UNLEASHED, UNCUT, UNREAD



4.29.2005

A word about words

A previous blog entry by yours truly entitled “The (wo)man’s bringin’ me down” has received some scathing reviews in the press recently. I comfort myself by noting that the number of positive replies far outnumbers those of a negative slant, however, the topic bears such gravity that I deem it necessary to offer a short note of explanation.

Let it be trumpeted from the mountaintop, let it be proclaimed from the blessed pulpit, let it be branded into the flesh of the flocks: POP, not soda was not equating his situation with that of the oppressed groups when discussing profiling. Instead, and I’ll let the words of one of my favorite anonymous jackass contributors speak here (I try to incorporate you guys as much as possible), I was ….

Waxing philosophically and lyrically about [my] own oppression to draw attention to real profiling.

Now I cannot claim to have waxed either philosophically or lyrically, perhaps museumly, but the latter part of this statement is what I’m interested in. Although I was, and will continue to make light of the evil security guard downstairs, it does make you a little uncomfortable to be singled out like that. I figure if such a trivial situation raises my hackles, I can’t imagine how people who deal with exponentially worse cases of profiling must feel. Moral of the story: I was trying to open a discussion of an important issue by mocking my own ridiculous sensibilities.

I understand that an anonymous electronic voice isn’t automatically given the benefit of the doubt. Furthermore, I have no problem clarifying a position that some deem questionable. However, I have faith that with time, the three adoring fans that read this blog will develop the ability to discern between sarcasm and a legitimate position. It won’t happen overnight, and I’m comfortable dealing with the bumps in the road that the will ultimately lead to such a point. To facilitate such a development, I encourage anyone who has a reaction to one of my entries, be it positive or negative, to write me a comment. That dialogue is my aim.

Don't get fake on me.

4.28.2005

Paint by numbers

Why do i get the feeling ninety percent of the people who read my blog would find ninety percent of these friggin' hilarious. If you're dissin', "Cut it out" and click on the blue stuff.

4.27.2005

The (wo)man's bringin' me down

I’m that guy. The one that’s too young. The one with the slightly disheveled, slightly longer-than-necessary hair. The one with the tattered backpack, complete (NOT 'replete' as one of my adoring fans has pointed out in the COMMENT section below) with broken zipper. The one jamming the obscenely ubiquitous white ipod headphones that scream, “you’re not a fifty year old scientist!” Add it up and what do you get: a victim of the National Academies security guard profiling. That’s right.

There’s this one harridan with eagle eyes, that perches in her eagle’s nest, sharpening her eagle’s talons…just waiting to sink those claws into my shoulder blades so she can carry my dangling body off and throw me to her horde of bloodthirsty eagle children, who will process my flesh like deli turkey and feast upon my innards as I writhe in the dying throes of agony.

It’s a lot like that, I’m not kidding.

Every time I spot that lady I start to lose my cool. My breathing comes in choked fits while I ponder the forbidding consequences of saying the wrong thing or looking the wrong way. Even the mechanics of walking elude me at this critical moment as I stumble over my toe, catching myself in an all-too-obvious attempt to conceal my anxiety.

“Excuse me, sir. Sir? Excuse me, Sir! Can I see your identification please?” I muster up my courage, clench my fists, and turn on my heels to face her. There she is. Again. The same lady that raked me over hot coals last week.

I show her my identification. The similarities between the photo and my face are striking and undeniable. Still, she scrutinizes both with those piercing eyes, intently searching for an awkward reflection of light, a bent corner.

She silently hands it back to me…and I prepare for the admonishment.

Just as the sun rises each day, the admonishment follows: “Sir, you are aware that Academy policy requires you wear your identification around your neck for public view. You are aware of that, right?”

Huh, that’s fascinating. Thanks for the Academies’ civics lessons you evil Amazon…Let’s talk about four score and seven…meaning, of course, the 87 people that just walked through the door in front of me, none of whom were adorned with a visible badge. Let’s talk about you and me and those bronze-cast maize plants settling this thing right here, right now! I scream at her in my imaginary snake tongue.

“Sorry about that, I forgot my badgeholder upstairs,” is the tail-stuck-between-legs answer that ekes its silly way out of my mouth.

Now I think back to all those news stories we read about Americans of Middle Eastern descent being harassed unnecessarily in the wake of the 2001 terrorist attacks. I think about the African Americans on DC streets who often aren’t even graced with eye contact because it’s automatically assumed they’re panhandling. I think about the girls in high school counselors' offices being subtly, or not so subtly, directed towards their more "natural" path in the humanities.

Then I think to myself, “Profiling blows.”

4.26.2005

Secrets revealed:

Sometimes i feel boring, so I spice it up by visiting this site.
And if that doesn't cut it, I just follow the link on that same page to the really not-so-funny dirty jokes...there should be laws against wasting a promising dirty joke. But to relieve any lingering dejection, I remind myself that this didn't happen and proceed to perform tribal dances of exultation.

4.21.2005

If you don't find this cool...

...nothing is cool. give up. I'm talking about the picture posted below this blog entry. So the friend of a wife of a friend of a brother snapped this pic while hunting in Montana. the afforementioned brother told me at one point the dogs realized this cat was tracking their group and proceeded to give chase, eventually pinning it back on the ledge. The idiotic dogs, who collectively reached the decision that their 7 to 1 advantage would prove superior over satan in the form of a cougar, talked puppy smack for five minutes. Apparently that was enough time for them to figure out they we're all going to die in severed, bloody shreds if they didn't bounce....like now. which they did.
but speaking of animals that could make abstract art out of a human body, i thought this situation was so sad. one of the prerequisites for living in alaska was signing a pledge wherein you vowed to read more articles about animals than people. when it's commonplace to spot a moose trotting down the street or bedding down in your backyard right in the middle of the city with half the state's population, you realize that grabbing the morning latte is not your only concern. i read alot about the wolf situation while in alaska and have been delighted to see that the Washington Post has latched on to the saga of this wolf pack. I'm not delighted about what's happening up there. although i'm not an animal behavioral scientist by any means (although my college residence did allow me some unusual insight into the issue), i do understand that in order to gather useful data on any particular species it takes TIME. four decades is so much to invest into these wolves, but still not enough. wolves are plentiful in alaska-so plentiful that hunters have been given license to take them out from aboard airplanes in order to diminish the devastating effect they've had upon certain moose populations. Therefore, my argument isn't with a few wolves dying. also, although i do take issue with many types of hunting, namely the kind done over a computer (way to go Texas)..., that's not my issue here so much either. It's the state of Alaska's unwillingness to take special precautions to safegaurd and encourage the scientific value of this particular pack. It scares me that nobody with adequate political might had the balls to be vociferous about this issue...three democratic senators from other states won't do the trick. These wolves are being slaughtered right in front of our eyes.
If they had had an income tax up there, i would have taken them to school on my return....


It's so cute that the puppies are playing with the kitty. Posted by Hello

4.18.2005

When bad things happen to good people

Today I tell a story of apocalyptical battles, unparalleled heroism, and the fall of mighty empires. Storied figures from ages past mustered up their forgotten glory and rampaged onto the battlefield of fury…drumming throngs amassed in anticipation of the looming clash…hearts pounding, feet stomping, salivating dagger-edged teeth ready to taste the flesh of fallen foes. It was a sight that emblazoned itself into the memory of all who witnessed.

As dictated by the rules of proper warfare, Alexander, Caesar, Genghis Khan and Napolean each stepped away from their fortified positions at the four corners of control and slowly made their way to the legendary Circle of Seclusion…here, in the middle of this barren, windswept plain lay a single tent, its flapping, red silken sheets glowing in the searing midday sun. there was to be no talk of averting the travesty ahead, instead, these four honored figures offered their last respects to the towering personages in their presence. Oh how the pragmatic logistics of organizing warfare can baffle your mind….how could it be that four men sat down at a table and divided up the known expanses of the globe into segments of control, wielding the power to determine the fates of billions with the sweep of a hand, the blink of an eye. Yet so it was. The Rumsfelds and Wolfowitzs of the world would hereafter always hearken back to this convergence of powers when deliberating the precedents established for conquering and pillaging.

There were no wasted words. A nod of graven respect was paid by each to each…then they turned on their heels and swiftly made their way back to their respective bastions in order to make final preparations. At the sixth hour of the sixteenth day of the fourth month, the horns blared their deafening call to arms…and so it began. What followed has been depicted in scores of books, praised by the poets of the world and immortalized in song…surely my meager words wouldn’t be so brazen to rival those accounts, instead, I offer a glimpse from the commonman to the commonman.

The mighty mountain fortresses of the Andes, and the fertile river valleys of the Amazon fell quickly, uncontested really, to Caesar’s swarms. Just as today, many parts of Africa teemed with civil war, while East Timor broke its fragile peace, roiled by carnage. Asia remained eerily calm in these early stages…awaiting it’s mounting pivotal power. While Genghis and Alexander tore away at each other in Africa and the southwest Pacific, Napolean capitalized on their distracted attentions and sallied forth through the expanses of North America. Soon a dynasty was born and North America had fallen. Controlling such vast resources, Napolean churned his war engine at full boar. Seemingly in the blink of an eye, Napolean had fortified the northwestern gateway to N. America (Kamchatcka), effectively sealed the southern entry through Panama and accumulated his menacing divisions in Greenland….poised to sail the silent seas and surge through Ireland and Britain. Those seas were sailed and hidden under a cloak of mist, Napolean unleashed his vicious hounds upon the Icelandic snows and let them devour all in their way. Europe itself now lay helpless to his evil schemes and east to west, north to south soon fell under his sway.

Emotions ran high at this point, and the prostrate southern powers of the world convened a conference in Tunisia and discussed tactics to collectively undermine Napolean’s northern empire. Here the author must disclose his ties to the Alexandrian leadership, because interpretations of this summit grossly diverge. You see, I held an elevated post in Alexander’s exclusive cabinet of war ministers during the early stages of warfare, including the days of the Tunisian talks….anyways, Caesar, Genghis and Alexander’s respective camps all agreed that a unified and imminent counteroffensive against Napolean in Southern Europe was the most logical of approaches. Alexander held two of the three key positions (Northern Africa) which would allow such an attack…the middle east lay in the possession of Genghis. To cut to the chase, the talks were ultimately discarded because Alexander felt he was being asked to sacrifice his very existence in order to weaken Napolean, allowing Caesar and Genghis to reap the harvest they hadn’t sown. Caesar and Genghis called for an immediate offensive, while Alexander demanded a brief respite to muster a critical mass of manpower, in order to ensure landing a mighty blow and living to tell about it. Sadly, Caesar and Genghis’ positions were too staunch to allow for productive three way dialogue and they splintered off into separate two party talks.

Let me bring this tome to a timely close…Alexander, abandoned by the short-sighted, unrealistic demands of those whose names we shall not mention again here, suffered the further devastating blow of a malaria outbreak in his central African power region….inauspicious signs, my dear friends. Meanwhile, blessed by an abundant crop and fortuitous mid-battle breaks (an entire division of Napolean’s troops was wiped out while crossing the Urals when a freak summer blizzard swept in), Genghis strengthened in the east. Caesar, finally ready to capitalize on his protracted isolationist stance, soon rose up to conquer the crippled North American Napoleonic empire.

There was a moment when relative parity returned to the lands of this earth, and a harmonious peace could have been struck….but the wounds of battle had penetrated too deeply, the ire and quest for vengeance too permanently lodged in the psyche of these soldiers…nobody was hanging up their shields and returning to pasture…this was a battle to the end. Plain and simple. Crippled by the nonexistent international aid, Caesar worked tirelessly in his laboratory to develop the serum to cure malaria…but alas, time ran out. Napolean capitalized on this last opportunity to use his fledgling northern might…The figurative gates of Moscow fell this time to Napolean as he stormed into Africa and managed to strike the fatal blow to Alexander’s forces… the story goes that Alexander fended off scores of assailants with his own majestic might, ultimately succumbing only to a slimy bit of subterfuge that involved Caesar and Genghis illegally and immorally abetting Napolean’s ferocious offensive.

The rest is history (and boring history, at that). So suffice it to say, that for all Napolean’s gusto, he overreached himself by conquering Alexander. He soon fell. The world returned to a two superpower state that pitted Genghis against Caesar’s isolationist forces in the west. Armed with the insuperable combination of exquisite horsemanship skills and access to Arabian stallions, Genghis swallowed the might of Rome…ironically in a northern showdown that foretells of the pending rise to power of Greenland and Iceland.

….but little did they know…that high above them, orbiting the blue earth in a rudimentary satellite station, sat Alexander….cackling maniacally, and plotting his imminent, terrorizing return


Clockwise, from bottom left: Genghis, Caesar and Napolean concoct their devious schemes Posted by Hello

4.14.2005

Gone, but not forgotten

I remember the last look you shot my way,
That filthy, fateful April day,
When the affair had run its course,
Emotions spent, aside from remorse.

Memories swarm my swollen head,
Sometimes I need four cylinders back in my bed,
Happiness a memory, dream, mirage,
While you luxuriate in a newfound garage.

I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you that,
I’m sorry for our latest spat,
When I caked your innards with Cherry coke,
Laughed, and let a mean friend smoke.

Let us never speak of your driver’s seat,
And the toxic remnants of Arizona heat,
That stripped you of your innocent youth,
Now akin to a truckstop diner’s booth.

You said your love was unrequited,
I scoped a Jetta, you felt slighted,
You cranked the speaker up to eleven,
Which is a number four more than seven…

…Atleast 20 decibels bumpin’ my rhymes,
Still, I was less than understanding at times,
Like after inundating the dashboard with parking tickets,
I punished you by careening through raspberry thickets.

But when I idiotically hit the 4-wheel up the rockies,
You still let me wear my Jenny-from-the-block tees.
You elicited nothing but meager sighs,
While I tarnished you with McDonald’s fries.

I treated you like Regular, when you were Supreme
Ignored when you’d putter, cough, or steam,
You asked for nothing, save an oil change,
But that came around the 10,000 mile range.

When we first met I thought you instant danger,
All you could talk about was your six disk changer,
But your selflessness ceaselessly defied words,
As you offered a lavatory for neighborhood birds.

I knew before me you’d been with another,
But Jesus, why did it have to be my own brother,
Couldn’t you have told me that before,
It wasn’t a piece of ancient folklore.

Don’t you dare be callin’ me a no-good hater,
For you I’d whoop ass like the Terminator,
I took you to Texas, Cali, and Toronto,
You best be recanting, I mean pronto

I’m happier now riding the Metro,
Not dishing out for the golden petro,
I just needed more, Shaggin’ Wagon,
Shaggin’ was naggin’, but sadly laggin’.


The Shaggin' Wagon, not going gently into that good night Posted by Hello