party night." But if you're not observing any kosher laws, then I have to wonder why you're bothering with Judaism at all. Is it the fun of getting to attend the circumcision ritual, known as a Bris? Perhaps it is the flavorless matzoh crackers you eat during Passover (aka "Jewish Easter"). I mean, observing only holidays and wearing approved dress only in a house of worship...that's just being an American Christian. The only thing separating non-kosher Jews and American Christians is that non-kosjer Jews don't run politics. Hannukah is already an abomination of what it was supposed to be, people might as well light up nine X-mas trees for all the days of Hannukah and celebrate with spiral ham and gravy. That would be fine with me, I'd still consider you Jewish. As long as the spiral ham was kosher turkey ham, by YHVH!
I don't expect that my stance will be very popular with the free-love sector, and to be honest, I don't care. It's kooks like you that are allowing all kinds of perverts and weirdos to roam around our metropolitan areas. Yeah, I'm a pretty liberal guy, but I can smell complete and total bullshit when it's near me. I'm looking at you, Jews for Jesus!

It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you

Let me apologize for the past week and a half that this blog was unavaible. I know many of you sprained your index fingers refreshing the page every thirty seconds, waiting and hoping for some small missive or piece of information from Yours Truly. Well, let me say that rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I was only spiritually dead, being that I was unable to provide blog information for my millions of devoted fans/ minions. Well, it was not without reason.
The atmosphere was strange here at the Philaflava head office a couple of weeks ago. Andvil was pacing around the water cooler, reciting entire scenes from Nightmares, vacillating between several roles and stories from within the movie. On Tuesday, Mindbender Futurama had switched from his usual daily bag of Swedish Fish to Swedish Fish: Aqualife, and he had never changed the routine before. And webmaster Jason Gloss was holed up in his office on Wednesday, wearing a foam ten-gallon hat and firing a .45 caliber revolver at Tony Danza while watching The Tony Danza Show. This, in itself, wasn't unusual, except for the fact that he was stone cold sober at the time! Even the ladies down in the secretarial pool knew something was about to give.
I guess it was around nine or ten in the morning on March 1st that things started to go wrong. The company KISS pinball machine started going haywire and gave out multiballs with no apparent rhyme or reason. Cleanhobo's desk toy (a San Diego Padres mascot stress toy) sat in Cleanhobo's chair and began reciting the entire Book of Mormon. I, myself, tried all morning to connect to the office former New York City mayor Rudolph Giuliani, but somehow the wires were crossed and I kept getting connected to Adolph Lusinsky instead. And then, IT happened.
The entire building was sucked into either an inter-dimensional vortex or a flat out time warp.
And so we've spent the last week and a half rebuilding Philaflava. Most of the employees were retrievable through your standard Matter Transporter a la Seth Brundle's machine in The Fly (except, curiously, for Employee). Several others were genetically reconstituted using strands of DNA culled from various area rest rooms. The positions were simply re-staffed from the usual pool of high school drop outs and convicted pedophiles. But the end result is: we're back! And better than ever with a brand new url. So please check us out regularly, your hits help us finance the rebuilding of the Philaflava offices, which must be made of solid gold and fish tank gravel, per Jason Gloss' strict specifications.