We were relaxing on the front porch the other night, enjoying the cool evening air and a little quiet family time when, completely unbidden, a "Yo Mama" joke popped into my head. I shared it aloud because I think everyone enjoys a good "Yo Mama" joke, and because I didn't think the kids would have heard too many of them.

Boy was I wrong! Within five minutes, both the kids had rattled off more "Yo Mama" jokes than I could remember, and most of them were actually quite funny.

To my surprise, Tess shared that she has a "Yo Mama" widget on her iGoogle home page! It turns out that the boys in her class execute old school snaps competitions, where they stand opposite one another and rattle off "Yo Mama" insults to the delight of the onlooking crowd. To make sure she stays up to date, Tess reviews the "Yo Mama" joke of the day every day.

Do please share your favorite "Yo Mama" jokes in the comments, so I can share them back with the kids!

Saturday I went to the Columbus Brewing Company's Big Brew. CBC mashed a large quantity of wort (using an East India Pale Ale recipe) and gave it away for free to homebrewers that showed up. The homebrewers were encouraged to boil the wort in the CBC parking lot using their own equipment, and a potluck lunch was planned for after the beer-making.

In all, about 40 people showed up. There was a huge assortment of equipment on display, as each homebrewer had a slightly different setup. Some guys used plain stockpots, some guys used dedicated brew kettles with outlets and thermometers, and some guys used converted kegs ("keggles"). Some guys took gravity readings before and after the boil, some guys used spectrometers, and some (like myself) only took a single post-boil reading. I saw several styles of immersion chillers, counterflow chillers, and more.

I followed the hop schedule from the recipe, but lots of guys went off-recipe. I used pellet hops, but others used whole leaf. Some added malto-dextrine, some added other stuff I didn't catch. It was really interesting to see so many different techniques for producing essentially the same result: beer.

Most of the brewers were members of the Scioto, Olentangy and Darby Zymurgists club. I've been on the mailing list for some time, and have learned a lot from simply watching the dialog between more experienced brewers. It was particularly reassuring to me to see so many of these more experienced brewers at the Big Brew doing the same stuff I do. It's not that I think I'm deficient in my brewing -- rather, it's nice to know that these more experienced brewers don't have any specific tricks or techniques unknown to me.

My post-boil beer had an original gravity of 1.072, so it should be a pretty healthy beer. I'm looking forward to kegging and dry hopping it. I don't know if I'll be able to be patient enough to let this condition for the recommended several months before drinking it!

I read this morning about Elmer E. Ellsworth, the first Union officer killed in the Civil War. While once a household name ("Remember Ellsworth!"), his legacy was brief and only academicians and historians are likely to remember him now.

The Calvin and Hobbes strip above seemed particularly apropos today.

I've been contemplating my own mortality a lot, lately, and wondering what sort of legacy I might leave behind.

My friend Pete committed suicide.

Pete had long struggled with demons. He had been hospitalized several times throughout his life for various reasons, all ultimately resulting from his bipolar or depression.

Pete was the first person I knew who had any sort of real emotional or mental disorder. Prior to meeting him, all of my understanding of depression and bipolar disorder was purely academic. As such, it was all too easy for me to dismiss these problems as just lack of will, or some other such shortcoming. "Just get over it," was the kind of thing I'd say, because I couldn't understand how anyone could not get over it.

Pete made real for me all the complexities of depression, and bipolar. I saw him struggle, saw him in pain, and I realized that there was something fundamentally different about him. His brain simply worked differently, and it was he who made me realize that some people really do need medication to live a so-called normal life.

During his manic periods, Pete was an absolute blast to be with -- we could spend hours doing anything and everything. He was creative, witty, and energetic. We'd drive around town, being loud and silly in his car; or we'd hang out in his room making stupid movies with his video camera; or we'd just waste time until we could watch Letterman. I don't recall ever being bored around Pete.

During his down periods, Pete was still an interesting person to be with. Brooding and morose, he was still an intelligent person, and we'd have long conversations about all manner of things. I tried hard through the years to show to him that I was here for him, in whatever capacity he needed. I tried to explain that he was important to me -- valued by me -- and that my life was richer for his presence in it.

After we graduated from high school, Pete went away to college, at Allegheny. I made a road trip out to visit him one weekend. It was a fun weekend, and Pete seemed well, though not great. The next year he came back to Columbus, and enrolled at OSU. He struggled, and eventually dropped out. He drank a lot of beer, and was generally a recluse. He increasingly spoke about killing himself, and made several plans to go through with it. I specifically remember a conversation I had with him at his apartment. He was explaining to me how unhappy he was, and how he wanted out from all of the suffering, and struggling. I looked at him square in the eye and said, "Pete, you mean a lot to me. I don't want to stand over your grave." I think maybe he thought this was a selfish thing for me to say, but it wasn't meant to be selfish at all: Pete made my world -- and therefore the world in general -- a better, richer place.

I saw Pete only a handful of times, after that. My job had me travelling a lot, and we slowly drifted apart. He didn't venture out much. I asked about him amongst my friends, but he'd pretty much pulled back from the world. Somewhere along the way -- some how -- he got married to a young woman from the class behind us at high school. I was happy for him.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the marriage didn't last long. I don't doubt that it must have been hard to be married to Pete. I found out that they never officially divorced, because Pete didn't have the stength to go to the courthouse to finalize the deal. Pete knew his limitations, and spent his entire life making a safe little nest for himself, from which he seldom ventured far. The divorce proceedings were too far outside of his comfort zone, so he never went there. He moved back in with his dad.

In the last years of his life, Pete began to venture forth, a little at a time. He contacted a few of the old crew from high school, and let them know that it was okay for them to call him. Tom invited Pete to a cookout one fine summer evening, and to everyone's surprise he showed up. That was the first time in almost a decade that I saw Pete. It was wonderful, even if I did make things uncomfortable by not knowing the details about his separation or the death of his mother the previous year. Pete was back, amongst the people who cared about him.

I invited Pete to the infrequent movie parties I hosted, knowing his affection for Mystery Science Theater. He joined us on several occasions, cracking jokes and making the entire evening more pleasant. I still marvel at what a delightful person he was.

I asked Pete to meet me for dinner one night, not long after my mom died. Knowing that he had lost his mother, I had hoped to sidle up to the topic of grief, and how to deal with it. I never really got around to it, because I was having such a nice time just reconnecting with him, one on one. He was honest, and open, and I saw the Pete I remembered from so many years ago. We laughed, and I think we both had a really good time. Then, the next weekend, Pete invited me to the movies with him and Jay.

And the next day he killed himself.

I'm torn. I miss him terribly, and I'm so sad that he felt that that was the only way to deal with his pain. I can't pretend to understand how hard his fight must have been. And in that sense, I'm truly glad that he's found peace, and is free from the pain and suffering.

I've been depressed in my life. I've had long stretches of unhappiness and sorrow and angst. I often marvel that I wasn't medicated as a kid because I was so often emotionally unstable. I also marvel quite often at how different my adulthood has been from what I expected when I was a teenager: I genuinely appreciate and fiercely value who I am today and what I've been able to do with my life.

I was the best man at my friend Scott's wedding, some number of years ago. As I stood with Scott on a small balcony in the final moments before we entered the hall, I was overcome with a profound sense of serenity. Through all the anguish and torment and frustration of my youth, there I was with a very good friend, sharing a special moment and the beginning of a new life for him. I remember quite clearly feeling saddened that I couldn't eloquently voice the feelings I had that this was worth the struggle. This was the joy and happiness and sublime, subtle reward for the struggles of an unhappy youth.

I can't imagine living in a world where that reward wasn't present, and might never be realized.

I miss you, Pete.

I was raised Catholic, though I haven't been practicing for a long time. I've memorized most of the worship service, and usually entertain myself in mass by following along with the priest. Like most Catholics, my participation in mass is from rote memory, and most of my verbal recitations are lackluster monotones. At mass on Christmas Eve this year, I realized that everyone was reciting in lackluster monotone, even those statements which should be full of enthusiasm and energy. The response "And peace be with you", for example, had no emotion whatsoever. Here's a wonderful sentiment: peace be with you! May your life be filled with peace! And yet we're all repeating it back to the priest -- and to one another -- with the same energy we might recite our home address.

It seems like much of Catholicism is lackluster, the more I think about it. The Catholic homilies I've heard are, on the whole, dry. Even when the homily may be interesting, I don't think I can recall a single homily that I could honestly describe as "passionate". I admit, though, that my experiences with Catholicism are limited: I've only attended services at a handful of churches; so there may well be a very upbeat and enthusiastic parish somewhere.

I attended an Episcopal church for about a year. The priest there was lively and energetic. He described Episcopal services as "Catholic Lite", and on the whole I tend to agree with that assessment. His homilies were full of energy, and he shared a great deal of his personal experiences in his homilies. I learned to appreciate the Bible readings in a new light, and while the recitations from the congregation weren't full of energy, they weren't completely lackluster either.

I attended my first bar mitzvah a while back. This was also the first Jewish service of any sort that I'd ever attended. It was an educational experience, and I'm really glad I had the opportunity to see another faith expressing their beliefs. There was a remarkable amount of ritual in the service, much of which seemed to be done by rote from those in attendance. The two things that most struck me, though, were the rabbi's interpretation of the story read from the Torah, and the printed Torah in each pew. The rabbi did an absolutely stellar job of relating the story of Joseph to modern life. His remarks were engaging and candid. His presentation was lively. The Torah in each pew, though, was really something else. On each page was the text of the Torah in Hebrew and English, along with detailed interpretations of each passage from Jewish scholars, making the stories much more interesting to read.

(Since I don't understand Hebrew, and most of the service was in Hebrew, I busied myself reading the scholarly interpretations of the various Torah stories. There were linguistic analyses, historical analyses, and multiple interpretations. The whole thing was absolutely fascinating, and far more informative -- intellectually to me as an "outsider", but also substantively to those of the faith -- than most anything I've seen or experienced in a Catholic Bible.)

I don't have any real insight to share, here, other than how boring so much of Catholic mass is. I understand the social significance of ritual, and repeated actions as teaching mechanism; but the wooden nature of Catholic service is really depressing, the more I think about it. Growing up Catholic, I never really took the time to open my eyes (and ears) to the discrepancy between the themes of the service and the presentation of those themes.