seannarae – Page 11

my morning with simon

a funny thing happened to me on the way into work this morning…

i’ve just parked me car at the specncer parking lot & was making my way down the foggy damp hill to the southbound buspad as i have done countless times before. upon entering the tunnel under 101, i hear the familiar sound of a porsche downshifting fromwhatever into 2nd as it too enters the tunnel approaching southbound 101. ask kevin, we’ve discussed this: there is something signature in the way a porsche sounds, a higher-pitch, an almost straining under the weight of a powerful engine. this time however, the rev’s keep dying down as the car enters the tunnel behind me & all of a sudden ends up pulling over right next to me as i’m walking.

“Financial District?” comes the thick british accent from the drivers seat. Its funny, but in that split second before i trull ybegin to process this question, i’m thinking that this bloke isnt going to be avoiding toll with just 2 passengers. but then, i forget that as he unlocks the door & i hop in. and then it all happens so quick. oh dear jebuz it was all so quick.

I’m reaching for the seatbelt, but am having trouble contorting my new weight to reach it with me right hand. However, it makes no difference anyway because our driver has already thrown the wee carerra around the curving on-ramp at-speed. As you may or may not know, seatbelt retentioners lock when their vehicle is so much as a few degress off of center. tug as i might, i cant get he belt to give as my new friends buggy really stretches her legs now that we’re on 101 proper. by the time the car finally rights itself & i am offered the belt, we are clearly breaking federal & state vehicular speed laws. it was pure luck that the volume of traffic from spencer all the way down to the GGB entrance was populated with other cars poking along at 70. For without them, there would be nothing to bob & weave around as the car, still, continues to gain speed, and as our hero effortlessly leans on the gearbox up to 5th. perhaps egged-on, for i swear i heard my voice say: ‘FUCK YEA’ & ‘GO FASTER’, no doubt controlled by the evil spirits deep within me.

the sound of a porsche as heard from the sidewalk is something unique. however, the sound of being right in the cab, right in-front of the engine pushing you is quite another. there is no economy of gears with these cars. there is only the methods of driving & roads there-upon that will allow you to keep things hovering just south of redline.

as all of southbound 101 must, we pass the smokey on the right shoulder, and had to retard the speed down to hominid levels. in the above span of road, he’s introduced himself as ‘simon’ from the UK, that he’s in commercial real-estate, and that he hopes the driving hasnt ‘startled’ me. with OASIS blaring on the CD, and the forced-calm of GGB traffic, we proceed to have a pleasant conversation. until the toll plaza that is. for once again, our hero simon bitchslaps the gears up thru their revs. 2-seconds in first followed by 2-seconds in second only to plane-out in third at 70 or 80MPH with the engine literally screaming behind us. I can literally feel the weight of my groin creeping up into my stomache, much in the way a rollercoaster. The road stretching from 19th ave split to the Exploratorium curve took no less then 10 seconds with the amber-coloured guage pointing between 85 & 90. Think about that. All the while we’re having this perfunctory conversation about credit card interest rates or the bleak future of web-testing.

And thats the way the rest of the drive played. Stabbing it at green-lights, continuous accelerations in 2nd & 3rd, & hard gear-assisted breaking all other times. Driving as if auditioning for a remake to BULLIT. And NOT ONCE does the converation ever refer to the driving, or the horse, or the speed with which we’ve just made it from Spencer in Sausalito to the corner of Sansome & Broadway during morning rush-hour. Roughly 12 minutes.

By far the funnest drive into work i’ve had in a long time. Had to share…

Carry on…

(Originally Posted: 2003_0903)

babies beget baggage

its a scenario thats been played out for us time & time again. perhaps you’ve been on the business-end of it, or simply chuckled along with Bill Cosby’s stand-up bit of the same. but it seems that without fail, there is an extremely disgruntled infant on almost every air flight i’ve ever taken. be it the friday afternoon departure, or the sunday afternoon hung-over return-trip. some poor parent or pair thereof dealing with an infant wailing & screaming & bitching. this was the genre i subscribed to the scene prior to fatherhood. fatherhood changes everything. unfortuneately, no one can be TOLD what fatherhood is; they have to be SHOWN. and as such, having our lil dood come with us on everything anna & i do is not unlike experiencing everything for the first time, all over again.

as with most pre-parents, a screaming baby is simply an audible nuisance. a thing most likely caused by, and thus to be dealt with & stopped by the parent. not once did i don the hat of compassion & think about just what it was causing the kids discomfort. and now square on the other side of the fence, i have such a massive wealth of overpouring respect for the parents i scorned prior to Jude.

babies beget baggage. think of what you alone take onto a flight, not including the bags you lug to the ticketing agent where you (hopefully) check them. so you got your carry-on, great. now, add to that the stroller, the diaper bag, and the general baby-gear bag. oh yea, and the lil dood himself. you’ve just negotiated the gauntlet of getting in & out of the car that got you to the curb. you’ve dealt with the queue at the ticketing counter. now you’re progressing en masse thru the metal detectors with gear & baby, all the while racking up points for patience in an arizona airport in august. Jude was a ‘beeping baby’ so the 2 of us are directed to the second-stage station where both our asses are wanded up & down. then like effluent from a drain, we 3 re-group & re-dress & re-pack out entourage & progress the rest of the 3/4 mile to the gate.

but ooooh, here’s where things get better for a spell. we’re now in the elusive PRE-BOARD group, temproarily spared from the filth & bile & competitive peasants on the open-seating groups A, B, & C. but this blithe ends soon thereafter as we’re hearded down the gangplank where we’ve got to split duties, and fast. i take Jude + diaper bag + single carry-on into the airbus & quickly locate a clutch of 3 seats together. meanwhile, anna collapses the stroller & deals with the ever-effervescent SouthWest flightcrew in their attempts to hand-check the stroller for the duration of the flight. she then re-joins the herd round about, oh, i’d say the 3rd boarding group to file in-turn onto the plane & find Jude & I fiercely guarding our 3 seats from the godless heathons of a full-flight. of course, we cannot be allowed to hold this 3rd seat for the lil dood, so he’ll spend the entire jaunt on my lap.

NOW….

here is where physics & presure & eustachian tubes come into play. as they pressurise that tube, the wee little eardrums of our hero get pummeled. each atmospheric incline the bus reaches, the level of pressurisation jumps accordingly. this is why we adults have to equalise our own eardrums multiple times per ascent & descent. but Jude cannot do this. he can barely even coo on cue let alone plug a nose. herein lies what must be the root cause of most if not all grumpy babies on an airflight. their wee ears are getting the works, and they’re just reacting to this. and those with even simple nasal gunk may be dealing with the dreaded sinus squeeze. so the long & short here is that any parent of any stage of development will have by now surely offered the best advice to combat this: have the lil dood eating/drinking during take-off & landing. We all know swallowing has a direct effect on our eustachian tubes.

Keep in-mind that the entire ordeal only outlined above is greuling enough, as is, under the best of conditions. those conditions being the low-grade hangovers of Mr & Mrs Parent. But thats another story for another time. But the whole thing would be made worse by lugging around a fussy baby. our first experience with flying the lil dood was just the opposite. like almost everything else with the kid, he just observes things. no peaks. no valleys.

once again, we go into an experience that is wrought with cliches & hazards for the parent of an infant. high on the list of gruesome would surely be for hungover parents to fly with an 8-week old. but we instead dealt with smiles, a hearty appetite, and an overwelming sense of curiosity as Jude was Bjorned thru the dozens of hoops that represent air-travel in the heat of arizona august.

(Originally Posted: 2003_0804)

ungodly sleeping habits

Oh sure we had read the grizzly books & heard the horror stories regarding how mythical parental control over the lil doods sleep-wake cycles. We had thrust upon us all sorts of texts describing ways to get your child on a sleep schedule, or ones specific to baby diets, and even one on how avoid what we were horrified to learn as the barbaric yet commonly practiced “cry to sleep” method [dont even get me started].

But it is an understatement to say that anna & i lacked a plan for establishing good sleep cycles. in short, our plan consisted of pumping the lil dood so fulla boob & formula that he’d pass the hell out never so much as stirring until noon the following friday. This method is solid gold, yo.

A bit rocky at first given how we struggled with exactly where his food supply was coming from. As well, the fact that he was sleeping right inbetween us & as such, every wee grumble or stir snapped one or both of us into some reverse feeding frenzy or another.

But right about the time his bed transitioned from between-the-pillows in mom & dads room to in-the-crib in his own room, right about this event his sleep cycles shot up & up & up. What began as every 3 hours at time at 4 weeks old, has now risen to 6-7 hours thru the night at 7 weeks old.

There were a few sleepless 1st nights using the monitor, where i’d hear nothing & therefore have to go in there & make sure the lil dood wasnt blue. There were other rocky mornings where he;s get up at 5 and be blazing to go for the day. But in general, he goes down around 10-11pm and sleeps all the way thru to early-early morning.

Night after night he snores 4-lanes-wide striaght thru mom & dads 2am shift-change. Anna has been instrumental here. No longer to grunts & groans qualify for heating-up a bottle. We would assume these sounds were proof of oncoming consciosness, thus pick him up & begin feeding. When in fact they are now clearly just sleep-sounds of a vocal monster baby. It now takes a full-on concussive cry in order to be sure he’s awake, but usually long before that.

COMMENTS

Dear Sir,

My son, let’s call him…oh I don’t know…Austin, is not a fan of sleeping through the night. My wife and I, let’s call her Liz for sake of argument, have started to let him cry. Instead of crying himself to sleep, he seems to enjoy crying. I’ve gone so long as to let him cry for 45 min. When I finally break down and go in to put the binky in his mouth (which is the reason he is crying 99.99% of the time) he ususally just looks at me and smiles. One of those big happy smiles only with tired puffy. eyes. Then he quickly rolls over and goes to sleep. I guess my question is, is this kid messing with me or what?

Yours Truelly
Let’s say my name is..oh I don’t know….Warren
Posted by: Warren at July 29, 2003 04:51 PM

(Originally Posted: 2003_0722)

testing the waters of public interest

this is a first. always have the audience to my words been somewhat capitive. at least known. but this format lends itself to the anonymous soapbox. who’ll read this? who’ll know, if read, if it will be digested? who’ll care? herein lies The Folly of the Blog: who really cares?

i suspect that its more important, in some situations, to be heard then to have the meat & potatoes of your words be digested accurately. got to let them go eventually; once spoken, you’ve little control over how they are digested. thus we seek as desireable an audience as possible. so as to minimise confusion or to ease the palletability of the subject.

but when a petty author has a literary tailwind such as Archibald Jude for inspiration, its little wonder how/when shit will come to the surface. I mean, i talk to him, and he does listen. he means well. but he’s got an attention-span that last about as long as a yellow traffic light.

(Originally Posted: 2003_0719)

SPEW :: the envelope please

created: january 22, 2003

there is an envelope. there is an envelope, the contents of which, reveal the gender of baby. a colour of infant. i flavour of alien. this envelope is currently sealed. for how long is a question of patience and a question of sanity and more over, a question of curiosity. never before has there been a more important envelope. not even the envelope marisa tomei refused to give back to the academy can beat this one. prior to this morning, not one single entity knew the gender of the little bug. now, there are a few in the medical profession in central marin county who know. them, and this envelope.

i think i’ve heard the spectrum on this topic, whether solicited or not. it seems from the surface to be an issue of a unified front. for surely for every couple who chose to find out, there must have been some amongst them who grappled with disagreement. perhaps those couples, like us, had a canned response to the 2nd most popular question to the baby on the way. seems rather trivial really. perhaps in the future when we’ll be able to check a box for BOY and have a boy. but for now, whilst its still out of our control, it seems odd that some people would be so concerned with the topic. yet i was met with this underground resistance to my response. “why wouldn’t you want to find out? its going to be surprise either way!” as if it was about trying to prevent the spoiling of something.

and i capitulate in certain regards. it *does* seem trivial to clutch such a massive swath of news and keep it under-wraps. even when we’ve the technology to peer into the future like we did this morning. and perhaps thats the base of where my mindset is coming from. empirically, there’s a black & white issue at hand. the bug in annas belly is either a boy or it is a girl. but symbolically and spiritually and emotionally there is still a mystery under there. there is still the wonderful awe of not knowing the colour of the wee little wizard behind the curtain.

there is no doubt that certain peoples minds will have a better ride for the remainder of someone else’s pregnancy knowing that its a boy or knowing its a girl. it makes the ‘gearing’ and the ‘personalisation’ for the pending sausage easier for them. the manufacturers of all the baby-schwag appear to devote little attention to the ungendered baby. perhaps they feel that light-greens and pale-yellows and lavenders are too neutral. one MUST find out the baby’s sex and one MUST then choose blue or pink. but it *does* go deeper then that. couple want to make themselves as well as their surroundings more suited to the baby thats coming. neutrality is for business suits, where some couples want to know what shade of paint to buy. better still, grandparents tend to stoke the fires of impatience in the gender revelation.

i’m all for clearing the fog of uncertainty and revealing what there is to know in this world. i feel the more we humans can learn about ourselves and the world we live in, the better off our children’s’ world will be. that means embracing controversial research, that means debunking ritualistic practices, that means exploring the limitless world of genetics of our inner-space. but all of this, it all means something else. it means exercising the choice inherent in all of it. sure, we can find out the gender of a baby before its born. but here come the choice.

of all the things that we as humans can do with our lives, it seems frivolous to me that there should be some pursuit of greater importance then giving birth to & nurturing our young into the world. call it prehistoric in light of evolution, call it animalistic in spite of our intelligence, but I feel it is our most profound gift. In concert with that, of all the wonderful things we as intelligent humans have revealed, of all the current & future knowledge we wield, the single-most distilled example of a secret is if its going to be a boy or if its going to be a girl.

Aw fock sean. All this spew and what has it all gotten us? So fine, you’re in the camp of keeping it a secret.

ALL TERRAIN CROQUET [aka: golden gate rules]

ALL TERRAIN CROQUET

[aka: golden gate rules]

PLAYERS

I. THERE SHALL ONLY BE PLAYERS AS AVAILABLE UNIQUE COLOURED MALLETS

II. PLAYERS WISHING TO BOW-OUT THEIR COLOUR MUST ATTEMPT TO FIND AN ALTERNATE PLAYER TO SWAP IN. SHOULD NO CANDIDATE BE FOUND, THE COLOUR IS ELIMINATED FROM THE ROTATION.

III. EACH PLAYERS STROKE-ORDER IS DETERMINED BY THE COLOUR PROGRESSION ON THE STARTING OR FINISHING STAKES

IV. EACH PLAYER SHALL GET 1 STROKE PER TURN

COURSE

I. THE COURSE SHOULD CONSIST OF NO MORE THEN 9 WICKETS PLACED BY NO MORE THEN 2 PLAYERS.

II. WICKET PLACEMENT IS LIMITED ONLY BY COMMON SENCE, THE LAWS OF PHYSICS, AND ANY RESPECT FOR SURROUNDING REVELLERS.

III. THE COURSE BEGINS & ENDS WITH A STAKE

IV. THE COURSE SHALL BE PLAYED IN SUCH A MANNER THAT NO OBSTICAL OF ANY SIZE MAY BE MOVED OR CLEARED TO MAKE ROOM FOR SHOTS

PLAY

I. ORDER OF WICKETS & RUN DIRECTION IS DETERMINED IN THE FOLLOWING METHODS:

a. By result of running the wicket, the first player to run the current wicket determines the run direction thru which all trailing players must pass

i. It is the lead players obligation to verbally state the run direction of any wicket when asked.

b. The first player to run the current wicket must [on-the-spot] declare verbally which wicket is to be the next current wicket.

c. All players must run the declared order of wickets thru the appropriate run direction as determined by the lead player

d. Lead player is determined ONLY by their ability to run the current wicket first.

e. A players ball must completely pass the plane of the wicket in order for a run to have occurred.

II. BONUS STROKES CAN BE ACHIEVED IN THE FOLLOWING METHODS:

a. By running the current wicket thru the appropriate run direction

i. If your ball runs the current wicket by force of another players’ stroke, your next turn will have +1.

b. By result of your stroke, if your ball makes any contact with any other ball at any location on the course for any reason.

c. By result of your stroke, if your ball makes contact & tumbles any beverage (empty or full) on the course for any reason.

d. Bonus strokes can be stacked-up, but must be exhausted in a single turn

STRATEGY

I. USE A CONTINUOUS STRING OF BONUS STROKES TO GAIN OPTIMAL BALL PLACEMENT FOR YOUR NEXT WICKET

II. SPEND YOUR STROKE(S) SENDING AN OPPONANTS BALL OFF THEIR LOCATIONS

a. In contrast to traditional 9-wickets Croquet method of “placing & sending,” no ball may be picked up for any reason. Sending still occurs liberally, yet at expense of your balls position.

b. Should your ball come to rest in-contact with an opponents ball, you MAY place your foot on your ball when sending them.

III. THE MALLET OR ANY PART OF THE MALLET MAY BE USED IN ANY FASHION SO LONG AS THE STROKE CONSISTS OF THE MALLET “STRIKING” THE BALL

a. “Brushing” or “pushing” your ball with any part of the mallet is a null & void shot, and the ball must be replaced.

going to canada

Are we actually going to start talking jive about leaving? Just when things get crisp? If this is a test, then it is surely a multiple-choice test wrapped in an essay and almost certainly to be punctuated by some oral examinations. Prior to these attacks, I would talk openly about my intentional & eventual departure from the United States. For an amalgam of reasons, it represented more a traveler’s attitude a la Jake then an abandonment complex. Prior to these events, I had a nebulous yet pungent sense that, as a US citizen, I was viewed very negatively thru out the world. Having such close friends & ties to Oh Canadia, I heard stories such as: “If you’re ever in a tight situation overseas that’s going to turn horrifically grim, just claim to be a Canadian. Under no circumstances should you boast American heritage.” But such was the stuff of colorful conversation, backed by no real concrete animosity TOWARDS the US. It was just one more tale in a saga that literally (ok, in analogy) saw the US scorned like a bad lieutenant with too much power, too often wielded to service his own ends. As an American, I was lumped into that category and brandished the same. Again, I was apprehensive about my perception abroad as an American. Therefore, I sought the day when I could travel so far abroad and for such a period of time that I would be able to see what the baby & the bathwater looked like. From the outside. To be sure, I believed that my US education had raised me to see with an Americans’ eye what the only the inside of an American cocoon looked like. As well, that this ego-centric, fiscal-driven, quasi-colonist mentality I began to develop sometime after puberty was, for the most part, transparent to the majourity of my fellow Americans, but painfully clear to the rest of the world. I was going to alter this with a world-view. I was going to combat this with a mind more open then it was cynical. But I grew complacent. I began to seek more tangible goals such as (perceived) economic gain, or (simulated) social status. My goals became those bettering myself and the woman I love. Introversion. Isolationism away from those odd feelings concerning what it felt like to be an American living in America.

Until today. Until the Right Now. Until the conversations getting tossed back & forth these past 72 hours. Not only between the leaders of the world, but also between the Circus – some of the only constants I can rely on right now. Long-dormant thoughts are coming to the surface. Viewpoints once thought to be reactionary or counter to the views of the many are finally being expressed. Spades will be called spades and it will be a long and arduous road. History, both revisionist and sacred will be examined. What you hold to be truths & your rights as humans will be tempered against those who have been denied and can only hope for those same unalienable rights. Shame on you if you think I am in any way justifying the actions of those who would commit such atrocities in their pursuit of these rights. This is the shocking jolt. This is the rude awakening. This is the point in the existence of this country where the truth be told that we, as the United States, are no different for we have committed the same such atrocities. Albeit thrice removed. Atrocious that we should continue to call our foreign policy one of peace KEEPING. However you view the US intentions overseas, one only need look at the suffering that continues in those same lands despite these dollars & peace accords. One only needs to look at the severe breakdown within our own nation to realize that our current foreign policy is nothing short of re-arranging the deckchairs on the titanic. How many more of OUR dollars will be spent hunting down faceless symptoms of an overseas religious war before an American teacher gets a fiscal recognition? How many more people have to die?

You think that the current US military deployments to go about “ending states who sponsor terrorism” will EVER bring about peace in the Middle East? It will only spread it thinner. It will not be addressing THEIR issues and THEIR resolutions. And here is something that will really bake your noodle: Try and wrap your brains around the possibility that the attacks on our soul were borne OF our soil. Think about that. Remember Oklahoma and how cruel & misguided our initial assumptions were. Just: what if?

I talk as if there is actually some shred of hope that the US will take the high road. That they will do the right thing by cooling off and taking a levelheaded human approach to this. It won’t happen. As I snap this rant off, the engines are revving up and the fog is getting mixed. When the shit starts, you & I, as Americans, will only know what we are spoon-fed. The path we take, regardless of accuracy or lack thereof, will be touted as justification and rectification. Even so-called credible non-US sources such as the AP, BBC or CBC(!) will have little recourse but to run with whatever direction the momentum dictates. And you wont know the difference. And the rift that caused this most-recent link in a long chain of events will continue to fester. Only clichés will suffice. Eye for an Eye. But the real adage will be clear only after a painfully long distance of time & blood: That wrongs do not negate wrongs. That the path to peace must now be viewed in terms of the path less traveled.

But hell, if shit gets funky in here, I got plenty of room up in Ontario. I’ll bring the fishing tackle; you bring the propane & the Molson.

SPEW :: the world playground

created: September 12, 2001

the arab kid, the jewish kid, the american kid

This can be seen in the analogy of a schoolyard scuffle. There’s this little Jewish kid that keeps getting bullied & beaten up by the Arab kids because this little Jewish kid wants “something” all to themselves. They keep trying and never getting it. They gain the trust and the strong-arm friendship of the big American kid. The American kid makes it really happen for the Jewish kid. Like a bodyguard, the American kid pushes the Arab kids out of the way and lets the Jewish kid have this “something” all to themselves. The Arab kids are clearly no match for the American kid in regards for this “something” the still covet so much. However, the Arabs continue to deal with the American kid, trading things, and generally being civil while publicly making statements about their hatred of the American kid in regard to the Jewish kid.

The Jewish kid is not the exclusive recipient of the American kids strength and reverse bullying. There are plenty of other kids on the playground that either rely on the American kid to get what they need, or allow the American kid to take what he wants. The American kid is simply too strong to resist. Better to ally with so great a presence then to resist. And this ends up breeding this seething hatred towards the American kid. He is perceived as the policeman of the playground. Talking peace between some one moment and then bullying and oppressing others the next. Yet always talking civility and peace.

So while the American kid continues to aide, protect & support the Jewish kid, the Jewish kid becomes this truly strong entity. The Jewish kid has dealt with a lot of shit in the past – horrible things – never to be forgotten. These things have only made the Jewish kid stronger. So much so that every time the Arab kids make an attempt at the Jewish kid or the “something,” the American kid only tends to break up the fights now. The Jewish kid is holding his own. The Jewish kid even goes so far as to make simple offerings to the Arab kids to use the “something.” Yet the Arab kids rightfully begin to rise up and say “wait, this is ours in the first place. It has always been ours. And Jewish kid, the only reason why you have it now is because you and that American kid took it from us.” Eventually, this leads to the Arab kids to the wrong approach by taking potshots at the Jewish kid, soliciting the assistance of Arab kids from different playgrounds, and generally making the Jewish kid hold the “something” even tighter. Every day that goes by, the Jewish kid grows more & bolder with their possession. They say that the Arab kids are wrong when they say that the “something” originally belongs to them. That the Arab kids are simply never going to get it back. But the Arab kids, they want this “something” so bad that it just consumes them. They’re simply bitter to the core about how they cannot have this “something” and the only reason they cannot is because they don’t have the power to take it back. It gets to the point where some of the other American kids no longer care to protect the Jewish kid. Not because he can take care of himself, but rather their good-natured peacekeeping measure of intervening between the Arabs & the Jewish kid in the first place was no longer such a wise decision. That, the American kid should have never gotten involved in the first place. The Arab kids couldn’t agree more. To be sure, there are plenty of other kids on the playground that support the American kid no matter what he does, even in regards to the Jewish kid. But for the most part, in the eyes of the Arab kids, the Jewish kid and the American kid are alone in the protection & support of this “something.” The Arab kids are growing tired of the current situation of repression & denial. They know that they can never actually rise up and take the “something” because there is clearly no way that they’ll ever be able to hold onto it. The American kid is too strong and the Jewish kid has far too tight a hold on it. They’ve tried calmly talking to the Jewish kid, as well as with the Americans. The American kid has repeatedly expressed to the Jewish kid that they might want to think about sharing the “something.” And to a certain degree, they have. They’ve allows the Arab kids to sit next to it, to look at it, and to generally have the sense that they have the “something” back. But not without heavy sacrifices. The Jewish kid is very possessive, honestly believing in their hearts that the “something” is rightfully theirs. They never let the Arab kids forget that the “something” is theirs, and that the Arab kids will never fully get it back. So while the day-to-day activities on the playground are sometimes free from scuffles, the tension between the Arab kids and the Jewish kid is always there, and the American kid is never too far away from either of them, either to break up a fight with calls for civil conversation, or roughing up some other Arab kids who feel they’ve got the right idea by talking & getting violent about their quest for the “something.” There are good days and there are bad days. Some days, the Arab kids will be horrendously cruel in their attempts to get the “something” back or to hurt the Jewish kid. Other days, the Jewish kid will be equally cruel in taunting the Arab kid with the “something”, pushing the Arab kids away from the “something” when all they want to do is just “be” next to it.

All they can do now is to plan how they can eventually get the “something” back. And if they cannot get the “something” back, well… at least they can continue to send messages to the Jewish & the American kid. Messages that they are serious. On day, after a period of some unrest between the Jewish kid and the Arabs, something happens. Something massive to the American kid. The American kid gets knocked down in a hard, disturbing way. The American kid is stunned. The American kid is knocked so off-balance that he doesn’t know how to digest what has happened let alone process what to do next. Immediately, the American kid is thinking simultaneously about a multitude of things. How to retaliate is one of the initial emotions. The American kid is so used to being the strongest most feared kid on the playground that they cannot avoid these feelings of retaliation and snap judgments. And that finger pointing is as initial as anything else. They are simply so damn sure that this was the work of the Arab kids, or at least some small portion of them.

SPEW :: go back in the chain

created: September 12, 2001

go back in the chain. go back as far as you dare. Try and objectively determine what is broken & how it got that way. Against all better process, attempt not to figger out the WHO and WHAT NEXT. For those notions shall only continue to make this horrible wheel turn & turn & turn ad nauseum. Instead, go back in the chain and try to figger out the WHY. Understand the why, and you will understand the WHAT NEXT. THere is an emprical reason for it. There was a point. “Crazy” people dont just pick targets. They wanted the fucking floor and they wanted undivided attention. So they have it. I’m sure as hell listening. And you know what? I wont be able digest the point of this if the US immediately comes back swinging like some bully not used to being knocked off his feet by an unseen blow. It takes strength to indiscriminantly torch 3rd world countries thay may or may not harbour these “forces of evil.” But it takes a stronger nation to wipe the soot & dust from its eyes and not only listen to, but comprehend the REASONS for why this happened. This was not the first stone cast. THis was, in the eyes of many, a clear retaliation. One that i do NOT agree with. THere were as many alternate methods to send the massage as there are casualties from this one. But some would say that this might be the only thing that America would listen to. SOme would say that this, at the very least, was fire with fire. Taste of our own medicine. Again, I DONT BUY THIS. I just feel it necessary to say publickly, against ALL SEANS BETTER JUDGEMENT, that i’m scared shitless that the US will simply do as they have always done and open fire in general directions. A threshold has been crossed. An opportunity is at hand. This may not come again. At least not without a repeat of yesterday updated for the times, strengthened to break thru even more years of US foreign policy. You’re living in a bubble if you think that what we saw yesterday and the taste in your mouth is something new to the world. I’m nowhere near a school of thought where this was in any way “deserved.” But this was long overdue. I’m more disturbed then i have ever been in my life at the scale of this. Yet whats more, this is not the worst it can get. This can escalate.

Again, go back in the chain and ask yourselves the hard questions. Read your history books, even the ones that US children read. Get the angles & perspectives an event like this deserves. Educate yourselves and realise that history clearly is the only God right now. What happened in peoples lives, or in the course of their nations that they need to do THAT to get attention or get revenge? Go back as far as you dare, for some of the most grevious events on the timeline going backwards are NOT subjective. Rather, they’ve very clear origins. Opinions & national fervor asside, we must not cast another stone. Wrongs need to be righted, and examples must be set. And therein lies the toughest task. We as HUMANS – not american citizens or allies thereof – need to stand down and be as lucid as possible about what will come out of this.

I am not a religious man. And i had no idea i was a patriotic man until that was me sobbing at those images. But I feel it necessary to pray to “something” that would bring about peacefull resolve to this. I pray that not one fucking bullet will be fired in any shade of retaliation for this. I pray that leaders of nations will come together to talk of a peace that will be the most difficult any of us have ever dreamt of. Past grievances will be addressed, and new lines will be drawn. For the current situation is obviously not working. But its not for the US to fix! Our attempts at fixing broken things have, in my eyes, CAUSED the monumental & irrevocable actions yesterday. I have no illusions that heads will NOT roll from this. And yes, I hope they’re the right ones.

I’m fucking ranting now, and beginning to well up again. I don’t have any of the answers I’m requesting you all ask of yourselves. The salve here, for me, is the painfuill process of asking the questions in the first place. It feels the right thing to do – to challenge my patriotism & sense of revenge. For if there is one clear clear thing I feel in all of this: its that the typical US fire “from the sky” reaction is the worst possible one we could ever take. If we do, then we are ABSOLUTELY NO SANER then the humans that flew those planes yesterday. No different.

I fucking scared. I’m scared that its too late. I wish I had more faith. I wish I had at least more hints as to how to express this to you all.

madonna show review :: oakland, september 2001

i’m not sure terms like “amazing” or phrases like “she puts on an awesome show” would suffice. nor am i sure that that i can even begin to express them here for there was so much to process. we were 20 rows up from floor on extreme stage-right. so extreme that we could at times clearly see thru the stage into the direction & wardrobe changes. but the stage/set itself wasnt so large as it was tall. odd platforms here, solitary handles way up there. soon, all surfaces of the set would be crawling with these cut, lanky, androgenous beauties. those handles, once far out of the reach of any platform *we* could see, were now being used as purchase for creatures part Wild Boys (duran duran), part Fame, & part Sid Vicious. The british/scottish punk element permeated quite literally only 1 song off anything *other* then either Ray of Light or Music, and that was Holiday. some would say she was obligated to play that one given the town we live in, to say nothing of the 100’s of queens packing the front of the stage 12 deep. so the songs were all late-model, fully exercising the William Orbit vein. video screens like nothing i have ever seen. they were not “monitors” in the projection or tube-screen sense of the word. rather – and kevin you may have seen these – they were blocks of what looked like 1000’s of tightly packed lightbulbs, giving any image shown on them a clarity out of this world. smaller 2ft x 2ft blocks of these, spread all across the rigging & musician “pods”, displayed random sqaures of what the larger monitors displayed rather then miniature versions of the same. these massive monitors, in true madonna-style, would raise up to become the elevated dancefloor lit-from below. every other performer was either hanging from wires or flying around the set swinging from them. with mic in-hand, madonna too would be flying 30 miles per hours, 50 feet up, only to land squarely in mid-verse. she never let up. songs blended together as they spanned a heavily intricate & dramatic stage-show. and thats just it: last night was only *part* rock concert. it was dozens of runway models sprinting around a fashion shoot, meets the matrix, meets a country-western ho-down. but *all* gautier.this was the first show i’ve ever really been to where i didnt have that life-force longing to be behind either soundboard. and it *wasnt* my proximity away from them. it was my proximity *to* other elements. i was thouroughly entertained. i should have expected this. the people-watching was tops, better then a tombstone saloon yet costumes just as familiar. I saw the thing on HBO and that simply didn’t touch this. It only hinted at themes & perhaps a setlist. Nothing but being there could approach it.

Perhaps maybe, the unashamed fantasies of being one of her dancers on the stage with her. THAT’S what it meant.