Hairy Monkey Jesus

If you’ve read the news lately, you probably saw the story about Celia Gimenez, an “amateur” painting restorer in Spain who sought to touch up a century-old fresco of Jesus in the sanctuary of her church, and, instead, turned Jesus into what was described as “a crayon sketch of a very hairy monkey in an ill-fitting tunic.” 

Oh, friends.  I have to say that there is almost nothing in the world that has delighted me as much as Hairy Monkey Jesus.  Perhaps that’s because Gimenez was sincerely and genuinely attempting to restore the painting.  She just sucked.  I love the fact that she genuinely felt her talent was of a level that she could undertake this restoration.  Maybe she’s crazy.  Who knows. 

Here’s what I do know: a century old Jesus fresco is not that interesting.  First of all, nobody a century ago had a clue what Jesus looked like.  A century is a blink of an eye, and over 1900 years since Jesus lived, so it’s not like Elias Garcia Martinez, the painter, had a good clue what the J-man looked like, either.  He was probably looking at a Renaissance Jesus, and those Renaissance people didn’t have a clue either.  Monkey Jesus might be closer to what Jesus actually looked like.  They didn’t have conditioner in the first century, so I don’t know why Jesus’s locks are always so tamed.  By the way, I object to the use of the word “very” in describing how hairy of a monkey Jesus was in this picture.  I think Jesus looks like an averagely hairy monkey.

Second of all, there are already plenty of standard pictures of Jesus.  He’s all over paintings, things on vellum, bibles, bookmarks, grilled cheese, and prison tattoos.  We don’t have enough Hairy Monkey Jesuses.  I find this to be a view of Jesus that we don’t ordinarily see.  And why not?  What if Jesus really did resemble a very hairy monkey wearing an ill-fitting tunic?  He’d still be the son of God.  Jesus is supposed to live in our hearts and our actions.  Are we only capable of doing that if Jesus has suave hair and soulful, chestnut brown eyes?  Are we so small that we can’t accept Hairy Monkey Jesus? 

Third of all, What Would Jesus Do?  Jesus is the guy who washed lepers’ feet for fun.  He’s the one who said that the people who love and care for the sick and downtrodden will be assured a place in heaven.  Surely Jesus would include hairy monkey-men in this lot, no? Jesus would say to the world that his image is not his lasting legacy, right?  And while I get that all of us shouldn’t get out our acrylics and take to the nearest da Vinci, ultimately, I think this “restoration” allowed people to contemplate their own view of the things they consider holy, make their own decisions about what is art, and, if nothing else, have a good laugh.  I think Jesus would be cool with that. 

Summer Reading Reviews 2012

Ever since I finished the bar exam, I have been splurging on book-reading the way a crack head splurges on a big rock after he comes into a little cash. I’ve ranked the books I’ve read this summer from least awesome to most awesome. Now put down those ridiculous Fifty Shades of Grey books and read something decent.


Explosive Eighteen – Janet Evanovich – I got hooked on the Stephanie Plum series when they were actually adorable and mostly inoffensive. They are terrible now, and Janet Evanovich is probably going to go straight to hell for making so much money off of this shit. Horrible. Just horrible.

The Marriage Plot – Jeffrey Eugenides – This author won the Pulitzer Prize for his novel Middlesex, which I haven’t read. And likely will not, based on reading this one first. The book jacket promised that this novel would give us a modern exploration of the Jane Austen marriage ideal, and also give us characters that we cared about and followed in their post-undergrad lives. It gave us three characters. Cared about? Almost impossible. They were shallow to the point of transparency. They did things that made no sense, and made silly, profound speeches like characters on Dawson’s Creek. The book jacket promised us a novel about books. Yes, it mentioned a lot of books. It failed, almost completely, to marry (pardon the pun) the books into the lives of the characters. If you want to read a novel that is about being a modern work of literature, but still has coherent characters that are authentic, read Jonathan Franzen. You’ll be much more satisfied.

The Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet – Jamie Ford - People really loved this novel. It is a story that will tug at your heart. I didn’t love the writing. The dialogue seemed forced, and only one character (the main character, Henry) had any real depth. The remaining characters were archetypes that were either 100% good or 100% bad. The description of WWII Seattle, however, was nice. It was an interesting concept.

Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies – Seth Grahame Smith - These are two separate works of fiction by Seth Grahame Smith. Abraham Lincoln is an accounting of Lincoln’s true biography, but inserts Lincoln’s (obviously this is where the fiction comes in) exploits as a vampire hunter. Pride and Prejudice is similarly re-written to incorporate the Bennet girls’ exploits as zombie slayers. I can think of a million ways that these novels critique the literary field, our sacred cows, and revisionist history. I think Abraham Lincoln could have stood one more go round with a good editor, but Pride and Prejudice was almost as perfect as the original. I can’t wait to see what this guy does next.

In the Lake of the Woods – Tim O’Brien – One of the creepiest novels ever written. This is the story of a failed senate candidate whose wife disappears on a secluded Wisconsin lake, and the plot intertwines the hard reality of late twentieth century politics with the skewed reality of the Vietnam era. Half mystery, half exploration of the human mind, this novel will leave you wondering about how we see truth, and will also make you spend more time than you ever wanted pondering what a boiled houseplant would really look like.

Hocus Pocus – Kurt Vonnegut – One of Vonnegut’s last novels, and, to my mind, one of his absolute best. Vonnegut was as affected by his experiences in as a POW in World War II as O’Brien (author of In the Lake of the Woods) was affected by his experiences in Vietnam. Like O’Brien, Vonnegut’s works are all permeated with an invisible body count. In the case of Hocus Pocus, there is a very real body count, as well as a unicycle, an ice-skating escaped convict, a giant fish, and, potentially the most irredeemable Vonnegut Character ever created in Eugene Debs Hartke. Kurt Vonnegut didn’t believe in heaven, but I hope to God to meet him there one day. Brilliant.

Train – Pete Dexter – Do you remember how last summer I told you to read Spooner by Pete Dexter? Did you? You should. Just go to the library and get it. While you’re there, see if you can grab this one, too. But be prepared that, unlike Spooner, which had beauty and love and humor, this is typical Dexter fare – dark, dark, dark. But beautiful in its own way. This follows the story of two men in the racially segregated south, and deeply questions the ideas of destiny and self-determination. Like most Pete Dexter novels, this doesn’t have a happy ending, and it has several graphic and disturbing passages. But, like everything by Dexter, it is incredibly well-written, with a unique and authentic point of view.

Non-Bucket List

Everyone has a bucket list, but I think buckets are stupid. I hate that word. Bucket. Pail is a stupid word, too. I just call it “metal container.” We don’t need to be getting all fancy with our words. And why can’t we just carry our water in our hands, like our ancestors? In any event, people have a list of things they can cross off so, I guess they can die in peace. I, on the other hand, have a list of things that I need to avoid. None of these things are necessary, and if I die having not done them, I will die perfectly happy. Here goes:


• Visiting each of the 50 states. There are some states that are worthless. Nobody needs to visit them, including the people who live there. I mean, does anyone really even live in Delaware?
• Skydiving. I think that going up in a perfectly functioning airplane is a terrible idea, so you damn well know that jumping out of one is not high on my list.
• That goes for flying in a helicopter as well. Helicopters seem to be made for one purpose: crashing horrifically. Also: getting blown up in Vietnam movies.
• Learning another language. I suck at the languages I already know.
• Sailing around the world. Seems like a lot of work. Also: pirates.
• Swimming with dolphins. Dolphins are just rats with fins, blowholes, adorable stubby noses, swishy tails, rubbery skin, and cute smiley mouths.
• Running with the bulls. You know who runs with bulls? Assholes.
• Shaking hands with the President. I don’t believe in shaking hands with foreigners.
• Witnessing a solar eclipse. Why would I want to do that? It is a scientifically proven fact that staring at the sun totally blows.
• Reading the complete works of Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, James Joyce or Shakespeare. If I want to read something I can’t understand, I will read the owner’s manual for my vacuum cleaner. At least that has pictures.
• Anything related to Ohio State, e.g., getting married on the Block O, dotting the “i” in script Ohio, attending all football games in one season, etc. Ohio State fans are nutty.
• Doing anything related to China. Great Wall, Mark Pi’s, Mann’s Chinese Theater, Chinese fire drill – no thank you. Those non-smiling Chinese Olympic divers spoiled it all for me. Thanks a lot, Chen Ruolin!
• Taking a road trip across the country. As I grow older, I have come to the conclusion that American roads are full of annoying Americans, who are either driving twenty miles under the speed limit or thirty miles over it.
• Camping. Sleeping on the ground is for poor people.
• Standing on the equator or the prime meridian or that place where you can be in four states at once. That’s okay. I’ll just stand here (points at feet.)
• Learning all of the constellations/countries of the world/state capitals/names of the 7 dwarfs, etc. I have already crammed more than my fair share of completely useless shit into my brain. I don’t need anything else in there.
• Writing a song and singing it to someone. Here’s a better idea: sending someone a link to a much better song that someone else wrote. You’re welcome.

Best Olympic Athletes 1972 - 2008

Guess what?  I love the Olympics even more than the last time I told you I loved the Olympics.  I got the fever, people.  So, in honor of the feats of athleticism that are happening as we speak, I humbly offer the greatest Olympians of my era.  I happen to be thoroughly biased in favor of Americans, so to be fair, for each Olympics game, I created two “best of” categories: best American, and best in the rest of the world.  Let’s see how this goes: 

1972 – Munich

Best American – Mark Spitz, swimming. Dashing porn moustache, Amazing medal winning machine, and in a speedo! 
Best World – The Olympic Spirit – The tragic massacre of eleven members of the Israeli team was the blackest event in Olympic history.  Officials were faced with a horrible choice: either call off the remainder of the games to honor those who died, or continue the games to honor those who died. Ultimately, the Olympic committee determined that the games were a way to allow the athletes to support each other in their loss of fellow Olympic comrades, and to let the world heal together through the unity of sport. 

1976 – Montreal

Best American – Bruuuuuuuce.  Jenner, that is, decathlon.  This was back in the day when the decathlon was the thing.  Jenner, the best athlete in the world, also had the best hair in the world.  What in the hell happened?   
Best World – Nadia Comanici, gymnastics, Romania.  Fourteen years old, pigtailed, and the inspiration for the theme to the soap opera The Young and the Restless.  Look it up!  Lovely and spritely, she was coached by Bela Karolyi, the most colorful figure in all of gymnastics. He can make a person with a broken leg do a vault! 

1980 - Moscow

Best American – Psych!  The United States boycotted these games, which, for the record, I think sucks.  The Olympics are not about politics, they are about the fellowship of sport.  You suck, USA!
Best World – How in the hell would I know? I don’t even think they showed the games in the United States.  Seriously, you suck, USA!!!

1984 – Los Angeles

Best American – Joan Benoit, marathon.  And you’re like, “What?  Not Mary Lou? Not the men’s gymnastics team?”  No.  Joan is my freaking hero, guys.  She is the coolest, chillest runner ever. This was the first time there was a marathon for women. Before this, the marathon was considered “unhealthy” for women...because our uteruses fall out when we run and stuff.  Runner up: Carl Lewis.  He competed in, like, 30 events!  Long jump, all the relays, high jump, moose-hunting, rhythm gymnastics – you couldn’t escape his awesomeness. 
Best World – Nawel El Moutawakel, track and field, Morocco.  She was the first female Olympian in a Muslim nation to win a medal, and also won the first gold medal for Morocco.  You go, girl!

1988 – Seoul

Best American – Florence Griffith Joyner, track and field.  Oh, Flo Jo, you rocked it out with your diva nails and your Diana Ross fro.  Your makeup was impeccable too.  This woman did not come to the games to have fun, she didn’t come to play around. She came to dominate, and you know if she didn’t go home with the medals she wanted, she was going to start kicking shit. 
Best World – Jenny Sjowall, archery, Sweden.  Okay guys, she’s a friend of mine, so naturally, I think she’s the best.  She came in fifth in the women’s archery competition, but if there had been a congeniality award, I am certain she would have won.  Also, secret fact about Swedish Olympian Jenny Sjowall: she has better luck than anyone I’ve ever met.  If you need a winning lotto ticket, have Jenny buy it.

1992 – Barcelona

Best American – Magic Johnson, basketball.  Johnson openly acknowledged in 1991 that he had HIV, which was still, at that point, considered a death sentence.  He did more to provoke discussion about AIDS and “is it okay to play sports/work/hug a co-worker with AIDS?” than probably anyone else in the world, just by being upfront about his disease, and stating that life was going to move on.  His absolute JOY at playing on the Dream Team, and winning gold wasn’t just a moment for that particular Olympics, it was a moment for all Olympics. 
Best World – Derek Redmond, track and field, Great Britain.  In the semi-finals for the 400 meter run, Redmond tore a hamstring.  Despite his injury, he stood up, to complete his lap, to honor the hard work and sacrifices that he and so many in his life had made to get him to that point. Overcome with pain and disappointment, it looked like Redmond was not going to make it to the end until his father came to the track, and putting his arms around his son’s shoulders, helped him cross the finish line. Beautiful.

1996 – Atlanta

Best American – Michael Johnson, track and field.  Hands down.  On paper, and even looking at it as he ran, upright, chest up, shoulders back and arms pumping like the dickens, his style shouldn’t have worked. But it worked, and it was so special that people continue to talk about it, and him. 
Best World – Richard Jewell – A security guard at the games, Jewell is credited for saving countless lives by quickly reporting the suspected pipe bomb and evacuating as many people as possible to safety before it exploded.  His reward?  He was labeled a “person of interest” and skewered by the media and the always-brilliant American public before being cleared.  The FBI did not apologize for nearly a year, and Jewell died tragically young of kidney disease. 

2000 - Sydney

Best American – Venus Williams, tennis. I love both of the Williams sisters, but Venus is unquestionably my favorite. In 2000, she won gold in BOTH singles AND doubles.  And this was just after winning the singles and doubles titles at Wimbledon in July! 
Best World – Eric Moussambani, swimming, Equatorial Guinea.  Watch this video.  If that doesn’t make you want to give an Olympic hopeful all of the cash in your wallet, you are a hard, hard soul.  Apparently not every Olympic in the games is competitive, but obviously the goal is to bring the world together in sport, so if nations can raise the cash, they can send an athlete.  Moussambani had only ever been able to practice on a 25 meter pool (Olympic distance is 50), and as you can see, it was kind of questionable if he was even going to make it.  But his triumphant spirit helped him through, and more importantly, the crowd, and the world, realized that THIS was why we watched the games.

2004 – Athens

Best American – Mariel Zagunis, fencing.  Who cares about fencing?  All of America, when this 19 year-old, who got into the Olympics because Nigeria decided not to send their qualifying athlete, stormed to gold.  She was also the flag-bearer for the United States in this year’s London Olympics.  You know who votes for flag bearer?  The other athletes.  So she seems like an ass-kicker both in fencing and in niceness. 
Best World – Vanderlei de Lima, marathon, Brazil.  In a turn of events conceivable only in the movies, de Lima was leading the men’s marathon at about the 19 mile mark when he was GRABBED and DRAGGED INTO THE CROWD by – I am not even lying here – an IRISH PRIEST!  Why? Who knows.  But de Lima was able to recover and take the bronze.  That takes some freaking guts. 

2008 – Beijing

Best American – Michael Phelps, swimming – I realize that I am sort of unnecessarily obsessed with Phelps’s underbite, lateral lisp, and angry eyebrows, but aside from all of that, this guy has the eye of the tiger.  His rebel yell after the men beat the French in the 4 x 100 free is one of the most pure moments in sport (two fist pounds and a peace sign to Jason Lezak for winning that thing).  USA! USA!
Best World – Usain Bolt, Jamaica, track and field.  The dude had enough power to set a world record with an untied shoelace and an early celebration in the 100 meter, and set another record in a headwind in the 200. His relay team also took gold.  The Lord loves a winner.  I might have just made that up.  I’m sure it’s true, though.      
Medal of Honor: Shawn Crawford, track and field, USA.  Although he came in fourth, Crawford took the silver in the men’s 200 meter sprint after the second and third place finishers were disqualified. Crawford sent his medal to the disqualified second-place finisher with a note saying that he didn’t deserve the medal.  Seriously.  You go, kiddo. 

Seven Weeks with Skye

When I took time off of work to study for the bar exam, I knew that being home for seven weeks with my dog Skye was going to be an interesting situation, if only for the fact that I am still, 18 months after bringing her into my home, allergic to her. That crap that people give you about, “You get used to it,” is the greatest bullshit on earth. But, whatever, allergy medicine helps. What it doesn’t help is my other big problem, which is my need to be left alone. It’s not like I could give Skye a couple of bucks and tell her to go to the mall for a few hours. I would never let her drive on the freeway! And there was no point in me leaving the house because that would make me encounter people who bother me more than her. So I was stuck with the dog for seven weeks.


As it turns out, those seven weeks were our bonding time. In the first week, nothing was really different. Skye and I are both independent girls, so she had her friends (a group of stuffed animals named Tweety, Brown Dog, and Nathan), and I had my friends (my books and tears). Aside from walking her in the morning and evening and her hanging out with me when I finally flipped on the TV around 9 at night, we did our own thing. But as the weeks began to roll by, our agendas began to merge. By the end, she was literally with me 24 hours a day. We started our morning together with a walk, and then, as I made the coffee and dosed myself with allergy medicine, she waited patiently at the back door. As the sun began to lighten the sky, we sat on the back porch, me studying, Skye keeping watch for the squirrels and birds that had the nerve to want to invade our yard. At first, I thought her attacks on the birds and squirrels were because she thought they looked delicious, but after a time, I realized that she was protecting our house, and me, from what she saw as an enemy. The only thing that Skye wants to kill is cats, and that’s only because she obviously thinks they are assholes. Birds and squirrels, however, she just wants gone.

As the morning wore on, Skye would take a nap on the porch, and then awaken, and stand on my books and outlines, signaling me to take a break and play ball with her. She totally does not understand the rules of soccer. Instead, she would just grab the ball between her teeth and wait for me to spin her around, helicopter style, while she held onto the ball. I, on the other hand, scored a LOT of goals on her. Don’t think I didn’t rub her face in that. Dogs should never play goalie.

Later in the day, we’d move inside. She’d find a spot on the couch and snooze out again, until late afternoon, when it was time for another walk and chowtime. As the summer wore on, we became so close that I started taking her on errands, something I hate to do because she is a hairy beast, and vacuuming my car is a pain in the ass. We began to have conversations. Here is an example:

Me: “Skye, I am worried that Ted is a demonic teddy bear.” (Ted was either a stuffed teddy bear that my son had abandoned in the black hole of his bedroom OR a disguised demon that was probably going to murder me in my sleep.)

Skye: blank stare.

Me: “Skye, if Ted is a demon, you need to hide him. If you’re trying to tell me he’s a demon by bringing him down here into the living room, I am not getting the hint. Hide him under my bed if he’s a demon.”

Skye: blank stare.

For the record, Ted is probably not a demon. But if I end up murdered in my sleep, you all know who did it.

We had really good conversations, me and Skye, only occasionally punctuated by me making fun of her inability to type, incompetence in using the backdoor key, or for her obsession with smelling her own farts. We only really got in one fight, and just between us, she was probably right on that one.

The best thing, though, about being with Skye, was the way she let me know that everything was going to be okay. Living with anxiety and studying for the bar are incompatible things, but just when I needed her, Skye would do something amazing. One morning, I was pacing around the house, muttering rule statements to myself and freaking out, and when I looked up, Skye was just sitting there, calmly watching me. She then gave me a little Shiba grin, to let me know that everything was going to be okay, and suddenly, I felt like it would be. Another day, I was sitting on the couch, practicing multiple choice questions and freaking out, and from her perch on the back of the couch, Skye just put her little paw on my shoulder and left it there. And things instantly felt better.

I felt about the same leaving her at the door on my first day back to work as I felt leaving my now-grown son at daycare for the first time, but I’m so glad that we had our time together. Not just because Skye was a great comfort for me when I was studying, but because I got the chance, over and over again, to see her beautiful little dog soul.  Good dog, Skye.  Good dog.