Evening, Guvna'

Above what you're reading now, you will no doubt have seen a British flag. It's a bit odd. None of my previous entries have had pictures. I just want to drive a point home with this one.

I'm British. I didn't choose to be British, but according to the British Embassy in Washington, DC, I was registered as a British citizen on October 3rd, 1991. There's nothing I can do about that, but we'll work through it. Together.

I bring this up because in the past year I've faced resistance to this notion. I've had people tell me that I'm as British as a Bolivian Botfly. That might have been from when I had a really bad trip and met Dr. Seuss, actually.

In any case, people have told me that I'm not British because I was born in Fairfax. I can kind of see some sort of diluted argument in there somewhere, but to defend myself, I'll call the aide of a fellow hockey player.



The large human being above is Robyn Regehr, a defenseman for the Calgary Flames. He was born in the Brazilian city of Recife. That's right. Brazil. Robyn has been a steady defensive defenseman for years on the Calgary blueline. So much so that he got the call for his national team at the 2006 Olympics in Torino.

He got an assist during his 6-game stint with Team Canada.

Wait what? Canada? This guy's Brazilian, right?

No. No he's not. He's Canadian. So is his brother Richie (who was born across the globe in Bundung, Indonesia). Both were born far outside of Canada's borders, but somehow they're still true blood Canadians. Could it be because of their two Canadian parents? What a novel fucking idea.

But for some people, this logic doesn't seem to translate over to my own experience. Both of my parents are British, but the fact that I was born in Fairfax suddenly nullifies any tea-drinking, cricket-playing, crumpet-eating Britishness. Is there a sub-rule to this rule? Do my parents need to be missionaries in countries less-developed than their own in order for me to inherit their nationalities?

I think not.

You might be asking yourself why I care so much. It seems like I'm just clinging to some random personal fact to give me something to brag about to a lot of you, I expect. It's not, though. It's pride; patriotism.

I'm proud that I'm British, just as other people in this country are proud of being American. I'm proud that I was raised to appreciate a brand of humor that is seen as hard to understand and high brow. I'm proud that my country has such a rich history filled with all of the romance and intrigue of a cheap erotic novel. I'm proud that, given enough time to decypher it, I can understand Cockney rhyming slang. And yes, I'm proud that, when called upon, I can speak in and sustain accents from all of the different corners of Britannia.

I haven't really gotten around to it, but I've often meant to ask the people who put my heritage into question why they're so insistent on putting me down. Is it really that annoying to hear me go on about it?

I'll remind you of that next time you mention you're half mexican.

All Men Were Born Equal

If this were in any different media outside of this blog, I would tell those of my readers who are easily offended to stay away. Since this is my blog, however, and the subject of the following entry becomes redundant when I tell certain people not to read it, I will advise everyone to follow through.


I am an Atheist, and a very proud one at that (I'm betting that that opening statement alone lost at least four or five people, which would prove my point perfectly). It sounds fairly condescending of me, certainly, but I'm proud in that I have looked at my death and said not "I hope I go somewhere nice when I'm dead and buried", but "I have one life to live and I'll be damned (figuratively, of course) if I waste it". I don't look at death with fear, I see it as a challenge.

I have grown up with the knowledge that someday I won't be able to write one of these entries; I won't be able to skate around an ice rink, the frigid air sweeping through my mane of hair; I won't be able to look into someone's eyes and tell them with all of my heart that I love them. With that knowledge, I have taken to thinking that hoping for anything better than that will absolutely not lead to disappointment. It sounds kind of odd, but I believe that if I'm right about everything, I'll never know it.

Now I bet you're wondering where this came from. I've tried to talk about a small little event and blow it out into a big picture for a comedic effect, but this one required a little bit of a preface.

I picked one helluva State to choose being an Atheist in. Texas seems to believe in the 3 Gs, which aren't the Gold, Glory, and God we were taught in History class. Instead it's Guns, God, and Guns again. I've never felt very comfortable talking about religion, because it kind of depresses me that some of my friends would spend their time worshipping something they've never seen before. It also kind of makes me uncomfortable when other people talk about religion in front of me, It mostly happens when people start talking about their church retreats and whatnot.

But despite this, I don't say a word. I should know better than most that people are entitled to their opinions. A lot of people would stop me there and say that I in fact don't know anything about that, and that I press my beliefs on people quite a bit, but I'd like to think that more than anything I play Devil's Advocate. If people are really that strong in their beliefs, then pressing them about just how strong they are about them can't really hurt. I may even change their minds and make life a little bit better for them. Of course, in doing so they could also enlighten me and show me that I'm wrong, which is all the better.

But I digress. You want a story. I am here to oblige.

The past few days, I've been told to stop talking about my religious beliefs, or lack thereof, so I don't end up hurt people's feelings. Because I don't want to open a can of worms that won't close with anything less than fists flying, I stop talking about it.

I'm left to ask why, though. Most of the times I've been told not to talk about my lack of religion, It is days, sometimes even hours, after someone's gone on about their youth group or something to that effect. If I wasn't so apathetic about what people say around me in relation to my feelings, I'd probably get my feelings hurt quite a bit. No one seems to care about that though.

So, once again, I've come up with a list of things to say to people when I lose my sense of decency.

-"I found religion. It was hidden under the two thousand or so years of social evolution."
-"If God loves me so much, he'd send a card on my birthday."
-"I love God! He's the one that decides if that groundhog saw his shadow or not every year, right?"
-"Hey guys, awesome Laser Light Show"
-"Stop it right now. This kind of conversation can only end badly, now get back to work."