Savings on Stereotypes?

  There is no use sugar-coating it: our economy sucks. People have been scrimping and saving, tightening their belts, hiding their money in their mattresses, the whole nine yards. In this rough economic climate, the issue has come up lately about wether or not those who would receive welfare should be drug tested. This would supposedly save us all money by eliminating some welfare checks being used on drugs. But is this really the case? How much are we actually saving on this plan? Are we just perpetuating a long-held stereotype that "low-income people are lazy, shiftless drug addicts" (Sulzberger).
   Let's start with the effectiveness of this policy. It has already been instated in the state of Florida to dismal results. Out of the first forty people that they tested "only two came up positive" (Cohen). This means that the state of Florida would be spending too much on drug tests and not gaining enough back from not having to pay welfare checks. They would be earning "$240 a month if it denies benefits" to these 2 people, but they would be spending around "$1,140 to the applicants who tested negative" (Cohen). Florida is a real life example of why this system wouldn't work.
   Next, the human factor. So often we treat other people's lives like numbers  and statistics just because we may be better off. There are low income families out there barely scraping by on what little government money that they receive. These are honest Americans who are just down on their luck in these tough economic times, not "welfare queens" to use the phrase coined by former president Ronald Reagan. Some of these people are just getting by  on "a monthly welfare check of $342, plus $642 in food stamps" (Sulzberger).
  Finally, there is the issue of stereotypes. For the longest time the stereotype of those who are on welfare is that they are lazy people living it up on the government's dime. In truth, however, these poor folks can barely make it on their income and they can't get hired because they got laid off of their previous job. Sure, cutting some people's welfare would save us money, but how much? Enough to justify ruining a life? Sure some of the lower class does illegal drugs, but then so does some of the middle class, and indeed some of the upper class. So should we attempt to get savings off of stereotypes? Even the suggestion itself is crass.

Is College Worth It?

   In his article "Will Dropouts Save America?", Michael Ellsberg states that a college degree is frivolous in this economy and is unnecessary for success in life. While I agree with him on some of the smaller details of his article, our opinions probably couldn't be much more different. While I believe that some people are born with a natural talent and don't need college to be successful, I don't believe that college is a thing of the past or useless as Ellsberg makes it out to be. Ellsberg scoffs at our educational system trying to prepare us to have good resumé, saying that "80 percent get filled in the informal job market" as opposed to a supposed 20 percent, resumé-based job market (Ellsberg). What he is proposing is that instead of everybody trying to go to college, everybody should try to be entrepreneurs. While I agree that we do need more entrepreneurs, I do not believe that entrepreneurship is something to be focussed upon in schools. Not everybody should run their own business, as it is a risky financial venture which has an almost guaranteed chance to fail.
   In addition to business-ownership being a risky business, there are only a certain amount of people that can have businesses at once. It's hard enough to become a business owner nowadays with the cost and competition, but could you imagine is the educational system groomed everybody to be owners of businesses instead of workers in business? There would be "too many chiefs and not enough indians" as the old saying goes. Too many people would be trying to do the same thing where the work is not needed.
   In closing, do I believe that college is worth it? Absolutely. College is an institution that was created to further the education of a high school graduate so that he or she may be better prepared to enter the working world without (or at least with less) fear of working in modern society, or even being hired. I believe that college works as well today as it did back when Ellsberg said that the college mentality started, "in the stable economy of the 1950s" (Ellsberg).

Are Tattoos Right for You?

   Over the years I've noticed more and more people getting tattoos for reasons that are less and less important. I mean, back in the day, you'd get a tattoo of an anchor if you were a sailor just because of the achievement to show that you went through tough trials to get where you were. Some people would get tattoos of their children's names to commemorate their birth, or names of lost loved ones. Over time tats have come to be less about achievements and more frivolous. People began to get tattoos of the names of girlfriends and the classic "Mom" heart tattoo. More and more novelty tattoos followed these, most popular being characters from pop culture, pictures of flowers and animals, and barbed wire tattoos.
   Some of these had meaning mind you. Some examples from my experience with others being a dolphin for being the best swimmer on your team. Another (slightly more extreme) example is a man who legally changed his name to Darth Maul and got a tat of Darth Maul on his calf (If you don't know who Darth Maul is, then I am severely disappointed in you and you need to google him right now. Go ahead, I'll wait... Are you back yet? Good. Now that your a bit more educated I can continue with my pointless rant.).  I can understand say getting the logo of a band that has been a huge influence in your life. I can almost even understand the barbed wire tattoo on a guy who wants to get the bump from "tough" to "intimidating." There are some tattoos that I refuse to understand, such as naked or semi-naked people, the dog collar tattoo, the full body tattoo, and the infamous "Hello Kitty" tramp stamp.

"I've got a fever, and the only cure: IS MORE COWBELL!"

   Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a music lover. I play guitar and sing (how well is debatable) and i dabble in several other instruments, such as harmonica, bass, and ocarina (think weird lookin' yet somehow cool wind instrument). I love to play all of these, they all sound lovely when played correctly and they help me to unwind at the end of the day. I honestly believe that it helps me to be more creative than somebody who doesn't care much for music. Everybody should learn an instrument, whether its guitar, saxophone, or just how to keep a beat with a cowbell. Even if you're not a musical person, you should still try to find some kind of creative outlet, be it dance or drawing. Perhaps if we had more creative people then we could finally be rid of this cultural  mishmash of infinitely self-recycling crap that we call modern popular culture.
   The lack of creativity in today's pop culture scene can be attributed to the lack of willingness to try new creative activities such as playing instruments. All of the "fresh new entertainment" that we see today seems to be recycled directly from the past. All sorts of movie remakes, such as the smurfs, the karate kid, and the A-team, while marginally entertaining, are still just rip offs straight out of the 70's and 80's. Then you have your crappy musical con-artists like Kid Rock, blatantly stealing the music from "Sweet Home Alabama" and "Werewolves in London." I mean, just give Madonna a listen and then Lady Gaga and tell me that they don't sound exactly the same (Even the stupid, weird wardrobe gimmicks).

The Ice Flame of Krystille: Part 4- Heiron's End

   The wind whipped through Heiron's hair as he rode his horse Zephyr through the streets of the village of Grënit. He rode into the neighboring Init'ha wood, weaving through the trees with the skill of a master equestrian. His goal was to reach the house of the newborn boy who was mentioned in his prophecy. This house was in the small, sparsely settled village of Posnä. Normally Heiron would take the road, but this way was shorter, and he feared that he was not long for this world.
   Suddenly a voice that filled the forrest. It boomed all around and nearly deafened Heiron. "Heiron, Warlock of Erindiel! You have seen the future as all wizards have, but you choose to tell the world of it! This is in violation of the Warlock-God pact! You have been warned, turn back and die peacefully or we shall retaliate with all of our might! Do not invoke the wrath of Asgard lightly..." Heiron wasn't surprised that the God Odin would contact him in such a way. Not only had the two once been friends, but Heiron and Odin were the ones who signed the Warlock God pact. Heiron began to ride faster and yelled back "My message SHALL be delivered! Even the combined might of Asgard cannot stop me Odin." "If this is your decision... then so be it. We shall see just how much weight your mere words carry old friend!"
   Heiron reached a field, on the other side of which was the town of Posnä. Heiron rode faster  and faster until he could push Zephyr no more. Suddenly he hear what sounded like a hammer hitting an anvil at an Earth-shattering decibel. A bolt of lightening struck two feet to the right of him and spooked Zephyr into running to the left. Heiron willed Zepher to turn back towards Posnä. "It seems that you need to work on your aim Thor!" yelled Heiron, knowing Thor to be the god of thunder, and that the hammer sound that he heard was from Mjolnir, Thor's hammer.
   A voice began to whisper in Heiron's ear "Heiron... Oh Heirooon... Your friend- Elijah was it? He's dead Heiron! We destroyed your tower in Erindiel and killed him Heiron... We destroyed his home, his possessions, him, and.... his FAMILY!" The voice gave a maniacal cackle at this, and tears began to stream down the wizard's face. But then he remembered who the voice must've been, Loki the trickster god. "That's not true Loki! You know it, you've never told a truth in your life!" "There's a first time for everything Heiron! Are you so sure I speak un-truths? Your friend is the only one who knew of the prophecy besides you!" "Clever Loki, but you've forgotten! The prophecy I spoke was in the sacred tongue! Odin would never give your leash enough slack as to kill innocents Loki! Now if you'll excuse me, I have a message to deliver!" Heiron rode towards Posnä, his spirits bolstered by outsmarting Loki and learning that his friend was still alive.
   Lightening fell from the sky like an electric rain, but Heiron rode straight and true, shielding himself from the bolts with all of the magical strength he could muster. He made it! He'd arrived in Posnä. He dismounted his horse and ran to the center of town. "People of Posnä! Hear my words!" Heiron was about to speak the prophecy when he realized what would happen to the townspeople if he did. Anybody with knowledge of the prophecy must be silenced, and telling the townsfolk would only give Loki enough just cause to kill them all. Heiron realized what he must do.
   "I shall die where I stand on this day. The god Thor shall turn me to ash and a tree imbued with my magic shall grow in this very spot. My ashes are not to be moved, as the shall nourish my tree. When your boys turn 16, have them try to scrape the bark from my tree. He who scrapes the bark from my tree shall have a prophecy revealed to him, he shall be the chosen one as spoken of in the stories of old." He flourished his hand and a seed that shone like a star appeared at his fingertips. "Smite me Thor, I am ready." He clasped his hands around the seed and to his heart, closed his eyes and took his last deep breath. The Ear-splitting "Clang" of Mjolnir sounded, and a lightening bolt flew straight and true for Heiron. Heiron was turned to ash, though his tree's seed remained intact. The village children were shocked and cried, inconsolable even by their mothers. Some of the men stood dazed, the rest got back to their work as if nothing had occurred at all.

The Ice Flame of Krystille: Part 3- Heiron Rides

   The sheer energy that it took for Heiron to recite his prophecy caused him to collapse to the floor. Elijah fell to his side and fanned him with his own large hat. after about ten minutes of constant fanning and semi-gentle slaps to the face, Heiron began to come around. He immediately snatched his hat, accompanied by a chiding "Never take a wizard's hat! If I had died I swear I'd have haunted you Elijah Knoll! Now... did you happen to take anything I said down on parchment?" "I have the very parchment here friend, though to be honest I'm not quite sure that I spelled everything correctly... That whole 'Sacred Ancient Language' thing can be just the wee-est bit confusing." Elijah handed his paper over to Heiron. Heiron conjured up some reading glasses and began to look the parchment over carefully. His eyes widened and he began to look around frantically for something. After a few moments, he looked as if some great truth had just hit him like a brick wall, smacked himself in the face, and with a partially annoyed look, snapped his fingers. An envelope appeared in his hands. He folded the letter neatly and tucked it inside the envelope. He snapped his fingers again and the envelope disappeared.
   Heiron rushed off to the stables. He mounted his magnificent white steed Zephyr, and began to ride, but was stopped momentarily by Elijah. "Heiron! Where do you think you're going?" "I ride for Posnä dear Elijah!" "There are storm clouds stirring and you need your rest! A ride like this could kill you!" "I am afraid my dear old friend, that that can no longer be avoided." He gave a loud "Hyaah!" and his horse reared with a sharp whinny. They rode like an arctic wind, away from Erindiel, away from Elijah, and away from death itself.

The Ice Flame of Krystille: Part 2- Heiron's Prophecy

   Elijah walked up the steps of the legendary tower of Erindiel, home to the wizard Heiron, the "Warlock of the West." Elijah had been friends with the wizard for quite some time now, and had come to be something of an assistant in his various conjurings and potions. He didn't bother knocking, for Heiron always saw coming in "his mind's eye." Elijah had asked on many an occasion if he could use his mind's eye to see the future, but the wizard told him that it was immoral and the gods would have his head for such hubris (though Elijah strongly suspected that the man simply didn't know how to).
   Elijah had received an invitation from Heiron earlier in the day, asking for him to come to the tower for some tea, which was odd, firstly because his home was in Grënit, which was a very short ride out from Erindiel, and secondly because they'd never had tea in the entire time that they'd known each other.
   When Elijah walked into the entrance hall, it seemed more dim, less alive, and less inviting than usual. None of the torches were lit and the hall looked as if it hadn't been dusted since the last time he'd been to visit. He heard a weak, raspy voice call out to him "Elijah my dear friend, I'm over here..."  Elijah rushed to his old friend's side. "Odin's eye! What has befallen you Heiron my oldest friend?" "I will not deceive you Elijah, I am very ill. I will die within the next week. Every wizard makes a prophecy before he dies, and I'd have you hear it and record it Elijah, so that it may be remembered." "But what if I can't write it down fast enough? What if I miss words?" "I have faith in you my fr-" Heiron stood bolt upright and began to speak in a strange language. The veins in his head bulged, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his voice sounded as if there were hundreds of others joining with his. Elijah scrambled for parchment and a quill. The words sounded poetic and were of an unknown origin. They are as follows:

"Terva gra, nova gra, novir Grënit y Posnä

Graven flä, matflä rah, vetin Gard et Culpän

Des Gard flä, Des Gard kree, Natsa Gard no-sai ni

Posnägra, terva Kla, Ichen Flamen Krystllä."

The Ice Flame of Krystille: Part 1- The Prologue

   Long ago in the realm of Vergäd, there was a man who would rise from humble beginnings and embark on a quest of the ages. This man would come from an unassuming village in a far away land, far from his objective. What is his objective you may ask? It lies far beyond the bustling markets of Grënit, beyond the fetid swamps of Murhgyr, far past the lightening scorched realm of Dedrïr, deep within the tundras of Kränva. Only there in the land of ice and snow, the land lit only by the midnight sun, and where the hot springs flow, only there will the hero of the legend obtain the legendary Ice Flame of Krystille and discover the meaning of this blue crystalline heart gem and what power it holds. Along the way he will meet and lose companions, fight beasts that haven't been seen in millennia, meet gods both friendly and hostile, and rise to manhood through trials that only the elders of Vergäd can foresee...

Geekin' Out! ( the 1st of many)

   If anybody had to ask me what my favorite movie is, I'd have to tell them Star Wars. I. Love. Star Wars! It was literally the first movie I ever saw. I'm not just talking about non-cartoon movies, I mean this was literally the only thing I watched besides Thomas the Tank Engine. I'm not talking that less-than-impressive prequel schtuff, I'm talking the original trilogy, George Lucas' masterpiece (well maybe not Return of the Jedi...). George Lucas was a great story teller, he made us believe that these characters could have existed and these events could have occurred "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..." He gave us the perfect amount of action, adventure, mystery, and humor that kept us (or at least me), thoroughly entertained from start to finish. He used so many elements in his epic that to even begin to list them would take several blogs! He has the "damsel" in distress, Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher), who is actually a strong woman like the feminist women of the seventies when the film was made. The desperado, Han Solo (Harrison Ford), is the mysterious companion who is only along for fortune and fame. And finally we have the unwitting hero-to-be, Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill). Luke Skywalker was just a farm boy on a desert planet, always longing to get away, living with hims aunt and uncle because he was an orphan, never thought himself special in any way. He finds himself dragged into the quest of the ages, learning about a mysterious power called "the force," meets a wise old mentor named Obi-Wan Kenobi, saves a princess from the depths of a battle station as big as a planet known only as the "Death Star," and destroys said station in a stunt fighter with no assistance from his automated targeting systems!! Man that was a mouthful! Sorry for geekin' out there, the movie is just so freaking sweet! I haven't even talked about Empire yet! But, oh well, thats a geek out for another night. If anybody out there got anything about what I just said, I'm proud of you. Good night and peace to all.

Everything Zen

   Lately I've been feeling bad. Things just didn't seem to be going my way. I broke up with my girlfriend, I noticed the way I could be rude, sarcastic, and snide to people, and I've felt a lack of purpose in my own life. But now I've decided to change all that and lead a more fulfilling life. I've become Buddhist.
   I've been practicing some Buddhist principals in my own life for quite some time now, but I've never quite "committed" myself to the religion. I always thought committing myself would be too difficult. I thought that everything in Buddhism sounds nice, but the "requirements" were too difficult. I'd have to be nice to all (even those that I regard as enemies), not overindulge in anything (like food, which honestly been most difficult), not hurt anyone (not difficult since I was already pacifist), and completely remove swearing from my lexicon (also difficult, as my friends can attest that I used to swear like a drunken sailor).
   I got off to a bit of a rocky start, getting easily distracted in my meditations, and having a few *ahem* "overly spiced sentence sandwiches," but it gets easier every day. My meditations have become more focussed and I have begun meditating on lovingkindness, which I suppose would be the Christian equivalent of saying prayers to the good health of friends, family, teachers, and even enemies. I've found myself to be more pleasant, I smile naturally now, and I now feel emotions, both good and bad, blow past me as if I were a stone in the desert. I feel more at peace with the world.
   Allow me to say right here that this is NOT a blog meant to convert anybody from their own respective religions. I'm just telling a story that I felt the need to tell because I am excited about this new direction in my life. For those of you reading this I hope you enjoy my blogs. I can honestly say now that I hope you all find peace in your own way. I'll end this on a quote from the venerable Dalai Lama: "Kindness is my religion." I hope you all have a great evening, and may everybody have peace.

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids, The Exciting Conclusion!

VIETNAM 1969

    Sarge was now up, and had been so for hours. Dusty gave Sarge some of his beef band-aids to patch him up a bit, but he didn't seem right in the head, it was like something snapped inside his head. He went into the command tent and came out with his M16 and ordered the motley crew to "saddle up" and that they were going on a "rescue assignment." They couldn't question his orders as he was the acting CO on base. Floodwatch, not wanting to start a second conflict remained silent. Shortstop wanted to speak out, but knew that Sarge wouldn't take him seriously because of his race. Dusty never questioned orders, he always assumed that there was a reason that they're given. Frostbite just liked the thrill of the kill.
    Dusty and Floodwatch both picked up standard issue M16 rifles, only Floodwatch stuck a bayonet on the end of his "just in case." Dusty brought his tin of beef bandages which he had deemed a good luck charm. Shortstop picked up an M60 light machine gun, a particularly odd (and humorous) choice for a man of his small stature. Frostbite took his trusty scoped Springfield and an M1911 pistol.
    They slogged through the jungle for what seemed like hours, and Dusty disarmed his 100th mine, but nobody knew a nickname for him. After a while Floodwatch finally got the courage to speak up. "Uhh... Sarge? Just where are we headed? And who are we rescuing?" "We are headed to coordinates Eight-Six-Seven-Five-Three-Oscar-Niner Private! We're goin' to rescue Lieutenant Haystack." "Wait, you mean Lieutenant Bill "Haystack" Williams? He's been dead for five months!" Dusty's heart sank. "Those coordinates that u just rambled about? Those aren't even real! Sarge we need to get you back to base! You're not okay in the head!"
    Sarge's eyes were unnaturally wide, he was twitching, eyes darting between the other men. "I don't know what you're talking about! Stay back! GET AWAY FROM ME!!" Floodwatch reached out for Sarge's arm and Sarge jumped back and grabbed his M16. "Woah Sarge you don't want to do that, give me the rifle..." "NO! GET AWAY" Sarge fired a round into Floodwatch's gut and screamed a terrible scream. Floodwatch fell like a stone hands clamped down on his wound. Shortstop yelled "NOOO!!" and hip-fired his M60 into Sarge. There was a single tear on Shortstop's face.
    Dusty dropped to Floodwatch's side. He pulled out his beef bandages and put some in the wound. "Don't waste those on me man, I'm done for." "Don't say that Floodwatch you hear me?" "No... no... I won't make it back to base..." he gave a shuddering chuckle "Heh, Sweepy..." "Did you just give me a nickname? Floodwatch? ANSWER ME!" But Floodwatch was gone. Dusty took his dog tags and put them in his band-aid tin. The remaining members began to march back to base.
    After a long, silent march, they were almost back at base. Then suddenly there was a plinking of metal and Dusty was knocked to the ground. It was as if he'd been punched in the chest. they then heard the crack of a gun a second later. "SNIPER!" Yelled Frostbite. Shortstop fired his gun into the brush, but then suddenly he collapsed as if he were a rag doll. Another crack of the gun a second after he collapsed. Frostbite dropped onto the ground and looked into the brush. He fired once, but recoiled less then a second later, he'd been shot in the same instant that he fired.
    "Sweepy... Sweepy... I got him... come closer..." Dusty crawled closer to Frostbite, there was blood seeping through his uniform by his right lung. He coughed a wet hacking cough and began to tell the story that he swore that he'd only tell on his death bed. "My mother. She was the only one who brought any warmth in my life. She was a Scottish immigrant, always carried a pound with her. One day I came home to an ambulance, they were wheeling my mother out on a stretcher. She was deathly ill. The last thing she said to me was 'Get indoors honey, you wouldn't want to catch frostbite...' I'd tell you my name, but I'm afraid... I've.... forgotten....." Frostbite couldn't draw breath anymore. With his last bit of strength and willpower, pulled his Mother's Scottish pound out of his pocket and held it out. He gave Dusty a steely gaze that said "Take it, remember me, remember my story." Frostbite died right there, eyes still gazing into Dusty's. Dusty shut Frostbite's eyes and put the pound and Frostbite's dog tags in his tin. He walked over to where Shortstop fell and took his tags as well. Dusty walked back to base and radioed in for assistance....

PRESENT DAY

    "So young'ns thats the story of m'tin and m'nickname. I still have the dog tags, the pound, and the bullet m'lucky tin caught and saved my life from." Ritchie and Jimmy were dumbstruck. "Wow Mr. Sweepy! You must've gotten every medal there is!" "Oh no, kiddies. I didn't get a single medal, and you know what? I'm fine with that. All of those brave men I served with deserved the medals, not me. The only shame was that they didn't live but I did, al because of a silly novelty band-aid tin. I've sworn to live a life good enough for all of them."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Eight)

  "I still to this day don't know why Frostbite held me back." said Sweepy pensively. "Maybe he didn't like Floodwatch, maybe he didn't like Sarge, maybe he just liked a good fight, or maybe he liked watchin' other people suffer... "

VIETNAM 1969

  It was Sarge that threw the first punch, but it was miles off. Floodwatch saw the wind-up from a mile away and sidestepped it. Sarge then threw a back-fist at Floodwatch, but he took a quick step backwards and it just missed him, "I warn you Sarge, one more punch and I'm gonna fight back!" Sarge yelled and threw a kick aimed for Floodwatch's gut and this time Floodwatch didn't sidestep, he twisted in place, letting Sarge's boot graze his fatigues. "Kicks count too!" yelled Floodwatch as he grabbed Sarge's leg and swept the other out from beneath him. He dropped his knee into Sarge's gut and punched him in the face, hard enough to knock him unconscious. "Well Ahn-Toh-Ni, Dusty, Frostbite, we had better get to know each other real well. I don't think that were going to live here very long after good old Sarge here wakes up." Frostbite said, "Huh, I would've bet money on Sarge."
  They spent the next half hour telling each other their stories (except Frostbite, who swore that he'd only tell his story on his death bed). Ahn-Toh-Ni told the story of his childhood growing up in the streets of Saigon, how his mother died when he was only 6, how he learned how to shoot a gun by 8, and how he learned how to play baseball by age 10. (which is where we got the name shortstop!) Floodwatch told us his real name, Damien Stachowski, how he lived in California amongst the hippies, and how he never did any drugs, because his mother told him not to and he loved his mother to death. He told them that his name actually came from a dill instructor back in the states. He had been issued fatigues that were 2 sizes too small and his drill sergeant said "Are you waiting for a flood Stachowski?" Dusty said that he didn't have much of a story to tell, that he worked in his parents butcher shop, how the beef bandages that he got in the care package were the novelty ones that were kept on display on the counter in the shop. How he'd successfully disarmed 99 mines. Frostbite looked disturbed by all of this talk of mothers, started playing with his pound and walked away to check on Sarge. The group disregarded Frostbite and agreed that they'd give Dusty a nickname as soon as he disarmed mine number 100. Frostbite then called out to them "Hey guys! He's comin' around..."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Seven)

  "That was the first time any of us saw Shortstop..." Sweepy said pensively. "We didn't treat him very hospitable-like (Except Floodwatch of course. We didn't understand why at the time). Up 'til then, the only Vietnamese contact we'd had before then was with the enemy. Yeah we made sure he drew the short stick every time there was a dangerous assignment. Sarge was the worst out of all of us! If I could take it back I would. He didn't deserve what we put him through... He would and did lay down his life for us and our cause..."

VIETNAM 1969

  "Do - you - un - der - stand - me? I - said - mop - out - the - la - trines!" Sarge was pretending like Ahn-Toh-Ni  didn't know how to speak English again, and Floodwatch was sick of it. "He understands you Sarge! He speaks perfect English but you wouldn't know that because you never let him get a word in edgewise!" At this, Sarge's face turned brick red. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY TO ME PRIVATE!!?!" "I believe I told you to treat him like a human and not like an animal, sir." There was a venom in Floodwatch's voice that nobody in the squad had heard before. "I will treat him any way I damn well please private, and if you don't like that then you better be prepared to be spiting out chiclets before the day is through." "I don't want to fight you Sarge, but I'm not going to let you keep treating Ahn-Toh-Ni like garbage."
  At this point, Dusty and Frostbite ran onto the scene to see what was happening. They saw Sarge and Floodwatch square off to fight. Dusty started off to break up the fight, but Frostbite grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and said "No, it's time for Floodwatch to put his money where his mouth is."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Six)

  "Mr. Sweepy!" Little Ritchie Marcus had been holding all of his questions in like a two year old holding his breath to get his way, and they all burst out at once. "Why didn't they call you by your nickname? Why did they call Floodwatch Floodwatch? You mentioned a guy named 'Shortstop' before, who is he? Why haven't you mentioned him yet? Why is his name Shortstop? And what does any of this have to do with your beef bandage tin!?" Sweepy chuckled heartily. "Woah, wooah slow down thar little feller! I'll get to that part of the story when I get to it!"

VIETNAM 1969

  "Hey Floodwatch," said Dusty, "Don't worry about Sarge, he's just a tough sonofagun." "It's okay man, I can't make him like me, all I can do is take his abuse gracefully, lettin' him know that I couldn't care the slightest that he's yellin' at me. Besides, I could kick his sorry butt in fight." Frostbite gave a humorless chuckle at this. "Nobody can beat Sarge in a fight, not even me." "Sure I can!" exclaimed Floodwatch. "You guys remember that show that used to be on TV?" "Which one Floodwatch?" "The Green Hornet! You know Bruce Lee?" "Was he that Asian guy who played Kato?" "One and the same! I met him!" "Get outta town!" "No man Im serious! I told him how I loved his show and we got to shootin' the breeze and we really hit it off man! Eventually I told him how I got drafted into the army and he said 'You're a good fellow Stachowski, I wouldn't want a nice guy like you getting killed over there, so you want to learn some of what I do?' To which I responded 'Chyeah man! I'll take whatever knowledge you can give me!' We trained together in a style he called 'Jeet Kune Do' which is a form he made himself! Hey, you know he's working on a movie script called 'Enter the Dragon'?" "Wait, is he the dragon or does he fight a dragon or-" "FAAAAAALLL IIIIIIIN!!!!" They were all snapped out of their personal lives and back into reality. They all lined up immediately. Sarge was standing with a short South-Vietnamese man. "This man has been lumped into our unit. His name is Ahn-Toh-Ni Ya-Uung. He's part of our family now. Treat him as such..."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Five)

  "Frostbite was one cold son-of-a-gun! And with good reason! I was the only one to hear his story from his own mouth... his dying words... But! I haven't told y'all about my other companions now have I?" Said Sweepy with a slight chuckle, as if shaking off some painful memories. "Let's start with good ol' Floodwatch! He was an odd one he was ol' Floodwatch, if there was anybody that didn't belong in the army it was Floodwatch..."

VIETNAM 1969

  "Listen to me Dusty," said Frostbite, "you hang on to those bandages your mother sent you." He pulled out a Scottish pound and began twirling it between his fingers. "You never know how long you'll have a mother..." Dusty felt like that pound had some greater meaning tho Frostbite, but before he could ask him about it  he heard Sarge screaming at Floodwatch. "ARE YOU HIGH AGAIN PRIVATE!!?!" Floodwatch looked back at the Sergeant serenely and said "I've never been high before and I'm not high now unless you count being high on life man." "Well then perhaps you'd like to show me your forearms?" "Here they are Sarge." He held out both arms, both were needle track free. "Well you seem clean Private, but perhaps you should take off your sunglasses!" Sarge snatched the glasses off of Floodwatch's face, only to reveal deep-cerulean blue eyes, that were not bloodshot in any way. "I'd appreciate it if you would give those back sir, I particularly like the way they keep things from getting in my eyes. If the damn army would just let me grow my hair out then I wouldn't need these things man!" "You know what? I just plain don't like you 'Flood-Watch', so I'm making you take a mandatory drug test!" "Good!" exclaimed Floodwatch. "I've had to pee all day!"

IT'S A SENSATION!

  Have you noticed lately that the news is getting more and more excited about things that are less and less important? I long for the days of Walter Cronkite, Back when the news told you the happenings of the world with no spin, no agenda. Nowadays the major news organizations, such as NBC, CNN, and Fox news especially, all seem to want to scare you over to their side. Whether acknowledging rumors of the president being a secret muslim (by the way, what is so bad about being muslim?), spreading lies about "death panels" being in a proposed universal healthcare bill, some of the "news" today is downright absurd. I mean, death panels? Come on! When in the history of the United States has ANY official EVER said that a panel of people deciding whether or not you live or die was a good idea? I don't know either, and do you know why? Because an official like that would NEVER be elected and has NEVER been elected. But it isn't just on the fox news end of the spectrum. I also seem to remember an offensive and downright racist picture on the cover of the new yorker depicting President Obama and the first lady as terrorists "fist-bumping" in the oval office. I so tire of this melodrama, this sensationalism that the media uses to grub ratings and money. I know that the media will cling to the constitution to defend these stupidities as their free speech, and that they will continue to spout lies in order to further their own agendas. I can't, however, help but hope for a bipartisan future where the media is unbiased and politicians will work together to achieve common goals for the greater  good of America itself, even though this seems like a pipe dream.

Back in my day!

"Back in my day, we could (insert phrase here)!" or "Back in we knew how to (insert phrase here)!". Have your elders ever told you something like this? They sure have told me! Whether telling me how the clothing used to be more modest, to naming skills such as fixing a car or general repairs around the house, I used to write this off as random rantings of an old person's aging mind. But lately I've realized how true these "ramblings" were. I've realized how much we rely on technology and other people to do what we need, in fact, we hardly do anything anymore! Car's broken? Call a mechanic. Problem with the plumbing? Call a plumber. Driveway's cracked? Call a paving service. Need warmer clothing? Go to an outlet store. Hungry? Call for pizza or go out to dinner. Noticing a pattern? "Back in the day," people knew how to fix things, how to cook, how to make clothing, etc. Nowadays, we rely on technology far too much, and for things that technology can't fix, we look to other people to fix for us in exchange for an excessive amount of money. So what trying to say? Am I saying that we should give up tech all together? Of course not! Tech can be very helpful, all I'm saying is that we should try to learn some helpful skills, if only for the sake of saving money and becoming more self-reliant.

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Four)

  "You see fellers, back in the day, personal mail came few and far between. I reckon I was the only one in m'squad to get anything from home, not Sarge, not Floodwatch, not Shortstop, and definitely not Frostbite. Mama's package was like a light that could break through any haze that 'Nam could throw at me..."

VIETNAM 1969

  Dusty laughed warmly to himself, the first time he'd done so in weeks. "What's so funny?" asked Lance Corporal "Frostbite." (Nobody knew his real name, not even his commanding officers. Everybody called him "Frostbite" because of his reputation as a sniper, and because it was rumored that he had permafrost on his skin and ice water in his veins. Everybody, including people who outrank him...) "Its nothin' Frostbite, just somethin' my Ma' said in this letter." "What did she say?" "Well I don't se how tha-" Frostbite fixed him with an icy stare. "Uhh... Well she sent me these beef bandages because she thought that I'd get a chuckle outta them, seein' as I used to work in a butcher shop back in Tennessee. And as for the sixty-two cents, she said it was my allowance, and that if I wanted more then I had to get my sorry butt back home and do my chores." Dusty chuckled to himself but Frostbite's expression remained stoic. The man really must have been all that his nickname suggested. The only words he spoke, after pondering for what seemed like ages, were "Huh. That's funny."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Three)

"You see kids, I never wanted to be in the army at all! I was drafted 'n dragged into basic, trainin' that is, kickin' an' screamin'. Once I was in 'Nam, I was jittery as a jumpin' bean on the fourth o' Gee-lye! I got me a nervous titter any time I was called by Sarge, 'cause it usually meant there were mines to be disarmed! But this time was different, this time he gave me a care package my Ma sent me..."

VIETNAM 1969

"Here you go corporal." Sergeant Tank Daily handed the package over to Corporal Dusty Hoover. "Th-th-thank you kindly Sarge!" said Dusty, beginning to tear at the wrappings of the box. He shook the box gingerly, being gentle enough to not disturb the contents of the box, but firm enough so as to hear what was inside. he heard a faint rattling, like something clinking against tin. He tore the box open. When he saw what was inside it was like Christmas came early. It was a letter from his mother back in Tennessee, sixty-two cents, and a tin with pictures of t-bone steaks on it.

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Two)

  "Well kids, if Imma gonna tell this story right, Imma gonna have to start from the beginnin' " said old Sweepy the janitor to his favorite middle schoolers, Ritchie Marcus and Jimmy Henderson. "It all started on April 22, 1969. It was a particularly misty day in Vietnam...

VIETNAM, 1969

  "Corporal Hoover!" yelled Sergeant Tank Daily. "W-w-what is it Sarge?!" Corporal Dusty Hoover cried back in terror. "There ain't anymore o' them g-dern mines out there, is there Sarge??" "For Pete sake man, get a hold of yourself! We're at base camp you gibbering, namby-pamby, lily-livered, Tennessee hick! The reason I hollered for you is that you've got a care package from home. Something's rattling inside, must be something good..."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part one)

   It was a school day like any other, nothing out of the ordinary. Little Jimmy Henderson and Ritchie Marcus were just let out of school when they saw their favorite janitor "Sweepy" in the main hall. "Hey Sweepy!" they both cried out. "Jimmy! Ritchie! How are m'favorite students doing today?" he replied jovially. Ritchie and Jimmy were just discussing Sweepy before the final bell. Sweepy always carried an odd tin of bandages with him. They had decided that the next time they saw him, they would ask about it.
   "Hey, Sweepy? We were wondering why you always carry that weird bandage tin around with you. Why does it have a hole in one side and a dent in the other? And why does it have pictures of meat on it?" "Well young'ns," Sweepy replied, "m'name didn't always used to be Sweepy. I used to be Corporal Dusty Hoover, explosives expert, 23rd Recon back in 'Nam! If you two got the time, I'll tell y'all the story of how I got m'nickname and this here band-aid tin..."

Happy Days v. Jersey Shore, the Moral Decline in the Entertainment Industry

   Today's entertainment industry is on the decline. There aren't really many arguments that can be made against this opinion. For example, take one of todays most popular program's, the Jersey Shore. This show doesn't just show, let's be frank here, lower forms of being; it delights in them. A spray-on tan, breast enhanced, revealing clothing wearing, dance club hopping, hair-product induced Gomorrah filled with egos to boggle the mind, that frankly makes my eyeballs want to puke. It makes me wonder: what ever happened to the golden years in television? Back when the raciest thing on the idiot box was "The Fonz" kissing more than one girl in one episode of "Happy Days"? (even then they insisted that they were all Fonzie's girl friends because "kissing without a relationship" didn't exist back then). What happened to the days when being the good guy was cool and not the opposite? What happened to the days when John Wayne always brought the bad guy to justice? I yearn for good television in an age where truly all good ideas have been exhausted. But it isn't just in the television industry that this moral decline is occurring, the music industry is also traveling downhill.
   In my personal opinion, today's popular music sounds like what would happen if you crammed all the cast members of "The Jersey Shore" into a cannon and blasted them into a synthesizer which was then blasted into and editing room with an electronic microphone, but that's just me. Today's music (much like its television) is focussed on sex. I won't go into any lyrics here, suffice it to say that if you've heard the music, you know what I'm talking about. Whatever happened to bands like The Beatles who said "I wanna hold your hand" ? Music also used to tell a story, but now it is little more than sentence fragments set to a tune with a beat. Mindless drivel that you can dance to, all sounding the same, like using the same reused dough cut with the same dull cookie-cutter. It saddens me on a level not known by many people today, who seem to be happy with the status quo.
   Others seem to like this kind of programming and this kind of music, and they look at me as if I have lobsters crawling out of my ears and tap-dancing on my shoulders. Perhaps they're correct in their belief that their music is "good" whereas mine "sucks." Perhaps I'm just the weird one with the "old people music" and the "corny old shows." I believe, however, that I've simply come to expect a higher quality of entertainment than the crudest of humor and the cheap sex attempting to brainwash me like Goebbels or Pepsi cola.

Spoiled Brats (The Dysfunctionality of Government Today)

   Most people who know me know that I don't believe in the competence of our government. It seems that lately the folks up on capital hill keep giving people more and more reasons to agree with me, and its getting worse and worse. The folks in congress and the house of representatives are acting like a bunch of spoiled children in a classroom with their new teacher, Mr. Obama.
   On one side of the isle, you have the nerds (democrats) and on the other, you have the bullies (republicans). Lets start with the nerds. The nerds are those smart kids who always think they know the answer, even when they don't. They back down to the bullies demands too easily because they want to be seen as the reasonable ones and hope that the bullies will be happy once they get what they want, even though that never happens. When things go badly they blame the bullies because it was their idea.
   Then you have the bullies. They're loud, obnoxious, and they also think they know the answer and will never admit when they're wrong and will argue that the general view of the rest of the populous is incorrect because they're afraid of looking stupid (even though this makes them look even more stupid than "man-ing up" and admitting that they're wrong). They like to ignore the other classes in the school (countries in the world) because they aren't "the best darn class in the school"like they assume themselves to be. Even when there are more nerds than bullies they always get what they want because they will threaten the nerds with anything that they have to make sure that they comply.
   Lastly you have the teacher, everybody's enemy, poor Mr. Obama. Even though he's been teaching at the school for 3 years now, none of his students respect him because he doesn't know how to discipline. He always tries to give everybody what they want, to help the bullies and the nerds compromise for the good of the class. The bullies usually get what they want, however, because they are always more "insistent" than the nerds. Add to that that Mr. Obama wants to be liked by everybody, especially the bullies, because this would show everybody how anybody can get along through compromise. The Bullies have other plans, however. As far as they're concerned, Mr. Obama is the biggest nerd in the entire class and every time they get what they want, it shows how bad a teacher Mr. Obama is. Meanwhile, the other nerds in the class are growing more and more resentful toward Mr. Obama because  he only ever lets the bullies do what they want to do, even though they're the well behaved ones.
   I know that some out there would tell you that our system of representative democracy is the best system of government ever, but is it really? I put it to you that any form of government only sounds good   "on paper." Sure, a group of people with different ideas, elected by the masses, coming together to solve the problems facing a nation sounds nice, but what if the men who were elected were then bought off by special interests groups who want to make sure that laws want to come out the way that will benefit them the most? What if i told you that these men would sign their own values over to their party leaders, ignoring what they believe to be right for the sake of their "public image?" I argue that not only are these "men" aren't men at all, but spoiled children. In fact, to call them spoiled children is a truly grand understatement. These "men" are not children on a playground fighting over "their spot" on the jungle gym; their petty squabbles affect real people everywhere in this beautiful country of ours. Their greed and corruption is like a tumor on an otherwise great country.
  You may think me wrong, and that's your right, one of the many that make this country great. Maybe you think I'm just an angry, idealistic kid; but I'm just a concerned citizen, worried about the future, and hoping for folks to set aside their differences, to stop acting like spoiled brats, and to do what is necessary for the greater good of the nation and not for personal gain.

An Interview With a Pop Culture Phenomenon!

 For what seems like years now, I've been trying to secure an interview with the elusive Mr. Malph A. Miller, famous for his part as the yellow M&M man from the M&M commercials, on my radio show, "Mr. D in the Evening". Well after months of give and take between Mr. M's agent and myself, I've finally secured an interview with this famous recluse! So please enjoy!
Q: Mr. M, you have such a colorful history! (No pun intended) There are so many questions to ask! I only regret that we have to keep this brief. So lets start with a classic: How does it feel to be one of the most recognizable faces in the world today?
A: (chuckles) Well Mr. D, as you and I both know, fame isn't all what it's cracked up to be. Let me tell you only the first five-ten people who come up to you and say "Hey aren't you that guy from that commercial?" come off as flattering. The rest are all just annoying.
Q: You flatter me sir! Well I can assure you I am nowhere near as famous as you Mr. M. Honestly sir, it sounds like you want to get out of the business.
A: Honestly, I do! And enough with the "Misters" and "Sirs"! Please, you went to all the trouble of getting a hold of me, please call me Malph. Anyway, back to your statement. My true passion has always been music. I'm hoping to become a professional jazz singer, like the days of Franky, Dino, and the rest of the rat pack.
Q: I'm sorry Malph, while I'd love to talk about your hopes and dreams, were already running long! Could I convince you to come back on the show? Tomorrow perhaps?
A: I would love to! there is so much we haven't covered that I'm sure my fans (or future employers) are dieing to know!
Q: You heard it here folks! Tomorrow, same time, same place! This is your favorite talk show host, "Mr. D in the evening", signing off.

The Yellow Blues

 Yeah, I'm that guy from the M&M commercials. What of it? Do I walk up to you and ask you what your job is? I didn't think so. Sorry if I come across harsh, maybe I'm just sick of being the yellow M&M guy. Maybe I'm sick of playing second banana to some angry red guy half my size. Nobody wants to know the real yellow M&M man. Nobody even knows my real name! I'm not "that yellow M&M guy", I'm Malph A. Miller for goodness sake! Is it a perfect name? No, but it's my name consarnit! Everybody knows the happy-go-lucky yellow M&M playing the Yang to the red M&M's Yin, but does anybody know the brooding, starving artist that is Malph Miller? Malph Miller, who spends all of his free time at Starbuck's? Who is a lounge singer on weekends, not for the money but for the passion of the music? No... not yet. Some day my talents will be discovered, someday I will be truly fulfilled, but until then, I'm just a commercial actor with the yellow blues.

Yellow? I Assure you, he's Anything But

 Arms at his side, standing ever erect, the "yellow" M&M man stands vigilant, his piercing stare upon all. Sentinel of justice, he ferrets out the lies and deceit of today's society. His Sphere of Liberty, imbued with admantium, kevlar, and the ever so mystical transpari-steel, he is armed and willing to trod upon evil wherever it shall arise! Chest emblazoned with a heroic "M" for Masterful, Magnificent, and most of all Manly; lesser beings void their bowels with the sheer terror of his might! So you may rest easy tonight America, for that Mysterious Mister M fixes all with his piercing gaze, and while he is yellow; I can assure you that he is no coward!

Looking deeper... and Darker...

 Ah the yellow M&M man. Ever smiling, playing the optimist to the Red M&M's pessimist. The M&M man trinket that I have described in my previous post can be no different... or can he? Perhaps there is a deeper, darker side to him lingering beneath that hard exterior shell. Perhaps a tortured soul dwells inside his solid candy facade. Trapped inside a plastic bubble, encapsulated, cut off from the outside world. Forever stagnant, he may not move unless others apply their own, separate will. Oh tormented M&M man, crying out for companionship, unable to reach anybody, your plastic prison cell keeping you in and the world out, two prongs from the devil's own pitchfork forever dooming you to spin in place, never getting anywhere, cursed to the same fate as Tantulus, forever grasping for what you truly want but never quite able to reach it. And what of the grains in your prison? Those same grains that brought so many others entertainment with their constant pitter-patter as if rain on the window? What are they to you? Nothing  more than raindrops on a dreary day that is your cursed existence. Well allow me to offer a ray of sunshine on your gloomy day Mr. M&M man; Life always gets better. Some day you shall break free of your plastic fetters, some day you will extend you hand in companionship and somebody will extend theirs in return and when that happens? The two of you shall be thicker than thieves and higher than birds of a feather. When that day comes, you shall see a rainbow on that gloomy, dreary day that is your current state. That rainbow will not be my word of advice coming to fruition, however. It will be your own bright piercing ray of realization that will part the clouds on that rainy day, leaving joyous times and friendship in its wake.

Trinket #1

 This, my first ever blog, is about a trinket that I received in my A.P. Language class. This particular trinket is a tad difficult to describe to you without a picture, but here I go regardless; It is the Yellow M&M man inside a plastic capsule with granules of plastic, as to make a rattling sound when shaken. This capsule is attached to a red pedestal with two prongs connecting the capsule to the pedestal. this allows the capsule to be spun in place. It was clearly made for marketing during the Christmas season, as the M&M man is wearing a green "Santa's elf hat" with pointed green "Santa's elf shoes." I'm not quite sure how i just trivialized a small trinket that even the smallest of children could figure out and have fun with within seconds, but I believe I've synthesized enough complicated words to make even what could've been a simple description into what some would perceive as intellectual. I do enjoy sounding like an intellectual regardless however, so please...

Enjoy!