Walkin' In the Park and EWWWMAHGAHD!

August 14th, 2012. Lovely evening for a stroll in the park, admiring ducks, enjoying the shadows and sidestepping used condoms.

To be fair, it was only one condom. I saw no others the entire hour or so I was there. This particular park is clean, busy, and not of the sort where one expects to find such...artifacts...of human interaction. I suppose that is why when I spied it on the pavement it caused me to do a double-take.

A condom. In the parking lot. Used.  Eeeep.

I was on my way to a nearby trash can, wrapping up after a thoroughly enjoyable evening of shooting black-and-white film photos (with my two favorite cameras) and there it was in all its dirty un-glory. The condom (hereinafter known as The Artifact) gave me pause. I mean, really, I actually stopped walking to get a better look so I my eyes could verify what my brain was telling me was there. It was in between two cars, not far from the bumper of what I think was a little red sports car. I looked up quickly to see if anyone was in the car.

Nope. No one there. Plus, The Artifact was looking begrimed and weathered, suggesting it had been in its current location for some days at least. I looked around again to see if anyone was watching me and perhaps wondering what I was doing leaning over and staring at the ground. There were couples strolling by, some with kids, joggers, and other folks just out for an evening constitutional. No one was looking at me. And everyone but me seemed perfectly oblivious to The Artifact. I started to chuckle.

Why is I notice such things? Furthermore, why do I feel compelled to document such things? Not that I spend my days seeking out empty liquor bottles, smashed light bulbs and discarded prophylactics. I'd much rather spend time seeking out trains in motion, animals in light, the diffraction of sunlight through leaves. Such things are much more uplifting and edifying, in the main.

Yet there is this curiosity about the cast-offs of human behavior that leads me to notice that which many others would rather not see. Maybe it is just my crow mind tendency to believe that almost anything can be interesting, can exhibit some form of attraction if only we can catch it at just the right moment. At the very least, we can gain some insight or clarification into some aspect of the world or humanity that fascinates or repulses us.

This is what occurred to me, standing in the parking lot and meditating on an object that most of us would agree was not something with which we care to contemplate. Because I am the photographer that I am, I couldn't resist snapping a picture of it with my phone, being out of film. I laughed again, thinking that while I certainly wanted nothing more to do with The Artifact, I had to admire the caution of whoever had left it there for some hapless soul to discover.

Tragedy Doesn't Make You a Commando

Buttons pushed, lay out the cash

'cause you feel the media dread

put on your do-rag, tin star man,

camouflage paint, tactical gear

don't forget your flag

wrap yourself in cold comfort

of gunmetal and AP bullets

(your demon wears kevlar)

Kid yourself its necessary

godless crazies are out there

crossfires will take 'em out (right?)

Go ahead, boy sniper, defend us all

You've seen enough movies

you're a marksman, confirmed!

More's the pity your aim is not

guaranteed to save the innocent

There Is Hate In This World, And We Must Oppose It

I am fully aware that the Internet, like any medium of expression, is a place where the good, the bad and the downright ugly all bump against each other.  It is not a medium in which the easily offended should spend a great deal of time.  I am am not among the easily offended, but occasionally I come across something that disturbs me, especially because of the depths of its banality.  Consider the following image which I clipped from a screen shot of an effbook post I read.  The image has been redacted to remove names:

Note the headline at the top.  Also note that at the time of the screenshot, five people had already liked it.  What is worse, this was posted by someone whom I know to be a retired police officer who now works in a security or law enforcement capacity, dealing with the public at large.  Someone who should know better than most of us the consequences that can arise from implied violence.

This turned my stomach.  The casualness of it, the 'inside joke' joviality of it.  I find it repugnant to the point of near incomprehensibility that someone could feel good about displaying that to the world, and expect us to respect it as an "opinion".  It boggles the mind and sickens the heart.

This is a free country, yes, built on democratic principles.  People are allowed to have viewpoints.  I understand many feel concern, even anger and resentment towards foreigners and immigrants, both legal and illegal.  But the above message is disturbing and loathsome, not only in its presentation but in its message. It insults human beings based on their supposed literacy, although the ignorance of the creator of this sign shows in the statement about not being able to read English.  If a person can't read English, how are they supposed to know what the sign says at all?  

Much worse than alleged illiteracy, however, is the implication that outsiders who attempt entry into this country will be met with violence.  Not just random violence, but premeditated, firearm violence.  That is no rubber bullet gun, that's a rifle with a scope.  A rifle like that has only one purpose: killing people at long range.  And wouldn't the premeditated shooting of a person who has given no offense (the sign does not say that stepping over the border is illegal) considered by the courts to be homicide or attempted homicide?

I am having a hard time deciding what upsets me more, that it was posted by someone who had and has ethical and professional obligations to protect and serve the public or that other people liked it.  And on a highly public social media site, no less!

Is this what America is really about, xenophobia, paranoia and violence?  How someone could believe that the image is simply harmless fun is beyond me.  There is nothing funny about it.  It speaks to me of bigotry, pathological violence, hatred and ignorance.  If it speaks to me of such stains on the soul of America, then it speaks to the world of the same.  People who propagate such vileness have no right to be surprised that the world begins to meet them with disrespect, hatred, and violence of its own.  If the creators and admirers of such a sentiment want to live in a country of violence and hatred, they are free to do so but it will hopefully be a tiny country with only room for them.  I will not be within its borders.

The STFU Files: On Not Being A Weiner

Begging your pardon, dear readers, I must veer off into current events (of the American political variety), so please bear with me while I get this out of my head. Kind o f like passing a mental kidney stone.

(Ahem)

First of all, let me say up front that Anthony Weiner (you know the one) is a dumbass of the first order.  But it isn't so much for the "media transfers" he made.  To me, the pictures and the texting aren't the main issue.  It's the lying about it that really kills me.

Have none of these guys learned anything, anything at all in this era of New Media and the 24/7 news cycle?

Lots of things get texted and sent that, in the hands of someone with malice or righteous justice on their minds, could have a lot of hay made out of them.  Agendas abound in the information age, so its best to make yours clear and stay ahead of the curve.  Or the pack, if one has reason to believe one has a lot of ill-wishers out there.

I reckon a lot of people are horrified on moral grounds, too.  And a case can be made for that, I suppose, if moral purity were the sole arbiter of fitness for office.

But.

I. Don't. Care.  It's fruitless and boring.  Boring.  

If one is looking to politicians for moral role models, perhaps one should recalibrate one's notions of a role model.  People will argue that poor decision making in personal life automatically translates into poor decision making in professional life.  True?  Maybe, maybe not. Depends on the individual.  Just because someone is imbued with a supposed true moral compass, by themselves or by their followers, does not mean the decisions they make are the right or good ones.  Don't believe me?  Then refresh your memory by looking back to all the bad decisions based on bad and wrong information (and right information that was flat out ignored) that got the country involved in the mess that was Iraq.  That people lied and so many died...Somehow, that's more obscene to me, in light of the lives destroyed, resources squandered, in a war that was prosecuted on falsehoods.

Nothing Weiner did rises to the level of national security risk.  He needs to apologize to his family, friends, the women with whom he was involved and to his constituents, not the world.  This is why the nature of his offense doesn't really interest me.  I don't expect anyone to live their lives without doing something that will most likely be considered as stupid, especially in the political arena.  What I would hope they wouldn't do, is lie about it if confronted with something, justified or not.

After all, isn't it supposed to be an admirable trait, to own ones' supposed transgressions?

To paraphrase Dieter from Sprockets, "This habit of exposing yourself has become tiresome!"

There May Be No Crying In Baseball, but There Sure Is A Lot of Cursing

TIME: Approximately 4:30, on a Sunday afternoon in May.

PLACE: Casa Del Gumbo, the living room.  Beneath our feet, a bare hardwood floor (Remember that; it matters later in the story).


CAST:  Wee Lass and yours truly.  I'm shod in a pair of slightly worn Dearfoams slippers. (Also remember that; it too becomes important).

We had been home from our road trip about an hour, and the darlin' daughter was of a mind to throw down on some Wii sports, an activity I was (at first) of my own mind to avoid.  She wanted to play some baseball, which held little appeal for me as I was 1) Tired and 2) Still irked I hadn't mastered the art of the swing with the controller.  At first, I said no.

She booted up the sports, and decided to play baseball against the machine.  Watching her, I was surprised and delighted to note that she was actually getting good (digital) contact on the (digital) ball.  She asked me again to play.  A few flashes of those baby blues, and I relented.

So there I was, crouched in front of the TV, feeling a little foolish trying to get the bat to hang right by fidgeting with the controller, waving it back and forth to get the haft of the thing out of my avatar's head.  Wee Lass is off to the side waiting to throw the first pitch, which she does with more enthusiasm than form.

As is my habit, I swung at the pitch.  I always do, it's a reflex.  But remember I said I was standing on a hardwood floor?  Wearing slightly worn Dearfoam slippers?

Well, apparently Dearfoams has discovered a new material for slipper bottoms.  One that has almost zero coefficient of friction.  I had swung at that pitch pretty hard, and the momentum of the swing combined with the lack of grip on the floor caused my feet to slide completely out from underneath me.  I crashed down to the floor hard, like the proverbial ton of bricks.  I landed on my right side, bruising my hip, skinning my knee and bruising my upper right arm in the process.

That s**t hurt.

So I'm laying there on the floor in a haze of pain, trying not to curse.  It was then I heard two things.  First, the chirpy little Wii stadium announcer saying in a cheerful voice "You're OUT!"

Second, laughter.  That's right.  LAUGHTER.  I look up at my precious daughter, the apple o' my eye, light o' my life...and she's laughing at me and hopping up and down in uncontained glee. She looks right at me and says:

"DADDY! DADDY! I got you! I got you!  ON A 71 MILE-PER-HOUR FASTBALL!!!"

Gee, thanks, kiddo.  Now, could you please call the paramedics?

Echoes of the Madness

As I had a window of opportunity this morning, I set aside some chores in favor of a combination walk and photo safari through an abandoned factory building down by the Patapsco River.  The occasion was to experiment with a roll of very fast film (3200 speed for you photogeeks out there), black and white, which I could not resist purchasing yesterday while at the film lab.  The weather was warm, but decent sun, and to paraphrase, no one ever dies wishing they had weedwhacked a little more.

It was the call of the camera, and an intense need for some stress management.  It would not be denied.

I had my backpack, my digital camera, and my film camera.  Plus a flashlight and a hard hat.  Contrary to what my Ma and Da might tell you, my head isn't so hard it could resist a falling brick or shard of metal.  I'm getting smarter about that stuff these days.

So I am in the abandoned building, trying a different route than the one I have taken in the past.  There are some places in there I had not seen yet, and I was getting tantalizing glimpses through broken windows, of graffiti and industrial decay.  I was alone, or at least I thought so.  

I went down a flight of rusty metal stairs (very "Half-Life" in appearance) and was standing in a pool of light streaming through a large opening in the concrete slab overhead.  The path on both sides led into gloominess punctuated by shafts of light and the spectral outlines of ruined tanks, pipes and decaying machines.

It was while standing there adjusting the camera, that I heard it.  A voice, drifting from somewhere in the darkness of the warehouse beyond.  I had been about to walk in that direction, but the voice made me freeze.  It was garbled, muffled, but occasionally I could make out individual words.  Then, quite clearly it said "Oh, why, why, why!" followed by a faint sigh or groan that trailed off into nothingness.

At that moment, I felt the Fear.  An icy trickle in my gut.  I didn't start running, but I changed my mind about which way I was going to go.  I knew very well that this particular set of buildings is frequented by all sorts of people, hikers, photographers, homeless folks and those with less than noble intentions.  It was probably just someone hanging out or looking for scrap.

But I went the other way.  The hair on my neck was up, and I wasn't sure I really wanted to run the risk of finding out why the voice was asking "why, why, why".

I did get some good pictures, though, without needing a change of underwear.

The Revolution Will Be Gender Specific Because God Said So*

Today is International Women's Day, a fact that finally sank in after hearing it reported on both radio and television news.  I confess, I knew of it, but not much about it.  What struck me the most, partly in hindsight, about the day is how too many seem to have forgotten or had never acknowledged that women are not property, are not inferior simply by accident of birth.  They deserve to have a say over their destinies, their political and social fabrics...their culture and basic human rights.

Why is this so hard for some to understand?

I watched a news report from Egypt, post-"revolution", on demonstrators gathered in Tahrir Square to demand that women be given a bigger voice and equal rights in this, the new Egypt.  So what happened?

They were harassed and attacked by groups of men.  You know, the men who helped overthrow Mubarak and help bring democracy to Egypt.  Or perhaps they meant deMOCKracy, seeing as they felt women had no place in governing the country, and in the words of some of the men, women "already had enough rights".  Way to go, freedom fighters! (clap......clap......clap).  

I slapped my head in exasperation.

I sat in disbelief, my curiosity turning slowly to disgust as I watched footage of a somewhat slovenly looking man berate and point fingers at a woman demonstrator, telling her she had no business here, to go home.

So this is what the world cheered for?  This is what the world thought was the overthrow of an oppressive government, dictatorial in most ways of practical importance?  Ah, yes, throw off the shackles so you can put them on someone else.  Not surprisingly, the role of religion (in this case, Islam) was dragged into the mess, with (you guessed it) the men saying it was against Islam for women to have the same rights as men, that women should not be president.

One report I read quoted some of the men shouting things like "Go home, wash clothes!".  Which apparently, many of the men have not yet figured out on their own, judging by the rattiness of some of the apparel.  And, seriously?  If you are going to argue violently with someone over human rights?  Don't do it wearing a dirty jacket emblazoned with the logo of a well-known European car company.  It cuts into credibility, bro...

When the demonstrations began in Egypt weeks ago, it was scary and exciting to watch.  One could only hope that things really were going to change for the better, and that a freer, more democratic society was in the offing.  We cheered, we urged them on as men and women risked their lives to protest and demand change.  But somewhere along the way, a whole lot of people forgot that women make up almost half of the Egyptian population.

And if the government of a country will not grant the equal rights of citizenship to almost half of its population, it cannot claim to be democratic.  Don't forget one of the definitions, perhaps the most important definition, of democratic:

 "Pertaining to or characterized by the principle of political or social equality for all"

For it to be real, that means no exceptions.  Possession of testicles does not grant authority to deny rights to those possessed of breasts.  Until those who want to govern Egypt (or any other country with revolution in the offing) can treat all of their citizens with respect and equality,  I cannot and would not offer any support beyond "Good luck, call me when you make some real progress".

---

One parting shot:  The report I mentioned above also quoted some men as shouting "You are not married; go find a husband!"  I did a bit of a spit take upon reading that humdinger.

So, my marriage counselor friend, where do you suggest the women find these "husbands"?  Seems to me the pickings are mighty, mighty slim, if the majority of choices are knuckleheads like that sloganeer.

---

*Before anyone gets their knickers in a twist, the title is meant as sarcasm.  We really do need that sarcasm font, I'm thinkin'...

Music and Politics and a Sweet Ride

After watching our boy Richard Engel in Iraq, then Egypt (see above) and now Libya, I have to say I'm very impressed.  Boy's got stones, he does.

But maybe its fatigue settling in, me feeling a bit punchy...but I saw the original newscast of the happenings in that video, and watched the video tonight, and both times I had the same thought:

Wouldn't it have been hilarious if, in the background, a tricked-out Impala low rider drove by, blaring an Arabic-language version of "F**k Tha Police"?

Yep.  I'm tired.

Extreme Translucency

I just learned the secret of invisibility,
its a lot easier than you think
even if the cost is something
you cannot afford, do not want to afford

All it takes is bad luck, a sunny day,
and a simple inability to run fast,
to duck the path of evil hurtling along
faster than the speed of sound

Put yourself in the center of that vortex,
walk close to someone more famous than you
wait for Lucifer's hammer to fall, hard,
then listen to the voices make you an "Other"

wearing your cloak of extreme translucency.

Weapons Grade Stupidity

---

I apologize for the following post. I'm sailing another sea of unbloggableness, and the political slant is something that won't leave me alone, so I must purge. Like kidney stones and bad dreams, this too shall pass. Thank you for your patience...

---

There is a bit of conventional wisdom that goes something like this:

If the person you are having dinner with is nice to you but rude to the waiter, that person is not a nice person.  Avoid that person.

I think there is a corollary to that advice, and it goes something like this:

If a public figure emphatically claims something to be that which it never was, and their claim can easily be refuted, they are insulting the intelligence of the listener.  And that figure is not a nice person.

On January 8th, Rebecca Mansour, an official for the Sarah Palin PAC, appeared on the Tammy Bruce* radio show, claiming that the symbols on that infamous map of theirs were never intended to be gun sights.  Laughably, at Tammy Bruce's suggestion, Ms. Mansour agreed that they weren't gun sights, they were "surveyor's marks".

Surveyor's marks.   Really.  And I suppose "Don't retreat, RELOAD!" really meant "Don't back up the minivan, just rearrange the luggage!"

I really cannot fathom why so many people seem to think that Sarah Palin and others of the same mindset are worthy of our votes for public office.  Not only are they blind to their own shortcomings, they expect us to be blind as well.  

These people aren't exhibiting much intelligence of their own, and they are blatantly insulting our collective intelligence.  Would you really want them in positions of power?


They are not nice people.  Don't have dinner with them.


*To be fair, I was only vaguely familiar with Tammy Bruce before this past weekend.  The miracle of the Interwebs made it easy to rectify that, although now I'm ambivalent about the knowledge.  Ms. Bruce has described herself as "a gay, pro-choice, gun owning, pro-death penalty, Tea Party Independent Conservative", with her show promoted as "a chick with a gun and a microphone."  That kind of glib, moronic attempt at a 'ballsy' persona is just as unimpressive coming from a woman as it is coming from a man.  Too bad she doesn't take that gun and shoot her microphone, thus sparing us all the irritation of another oxygen thief befouling the airwaves.

---

To those who left comments on my "Politics and Violence" post of January 9th, thank you. It's nice to know I was not alone.

---

Sick Of Politics and Violence

I am aghast at the latest violent tragedy bleed all over our collective consciousness: the shooting of those unfortunates in Tucson last Saturday.  So many victims, so much pain and trauma.  Already the jackals of the left and the right have started to mine it for political gain, or just plain 'spreading the hate'.

It's probably safe to say that no one in their right mind would agree that the shootings were justifiable or explainable in the context of political beliefs.  This horrible crime was most likely perpetrated by someone who truly had lost their mental bearings, their ability to understand the difference between right and wrong.  Suggesting or implying violence against others to resolve political differences would never occur to someone in their right mind to begin with, would it?  Sadly, no:

"Don't retreat, reload!"
- Sarah Palin, former Governor of Alaska

"If this Congress keeps going the way it is, people are really looking toward those Second Amendment remedies."
- Sharron Angle, former member of the Nevada State Assembly

"If ballots don't work, bullets will."
- Joyce Kaufman, Radio host, Tea Party activist

"The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants."
- Currently serving United States Congresswoman from Minnesota, leader of the Tea Party Caucus, paraphrasing Thomas Jefferson

"Sarah Palin has the crosshairs of a gun sight over our district and when people do that, they've gotta realize there are consequences to that action."
- Currently serving Congresswoman from Arizona Gabrielle Giffords

I know, I know, it's just words and they really didn't have anything to do with the shootings.  But it does make one wonder when bloviating hate-mongers like Sarah Palin start backpedaling so fast (like removing this map from her PAC website) it is amazing they haven't broken their ankles.

But I'm digressing from my point.  The fact remains that people got killed (including a 9-year old girl) for no good reason, and no matter where you stand in the political spectrum, this is a horrible, horrible crime.  I can only hope that, in your prayers tonight, you pray for everyone involved.

Farging Bastiches Friday: The Curmudgeon Files

Apologies, dear readers, as I must indulge myself a rant, in bullet point form:

THINGS WHAT HAVE BEEN BUGGING ME LATELY:

•  Being possessed of a pulse, a uniform and a job does not make one a hero.  Being 'heroic' (i.e. showing great courage, exhibiting noble qualities, and great achievements) makes one a hero.  Calling someone a hero because they got out of bed and put on their pants only cheapens the ideal, and means that if everyone is a "hero", no one is a hero.  You want to be a hero? Then do something truly heroic.
• Being possessed of great religious conviction does not equate with being possessed of superior morals or ideas.  If you ask a stranger what faith they profess, ostensibly to have a polite discussion about belief, only to quickly turn it into a thinly veiled lecture on why their relationship with God isn't the "right" relationship, and that yours is, then you have disqualified yourself from being a truly humble practitioner of faith.  No one can truly know the mind of God, so don't even try, you hypocrites.  Corollary:  When the party you have just insulted and patronized by denying the legitimacy of their belief system reacts by disagreeing with you, said disagreement does not constitute persecution of you as a believer of a different faith, nor does it constitute an insult to your faith.  The person simply does not believe what you believe.  Different belief is just that; different, not wrong.  So get over yourselves, you tinpot martyrs.  Cry your crocodile tears somewhere else.
• Being a newly elected Republicanfacisticteabaggernutjob U.S. Representative or Senator does NOT mean you are possessed of a God-given, "will-o-the-people" mandate to enact every ill-thought out piece of legislation in your Big Box of Crazy Ideas.  You won that seat because people wanted to change things, and because this supposed democracy is heavily weighted to the two-party system, the people who wanted to change things voted for you because YOU WEREN'T THE GUY/GAL ALREADY IN OFFICE, not because your stupid ideas and close-minded thinking were so attractive.  There were no real, viable third-party alternatives.  So get your heads out of your own asses, and stop looking in the mirror so damn much.
• Being excited about getting up at 3:00 a.m. on Black Friday does not make you the envy of the neighborhood, or an example to be imitated.  It does not make you worthy of respect, and it does not make you nearly as cool and fascinating as you think you are.  What it does do is make you a tool.  A Pavlovian, programmed consumerist tool, beholden to whatever megacorporations have hoodwinked you into believing that the latest/greatest app/gadget/machine/toy is the only way to show how much you care for the people you want to give gifts to.  Good thing the product life cycles are so short, that way you can do it all again next year!  Seriously, though?  Do you really want to be at the end of your days, thinking "Wow, it was so cool that I was the first one with an xBox 3000, way back in '10!"  Hate to break it to you, Sparky: NO ONE CARES.
• F-book (or any other Internet-intensive New Economy company) announcing it will be "making a play" for the market by offering services that other companies already offer...is not news.  So, all you local news anchors hawking thinly veiled ads for said companies under the aegis of "Consumer Watch" human interest stories? Shut up.  Just shut up.  I. Don't. Care.  Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.
• Putting any humble food (like french fries) on a pretty plate, and taking a glossy picture of it, and adding the word "GOURMET" to the description, does not make automatically that food "gourmet".  If you want to make french fries "gourmet",  let's see them fresh-cut to order, twice-fried, properly drained and served with side of say, chipotle aioli or homemade mushroom ketchup.  Plus, a waiter should bring them to the table.  DO NOT let some bored high school kid dump a block of batter-coated frozen fries into stale grease, oversalt them and dump them (undrained) into what will become a grease-soaked recycled paper boat, accompanied by a fistful of 'ketchup' packets.  Really, if you want to impress people, just make them hot, crispy and with the right amount of salt.  If you can do that simple thing well, you will go far in life.

Here endeth the rant.


All of then above items I have recently heard or seen in person or through various forms of media, and the irritation factor reached critical mass, hence this post.  It may be a long winter, folks...maybe I'll just put my fingers in my ears and shout "La, la, la..."

The New Scars

I read the news today, oh god...another litany of death and mayhem and personal tragedy because for some reason someone else took their own life rather than face the personal humiliation forced upon them by some uncaring, emotionally stunted pricks who thought it would be funny to violate someone's privacy for a laugh,

violate someone's life in a way most hateful
violate them as a human being

Seeming to forget that they are human too or at least they look human.  But its hard to tell based on their twisted sense of entitlement to appropriate another's private life

tell me asshole

if we were to film your private life, would you want the world to see your "dirty" secrets?  Or do you not understand what dirty means?

god help you if you lived in a world where lack of emotional intelligence made you the new ethnic joke.

"Different" behavior does not automatically translate into "wrong" behavior.  Or maybe we should haul your ass into court and put you on trial for all  those wings you ripped off of flies as a kid...

Getting enough sleep, jerks?

Curious Case of a Punk in the Daytime

Jason's last thought as he considered throwing the kid over the railing was I can't believe he called me 'boy'...

The kid was scared, rightly so, because he knew his ass was about to meet the river the hard way.  Eyes wide like dinner plates,  cheap beer breath washing over Jason's face in a series of gulping drafts, little whimpers escaping his lips.  Jason stared back.  His fists had a death grip on the belt buckle and a balled up wad of the dirty wife-beater the punk was wearing.  There was a small tearing noise; the fabric was beginning to rip.  Jason tightened his hold.

"Hey, man, leave him alone" said one of the kid's friends, "He was just messin' around."  Jason pushed the kid harder into the rail and turned to look at the one who had spoken.  There were two other boys on the bridge, one brown-haired, the other black-haired, eyeing Jason like they saw a werewolf.  They were both dressed almost like the kid: tank top, baggy jeans and some kind of Converse-type knock-off sneakers.  All three of them had skinhead haircuts.  Jason marveled at how much he loathed chumps like them.

More knuckleheads from the same shop Jason though in a blaze of contempt, can't even be original in their fake plastic rebelhood.  He bared his teeth; the friends flinched and took a step back, nearly tripping over the bike laying in the roadway.  Jason growled.

"Step on the bike, and you're goin' over the rail with your buddy."  Their eyes widened, like deer in the headlights of Jason's glare.

"I've had enough of this bullshit,"  Jason spat and turned his gaze back to the kid, "because I'm pissed.  Yell shit at me once and I can ignore it.  But three times?  Hell, no."

Jason lifted his arms.  The kid was trying to stand flat, but his heels were coming off the ground.  He was shaking, hard.  Jason grinned, a wolf about to pounce.  A tired wolf.

"Plus, your asshole buddy here, he said 'Hey, give me that bike, boy!'.  You think that's funny?  Showing off for dipshit friends?"  Jason snarled, lifting the kid off the deck.  "DO I LOOK LIKE A BOY TO YOU?" he shouted and tilted the kid's head over the side of the bridge.  The kid started to cry, pleading for Jason to let him go. 

"Hey, m-m-an, d-d-on't do it, he was just kidding! We weren't gonna steal the bike!" wailed the black-haired kid, "C'mon let him go!"  The sound of the river below the bridge deck was unusually loud.  It reminded Jason that in some spots, the rocks weren't that far below the surface of the water.

Jason was about to heave the kid over the rail, tired of all the noise and disrespect.  Of all the indignities he had suffered in the last month, for some reason being called 'boy' by a liquored-up pre-pubescent who wasn't shaving yet, well, that was the last straw.  Almost as if there was nothing in his life he could do without someone heaping on some shit.

The kid was looking at him with wild eyes, whimpering, and there was a thin string of drool running down the side of his face.  Jason said "Tough shit" and made to finally dump the kid over the rail.  The kid, in turn, screamed loud, a piercing screech.  Something clicked in Jason's head, a little voice whispering Let him go, man, not worth it, not for some dumbass punk with a mouth bigger than his brain.

Out of the corner of his eye Jason saw the two friends rushing at him.  Just before the kid became airborne, Jason shifted backwards.  The kid fell forward, and Jason used the momentum to pivot and slingshot the punk dead-on into his buddies.  There was a meaty sound of bodies colliding, and all three of the punks collapsed in heap on the gritty concrete of the bridge.  The brown-haired one smacked his head into the deck, and screamed in pain.  Jason bit his tongue to stifle a laugh, then felt a wave of regret wash over his tired body.  he took a step towards the pile of bodies.  They all flinched as Jason bent down to stare at the kid, the one who had called him 'boy'.  He grimaced.

"Don't ever call me boy, again, got that?"  He pinned the kid to the deck with a cold stare.  The kid just nodded, twitching like bait.  "Good."

Jason stood, walked to his bike and got on.  He stifled a laugh as he realized he had not removed his bike helmet during the whole ugly incident.  Stupid kids probably think I'm crazy he thought, adjusting the chin strap, but maybe that means they will leave me alone.  He pushed off, low gearing it as he made his way up the hill to the trail head.  Behind him he heard the kids muttering curses, sounds of people standing up and brushing gravel off pants.  He didn't look back.

Tears for the Tools

The news on the radio said that at least 38 people were dead and more wounded from two suicide bombings in Moscow. 38 families left to mourn, and many more to deal with the aftermath of another senseless act of violence. I swallowed the lump in my throat, sent up a prayer for the victims, and wondered who would shed tears for the suicide bombers.

I would have cried for the victims, I think, if I was less fatigued from these sort of events. I am hard pressed to recall a week in the years since the invasion of Afghanistan, that has been without a car bomb, suicide bomb, IED...always something exploding, always someone getting maimed or killed...This does not mean I have no sympathy, anymore, it means I have no more to give.

That the bombers were allegedly women made no difference to me. It is no more tragic because the supposedly gentler sex perpetrated these crimes. If history has shown us anything about men and women, it is that one gender is no less capable of savagery than the other. So I do not feel sadness for the bombers simply because they are women. Double X on the spiral does not mean 'exempt from human frailties'.

That the bombers were a nationality other than American made no difference to me. It is no more tragic for a horrible crime to be committed, no more indicative of a intrinsic 'bad' or 'good' national character trait, for these events to have occurred in Russia. Nationality and citizenship are no more guarantees of rationality or compassion than skin color or native language. People like Timothy McVeigh are proof that Americans are just as capable of heinous acts on a grand scale as any group on the face of the planet.

Strangely, or so I thought at first, I felt greater sadness that two people had killed themselves to kill others, perhaps, with a twisted notion that they were furthering some greater ideal. Whether religion or politics, the most likely suspects, I do not know but either is highly probable, and equally odious, should they be shown to be the 'why' behind what happened. Those reasons are enough to be upset and angry, but I was beyond them as I wondered at my own feelings on the matter. 

I felt sad because I know that many people will curse the bombers for their lunacy, their terrible actions, their inversion of the natural order by dashing our collective expectations. I felt sad because many will look upon the perpetrators as the worst of the worst...but that is missing the point. What matters more is that someone was led astray. Someone was coaxed into believing that the Cause was more important than respect, compassion and understanding for your fellow human beings.

They were led to think that politics or religion or both were more important than human lives. The bombers were tools, tools used by evil mechanics to build soft engines of destruction and misery.

I do not absolve the bombers of responsibility. It is highly improbable that they were ignorant of the ramifications of their actions. But I have heard so much, seen so much violence perpetrated in the name of Higher Ideals that I feel less anger towards the tools and more towards the mechanics who use them. I do not despise the bomb so much as the person who activates it, and regrettably nowadays there seems to be little difference between a suicide bomber and the explosives he or she carries.

We should feel sadness for the victims, I agree, and anger at the criminals. But if we are to be serious about compassion and understanding, sadness for the perpetrators is not out of the question. I do not mean the bloody crocodile tears that some will shed for "martyrs to the cause", for what they did has no justifiable reasons to support such heinous acts.

If any tear should be shed for the bombers it is for their humanity and their reason lost, knowing that someone led them astray, and as a consequence innocent human beings lost their lives. They were tools in the wrong hands.

For the Calorie-Conscious Caffeine Freak

Seen at a gas station/convenience store:

Now you can be twice as amped and still be calorie-conscious! After all, you wouldn't want to put any junk on your system, now would you?

Photo credit: Irish Gumbo

From The STFU Files: Tiger Woods Edition

Alright, folks, time for a short rant:

Tiger Woods doesn't need to apologize to his 'fans'. He doesn't need to call a press conference to tell the world that not keeping his dog in the right yard is "unacceptable". In fact, apologizing in such a manner doesn't seem much like an apology at all. It just seems like a page torn from the Plastic Persona Media Guide to Reputation Damage Control: Spin. The apology reeks of nothing more than a transparent attempt to avoid losing the endorsement deals because of public 'outrage'. That is obscene, just like the sickening amounts of money that companies dole out to "superstars". As if blinding talent and ability in an extremely specific skill set automatically translates into good judgment and discerning intellect when it comes to choice of soft drink, fast food, wristwatch, cell phone, or any other ephemera of modern life.

It's a sham, it's arrogant and it makes me want to invoke the Right To Privacy From Celebrities Personal Lives. Frankly, this falls in the category of things I don't want or need to know. Another incredibly talented athlete, awash in money and adulation, free from the daily grind of having to truly work for a living* gets found out on his infidelity?

Someone needs to explain to me why this is important.

Mr. Woods is correct in that what he did was unacceptable. What he did, however, is not new or different. It has been going on since men and women have been men and women. That he did it makes it no worse and no different than any other schmuck who committed adultery. It certainly does not make it more interesting.

How many people really know Tiger Woods? How many people are really his friends? You can be a fan, you can be interested in what he does as a golfer** but if you let it influence your life to the point where you feel you need an apology because of his bad behavior, it is time to reconsider your own values. Why are you looking to Tiger to be your moral compass?

The only people Tiger should be apologizing to is the wife, the friends and the family. In  private. Press conferences do not count. 

Go home, Mr. Woods, sit down and STFU for a while. Then look your loved ones in the eye and tell them you are sorry. That is the only way it will truly be meaningful.

*Please, spare me the crap about how much practice and travel and oh how hard it is to get that ball in the little cup. Boo hoo. Golf is not hard work, no matter how much time you spend in the sun. My father was an auto mechanic for 45 years, and a good one. Did he get a multi-million dollar endorsement deal because he could change a head gasket? No. That's difficult and dirty work, to do it every day for that long. Dad had the calluses and the grime under the nails to prove it. No one carried my father's tool chest for him.

**For the record, I think Tiger Woods is astounding at what he does. So is Michael Phelps. I can't do what they do, nor do I judge my self-worth by what others are good at doing. However, I don't know them, I'm not their family or friends. Whether dipping a wick or taking ill-advised hits from a bong, it really has no bearing on how I live my life. I don't look to them for validation or support. Why would I? That is what friends and family do. Friends and family also call you on your bad behavior, and forgive you if you sincerely admit to your transgressions.

Hold On, Let Me Check...Uh, No?

Rare is the day that I do not see something interesting on my way driving to and from the Big City wherein I earn my daily bread, and last Monday was no exception. The parking lot of the building where I work slopes down to a busy road, and when leaving I often have to stop and wait for traffic to clear.

Idling at the bottom of the slope, on a bluish workday evening, I was absentmindedly staring across the road when a bright pink blur passed in front of my car. It was a Dodge Intrepid, and it was a brilliant shade of Pepto-Bismol. Clean, too.

Wow, I thought, you don't see that very often. A courtesy shuttle for a "gentlemen's club", perchance?

So I turned right out of the parking lot, and found my car right behind the Bismolmobile. It sort of looked like a taxi that had been retired from service. I was looking for any faded taxi sticker marks or company name when I noticed the bumper sticker on the back. There it was, big as day, and it read:

"HONK IF YOU GOT A BA-DONKA-DONK!" 

I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. Nope, still there.

I'm slightly sad to say, I did not honk. But only slightly.

I hadn't been that bemused since a few years back, when I saw a guy wearing a shirt that announced in big, bold caps: DON'T ASK ME FOR SHIT! Roger that, Sparky, you needn't worry that I'd ask you for anything, least of all THAT...

End Result of Drinking Radioactive Beer

Seen in the window of a gift "emporium" at the local Cathedral of Excess Consumerism*:

 

I suppose the only way it could be any better would be if it was "Stripper-Pole Mounted". In case you had no idea where to use this, I like the helpful suggestions of "DORM ROOMS" and "FRAT PARTIES" and "RIVER TRIPS". Oh, and "CAMP SITES"...because the only thing better than one drunk-ass idiot rolling down the hill towards the latrines is SIX drunk-ass idiots rolling down the hill towards the latrines. 

Remember folks, it holds a twelve-pack, so buy in bulk.

*The local mall, in prime holiday shopping time. My little daughter was with me at the time. She's really smart and very observant. Fortunately she didn't see it. No way in hell I'd have been able to explain that to her. Wrong, so wrong...

Snack Trends I Can Get Behind, Volume 1

Just so youse guys know?

Oreos dipped in Guinness taste pretty damn good.

*dunk*

Mmmmm...