The National Affairs Desk

So it has come to this...

2011-08-10T15:57:00.001-03:00

“People react to fear, not love; they don't teach that in Sunday School, but it's true.”

~ Richard Nixon

I blame Celine Dion.

Huh? You ask.

Yep, it is at least partially her fault. She is symbolic, at least for me, of all the world’s ills.

OK, so now that I have already lost you, let me begin. It was December 31st, 1999. Prince, you might remember, wrote a song about it. Clinton was still President. Man do I ever miss that charming old bastard. My ex-girlfriend and I were way out in the east end of Montreal, at her parent’s place, where we had just finished a delicious supper. I wanted to go downtown, anywhere. I just wanted to be out in it, when it, whatever it was, was supposed to happen. She wanted to go to something more structured, somewhere close enough to our apartment, that when it was all said in done, we could simply walk home. I was already drunk. Her dad made sure of that, he always did. So, yes, she was driving.

It was getting late, we still hadn’t decided what to do. Her mother, bless her, piped in; why didn’t we ring in the New Year/Millennium there? Don’t get me wrong, I loved my in laws, but the idea of spending, what was supposed to be the party of the century/Millennium, way out in the suburbs, made me hope that all the doomsday/Y2K freaks were right.

By 11pm, I was well drunk, and we still hadn’t come up with a plan. Time had run out. We were essentially stuck in the burbs. What’s worse, aside from the fact that her dad and I had drank all the wine and were now onto cans of Molson Dry, was that we were stuffed onto a couch, the four of us, watching Celine Dion perform live. So instead of being out there, in the streets of Montreal, digging the scene, I was trapped, inside a duplex with my ex and her parents, listening to my least favourite pop artist squelch us into the 21st Century. Those were dark times.

So no, it is not really Celine Dion’s fault. But for the sake of this piece, she will act as my symbol of societal rot. That is what is wrong right now. It’s goes beyond Islamophobia (see Norway), or the banking/credit crunch (see the Dow), or even class warfare (see London). There is something rotten at the core of humanity and it is stinking up the joint. I will call it Celine Dion. You can call it Justin Bieber. Others might call it Capitalism, or the 24 hour news cycle. Hell maybe it’s all Twitter’s fault. All I know, is that things have not been right for a long, long time and symptoms are beginning to manifest.

So are these symptoms (a crumbling global economy, extreme nationalism, class riots, war and endless famine in Africa, revolutions in the Middle East) indicative of a singular human disease? Or is humanity being eaten alive by a whole series of smaller diseases?

Is humanity too far gone? If not, what can be done to bring us back from the brink?

These are all valid questions, without any true answer. What seems to be true is that humanity is teetering on the edge. The winds of change are not going to be kind to humanity. At least not in the short term.

So what comes next?

Let’s get back to Celine Dion. No not the symbol of all that is wrong with humanity, but the creature, that was on stage on December 31st 1999. Let’s examine why, my girlfriend and I were sitting on a couch, watching her as midnight neared. Why is it, that we didn’t end up downtown with the masses that night? It wasn’t really because my ex and I were in a fight about who was to be the designated driver. And it wasn’t really about where we were going to party (we lived a 20 minute drunken walk from downtown) and how we were going to get home. Nope, this was about fear. My ex had drunk the mass media Kool Aid. She was scared to death of the worse case scenario. You remember the Y2K bug, where there was an overblown concern that all the world’s computers could go on the fritz? Bank machines could stop working, transit systems stop, power grids in jeopardy. Basically, at the stroke of midnight, there was the risk of everything going POP! While she didn’t express this outwardly, her reluctance to decide what to do that night, meant that we stayed, safe and sound at her mommy and daddy’s place. Fear won.

Nothing happened of course. Dick Clark counted down until midnight, the ball dropped, Celine Dion squelched, I begrudgingly kissed my girl, hell, the lights didn’t even flicker. Her dad and I drunkenly stumbled out the front door, lit a couple cherry bombs, yelled at the universe and that was it. Fizzle... welcome to the 21st Century.

Fear is the great human hoodwink. The instrument of control. Used by business people, politicians and religious leaders alike, to steady the masses. Journalism has become the mouthpiece of the fear doctrine. The 24 hour news channels, the remaining few big newspapers and the whole fuzzy network of new media (be it blogs, social media, or on line news sites) make it almost impossible for anyone to not believe the sky is falling. I dare you to turn on CNN, or read the New York Times, or Twitter’s trending topics, or log on to BBC.com and not fear for the future of mankind. Horrible things are happening all around us, and the scariest, doomsday stories, they are at the top of news cycle. Fear sells. That is why the squirrel that can water ski, is at the end of the news broadcast. Not because it is any less mind blowing, that an animal can pull off such an amazing trick, than say, the fact that America no longer has a AAA credit rating. Nope that’s not it, it turns out that misery and despair keep folks tuned in. Super talented squirrels, don’t sell ad space. Sorry Rocky.

So is it as simple as that?

Can we blame all the recent bad news, on the news providers themselves?

Why not shoot the messenger?

Would things be 100 times better if we all just unplugged?

Would we be better off living in ignorance?

Would the chaos continue if no one paid attention? I don’t know. I think that there is some value in instant communication. I think there is also value in the fact that the world is watching. The problem remains, in who is controlling the message. Are we being told the truth? Are we being mislead, by a faceless cabal, into believing, what that cabal want us to believe. I don’t want to go off on a conspiracy theory tangent. But the truth of the matter is that there is a tiny percentage of the of the world’s population that controls most of the global wealth and most of the world’s mass media. The two go hand in hand. The powers-that-be need to keep the masses appeased and confused, lest we finally say enough is enough (see London) and take to the streets in disgust.

So here we are. The global economy has tanked, thanks entirely to the people who were supposed to be its expert stewards. We live is an era of heightened racial/religious hysteria, thanks in large part, to events almost 10 years ago (9/11 for those that can’t keep up) and the reaction to it. Wars, wars and more wars. We are in the midst of a mass global malaise, on an over-populated and abused planet. Something has got to give, we are at the tipping point. What comes next, you’d hope, would be up to us, and not the folks that have lead us down the rabbit hole. I fear (there is that word again) however, that it will not. I don’t envision a magical power-shift. When they, the powers-that-be, whoever they are, control the public purse, the police force, the military and the message. The game is rigged. The house always wins. We will continue to be lied to 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Their lies will become ‘truths’. There is no such thing as journalistic integrity any more. Journalists aren’t allowed to tell the whole truth, they are only allowed to tell the bits that keep the rest of us in check. We’ll just keep sipping the Kool Aid. Oh Yeah!

Am I calling for revolution then?

Maybe.

I believe to a certain extent, that revolution is inevitable. History is cyclical, we are due for some dark times. It’s the ebb and flow of the human experience. We are, perhaps, on the brink of a new dark age. Perhaps we’ve rounded the corner and are beginning the long descent. .

But how is that possible? You ask. What with all our scientific and technological advances.

Shouldn’t these wondrous advances have insured humanity against collapse?

Have we not learned from the mistakes of the past?

Yes, and no. Yes, we can create wonderful machines that can help us communicate ideas instantly, across the planet. Yes, we’ve made wonderful medical advancements (Old fellas can still get boners!). Yes, we can cross oceans via plane, or boat. Yes, food can be mass produced and mass shipped. Yes, we can mobilize (If we are so compelled) large global forces to help aid those in need.

But.

But?

But, all those wonderful advancement have very little to do with the human soul. Humanity has not, and may not even be capable of, curing the afflictions of its psyche. We try, we develop religions, social and moral codes. There are laws and self-help groups. There is psycho-analysis, anti-psychotic drugs, retreats, red wine, good food, sex, pot, a myriad of wonderful concoctions, but to no end. Humans at all ends of the spectrum, be they the powerful, the helpless, or the rest of us, are wired in such a way, that we can’t help but be cruel to others. Humanity is rotten to the core. We can’t help ourselves. It’s in our DNA. We are driven by greed, lust and survival. We will step on our own grandmother to get that last piece of Marie Antoinette’s cake.

So humanity is doomed?

Yep.

How depressing.

Sure, maybe, if you discount the pure awesomeness that is existence in the first place. But this is not about that. I am not touching that bit of madness with a ten foot pole. My point, aside from the fact that I am not a big Celine Dion fan, is that these are dark times. That you and I are pretty much powerless. There are folks, outside the traditional, malleable political process, that are mean and nasty. They couldn’t care less about you, your family or the plight of famine torn Africa. They do however, like to use their wealth and power to control how you think, what you buy and who you vote for. They do so, through mass media, which they use to control the message. This will always be true. And unless somehow, you find the golden ticket and become one of them; you will be under their direct influence, always and forever. They are the pack leaders, the captains of the not-so-good ship humanity. They are at this point steering that ship right into an iceberg. They can’t help themselves, they are compelled to do so; it is all a symptom of same human disease, that put them in a power position in the first place.

So the light at the end of the tunnel is a fallacy?

Of course! Sure there are a whole bunch of mini-miracles; they happen every day. There are as many good news stories, as there are bad news stories. But we’ve already covered all that. I think though, that if we as a collective, believe that this next wave of revolution, is going to fundamentally change humanity for the better, then we will be horribly disappointed when the dust settles. Personal victories aside. Humanity is not going to be made better by the dismantling of one political system and the development of another. There are systems, which I believe, better serve the masses. I, for example, think that social democracy, is a better system of government, than straight capitalism or libertarianism. I believe that government should exist, solely for the security and well being of its citizens. See, even I, your friendly neighbourhood pessimist, suffers from idealism. It is okay for a person to dream of a better way. Whatever it takes. Some folks use religion, others their work, some believe that family is key, a lot of us use a combination of factors to get us through the day. Again, whatever works. But remember, that no matter the system, no matter how virtuous it seems on paper, it will still be lead by the powerful few, and those buggers will be as mean tomorrow as they are today. Human nature ain’t gonna change via revolution.

History is doing its thing. The situation looks dire. But then again, when hasn’t it? Ask you grandparents how optimistic they were during the Depression, or the World Wars. Ask your parents how powerless they felt during the Vietnam years. Ask yourself how helpless you felt during 9/11 or the whole of the George W. Bush Presidency. Things have always seemed bad, with the potential of getting worse. The sky is always falling. Is today any worse, for me, than January 31st, 1999? No! Celine Dion is not within earshot and their isn’t a Molson Dry in sight. You see what I did there? Full circle. Around and around it goes. Dizzy yet? I am.

“History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.”

~ Hunter S. Thompson

Rapture Eve Caption Contest

2011-05-20T20:43:00.000-03:00

I am not sure what to think.

2011-05-04T20:07:00.000-03:00

What a strange few days it has been. Unhealthy all these concurrent late nights. Sometimes the universe screams. These are those times.

Aside from late night socializing, which despite what some might say, is healthy, if for the soul alone... it's been the news that has been keeping me up at night. So excuse me if this is rambly and almost incoherent, my synapses probably aren't firing right.

Let's start with the madness that was Sunday night. It was around 11, maybe 11:30 when I began seeing Tweets (yes, I get all my breaking news from Twitter. Doesn't everyone these days?) saying that President Obama was about to make an unusual, late night speech from the White House. Then, almost at the very same time, came rumours that Bin Laden was dead. Things steamrolled from there. The world waited and waited. The President's speech was delayed at least an hour. At about maybe 1 am (keep in mind I am on the Canadian East Coast, it's always a little later here), the President confirmed that special forces, acting on creditable intelligence (Wait, what? That exists?) stormed a compound in Pakistan, where it believed Bin Laden was hiding out. After a fire fight, Bin Laden was killed, his body, obtained by American Forces, then dumped in the sea. Wow! Huge!

Like everyone else, that hadn't went to bed early and missed it. I was totally caught up in the moment. Those old, long waned, feelings of idol worship for President Obama returned. For one night, at least, he was a fucking rock star again. It feels awesome when the good guys win. The progressives, did something that could not be poo pooed by the bad guys, the conservatives. The mad right surely couldn't criticize the President for finally nabbing Bin Laden. There was nothing 'soft on terror' about killing the world's most notorious terrorist. It was a good coupla days for Obama, first he bitch slapped Donald Trump (bad both in an intellectual and hair sense) at the White House Correspondent Dinner, then he gets Bin Laden. Awesome! I was stoked.

The next morning, after digesting the news, I begin to take stock of how I felt, or should feel. Yes, Bin Laden was a horrible person, a wart on the ass of society. But doesn't cheering his death, in fact lessen me as a person? The death and carnage Bin Laden caused, both personally and in response to his actions, are unfathomable. He, even as a symbol, did nothing to further the good of humanity. But if I am going to proclaim to be anti-death penalty, if I am going to call myself a progressive humanist, is it not hypocritical for me to cheer the death of even the worst of humans? That is where I am right now. I am happy that there is some closure. Pity that it took 10 years, 2 Wars, 2 Administrations and an unforgivable amount of lives for America to get her man... but here we are. What's next? I don't know? Is the world a better place without Bin Laden in it? Sure. Will his death ease global tension? That remains to be seen. But there is always hope, right?

Hope, ha! When am I going to learn not to dream so big? Lets move on to the Canadian election. I am an NDP supporter, I have been since the days of Ed Broadbent. They are my party. So how the hell am I supposed to feel right now? The NDP had a historical night on Monday. They won 102 seats, 60 more than they have ever won before. They are the official opposition, for the first time in their history. Amazing stuff. Achievements I am proud of. But, the news was not all good, nope, not even close. The Liberal Party and the Bloc Quebecois imploded. The NDP surge was unable to stop a Conservative majority, which, frankly, was the last thing that anybody, on the left (all 60.38% of us) wanted. Election night was a weird night. It began with hope and excitement. I knew my guys were going to kick ass, and kick ass they did. But, yes, again with the but(s), my mood quickly soured as I came to the realization that the rest of the left were a no-show. The NDP alone could not stop the Tories from winning a majority. The worst thing that could happen, happened. How's a staunch NDP supporter supposed to feel? It's like sitting through the latest Bad News Bears offering, but instead of the Bears winning with 2 out in the 9th inning, they struck out. It's like hope was kick in the balls by evil. I am not quite off the mat. The bad guys won. I am sorry Canada, me and the rest of my ilk tried, we really did. Would apathy have been better?

So that's where I am. A little gobsmacked by the last week. Victories and defeats, moral and philosophical questions left unanswered. I need to take a break, reload, learn how to fight again. Hope and progress can't be held down long, we'll win, things will get better, I promise.

Happy Easter from the NAD.

2011-04-21T18:07:00.000-03:00

The Physics of Canadian Politics

2011-04-16T19:31:00.001-03:00

First, a disclaimer: I Joseph Lane, know jack about physics. I avoided science's most mind-blowing discipline throughout the whole of my formal education. Physics has grown on me over the years, but to be honest, I don't understand any of it. There, just so we are clear, just so as to ward off any meandering bands of science purists. I know I am doing it wrong. I am little more than a fiddler of words. Take it easy on a fella, please.

So I was thinking, how am I going to describe what the hell is happening politically, in Canada, to a non-Canadian? How, for example, does a fella explain Contempt of Parliament, or 4 elections in 7 years? I a not convinced that the process is broken. Canada's system of government has worked fairly well for over 140 years. So what is it? Is it our fault? Have we become lazy, so underwhelmed by it all ,that we have become almost unwilling to perform our democratic duty? Surely not! I know that I am still very much engaged in the political process. Almost obsessively so. It's not the game, or the spectators, it's the players. Canada has been let down by its political leaders, no matter their ilk.

The meandering science types are confused. The author has made a sports analogy, but where are the physics? Hold on to your electron microscopes. I am getting to it. I told you that I was a noob. I need to build up to it.

Here goes: The problem with Canadian politics is that we find ourselves in a leadership void. Our politicians are so bereft of personality and so lacking in inspired ideas, that Canada has found itself in an infinite loop (a computer term, I know, settle down) of minority governments. Despite repeated attempts to spin out of this loop, a majority government seems just as unlikely now, as it did when Stephen Harper first lost to Paul Martin in 2004. Try as we might, it seems that Ctrl/Alt/Del-ing, or even repeated rebooting, is not gonna do a blessed thing. Nope, it's time to toss out the hole bloody machine. After this election and the debacle that will be another minority government, it will be high time, for the Canadian electorate to demand a political upgrade. The system has tried to reboot 4 times, it's broken. There needs to be a brand new option. A Canada 2.0.

The meandering hoard of science types, now in complete facepalm, must be screaming, 'the physics, the physics, where the hell are the physics?' I am trying, be patient, Jesus! You try equating the mendacity that is Canadian politics to physics. You can't, can you? Go shine your beakers. I am doing the best I can.

The science is quite simple, really. There is a correlation between the void of leadership/sexy political ideas and the Canadian electorate's involvement in the electoral process. Nothing can exist in a black hole. The Canadian political system reached its supernova stage when Paul Martin decided that it was in his own best interest to push out Chretien and take his 'rightful' place as Canada's next Prime Minister. That was the tipping point. That's when democracy was usurped for egotistical gain and the snowball started to roll, encompassing everything in its path, until SPLAT! Here we are.

But surely it's not all Paul Martin's fault. Of course not, he is but a tiny blip in a large, complicated chain reaction. One that might have started way back with Trudeau and Levesque (have there been any compelling leaders since those two?) The Bush years played their part. Neo-Conservativism is not an idea that is Canadian at its roots (Preston Manning, Stephen Harper, Sun News). Scandals caused by a complacent Chretien government, that had been in office far too long, also played its part. The formula is complicated, the ingredients many, but there is no denying that the finished product is barely palatable. YUCK!

The science-types scoff, 'who is he now, a chemist, or Canada's Julia Childs?' Screw you science-types! Go on over there to Ottawa and fix it, armed only with your fancy formulas and your inalienable logic. I double dog dare you. Logic, HA! It's all madness; politics is chaos theory. Similar to its cousin economics. There is a special place in hell for economists, they are little more than gamblers and storytellers, with fancy degrees. Anyone can fudge numbers.

So where are we science-types? What is the formula that explains the mess that is Canadian politics? Is it as simple as F=G([m1*m2])/D^2) (gravity). What goes up, must come down. Is Canadian politics just about to hit rock bottom? If so, then what? Would Newton's 3rd law then apply? It states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. If Canadian politics is about to hit absolute bottom, would that not mean then, that its also about to reach its absolute apex? Is there hope? Could change be coming? Where have I heard that before? Hmmm...I dunno. I am as confused as the rest of you. Vote anyway. Try your best to be part of the process. Get involved. Let's talk this out. Let's be part of whatever comes next.

Death and Social Media

2011-04-04T16:03:00.000-03:00

I learned of Elizabeth Taylor's death on Twitter, Michael Jackson's and Patrick Swayze's deaths too. Pixelized news spreads quickly. With the push of a button the world is informed, or misinformed. How many times has Twitter tried to kill off Gordon Lightfoot, Jackie Chan and Neil Diamond already?

But celebrity deaths, like their lives are not a good measure of reality. How are we, the regular folks, supposed to deal with the death of a friend or loved one and social media?

I will give you three examples to think about. The first is a joke I made at Elizabeth Taylor's expense. Upon learning of her death, a few weeks ago, I Tweeted and Facebooked this joke; Elizabeth Taylor dies, announces her engagement to Ernest Hemingway. Funny, I thought, but it created a bit of a buzz on Facebook. One of my good friends, a huge Liz Taylor fan took a bit of an offense to my joke. Seems it was too soon. I was being disrespectful to the dead. Fair enough, I conceded. My joke, I felt, had little to do with Elizabeth Taylor the person and more to do with Elizabeth Taylor the tabloid celebrity. If I offended anyone, well that was not my intention. I was looking for giggles. You can't win them all. The lesson, I guess, is that there is a joke free buffer around a celebrity's death... the amount of time this buffer lasts, remains a mystery. Maybe Gilbert Gottfried knows...???

My second example was my first encounter with death and social media. A couple of years ago, a friend of mine, whose name I won't mention, committed suicide. I found out of his death via Facebook. The details of his death, which like his name, I will not mention, were not shared on Facebook, thankfully. The news of his death, however, spread quickly. His Facebook Wall became a cyber-memorial. Friends from all over left messages of love and sympathy. His account still exists, every now and then someone writes on his Wall still. Is this healthy? This unfortunate fella was not a dear friend of mine, but he was a friend, I was saddened, but not devastated by the news of his death. But what of his closer friends and relatives? Is it healthy to have a constant reminder of their dead loved one only a few clicks away?

My third example was the inspiration for this post. I lost my dear friend Andre on Saturday night. He finally lost the battle with his wonky heart. Andre was the bravest guy I have ever met. His love for life was something we should all aspire to. I'll miss him. That said, this is not an obituary piece. I'd hate to be burdened with that job... I haven't the words. Anyway, back on topic. I found out about Andre's death on Sunday morning. I had slept in, it was probably 10am before I was up and about and checking emails. It being so late in the morning, news of Andre's death had already gone viral. There was nothing I could do to stop the news, I couldn't tell the universe to quiet down in order that Andre's loved one's had the time to process this horrible news. So instead, I added my own laments. As someone whom sorts themselves out via the written word, it helped. As to whether I did a disservice to Andre's legacy, by joining the ever-growing viral bemoan, I don't know? I believe in my heart that Andre would want his friends and family to sort their grief out however they can. He was a avid social media user, he'd have joined the mob (some of us held out hope that he would. It was that close to April 1st).

So, should there be rules for social media and death? Would the rules be different according to celebrity, cause of death, or how close a person was to the person who had passed away? Is it always bad form to crack jokes about the newly deceased? And what of the profiles of these dead people? Are they interactive memorials, pixelated grave sites, a place web surfers can go to remember times past? Or should the profiles of dead people be deleted? Is the chance of bumping into the profile of a dead friend, loved one, or family member potentially too distressing? Does it depend on the feelings of the living? Surly the dead have no worries about whether their Twitter or Facebook profiles live on past their death. Heck, think of it as a digital legacy, a pixelated image of a life that was.

Maybe this post is nothing more than a blogger dealing with their own misgivings about death. I dunno? What I do know is that social media has a way of making you confront death instantaneously and rehash death whenever one might stumble upon the thumbnail, or profile of a dead person. Is this healthy? Was it better the old way, where if you weren't in close contact with a deceased person, or their loved ones, it could take a long time before learning of their death? Again, I dunno? I will probably never know. We each grieve and deal with the metaphysical reality of death differently.

God speed Andre and I am sorry for the gratuitous joke Mrs Taylor. How about the two of you raise the spirits of my unnamed buddy in the afterlife? I hope the three of you enjoy the view. Be excellent to each other. We miss you.

Where my mind is at

2011-03-12T00:18:00.000-04:00

I haven't been blogging. I have barely written much of anything lately. The odd poem here and there. A way to rid myself of some mental diarrhea. Writer's block would be a misnomer. I haven't been staring at the blinking cursor at a loss. Nope, I am not blocked, I simply haven't been trying.

Yes, circumstance has played its part. I haven't been blessed with many free hours. I have been busy not only trying to be the best partner and parent a neurotic writer-type can be, but I also I have been trying to find work. Which, frankly, sucks the soul right out of me. It's not that I don't want to work. No that's not it at all. I am looking forward to 8-10 hours out of the house, 5 or so times a week. Oh and a paycheck, wow, what a novel idea. I am not adverse to work, I am adverse to feeling like I am under a microscope. HR people, gawd love them, give me the creeps. But where was I? Oh yes, circumstance, environment and distraction, have all played a huge role in my lack of writing.

But there is more. Of course there is more. It is never as simple as 2 or 3 things weighing me down. I am also at a lose when it comes to subject. There is the novel, there is always the novel, and its subject remains the same... but I am not in the right head space to be novel-ing, not right now. What I mean is, I am not sure which subject, which global or interpersonal event will spur me on. There is no lack of chaos or misery right now. There is no shortage of heroes, villains, or victims either. Yet none of it has coaxed my fingers to make sweet love to a keyboard. Very unsexy.

I could, if I was more dedicated, write a passionate pro-union piece. How hard would it be to string together a 1000 words or so of disgust in regards to the Koch Brother's faux-grassroots Tea Party movement and its nefarious plot to destroy the American middle class? But it is always better to leave that sort thing to the pros. Jon Stewart, Bill Maher and Michael Moore have a larger target audience. They're much better suited for that fight. The sponsors have spoken. Moving on.

What else is there...? Oh yes, the specter of a Canadian election. Know what? I'll get to that when the writ is dropped. I'd hate to look like the Conservative Party of Canada, you know, very eager to campaign, and more than willing to blame the other guys for forcing an election. My voice will be heard. But I am classy enough to wait until I know a date. Hear hear.

Then there is hockey. As some of you might know, I am a hockey nut. A bigger Montreal Canadiens fan you will not find. If you follow hockey, or sports at all, you will also be aware that there was a horrific check thrown in Tuesday night's Bruins/Canadiens game that left the Canadiens' Max Pacioretty crumbled, lifeless on the ice. It was a scary moment. One that left Canadiens' fans like myself, sick and angry. We felt that Bruin's captain Zdeno Chara (all 6'7'' 250 pounds of him) deliberately smashed Pacioretty's head into the glass stanchion. Try as I might to view this event objectively, unblinded by rage and loyalty, I can't. I am, so I've been told, an irrational fan, unable to see past the outcome (a fractured vertebrae and a severe concussion) . All of which is probably true. Carrying on.

What's next? NATURAL DISASTERS! Ye gads, and I mean no offense to those in the effected regions, but who the hell can keep up with them? Just when the world had purged themselves of worry and thoughts of New Zealand and its traumatic earthquake, Japan gets hit. Do I feel horrible? Of course. Do I feel incapable of helping? Yep that too. The worse that things get, the less I pay attention. If I were to internalize all the shit, all the death, the carnage, the wasted lives, the evil and the greed that fills the 24 hour news cycle, my insides would rot. It can't be all that bad, I won't allow it to be all that bad. I have kids to raise. My tiny world sphere matters more, to me, than does the misery that is the wider world. Sorry, channel switched.

The same goes with the Middle East. I hope nothing more than for peace and prosperity, for each and every citizen standing up for freedom (whatever the hell freedom is). I'd love for the revolutions that are popping up all over, to lead to governments that put people ahead of ideology, religion or greed. But I am sorry the cynic in me knows better. I hate to be a buzz kill, but I just don't see how students (mostly) armed with iPhones and Twitter apps are going to reverse thousands of years of history. I have been burnt by false optimism before. I changed my avatar green for Iran and all it did was make me look sickly. Reality bites. Unfollow me if you must.

So there. This is where my mind is at. I am here, I am there, I am everywhere. I could promise to blog more, but I hate making empty promises. So until things are settled on the job front and until I can settle into a routine, posts will remain sporadic. As healthy as it is for me to empty my mind of bottled up thoughts, I am not sure when I will next be afforded the opportunity. Thanks for reading, if you've made it this far. Much love. And until next time, I am out!

Watching Snow Slide From Rooftops

2011-02-08T15:44:00.000-04:00

Dreaming of spring.
Lying to myself.
I am not really going to exercise.
I am not really going to look like
a Greek God,
come summer.
Not unless they named Diogenes a god.
The god of wine, sloth and cynicism.
My kind of guy.
I have been told that postmodernism is lame.
And to hell with the surreal.
So I am left with being a cynic.
Like they want me to be unhappy.
Like I shouldn't look beyond the state of things.
Like everything is shit,
like it ain't ever gonna get better...
or worse.
I say bollocks.
Hug your kids,
kiss your partner,
thumb your nose at it all.
But remember to keep a shovel close.
Thud!

Happy Martin Luther King Day

2011-01-17T17:26:00.000-04:00

We don't celebrate Martin Luther King Day in Canada, which is a shame. Sure Martin Luther King Jr. is an American hero, and a powerful symbol in the American civil rights movement, but damn it, his actions and his words resonate beyond America's borders, even way up here in the frosty North.

My 11-year-old daughter, who was supposed to be cleaning her room, came to me, calender in hand, and said she didn't have to clean her room today because it was a holiday. First I said, um no it is isn't, and then I asked her if she knew who Martin Luther King was. She did not, which is also a shame, and yes she was sent back to clean her room.

We could use a holiday in the middle of January, and Canada, despite it's long history, hasn't got its own powerfully symbolic civil rights figure (Louis Riel?). Why not piggyback on a worthy American symbol? If only to teach my daughter Doctor King's story alone. Her lack of knowledge of Doctor King is on me, Emily is home schooled, I have no one to blame for that, now, but myself. So, in honour of Martn Luther King Jr, and in the hopes of teaching Emily a little about the Civil Rights Movement (blaxploitation movie night is next) here is video of Doctor King's 'I had a dream' speech, followed by its full text.

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Story continues below

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

This One Goes Out To The CRTC.

2011-01-14T14:30:00.000-04:00

Dire Straits - Money For Nothing [1984 @ Yahoo! Video

Show Some Love To The CBC

2010-12-16T00:05:00.000-04:00

Wanking Bankers

2010-12-15T13:36:00.000-04:00

Hat tip to The Galloping Beaver

Typing While The Sun Shines

2010-11-14T15:45:00.002-04:00

Here I sit, the sun bursting through living room windows. XTC's Dear God, blasting out of laptop speakers. What's next? Maybe a pot of coffee, I am not sure I can face the blinking cursor yet. It all seems so daunting. I feel like I am above my head, like I am drowning in a sea of words without structure. Someone please throw me a life preserver. Someone give me a project. I am devoid of inspiration, I am tempted to say, fuck it all, and play video games.

I return for the kitchen, coffee brewing. A big chunk of cheese consumed. I wonder why I put conditioner in my hair, all it does is make it puffy and even more unmanageable. Yes, folks, that's how my brain works. It flits from this to that.

I must avoid Twitter, thankfully the place is as sparse as the audience at a Pauly Shore movie. I swear I hear crickets. Then there is Facebook, the news sites, fantasy sports, You Tube, there is time suckage with every click. I must avoid the Web, lest I get tangled, lest the huge man-eating spider of distraction devours me whole.

The coffee must be brewed, back to the kitchen I go. Oh and ya, I just checked in on Twitter. Goddamn it I am weak. The coffee will help, but I wish it was red wine. Bitch, bitch, bitch, why the malaise? Truthfully, ladies, gentlemen, boys and girls, I am not that down. This is just a way for me to get out of a creative funk. I try and write through it. I describe it, I try and make other folks feel for my situation. Writer's block, of course, is nothing new, nor is it unique to me, all of us that like to think we have a way with words, fall into the abyss, all of us lose our way sometimes.

So yes, the sun still shines, and I have typed a few words. Thistles & Weeds, by Mumford & Sons, will be the song blasted in closing. Once again I avoided the file that contains my novel. I just can't face that beast today. I have also ignored the unfinished post about the failure of American liberalism, does anyone really care about that on a sunny Sunday? And yet, I have written, I have pounded, if only for a few minutes, like a monkey with keyboard. The result, is nothing but a bitch, a whine, and a lament about writer's block. A subject I have tackled a few times on this blog. A topic, I bet, that I will write about again. A malady to which there is no real cure. One can only get through it using whatever trick they think might work best. Today, I bitched.

Dear God, sorry to disturb you, but... I feel that I should be heard
Loud and clear. We all need a big reduction in amount of tears ~ Dear God, XTC

Spare me your judgments and spare me your dreams,
Cause recently mine have been tearing my seams ~ Thistle & Weeds, Mumford & Sons

Dear America,

2010-11-01T16:18:00.004-03:00

Hi, Joe here, you know, that Canadian guy, the one with the unhealthy obsession with your wacky political system. Canadian, yes, and I bet that was as far as any teabaggers got into this letter. My bad, I scared them off, what with my unabashed socialism and potential illegal immigrant status. The truth is, and you might want to skip this part righties (if you are still reading) I was a card-carrying Communist in my 20's. It was the 90s, I thought, foolishly, that such an out-there political stance might better endear me to some of the more hip of the lady folk. It, of course, didn't, and now I am at risk of making an appearance on Glenn Beck's chalk board. Man I miss Joseph McCarthy, he was always my favorite Beatle.

Where was I? Oh right, I was writing a letter to the 310,232,863 or so citizens of the country to the south of me. Or more specifically, the 207,643,594 of those folks that are eligible to vote. Go here, then here, to see where I got those crazy numbers. Why am I writing this letter? Is this not electoral interference from a foreigner...sure, and why not? If I am going to subjected to an unending stream of political madness, whether it be through the mass media (those bastards! Thanks Sarah), or social media (screw you Zuckerberg) then damn it, I am going to have my say. Freedom of expression baby!

The American Midterm Elections are unavoidable. These are ghoulish times; filled with witches, grizzly mamas, and Muslim Presidents. A time where fired former correspondents become high paid pundits, where comedians have become the voice of reason. If you are a politico, like I am, this is like Woodstock, but Woodstock experienced after sipping too much of the wrong sort of Kool-Aide. OH YEAH!

All I ask, dear neighbours, dear cousins, dear friends, is that you vote wisely. Leave your guts (and yes you all are American and your guts are substantial), guns, bibles, and prejudices at home. Vote for the best candidate, not the fringe candidate. I can understand voter apathy, I know things are tough, I get the anger, but voting for a candidate that represents only anger, and only apathy, will get you a lame duck elected member. Vote for the best and the brightest, not the loudest and densest. Here is a simple way to pick a candidate; vote for the one that ran the least amount attack ads. Vote for the candidate that talks to the press, not the one that avoids and ridicules the press. Vote for the candidate that has ideas that are their own, not the one that spouts catch phrases and talking points. If there was political debate, vote for the person that won that debate. Please, just vote smart.

You might be asking; why do I care? You might think I am nothing but an uppity, judgmental Canadian, or as we like to call ourselves, the liberal elite. Well here goes, I care because, much to the sometimes chagrin of the rest of the world, when America farts, everyone else smells it. The world just went through the last time America cowboyed up, went rogue, and overreacted, and quite frankly, those wounds have yet to heal. The rest of us, those of us, that have no right to participate in cause, but every ability to feel the effect, just want America to be reasonable for awhile. Just until the pain subsides, and we stop limping. We just want some normalcy. The circus is great fun from time to time, but cleaning up elephant shit is the worst job ever. We need a break, we're calling time out.

In closing, I love you, I wish you nothing but happiness and prosperity, but please, don't fuck this all up for the rest of us.

Hugs xoxoxo
Joe

Watch this, it's important.

2010-11-01T13:04:00.000-03:00

Full text of Brian Travers' speech for the Love Music Hate Racism Rally

2010-10-17T16:39:00.001-03:00

Yesterday in London, sax player, rock star, and all around uber-human Brian Travers gave a rousing speech at the Love Music Hate Racism Rally. A speech, in which he was so kind to allow me to help him with. In the spirit of the rally, and in the hopes that I can help, in my own little way, spread the message further, here is Brian's speech in its entirety:

HOW CAN WE MAKE OURSELVES STRONGER? HOW CAN WE GET OUR MESSAGE INTO THE HEARTS AND MINDS OF PEOPLE EVERYWHERE? THAT'S WHAT I WANT TO TALK ABOUT TODAY.

My name is Brian Travers, I'm a musician, and I’ve spent the last 30 years recording, and performing concerts worldwide, with a band that formed only a few miles from here in Moseley. We called ourselves UB40. We took the name from the registration number on the dole card of the day the: 'Unemployment Benefit 40'. There were so many of us carrying that same number after all. Almost one in ten of us were unemployed at the time in this country. It was a time that become known as the 'Winter Of Discontent'. It was 1978-79, James Callaghan's Labour Government was struggling to keep inflation down, and trade unions were fighting for a living wage. Things were a mess, everyone was struggling just to get by. Eventually, something had to give, and when it did, Margaret Thatcher, and her Tory 'boot boys' had landed in Number 10 Downing Street. I mention this, because I want draw comparison to the political climate of the late 70s, to what's happening now, in the 21st century. I want to highlight the importance of the work LOVE MUSIC HATE RACISM is doing right now, and draw a parallel, with the incredible job their predecessors did, with the legendary ROCK AGAINST RACISM, organized by The Anti- Nazi League.

It's something I can talk about without diving into the history books, as UB40 were there, playing the gigs, and experiencing the dismantling of the then National Front, and The British Movement. ROCK AGAINST RACISM effectively made it incredibly unfashionable to be anything other than a committed anti-racist. Even the music press, and the more liberated radio & TV shows, got behind the movement. During its watch there were huge carnivals, featuring bands such as THE CLASH, and our very own STEEL PULSE from Handsworth. One such event in 1978, a march from Trafalgar Square to Brick lane, in the East End of London, drew more than a 100,000 people. Who then then marched all the way to Victoria Park. We celebrated together, Black, White, Asian; united by our shared belief in Great Britain’s multicultural ascendancy. The sun was shining, the future looked bright. We were young, we thought that we were changing the world.

UB40 were there, not performing, unfortunately...we were still learning to play our first songs in a rehearsal room (actually a cellar beneath a bedsit in Trafalgar Road). But we were there marching, we were taken to London on coaches, which left from Broad Street, and were provided by ROCK AGAINST RACISM. Days like that only gave us more belief in the power of music to unite people. It gave us the encouragement, we needed, to stick it out. Even through those tough, gig hungry, early days. It helped us as well, form a deeper political understanding. We heard some pretty fantastic music as well; tunes I still play today. Tunes that take me straight back to Brick Lane in 1978. Steel Pulse's 'Klu Klux Klan' ...to name but one...

It doesn’t feel like 30 years ago, but here we are again. In a very similar political climate, the Nazis have re-named themselves...AGAIN...their representatives have swapped their jack boots, for pin stripes. They still have no other policy than hate. And we are still here, keeping a close eye on their activities. Thankfully the very same people that kept us alert back in the
70s & 80s are still vigilant today. What would we do without them?

Most of you are aware of everything I’ve just said, I know this is the sharp end of the movement. But I feel it is important, that we remind ourselves of past victories. There's is no harm in getting a slap on the back from a friend.

When Lee Billingham (Bruno Angellinis's contact) invited me to speak tonight, I was
immediately drawn to the idea of the then and now; ROCK AGAINST RACISM and LOVE MUSIC HATE RACISM. Although they have the same ideals, they are separated by
decades of time, and a million miles of technology. We now have the Internet at our fingertips. This has changed everything, we are not simply talking about racism in the UK, racism is a worldwide pandemic. The citizens of the world are connected,
faster and easier, than most of us are with our next door neighbours. It was with this in mind, that I endeavored to promote LOVE MUSIC HATE RACISM. I called on friends, from around the world via TWITTER. People, who’s minds I admire,to give me a few lines of rhetoric. Something they felt might connect with some like-minded souls here today, in Birmingham.

Tariq Aslam of Edinburgh Scotland, wrote back saying... “Compassion, acceptance and tolerance are all part of the unwritten constitution here in the UK. These are traits to be proud of, to promote and to appreciate for the benefits they bring. But
they don't come easily. They need to be hard fought in an ever-globalizing world in which they are bound to the fight against racism, which in turn is part and parcel of the struggle for civil rights...for human rights, just one link in the chain for equality for all people regardless of race, colour, creed or gender.

The Love Music Hate Racism events that have been held across the country are a timely reminder that racism is an ever-present danger within our communities and country. LMHR seeks to challenge racial prejudice, intolerance and cultural stereotypes through raising awareness, and celebrating cultural diversity. In thesetimes of economic hardship, of recessionary blues, and unemployment disharmony, it seems only natural that people want to vent their frustrations on someone, or join a political party that they might under normal circumstances never consider as a viable option. Our challenge is to educate, inform, unite and debate so that we can throw a ring fence around common sense and common decency, by sheltering the vulnerable from the politics of hate, and the venom of racism. The ghost of Enoch Powell still haunts the corridors of Westminster but the time has come to finally lay it to rest once and for all."

A 1st generation London Italian friend of mine, Bruno Angellini, who makes the best espresso on the Caledonian road by the way, wrote and said; his late Father Giuseppe Angellini, who came with his young wife to Britain in 1953, always
said: 'ringrazzio sempre l'Inghilterra per l'opportunita di farmi una
vita' He thanked England always for giving him the opportunity to make a life. My Father Joseph Travers, who arrived from Dublin, at around the same time, says exactly the same thing, not in Italian of course.

The Writer Joseph Lane, from Fredericton New Brunswick, Canada wrote back, saying...
“Borders are nothing but invisible lines, skin colour, only tiny differences in melanin. Nationality is dumb luck, and language is environmental. Religion is control, politics, but the combination of all humanity's warts. Music, however, is universal, the drumbeat of the collective human soul. Music is the global unifier."

He went on to add... "The APA (American Psychological Association) says, and I quote: “Psychological research has demonstrated that stereotypical thinking may decrease as a consequence of contact between people of different races.” Racism and hate run rampant in communities that are predominantly mono-cultural. Tolerance has a horrible time blooming in a void. Aside from forced integration, which to be frank produces mixed results; see Canada's struggles with the Native Communities and residential schooling, or the American civil rights movement. Instant acceptance in cultural integration is impossible. The trick, is to find the universal things that cross cultural, racial and linguistic lines, like music, art or food. If we the human population, all 6 billion, (or is it7 now?)of us,
viewed the world, not in terms of politics, religion, race or geography, but instead, as one great big human potluck. A bring your own music, art, culture or food global get together; hate, racism and intolerance would surely ebb. If we can teach the intolerant to peek out from under their cultural blinders, if the hateful can, for but a minute, listen to the drumbeat of the universal human, and if the racist could unplug his nose, and taste what the outside world is cooking, the neurosis, and the fear of that which is beyond their bubbles, will eventually pop."

The Hungarian composer Zoltán Kodály said: "Real art is one of the most powerful forces in the rise of mankind, and he who renders it accessible to as many people as
possible is a benefactor of humanity. Music is the manifestation of the human spirit"

That's why LOVE MUSIC HATE RACISM is INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT, that's why ROCK AGAINST RACISM prevailed in the bad old 1970s & 80s, and that is why LOVE MUSIC HATE RACISM will prevail in the 21st Century... There have already been hundreds of events, large outdoor festivals, club nights, and top contemporary artists including Jon
McLures, Reverend and the Makers, Chipmunk, Ms Dynamite, Hard Fi, Babyshambles, Akala, Get Cape Wear Cape Fly, Estelle, The View, Lethal Bizzle, Roll Deep, and Basement Jaxx,*to name but a few...and there's a lot more of us out there, waiting for the call...

HOW CAN WE MAKE OURSELVES STRONGER? HOW CAN WE GET OUR MESSAGE INTO THE HEARTS AND MINDS OF PEOPLE EVERYWHERE? Easy...support LOVE MUSIC HATE RACISM!!

I was going to finish with something Edmund Burke said in the 1700’s, and its something that is just as true today as it ever was:“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.” BUT I've just noticed it written on a UAF T shirt in the lobby... so, I'm going to use something sent to me by the London Broadcaster Rick Glanvill. "FIRST THEY CAME...attributed to Pastor Martin Niemoller, about the inactivity of German intellectuals following the Nazis rise to power... They came first for the Communists,  and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.   Then they came for the trade unionists,  and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for me  and by that time no one was left to speak up."

And if that doesn't work for you, here's one from The Reverend and the Makers Jon McLure, a quote from LOVE MUSIC HATE RACISM’S Barnsley event, in May,

"FUCK THE BNP!"

THANK YOU

My first ever blog post. Unedited in order to maintain posterity

2010-10-16T19:00:00.000-03:00

First the url, to my first, of what were to be many, blogs:
http://pinkocanuck.blogspot.com/

Written in September of 2005, remember then? You will.

The opening Rant

So I decided that it might be fun to have my own blog. Christ everyone is doing it. I am by no means technically savvy enough to offer the patrons of this world wide web anything, other then what I think and feel at any giving moment. So what do I think and feel right now, well where to begin, this being my first rant, and what with the whole Katrina mess, where better to start but with the first ever crazypinkocanuck look at what I think is wrong with everyones favorite superpower punching bag The US of A.
In no particular order.
1. The US media. The media in the US are as driven by polls and market research as the politicians that they serve and protect. Sure now we see guys like Anderson Cooper from CNN, ranting and raving about FEMA's inadequate response, even Fox (which I keep track of only to see how the darkside is thinking, know thyn enemy, that and well the Simpsons) is now asking "serious" questions about the government response. The whole republican notion that the American media is liberal, is false, this administrations greatest victory was its castration of the main stream media. Checks and balances exist not in TVland, but on the internet where content is not driven by demographics and corporate sponsorship.
2. The American political system.Huh. The rules and institutions that make up the worlds greatest democracy are as hard to fathom as oh lets say cricket, and I read Jon Stewarts Democracy twice. The failures of Katrina have as much to do with an archiac system of government, then say a vacation happy President, or even an unqualified FEMA director. When local, state and Federal levels of government can not work together in times of crisis, because of redtape and partisian politics, its time to rethink things me thinks.
3. A superpower sans world view. The US's aversion to the UN frightens me. The war in Iraq is of course the most stunning example of this, the coalition of the willing, you are with us or against, and bring it on. All this false bravado, is nothing more then a superpower losing its mojo.
4. Karl Rove. Here is a man whom has never been elected to any post in the federal government, he has no fear of any voter agnst, or recall, or impeachment and yet it is he and Cheney that are running the country. Karl Rove is like the cartoon devil that sits on Georgie's shoulder....... where is the angel.
I could go on and on, and hey thats what a rant is all about, but seeing that this is the first rant, I shouldn't step on to many toes. Not only that but I am not really sure if I can even get this whole blog thing off the ground. If all goes well and I am not as technically inept as I fear, please comment, good bad and ugly, doesn't matter to me.

Spoiler Alert

2010-10-16T01:05:00.000-03:00

Discuss.

Orbs

2010-10-10T21:35:00.459-03:00

A short story by Joseph Lane

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Jim asked, adjusting his hat.

“No, never.” said Tom, handing Jim $1.76 in change, then placing his milk and bread in a plastic bag.

“What do you think it is? Where did it come from?” Jim grabbed the bag, and impulsively inspected its contents.

“I dunno, but it wasn't here at 11, when I was closing up last night.” Tom fiddled with the 'Give a penny, keep a penny jar', then gazed out the store window like Tom.

“So nobody saw or heard anything last night?” said Jim, now standing at the window.

“Nope, which is odd considering how busy this street is, with all the apartment buildings there are around here.” Tom walked out from behind the store counter, and joined Jim at the store window.

“I know it sounds crazy, and I don't believe that sorta shit, but it doesn't look earthly.”

Jim and Tom stood and watched the burgeoning collection of firemen, police officers, press, and the generally curious that had been gathering since earlier that morning.

“I bet it's a bunch of students from the art college in the city, all an elaborate hoax. Kids these days, you know.” said Tom, holding the store door open for Jim.

“Maybe. I will be sure to keep an eye on the news. Thanks Tom.”

“See ya Jim.”

Elizabeth Kelly, who was standing on the lawn of one of the apartment buildings across the street from Tom's store, was putting on her face, staring into a small compact makeup kit.

“We are on in 5 Liz.” Said Kevin, her producer and cameraman.

“I wish we had more to say. Am I talking to the geologist, or the police chief first?” Elizabeth fiddled with her hair.

“We are going with the geologist first. 3 minutes.” Kevin picked up his camera, pressed a few buttons. “2 minutes.”

“Michael Fredericks, right? The geologist.”

“Yes. 45 seconds.”

Michael Fredericks approached Elizabeth. He was very tall, skinny and bearded. The picture of awkward academia. They shook hands.

“25 seconds.” Here we go, thought Elizabeth, my first spot on the National nightly news. She fiddled with her hair, took a deep breath, then looked towards Kevin.

Michael adjusted his tie. “Do I look at you, or into the camera?”

“The camera”

“In 5,4" Kevin hand gestures 3,2,1, points to Elizabeth.

“Good afternoon. We are here, just off St. George Street, in the picturesque town of Mapleton Ontario, where sometime last night a mysterious Orb appeared. Local residents, here in Mapleton, have never seen anything like it, and so far no one has claimed responsibility, for its seemingly magical appearance. With me now is Michael Fredericks, associate professor of geology at Eastern University. Mr Fredericks, good afternoon, what are we looking at?”

“Good afternoon Elizabeth. As far as I can tell it's an Orb, and from my measurements, it seems to be geometrically perfect. It's really quite beautiful.”

“Have you seen anything like it in the natural world?” asked Elizabeth, cursing Micheal Fredericks, thinking to herself 'oh great a professorial type, who has the personality of a log.'

“No. I am also very confused as to what it is made of. From what little time I have had to study it, I am not sure what materials make it up. It seems to be both organic, and metallic at the same time.”

“Fascinating." Elizabeth could barely stop her eyes from rolling. "An elaborate hoax?” she asked. Which was what she herself believed, that this was all the work of some crop-circle freaks, bent on messing with this small town's residents' minds.

“I can't imagine that it is anything else.” said Mr Fredericks, who despite his academic background, believed this thing was extra-terrestrial. There was no way he'd admit that publicly, especially on the nightly news, that would be occupational suicide, he'd be laughed off campus. But there was something unearthly about this Orb, and it scared the crap out of him.

“Thank you Mr Fredericks.” didn't that go well, she thought. I hope the police chief has more personality. Will this story even make it through edit?

“You are welcome.”

Michael Fredericks shook Elizabeth's, then Kevin's hand, and joined a crowd of people standing near the Orb.

“Is the police chief ready Kev?"

Kevin, 30, metrosexual to the very tip of his perfect faux hawk, was talking on his iPhone. He held a finger up to Elizabeth, as if to tell her to wait a minute. The look in his eyes was one of amazement and fear. He mumbled a few 'ahas' and 'okays', maybe a 'yep'. Whatever was being said on the other end of the line, was obviously far more important than anything Kevin might add in rebuttal.

Elizabeth was both impatient and curious. She would shoot looks Kevin's way, only to be met with a nod or a finger. What the hell was going on? What was the delay?

Kevin stuffed his cell into his pocket. Ever the fatalist, he had a feeling that something horrible was about to happen. He had that feeling when he first saw the Orb, earlier this morning. It wasn't just because he and his new girlfriend were supposed to head off to Cuba tomorrow. Sure, he didn't want this gig in the first place, he was a day away from vacation, and he didn't feel like spending the day in some hick town in western Ontario. No, it was more than just that, he had a bad feeling, in the pit of his stomach, as soon as he caught sight of the Orb. Something was not right, and he knew it.

Kevin walked a few steps towards the news van. He looked at himself in the news van's side mirror; fit, smart, sexy, he said to himself, and with a forced smile, made his way towards Elizabeth.

“What's up? Are we going to interview the police chief?” Elizabeth's hands were in the air. She hated not being in control.

“The story is changing, it's bigger than we thought.” Kevin said, trying, but failing, to hide the fear in his eyes.

“What do you mean? What the hell is going on?”

“That was Toronto. They told me that there have been similar reports of Orbs popping up all over the globe. There have been at least 35 discoveries in Canada alone. Discoveries in Europe, Asia, and Australia as well. There might be thousands of these things. We have been told to sit tight, and wait for further instruction.” Kevin's phone rang again, he walked a few metres away from the gathering crowd, before answering it.

“Get our ass to a TV.” The voice on the other end of the phone said.

“Why, what is going on?” Kevin responded, the colour draining from his cheeks.

“One of the Orbs, just outside Brisbane, Australia, has been vibrating and changing colours for the last half hour. Go! Something significant is happening. We want you two to a safe distance from the Orb.”

Elizabeth got as close as she could to Kevin, trying her hardest to listen to the voice on the other end of Kevin's phone...

“How far is a safe distance? What if this one starts to vibrate and change colours?" asked Kevin, shrugging.

Elizabeth, elbowed Kevin in the gut, and said "I want to catch it all on film. I am not going to miss it.” ambition in her eyes.

“Find a place with a good view of the Orb, but I want you guys inside. And for God's sake be careful. Keep your cell phone on, we will be in constant communication.”

Kevin stuffed his phone back in his pocket. “We have to tell all these people that they should get a safe distance from the Orb. Where is that police chief?”

“What's up Kev? Is the Orb dangerous? Let's tell the story. Let's get the camera running.” Elizabeth was excited, she had the feeling she was now sitting on the story of the century.

“There are thousands of these things Liz. There is one in Brisbane that is vibrating and changing colour. We need to get folks safely away from this thing, until we have a better idea what the hell is happening. Where the hell is that police chief?" Kevin finally permitted himself to outwardly express the stress he felt. The forced smile was gone, the fear in his eyes less masked.

Police chief Fred Campbell, and his team of 10 officers had spent most of the day trying to keep teenagers from crawling all over the Orb. He had no idea what it was, frankly he didn't care. He would much rather be home in front of his brand new 50 inch HD TV, watching NASCAR. This was an unexpected, and unwanted event, one which he couldn't wait to be over. He was 64 years old, and about 6 months away from a much deserved retirement. This was nothing be a pain in his ass.

Constable Gnew, the new kid, 24, fresh faced, straight out of cop college, ran up to the chief, red faced and excited. “Phone call chief. It is Ottawa, they say it is important.”

“Thanks Mikey. Keep an eye on that group of boppers over there, will you?” said the chief.

“Sure thing chief.” Mike walked over towards a fence, where a group of teenagers were hanging out. Upon seeing him approach, they tossed their cigarettes, and quickly dispersed.

“Chief Campbell. Aha, yes, who is this? OK, yes. Really, yes I am listening.” The knit in Chief Campbell's brow grew more and more pronounced. He began to pace back and forth.

Chief Campbell pressed the red button on the phone, then stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Everyone clear the area! Everyone go home!” He whistled louder, almost drowning out the squawks of his walkie-talkie, and the voices of his perplexed officers.

“What's going on chief?”

“Just clear the area.”

“What we tell the crowd?”

“Tell them this area is unsafe.”

“Is it the Orb chief? Should they be afraid of the Orb?”

“For shit's sake, YES! Clear the area!”

Slowly the area around Tom's Convenience Store, and eventually a 5 block radius around the Orb site, was cleared of civilians. The only folks visible, anywhere near the Orb, were first responders, and folks in Hazmat suits. About once every half hour a press, military, or government helicopter would circle well above the orb.

“Fucking copters, you and I should be up in one of them, telling this story.” said Elizabeth plunked on a hotel bed, watching NewsWorld.

“You should be watching our network.” Said Kevin, leaning against a dresser, drinking a Heineken, which he had grabbed from the bar fridge.

“Screw that, this is a National, hell Global emergency, I only trust the National broadcaster when things go all to hell. And besides, my network just pulled me from the story of the century, so fuck em.” With that Elizabeth fell back on the bed, kicking off her shoes as see landed.

“It's for our own safety Liz. No one knows what those things are...”

Just then, there was a bright flash, then only static from the feed in Brisbane. Within a second or two, Peter Landsbridge was seen fiddling with his ear piece. “Ahem, we're sorry, it seems that we are having technical difficulties with our feed from Brisbane. We will return there live once things are ironed out. For those just tuning in, we have been covering, the still developing story, of thousands and thousands of Orbs, that have appeared, as if out of nowhere, and worldwide, over the last 12 to 24 hours...” Landsbridge held his finger to his ear once again. His eyebrows rose, confusion, then what looked like despair crossed his face.

“... we are getting unconfirmed reports of massive power outages in Western Australia. We have been unable to reach any of our correspondents in Brisbane. The ABC in Sydney seems to have gone dark. Stay tuned, we will bring you further information as it comes in.”

Elizabeth sat up, Kevin put his beer down on the dresser. From their window, on the 5 floor of the Mapleton Best Western, they could see the very top of the Orb. It sat grey, it was neither vibrating or glowing, yet. Suddenly, Kevin's phone rang, then even before he could answer it, Elizabeth's rang. On the other end of Kevin's phone was his girlfriend.

“Hey babe. I am safe... I am at a hotel, a Best Western about 5 blocks away... I don't know what they are... I know, I know, don't be scared, I'll be home soon.... everything will be fine, I promise. I love you too... stop worrying, I will be there soon... I gotta go babe, Landsbridge is about to tell us what is the hell is going on...a ha, yep. Love you too. Bye.”

Elizabeth had a very similar conversation with her mother. She too cut the phone call short to see what Peter Landsbridge had to report.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is with a heavy heart, and mind you this story is still developing, much is still unconfirmed, that I have to report that communication, whether it be by landline, cell phone or via the Internet, has ceased with Australia. Sydney has gone quiet, there is no news from Brisbane, Melbourne or even cities as far away, as Adelaide or Perth. Our producers were able, just a few minutes ago, to talk briefly with New Zealand's Foreign Minister, who released this statement: “At 2:26 am local time, a flash of light was seen throughout the skies of Oceania. Moments later, we lost all communication with our dear friends and neighbours in Australia. We have called on the navy to send ships carrying food, water, and medical supplies as quickly as possible to Australia. We ask that the global community pray for Australia. And we make a promise to go above and beyond, to help our dear friends recover from whatever it is, that has just happened.”

Landsbridge began to look ever-worried. “There are now reports of vibrating and glowing Orbs throughout Asia. China and Japan have called for an emergency meeting of the UN Security Council. The American President, we are told, is meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Canadian Prime Minister has yet to call for a national state of emergency, but he has asked that citizens stay well away from any of the Orbs, and that each Canadian municipality, be ready to enact emergency measures at a moment's notice.”

Kevin's phone rang, it was Toronto: “We want you and Elizabeth to get in the van and drive to the airport. We are pulling you out of Mapleton, we are bringing you in. The corporate jet is waiting on runaway 3. Flash your press badges, the folks at the airport are expecting you.”

Kevin looked up at Elizabeth, who was transfixed by the TV. “We gotta go. There is a plane waiting for us. They want us out of here.”

“What about the story? We are here already, we can tell as good as anyone else.” Said Elizabeth, stubborn to the end.

“We gotta go. Those are our orders.”

The first satellite images of Australia were popping up on Google, and being broadcast. Australia was flattened. A huge plume of smoke could be seen from space.

“Holy shit” Said Elizabeth.

Kevin grabbed Elizabeth's arm, pulled her off the bed. “We have got to go. I am not letting you or I die in Mapleton.”

The drive to the airport was bumper to bumper. Panicked civilians, with little idea what to do, had piled into their cars and headed to wherever they thought might be safest. The airport, it would seem, was as good a destination as any. Elizabeth and Kevin listened to the radio as they drove.

NATO and the American Military were trying various methods to destroy Orbs. Conventional methods and weaponry had yet to work. The President up to this point refused to consider the nuclear option. There was however, an on-going operation, just outside Seattle, Washington, where the US Military was attempting to dig up an Orb, load it onto a rocket, where it would be flown into space, where it could blow up, or flash, or do whatever it does outside the Earth's atmosphere. “The worry,” said the radio newscaster “is time.”

Now at the airport, Elizabeth and Kevin weaved through the frenzied crowd of stranded passengers, and folks trying to fly as far away from Mapleton as possible. Kevin lead them towards a customer service kiosk. Once there, Kevin flashed his press badge, and said that he had been told that everything was set up, that there was a plane waiting for himself and Elizabeth on runway 3. The customer service representative punched a few words into his computer, looked over Kevin and Elizabeth a couple of times, then said: “Of course, please follow me.”

The representative lead them through customs, then hurriedly down long airport corridors. Just as they were about to enter gate 64, which would lead them onto the waiting plane, the lights dimmed and they heard load gasps throughout the airport.

“What now?” Asked Elizabeth, clinging hard to Kevin's arm. “I don't know? But I think it is best that we get on the plane, and get out of here.”

Elizabeth took a few steps backwards, she wanted to know what was happening.

“Liz, please, there is nothing we can do, no matter what's happening. Let's get on this plane, and home to our loved ones, while we still can.” Kevin lurched forward and grabbed Elizabeth's left arm. She tore it from his grasp and ran back into the airport. Kevin ran after her.

They didn't have to run far; high above the seats in the waiting area of Gate 64, there was a TV. Peter Landsbridge, even more ashen, and shocked as before, reported that the world had lost New Zealand, China, most of South East Asia. Japan, Mongolia, India and the extreme East of Russia. Most of the Eastern world was no longer responding to communication attempts.

Elizabeth and Kevin stood silently staring at the TV for a few minutes. Shocked, almost unable to move, Kevin finally grabbed Elizabeth's hand and said “Let's get home to our families. Please, Elizabeth, let's get on that plane.” Elizabeth silently capitulated.

Elizabeth and Kevin were not alone on the plane. There were about 15 other people, fortunate enough to have connections within the corporation, that had secured seats. The Vice President's son was on board, so too were another team of producer and reporter. The rest of the passengers were mostly family of executives, or advertising salespeople.

“Lady's and gentlemen, my name is Charlie McNichol, I will be your captain. We are scheduled to depart from runway 6 at 4:15 pm, or in about a half an hour. In the meantime, the lovely and capable Michelle will be on hand to cater to your food or drink needs. The flight itself, will take approximately an hour and 20 minutes. We are anticipating higher than average traffic at Pearson International, I will inform you once I have a better idea what's happening in Toronto. So sit tight, we will be in the air soon.”

“Sexist bastard.” Elizabeth muttered.

Kevin shrugged, wondered where this lovely and capable Michelle was hiding. He needed a drink to straighten himself out.

Elizabeth dug in her travel bag and pulled out her iPad. Thank God for 3G technology, she thought. She instinctively checked her emails, then a quick peek in on her social networks. Same old shit, bills and an email from her mom in her email box. Twitter and Facebook were littered with fears that the end was near. Surprisingly considering the reported devastation in Australia, and Asia. The Web seemed to be so far unaffected.

Elizabeth typed in the url for CNN. Things have gone all to hell, shit like this is right up CNN's alley, she thought. The headline, written in big bold black letters was: IS THIS THE END? Elizabeth couldn't help but chuckle, Jim Morrison's lyrics : “This is the end. My only friend, the end” were bouncing in her head. Oh how she loved the Doors as a teenager.

Kevin looked over Elizabeth's shoulder. “Are we all dead yet?” he asked, a weak attempt at humour, he knew, but at this point, that's all he could come up with.

“Ha, I don't think so, unless flying in a corporate jet is some new sort of heaven, purgatory, or limbo.”

“Are you religious?” asked Kevin, noticing that Michelle, the stewardess, was approaching with the drink cart.

“Nah, I am a borderline atheist. Not full-blown, figured I might wanna recant on my death bed, you know, just in case I am wrong.” Elizabeth looked up and smiled at Michelle.

“Would you folks like something to drink quickly before we take off?” Michelle asked, and yes, she was beautiful.

“I'll have a glass of dry white wine.” Said Elizabeth, lowering the try in front of her.

“And for you, sir?”

“A gin and tonic, with a lemon, no ice.” It was obvious that Kevin had said that many, many times before.

Michelle poured Elizabeth and Kevin's drinks. “Any good news?”, she asked Elizabeth as she passed her, her wine.

“Thanks. Not really. Orbs are glowing and vibrating all over Europe now. The whole continent is in a state of emergency and panic. Whatever is going on, it seems to be headed steadily west. Scientists are trying to calculate exactly when each Orb will flash, and the extent and distance of destruction each Orb causes. I hate being a Debbie Downer, but I think we are all fucked. You'll get us good and drunk though, won't you?”

Michelle, a little taken aback by Elizabeth's rant, passed the g & t to Kevin, and said “Sure thing honey, we might as well all go out happy.”

“Thanks Michelle, I hope to see you on multiple occasions throughout the flight.” said Kevin, as flirty as possible.

Michelle smiled, then pushed her cart away.

The jet's engines began to idle faster, as the captain began to taxi towards the runway.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please direct your attention to your stewardess Michelle, she will give you a run through on the safety and emergency features of this aircraft. We will be a taking off soon, and should be arriving in Toronto in about an hour and 20 minutes. Sit tight, and enjoy the rest of the flight.”

Elizabeth instinctively put away her iPad, she had been chastised by more than a few stewards and stewardesses about the use of electronic devices during take off. Kevin however, always tried to buck that rule, he purposely plugged some headphones into his iPhone, and stared out the window. Surely the rules are much more lax on a corporate bird, he thought. He was right, Michelle paid no attention to him. She had the apocalypse on her mind.

Minutes later the jet was in full flight, headed slightly southeast towards Canada's largest city. Both Elizabeth and Kevin had three drinks during the flight, but little was said. They seemed to have come up with a non-verbal argument not to follow the news while they were in the sky. Surely the world wouldn't come to the end while they puddle-jumped the Great Lakes.

Kevin recognized the ever-growing expanse that is Toronto Ontario, as the captain made his descent. Home sweet home, he mumbled to himself.

“Have you got anyone picking you up at the airport?' Kevin asked Liz. Holding his empty glass up, hoping that Michelle would notice and pour him one last drink.

“Yes. I emailed my mom before we took off. She promised to take me back to her place and feed me a proper meal. I called it a Last Supper, but I don't think she thought it was funny. My mom's kinda anal, not a lot of funny about her. Have you got a ride? My mom lives way out in Markham, but I am sure she'd be willing to drop you off somewhere.” Elizabeth declined Michelle's offer to top up her wine.

“Thanks for the offer... thanks Michelle... but I have to get back to head office, who knows, they might need me out in the field. I will use the company card and get a taxi to zoom me into town.” Kevin sipped his g & t, and watched Toronto grow bigger, and bigger as they approached the airport.

The captain pointed the jet straight and true, smoothly landing at Pearson International. He taxied slowly to an empty gate, turned off the engines, and met the passengers as they left the plane. Both he and Michelle did the forced-friendly good byes. Both wondered if they'd ever have to perform the routine again. Captain McNichol, had already been told that all commercial flights were grounded, not just in North America, but Worldwide. He might have landed his last jet.

Elizabeth and Kevin departed at the arrivals lounge. They hugged, told each other to stay in touch, then went their separate ways. Elizabeth was met by a teary-eyed mother, who threw her arms around her daughter. She had a look of deep dread, a look that Elizabeth had never seen on her mother's face before. Kevin made his way out a set of carousel doors, where a line up of taxis where there for his choosing.

“It's gonna be alright mom. We will figure this out. A few space rocks, or whatever the hell those things are, are not going to destroy humanity.” Huzzah to false hope. Elizabeth hated seeing her mom worry, she'd come up with anything in order to stop her mother from fretting.

“You stink of wine.” Those were the first words her mother said to her. Which made Elizabeth roll her eyes, something she had perfected since she was 9-years-old. “Oh I am glad you are home. Have you been following the news? Dear Lord, I am not sure what to make of any of it. I am scared Lizzy.” Elizabeth's mother was a meticulously, but conservatively dressed, middle-aged woman, who would be really quite beautiful, despite her age, if only she would smile more, and worry less. Today was not the day she was going to turn over that new leaf.

“Let's just get home mom. Any news from dad?” Elizabeth's parents divorced when she was 8. He is a senior environmental engineer, working for a big oil company in Saskatchewan. He remarried, and fathered Elizabeth's two younger half-brothers.

“Your father, and both brother's called the house earlier this afternoon. They each said that they had tried to call your cell, but there was no answer. I told them that you were flying home, and that you'd touch base after supper.”

Elizabeth and her mother walked out the carousal doors, Kevin had already left by taxi.

“Didn't you bring any bags?” Elizabeth's mother asked, as she approached her tiny red Yaris, which was parked in the arrivals parking lot.

“Nah, we were told to get to the airport as quickly as possible, Kevin and I both left everything, except our carry-ons at the hotel. I guess we could get the hotel to ship it to us later.”

“If there is a later.” her mom said, engine on, slowly pulling out of her parking spot.

“That's the spirit mom. I am going to turn on the radio, let's find out how near the end is.”

“I'd rather listen to my Brahms's CD. I am not sure I can drive safely, what with all this talk of the end of the world. You know I am a nervous driver Lizzy”

“Fair enough. I will check things out on my iPad.”

“Please do.”

The 407, usually bumper to bumper at 6:30pm, was worse than ever. Rush hour traffic, but no one was sure where they should rush off too. It was as if Ontarians hadn't found their safe place. Like they were trying in vain, to find the safest pace to hunker down in, before an approaching storm.

Elizabeth had no Internet service. She couldn't log on. “Shit, the Internet is down. The shit is really hitting the fan. Let me borrow your cell, I think I left mine in Mapleton, I wanna see if there is any cell service.” Her mom passed the cell. She looked at the display screen, noticed that there were no bars, a message read that the cell was searching for a signal. Elizabeth shut the phone off and passed it back to her mom. “Cell service is down as well. Mommy, I must know what is going on. Let me turn on the radio, please.”

“OK darling, but only for a few minutes, I am worried enough as it is.”

Elizabeth pressed a button on her mother's car stereo, switching it from Brahms, to CBC Radio One.

“... confirmed reports that the Internet is down worldwide, cellular service is down from Newfoundland to nearly Saskatchewan. The Canadian government has declared a country-wide state of emergency, and has asked citizens to listen to local authorities, suggesting also, that if there are bunkers in your area, to get in them.

As of about an hour ago, the world lost contact with Europe. It is expected that Orbs in North and South America will start to glow, vibrate, then pulse, soon...

... we are getting unconfirmed reports, and with the state of Canada's communication infrastructure, limited now to just land line telephones and radio, most of the new information we might report will be unconfirmed, but we are getting phone calls from Newfoundland, and the rest of the Maritimes, saying that Orbs are beginning to glow and vibrate. Scientists estimate that the Orbs are in this state for about an hour before they pulse. Martimers please, try and find a safe place. Our thoughts and prayers are with you...”

Saimus McGinnley, the radio announcer, a Newfoundlander made good, began to chokedup. One heard him clear his throat, sniff.

“... I am sorry, this story has just hit home for me (sniff). Be safe Canada. May God help us all.”

“Shut it off Lizzy, I can't listen to it any more.”

Elizabeth's mother pulled the car to the side of the road. Pulled a packet of Kleenex from the dash, wiped her eyes, then blew her nose. Even the ever-stoic Elizabeth was tearing up. She reached over and brushed a tear from her mother's cheek.

“Let's just get home mom. Do you want me to drive?"

Elizabeth's mother shook her head, took a deep breath and pulled back onto the highway, headed home.

Downtown Toronto was deserted. Kevin could count on two hands how many other vehicles, he and the cabby had seen since entering the downtown core. He felt like he was in an action movie, Kevin expected to see Godzilla and King Kong doing battle around the CN tower.

He and the cabby hadn't said much. Both spent most of the trip listening, semi-stunned, to the news that was coming from the radio. Kevin had forgotten why he needed to go downtown. Why was he compelled, after landing at the airport to go back to the office? Would anybody even be there? The cabby's mind was on his wife and two little girls, sitting at home in their tiny apartment in the west end. This fare had lost all purpose. Both Kevin and the cabby knew that there was no point being in downtown Toronto, what with the world coming to an end.. The cabby was tempted to pull over, kick Kevin out, and rush home to his family. Neither man had any interest in spending, what might be their last moments, with each other. But they were committed now, this snot of a yuppy, and the immigrant cabby, brought together by the cosmos. That and Kevin's irrational idea that if he was working, all this might go away, the cabby, well he woke up this morning thinking that this was but another 12 hour work day, just like yesterday. If only it were still yesterday.

“...Canadian and American researchers say that the pulse or beam given off by the Orbs is akin to heavy electromagnetic energy. This intense energy, vaporizes everything in its path. It is as if, researchers postulate, Earth is being clear cut, or slashed and burned. There must be intelligence behind the process, but as of yet, there haven't seemed to be any attempts at communication...”

Saimus McGinnley, the intrepid radio announcer, was also questioning why he wasn't home with his wife and 13-month-old son. Was it his destiny to be humanity's last scream for help? How soon would it be until his voice was no longer being broadcast to? When would the radio-waves be scrambled?

The cabby pulled up to the curb, in front of a large office building. Kevin, who had planned to pay the cabby with his corporate credit card, realized that not only was the cabby's debit machine mostly likely down, but what was the point of saving 40 bucks? He reached into his wallet and gave the cabby every last bill that was in it, close to $200.

If this were any normal day, then a fare like that would have been a blessing, but there was nothing normal about today. The cabby refused, saying; “No thank you. God bless you, good bye.”

Money still in his hand, Kevin watched as the cabby sped off. He suddenly felt like he was the only person in Toronto. He shouted, impulsively “HELLO!” - the echo of his voice off Toronto's skyscrapers was all he received in response. He looked up at the large office building that housed head office. It stood grey, and lifeless. Should I go in? Why am I here? What next?

Kevin entered the building. Nobody was at the front desk. He went around the desk, looked for a radio. There was not one there. He picked up a phone. There was a dial tone. He dialed his home phone number. Maybe there was time for his girlfriend to come pick him up. He hated the thought of facing the apocalypse alone. 1 ring, 2 rings, 3 rings... come on, pick up, pick up... 4 rings, 5 rings... where the hell is she?... 6 rings, 7 rings, 8 rings... "Fuck!" Kevin slammed down the receiver. What now?

Kevin remembered hearing the radio announcer mention that perhaps the best place to be, is underground. He made his way to the elevators. He pressed the down button. All three elevators had to come up from sub basement level 4. The middle elevator opened first. He went in, pressed the button for sub basement level 4, and had a near panic attack as the door closed.

Less than a minute later, although in his state of near panic, it felt like an hour, the elevator opened to sub level 4. He quickly hopped out. “HELLO!” More echoes, no response. He walked aimlessly around the sub basement, which was really just an underground parking lot, filled with news vans, and other corporate vehicles. “HELLO!” Still no answer. Kevin slid down a cement pillar, defeated, he sat clutching his knees on the cold, hard floor.

Saimus McGinnley didn't see the flash, he was broadcasting from the bowels of the CBC building. He knew that there was another event, because the lights flickered, and his microphone, and earphones went dead. “Good bye.” He said, and through a miracle of technology, a million or so Canadians, who were still hanging on his every word, knew that the wave of destruction had begun on the Eastern end of North America.

The large fluorescent lights that lit sub level 4 flashed, then went dark. Seconds later, the emergency generator kicked in, dimly lighting the figure of Kevin, who remained sitting, still clutching his knees. Well, that's pretty much it, it shouldn't be long now, he thought.

Elizabeth and her mother sat in the basement, finishing up the last of a macaroni casserole, when they heard Saimus say 'good bye'. They had lit a bunch of candles and oil lamps before they had sat down to eat supper, so when they power went off, they were not left completely in the dark.

“I love you Lizzy” Said Elizabeth's mom, wrapping her arms around her daughter.

“I love you too mom. Here have a drink.” Elizabeth poured her a glass of white wine.

“How can you think about drink right now?” her mom retorted.

“Thinking about anything else isn't much worth it, is it?” she took a long swig from the glass of wine, which was meant for her mother. “Can we not fight right now? My drinking problem, real or imagined, isn't really all that important right now mom.”

“You are right, I am sorry.” Elizabeth's mother took the wine glass from her hand and took a sip. “This really is a nice Chardonnay.” she said, clinking glasses with Elizabeth.

Kevin's mind slipped to thoughts of Elizabeth. They had only worked together for a few weeks, but he had grown to quite like her. Thoughts of an improper working relationship, had crossed his mind on more than a couple occasions, the last few days. He was not blind to the fact that her more curious as to what she was doing, as the end approached, and not what his girlfriend was up to. Why hadn't he taken Elizabeth up on her offer to drive him somewhere?

Elizabeth was thinking of Kevin, wondered how he made out, wondered why he had chosen to go to head office, rather than go home to be with his girlfriend. Was the planned trip to Cuba a last ditch effort to save a failing relationship? Did she secretly want their relationship to fail? Elizabeth's mother's thoughts were on her ex-husband, she missed him now, more than ever. FLASH!

“I love you Elizabeth” Yelled Kevin. FLASH!

Saimus thought of his wife and little boy. FLASH!

Tom sat, shotgun in hand, staring from the window of his store, at the glowing, vibrating Orb, which was only a 100 meters away. FLASH!

Jim was making love to his wife. He was determined to go out shagging. FLASH!

The last human voice electronically transmitted from Earth was Joseph Michael's, a 40-year-old amateur ham radio enthusiast, from Port Hope Alaska. His last word before the flash was “Why?”

FLASH!

Hunter S. Thompson || Interview

2010-09-21T23:25:00.004-03:00

by Sarah Nelson of the Book Report.

"... Nixon was the first president to be so massively and publicly exposed as an evil bastard ..."

We were a little tense at The Book Report the other day. Would Hunter S. Thompson, famed author of FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS and the new bestseller THE PROUD HIGHWAY really show up for his live interview? He is, after all, an unrepentant Dunhill-smoking, Patron-swilling, walking chemical laboratory whose closest friends concede can be just a tad unreliable.

But Hunter said he'd come, and so he did. We agreed to let him keep his TV tuned to his beloved basketball playoffs and he delivered what he promised: some characteristically smart and funny thoughts on his new book, his writing career --- and, of course, his gonzo reputation. Our interviewer was TBR Executive Editor Sara Nelson (bookpgSara), aided by producer Sean Doorly (Sdoorly). Our unflappable host was Marlene T.

Marlene T: Hello, Sara and Mr. Thompson. Good evening!

Hunter Thompson: Good evening

Hunter Thompson: Sorry, I'm betting on the basketball game right now. Wait a minute. I hope Utah wins, but I think Chicago will.

Bookpgsara: In your new collection of letters, The PROUD HIGHWAY, edited by Douglas Brinkley, you said that you threw out 12 letters for every one that was published. When did you start saving your letters and why?

Hunter Thompson: Apparently so. I didn't really write a lot of letters until I went away from home. I I knew something about what was going to happen. But I haven't looked at any of them until now.

Bookpgsara: Did you know you were going to be a writer when you were 3 on your mama's knee?

Hunter Thompson: I knew pretty early on. By the time I got to high school I knew what I was gonna do. Mainly because I looked around and saw there wasn't much else I was able to do. I was a criminal. I was a juvenile delinquent. I was charged with everything from. . . I was once charged with rape, assault . I bit a woman on the back. I was the Marv Albert of my time. I was a wild boy.

Bookpgsara: One thing I noticed from the letters --- and this will surprise many people --- that there is always a real politeness in your tone, even when you're yelling at someone. Where does that come from?

Hunter Thompson: I guess I'm just courtly until people get in my way. You'll find most Southerners are like that. I'm just thinking. I don't know how much fun this is not sharing the laughs with the poor bastards who're just seeing words came up on the screen.

Bookpgsara: In the letters the people you correspond to are many and varied. How did you meet up with these people...did you stumble upon them?

Hunter Thompson: They just happened to be in the same line of work I was in. Given my calling I had to stumble across people who felt the same way. I was a young reporter. So was Charles Kuralt. Wait till we get to Volume II, you'll really accuse me of name dropping. My neighbor Ed Bradley, all kinds of people. My greatest talent is in my ability to choose good friends. It's about as important as things get.

Bookpgsara: You said first impressions when meeting people are very important.

Hunter Thompson: The first impression is always the right one. I rarely change my mind upward about people. Sometimes you're fooled quickly. You want to be fooled. If you can't trust your first impression you're going to have a harder time than you should.

Question: At the end of FEAR AND LOATHING, you say "there will be no year 2000: not as we know it." What do you mean by this, and what are your plans for New Year's Eve 1999?

Hunter Thompson: It's hard to say what I meant by "as we know it." I'm not about to go up on a mountain on new year's eve and wait for the lightening to strike. But, the years after 2000 will be a monumental change in the way life is lived here. It will be harder and harder to relate to our children. I don't know what it's going to be. I don't plan to be around in the year 2000. I'll be taken away by the Sufi God.

Question: What can you tell us about the "Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas" movie? Will there be any animation in it by director Terry Gilliam or perhaps Ralph Steadman? When is it due for release, how involved are you in it, any possibility you'd make an appearance?

Hunter Thompson: I am a road man for the lords of karma. As far as I know, they start shooting in July. Johnny Depp just left here and went to see Terry Gilliam in Vegas.

Bookpgsara: Why did it take so long to make the movie?

Hunter Thompson: Lawyers have stood in my way. It's a very hard book to translate to film because there's so much interior monologue. The what if factor. I tried to write it cinematically and let the dialogue carry it but I forgot about the interior monologue. It's kind of hard to show what's going on in the head. I think we should do it like a documentary.

Bookpgsara: What did you think of Where the Buffalo Roam?

Hunter Thompson: Horrible pile of crap. Murray did a good job. But it was a bad script. You can't beat a bad script. It was just a horrible movie. A cartoon. But Bill Murray did a good job. We actually wrote and shot several different endings and beginnings and they all got cut out in the end. It was disappointing. Not to mention that I have to live with it. It's like go into a bar somewhere and people start to giggle and you don't know why, and they're all watching that fucking movie.

Bookpgsara: Do you read Doonsbury? What do you think?

Hunter Thompson: I don't read any comic strip.

Question: What writers do you enjoy reading?

Hunter Thompson: Oh. . ..Sins of omission. . .Uh . . . Jim Harrison is someone I always enjoy, one of the great contemporary writers. I like Tim Ferris' Big Boom Theory. I'm getting into a different kind of reading, not straight novels. I've been reading a lot about the hellfire club. . . the original was elegant and very serious. (It was an s? club.)

Question: Hi - Hunter - I have always enjoyed your work - How is your health? - Are you still a walking science project? If you are doing well its an inspiration! Thanks, Melissa in South Carolina

Hunter Thompson: I'm doing all right, all things considered. For an elderly dope fiend out in the wilderness all by himself.

Question: Dr. Thompson, Is it true that you are the real Kyser Soze?

Hunter Thompson: I've been accused of that. It's a good question. Say, yes. The guy from that movie is going to play Oscar in the Vegas movie. That's a very intelligent question and I compliment the person who asked that. I like that.

Question: Looking back.....do you feel Richard Nixon was really the enemy to our generation?

Hunter Thompson: Yeah. He personified the enemy. He stood for everything that was wrong and rotten. We were lucky to get it all rolled up into one person. It was Nixon who drove a very serious spike into the American dream. Nixon was the first president to be so massively and publicly exposed as an evil bastard. A lot of people knew US Grant was a monster, or Harding -- but a lot of people in those days was 200 or 500. Now, with even a rumor --- 44,000 people know it the next morning. I think the Watergate stuff shocked people.

Bookpgsara: What do you think about Clinton? Where does he come in in the hieracrchy of bad presidents?

Hunter Thompson: Well, we still have a few years ago. Clinton already stands accused formally of worse things than Nixon would have been impeached for. I think Clinton is every bit as. . . he's not as crude as Nixon. But maybe he is. I mean: Paula Jones? "Come over here, little girl, I've got something for you" !? It's almost embarrassing to talk about Clinton as if he were important.

I'd almost prefer Nixon. I'd say Clinton is every bit as corrupt as Nixon, but a lot smoother.

Question: What was the hardest part about writing THE PROUD HIGHWAY?

Hunter Thompson: I never really laid a hand on any of those letters. They were paraded before me and read to me by my son and Douglas Brinkley and total strangers, the editor of the local paper, DonJohnson and others. And that was very hard to deal with. I'm a very private person. To have your life read out to you one page at a time: It was a bizarre experience. It was like watching the raw video of your life.

Hunter Thompson: What if all the letters had proven me to be a hideous lying monster who was wrong about everything? I would have burned them rather than let a horrible tale unfold. I don't see that I was much different than I was now. I was kind of relieved with the way the book came out. It's beyond an autobiography or a biography. I never knew what was going to come up next.

Bookpgsara: Were there some things in there you were sorry to see...or were upset by?

Hunter Thompson: Yes. I got tired and embarrassed by the constant poverty of those years. I told Doug this is really going to be a horrible downer of a book if all it's going to be is about being broke. I didn't like being reminded of desperation at all times.

Hunter Thompson: Gotta check the game's score.

Bookpgsara: What's the score? Who did you bet on?

Hunter Thompson: 8-5 Chicago. I bet on Utah and 6 points.

Question: Thompson, is there a drug now, or has there ever been, to which you would just say no?

HunterST97: Let's see. . . .I don't think I've ever seen a drug I wouldn't try or want anyway. Yeah. PCP, I would tend to avoid that in the future. I've always thought it's better to try things. Jimson weed: that's a bitch. Everybody should do jimson weed --- once. I only did it twice.

Bookpgsara: Do you think drugs should be legalized?

Hunter Thompson: Yeah. Across the board. It might be a little rough on some people for a while, but I think it's the only way to deal with drugs. Look at Prohibition: all it did was make a lot of criminals rich. Should be legalized for a matter of sanity.

Question: Is your legal contest with the Aspen police resolved? If not, may justice be with you.

Hunter Thompson: Almost resolved. Nothing's ever resolved. I figure I'll be under arrest for the rest of my life for one thing or another. Some of my best friends are police -- but not that many of them.

Bookpgsara: Your arrest warrant is published online...did you know that?

Question: Will Ralph Steadman perhaps illustrate another book of yours sometime?

Hunter Thompson: Oh well I don't know. I might be executed tomorrow. Right now I'm doing an introduction for one of Ralph's books. He's doing something called Gonzo, the Art I think he's stealing from me. I like Steadman and his coattail abilities. Ralph is better at business than I am. He has always managed to get free whiskey.

Bookpgsara: What are you writing now?

Hunter Thompson: A novel: POLO IS MY LIFE. It's what's called a sex book -- you know, sex, drugs and rock and roll. It's about the manager of a sex theatre who's forced to leave and flee to the mountains. He falls in love and gets in even more trouble than he was in the sex theatre in San Francisco. Most of my stories are tales of anguish, stress and grief.

Question: Dr. Thompson I would like to know where I can purchase your paintings, as well as those from Ralph Steadman.

Hunter Thompson: I guess you should buy them through The Book Report.

Question: Where are the book signings going to be if any?

Hunter Thompson: Yes. I've agreed to do at least three or four. As long as they don't go weird. New York, Washington, LA, Denver. That's what they have scheduled. It's day to day with me. Sometimes, there are 2,000 people standing in line and I don't have time to sign them. . .it gets really ugly. It's difficult, but I'll do a few. A signed book will cost you $5,000. And I'll bleed for you, right into the pages. My blood is already there, anyway. A lot of blood in those letters.

Question: Can you comment on the passing of two of your friends--Allen Ginsberg and Townes Van Zandt?

Hunter Thompson: Yeah. Allen was a particular friend, one of my heroes, really. I knew him almost as long as I've been writing. I didn't know Townes that well: he's a really good friend of Lyle Lovett's. He was really good. I was once arrested with Ginsburg. He was a big help to me. He was one of the few people who read unknown writer's work. Maybe he was just hustling me. He liked to flirt, Allen. They called him a monster but he was only falling in love.

Question: How do you reconcile your liberal politics with gun ownership? Is that not a contradiction?

Hunter Thompson: I think George Washington owned guns. I've never seen any contradiction with that. I'm not a liberal, by the way. I think that's what's wrong with liberals. I believe I have every right to have guns. I just bought another huge weapon. A lot of people shouldn't own guns. I should. I have a safety record. Guns are a lot of fun out here.

Bookpgsara: As somebody who likes guns and has taken part in his share of violence and anarchism. What do you think of Timothy McVeigh?

Hunter Thompson: Oh boy. Well, if he did that --- apparently the jury has spoken --- if I were him, I'd prefer the death penalty. If he blew up that building and killed that many people, we have to accept that, just like we had to accept that OJ Simpson was declared not guilty. I'd rather be hung or shot or executed than spend my life in prison. If he did that he deserves to die. I can't conceive of doing that kind of damage.

Bookpgsara: You can't imagine that much violence?! Wow. You seem so mellow...how come you are so mellow? Have you just become an old softie?

Hunter Thompson: I was always a softie. But it always helps to win. To be right. You can afford to be a little more mellow.

Bookpgsara: It was a real pleasure..get back to your game... Thanks for coming by The Book Report.

Bookpgsara: Thank you Hunter.

Hunter Thompson: Thank you

The Days When 911 Blocked My Number

2010-09-19T15:13:00.009-03:00

A New One from the Unfinished Book:

On the state of
Love & Trust:

“The folks at 911 no longer honor my emergencies”
By M. Byron

Since about the age of three, I’ve experienced traumatic and reoccurring nightmares. And’ as far back as I can remember, one of the most frequently reoccurring happenings is being asleep and waking up-within a dream, still really asleep- and then being convinced I'm awake(within the dream, mind you). I momentarily relax only to have the nightmare be suddenly at the foot of my bed…standing next to me-behind me-or floating over me. Until recently, there was no cure except calling 911-because if you’re still actually in a dream & call 911 claiming you’re freaked out and just found a huge pile of dead bodies in you basement or something of the sort-—ten cop cars, an ambulance, state police, and a channel 7 news team don’t come roaring up your driveway to aid you—which, believe me--they definitely do if the dream is, in actuality over.

So after several incidents I received a letter from the township of Deerfield:

June 20, 1995
Re: misuse of village resources
To: Mr. Matt Byron/et. All residing
Although we respect the difficulty of appropriately dealing with mental illness within the confines of any home, we at the Village Hall-under approval of the Town Mayor and Board of public safety-in cooperation with the local Emergency Dispatch/911 Call Center, have temporarily banned incoming calls from your address at (please verify listing below) to the emergency call center.
2620 Wildwood Ln.
Deerfield, Ill
(847-948-8883)

Regrettably, we feel that 100% of your calls to our 911 Center have been frivolous and with no merit, which is of course, an inexcusable misuse/abuse of our townships’ limited resources in terms of emergency response.
Please keep us posted of any advances with your illness; we would be happy to be able to safely restore your service.
Any questions or comments can be directed to:
H. Bhosley, rm. 204
Deerfield Village Hall/Police Department.
847-555-1231

We apologize for any inconvenience,
and wish you a swift recovery.
Sincerely,
Nancy Martino
Village Secretary

You could imagine how well that helped me sleep. So I started calling family, then friends. Few could handle the deep weirdness of my needs. Most stopped picking up. And still, twelve years after that horrid letter from a board of village demons, several therapists, medications, and true improvement, sometimes the nightmares get so bad I still need to call someone just to be certain I'm really awake…and no craziness Is about to go down.
I’m, for the most part, still pretty much asleep when I make these calls--as to compound the general may-lay of waking a friend up in the wee hours of the morning to discuss some new gore-ish imaginary nonsense I’ve just dreamed up: this time I awoke panting after 3 hours of Brazilian Hasish induced sleep. My imagination-or conscience-had taken me for a ride.
Luckily, a while back, I replaced the button on my bedroom phone-the one with the little blue police badge icon--the one set to dial the authorities at a single touch, with my friend Diego’s cell phone number. So I reached over and delivered a serious one-fingered jab to the new “911” button.
“Hello?” My friend D whispered as he, from a sound slumber, managed to answer my call.
Sounding frantic and terrified, “I’m so sorry man-I had the worst fucking dream…am I…am I up…HELLO!!....OH SHIT-D?!!..Hello?”
"D" had fallen back asleep momentarily.
I scream: “OH FUCK-I AM SO FUCKED!!” and that apparently woke my buddy on the other end of the phone up. He tries to settle me down.
“Oh yes, sir, uh buddy…you are awake-you’re ok…just relax, sir!”
Extremely relieved at my friends' alertness I breathe-still struggling to get the words out.
“Oh my god, D, it was fucking awful!” My friend let out an exhausted yawn.
“Was it that one with the fire again”?
“No,” I return, “It was a new one…there was this…this crazy train with…OH MY GOD! Are you sure I'm not still sleeping??”
Diego was naturally getting frustrated (I always insist I’m still asleep-but regardless-now poor D is up). Quite unfortunate for him. I'm not even kidding, any asshole may just assume “ well this guy's just a weirdo-what kind of person could get so twisted up over his own dreams?” But the last time I had woke up from a really bad one was only 2 weeks ago.
As usual, per such an incident, I wake up in bed...you know, freaking the fuck out, sweating, eyes wildly darting around my pitch black room-and after a minute or so I calm down.
“Whew” I think and feel, “At least I woke up from that one”.
I am grossly sweaty…sick. “I need water,” I think to myself in a haze. Damn-it! My water bottle was empty.
So I venture down the stairs for a cold glass of water, and to my horror-in my living room, there was a huge executive style black board room table, seating every serial killer and maniac I had ever heard of….and they were clearly outraged by my intrusion.
“Jeffrey Dahmer looked up at me with blood-shot eyes and said in hallow tone, “ LET’S KILL HIM THE WAY THEY KILLED ME”.(For those of you who don't know how Dahmer died you're probably better off).
Edward fish, who had before him a formal southern place setting-including a silver tea set-was ravenously dining on what appeared to be an amputated human arm. He dabbed the blood and grizzle from his white beard and adjusted the crucifix around his neck; “Now relax Jeffrey,” he said “...haste makes waste.” as he pulls out a hammer and begins to smash apart his own pointer finger on the table next to his dish. Blood was going everywhere.

I turn to run and slam straight into Charles Manson who slaps me-fucking hard-grabs me by the collar and screams, “ LOOK WHAT YOU’VE

DONE!!” and point outside to my back-porch, where Lori Dan (the freak school-ground killer from the 80’s) was summarily executing grade schoolers at point blank range with a .45 Chrome Plated Beretta…
Whew-so I’ll just stop there. But D knows this shit happens-and in light of it-I need firm god damned reassurance of my own consciousness!

“Listen up” D pleads, “ …just go down stairs, grab a pair of pruning shears, and lob off one of your thumbs. If it’s still gone in the morning you’ll know this call was real…besides that I just don’t know what to tell ya.” He continues, “ If this were a dream would I start bringing up how much time I’ve spent with all this shit…how much money you owe me and haven’t paid back a dime, except a jalapeño burger from Melrose Diner…and you still show up at my office demanding bottles of pills and cases of Nag Champa?” D seemed suddenly concerned with hurting my feeling. He said, jokingly: “but don’t worry sexy, you'll always be my special buddy….very special….” It was at this very point after comment that I considered I was still in some new nightmare.
“Alright,” I sharply interject, “I have no fucking idea what you just meant by that last part…but whatever”
“Oh, just relax for shits sake,” D shot back, “ I can say all kinds of crazy shit to you when you’re like this-and you never remember hardly any of it!”
“Oh really?”
“Oh yea man-I could tell you some awful shit like I’m into bestiality BIG TIME and even if I act sincere you’ll have no idea the conversation ever took place” he exclaimed.
“That’s fucking kinda crazy, bro..” I said, “ We’ll have to test this theory now.”
“Are you cool now? You gonna try to get some more shut eye, sir?” he asked.
“Ya, ya-thanks, buddy-I might not remember all the details, but I know in these situations you’re always a hero to me-thanks sir.”
“No worries-just get some sleep-you probably have 5 hours of commuting and a 10-hr. workday…or something like that, right?”
“Yea, for sure D-good night, man-I’ll give you a call tomorrow after work.”
“Sleep well, sir.” And he hung up.
Thank the powers that be for good friends.

I woke up for work several hours later. Before I left, I faxed this message to Diego’s home office:

“I would have called, but didn’t want to wake you twice in a 24-hr. period. Thanks for yr. services last night. The whole incident is hazy but a couple of things you said stuck out….just remember this you sick bastard: whatever happens-you stay away from my dog, animal fucker. My sweet Labrador, Bailey-- is one of the few “pure” friends I have left. Have a good one.
--M

How A Pro Covers The Tea Party

2010-09-17T20:47:00.001-03:00

9/11: Vignettes, by David Hunter

2010-09-11T16:34:00.006-03:00

"... I’m standing here telling you what happened, but I won’t cry in front of you because I’m a New Yorker, and that means pride..."

It is an existential truism that we are all looking for meaning in things: life, death, lost loves, the existence of God, and even two planes crashing into a building.

I’m not sure what I can derive from that last one.

When it’s all said and done, like World War Two and the JFK assassination, millions of words will have been written and billions of thoughts expounded questioning why this happened, and what it all means.

9 years on, those questions still linger.

The fact is, the terrorists knew that those Towers represented wealth and prosperity, that they were a symbol of New York and all it stood for: reaching for the sky, being the biggest, the tallest, the best. And if they could hurt you in any way, they’d do it by destroying what you love most, the thing that is most enduring and endearing, the legacy, If only to strike fear into you. Because nothing strikes fear into a person like seeing something so permanent and irreplaceable, something they love, be destroyed so senselessly.

This is the mandate of the terrorist.

* * * * * * * *

Watching the first building fall, I was aghast. At the time I had no idea the members of the NYFD had marched in there to save lives.

I am ashamed to admit, I was the first to chastise these guys for going in there. Surely they knew that structure could topple on them, that they might not come out alive. They had wives. They had children. What were they thinking? It dawned on me that these were the kind of guys who put their lives on the line every day, without hesitation. They probably went in there bent on saving every single person in that building, because who else was gonna do it? And I wonder, would I have had the courage to do that?

Every one of those guys … I cannot express how I feel about them.

* * * * * * * *

The image is indelible: the iconic New York Attitude.

It’s no wonder a lot of us cried. Seeing burly NY cops and Firefighters weeping, exhausted, faces smudged with dust and grime. These guys didn’t sleep; they had a job to do. Accounts from the time document that some of these guys had to be told to go home. They had been on the job for days. Emotional and physically wrecked, they soldiered on.

Those tough New Yorkers. Even there in the streets with billowing concrete dust obscuring their vision, faces ghost-like, they stand before the television cameras and talk to the media. They appear strong, stoic, as is their wont. I can see that, for the benefit of the television audience glued to their sets, that these people are putting on a brave face that says, ‘I’m standing here telling you what happened, but I won’t cry in front of you because I’m a New Yorker, and that means pride.’

* * * * * * * *
Monday, September 11th, 2001

We’re parked at the side of Britannia road E. in Toronto, just in front of a runway at Pearson International Airport which ends beyond the large fence. It’s 9:30 PM, and the car is filled with the smell of Tim Horton’s coffee. We’re chatting quietly, but there isn’t much to say. We came out here on a whim because we couldn’t believe all air traffic in North America had been shut down. The gravity of it hits us, but we don’t cry. Guys won’t cry in front of other guys.

* * * * * * * *

America, New York, the World Trade Towers; as a Canadian they are almost an abstract thing. I eventually went to Manhattan years later, in 2006, visited Ground Zero even; Just a hole in the ground by then; no match for seeing those magnificent edifices in real time, rising into the sky. Only faded news clips, and old films are left. Man on Wire, the documentry about Philippe Petit, the man who wire-walked across the towers, I watch it and it makes me teary, I’ll admit. He felt a love for those buildings that was almost metaphysical. In 2001, these things were still an abstraction to me. I sat in that car at the airport watching the silent night skies, sipping my coffee, and wondering what it was all about. Almost ten years later, I still am at a loss for the meaning of it all.

* * * * * * * *

On a personal level, I never understood the terrorist mandate. I never understood how you could take a plane full of innocent people and then proceed to fly it into a building filled with more innocent people. My soul could not, and cannot, comprehend it. Cold blooded, cold blooded … and what’s more, I keep putting myself in that building; I’m there, I can’t help it. I want to know what those people felt when they knew their lives were going to end, when they opened up their cell phones and started calling out to people they loved. I wonder about those last messages. How do you say goodbye like that? How do you toss yourself from the window of a 110 story building? How do you march into a building as a firefighter knowing you may not walk out again, see the blue sky again, hold your kids or kiss your wife again?

* * * * * * * *
9 years later, the only meaning I can gather from any of this is, live life while it’s good, be happy, be alive, stop and smell the flowers once in a while, and remember the people of 9/11, lest we forget.

~ David Hunter writes for the National Affairs Desk and the Gaslight Literary

Howdy...I've Escaped Bondage and Fled....full report to come! But first....GARBAGE ISLAND!!

2010-08-30T02:11:00.007-03:00

What the Hell Have We Done To Ourselves!?

Matt Byron said...

FROM THE National Affairs Desk NewsWire...
MATT BYRON, N.A.D. Shock and Awe Reporter

Long time no see to all the loving and loyal National Affairs Desk crew! I've been doing a little research on, at least for me personally, a very "random" topic. And if the point of this beacon-of-truth of a web site is to diffuse random knowledge and spark up debates...this is some thing everyone should be aware of...and I'm so immersed in watching documentaries on the subject I don't even have the attention span to produce a reasonable article devoid of spastic emotional and drug-induced outbursts...

If you want a good reason to stop littering or some extra fuel for the environmentalist fire, go to YOUTUBE and look for any documentary about a god-awful, horrible thing called "GARBAGE ISLAND"--it's an ever-growing free-floating mass of solid human garbage out in the pacific ocean about 2 times the size of TEXAS! The footage is un-fucking-believable. If you care about the environment at all (or even if you don't have much personal interest in the subject like myself) this could possibly make you lose your stomach.

Check 'em out and lets get a discussion going. Anyone with a god-damn pulse will have an opinion after they watch some footage of Garbage Island...I'm ready to pass the discussion baton all the way from the Windy City, Chicago. Over and out!

It's the Constitution, Stupid!

2010-08-15T18:14:00.006-03:00

Let me start with a few words written by Thomas Jefferson in 1779:

No man shall be compelled to frequent or support any religious worship, place, or ministry whatsoever, nor shall be enforced, restrained, molested, or burthened in his body or goods, nor shall otherwise suffer, on account of his religious opinions or belief; but that all men shall be free to profess, and by argument to maintain, their opinions in matters of religion, and that the same shall in no wise diminish, enlarge, or affect their civil capacities.

Then there is this dandy sentence from the Declaration of Independence:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

How about the 1^st Amendment? For those that are interested, and for those that thought that they could ignore it, it reads like this:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

What is my point? Why am I bringing this up? Well, because of the asinine backlash to the building of a mosque a couple of blocks away from Ground Zero. I thought first, instead of focusing on the fear, and thinly veiled racism behind the backlash, that I'd go straight to the legality of the issue. There is no legal, or Constitutional grounds for opposing the building of a mosque anywhere in the United States. Muslims, like Christians, Jews, and even Scientologists have the right to gather, and worship wherever they deem fit.

President Obama was correct in saying this; “As a citizen, and as president, I believe that Muslims have the same right to practice their religion as everyone else in this country,” and following it up with this; “That includes the right to build a place of worship and a community center on private property in lower Manhattan, in accordance with local laws and ordinances.” (link)

It is the President's duty to uphold the tenets of the Constitution, optics be damned. Obama had no choice but to affirm the right of Faisal Abdul Rauf to build a mosque on private land, with private money, anywhere in the United States. It would go against the 1^st Amendment if he did not.

Let's get to the ugly aspects of this story. First, to those that are claiming that the building of a mosque two blocks from Ground Zero is some how an affront to the memories of the victims of 9/11, please, it is not as if Faisal Abdul Rauf is building the Taj Mahal from the rubble of the Twin Towers. He is simply renovating, a nondescript, downtown building, where he hopes to build a place of worship and a community center. It is not going to stand out, there will be no neon lights mocking the memory of those (Muslims included) lost in the 9/11 terrorist attacks. This is just another building, amongst the many in the blocks in and around Ground Zero. The imam is not building an Al Qaeda themepark. This is nothing more than a private real estate development deal, and what is more American than that?

So where does that leave us? The rage is still there. Folks are still up and arms at the idea that a mosque could be built in the shadows of Ground Zero. Why? Thinly veiled racism. The repeated lies, mostly from the right, that there is an Islamofascist plot to take over the Western World. The lingering stench of the politics of fear, the ugly aftereffect of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. Let's make one thing clear; Islam did not attack New York City on September 11 2001, Bin Laden and his motley crew of terrorists did. This was not an attack of Christianity by Islam. This was an attack by Al Qaeda on the United States, and its financial capital. Yes, Bin Laden and Al Qaeda are fundamentalist Muslims, and yes they used religious rhetoric as justification for the attack, but Bin Laden and Al Qaeda do not represent the whole of Muslim world. That is like saying that the Westboro Baptist Church (you know, those God hates fags nuts) represents the whole of Christianity. A week argument, one that proves nothing, other than the arguer's ignorance.

But what about the optics of this whole thing? Why can't the imam build his mosque somewhere else? I dunno, maybe he got a sweetheart deal on the building. Maybe he didn't think, that in the land of the free, in a country where religious freedom is protected and celebrated, that the building of a mosque, anywhere, would be a such a big deal. There is no wrong doing here. Muslims have every right to worship wherever they like, be it 2 blocks from Ground Zero or anywhere else in the United States. It's the Constitution, stupid!