Fresh Tracks

We spotted the Crusty Clam ahead on the left and pulled into the parking lot. It was bitter cold, down in the single digits. We approached the watering hole cautiously. One never can tell how a small bar in the middle of nowhere will be. I felt like a hero as I pushed open the door into the dim, smoky room. Locals can spot an outsider in a second. If one gets a hair across his ass for you it can get ugly

Approximately four hours earlier I was in my apartment in Denver awaiting my roommate’s return from work, and my accomplice’s return from a day of skiing. He was in Colorado for the weekend enjoying the powder and vertical drop that New England boys like us used to dream about. I had moved to Denver about two months ago. I packed up my car and moved out without a job or a place to live. I wanted the city life but I also wanted to bask in the wide open beauty of the West that had lured me out here in the first place. Denver provided a perfect balance. The city is an alternative to the cities I was used to back East such as Boston, New York, and Philadelphia. It has the entertainment, nightlife, dining and shopping of a big city, but its proximity to the Rocky Mountains makes it unique. It is a gateway to the towering peaks. The accessibility to outdoor activities is a trademark of Denver. Many people are avid hikers, bikers, skiers, campers, or hunters. The city is very livable, not as cold, old, dirty, cramped or hurried as the cities of the northeast. The Mountains are visible to the west from most points in the city, forming an imposing, mystic barrier. It is humbling to live near the mountains, to everyday rise under the shadow of a magnificent natural creation. This was evident in the people of the city. I found them friendly and generally enjoyable to be around. The city is a melting pot. I had encountered pockets of transplants from many other states. Denver contains ghettos of a modern city. These residents are immigrants in their own right, leaving their place of birth behind for the quality of life offered by the sunny skies and mystic mountains of Colorado. I was one of them.

I expected my accomplice to be back from skiing already, but figured he was just taking as many runs as possible, basking in the supreme early-season conditions. At around 6 o’clock my roommate returned and notified me his train was running six hours late due to engine trouble. He was stuck at a bar by the train station. We made the quick decision to head into the mountains and save him. I was worried. I had looked into seasonal employment at some of the local mountains and encountered many strange characters. Many dream of being a ski bum, but it takes a certain kind to actually do it. They are a desperate lot with nothing to lose. They are in exile, running from something, seeking refuge in the towering peaks. Many carry heavy baggage. They can be dangerous.

We gathered our gear, loaded the truck, and set off to rescue our accomplice. There was considerable traffic heading West on I-70. Some was commuter, while many were headed to the mountains like my roommate and myself. Hordes of people flock to the Rocky Mountains every weekend seeking refuge from the 9-5 rat race. The Mountains are visible to the west from most points in the city, forming an imposing, mystic barrier. It is humbling to live near the mountains, to everyday rise under the shadow of a magnificent natural creation. The serenity of the mountains is therapy for an overcrowded, overworked population. This weekly pilgrimage is a central component to many Denverites’ lives.

About 25 miles west of Denver the Plains end abruptly. Rolling hills mark the beginning of high country. Leaves and grass are dead this time of year. The land is golden-brown with patches of snow. The hills steadily become taller and rockier. Off in the distance are tall plateaus. The road is still quite flat, but snow-covered peaks are lost behind the looming foothills. Several peaks are snow capped year round, a reminder that despite their proximity, the mountains are a different world

And suddenly reddish, sand colored chunks of rock rise 300-600 feet into the air. A few crops of hearty vegetation cling to their otherwise barren face. The road climbs decidedly upward, and the car’s engine demands a downshift.

The towering terrain and high altitude are disorienting. Many times I thought the pitch of the road had evened out, but the engine’s struggle indicated otherwise.

It didn’t take long to adjust to the surroundings, but caution was necessary. Every stretch of road warrants careful evaluation. I didn’t let the scenic grandeur fool me. This was dangerous territory. Every few miles a car was pulled over to the side of the road. Some had their blinkers on, awaiting help. Others were abandoned. They were victims of the mountains, a reminder that high spirits can quickly be grounded. The inclines tax the engine, the declines tax the brakes. A failure of the latter could prove a fatal plunge through one of the flimsy guard rails. This grim possibility keeps drivers at attention. One moment of lapsed concentration could prove fatal in this country.

We were now in the thick of the mountains. We passed avalanche warning signs and herds of Bighorn Sheep. We mounted a crest that curved up and to the right and the snowy peaks reappeared. On this clear day they were completely exposed. They were breathtaking, almost too beautiful and grand to be real. I savored the view as the road entered a down grade and they passed out of sight before a more immediate peak.

Highway builders designed the road along the path of least resistance, but they were limited. Some places are too large to be blasted, and so at times the road must go over, around, or straight through the rock. I-70 had long been 2 lanes, and traffic was becoming denser. Suddenly brake lights illuminated in succession. We rounded the corner and saw a state trooper with its lights on in the break down lane. It seemed to be a warning. Not a moment later I saw why. Just ahead were five more cruisers, each with a vehicle pulled over.

They were all occupied, and we didn’t worry much. But I still had a queasy feeling in my stomach. The cops represented what I was trying to leave behind in Denver: the rules, consequences and worries of the world of man. Society. They had the stench of the city. The stench of the 21st century. We were physically separated from Denver, but the smell still lingered in my nostrils. It was a whisper on the wind. An ill-tempered spirit. I carried the knowledge of rapists, addicts, lost souls, and desperate hoarders. I was born a child of nature. The mountains and rivers and lakes and trees do not expose us to the often brutish ugly and short lives of man. But living in the society of man had exposed me to all of its demented possibilities. Rapes. Murders. Betrayal. Greed. Corruption. Hate. I lived with the memories. I could never get rid of them completely. The knowledge of what I’d been exposed to kept the possibilities alive inside of me. Modern man spends so much time trying to stay alive that they have forgotten how to live. It’s why they flee into the mountains and forget all about the hustle and bustle of the city that turn men against each other. They seek refuge in the impartiality of nature. Wild and free children of nature. Sojourning into nature is giving into the beast in us. But it is a beast that yearns to be free, not one that has become so by what society has done to it. A healthy, natural animal, not a twisted subverted one. The latter nonetheless lurked inside of me. It is the fear I felt at the sight of the blue lights.

The road entered a down slope and our speed rose to fifteen above the limit. We were in the right lane doing about 70. Up ahead to the right a vehicle was pulled over in a turn-around area. Many cars found the side of the road, and I was unalarmed. But the boxy outline of a Crown Victoria made my stomach turn. Desperate fear rose up inside me, the same feeling as earlier. My roommate leaned heavily on the brakes, hoping to slow before passing him. To our horror the standard-issue street soldier pulled out. He had a target, and we were a suspect.

The police were making a statement to powder-freaks that this was their turf. It did not turn into a winter-sport orgy as soon as snow started falling in the mountains. The New Hampshire plates and truck bed lined with skis marked us as drifters, slackers, exactly the type they meant to teach a lesson.

The down slope ended in a very sharp curve to the right. We fell in behind an 18-wheeler in the right lane. The cop was in the left lane, steadily gaining ground. He was now back only one car length, making no attempt to speed by en route to more important business. I felt a nightmarish fear. The kind of fear in a horror flick where you hear the music and know the bad guy is there waiting to jump out and get you. He spaced himself between our truck and the vehicle behind us. It was down to two. His lights came on. It was either us or the other guy. It was the other guy.

After 60 miles we exited I-70 and made the rest of the ascent via a twisting mountain pass. The road was narrow, steep, and very curvy. It was much more dangerous than I had imagined. It switched back and forth across the mountain in steep, sweeping curves. It has snowed the night before, and a layer of snow and slush still covered the road. I knew there might be ice as well. There were no guardrails, and a mishap meant a plunge over the edge

We were deep in the mountains. Tall peaks towered above us. We stopped so I could take a piss. I was standing on the side of the road in the dark. I couldn’t so much see the mountain as discern the outline of its shadowy presence high above me. The craggy faces of the old men of the land loomed overhead, promoting a deep respect and making me feel as a child again. It seemed very important. Tall and imposing. Looking over the land. A stony sentinel. It was one of those moments where the past few months finally catch up with you and you realize how happy you are with yourself and your surroundings. I was in the goddam Rocky Mountains. It was snowing and dark and I was pissing off the side of a mountain. I couldn’t believe I was there. Actually in the goddam Rockies. More powder up here than I knew what to do with. I made it. I’m here. I got out of New Hampshire. I exploded with a primitive, beast-like howl that must have lasted twenty seconds-a barbaric yawp worthy of the might stone and deep pride of the mountains.

After about a two hour drive we arrived at the bar where our accomplice awaited. As we entered I scanned the room for him. It was a slow night and the place was fairly empty. A blonde, the only girl worth looking at in the place, was shooting pool with a group of guys in a step-up area to the left. The usual lineup of stooped over middle-aged men sat at the bar.

I spotted my accomplice on the left end of the bar. He looked drunk. He was talking to somebody. He introduced us to his new friend whom he claimed would let us ski for free during his shift at the local mountain. His name was Steve. He had beady eyes sunk back into his head, and discolored skin from a constantly lit cigarette. He looked past me as he spoke, as if everything he said was a sudden epiphany or required deep concentration. There was pain in his eyes. I asked questions just to see him speak. He fascinated me. He had the teeth of a drug user, browned and spaced apart. He slugged down two shots of old Granddad whisky in the brief time we exchanged pleasantries. He repeatedly proclaimed his offer of free skiing, but always left it hanging. I could sense he wanted something in return.

He ended up only asking for a ride home, but good company is what he wanted most. Entering his humble domain revealed why. His apartment was as threadbare as himself. A couch was the only piece of furniture-a green sunken thing long-intended for the trash, but salvaged by a desperate soul. As we entered his roommate hissed something about outsiders from the sunken cushions. My accomplice kicked him and he crawled defeated out of the room never to be heard from again.

We all drank beer and traded stories. Steve revealed to be a man with a troubled past. He’s from Pittsburgh and a halfway decent mechanic by his account. He repeated this several times. I knew it was important to him. His vehicle of choice is a Fiero with a Vette engine, tuned to perfection by my new friend. His girlfriend died of a heroin overdose, and he looked as if he had a few close calls himself. In the light I could see him better. He was the same age as us, in his mid-twenties, but looked 42. He removed his grimy white hoodie to reveal several tattoos, including several on his arm and one on his neck.

He had been worn down by society. His body was prematurely aged by taking drugs and working on its crude machines. He had survived, but his girlfriend was dead. He was jaded. I could see the anger in his eyes. I pictured him as a happy blonde baby with wonder and hope in his eyes, tottering around with a diaper on and smiling. He didn’t yet know the pain of drugs or death or physical toil. Not yet exposed to the crude reality of a city like Pittsburgh. I looked at him now and saw what society had done to him. He had felt the ravages of drugs. His body was prematurely aged. His lover was dead; killed by society. He was sick; poisoned by society. It had turned him into a desperate beast who had fled to the mountains to save himself. At least he was trying. The mountains are a twelve step program for the soul. It’s a place people go to get clean, to wash away their soiled memories.

I didn’t need the tour; I knew the place was a dump. However I could not stifle my curiosity and peeked my head into his room. It contained nothing more than an alarm clock, an open suitcase, an assortment of papers, and a black trash bag with yellow drawstrings. There was no mattress. Men like this don’t sleep. He had bought a one way ticket, packed a suitcase, and gotten on a plane. He truly had been desperate. Even still he described his current situation as all gravy. His outlook revealed the mountains were doing their job. I could only imagine what he looked like before leaving Pittsburgh. I admired his spirit. He wasn’t that different from us. While not as bad off as him we sought refuge for similar reasons. We all needed to escape the barbaric tendencies of the city. The mountains offer a fresh start high and detached from the rest of the world. The thin air and deep powder offer a chance for salvation. Fresh tracks.

After picking up our accomplice and our run-in with the pirate Steve, we sought lodging for the night. We needed a good night’s rest. The next day would bring Vail. It is a Mecca for native east-coast skiers. Our accomplice had gotten a taste of the West. Tomorrow was the real deal. Once I skied out here I knew back home would never be the same. I felt guilty about my affection for this new land, like I was cheating on somebody. I thought of home and the landscape that raised me. The trees, earth, and water that nurtured my young body. The sun that turned my skin a toasted brown in the lazy days of summer. That land in a way defined me. It had worked itself into my body over the years, and myself into it. It was the womb that carried me as I became a man, and it had finally given me up, allowed me to roam free, swim in new rivers, pick my way through new paths, and marvel at the craggy, stern beauty of another land. I had been released into the care of the mighty Rockies. I felt like a spirit guide to my accomplice, showing him the mystic beauty of a new land.

We decided to stay in Dillon, about a half hour outside of Vail. We checked all the major chain hotels and found nothing under $80. Unsatisfied, we continued our search until we found the moderately sleazy confines of a single room at the Interstate Inn at $60 per night. I considered ducking down as we drove the office, but it was pointless at a place like this. They offered rooms. No questions asked. We could have gotten out of the truck with a tiger and a procession of dwarves in authentic Civil War costumes. The room was tiny and the thermostat was broken. I gave it a turn and it came right out of the wall. There was barely enough room for the three of us. Our driver claimed the bed without much resistance, and my accomplice and I took our respective places at the side and foot like devoted beasts. The pack slept.

At dawn we were up and on the prowl. Emotions were high as we made the thirty minute drive up to Vail. We blared AC/DC to complete the effect. This was it. Vail. The real deal. My accomplice could barely contain himself. This is why he was here.

We stopped for breakfast in a small mining town off of the interstate. It was set down in a valley, and red and tan rock rose up all around it like a fortress. We selected the place with the most cars in the parking lots. The locals know best. They are but the latest generation to toil in this town. They’re here because their ancestors went off in search of riches. They too sought the West and the mountains for a new start. But for many their only legacy was here in this lonely town. A ghost town. Not all succeed in their quest for salvation.

Inside we took seats at the counter and were greeted immediately with hot cups of coffee. The place was pretty busy, and a handful of waitresses were attending to the crowd. They were directed by an older woman who looked as though she had been doing this her whole life. The matriarch of the crew. There’s always one in a place like this. There’s always one cute waitress too. In this case she was blonde with a nice smile. I imagined she was the great great great granddaughter of a prospector who made his way up here many years ago. I wanted to know her story. I wanted to take her out and kiss her pretty mouth and find out all about her. I wanted to hear about her family and how she ended up here and if she ever hated this lonely ghost town. I wanted to save her.

I didn’t have time for that. Vail awaited. The real deal. Once we got there we geared up in the parking lot, slung our equipment over our shoulders, and hiked over to the gondola. I felt giddy with anticipation for the first run of the day. Every guy yearns to be the most bad ass skier on the mountain, and about one out of five is convinced he actually is. I sized up the skiers who glided by beneath me. I wondered about my accomplice. We had never skied together. When a group of men come together a pecking order develops. A hierarchy. On the mountain, the leader sets the pace and the rest fall into order, trying to overtake him, wanting to lead. A poor choice gives another the chance to step up and lead. On any given day each member of the pack will have the chance to take over.

The order of the pack became more apparent as our day of skiing wore on. I was running last most of the day. The first run set the tone. My roommate ducked off course and the pack followed. I knew I was in over my head, but I had to continue. I had to follow the pack. I still wanted to lead. The other two disappeared over a ridge and I was on my own. I followed a set of tracks that brought me down a steep grade that led into a patch of birch trees.

It was unspoiled terrain with waist deep powder. I wasn’t used to skiing in such deep snow and found if very difficult. I was floating on the powder, not touching solid ground. It was very difficult to keep my balance. I had to maneuver my way between trees. I was scared. I was way over my head. Speed was required to get through snow this deep. As soon as I started to slow down I sank and lost momentum. I didn’t feel confident at all and knew it was a matter of time before I fell.

I went down on my side and sunk into the deep powder. I flailed around and sank more. It was like quicksand. I began to panic. Nobody else would come this way. I was out of bounds. I felt ashamed for my failure. The pack was far ahead. Any hopes of leading were sinking with me down into the snow. I dug my poles in and they sank almost all the way up to the handle. I pushed up as hard as I could but couldn’t hold myself and fell back in. I was desperate with fear and tried again. I pushed with raw, animal survival strength. I was up. I leaned forward and started to creep ahead. I needed to regain some momentum; without it I was sure to creep to a halt and get stuck again. I wasn’t even sure where the trail came out. A hike in waist deep snow could take all day. There were animals out there that could have eaten me.

I started to regain speed but wasn’t confident enough to maintain it completely. I skied in a horizontal path, ducking and dodging my way around trees and branches. I went over a small drop off unexpectedly and flailed around in the air. I was in way over my head. I hit the ground awkwardly and managed not to fall, but I was out of control. I was headed straight for a girthy tree. I made a wedge with my skis and slowed down the best I could. My legs were spread far apart and I was about to hit the tree crotch first so I put my arms out and wrapped it up. My momentum spun me around. My crotch and chest were pressed up against the tree while my legs were downhill ahead of the rest of my body. There was no way I could back up. I had to get my skis off. I reached for them but the angle was too awkward. I would have to use my pole. I stretched back so far it was painful. Click. My binding detached and my leg was free. I undid the other and tossed my skis uphill, then pulled myself up by the tree. The snow was deep, well up over my waist. Too deep to get my skis on. I worked my way uphill to a spot where I could step into them. I placed them in the snow at an angle and slammed my right foot in. Click. Then the other. Click.

I continued on down the mountain and began to gain confidence. I picked up speed but remained calm, and my turns became more natural. I went over another drop-off. I tucked my chest into my legs and sprung off of it. I sailed through the air and pulled my legs up. I eyed my landing and nailed it. I had a ton of speed. The trees were thinning out and I sliced between them like slalom markers. I felt good. I wanted to lead again. I wanted to find the pack and demonstrate my renewed confidence. I came out of the woods and met back up with a main trail. I stopped and looked back up the ridge I had just come down. Nature had almost claimed me, but I had survived. I felt wildly alive. I let loose with another howl. It echoed out through the valley. Somewhere off in the distance I could have sworn I heard a reply.

I met up with the rest of the pack later and we swapped stories about our day. We took some more runs together. I could sense my mishap earlier had taken me down a notch in their mind. I was still running last but steadily closing the gap. With each descent I inched closer to gaining the lead. The pack, seeming to take notice, pushed on harder and faster. They didn’t want to give up their spot.

On one of the last runs of the day we took the chairlift to the summit. From there we hiked another 300 feet to the top of a peak. We were the highest point in the area.. The view was amazing. All around was the steady rise and fall of peaks and valleys. There was no sign of civilization. Not one building, one blaring smokestack, or one car. It was snow, rock, trees, and rivers. It was pure serenity.

We clicked into our bindings. We decided this would be the last run of the day. It was my final chance to lead the pack. I seized the opportunity and was the first to begin the descent. I barreled down with dangerous speed. The terrain was wind blown and icy in areas. Several times I felt my edges start to slip out from under me. I didn’t need to look back to know they were right behind me. I could feel the pack hot on my heels, trying to overtake me. I wouldn’t let them. The speed and treacherous terrain frightened me, but I pushed on through it. I was leading, which meant I also had to keep the safety of the pack in mind. If we suddenly plunged over a cliff it was my fault. While competitive, our brotherhood was also one of compassion. I did not wish to lead them astray. I maintained my speed and managed to fend off the pack all the way to the bottom. They clapped me on the shoulder in a playful manner. Their shows of affection indicated I had redeemed myself to the pack. I felt deep satisfaction.

Skiing is a great challenge. Speeding down a mountain with slats of plastic strapped to one’s feet is an unnatural act. Trees. Rocks. Cliffs. Speed. Danger. I was afraid skiing many times that day, but it was a different kind of fear than I felt when I saw a cop with his blue lights on. Skiing produces fear for one’s safety, a primitive survival-inducing fear. It is natural and healthy. A firm reminder that nature is in charge and should be respected. A stern admonishment. The fear I had felt earlier on I-70 was a sick, unhealthy, unnatural fear. A fear of man and society. A fear for my soul. Evil. I couldn’t help but feel fear from nature. I was born with it. The other was a disease transmitted to me by society. I was a rabid beast. Every rape, murder, and otherwise unnatural act by man entices the beast within. Not the primitive beast with healthy fear, but a demented, diseased creature that had seen the horrors men inflict upon themselves and each other and been sickened by it.

Into the West

Day 1: The Danger of the Mission Becomes Apparent

10/5
The U.S. Interstate system is a savage gauntlet of twisted steel beasts belching noxious fumes and hurtling along at high speeds. Driving is among a person’s most dangerous tasks. It is treacherous and requires vigilance.

The drive appealed to me in a primitive way. While dangerous, it brought the thrill of the hunt. Men use the same skills to drive as they once used to kill wild beasts. Hand-eye coordination. Stealth. Cunning. Aggression. I would need these to survive in the Blacktop Jungle. My adrenaline flowed. I was in a fight for my life. .

The highway is a grave foe. I quickly realized I would need both physical and mental resolve to overcome it. I fought the discomfort of sitting at a ninety degree angle for several hours. My legs cramped and were less responsive. My back ached and required awkward stretches. My mind wandered from its driving duties. I focused on the pain. I admired the scenery. During the early stage of the drive I looked over my shoulder and saw my stuff piled high in the back seat. The reality of the situation dawned on me, and for a moment I questioned what I was doing. I couldn’t decide if I was a man of destiny or a slacker dodging reality.

I lost focus. I tried to hone in on the road but my mind eventually wandered. Many times I jerked out of a daydream and had no memory of the last several minutes of the drive. The flashing white lines hypnotized me. I operated by some primitive autonomic response during these periods; a subconscious auto-pilot. I questioned its’ reliability but knew I would have to depend on it. Mistakes are sudden and often fatal on the interstate. One moment of lapsed concentration would bring my journey to an end. I could have fallen into a trance, only to awaken to the squeal of brakes and a face full of glass. Flesh and bone are no match for steel, asphalt, and the grim physics of a high-speed collision

Interstates are maintained by crude men who work with metal cages in rapid motion around them, always a split second from disaster. They wear bright orange vests, sunglasses, hardhats, work boots and are covered in a layer of road grime. Their faces are rough and prematurely wrinkled from years of smoking and physical labor. They have a well-earned reputation for standing around on the job. It is consolation for doing such coarse and dangerous work. Like most of the working class they don’t particularly care for their job, but take pride in what they do. They stand dignified and unflinching as cars and trucks breeze by at high speeds. They don’t give up ground. This is their turf.

It is also the realm of truckers and their giant rigs. They are the cells of America, transporting materials to and from major areas. The interstate is their home. It belongs to them. Truck drivers are to the interstate what sailors are to the sea. They are living, working knowledge of it. At a certain point the two are inseparable, each a part of the other.

Eighteen wheelers rule the road. All other vehicles give way to the giants or pay the price. They go where they want when they want. If one is in the rearview, speed up or give way. When passing one, get it over with quickly. I became nervous every time I pulled along side one of the big trucks. They threatened to swallow me up at any second.

Truck drivers are a strange and mysterious lot. They are inexplicably drawn to the open road; compelled to follow it. They are descendants of gypsies, not content to stay in one place for long. They are drifters in self-imposed exile. There are rumors that the sexual habits of truckers are similar to prisoners and sailors. Certain rest areas are meeting places for their raunchy late night encounters. I stopped for lunch at one highway exit and found a picture of a naked man holding his partially swollen member in one hand. I had stumbled into one of their sordid rendezvous. I gazed at the photo with equal parts revulsion and fascination. It was a relic of the seedy trucker underworld.

While deadly and full of sinister characters, the open road is also symbolic of freedom. It is the call of the wild. I felt savage and untamed. All I could do was turn up the music, slide on a pair of shades, and set the auto pilot for the other shining sea, stopping only when I ran smack into the Rocky Mountains. Perhaps I was no better than the truckers who eloped in the spacious cabins of their trucks. I had my own perverted dreams.

Days 2 & 3: A Temporary Relapse into Sanity

10/6
I found safety in Pennsylvania at my uncle’s house following the first day of the journey. It was not out of my way by more than ten minutes, right off interstate 84. There promised to be plenty of cold beer, good food, and laughter. But there was more to it. The layover was an integral part of my vision quest. It was a test of my resolve. I was only 6 hours from home. I could have just stayed for a long weekend in Pennsylvania and given up the whole crazy scheme.

It was difficult to think of anything other than the 1700 miles of open road awaiting me. The frantic pace of the interstate had kept me focused on the drive, but now there was time to ponder my plan and I began to have doubts. A comfortable bed and high-definition television blunted my wild edge. The journey seemed pointless. I was driving into uncertainty and away from prudence. The uncertainty led to fear. Fear began building inside me. It lurked within, threatening to rush to the surface and consume me. I felt it in brief surges. A cold tingle at the base of my spine. Paranoia. Disintegration of sense of purpose. Sensory failure. Panic.

I barely left the house my whole stay. I was just in another box in a different part of the woods. It was like flying into an airport and waiting for a connecting flight. I only saw the inside of a terminal. There was no real affirmation that I had changed location. I sat hunched over a steering wheel for 6 hours and watched the landscape go by, and then I was somewhere new. My primitive brain struggled with the concept.

It was raining as I looked out the window at suburban Pennsylvania. The rain brought out the smell of the land. Foliage was nearly peak. The drops of water fell at a steady, soaking pace. They beaded up on my freshly polished car and streamed down the side. The view was much the same as from my bedroom window in New Hampshire. For a moment I thought I was still there. The past two days had been a daydream.

My emotional state made for a painstaking stay. I was glad to be with family, but the weight of the journey loomed overhead, consumed me, and I was anxious to move on. A rambler is not content for long. It is difficult for him to commit to one place. His mind is usually elsewhere-the next destination, the next road, the next safe haven. As a result he has trouble existing in the moment, and must take extra time and energy to do so.But when he does it is done with great passion. A rambler knows of the euphoria life offers. He craves adventure and new experiences. They intoxicate him. He is a junkie. Like any addict he has cravings that overwhelm common sense and stifle shrewd judgment. Regardless of the cost he needs a fix. Even if it entails packing up the car and driving 2000 miles into frantic oblivion.

10/8
I looked over a map at the names of the places I would be passing through: Joliet, Illinois; Portage, Indiana; Aurora, Nebraska. I would mean nothing to any of the people in any of these places. I would meet nobody, probably not so much as exchange pleasantries with a store clerk. I wouldn’t meet any interesting people or hear their stories. And they would never hear my tales, or know me, or what drives a man to pack up his car and speed off across the country.They would not remember me. A gypsy in a shiny black chariot. A Voodoo Child in the midst of rebirth. I’d slide through Clive, Iowa and on through Sterling, Colorado. Nobody would even know I was there. I felt sad. It was classic compulsive behavior; focused only on the end result.

In part it's because I don't care about Brookville, Pennsylvania or Delta, Ohio. I'm afraid to make it happen in Gary, Indiana. I could meet a fresh corn-fed blonde outside Des Moines, build docks on the banks of Lake Eerie, or teach school children in suburban Indiana. I could start a new life in any of these places. But for the moment they existed only as romantic fantasies to distract me as I closed in on Denver. My new life in a new place awaited me there. All I could do was gun the engine up to 85 and blaze through the countryside, a shooting star in the night. Somebody would see me, car overstuffed with worldly possessions, way-out-of-state plates, riding along in a puff of blue smoke. I would be a momentary flash of light; a brief source of wonder. And then I’d be gone, another memory lost to the ages. America was built on the pioneering spirit. The West was built by people not afraid to pack up ad go at the sign of a better prospect. I was a ghost of that spirit, passing unseen through the countryside, seeking to set something right so that I could be at peace.

Day 4: A Ghost Story for the Open Road

10/9
I felt carefree and fresh for the first 500 miles of the day. Nothing could stop me. The rolling, misty hill country of East Pennsylvania leveled off as I made it through the western part of the state and into Ohio. I passed through the sprawling tributaries of the Ohio River Valley. I enjoyed the scenic view while it lasted. I was melancholy about the potential experiences off of each exit ramp. But by now I had given up such fantasies. The mission was paramount. I was a crusading warrior. There was nothing for me here or any of these places. This cheesy sentimental crap could endanger the mission. With my sights aimed forward progress seemed imminent, whether one second, one breath, one thought, or one 1/10 of a mile at a time.
The agricultural doldrums of the Great Plains loomed on the horizon. I stopped at a Subway in a small town. I devoured half a sandwich and stretched out in the parking lot. I sat on the curb and watched traffic go by. The view of the small downtown could have been from any town in America. This was a chance to fulfill my longing for spontaneous adventure in a random stop off the highway. The people were all around me, their stories waiting to be told. I could grab a local paper, find a job and an apartment and hunker down for the winter. It was as good as any place. Good times were waiting to be had. But now they didn’t seem so ideal. The place was ordinary and sad like any town.

I was stalling. I knew the next leg of the journey would not be easy. Once I stopped I began to lose my edge, and I still had at least 350 miles to reach my goal for the day. The clarity of daylight was beginning to fade, and with it my confidence. The dangerous, unpredictable night approached. I had my work cut out for me. The first tingle of fear began to creep up my spine.

After 650 miles the romance had worn off. My mind and body were weary. Hallucinations and fatigue set in. Fear took hold. I no longer had the strength to fight it. I didn’t trust myself. I hung in the right lane line well below the speed limit. Brake lights came on all around me. They seemed to be eyes opening wide with alarm. I tensed up and panicked. It was momentarily paralyzing, as if time stood still and the last image I saw was seared into my mind’s eye. I snapped out of it and braked in a panicked and jerky fashion.

I yearned for a roadside refuge. I felt as though I was in a dream and aware of it, but not in control of the situation. At one point my eyelids grew heavy and fluttered with drowsiness. I saw myself stay straight around a sharp curve and plunge into the abyss where I could sleep at last.

I strayed off course outside of Chicago. I lost I-84 and headed north into the Windy City on I-294. I suspected some sort of primitive voodoo from the great city was luring me there; an animal attraction. Fear gripped me. The road seemed to unwind one frame at a time as I flashed back and forth between the frozen time of fear and reality. It was a slideshow of paranoia flashes. I was exhausted and lost in a foreign city. I tried to remain calm. I fought the fear with a medley of blues music. I felt as though it was broadcast straight from the smoky, sour-smelling dives of the city that became a Mecca for bluesmen in the mid-20th century.

I got directions from a heavily accented south-sider working a toll booth and regained course. I needed to stop, but not here. The barbarous city-limits of Chicago were not safe. I decided to push on until I entered the Caucasian confines of Iowa.

At approximately 11 p.m. I finally decided to call it a day, and exited the highway in Davenport, Iowa towards the lodging signs. I selected a Motel 6, which at $33.99 was the cheapest around. The lobby clerk was a fat, sludgy-looking woman who could have been between 22 and 52. Age is nearly impossible to determine in their species. Speaking to another human being after 14 hours alone in the car was unnerving, as if she somehow knew I started to have delusions the last hundred miles. She couldn’t be trusted. This small town swine would turn in a swarthy out-of-stater in a heartbeat.

The room was unremarkable but more than adequate. I left my car packed save a change of clothes and toiletries. I parked in front of my room so I could hear the car alarm. I had just laid my head on the pillow and given in to sleep when loud bass jerked me to attention. I heard voices in the parking lot. I peeked through the blinds like a madman. Below was a group of black guys. Some hung back in the car, others roamed the parking lot. A few leaned up against my car, drinking forty ouncers. The music pumped. A mix of fear and anger swelled up inside of me. I looked at my car filled with worldly possessions. The sense to protect my belongings trumped fatigue. I stepped out onto the deck shirtless, pretending to make a phone call. I puffed out my chest and leaned menacingly over the rail. They seemed to be ignoring my car for now. I considered calling the police, but the thought of John Q. Law jarhead types showing up on the scene didn’t make me feel any better. I cursed my fate and considered breaking off a chair leg and running down into the parking lot with the splintered piece. I would attack the biggest one. Jam it into his eye socket. After about thirty minutes they retreated to a room. Still wary I decided sleep was more important. I laid down and it quickly washed over me.

16 hours, 870 miles, and three states were behind me. It was surreal; possessed an oddly dreamlike quality. Images from the drive were forever imprinted in my mind, but they didn’t seem enough to account for the endless hours of driving. I vanished quickly from the landscape, gone as promptly as I came. I passed through like a phantom. I was a spirit with no physical reality. Those with whom I had brief encounters are tales in my story, but I will likely never be in any of theirs. While these are my memories, there will be none of me. A ghost is only real to those who believe in him.

Day 5: All Psychotic Vision Quests Must Come to an End

10/10
With one final push I attempted to put the ghastly plains behind me and sped on towards Denver. It was a cold, crisp morning on the prairie. The sun was out and I felt fresh and rejuvenated. I had to treasure every moment of daylight. With darkness paranoia and fear would return. I was a werewolf waiting to turn, trying to fend off the creature within.

I put Iowa behind me without a second thought and entered Nebraska. It marked a significant point in the journey: the last state I had to completely traverse. But it would require more miles than any other. As I moved into the cornhusker state and west of Omaha my gas light came on. I saw a service station one almost immediately but decided to press my luck and continue. After 15 miles I saw no signs and became a bit worried. I slowed down to conserve fuel. After 25 miles the gauge was down as low as I’d ever seen it. I began to panic. Any moment now I expected the car to sputter and coast to a stop along the shoulder of I-80. At last I found a station and brought my thirsty steed in for a drink. After filling up I pulled along the side of the place and devoured half of a day-old sub. The sun and was beginning to sag towards the west. A man in a Coca-Cola truck kept a watchful eye on me, as one would a dangerous animal. He seemed to sense the change coming over me. I growled, put the car in drive, and stomped down on the accelerator.

I thought of Native Americans as I passed through the plains, home to such tribes as the Sioux, Crow, and Blackfoot. I grimaced as I looked upon farms and bulky machinery, tokens of a society much further from utopia than the one it replaced. As I gazed out across the prairie I could see them standing proudly, wind moving through their long, raven hair. They were at one with nature and didn’t exploit it as modern people do. They maintained a balance with each other and the Earth that by comparison makes us look destructive, short-sighted, and evil. Unfortunately for them, they occupied some prime real estate. They were dispatched of like an infestation of insects. Nearly every last one was exterminated. If anyone has a good reason to fly planes into buildings, it is Native Americans.

These were my thoughts as fear and madness started to regain control. I entered Colorado at dusk. Daylight was nearly gone, and I pushed on at a frantic pace. Only the occasional farm disrupted a landscape that was still very flat, yet slowly gaining the shrubby, arid look of the West. There was nothing east of Lincoln, Nebraska nearly all the way to Denver. It was no man's land-no phone service, no other vehicles for dozens of miles at time. I pressed on at greater speed than ever. I didn’t want to break down here. No telling if help would come, or if it did what sort of demented local would offer it. I didn’t trust myself either. With the sun down the possibility of resulting to bestial behavior was at a peak. I could easily snap and mutilate a good Samaritan.

I passed undetected across the American landscape. My body ached and my mind reeled from hours of driving, crossing two time zones, and the slow ascension to the mile-high acropolis. At last the signs started to display the mileage to Denver. The first, at 268 miles out, prompted me to extol with a barbaric howl and pump of the fist. Those that followed were an excruciating countdown to the end of the journey. My mood lightened at the prospect of a warm plate, a cold beer, and a conclusion to the desperate saga.

Just as I began to let down my guard I was met with an icy winter blast from the Rocky Mountains. The mix of snow and rain induced a flare-up of fear. Visibility was very poor. I could barely make out the lines on the road. I fell in behind slow-moving traffic and held the wheel tensely, bracing myself for disaster. Fear had all but taken over. I considered shacking up in a hotel for the night and waiting until morning to finish the drive. I wanted to give up.

But suddenly I felt a surge of inspiration. There were only 50 miles to go. I realized how far I had come and began to laugh out loud. No snow squall was going to stop me. I was a man of destiny on the brink of reaching the Promised Land. With a wide grin I moved into the left lane and barreled headlong into the storm. This was the final stage of my journey. The last test. It was the West's way of welcoming a new son.

The More Things Change...

It's been said that everything changed after 9/11. At the airport, a place that deserved immediate reform, not much has changed. The most noticeable difference is now I have to take off my shoes before I pass through the metal detector. The frequency of random searches has increased. But they're still done with cold monotony by bored employees stuck at work, seeing passengers off to new destinations. They seem to understand the foolish political correctness of patting down old ladies and business men, when in reality dark-skinned men with Middle Eastern features named Mohammed pose the greatest threat. There isn't much secret about that anymore. After all, men like him are the ones who hijacked airliners and flew them into buildings. After all, they are the ones fighting the evil excess of America. After all, they are soliders of Allah.

It is recommended to arrive earlier at the airport because of longer check-in lines due to heightened security. It may take a bit longer, but overall the difference is minor. Right after 9/11 airport workers took their job more seriously. They possessed a sense of duty and patriotism. Their job was temporarily important-they were helping to protect their country. But that passed quickly, and by now is all but a memory. Once again they are just working stiffs wanting the day to end, secretly spiteful of those boarding planes in pursuit of business and pleasure. Both are more enjoyable and romantic than being stuck inside the stale air of a terminal.

I am now less inclined to bring contraband on the plane, but if I had more balls it wouldn't be all that difficult to sneak aboard. Drug smuggling was never something I felt particularly good about. The paranoia made for an uncomfortable day of travel. Besides, dope is readily available wherever one is, provided he knows where to look.

But increased security is not meant for petty dope-smokers, and is wasted on people like myself. Terrorists do have balls. If the need to get high can motivate somebody to be more creative, it can inspire one waging a Holy War. Both are desperate in their own way. But the latter is decidedly more dangerous.

Surprise is a warrior's greatest ally. Heightened airport security is still a deterrent, but airliners are not the only way to attack America. Other sectors are more vulnerable. It would be foolish to risk losing soliders.

9/11 was successful because it was so unexpected. America was caught with its pants down, and while it is now acutely aware of its exposed rear, other areas remaind vulnerable; exposed flesh. And such a huge country has a great deal.

How long before 9/11 happens again? 3 months? 4 days? 5 years? It is inevitable, like knowing one day loved ones will die. At some point it will happen. The knowledge is maddening; a slow march to pain and suffering. To a change. It is impossible to know quite how or when it will happen. But this certainty of circumstances weighs heavily on the mind. It makes one feel powerless and vulnerable. This is slowly being engrained into the national character.

Oil Executives: Winning a Battle, Losing the War

Senators are holding a joint hearing of the commerce and energy committees to question oil executives about extraordinary third quarter profits and concern over projected home heating price increases. Representatives of Exxon-Mobil, Chevron Corp., ConocoPhillips, BP America, Inc., and Shell Oil Co., defended what Sen. Pete Domenici, R-NM, called, "growing suspicion that oil companies are taking unfair advantage."

The five companies profited more than $32 million from July through September. Exxon-Mobile earned $9.9 billion, the most ever by a company in a quarter. This amount would cover all Social Security benefit payments for three months. It would pay for an Ivy League education for about 60,000 kids and is more than the gross domestic product of Zimbabwe and Cameroon.

The figure is a seventy-five percent increase over last year's third quarter earnings. At $9 billion Shell earned sixty-eight percent more than a year ago. BP's $6.5 billion is up thirty-four percent, Conoco Phillips' $3.8 billion up eighty-nine percent, and Chevron's $3.6 billion up twelve percent.

The massive profit gains were widely expected giving the soaring price of oil. The price of a barrel of oil hit a record $70 during the third quarter and, even though it has backed off to $60.80 currently is still up 40% in 2005.

That's because oil companies were selling gasoline to wholesalers at record prices. The profits from were more than enough to offset any hit the big oil companies suffered when the price of oil and gas rose faster than they could boost the price of gas sold at their own company-owned stations, says Tina Vital, oil stock analyst at S&P

After Hurrican Katrina has prices skyrocketed by a dollar or more overnight. The sudden price hikes were blamed on damage to oil refineries and pipelines along the Gulf Coast. ExxonMobil said oil production fell 5% during the third quarter and natural-gas production fell 9%.

But those disruptions had little effect on the flow of oil companies' profits. "The strong commodity price offset any affect of the hurricane," says analyst Lysle Brinker at John S. Herold.

Lee Raymond, chairman of ExxonMobile, defended the price increase as natural fluctuation in the market. This appears to be true. The U.S. Energy Information Administration reports that although the 20 big oil companies it tracks earned a combined $22.55 billion last quarter, those same 20 companies, together, earned only $1.59 billion in the fourth quarter of 2001.
In fact, Big Oil was weathering tough times then, reporting combined quarterly profits of less than $10 billion from the third quarter 2001 through the fourth quarter of '02.

Jay Taparia, a lecturer in finance at the University of Illinois at Chicago and an expert on interpreting financial statements, said a quarterly profit or loss can only be judged in context, given the history of the company and its long-term prospects. "People who are freaking out about Exxon's record profit are the same people who were freaking out about AOL Time Warner's record losses" of $98.2 billion in 2002, he said. "One quarter's net income or loss doesn't mean anything."

A $9.9 billion quarterly profit is mostly a function of Exxon Mobil's size. It had sales of $100 billion this quarter, more than any other U.S. company. At its current rate of growth, Exxon Mobil will be the biggest U.S. corporation this year by revenue, bigger than Wal-Mart Stores Inc., which had $288.19 billion in revenue last year. Generally, the bigger the company, the bigger the bottom line.

Another explanation for swelling oil revenue is an extraordinary profit-margin. Evidence indicates this is not the case. Most financial institutions, such as commercial banks, are routinely more profitable than Exxon Mobil was in its third quarter. For example, Exxon Mobil's gross margin of 9.8 cents of profit for every dollar of revenue pales in comparison to Citigroup Inc.'s 15.7 cents in 2004. By percentage of total revenue, banking is consistently the most profitable industry in America, followed closely by the drug industry. Altria Group, the maker of Marlboro and other cigarettes, made 22 cents for every dollar of revenue in 2004, and pharmaceutical company Merck made 25.3 cents for every dollar of revenue in 2004.

Even though oil's record-breaking quarter appears to be explicable and reasonable, the Senate hearing shows there is considerable concern over the high profits. Gas prices increased before Katrina ever damaged a refinery, revealing a well thought out scheme.

Hurricane Katrina was to surging energy prices and oil executives what 9/11 was to the invasion of Iraq and the Bush Administration: an excuse to do what they wanted to do all along. In both cases, fear was used to hold the common sense of citizens at bay. Infrastructure damage was used to justify surging gas prices, even though evidence shows profits more than compensated. Alleged weapons of mass destruction and a bogus claim linking 9/11 terrorists and Iraq were cited as grounds to go to war. Both of these justifications have been disproven.

The reality is the oil industry is cashing in while it still can. The majority of the world's greatest oil reserves are past peak-production. Sooner than later, petroleum and those who profit from it will be as much fossils as the ancient remains that comprise the substance.

All or nearly all of the largest oil fields have already been discovered and are being produced. Production is, indeed, clearly past its peak in some of the most prolific basins," the federal Energy Information Administration (EIA) said in a recent report on peak oil.
"Over the last 20 years, the size of oil discoveries has fallen off dramatically. We are finding more fields than in the '60s and '70s, but they're much smaller," said Michael Rodgers, ex-oil geologist who is now senior director of PFC Energy, a nonpartisan energy consulting firm. "We're producing three barrels of oil for every one barrel of oil that we find."

The oil industry is also facing growing competition from alternative-energy technology. In the civilian marketplace, rising gasoline prices are already drawing fuel-efficient alternative-propulsion vehicles into the main stream, in spite of their higher prices. Nationwide registrations for new hybrid vehicles rose to 83,153 in 2004 -- an 81 percent increase from 2003 according to R. L. Polk & Co. Since the introduction of hybrid vehicles in 2000, the market has grown by more than 960 percent."Expectations of continuing high gas prices, combined with the introduction of new models to the consumer market, have heightened interest in hybrid vehicles," said Lonnie Miller, director of Polk's Analytical Solutions.

The market research and forecasting firm J.D. Power and Associates reports that hybrid-electric cars, which combine a gasoline motor and an electric motor to maximize fuel mileage, accounted for 0.5 percent of the American market in 2004, and are expected to account for 3.5 percent by 2012.

American oil consumption did not decrease drastically as predicted amidst high prices. What did was sales of SUVs and other gas-guzzlers.

In the first look at sales since Hurricane Katrina drove gasoline pump prices to $3 a gallon and beyond, sales of passenger cars grew in September while large, fuel-thirsty sport-utility vehicles languished.

At Honda, sales of the Civic, one of the industry's most popular small cars, grew 37 percent from a year ago. Honda reported a 25 percent sales increase in the gasoline-electric hybrid version of the Civic. Sales of the hybrid Toyota Prius nearly doubled, to 8,193 for the month.
Chrysler's performance was helped by a 69 percent increase in sales of the Dodge Neon, a car that the automaker is phasing out and barely marketing. At GM, sales of the Chevrolet Malibu rose 25 percent while sales of the Korean-built Aveo subcompact car were up 25 percent.

At Ford, trucks and SUVs -- the backbone of the company's sales and profits -- struggled through September. Sales of F-Series pickup trucks plunged 30 percent. Sales of Ford's large SUVs, including the Ford Explorer and Expedition and the Lincoln Navigator, sank by more than 55 percent each. At GM, overall sales of trucks, minivans and SUVs dropped 30 percent. Truck, SUV and minivan sales also fell at Toyota and Honda, as well as at Chrysler.

Americans are all for new technology if it doesn't hamper their old way of life. New hybrids such as the V-6 accord and SUVs made by Lexus and Ford offer much better gas mileage without sacrificing syle, reliability, performance, or creature comforts.

With home-heating costs expected to increase by 60% in some areas of the country, consumers are also looking to more energy-efficient homes.

There is now a new generation of Zero Energy Homes being designed and constructed around the country under the sponsorship ot the U.S. Department of Energy (DOE) and the National Renewable Energy Laboratory (NREL) in Golden, CO.S "Spectrally selective" windows cut power bills by blocking solar heat in the summer and retaining indoor warmth in cold weather. Fluorescent bulbs throughout use two thirds the juice of incandescents. A suitcase-size tankless hot-water heater in the garage, powered by gas, saves energy by warming water only when the tap is turned on.

The rest of the energy savings comes from the solar units. Set flush with the roof tiles, the two-kilowatt photovoltaic panels unobtrusively turn the sun's rays into AC power with the help of an inverter in the garage. If the panels are generating more power than the home is using—when the house is empty during a sunny day—the excess flows into the utility's power grid. For one such home in California the grand total over the 10 months the owners have lived in the three-bedroom, stucco-and-stone house: $75. For the past two months they haven't paid a cent.

Gas prices are finally falling as a result of pressure from the Government and citizens. It is only a matter of time before they increase as the result of real shortages. Like the boy who cried wolf, the American people will pay no mind, having learned their lesson from earlier claims. By then alternative energy will be out of its infancy and ready to play with the big boys of energy.

Hurricane Katrina will one day be remebered as one of the nation's worst national disasters. There's a good chance it will also go down as a landmark day in the energy revolution.

Episode III: Return of the Proletariat

For two weeks riots have been raging in France. They began in the Parisian suburb of Clichy-sous-Bois on October 27th, and have since spread into and around the capital and other parts of the country. Rioters have torched thousands of cars, burned buildings, looted, fired at police, and set off explosives in over twenty communities. Shocked national leaders have declared a state of emergency in response to France's worst civil unrest since 1968. In addition they have deployed nearly 12,000 police, made 1,830 arrests, and imposed curfews in some areas.

Violence erupted in response to the fatal electrocution of two teenagers who fled a soccer game and hid in a power substation. Youths in the neighborhood suspect that police chased Traore Bouna, 15, and Zyed Benna, 17, to their deaths. Since then riots have swelled into a broader challenge against the French state and its security forces.

The violence has exposed deep discontent in neighborhoods of African and Muslim immigrants and their French-born children. Their parents and grandparents were part of an immigration boom in France in the 1970's. They worked in factories and other menial, undesirable jobs and lived in housing projects on the fringe of large urban areas. In recent years a large number of black African immingrants have joined the ranks of a community trapped by poverty, unemployment, racial discrimination, crime, poor education and poor housing.

The riots are a direct response to the youths' deaths, but they represent a broader social problem in France. For years leaders have paid lip service to correcting racial and class inequalities. The violence of the past two weeks is a response to their complacency. "When you're treated like a dog, you react like a dog," said one rioter. Schools and public buildings display the French doctrine: Liberte, egalite, fraternite. It signifies no distinction of French citizens based on race, religion, or ethnicity. According to sociologist Michel Wierviorka, "The problem is that the institutions in charge of this idea don't translate it into reality."

The plight of immigrant minorities in France is similar to those living in American cities. Despite the life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness guaranteed by the Constitution, poor minorities experience a quality of life far below the national average. Only a little more than 8 percent of American whites are poor, compared with 22 percent of Hispanics and nearly a quarter of all African-Americans.

The problem is not unemployment but low wages. Unions are weakened and a minimum-wage increase is not on the GOP agenda. Pay has not kept pace with the cost of living, except at the top. In 1965, CEOs made 24 times as much as the average worker; by 2003, they earned 185 times as much.

Isolation is another factor that makes poverty even worse. Racial segregation in housing is at its lowest levels since 1920. However, Sheryll Cashin, author of "The Failures of Integration," has found that only 5 to 10 percent of American families live in stable, integrated communities. More than half a century after Brown v. Board of Education, public schools are still very segregated. Isoloation now is the result of where people choose to live, not law. Blacks and whites increasingly go to school with more integrated Hispanics, but not with each other.

A third problem is racism. According to a 2002 Harvard publication, "The Anatomy of Racial Inequality," stereotyping and "racial stigma," more than overt racism, holds blacks in poverty. It explains a destructive cycle of "self-reinforcing stereotypes" at school and work.

As in France, impoverished Amerian minorities remain isolated from the rest of society physically and socially. Animosities continue to simmer, awaiting a reason to boil over. Most recently, police brutality was the straw the broke the camel's back. It's easy to believe the same could happen in America.

James Quarks, a market trader in Baltimore, Maryland was cutting open a box when a group of police officers, guns drawn, came racing up in their squad cars. The young African American man looked up from his work to see what was happening. Not realizing that the knife was still in his hand, the police order him to drop it. Doing so, cops opened fire and shot him dead.

This is no isolated event. Police brutality is an everyday occurrence in the United States. Trigger-happy cops have murdered countless individuals, overwhelmingly none-whites. In the Bronx, N.Y., Amadou Diallo was murdered by police. Four cops - members of the deadly Street Crime Unit - fired 41 shots at unarmed Diallo. The police officers were later acquitted.

There were similar incidents in Riverside, California, Charlotte, N.C., and on the New Jersey Turnpike. In Philadelphia, four more African Americans have been killed by police this year. In January, Erin Forbes was shot in the heart by Lower Merion police as he returned home from his night job. He was surrounded by at least five fully-armed officers, yet the police story was that he threatened them with a stick.

Police Brutality has already caused rioting in the United States.

The 1992 Los Angeles riots were ignited on April 29, 1992 when a mostly white jury acquitted four police officers accused in the videotaped beating of black motorist Rodney King. Thousands of people in Los Angeles, mainly young black and Latino males, took part. There was looting, arson, and murder. 50 to 60 people were killed.

In addition to the immediate trigger of the Rodney King verdict, there were other reasons for the unrest. They include the extremely high unemployment among residents of Southern L.A. and a long-standing perception that the LAPD engaged in racial profiling and used excessive force. There was specific anger over the light sentence given to a Korean shop-owner for the shooting of Latasha Harlins, a young African-American woman.


The United States experienced violence on a smaller scale in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. For several days New Orleans, with one of the nation's highest minority and poverty rates, hosted looting and lawlessness. After five days without federal assitance, police and national guardsmen finally regained control. Many claimed the belated Government response was racist.

Katrina literally blew the top off racism that largely goes unrecognized in New Orleans and the rest of the country. Barrack Obama,the only African-American in the U.S. Senate, says "the ineptitude was colorblind." There was no "active malice," the federal response to Katrina represented "a continuation of passive indifference" by the government. It reflected an unthinking assumption that every American "has the capacity to load up their family in an SUV, fill it up with $100 worth of gasoline, stick some bottled water in the trunk and use a credit card to check into a hotel on safe ground."

In one sense, the U.S. Government dodged a huge bullet in Katrina. It could have been to American riots what police brutality was to French: the incident that made poor minorities say enough is enough. America will one day face another uprising from its displaced citizens. For years racial and class issues have been swept under the rug. If nothing is done to curb inequalities, the nation can expect a reenactment of the incidents in France. Somewhere the ghost of Karl Marx is smiling, urging his proletariats into battle.

War's Residual Fear

Last weekend a cruise ship carrying mostly Americans avoided an attempted hijacking by Somalian pirates. They fired rocket-propelled grenades and attempted to board the ship, which suffered significant damage but managed to escape. This is the latest incident in a period which has seen a dramatic spike in piracy along Somalia's coast. Twenty-five attacks have occurred since March 15th, compared to only two in all of 2004. The pirates are the product of a nation that has had no effective government since dictator Mohamed Siad Baree was ousted in 1991, and now is a battleground for warring fiefdoms and militias.

The political turmoil in Somalia is the result of European colonialism. At various times the British, the French, and the Italians all staked their claim on a portion of the nation. Around 1935 Italy held hegemony over Somalia, investing heavily in agriculture. Britain gained firm command during World War II and attempted to introduce democracy. In 1949 the United Nations granted Italy a 10 year nominal trusteeship of the Somalia. At the end of this period, it was a free country.

While the newly independent nation showed great enthusiasm for politics, unresolved problems began to surface. The north was economically far behind the south dating back to colonial days. The two regions claimed different currencies and languages. Also, an area known as Ogaden was given to Ethiopians, long mistrusted by Somalians, sparking fierce debate within the country and with its neighbors. Not a year after Independence the North's dominant political party was advocating secession. By 1964 internal disputes turned outward as hit and run attacks were performed in Kenya and Ethiopia. Events continued to spiral out of control, leading to the current state of anarchy in the Horn of Africa.

Add the eastern coast of Africa to the list of places Americans no longer feel safe traveling to. The only part of a cruise that used to be hazardous was venturing ashore 9 drinks too deep attempting to mingle with the locals. Now, the ride itself is suspect. Buccannering has existed as long as income disparities, but to see it on the rise in the 21st century is alarming, if not surprising. Not surprising because people living in anarchy and poverty don't have many ways to earn a paycheck. Not surprising beacuse uncertainty about one's future leads to savage, survival behavior. Not surprising because a foreign-occupied country left with an ill-suited framework for prosperity and unresolved problems will gravitate towards disarray and civil war.

Pretty soon the only safe travel destinations for Americans will be Eastern Europe, Australia, and Canada. The Middle East is out of the question, as are Central and South America, most of Mexico, large portions of eastern Europe and Asia, and just about all of Africa.

America has nobody to blame but itself. While the United States has participated in minimal colonialism, it has imparted its will on many countries. It has intervened on behalf of regime change nearly 15o times. It has intervened with the purpose of opposing popular resistance movements nearly 150 times. It has supported nearly 100 right wing dictators. Since 1980 it has held over 100 countries in the manacles of debt-leverage imperialism. It has launched over 25 covert operations on foreign soil. U.S. military intervention has led to nearly 50 million foreign casualties.

Iraq is merely the latest installment of what has been referred to by many as "Perpetual War for Perpetual Peace." Diplomatic historian Robert Divine has examined the way the United States wages war, using force to achieve political ends. Divine concludes America seeks to use warfare to create a better and more stable world, only to meet with unexpected outcomes and the seeds of new hostility. America has left chaos in its wake all over the world as it has exploited nations and people to meet its needs. And while many Americans forget such foreign-policy trespasses, as the recent Summit of the Americas shows, foreigners have not.

Some places are openly hostile to Americans and truly dangerous travel destinations. Most, however are relatively safe with due precaution. Yet the nation as a whole is fearful of travel to much of the world. People don't recognize the bridges burned and enemies created while tucked away within the bubble of the American lifestyle. But they become conscious as soon as they step out.

Like much fear in America, it is deserved, but for the wrong reason. Foreigner's anger is often explained as jealousy and not legitimate outrage. If more citizens understood America's economically-driven Imperialism and exploitation of foreign nations, they would know the real reasons for our universal despisal.

A similar misunderstanding persists at home as well. The poor in the United States are thought to be so because they are stupid and/or lazy. They are in fact the product of a system that sets some up for success, but functionally encourages many more to fail. Americans fear poor sections of their own cities as much as they do foreign strongholds of anti-americanism. Writer Gore Vidal, in his book "Perpetual War for Perpetual Peace: How We Got to be So Hated" describes both as, "...products of American imperialism at home and abroad. It is a law of physics that in nature there is no action without reaction. The same appears to be true in human nature - that is, history." They are afterbirth of the creation of the American Empire.


With The Fear existing at home and abroad, within 20 years the American public will be no more than a bunch of paranoid freaks peeping through blinds, gun in hand, windows and doors boarded, drinking their own urine, feeding off the carcasses of unlucky trespassers.

Vote for Sam

Last week in Westminster, Colorado, Wal-Mart won another local election to allow the retailer to build a new store there. This week two more elections are scheduled, one in Sandy, Utah, the other in Lorain, Ohio. Such votes are on the rise, as is the debate over the nature of Wal-Mart itself. Is it a popular friend of the people, or monopolistic monolith? The answer that emerges will say a lot about how the American people perceive and value political decisions.

Wal-Mart's financial dominance is well documented, as is the conept that money translates into campaign victory. The store's success rate is a tribute to this. The Wal-Mart issue has gone to a vote 16 times in the past dozen years. The retailer has won 12, including 3 in the past month and 6 so far in 2005. During the latest election in Colorado, Wal-Mart pumper over $150,000 into its campaign, compared to only $30,000 mustered by opponents.

Each year, 110 million people, more than a third of the U.S. population, shopped at Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart is America. It is a consumption carnival of cheaply-priced goods, every overstuffed aisle lined with people doing what they have been taught to do. Americans consume, fill their carts and homes with an assortment of products that coincide with their incomes, needs and tastes.

A trip to the local discount warehouse provides a demographic map superior to any statitician's.
Step inside and look around. These are your neighbors. There are men in polo shirts and khakis, others with tank tops and shorts pulled up high over their paunch. They are bearded with glasses and a novely tee, and a few are young, wearing warm-up suits and 5 o'clock shadows. Some are old, wear heavy sweaters, drive carts and squint a lot, and others wear designer jeans and talk on cell phones. Many more are women in Tweety Bird and Pooh shirts and stretch pants, trailing a handful of ill-behaved children with cruddy home-haircuts. An alarming number wear Nascar shirts and hats, tapered jeans with work boots, and dull, beady eyes. They are black white, Asian, and non-descript, anorexic, fit, obese, short, tall, upper-middle class, below the poverty line, Democrats, Republicans, teachers, business men, garbage men, single, married, intelligent, ignorant, romantic, crude, polite, cheaters, pig fuckers, sludgy, and decent. They are Americans.

Wal-Mart is a microcosm of America not only by virtue of its clientele, but of big-business versus everybody else. People's votes for or against Wal-Mart will say a lot for or against certain conceptions of America's future. It could mean victory at the ballot box is just a matter of fundraising, or perhaps opponents will find ways to defeat big business. It may set the tone for entrenched, capitalist monoliths to assert their will, or the little man could stand his ground.

Overall, will people see past short-sighted self-interest and support choices that benefit future well-being? Art English, professor of political science at the University of Arkansas in Little Rock (coincidentally the birthplace of Wal-Mart) isn't so hopeful. "People empathize with the small guy who might be put out of business," he said, "but I think when it comes right down to it people are going to make decisions based on their pocketbooks."

Eye of the Storm

While Hurricane Katrina was a tragedy of rare proportions, it was also a chance for one of the biggest, "I told you sos" in the history of American politics. The president's opponents have long suspected his incompetence; this is the smoking gun.

The incident made the evidence much more accesible. Now, the tragedy is at home, not in some desert thousands of miles away. And if only Mr. Bush had been as determined to help the people of the Gulf Coast as he was to send thousands of Americans to death in Iraq. Then the blow of the tragedy would have at least been softened.

Katrina provided a diorama of the dementation of the Federal Governmen's priorities. And while the blame will surely be shifted to Bush's beauracratic lackeys, a 'yes' man is nothing else but obedient. Don't blame the dog for failing to heed a command that was never given. The Master should have known better.

When at last there was something to be afraid of, the public's attention was pointed elsewhere-exactly where is uncertain. While many knew of the storm, few were aware of how deadly it really was. I must admit I knew nearly nothing of the storm until I saw Brett Favre onT.V., frantic about the safety of his family in Mississippi. Even then I did not think of the big picture and changed the channel, wondering why they were interrupting a perfectly fine sports broadcast. Where were you when the story broke?

Regrettably, I am a perfect example of the unempathetic, self-absorbed, American psyche. However my ignorance is excusable, for the power structure is top-down, despite that "by the people" jargon. I am not surrounded by a full-time staff keeping me up to date on every breaking story. I

It would appear that Mr. Bush is not, either. Or perhaps his crew suffers from the same selfish Brain Bug that infects myself and other Americans. But I'm not really buying that ignorance story. Or, at the very least, it is inexcusable for the leaders of this nation.

If many suspected the Government cares little for poor, disadvantated minorities, their suspicions have been confirmed. It is my hope that those who lost their lives have done so for some purpose, that their tragedy will inspire outrage from the public and we will hold our leaders accountable. They must be told this is unacceptable and downright despicable.

But I doubt it will happen. For the same reasons Iraq does not seem real, neither does New Orleans. I've never been there, nor did I witness the disaster first hand. It is a terrible tragedy, but fuck, I'm not really affected 1500 miles away in New Hampshire. All my friends and family are OK.

It is this attitude that slowed the federal reaction to New Orleans. Americans care only for what is affecting them right here and right now. I can watch CNN and read horrifying testimonials until I'm blue in the face, but the fact of the matter is I am not directly affected, and thus am uninclined to do anything about it.

Sign a check-that is the way America has been taught to solve problems. We give money to causes, but rarely our time, energy, or passion. Which is why we are losing battles on every front.

And it starts at the top. After 9-11 G.W. had the whole nation looking to him, their collective willpower ready to be channeled into any plan he conceived. What did he tell the nation? Go shopping. After Katrina he had thousands of refugees crying out, looking to him for answers. And he told them nothing

(note: originally written 9/30/05)

Believe

"Since the initial publication of the charted electromagnetic spectrum, humans have learned that what they can touch, smell, see and hear is are less than one millionth of reality."
-Incubus, New Skin


Everyday people put faith in science. Radio signals send transmissions, satellites beam information around the planet, wireless technology keeps businesses and communication up and running. Much faith is placed in that which cannot be seen.

Such is life in modern times, and it extends beyond technology. The economy, stock market, even capital itself-none are visible. Yet they move with a force of their own, not completely unlike electricity or radio waves.

There has been a transition away from faith in God to faith in the modern lifestyle. Except that man never assumed control over God.

Technology is mastery over naturally occuring phenomenon. The inspiration for all technology is Nature. Science began as a way to understand what was observed in the world around us. But by believing we can fully control invisible forces we are actually putting a great deal of faith in ourselves-in our ability to dominate the natural world.

But this is destined to fail, as the ways of Nature and the Universe are always just out of reach, shadows cast upon the wall, an eerie reflection of the True Source.

Ignorance is in the Eye of the Beholder

The recent Supreme Court nomination of Samuel Alito proves that political loyalty pays dividends. President Bush's selection is an effort to appease his conservative base. In light of the war in Iraq, Hurricane Katrina, and the CIA leak case, the president has alienated himself from much of his Republican base. Moderates, who make up 44% of the electorate, disapprove of the president's performance by a 68-31 percent margin. Conservatives, comprising only 31% of the electorate, approve of Bush by a nearly identical margin, 61-39 percent. It appears that G.W. has nowhere else to turn.

This helps explain the singleminded approach to selecting a nominee to replace Justice Sandra Day O'Connor. Conservatives have made their intent to overturn Roe vs. Wade clear. It is the reason they did not support former nominee Harriet Miers. She initally aroused suspicion by not offering firm evidence that she would oppose the the landmark 1973 decision. It's no coincidence that within days of the release of a document citing Miers support of a woman's right to choose, her nomination was withdrawn. Moderates, on the other hand, generally disapproved of the former nominee due to a lack of professional credentials.

President Bush, amidst the 'Dark Days' of his tenure, is a wounded animal desperately seeking allies. Conservatives, sensing weakness, have found a way to use this to their advantage.

Overall, the move shows that the President and his supporters, though politically shrewd, don't appear to be very concerned about the long-term. A wiser course for Mr. Bush would have been to choose a nominee that satisfied more than one faction of his support base. By failing to do so he is doing little to repair the breach within the Republican Party. By further alienating himself from the majority of his party he is setting a divisive tone not only for the remainder of his term, but for hopes of Republican domination in upcoming elections. An organized and cohesive group is simply more powerful.

Meanwhile, conservatives are hell-bent on reversing Roe vs. Wade. They seem to think if and when that is accomplished all will be right. The only issue being discussed is abortion rights. Alito could very well prove to do the conservative's bidding on this issue, but fall short on others. By focusing on one, immediate goal they fail to consider long-term strategy and implications.

Liberals deserve criticism as well. They lost the 2004 election by trying to beat their opponent at his own game, and not crafting a definitive stance for the party. Opposition to Bush's nominations has focused on upholding Roe vs. Wade. While this is an important concern, liberals have done little to inspire debate over other important issues likely to face the Supreme Court, including immigration, eminent domain, the environment, and dependence on foreign oil. A strategy of defiance based on many points that appeal to both the left and the right could gain greater support than one founded on a single principle.

However, in politics it is always wise to assume those making the moves know something else. Republicans may see great potential in catering to conseratives. The latter may have information about Alito that signifies he will be a potent long-term ally. Perhaps liberals have reason to believe the abortion rights battle is one they cannot afford to lose.

Politics also produces clear winners and losers, and some strategies are inevitably better than others. Only time will tell who will emerge victorious from the flames of this debate.

When in Rome...

"When a commonwealth, after warding off many great dangers, has arrived at a high pitch of prosperity and undisputed power, it is evident that, by the lenthened continuance of great wealth within it, the manner of life of its citizens will become more extravagant, and that the rivalry for office, and in other spheres of activity, will become fiercer than it ought to be."
-Polybius, Histories


If a wealthy elite does hold great sway over United States politics, they would be wise to keep a low profile. This was the case in ancient Rome, where an elite inner circle of about twenty senators dominated the land. They rejoiced in their exclusiveness and secrecy to the extent that little was known about them or their decision-making process.

While the Plebeians had the least power in Rome, they had the greatest numbers, and there was always the risk of unrest, or uprising against the upper classes. To keep the disadvantaged and relatively powerless lower classes passive, they offered 'Bread and Circuses.' These policies served to keep spirits high and minds distracted. People received food by means of grain distribution and legislation of food prices, free entertainment such as chariot races, gladiators, lavish spectacles in amphitheaters and the Circus Maximus, and an increased number of holidays. Those in power also did not hesitate to extract punishment from those who breached this social contract in blood, ensuring their own fate would end in a similar manner.

Author Robert Payne writes, "...the remaining years of the Republic only served to show that oligarchies and dictatorships were adept at employing republican forms as a means to achieving their purposes." In America, this is still the case. In a Democracy some legislators are more adept than others at gaining and sustaining power. Yet is is not senators who rule with secretive dominance in the U.S., it is those they represent. It's no coincidence that every representative in Congress is a lawyer. They are hired by the wealthy to represent their interests.

As often as people talk about the super-wealthy elite conspiracy, no names ever come up. Who are these diabolical capitalists? Anonymity is understandable. They merely pay their attorneys to legitimize their influence within the safe confines of the law. They make the laws, and stand to benefit most from them.

And like the Roman Plebe, the average American survives off the table scraps of the elite, take solace that they have enough to survive. They watch sports, the newest sitcoms, go to the movies, dine out, buy the latest fashions, dance in clubs, etc. This is the American Bread and Circus. If the people knew how the wealthiest 1% lived they would rise up in revolution. But such an exclusive club does not venture outside of its own kind, and understand the value of sercrecy. They are more than elusive, to most they don't exist at all.

This elite could care less for partisan ties; domination is an ideology all its own. Whichever side is willing to do their dirty work is sufficient. And money in politics is laundered more effectively than any mobster could dream of. Politicians don't know exactly who or where it is coming from. But they end up with a better lot in life than most and don't care to question such things. To the puppetmasters, freedom in America does not mean what it does to the rest of us. It is primarily a practice of facade and distraction wtih no genuine concern for the masses. In due time they will die by the same deception that has upheld their power.

Faith of the Faithless

On the way home from the park tonight a man was underneath the canopy of a fir tree screaming, "You will see!" Startled, I looked around and saw nothing. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the dusk, I saw them: hordes of youths in disguises running amock through the streets, ringing doorbells, disturbing peace-loving folks, thrusting forth goodie bags like the wealthy during tax-return season. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I picked up a thick branch to defend myself against these freaks of the night. As a group approached I cocked back the bramble and prepard to bludgeon the leader when a flickering jack-o-lantern brought me to my senses. "Halloween-that explains these chananigans!" I exclaimed. Ignoring parents' frigtened looks I tossed the branch aside and made my way home.

Halloween gets its name from the term "All Hallow's Eve" which has pagan roots in several cultures, including Irish, English, and Celtic. The Celts' new year was November 1st, and the end of October signaled not only a new year but harvest season. Spirits were important to this culture, and appeasing them helped their chances of surviving the harsh winter. The exact customs observed in each Celtic region differ, but they generally involved the lighting of bonfires and the reinforcement of boundaries, across which malicious spirits might cross and threaten the community. Observance of Halloween faded in the South of England from the 17th century onwards. It is only in the last decade that it again became popular in the south of England, but as an entirely Americanized version. The custom survives most accurately in Ireland, where the last Monday of October is a public holiday. All schools close for the following week for mid-term, commonly called the Halloween Break. As a result Ireland is the only country where children never have school on Halloween and are therefore free to celebrate it in the ancient and time-honored fashion.

The mingling of Christian and pagan traditions in the development of Halloween, and its real or assumed preoccupation with evil and the supernatural, have left many modern Christians uncertain of how they should react towards the holiday. Some fundamentalist and evangelical along with many Eastern Orthodox Christians and Orthodox Jewish believers consider Halloween a pagan or Satanic holiday, and refuse to allow their children to participate.

Perhaps one future benefit of the fundamental Christian movement in America will be no more sweet-toothed ingrates pounding on the door as I settle down with a cold beer and a hot plate to watch football. It is another example of how Americans take a meaningful spiritual celebration and turn it into their own empty, commerialized version. What is more barbaric, to pay homage to nature and the spirits of the season or to don a disguise and tromp door to door collecting sweets?

To foget the past is to forsake the future. America's political correctness and consumption-fever have made it perhaps the most unromantic place on earth. The old world origins and appeal of holidays are lost behind a crass veil of corporate impregnation. Today's generation cares not for history or tradition; their sense of entitlement trumps all. A canon of consumer culture is constant dissatisfaction, for if need is eliminated, the market collapses. People have been taught that too much is not enough, and possess an unconscious need to obtain more. The kids who appear at the door are not monsters by virtue of their costumes, but by that of their subliminal pan-handling.

However, detached from their heritage, something has to fill the void. When deprived of tradition people are forced to come up with their own. Which explains the bear traps in the front yard. Sorry ma'am, I don't think he's going to make it... but it should really save you some dough during the holiday season.

Seeing Red

The 2000 and 2004 presidential elections made "Red" and "Blue" states political vocabulary words. Red states, predominately in the South, Great Plains, and Intermountain West, are associated with Republicans. Blue states, covering the Northeast, Pacific Coast, and Northern Midwest, are known as Democratic

A map of the two parties' dispersal has come to visually represent the ideological and political polarization that has gained attention following the last two presidential elections. Red states are more ethnically homogenous, tend to contain more rural areas, and agriculture is among the most important industries. Blue states, by contrast, are more urban, have a higher per capita income, and are more multicultural. To go a step further, assesment of counties reveals they follow the National trend, but exceptions are almost exclusively limited to Blue counties containing major cities among Red strongholds.

A closer look reveals more. 85 of the country's 100 most diverse cities (by ethnicity) are Blue. Among Blue states contain are the three (New York, California, and Pennsylvania) with the greatest number of colleges and universities, their total equaing nearly half of all those contained in Red states. Nine of the nation's best institutes of higher education reside in Blue states. 19 of 24 states with the highest average IQ are Blue. Statistics also show a positive correlation between those with who hold college degrees and those who voted Democratic. Another area of interest is Christianity, in which 7 of the 10 most religious states are Red.

To call this polarization eye-opening is correct. To call it new is not. The current partisan lines are remarkably similar to those prior to the Civil War. Blue, or Union States, have always represented a more progressive, forward-thinking America. Red, or Confederate states, have long been political heel draggers. The Union touted the finest educational institutions and promised freedom for slaves. The confederation was dominated by large plantations and exploitation of minority labor.

The truth is that the majority of Red states have long been more backward-thinking and less civilized. Blue states still contain the majority of the best universities, as well as its most diverse cities.

When all but a handful of Blue states border the ocean, one is left to ponder why Liberals need to be so close to the sea. One theory is to expedite evacuation plans when the whole shithouse goes up in flames. Perhaps they are descended from sort of left-of-center aqua man. Or, just maybe, it is because great civilizations are exclusively situated along port access, and the blue states house most of the only civilized places left in the country.

America took shape from the Docks and harbors of the Union, places that have long been dominated by liberals. The founding fathers laid the blueprint for a Democratic society in Philadelphia, and immigrants provided the nuts and bolts for the project. But as these early cities demonstrated American traits such as diversity and hard work, they also were a proving ground for greed and corruption.

New York is Blue because its liberal city, where Democrats outnumber Republicans 5-1, bears an unproportionate load of the state's population. Yet it could easily be considered the king city of Capitalism-the mecca of consumption. In this light the city is at odd with many modern-American liberal values.

And yet it is also the most American of all cities, with its ethnic neighborhoods and free-market bazaar of wonders. It is intriguing and intimidating, a description well-suited to the American spirit.

But liberals have a bit of explaining to do. Why are the highest inflation of real estate prices in Blue, coastal states? It weakens the parties perception as the opponent of big-business, corporate America.

It reveals that beyond a certain point, party doesn't matter in the United States. The country doesn't have a problem with Republicans or Red states, it has a problem with extremely wealthy people. And they happen to think beachfront property is all the rage. Which is why on any given day the rich, both liberal and conservative, can be found rolling around on the beach cackling madly, the American flag draped around their naked body, throwing handfulls of money into the cool sea breeze.

A Poem For The Weary

Sometimes my brain doesn't work
Confidence waivers
Insecurities lurk
Possibility casts a shadow
Over dreams' landscape
Mind represses feelings
A victim of rape

The clock tick-tocking
Reminding, urging, dissapointing
Everybody's mouth just moves
Words are all the same
Working towards the future
Forsaking the moment

How to trust your heart
When it tells you to kill
Commits treason daily
People depend more on others
As faith in humaniy dwindles
Everyone sleepwalks
To escape nightmares
Zombies
Hypnotized
Afraid of their own shadow

Must bleed my emotions
No modern cure for age-old dilemmas
Of pain
And hurt
Anger, Dissapointment
Reality

We say nothing in good times
Nobody to tell during bad
Memories are placeholders
But the pages get smudged
Torn, stained, faded
Difficult to read

You won't pass the test
Without doing the work
Life is a pop-quiz
And it pays to cheat
Conscience is finite
Greed unlimited

You've entered a familiar realm
History repeats itself
Regardless of the lessons
Some lines are so thin
As to be invisible
Naked eye left straining
Waking from a bad dream
Reality is comforting
By comparison
The same that causes the nightmare
Hard to tell the difference

Wishing each day away
Unintentionally
We know what what we do
Some legends
Never took place
An empty promise
Desperation writes prophecies

Narrow Minds Cause Extensive Problems

When a new president takes office, it is only keeping with tradition and common sense that he surround himself with administration and cabinet members of his own choice.
It is one of the privileges of the executive branch expressed in the U.S. Constitution. A president presumably chooses people in whom he has confidence to help advance his political agenda. These appointees are for the most part ideologically congruent with the commaner in chief, each bringing their own talents and abilities to the White House. And while this group more or less shares the executive's vision for the nation, it has traditionally included those who will expound upon the best and worst case scenarios, not just so-called "yes" men.

While "Yes" men are by no means new players in politics, The Bush Administration has utilized them to a new extent. The most recent edition of the New Yorker contains a profile of Brent Scowcroft, national security adviser to the first President Bush. To summarize, the article points out that the younger Bushs' foreign policy has been characterized by his unwilingness to listen to ideas that conflict with his own, what Trudy Rubin of the Philadelphia Inquirer calls, "...a devastating portrait of a president cut off from contrary views."

G.W.'s daily life is like a visit to a bobble-head museum, moronic nodding greeting him at every corridor. Few lack the backbone or integrity to tell the President the truth or challenge his narrow world views. Among them are legions of ignorant, under-qualified brown nosers who care more for personal gain thatn a fair and balanced administration

Scowcroft is not the first to raise alarm about the close-minded White House fraternity of Bush and Co. Former Treasury Secretary Paul O'Neill, who served in four Republican administrations, commented that he has never worked with a White House so closed to debate. John Sununu, chief of staff to Bush Sr. told the New Yorker, "We always made sure the president was hearing all the possibilities..." In fact, the President's father has even alluded to the debate, describing Scowcroft as somebody who, "was very good about making sure we did not simply consider the 'best' case, but instead considered what it would mean if things went our way, and also if they did not."

Col. Lawrence Wilkerson, Secretary of State Colin Powell's former chief of staff, accused the younger Bush of letting a Cheney-Rumsfield "cabal" control foreign policy, which indicates a scenario many have suspected: the president is in fact a "yes" man, puppet to political ventriloquists including Cheney, Rumsfield, and Karl Rove.

The White House is finally beginning to bear the spoiled fruits of its unbalanced labor. The CIA leak case, in which "Scooter" Libby has already been indicted and Karl Rove remains under investigation, demonstrates the administrations policy of zero tolerance for criticism of the War in Iraq. It also raises serious concerns about Bush's ability to succesfully rule without the voices of two top advisers in his ear. The spreading quagmire of the War is itself a sign of the administrations recalcitrant stance of deciding to invade Iraq in the first place.

Opposing viewpoints and debate are at the heart of fair and balanced decision-making. A lack of dissension lead to one sided debates and policies. This has been one of the legacies of the Bush Administration. It is questionable whether it has been a conscious effort to stifle opposition, or whether the White House is full of ego-maniacs who interpret blind servitude as sound judgement. Whatever the case, it is no way to run the nation, and as the Dark Days of the White House set in, the direction of the head nodding has changed from up and down approval to side to side disbelief.

Classified

FOR SALE: One Nation, Red, White, and Blue. Looks Great, Runs Poor. Fully loaded-crooks, weirdos, thugs, whores. Call NOW while supplies last-CLOSEOUT SALE, EVERYTHING MUST GO! Act now to own a piece of this once-great nation! Any offers accepted.

America is for sale. The free press is nothing more than a giant billboard used to hock shallow sleaze and perverted dreams. She is over the hill, on the way out, its time on earth cut short by a lifestyle that would kill even the hardiest prematurely. America is the child prodigy who sold out and ended up hocking cheesy merchandise to try and save its career. She is an aging whore whose tummy tucks, fake tits, and Botox are fading, revealing the ugly, filthy creature underneath, and whose customers are catching on there is a better lay just around the corner. There are younger, more attractive options out there.

The World is on to you, America. You are making one enemy at a time, and the numbers are slowly building into an army not even you can stand against. America is Michael Jackson-a plastic version of the former talent that thrilled the world, and is slowly becoming nothing more than than a freak show-something you loathe, pity, and struggle to make sense of all at once, saying, "How could this happen...where did it all go wrong?"

And there is no single incident to point to, it is an amalgamation of all things. All roads lead to and from each other: past, present, and future constantly flowing in and out. One may argue the past cannot change, but it can, if only how it is viewed in the present. The same incident can be grim or romantic, depending on how it is framed by later events. The tone of the present colors the past in new ways. What was once proud is now headstrong, noble- stubborn, ambitious -greedy, confident- narcissistic and arrogant.

The New Sabbath: Not Just for Sundays

Humans are well suited for work. We possess strong problem solving ability, hands that can grasp tools, and are able to toil under even the worst conditions. We are domesticatable, able to function in very tight quarters and prouduce satisfactory results. Despite a high-level of job discontent in this country, people still continue to work, demonstrating a strong tendency to assimilate into the ranks of the employed.

However, despite the indentured aspects of work, it has a very practical utility similar to that of religion, and is widely and faithfully practiced in a similar manner. To work is to better one's chances for survival. Like religion, it provides a steady, regular lifestyle, keeping one occupied, out of harm's way, and generally docile. Workers go to bed early and wake up early, thus avoiding the many dangers of the night. Work channels our time and energy into a predetermined activity-people are less prone to travel around, pursue adventure, carouse, or cause trouble.

Like worhipping, by working people submit to a higher power: the workplace. Workers go to the 'Temple' everyday; work is prayer. And ACME CO is your God. It provides you and your loved ones with all you have and need.

And this God is vengeul, deserving of much fear. It will take away all that you possess-home, car, phone, clothes-everything it has given you. It is wise to appease God, make offerings and offer humbleness.

Even so it 'works in mysterious ways', which is sufficient to explain why somebody who has been a devout worshipper for 30+ years can suddenly find himself turned away. Sinner.

The United States of Consumers

One of the principal causes of the American public's lack of political involvement is that people's daily lives are affected little by administration change. Citizens are primarily consumers, not active members of a Democratic society. Imagine if people researched candidates and read about the issues facing the nation instead of shopping, or if dollars were put toward causes instead of gadgets, clothes, and material goods. No matter who is president, the ideology of a consumer culture will trump their political stance. If equal time were invested in selecting leaders as it is evaluating and purchasing merchandise, the political vacuum that allowed GW and Co. to gain power would not have existed.

Advertising, the means through which capitalism is maintained, has not even produced 'good' consumers. People rarely make educated purchases. They buy what advertisers tell them to, seldom making rationale or socially responsible choices. Aesthetics play a strong role, but rarely is the most physically attractive the most practical or reasonable.

Advertising is the primary means by which voters are informed about candidates, and the same faulty reasoning that applies to product choice does also to who people vote for. Catch phrases, sound and video bites, pictures, testimonials; these are what miseducate America.

The inherent faulty logic of advertising has weakend people's ability to recognize and understand sound arguments. As a result we are impulsive, cloudy-minded, and quick to give in to impulses. Gillette tells us their products are, "The Best a Man Can Get", McDonalds' says, "I'm Lovin It". Clearly, a company that makes shaving accessories is not the pinnacle of manhood. There isn't much to love about the health risks associated with fast-food. But people accept these slogans without question, wooly-mindedly buying products, and coming to tolerate faulty reasoning and blatant lies. I therefore have no trouble understanding why when the president says, "Freedom is on the march" and similar ridiculous rhetoric people accept this crock of shit.

As people trained in the art of consumption, Americans are conditioned to make choices based on what they are told, and not what they find out for themselves. This stifles people's naturally inquisitive nature and is why we are beginning to lose our edge as leaders of the scientific community. The brightest minds once flocked to America, in part because it paid better for new ideas. But the U. S. was a land of intellectual freedom. Now, sadly, it stifles more intellects than it nurtures.

Technology enhances the loafing effect, a psychological phenomenon which cites a diffusion of responsibility within groups. People assume not only that somebody else will do it, but now also that high-tech gadgets will. The majority of scientific research is devoted to products, and not ideas. Many of the nation's brightest scientific minds design dick-hardening pills and missiles that can target an anthill from 5000 miles.

America exploited perhaps the greatest scientific mind of all time, Albert Einstein, to create the most destructive weapon in the history of mankind. Clearly, our priorities are out of order. Of course, Albert sought the U.S., not wanting the Armageddon capability of nuclear weapons to fall into the wrong hands first. However it seems he merely placed it there himself. He had The Fear, and sold it to a market with an infinite need for it. Now the dumb beasts sit poised with missiles aimed at the world, too stupid to realize how they got into this mess in the first place.

Fear and Uncertainty: Cancer of the American Mind

In today's world of currnt events and politics exists a paranoia from both the Right and the Left concerning the legitimacy of the news being reported. Republicans complain of the "Liberal Media Bias", while many Democrats cling to the notion that the mass media is controlled by powerful elites. In an environment where such a fear of information exists, it is quite difficult to make rationale decisions based upon reliable information. If eash side claims the other is disingenuous, who and what is to be believed?

This is in part why the modern media, despite superior technology that creates a deluge of readily and easily available information, creates not an educated society but one of misinformation. Not only is there more information than ever to process, but its realiability is vague and unassured. Figures and statistics are easy to come by, but where did they come from? Who is the source, and are they to be trusted? Enough facts exist to make almost any argument seem infallible, but surely not all of them can be correct.

The United States public is ignorant not from a lack of information, but are in fact overinformed. The average citizen is like a high schooler inundated daily with rumors, unsure of who or what to believe, and so grows suspicious of all and becomes isolated. This leads to a wariness of involvement, which has certainly been the case in America based upon voter turnout during elections.

Which demonstrates there is quality information available that can lead to meaningful and relevant conclusions. But it takes time and patience, things that the average American has little of due to the ever-lengthening work week and hurried pace of life.

The Fear exists in America, paranoia due to uncertainty. Thus people are more apt to rely on and respond to pledges to emotion and feelings. In this sense we are truly back in the Stone Age, irrational beasts who act according to instinct, no matter how right or wrong they may be. Ancient man thought the Gods punished them for their wrongdoings, and likely lived in fear of most things due to their lack of understanding. Modern man exists in a similar way, constantly fearing the unknown, the cloud of uncertainty never completely lifted.

To elected officials and those who seek office, manipulation of The Fear is a highly efficient and effective way of directing the masses. A leader need only project an air of assurance, an unbreakable stance, to gain the compliance of the people. But decisions made in the face of fear should rarely be trusted, for they often lack a foundation of rationality and certainty. They become autonomic responses instead of well thought out, reasonable plans of action.

Republicans exploited the people's lack of assurance to bully their way into office, and continue to do so in advancing their political agenda. In a way it's hard to blame them; the very nature of politics in a Democracy is to garner the support of the people. But blame is necessary for their sustainment of The Fear. By not responding with and offering sound judgements based upon reason, they are robbing the Nation of their ability to think sensibly. As a result we have lost the ability to elect sensible leaders, and the freedom to act on reasonable means of persuasion.

It is necessary for leaders to make an appeal to emotion, for people do still rely on primitive intuitions when it comes right down to it. But to not make such appeals based upon well-founded and researched information is ever inducing mankind further into an atavistic, bestial state.

Score One For The Crackers

This week, NBA Commissioner David Stern announced a dress code for all players. It consists of slacks or jeans, a collared shirt, and no "bling". His rationale is to promote a more professional look for the league. By that, he means to weaken the link between hip-hop music and basketball.

In a sport owned and operated by wealthy white men, the best players by far are black. Knowing the depth of racism in this country, it's not a stretch to assume that the caucasian business men tolerate African-American players the same way quiet beach towns tolerate spring-breakers. They don't like 'em, but they sure bring in a ton of money. And fortunately basketball keeps players quite content. They play a sport and get paid extremely well for it-there isn't much controversy involved.

Hip-Hop, a business in which the best are also far and away black, is by contrast much more dangerous. It is the mainstream voice of a population long and frequently treated as second-class people by the United States government, with lyrics that openly and proudly tout violence.

It's easier to find a Black Nazi than a white person over the age of 30 who enjoys hip-hop. They say they don't get it, and this is precisely the problem. Lots of people said they didn't get why keeping slaves was wrong. A lack of understanding is the root of all racial problems in America.

While rich white men seek to build the military-industrial complex, many blacks have gone the way of the Hip-Hop/sports complex. But why has basketball been Hip-Hop's strongest ally? As pointed out, both genres are dominated by Blacks. There are good white players in both games, but Blacks far and away comprise the bulk of the talent. Both come from the streets, where local talent seeks to catch the right eye or ear and make it to the Big Time.

Both have emerged as guaranteed gold mines if you can make it to a high level, and those who do serve as role models. The NBA and Hip Hop are to blacks what being a lawyer or doctor are to whites. Ballers and Rappers have become a strong source of empowerment for the black community, a bonafide way to get a big piece of the pie.

This action by the League is clearly a direct response to the Ron Artest incident from last season, in which the Indiana Pacer went into the stands during an altercation with a fan. This was affirmation that indeed players had turned to thugs. Evidence of the league's paranoia: during his suspension, Artest spent his time promoting his rap album. This was clear evidence that not only were players walking and talking like rappers-they ARE rappers.

While the majority of players already dress well within the confines of the new dresscode and will put up no resistance to the new policy, several have pointed out the racial implications. It remains to be seen what sort of backlash will develop. Surely some players will remain defiant and pay their fines for non-compliance with disdainful ease. After all these guys are millionaires, which is really the problem.

Never have pasttimes as innocuous as music and sports produced such financially secure minority opposition, and the relationship between owners and players grows ever more tenuous. After all, it's not how they dress, it's how they act. As Allen Iverson, star of the Philadelphia 76ers and hip-hop fashionista said, "You can put a prisoner in a suit and he's still going to be a criminal."

Be Careful What You Wish For

In Iraq, many fear that the rush to ratify the proposed constitution may undermine the Bush Administration's goal of establishing Democracy in the Middle East nation. The stance from the White House has been mostly unflappable, claiming many more years, dollars, and lives will likely be spent there before the region is stabilized.

However, the President faces the lowest approval rating of his tenure amidst strong domestic pressure to bring home the estimated 150,000 U.S. troops stationed in Iraq. From this a more modest objective is emerging, one in which Iraqi security and military personnel would be used to fight a stubborn insurgency. This plan hinges on the ratification of the constitution, which would create a legitimate Iraqi Government. But there is concern in rushing what Danielle Pletka, analyst for the American Enterprise Institute calls, "perhaps the most important document to come out of the modern Middle East." She adds that it, "has been reduced to a benchmark of America's way out the door."

Confidence in the document has never been extremely high. The latest hurdle in the road to ratification came in the form of a recount from the recent vote to ratify the constitution due to various discrepancies and reports of voting fraud. There are those who dismiss the vote as illegitimate to begin with, as it was held under occupation. Others have well founded concerns about the constitution itself. Senator Richard Lugar, R-Ind, chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee warns that, "the Kurds and Shiites, who have dominated the drafting of the Constitution, have opted for a weak Central Government structure that maximizes their autonomy in the regions where they predominate." The result is that Sunnis, the third largest ethnic group in Iraq, will be left with few resources and little power. The overriding fear is that a power struggle will eventually lead to civil war that could cause permanent instability in Iraq, which could threaten to spill over into the rest of the Middle East.

Divided factions. Doubt. The Threat of Violence. These are the conditions surrounding the ratification of Iraq's new constitution. Ironically, they are similar to circumstance surrounding the historic vote to ratify the U.S. Constitution back in 1787.

In fact, many members of the Constitutional Convention feared the document would never gain approval. It had to be rushed through to the voting stage for concern that without a uniting doctrine of government, the United States would never come into being.

Members of the American colonies had diverse and often opposed interests. Large and small states battled for what they deemed to be fair representation in the new government. There were fears of nobility and monarchy playing a strong role in the new land after colonists fought so hard against those very groups in the Revolutionary War. The North and South were divided over the issue of how slaves related to taxation and representation. The South had further concerns that a New-England dominated Congress, through export taxes and regulation of trade, would severly damage the South's economic life. Above all of these issued lingered the general disagreement between Federalists, those who supported the Constitution, and Anti-Federalists, those who did not. These divisive factions squared off in every state, making ratification a daunting task for the Founding Fathers.

In the end, through careful consideration and compromise(and in large part the Bill of Rights), the U.S. Constitution was approved and enshrined as the law of the land. But it was a lesson in the challenges of forming a legitimate and sustainable government among varied interests and controversy. In 1788 Benjamin Franklin commented that the formation of the new government had been like a game of dice, with many players of diverse prejudices and interests unable to make any uncontested moves. James Madison agreed that no government can be perfect, and, "that which is the least imperfect is therefore the best government."

Obviously, a young America was much different than an empirically controlled Iraq, where many are skeptical whether Democracy is a true goal, or merely an overriding docrtrine for U.S. interests. However, for those who will have to actually live under the new government, the situation is very real indeed.

America has an obligation to see that the best government possible is implemented in Iraq, one that adresses the nation's unique political circumstances, and delivers a similar framework for hope and fairness that allowed our great nation to harvest a superior quality of life for its citizens. The Administration need look no further than our own history to realize that problems not fully resolved can and will return with horrific results, as happened with the bloody U.S. Civil War. The need for haste in Iraq is understandable, while a lack of careful consideration of the best interest of the majority its citizens is unforgivable.

Sorry America, But I Think We Should See Other People

With 3.5 jobs estimated to be outsourced by 2015, it is only likely that the next to pack up and head overseas will be the workers themselves. True, as it stands labor pays much better here than the countries the jobs are heading to. But the growing powers such as China and India will likely raise wages in accordance with a strengthening economy and increasing standard of living. It's foolish to believe workers won't jump at the chance for a better life in another country.

If any nation should be mindful of such a consideration, it is America. Immigration was the means used to build her capital might. This land was the greener pasture, offereing prosperity to millions of foreigners. People's survival instincts far outweigh patriotism in most cases, and not only in this country but throughout history people have demonstrated they will leave it all behind for even the chance at a better life.

By 2015 approximately 250,000 jobs a year will have been lost to foreign markets. And these are no fry-slinging after school gigs; they include engineers, operators, accountants, web developers, biologists, and many others. No matter the color of your shirt collar, finding new jobs will be a challenge for hundreds of thousands of workers. Where will the new jobs come from? Who will pick up the slack? These questions remainds decidedly unanswered. And so too does the question of what the displaced workers will do. With so many jobs already gone and millions more to go, it seems that new markets will have to be created. But that takes time, and a worker who can't afford to take care of his family has precious little of that to spare.

Those industries that do stay here will be forced to rely on mechanical labor to compete with companies that have found cheap labor abroad. In the long run the battle for cheap labor will fuel a revolution in robotics, but none of that helps workers now, and in the meantime they will be looking for a better gig.

America is preaching Patriotism like never before, and yet it does little to rekindle the fire between itself and its constituents. Years of disrespect have caused an unhealthy relationship between America and its work force, and it is time for a divorce. It's only a matter of time now before people come around and decide to move on. Many relationships are maintained by remembering the good times, while in fact the negative has begun to far outweigh the positive. Gone are the days with a plethora of secure jobs with adequate pay and benefits. Here are days of worker uncertainty amidst an ever increasing cost of living and rapidly disappearing work. For the many who wil move on to China, India, and other countries, life in America will indeed be nothing more than a memory.

Bloodsport

Its a good time of year to be a sports fan. After escaping the doldrums of summer, baseball is about to reach its climax, as the White Sox will take on Houston in the World Series. Chicago will beat the Astros in 6 games.

But who cares about baseball; if your team's not in it neither is your heart, and it's never going to be as good as the Red Sox and Yankees. Hockey is back, trying to re-seduce fans with cheesy new rules. Again, who cares-it says enough about the sport that it needs the upgrade. After a year off I just want to see new rules that allow guys to beat the shit out of each other.

Basketball season is nigh, the sport with the most impressive athletes of the day. The athletic ability of men their size is truly a pleasure to behold. The game has gotten a bit soft, though-too many prissy touch fould and rules meant to increase entertainment value through offensive production. Anybody who knows anything about basketball knows its a rough game. But even though it has gotten away from its roots, its still damn fun to watch.

But what really matters is that Football is here, a game so rough rules are made to save lives and prevent crippling injuries. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the real deal, the main event. While Baseball was once America's pasttime, football is now its passion. Sports are an accurate social barometer of any time period. The people NEED football-those who feel a need to express violence enjoy watching it. And indeed those in power need football as well. Better to get liquored up and clammor at a bunch of gladiators belting each other on the field than to grab crude tools such as hatchets and garden rakes and storm the steps of local legislators, hacking and maiming.

On another note, backup quarterbacks have a very interesting gig. The job pays very well, and if you're not one of those assholes who can't stand getting compensated for sitting around most of the time, you've got it made. And there is always the chance that the starter will go down, and then its His time to shine. The QB has the ability to noticeably impact a game perhaps more than anyone, and if you're the man everyone will know right away.

Imagine this scenario in other professions. Jed from editing goes down with a serious case of carpal tunnel, and you, his backup, are suddenly in, cutting and pasting your way straight to the top. Or, Jan from payroll dies of syphilis and you step right in and seize the moment (but alas are soon fired due to sheer incompetence and questionable hygiene).

Ahhh but we revere athletes so much that we don't raise a fuss at the ludicrious fact that somebody who is not even the best on his team at his position makes more in one day than you do all year. I say lose all the player protection rules and just let the savages tear each others heads' off. I always did believe in Darwinism.

Crunch Time

In sports there is often talk of the 'must win' game. It isn't necessarily a do or die elimination game, but often one that has a major influence on a team or player's momentum. It could keep them from having to overcome seemingly impossible odds, or come at a time when morale is about to take a fatal blow. A must-win game always carries the air of something greater, more important, and power usually lies in the balance. There is no perfect equation for determining a must-win situation, yet there is no denying when it comes about.

This is very much the situation facing Democrats in the 2008 election. The Elephants lost an election in 2004 that they could have won. Yes, the Republicans played dirty, but Democrats did themselves no favors. They lack vision and a clear statement in a time when uncertainty has never been higher, and so far it has cost them big. Conservatives put up a guy who was just barely good enough to win, and unfortunately that was all it took. And who do Democrats have now? They look like a bunch of squeaky voiced teenagers afraid to ask a girl to the dance. The Republicans have a nice little political machine up and running-all they need to do is plug in another incompetent candidate robed in the flag. There isn't much evidence that anything that may swing people in a more Liberal direction has taken place-only business as usual. If anything, Republicans are gaining more momentum as they inundate all the branches of government.

Which is why 2008 is a must-win for Dems. Continuing Republican domination could swing momentum so far away as to be lost indefinitely. Four more years could be 3.5 too many. Its time for a gut check, Democrats. 2008 could be the year they get things turned around, or in sports terms, it could be the nail in the coffin. But the effect of politics has far greater reach than sports. Lets hope Liberals don't think the next election is just another stupid game.

In Gawd we trust (an aside)

Sign of the times # 1044: You can't say God damn on TV, and if they knew I was quoting such hedonistic praise they would surely kick down my door and have me hauled away (kicking and screaming, to be sure). How dare I insult God's honor-after all, his is the #1 supporter of the war in Iraq, and basically any action of the Bush Administration, whose actions are more and more being disguised under a veil of Christianity. God Bless this and God Bless that...it's like listening to a black athlete thank God for his last touchdown-I'm just not buying it. Yeah-God wanted you to score that last touchdown, and just for good measure he threw in the idiotic endzone dance. Just like he wanted G.W. to win the election, and claim the lives of thousands of innocent people. Man, doing God's work ain't easy, but boy does it pay well.

In Gawd we Trust

"When somebody prays too loud in church, go home and lock the smokehouse door."
-Southern saying

What separates America's religious idealism today from that of the past? This country started out rigidly spiritual, with homage to God underlying the young Nation's standpoints on many issues, including work and Government. Yet today it seems crazed, dangerous-dividing the nation instead of uniting it. Perhaps because way back when it was a true belief, while today people feign worship merely to be on the safe side-touch all the bases, just to be sure...

There is no doubt that the Church, and a belief in a God or Gods, has been used to manipulate and rule people since very early in the history of mankind. It is a relationship of command-people obey because they fear reprisal from the Almighty, and because of this it seems a bit unhealthy.

The Kingdom of Heaven has long been a justification for sub-par living conditions on Earth-the pot of gold at the end of the shit-slide. America has always been a religious nation, yet in these times the tension between Science and Religion is at an all-time high, especially in this, the most Westernized nation with all of its powerful appendages of science and technology. The working and poor men still need the promise of God and Heaven to justify their monotonous existence, while the elite recognize this dependency as a tool for domination. They too may believe in God, yet despite this their keen business sense cannot allow them to deny what God is to the public-the ultimate pop icon, the one figure with power exceeding even the richest of the rich or highest-ranking politician. He is the boss of the boss of the boss of the boss, and offers the ultimate retirement package...

But what ultimately makes religion seem like such a sham these days is the blatant, unchecked immorality that pervades the country, which in turn makes the Lord Almighty all the more appealing. If He can't save us, who can? Overwhelmingly we believe in God, and yet the paradox is that Religion and Intellectual Liberalism are often at odds. Indeed God is at the very heart of Conservatism, because while some of us would seek to improve life here and now on Earth, many more seem willing to take a raincheck...

Capitalists are high in saturated fat

"All swine are upward mobile"

-Hunter S. Thompson

Capitalism has invaded even the freedom of Democracy. People's votes are merely used by the elite as a means to their retention of power. The people who voted for G. W. were manipulated by the guise of Religion and morality. They voted against their own best interests, for Bush and his Administration represent the wealthy capitalist, the richest 10%, not the other 90% of us who work day in and day out for a living. The people who came out in droves from the Heartland of America helped to keep the Swine in power. The public was so greatly manipulated and blatantly used that their vote-the very action that stands out as the symbol of individual liberty under Democracy, has been tainted, used to deny freedom instead of perpetuate it.

Those in power have found yet another way to use people to serve their own needs. The common man has become the very vehicle of his own repression. Choice does not necessarily indicate freedom-limited choices are barely a step above none at all. As long as we are ruled by people who share different priorities than our own we playing their game-nothing more than pawns. We are forced to make choices for which the outcome is already determined-fill a role-fleshy extensions of the mechanism that perpetuates the rule of some men by others. The ruling classes' freakish insecurities and greed have become our own.

The Bush Administration has used idols, a false vision, to secure votes and their own agenda. Marx's Bourgeoise have found a further way to exploit the proletariat-the rulers another way to solidify their grip on the ruled. The working man does not fully realize his own efforts only put him further from where he wants to be-he is a hampster merely running faster on the wheel. Those who elected Bush do not realize their notion of what this country is all about and stands for is being irreprably damaged by the Republican Swine who now soil the halls of our Ivory Tower like a drunken, foolish, fraternal order of adolescents who are allowed to carouse in the halls of luxury. A soiled aftermath is inevitable. To stay in power is a constant struggle to find new ways to subvert those who would rid them of it-by nature it is deceitful, hurtful, and demoralizing.

Gimme the Loot

"..I want it all from the Rolexes to the Lexus, gettin' paid is all I expected, my motha didn't give me what I want what the fuck, now i got a glock makin' motha fuckas duck..."

-Biggie Smalls

The U.S. breeds a spirit and environment of Ultra-competitiveness, and people wonder why nobody cares for or wants to help others. Every man for himself does not easily translate into a generous, humanitarian mindstate. Mine, mine, mine-but all of a sudden I have to fork some over to Joe Cantgetajobberson-I dont think so.

The American Dream, and the threat of not reaching it, has been a strong motivation for violence both here in America and overseas. People are willing to die for it-kill for it-both at home and abroad. Our nation has achieved the benchmark standard of living in the world, and I'll be Goddamned if I'm going to give up even a crumb of my piece of the pie-not to some foreigner, not to some white trash piece of shit-its MINE.

Over time wealth is condensing into the hands of fewer and fewer, who are more and more hesitant to spend or invest it in any way that does not benefit them. When will one man have enough to buy off Everyone, put together an army, and take it all for himself? People today have further to fall and higher to climb, and the height of either can make anyone mad...

The New American Hero pt. 2

"...what is destined shall be, George Bush killer till' George Bush kills me, much blessings be healthy..."

-Nas

Not all voids are filled-some are left permanently gaping, a black hole that sucks in all within reach. Some wounds heal on their own over time, but the scar is forever there as a sign of the loss. Some vacuums are filled with with things that don't belong-incomplete heirs to the throne that despite their shortcomings filled a need through the thinnest of qualifications.

A truly great leader of man always seems to just fall into the role-he quits his day job and moves onto something greater. It's why politicians can hardly make strong leaders, uniters. Many war heroes have attempted the leap, but waivered under the subtle, plotting hand of politics.

A leader gains followers through powerful shows of emotion, something that has emerged as the new third rail of American politics. (i.e Howard Dean, whose genuinely excited outburst earned him the reputation as unstable, crazy). The hero must show weakness-it makes him vulnerable, on our level. He can't be all guns and muscles and orgies. Who can relate to that? But everyone can relate to pain-the need to alleviate it has united man for all time.

But a man in Washington cannot show weakness-he must be a rock, a fucking stillframe. And he can't be wrong, for to err is to admit fault. Yet to come forth with an apology for our trespasses is the most humbling of all gestures. When is the last time a politician came forth with a rescind for a prior action that was not the reccomendation of an attorney, a committee, or a committee of attorneys?

Despite their deplorable behavior, all Politician,s at one point aor another, want to lead their fellow man. They want to be heroes-revered leaders. Yet few know how to do that anywhere, anymore. They seek our public approval, and yet deep down desire our admiration.

American will always follow a hero, because they believe in Him, they believe one man can rise above and pull us all out of the mire. It is the nature of the national character. There is no other way to be an individual than to be a powerful one admired and desired by all. Yet the nation is undergoing a character identity crisis. The society that was infused with a belief in the individual, proud, hard-working, successful man is at odds with the newfound pressure to fit-in, be one of the well-groomed, toned, generally bohemian populace. And yet our viciously competitive culture makes the hero a dangerous, target on your back, role. It begins with a rapidly swelling ego, and ends with extreme paranoia.

All of these factors make for a New American Hero-one who faces the pressure of approval, yet who must also stand alone and never waiver. Tender moments are only evening news specials and Guideposts articles. The New American Hero is an egotistical, paranoid, power-hungry freak whose constant unshakable public persona eventually turns him into a truly unblinking, uncaring money-lauding machine. Wealth is the new standard against which one's worth is measured, and it all but qualifies a man for leadership in this Declining Nation. Where have you gone, Clint Eastwood...

The New American Hero pt. 1

"One man's freedom fighter is another man's terrorist."

-Unknown

Mankind has long known of the cyclical nature of the world we live in-its ups and downs, waxing and waning, rises and recessions. Surely each generation has moaned, "This is it...I've seen the worst...the End is nigh!" And on this seventeenth day of the tenth month, the two thousand fifth year in the Christian Era, I entertain such thoughts. As a result of pragmatic ignorance, every person is bound to their time-that is, they can only directly experience the here and now-it is the only REAL period in history in the sense that it has direct meaning to their life.

America needs a Hero now more than ever, one to rise above the spreading quaqmire and lead the people to a better place, one that promises humanity, which slowly seems to be draining from the national character. But those in power are better able to spot a Hero than they are an Al-Qaeda operative, and the reward for their head is perhaps higher.

Surely this is not the end, yet I am just as confident that the worst is yet to come. Perhaps amidst greater chaos the hero will be able to scramble past unseen, use darkness as cover. If America has shown anything, it is a tendency to put things off until they literally blow up in our face. We ignore the obvious until it turns to a matter of life and Death. I hope he does not arrive too late.

I imagine him strolling in like Clint Eastwood to a soiled town, the gross injustice inciting a rage within him that has long burned slow, but now ejaculates like Pompeii, a fireball of outrage. While this sentiment exists among good-hearted men, they need an example to follow, a confident voice of reassurance.

My Dog ate my ability to reason

"Existence of the Nightmare sustains a certain national character, a certain conception of man, and a certain view of the world. Central to our national character today bust be fearfulness and a tendency to acquiesce."

-Jules Henry

The dumbing down of America, often and vaguely referred to, seems to be the result of, at least in part, to advertising. It has brainwashed us, forcing people not only to accept the images and claims advanced by corporate America, but in the process blunting our capacity for reasonable thinking. It is a double edged sword that both wounds and incapacitates its victim.

Every day is met by an all-out assault by advertisers, each American coming into contact with 3-5 thousand product-pushing means per day. What's worse is it goes generally unnoticed-we have become accustomed to this unnatural assault by consumption commanders. Even if we are not keenly aware of each advertisement, it must nonetheless have an effect on the psyche. Clearly it does-people are not even aware of the bombardment, it is merely another buzz in the cacophony of modern sound bites.

We are a nation of slugs, content to work week in and week out completing menial tasks while our senses are invaded, all the while compelled to purchase spiritually meaningless junk. They tell us what's funny, fashionable, cool, in, out, and everything in-between, and we listen, never stopping to question their motives.

It's no wonder a buffoon like GW can gain office. Advertising has softened us all up, clearcut our cerebral potential, left us waiting, looking dumbly as if to say "OK, and now what?" It has robbed us of the very ability necessary to sustain a proper democracy-the power of logic, deduction, determining the best choice based upon careful research, consideration, and patient resolve. It is why our country has ceased to function as it was meant to-this very essence of its conception has been damaged, perhaps irreperably. The vast majority not only don't know what is best for them, but have lost the ability to decipher it altogether. Well, it has been said that a people get the government they deserve...

The Rules of the Game must Change

Those who write the rules effect the most change in a game. Therefore it is nearly impossible to defeat somebody by playing the game by their rules. Victory is instead attained by rewriting the rules-redefining and changing the game. For rules are often the only difference between keeping people in line and revolution, and to break the rules is to break the power structure.

A ready example is the current state of politics in the United States. The reason John Kerry was unable to defeat Bush is because he tried to beat G.W. at his own game-he was playing by his opponents rules. Kerry depicted himself as a more mild version of Bush-less conservative-Bush Light. Well, the people let it be known that they would rather have the real thing.

Kerry needed to take a page out of Howard Dean's book .The only way to end the wealthy's control of politics is to neutralize their obscene campaign contributions-and the only way to do that is to get money from the common man, in many small installments instead of a few swollen ones. Giving money has become more significant than actually voting, and indeed its fruits are much more tangible in the current political scene.

Democrats need a Grass Roots Movement-botton-up, as the (former) American Republic was meant to be, and not top-down. Dean was successfully labelled an over-zealous lunatic by his opponents, but this is because they feared him, or at least the change he represents. He threatened the backbone of their power structure.

The movement needs to go to the streets-the wealthy own the airways-that medium is no longer safe. If the game is to be won, the rules must be rewritten, and if we do not do it nobody will. If we won't save ourselves, why should we expect anybody else to do it.

I May be Stupid, but my Truck Kicks Ass

It seems that there is little or no outrage from the male community concerning our portrayal as beer-swilling, greasy food eating, breast ogling atavisms. Well, perhaps not all of us live up to this stereotype, and are offended by the media’s portrayal of us as such. Now don’t write me off as some crunchy geek. I enjoy a rare steak and exposed bosom as much as the next guy. But I do believe there is danger in identifying too strongly with such generalizations.
Just as women’s portrayal in the media causes alarming psychological phenomenon such as eating disorders, trying to live up to what is said to be “manly” can prove dangerous to men. Little attention is given to men’s body-image issues, but a time spent in a local gym reveals males pumping iron not as a healthy practice, but one meant to change one’s appearance-become a better man. Or take the guy who insists on driving a HEMI truck that gets .67 MPG, when all he needs is a cheap ride to and from work. Look closer, and the average man is caught up in a cycle of masculine self-affirmation. He strives to be what he feels he should be, instead of what he actually is.
If American culture has turned its women into hordes of trendy, skinny, sex-objects, it has turned its men into simple-minded, truck driving buffoons. Their only notion of politics is ‘if you’re not with us, you’re against us’, and his turn-ons include hand tools and passing out drunk on the recliner. It seems that men who are interested in intellectual discussions, books, or health-food are now branded as ‘flaming’ liberals. Indeed I am flaming-burning with incension for being made an outcast because of my reluctance to become a brainwashed, nit-wit, non-threatening for reasons of sheer ignorance. And I don’t believe men are that way on accident, they are the result of a concerted dumbing-down effort. Well I for one will not succumb to such powers, and I encourage all sharp-minded males to join me in revolution. Fight the stereotypes you see on TV, at the local Wal-Mart, and most likely, right next door. The enemy is all around us...beware.