Breaking in the Ranks: Or How to Irritate a Known Wanna-be American Terrorist

WARNING: Not for ultra-liberal PC sticklers. This is filled with non-PC talk and is quite offensive.

There is a man who has been featured in an HBO documentary about the fringe right-wing crowd that wants to blow up abortion clinics. He admittedly, in the film, wants to seek out the more “terroristic” (sic) sides of the anti-abortion movement. This guy is a complete moron. You would ask yourself, “who could be dumber than this guy?”

There is an answer. A man named Lloyd Johnsonius. A straight-shooting neo-con that I met on online. What is admirable about Lloyd is that he doesn’t hide or sugarcoat the facts about neo-conservatism. He tells it like it is. He comes off in an honest way about his hatred of the poor, his disrespect and contempt for minorities, his respect of the wealthiest 1% and their socioeconomic superiority over the rest of the world, and won’t beat around the bush when it comes to admitting that he thinks Muslims are less than people. Most neo-cons hold these beliefs but aren’t honest about them publicly.

That is why Lloyd is special. What follows is a brilliant debate between one Lloyd Johnsonius and an unnamed terrorist wanna-be.

Unnamed Terrorist Wanna-be: Somebody got creative on YouTube… What can I say except praise God that the people who love babykilling feel that I am a threat. This is a perfect example of Solomon’s proverb, “the wicked flee when no man pursues.”

Lloyd Johnsonius: Holy Cow! I saw you on tv. Too bad you only understand justice in relation to abortion, rather than in multi-faceted areas such as terrorism, muslimism, homosexualism, and asianism. All them folks the world would be better off without… but to ea…ch his own. At least until your own crosses mine… Ha ha! Just kidding. -Sorta.

UTW: You’re saying the world would be better off without Asians? I believe God’s word that sodomy is worthy of death. I also understand that Islam is a dangerous heresy, but at least it isn’t racist. I’m married to an Kenyan woman, am I committing the crime of miscegenation in your book? Another thing I’ll say for Islam is that abortion, adultery, fornication and sodomy are illegal in Muslim nations. Islam is not the Truth, it is only that “Christian” nations have become so bad that we’re making Islam look relatively good. You extrapolated that being against the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan made me a supporter of sodomy. You’re presumptuous. I know what happens when “my own crosses yours.” I helped my sis and her asian roommate pick out an apartment this weekend. If I had to stand against you in defense of the rights of an asian, I would win because God would help me.

LJ: Let’s be honest… you and your defense of those wily asians is only your support of communist terrorism. Because, let’s face it: All terrorists are communists, all communists are Asian. Ask Ho Chi Men.

So now you think Islamic terrorists are better than Americans? Fine then. Show me something realistic besides “I also understand that Islam is a dangerous heresy, but at least it isn’t racist.” Who is Islamic terrorists other than A-rabs? Cat Stevens? Who else? Mike Tyson the rapist? You got nobody.

Oh, really? God will help you be a terrorist muslim? They think that too. Or a terrorist Buddhist or a terrorist Taoist, whatever!

You are too wrapped up in John Haggee’s lies. Christianity is not Musliminity. They do not blend, like peanut butter and jelly. They look like they are the same sandwich because they both want to bomb Pakistan, but it ain’t true.

Now quit being a racist and be a man.

UTW: Islam is strong in Africa and Asia among non-Arabs, and increasing among Europeans. Your categories exist only in your mind. You’re a moron. Like muslims, morons come in every colour. You just happen to be a racist moron. I suppose Stalin wasn’t a communist since he wasn’t asian? You are the stupidest person by far I have yet to encounter. That’s saying a lot. The Iranians (most of whom who are muslim but not arab) execute homosexuals. You don’t know what you’re talking about.

LJ: A few things you probably don’t know.

1. Numbers don’t mean accuracy. There are bazillions of sinners. Does that make sin right? So what if there are a billion satanic muslim terrorists. They are still EVIL even if they do nice things like killing queers.

2. Muslim is a religion not a race. A-rab is a race. All Muslims are A-rabs except for Black Muslims and Cat Stevens….

3. Stalin is dead. His country is no longer a commie dictatorship. And not all commies are Asian, I’m not stupid. -Some of them are Cubans, which is a branch of Mexicans.

P.S. -I like how you said in that video, you wanted to hang out with “terroristic” people. Ha ha ha ha!

UTW: That film was released just after I finished USMC boot camp. I was given the boot in less than a week for my role in it, sparing me Iraq and Afghanistan. My participation was prior to my enlistment, and I was separated from the military in April of 2001. I hope the film deterred people from killing babies.

LJ: So why do you talk all this trash and not back it up? How many homosexuals and abortionists have you threatened? I’ll bet you don’t have the salt to even order fifteen pizzas to an abortion clinic as a practical joke.

Just like you run your mouth at me but refuse to listen. Christianity and Musliminity don’t mix. But you are right, they have more gumption than you do.

UTW: I bet you’d like to see me in prison. You’re a racist who said all asians should be eliminated. Islam is heresy.

LJ: I am aware that Islam is heresy, you are the one who praised them.

You might not be aware of this, but you will not go to prison for ordering pizzas as a practical joke. Most likely you would get a stern talking to and at worst have to pay for the pizzas. That is on the off chance you get caught. And by the way, not all asians, just Chinamen, North Koreans, Japs and Charlie and whoever else has tried to fight with America. Mongolians are okay by me… or are they part Japanese?

UTW: You don’t know about the FACE law. People are in jail for less. I have been in jail upwards of a dozen times just for preaching on behalf of these babies. No, I don’t want to go back; yes, the suicide bombers have more gunption than I’ve. You said “asians.”. You’re a moron. There are way more korean and chinese christians than japanese. Let me guess. You shot chinks til they were stacked up like firewood in the Chosin Reservoir in the Korean Police action and now they’re all sub-human commies. Well, you’re full of shit as the X-mas Turkey.

LJ: I took a bullet from some of those Japs in the Korean War. You are too young to appreciate dedication and honor. You were raised in the spoiled generation that doesn’t respect nothing.

And you talk a good game but it’s just that… talk. I watched your youtube video and it makes you seem like a force to be reckoned with but again, I’ll bet you won’t even sign up a clinic for a subscription to Vibe magazine. I still have a bullet in my flesh from fighting for the glory of America. What have you got? A few misdemeanors for cussing in public? Protesting without a permit?

UTW: Piss on your “glory of America,” racist. America kills God’s children. My first cousins are all half-Korean O’Tooles. You took a bullet for nothing; all it did was screw up your head. You had to dehumanize ‘em so you could slaughter ‘em. For the love of God, Jesus spilt his blood for Chinamen; you spilt your blood killing them and now you hate them and want them eliminated. Their Maker will eliminate your memory unless you repent.

LJ: Half-Korean tools! I like that. I have no problem with your cousins, provided they are Americans or South Koreans. If they are North Korean commies then I would fight them again if I was young enough. You should respect your elders and veterans. If it weren’t for men like me, you would be speaking German right now and eating kraut sandwiches with nothing to drink but hot beer. What religion are you that allows so much commie sympathies? Mennonite? Seventh-Day Adventist?

UTW: Commie sympathies? Because I don’t agree that the world would be better off without Asians? Then you claimed that all muslims are arab.

LJ: North Koreans. Chinamen. You think they are honorable? They are not.If it makes you feel any better, I do enjoy Chinese food. Have you ever tried that fried thing where they fill it with cream cheese and crab meat? Wow, those godless scumbags can cook.

“Then you claimed that all muslims are arab.” No, I claimed that all A-rabs are Muslims. There is a difference. Do I think Louis Farrakan or Malcom X are A-rabs? No. Your argument is what a lot of us refer to as a “strawberryman”. You are trying to defend your unpopular view of Marxism by making it about racism because that is unpopular. Leveling the playing field for the communism, so to speak.

I would really like to see an A-rab that is not Muslim. He might claim to be something else but if an army trained investigator like myself were allowed a few minutes to interrogate him, I think we’d all see where his real affiliation lies.

Have you ever had that Chinese mustard that burns your nose? I’ll bet they invented that before they were communists. It’s too good to come out of Red China.

UTW: No one should take your seriously. I won’t. That being said, I haven’t been insurging very well lately.

LJ: Is everyone taking Michael Moore pills? This guy just said, “You shot chinks til they were stacked up like firewood in the Chosin Reservoir in the Korean Police action and now they’re all sub-human commies. Well, you’re full of shit as the X-mas Turkey.”

You are a Calvinist, you know it was the CHOSEN Reservoir! What do you mean by supporting North Korean Police Action?

And now you want to hate Christmas too? Turkey is a delicious food. Even communist terrorists, like yourself, enjoy that delicious meal. Unless, of course, you keep Kosher to spite your neighbors. In that case, I will warn you… Hunt’s Catsup is no Ketchup. If you will accept that substitute, you should file the paperwork to repossess your foreskin.

You use commie techniques to pull the ol’ red-shirt bait n’ switch.

Not fallin’ for it.

At this point, the Unnamed Terrorist Wanna-be concedes defeat by the ever-exciting Lloyd Johnsonius.

I can’t say whether or not this is the funniest or scariest conversation I have ever read.

3 Minute Speech – Getting to Know Benoch

For my Public Speaking class we were presented with the first assignment being a three minute introductory speech about ourselves. It had to fall between the two and three minute mark, to short or too long was bad for your score.

I was at a loss. While I am able to ramble, at length, about myself… it’s hard to sum up yourself in three minutes. Finally, I decided to just tell a few oddball things about myself and see what happened.

Then when it came time to deliver, I began to feel nervous about the whole thing. Maybe I had approached everything too light-hearted. I started to worry. The first guy delivered his speech and I felt a little better. He was terrible. Then the next guy got up and said something like “I was born on February 11th 1990 and I have a sister. That’s all.”

So, my worries were unfounded.

Here is what I said to the class,

“I was born in Murray, Kentucky but I was raised in Tennessee. I’ve been described as eccentric by my friends and a weirdo by those who don’t care for me.

In my bedroom as a child my wallpaper was of a blue sky filled with clouds. My mother never knew whether to encourage me or punish me when she would catch me with an ink pen, drawing birds and airplanes on the wall. -My father on the other hand did not suffer the same dilemma when he caught me with the lawn mower cutting crop-circles in his hayfield.

I’m usually quite a talker and were I allowed to sit, bring a pack of smokes, maybe a bottle of scotch… you could rest assured that I could talk for an hour with little to no pauses or interruption, though I might change the subject a little more erratically.

So far in life I have been a building inspector, a guy at Target …not sure that is the title, a bartender, a computer assembler, a travel agent, a marketing rep for Southwest airlines, a line cook, and one weekend I even tried to start an illegal loan sharking business until the first person I loaned money to didn’t pay me back and I realized that it wasn’t in my nature to break someone’s thumbs. I also spent a couple years working customer service for a major telecommunications company. I left this job with no valuable or useful skills, other than being able to maintain low blood-pressure through the long-winded cursing and colorful suggestions of places for me to stick that cut-off notice.

Once I even tried to be a preacher and delivered a sermon that was by and large considered by the entire congregation present to be an utter catastrophe. It remains to this day the only experience I’ve had in a house of worship where booing was involved. Needless to say, I never tried that again.

Another thing about myself that people don’t know about me is that I am an Eagle Scout. While most of you were probably trying to date or get laid, I was shacked up in a musty tent with some geek who was trying not to let me hear him whimper as he cried for his mother at sixteen years old. All of this misery was for some award that I can supposedly put on my resume. By the time I receive it, the Boy Scouts of America have a solid reputation for being a homophobic and sexist organization, that in corporate America is probably better left off the application.

In short, I don’t know what the hell I am doing and like taking the long way around figuring it out. You all are with me for one more step along the way.”

As I look over and reread what I said, I realize it was not very good. But it was better than the rest of them and it was enthusiastically received by the classroom.

Then the Professor gave us all the same grade.

New Superstitions for The New Age

Recipe for Good Luck

There is a completely irrational and illogical obsession I have with certain superstitions. For example, I abhor the number thirteen and sometimes do weird things to keep from having one show up somewhere. On my iTunes player where it keeps track of how many times I have listened to a song and see it is thirteen, I got ahead and listen to it again. I know that I could reset the play count, but as Mitch Hedberg said about buildings not naming a thirteenth floor. “C’mon you guys on the fourteenth floor -you know what floor you’re really on. If you jump out the window you will die sooner!”

That being said, superstitions are bullshit.

Still, it makes me wonder why I never hear about any new superstitions. Is it possibly in our multi-tasking world that superstitions would have to be much too complicated? I’m not one to buy that we are more enlightened than we used to be. All outward signs point to most of humanity being just as dumb as they were centuries ago.

I’ve always heard that luck is often created out of trying to something similar to something that worked before. Hockey players wearing the same underwear until they lose a game. Never driving home the same way that they took when they got arrested. These things are simple, but regular life is complicated.

For our current style of life, I present two new ones:

Menthol + McDonald’s + Random Phone Call from Virginia = BAD LUCK
So for example when I lost my wallet the other day I had fast food, a menthol cigarette, and a phone call from a friend in Virginia. From now on, I warn you all to never eat fast food, smoke a menthol, and receive a phone call from a friend in Virginia or you may very well lose something valuable to you.

I hope you are not half-way through reading this at a fast food restaurant having just snuffed out a Newport with a french fry in your hand on it’s way to your mouth… if so, turn off your phone. I’m warning you.

I can’t deliver this bad superstition without leaving you with a little hope. Here is something that is good luck you can practice.

Pacing + The Guardian + “Take ‘em Away” by Old Crow Medicine Show + Walk to the Car + Watching Television Absently + Masturbate to Zooey Dechanel + Take a Shower + Eat a deli Sandwich = GOOD LUCK!
My wallet was found and returned to me. I had given up looking and was pacing around the house with that left over energy from the anxiety of realizing something was lost. I got online for a minute and read a bit of The Guardian. After sitting for a minute I didn’t want to sit at the computer so I put music on. I kept thinking about something in my car but I couldn’t remember what. After a quick walk to the car I couldn’t remember what I went out there for and so returned into the house. Fidgeting for something to do I turned on the television and watched a few minutes of The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy and got distracted by it’s female lead and thought about her hard for a couple minutes. Figured I couldn’t spend the day with these kind of activities, so I decided to get ready. Showered and my stomach alerted me that it was around lunch time. I walked to a restaurant and had a Rachel (a Reuben with pastrami instead of corned beef) and while eating it, my phone rang to tell me that my wallet had been recovered.

So remember what you have to do if you want good luck and remember what to avoid.

I wish you all the best of luck.

Heard It In A Makin’ Love Song

I talk with Christy about music to listen to while making love at Carl’s music blog The Opening Acts. (read more)

A Rant From My Future Manifesto

I used to think that I was born in the wrong time. Everything that I like us often the things that people are no longer interested in and for a time I thought that this was because there was something wrong with me. It’s not that there is something wrong with me, or something wrong with you, there is something wrong with us as a people.

For one, we need a little backbone. If you want fast food to go away, don’t eat the filth. If you want Wal-Mart to go away, don’t buy anything there. I will admit the hypocrisy of fast food, I have done it this week, but as usual, I soon wished that I hadn’t. It’s something we need to team up on. If I get lazy and want to order fast food, make a suggestion that we buy some produce and prepare our own food, and I will do the same for you. We need to restore a sense of community and the good part about community is that we support each other. I think that is one of the positive things about social networks on the internet -I can talk to people with similar beliefs that live far away from me and be less tempted to fall in line with the cattle. The negative part of internet is the globalization. Stuff like e-bay. Collectibles are no longer collectible, because the limited edition 100,000 copy vinyl release is now available to the only 100,000 people who give a shit.

Buy from farmers. This is one that I am not so good at, but want to be. Let’s buy from organic farms and let’s help farmers (one of the remaining noble professions out there) earn a living and quit being shut out by rich corporate goons who are feeding you meat that is probably unsafe for an alley cat’s digestive system. As with all of this stuff, it’s time to speak with the only voice you truly have in this country and that is your dollar. If you want garbage to eat, then more people will get rich off selling the garbage and decent food will only be a luxury of the rich. Besides, food used to be where Americans spent the most of their money. Now it’s clothes and ipods.

Make something I can’t recommend this enough. First of all, people are always up in arms about someone having the same shirt they do, and they don’t want to wear this dress because this skank has the same one… make your own. Even if you get the same fabric, they still can look totally different. So yes, fashionistas, if you insist on trying to look your best, then by all means, look your best. Even if I secretly think you look like a cow in it, once I find out you made it yourself I will be all about it, and more about you.

Let’s get rid of the rockstar mentality I know tons of people who play music. The record age is dying and we can’t stop it. So let’s quit trying to make records and try to make music. People should be good when they play and stop writing songs to get people to look at you but write songs to have fun and have other people sing along to. Let everyone be the star, everyone likes to sing. Break out the acoustic and have fun with people. Let’s lose the stage, because not every band belongs on one. Some are better in the garage and would be better if they knew that. Nothing wrong with trying to play an instrument, what is wrong is wanting to be an icon. Besides, if we all start playing in our living rooms, then we can actually get music to be apart of our own culture. Don’t you think that the reason people are longing to be rock stars is for the point of meeting women and being adored? Be adored by your friends, because after all, who are the most important people in your life?

Also, related to this…Don’t let professionals punk you out of what you love All of those jerks you see in the bar who want to dress like coal miners or fur coats and bikinis to draw attention to themselves need to find a better outlet. Put on a play. Put some work into something fun and actually make it good. You can wear all the costumes you want and have a purpose: entertaining those around you! No need to make a spectacle of yourself for the sake of making a spectacle of yourself. Become part of a well-thought out spectacle that will leave people wanting more, rather than simply talking about how “crazy” you were the next day.

I hate to harp on this over and over, but no one seems to notice, so I wanted to make a point to repeat it over and over. You’re only vote is your dollar, when it all comes down to it. Spend it where you won’t be ashamed to spend it.

Don’t spend quality time with your friends watching television all the time I’m not saying I hate television or film. I am saying that dinner parties, book clubs, and social gatherings where you actually talk instead of getting hypnotized is the way to go.

Drink booze that comes from a town near you I know that I live in Kentucky, and that always makes it easy for me to encourage local drinking, since all the bourbon comes from my state. I don’t mean it that way for everything. But if you’re from Nashville, buy some Yazoo from time to time. If you’re from any city, there is a microbrewery in your neighborhood or at least in your state. They say that local honey helps you stay healthier by getting used to your pollen in the area. Not saying beer will, but you will support your local groups who pay local taxes and make your area better. Nor am I saying that drinking booze from other places and countries is wrong, I’m just saying that we think in too much of a global mind when we need to think community first, world second. There is nothing wrong with supporting the survival of the rest of the world. Yet, for a sense of community, we need to start caring about our community and I will admit it is something I have to work on myself.

Realize what you are capable of on your ownI know this is sounding like the communist manifesto, but it isn’t. I am sort of saying “WORKERS OF THE WORLD UNITE” but I am also trying to point out that rather than be forced to buy something from someone you don’t feel is good at what they are doing, you should embrace our freedom of choice and start exercising it. “Well, I only shopped at Wal-mart because their horseshoe set was cheaper than Target’s.” Screw both of them! Do you realize how cheap it is to get a stake and eight horseshoes at the farmer’s Co-op? It is things like this – bad marketing ideas that we fall into, that are making us docile beasts. Let’s turn off King of Queens and become better people!

Let’s start letting communities have their own views I know this is a touchy one, but it is the most productive one. Every state, every county, every city, all have their own alcohol rules. Let’s make that with every law. Gay marriage is legal in Vermont, illegal in Georgia. Let them both have their right to do that, but let the citizen have the right to move to both. Rather than a big huge world where everyone is having to love and hate their laws, let it be a smaller world where everyone has a choice of where they live. If I don’t like Catholicism, then Italy is not for me. If I don’t like drugs, then the Netherlands are not for me. The uber-leftwing usually support Castro. Guess what? He made all his gays move away and banned pet ownership. The argument I usually hear, is that it was what worked best for his people. We can do that everywhere. If someone wants to be intolerant, let them be. The United States should be fifty countries. If you like meatloaf, you should move to Hawaii because it is legal there, and things of the ilk. If you want an abortion, then you are free to make that decision by taking a flight to Arizona or wherever, but if your community is against it, they have the right to be.

In short, I am for the freedom of going anywhere you choose and I am for the freedom to do whatever you choose, but I think we need to make communities tighter. I also think if we don’t like our community, we should be free to leave. That works for both sides.

The main point is this: let me find a place where I am around like minded people. Sure, once that happens all the intelligent might move to Nebraska, but at least you will either go there or not have to put up with that over-hyped lingo and self-righteousness that the intelligentsia carry around.

I think the answer is smaller. I think we should be given our communities. The thing is, we HAVE them but we don’t take advantage of them. It will work on so many levels. The only one that I haven’t worked out yet is gun control. Coming from rural Tennessee, I am pro-gun. But a lot of people are not and the non-gun communities may get a little paranoid with a bordering gun state. As they should, fact of the matter.

I misspoke. We should not be given our communities, we should create them. This is the first of a long book I will eventually finish on my philosophy, so I will fill in the problems and work out the gaps.

Until we have no money left, we have power. Everyday we vote for T-Mobile, everyday that we vote for Wal-mart, we lose this power. Please, please, realize that your dollar is your vote. Let’s try to form a community and/or support group to help each other rise above it.

We cannot do it alone.

Add a dozen years to something, then step-back and take a look.

With all people, roads lead us down different directions and we cannot all remain in each others lives as much as we used to or sometimes as much as we want to. Fate pulls people down different paths and some of them cross each other often, while others don’t cross each other as much.

When I was thirteen to sixteen, or around there, I spent a lot of time running around with Tim. We both started experimenting with weed at the same time. It was with him that I first saw A Clockwork Orange, heard Pixies and Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska. We watched and listened to a lot of stupid shit too.

Tim and I weaved in and out of social circles and cliques through the years until the point where I became quite fascinated with a certain woman and began to focus more on city life instead of small town and my friends in it. Hee got married, joined the military, had a son. I left Paris, with no plans to live there ever again.

It was a strange testament to how the world changes and people do not. I hadn’t been to his mother’s house in at least twelve years. Not much had changed. She was quite the same and so was the family. I had never seen his son before, so he was surprising. Since I had never seen him, I assumed he would be very small.

One change that had happened was that Tim had recently declared himself an alcoholic. He seemed to still fit the bill when I saw him. A half-gallon of vodka was reaching it’s end and a fresh bottle of absinthe was being opened. I sat with he and his wife and had drinks. Having three absinthe’s I found myself far over the edge. Really, really, drunk. Everything from this point was fuzzy if not altogether forgotten.

Here is a list of things I do not remember:

1. Going to the store for beer.
2. Going to and leaving a bar. (I remember being in there for a minute.)
3. Going to Huddle House. (It was closed.)
4. Going 30 miles out of state (I sort of remember “Hey let’s go to…” but not the rest of the sentence.)
5. Going to a Hardee’s in that another state.
6. Going and waking up a guy in the middle of the night to hang out. (I do remember being there for a minute)
7. Prank calling a shitload of people.
8. Calling a drug dealer to score ecstasy in it’s new popular form (Shaped like Obama)
9. Forgetting why I called the drug dealer, I instead prank called the drug dealer and gave them a pretty hard time. (That was for the greater good.)
10. Driving home via a backroad that I do not know anymore. Supposedly I drove just fine.

I awoke around six in the morning and that is when my memory returns.

That next day, I had no intention of drinking. I ached quite a bit and feel quite ashamed of myself for all the mayhem that I had been involved with, and especially the forgotten mayhem. Blacking out never is a good feeling for me. Blacking out and doing regrettable shit is even worse.

I spent the day with him and his family, all of whom were kind are joyful to be around. His niece was now grown and had kids of her own. The house was a mad place for a few hours with the running and screaming of youngsters.

We sat around and traded miles and miles of stories, because we had plenty to speak of with so much time gone by. Tales of pranks, stun-guns, ambassadors from the Netherlands, etc. This whole time I ate food and drank water but from the time he got up, he enjoyed the breakfast drink of long island iced tea, then moved to beer. I didn’t really pay attention to how often he was smoking because there were a lot of fans and I really don’t notice how much people smoke very often but he asked his wife if she had any cigarettes and she said that she thought buying him three packs would have been enough for one day. Exhale. Whew!

It was very similar to the old days. Used to we weren’t allowed to drink because we were kids, now we weren’t supposed to drink because he had a problem. Which I could manage but he could not, which I guess is why one of us has been to rehab and the other has not.

All the years gone by and we were more or less doing the same shit. Nothing had changed, really. On the surface life I had taken us some different directions but when you got down to who we were/are as people, nothing much was different. Any dreams we had are just as far away as they were back then.

Technically, in my life, I am getting to where I should have been twelve years ago. Ready to figure things out. I was not ready at all back then. I’m mostly ready now. I hope that in another dozen years, I won’t look back and see myself in the same place.

And you know, I don’t think I will.

Much younger, more foolish, but a lot cuter.

That Good Morning Feeling? I’m Gonna Chaser!

For years I’ve seen the four pack of pills at the counter of party stores. Tonight I was at The Party Source of Newport/Bellevue and while purchasing the tonic for my lonesome gin I had leftover at the house, they caught my eye. Mostly because I’ve had some pretty brutal gin-based hangovers and if the pills did what they claimed, they would be worth their expensive three dollar price tag.

They advertise “Freedom from Hangovers” and the wording is important, because being confined to a bed, or worse -a toilet, doesn’t leave you able to do the things that you really want to do.

“C’mon, let’s go to brunch!” I hear a soft voice ask me.

“NOooo!” I respond before throwing a pillow over my head.

We’ve all been there.

I sometimes like having a hangover. I think there is definately a time and place where nothing is better than spending a lazy Sunday watching old Westerns, or whatever she wants to watch, if there is a she around. There are also the Sundays when you have places to go.

But we all know what’s really bad is when there are those Wednesdays or Thursdays when you really have shit to do. This is where the alertness required of your job comes into play, if you have that kind of job. I worked at a call center for a couple of years that was my ear put up to a cup against the wall of a screaming bitch-fest. That is no job you want to have all of your wits about you to complete. There, I not only could stand being hungover, I preferred it. I would start to feel like a champ right about time the day was over.

Now, I’m pursuing a different route. Taking hangover prevention pills. Could it be that easy? Maybe the government is trying to keep this pills a secret because of the amazing effects.

Is it possible that two four packs of these miracle cures could make a life of alcoholism as easy as a transition to a new pair of glasses? “Why YES! Everything is much clearer now, Doctor!”

These pills are “Clinically proven effective” and the small print does say that the FDA does not agree with these findings. Then again, the last time I checked, the FDA didn’t have the best track record. You can find millions who believe in the immune system effects of Echinacea but not the FDA. “Vitamin C? Not enough evidence. Inconclusive.”

The Food and Drug Administration doesn’t seem to be into anything that you won’t stay on forever. Something that treats the problem and cures it, is not like hooking someone on some old bullshit for the rest of their life. I read somewhere that bacterial infections are supposed to begin killing people in droves. Not because we can’t produce them, just that there is no money in it for the pharmaceutical world, if they create something that cure an illness that people won’t need cured from again. For that reason, most scientists are focusing on getting rich, while avoiding fame. Jonas Salk was “appalled at the demands on the public figure he has become and resentful of what he considers to be the invasion of his privacy,” wrote the New York Times, a few months after his vaccine announcement. So I guess that ended the days of creating cures as most scientists looked at the work of a genius as a tragic tale of unwanted fame.

I took the pills as directed, which was two before you have your first drink, and then one more every four hours you feel the effects. It also suggested to keep hydrated with water between drinks. That I also did.

The rest of the time I just went about my drunk ol’ business, remembering now and then to have some water and take another pill. Annoying, certainly… but if it works, it’ll all be worth it.

The results are mixed. I drank quite a bit of gin, and again, awful gin… cheap, disgusting, awful gin.

The times I drank the gin before were followed by mornings of bitter regret. Regret for drinking the gin, regret for being born, and virtually all forms of regret you can have or create.

This morning was different. While I was more tired than normal, there was no headache. I was not as dehydrated as a normal day would result, because I had drank five or so glasses of water through the evening, as directed.

I even did a little work that morning. Even though I work from home, I could have easily not logged in to my job. (Though recently being logged in or out has not proved to be much of a difference.)

In short, yes I think they have merit. Yet, they are not a miracle cure and certainly the glasses of water in between drinks has it’s benefits as well. All and all, being that I punished myself with the worst gin that is fit for human consumption and woke up the next day in decent spirits, feeling good enough to do things other than moan and watch television, this is a good sign. I even took a walk in the hot sun. Who wants to do that when they are hungover?

This may be psychosomatic, but if so, that works for me.

Does One “Dick Move” Beget Another?

Before I go any further, the answer is yes. Now let me tell you the story from the start… Or tell it from the beginning the best that I can, since the beginning did not include my involvement.

It has been going on before.

My brother and his roommate had been plagued by these annoying redneck neighbors, ever since the angry couple had moved in below them. Furies had been sporadic, beginning with the stereo, moving to the television, and finally to noise in general.

I was not around for this but now that I have met them, I can picture the angry woman with her fried blond locks (roots showing) in a hairdo that would have been out of style in the 90’s, her chest puffed out in defiance, cigarette hanging out of her mouth, hand in the air, with that dignified “I know you ain’t/I know you didn’t…” look on her face.

From the testaments of both my brother and all of those involved, they were never being that loud. Especially when it came to watching television, they said it was at a normal volume and they did not use the surround sound out of respect, or maybe more out of the desire to pretend that the world is a little bit better and people like them don’t exist.

I know that I digress, but the good advice from this is simple: If you don’t want to hear your neighbors, take a second (or third) job, move to a crappier part of town, leave the city, or whatever it takes to get the money to live in a house. The close quarters are why there is a break on the price in apartments. You want that neighborhood, you want the community pool, you are going to have to hear some neighbors. If you’re lucky, you’ll just hear them coming and going… if you’re unlucky, you’ll hear them in the bathroom. I have lived in enough apartments to not have any illusions about pretending to be in some secluded bungalow. Throughout my experiences, I have more than once run into those that were let down when confronted with this truth.

Now, with these neighbors. I had heard legend of their bitching and moaning over small noises. I took note and only went about normal business. I watched television but with no bass, no surround sound and if it was at night, I watched with a low volume. No sign of these people for awhile.

I began to see the husband. Most every Thursday night, the man of the house, the “rocker”, struts onto the back porch and cranks classic rocks hits. From .38 Special to Led Zeppelin, Supertramp (or Superchunk… whichever is the old one) and The Beatles. If fact, I was trying to watch 30 Rock one night and kept hearing the unmistakable rhythm section of the Fab Four playing “Come Together”. I looked out the window and really wondered how far off it could be to imagine myself fifteen years older with bad tattoos, piercings I refuse to remove, bratty kids, and an ugly wife that complains all the time.

It could happen. I hope to God it doesn’t, but it could.

I could be that guy on the back porch, man-handling Early Times and Coca-cola, holding on for dear life to the awesome jams of my youth, listening to “Hold On Loosely” and mentally kicking myself in the ass for listening to the advice of some rock band when I decided to ask my baby to tie the knot and thinking .38 Special said “don’t let go” -probably not thinking so clearly from the ecstasy of whiskey, her Curve perfume, and the gasoline fumes from the muscle car.

What a world we live in.

This was the only impression I had of the guy, until about a month ago when there were five people at the house having drinks. Two of the five live here. So three guests, total. We had the television on at a low volume, so we could hear each other talk. One person was asleep, one person was cooking quesadillas, and three of us left are sitting around talking. Not yelling, just talking.

Then husband and wife, as a team, come banging on the door and complaining that we were making too much noise. We apologized. “Sorry, don’t cut it. We can hear you laughing and walking around.”

Laughing and walking around: Two things that in a free world, maybe even in evil dictatorships, is to be expected from a normal home.

“See,” said the man, “I like to party, and partyin’ is cool and all, but I can hear bass… which I know the sound of bass because I’m in a band and am used to tonalties and musicianships and I know how they sound.”

“I’m calling the landlord right now!” the wife yells as she proceeds to do so. Cussing incomplete thoughts as she is dialing.

“I just wanna say that I know how it is to hang out with people and stuff but you can’t be rockin’ out like that, see as a guitar player, in my band called Flamethrower -we got a gig next month at the AmVet lodge, if you wanna come- I know how it sounds to be jammin’ with the bass and drums up, which is cool…”

“I don’t want to hear another word,” she yells. “The landlord didn’t answer so I’m callin’ the cops!”

“See, when you’re like me, and you play out all the time, you get used to jams but my wife she just don’t like it…”

“Honey, get your ass down here, you don’t wanna be up there when the cops show up!”

We promised to make no more “noise”, even the walking around kind, and even offered phone numbers to call us if we were bothering them. They declined in favor of police intervention.

The police showed up, looking rather bored. Told us to keep it down and we explained that we already were and that we had hushed everything since they had complained to us. That was the extent of the ordeal. Afterward, we moved to the top floor where they could no longer hear us and settled into either sleep or talking quietly.

The door was banged on again. At this point we have no music, no television, and mostly no sound at all. It is the cops again and they said they were called back with a report from the neighbors that we were making noise just to spite them. We again apologized to the officers, maintained our innocence, at least in this case, and that pretty much wrapped up the night.

Now we cut to this weekend. After a month or so of trying our best to keep quiet, his continued Thursday night back porch jams, rockin’ and what-have-you, all had been well. Don’t get me wrong, I had seen the wife so drunk she couldn’t walk up the stairs. I had seen the husband mixing whiskey and cokes and getting behind the wheel. Fights that you get a little embarrassed from hearing. They took our parking spaces and made runs to get who knows what in the middle of the night. Not my business. I don’t care.

This Saturday night, things got out of control.

I notice tons of young teenage kids hanging out around the house. One of their father’s picks his kid up at the house and I hear his father giving him an earful about being so drunk. I was sitting on the upstairs porch and smoking a cigarette when I heard something like, “Dad, I only had seventeen or so,” followed by a drunken laugh.

That ain’t my business, I thought.

I took that attitude as the night progressed, as the jams continued, as yelling and screaming; racket and ruckus kept bellowing from below. Finally, when I was no longer able to listen to music on my computer with headphones due to their disruption, I decided to give them a taste of their own medicine.

Let me say, I think calling the cops on people is a dick move. I am not the kind of guy who raises noise complaints but dealing with these assholes made me waive my morals. I wanted to let them get yelled at and threatened with a citation, see how they like it. They had treated us like shit, cussed us like dogs, and raised general hell with the landlord. The landlord had then raised hell with my brother.

So around 2:30am or later, the loud ruckus the seemed to have no end in sight was reported to the Police Department. They asked for my name and I said I would rather not be implicated as the “rat”, which made the dispatcher laugh heartily.

When the police arrived all the lights were off in the upstairs apartment and I was laying in bed, having a chuckle. Words cannot describe the delight I felt when I first heard the scratch of a record player suddenly skipped to a halt. It all seemed pretty funny, at first. They also get their turn at being warned by the cops and then the thrill of sitting around like jerks with guests at their house, hearing no music, staring at each other like a bunch of assholes. The commotion seemed to last a little too long. It made me wonder what all went down.

Then comes the part where I start to feel a little bad. The next day, things didn’t seem so funny.

While I’m not certain and I certainly don’t want to ask them about it, I’m pretty sure there was an arrest. The husbands T-bird, that might as well have been on blocks considering how seldom he drives it, was no longer parked on the street. It also looked like all his shit was out in the yard. Men’s clothes, Def Leppard t-shirts, a lava lamp, a box of Curve perfume (for men), a Molly Hatchet poster, and lots of luggage.

I hoped that I didn’t lead the cops to his meth lab and put him in the state correctional facility, wreck his marriage, or anything like that. I wanted to mess up his night, not his life. My greatest hope was that they (and more her than him) would get their night cut short, they would get a taste of their own medicine, and maybe think a little bit about what it feels l like to have your good time ended by the authorities when all you’re doing is enjoying yourself.

Now I kinda feel like a jerk.

I’m hoping that maybe the noise was just a celebration for the husband getting a new job, possibly replacing the old guitar player in Black Oak Arkansas. His stuff was out in the yard because he’d packed up his T-Bird to get on the open road, guitar in hand, prepared to rock out Skullbone and VFW’s around the nation. That would be nice.

I just hope he and his wife are still together, I hope neither of them are in jail or prison, and I hope they are now and forever -far, far away from me.

Taxes Got You Down? I Have Answers.

Tough Times for the Tea Party

I think if that was said four years ago by someone protesting the war, that “we need to protect ourselves from the Tyranny of the Majority” the stock right-wing response would have been “love it or leave it”.

(Which naturally is a double-standard but no point splitting hairs on the myriad of double-standards among the neo-conservatives because I don’t have all year.)

I do have some suggestions for places for anti-tax people to go. First I think it’s worth mentioning, that with all the whining and crying, the United States income taxes are relatively low. In many European countries, income taxes shoot up to 60% for high-income earners, but often, tax payers also get more back in terms of social services and government financed programs than in the U.S.

Monoco is one place. They don’t tax at all. Of course, they are an tax haven for the elite and a large percentage of the TEA baggers would never have the funds to set up residence there. However, many rich democrats would easily fit in. (Warren Buffet, Bill Gates, Hollywood minus Kelsey Grammar, etc.)

Bulgaria – A great example of the beauty of low/no taxes. Formerly a socialist country until 1989, when Bulgaria privatized its economy, but economic difficulties and a tide of corruption have led over 800,000 Bulgarians, including many qualified professionals, to emigrate in a “brain drain”. So while you can sit back and enjoy a 10% flat tax, you also can enjoy the thrill of suspense when going to the doctor, because there is no way of knowing if he knows what he is doing and the old doctor who was too tired to move with the rest of the professionals might very well put the leaches on you. Luckily, with that low tax you might just have enough money saved to travel to a civilized European country and get proper treatment… but that would be on the dime of the people in that country and by all right wing standards, morally objectionable. Best stick with the leaches and maintain honor.

Ukraine – A struggling nation with a flat 15% tax. No big difference than America for the working poor but a big difference for the rich. The Ukraine was a country I looked into going to as an English teacher. My guide book said they treasure education (What a novel concept!) and in comparison to many other jobs, teachers are respected and are paid very well. Here was where I started to wonder, “where is the rub on this?” and my answer was that they are often poverty stricken and they may have food shortages. According to the UNDP in 2007 4.9 percent of the Ukrainian population lived under 2 US dollars a day and 19.5 percent of the population lived below the national poverty line that same year.

Iceland – has a flat tax but it is considerably higher than the lower brackets in the United States since the U.S. runs 15-35% and Iceland sits at a flat 23%. However, they were hit especially hard by the economic crisis. On 26 January, 2009, the coalition government collapsed due to the public dissent over the handling of the financial crisis. A new left-wing government was formed a week later and immediately set about removing Central Bank governor Davíð Oddsson and his aides from the bank through changes in law. Oddsson was sacked on 26 February, 2009… so that relatively low flat tax may soon change.

I guess for the non-rich neo-cons who are up in arms there are a couple of other options:

1. Since it is widely been a boasting point of the right, how conservatives supposedly donate massive amounts of dollars to charity… Quit doing that. Consider taxes the charity case. Sure, it might lighten the coffers of The John McCain’s Kids Need Private School Foundation but desperate times call for desperate measures.

2. Join the military. If still young enough, neo-cons can volunteer for the wars that they are so proud to be apart of (I myself suspect that personal involvement might be a war support “deal-breaker”) and then they can feel much better because those high taxes are now paying their salary. And it’s important to also remember that even if you’re too old to be a solider, there are other options to choose from. You could be in Afghanistan by next fall, if you apply yourself. Also, overseas work in dangerous areas is tax free! Kill two birds (and maybe fifty Arabs) with one stone!

I sure hope this has been an uplifting help to those who are feeling a little sad about taxes and perhaps give them something to think about.

…And Burn Your Bridges Down

A quick snap-shot of the city in the rain as I walked along the river

Sometimes energy can never be found and sometimes it comes it hot lightning bursts that attempt to set aflame all the thoughts in the brain, some to burn bright, some useless thoughts get burned as kindling or melted into the greater thought or thought process.  A different version.  Not better or worse.  Changed.

Tonight the air itself seemed to be cognizant and I couldn’t keep myself indoors, though with no particular reason why I shouldn’t stay in -other than my brain punched into a much faster setting, filling my senses with lost memories, and with their addition to the collective, it made elusive purpose and happiness come back into focus. It was this wave of emotion that sent me walking in the rain along the levee, not in a drunken or sad way but awake, alive, and joyfully introspective.  It wasn’t through the recovered memories that sanity became fully restored but where formerly blocked, I could now see sources and from the sources I could see possibility through tunnels previously dark. And like all positive possibilities, hope follows at their heels.

Mistakes sometimes are badges of honor and a few I was proud to retrace. Retracing areas where I should have done things better, should have said what I felt, should have kept my mouth shut, should have stayed a little longer, should have given benefit to the doubt, should have known bettters, should have known better with a second try, and things I felt I should have been holding out for that I should not have.  There is purpose in waiting for the conditions to be right in lovemaking but not in living life.

Filled with grand schemes and lofty dreams I focused on the wrong things while a large life fell right into my lap.  I don’t regret it, I regret not paying more attention.

I walked along the riverside, able to appreciate the majesty of nature pulsing like blood through a large infestation of people who populated the place from far corners of the world.  My eyes got blurry and for a moment or two: we were united, not in state or government, but as a damned species all looking for escape from the inevitable -the Big Sleep.

Death unites us all.  From the daft to the brilliant, the scholar to the half-wit, the drunkard to the CEO, we are all facing it and that knowledge can bring out the most wicked and beautiful things we humans are capable of.

I’m now hoping to find ways to make something beautiful out of it.

And the possibilities are limitless.

(Some might say it’s a little foolish to post this kind of drivel in a blog but maybe someone who reads it needs to hear it, perhaps based only on wishes that I felt as alive as I do and hearing someone rave would remind me.)

As I walked in the rain along the levee I had Nick Cave’s “The Ship Song” in my head and so I felt it was appropriate to add it here for anyone else who likes it and like me, forgot about it.