Brass Laurels

Closing Time.

2011-10-21T09:59:00.004-05:00

I'm closing up shop.

In the words of Death, I'm turning out the lights, putting the chairs up on the tables, and locking the doors.

This will be my last post at this blog. I've mostly failed at keeping it current, I've mostly failed at saying the things I really wanted to say, and I'm mostly frustrated with the way it's turned out.

Despite all that, you--my dearest readers--have been much more supportive than I've deserved, much more attentive than I have been, and much more forgiving of my scheduling (or lack thereof) than most sane people with normal attention spans would ever have dreamt. I want to thank you, from the bottom of my cold black heart, for everything you have done to encourage me.

In fact, it's because of you that I have the courage to take the next step: I've started my very own website.

Though it's not finished yet, and I'm currently tinkering with options, and I'm learning my CMS with all of the grace and poise of a baby giraffe on roller-skates, I have staked my claim at www.mitchellwillie.com to my own little personal corner of the interwebs. I'll be using it as both my personal and professional homepage, a platform from which to launch official news about this writing thing I'm trying to make my life, and (most importantly) a place to connect with my readers and friends. I invite you all to join me there, where you'll find I'm hosting the full archive of this site, complete with all your comments and love.

As Semisonic said, "every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." I'm hoping that this beginning's end has birthed something wonderful for my future. I hope you'll join me there.

Closing time. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.

So easy, a Tea Partier can understand it!

2011-10-13T19:45:00.004-05:00

I'm going to do something 99% of you don't have the balls to do.

I'm going to divulge my full, complete, unabridged financial situation online, to total strangers, on the Internet.

Why would I do such a thing? What could possess me to reveal such a personal thing to scads of people I've never met, opening myself to ridicule and derision on the World Wide Web?

Because apparently that's what it will take for some of you to understand why I support the Occupy Wall Street movement, and its offshoots and splinter protests.

I am a white, Republican male, and college ruined my life. I decided to go to a local University, knowing my grades in high school hadn't been the best (but that's a rant for another industry). I'd always had problems keeping a job because I do have a touch of an attitude problem--I like to be treated as a human being in the workplace, and employers don't like that so much. Again, rant for another industry.

So I get it in my head to go to college (I won't lie, there was a really cute blonde involved) and make something of myself. I had no credit. I come from a poor family (sorry for outing you financially, mom & dad!), and I wasn't working at the time. I didn't have the grades for scholarships, and as I'm not a minority and can't get pregnant, I only qualified for one grant.

I had to borrow money for the application fee, and if my high school drama teacher hadn't paid for my ACT test my junior year, I'd really have been up a creek, but I got things settled themselves. I got a job on campus, and a credit card to help build good credit (having no credit is worse than having bad credit), and a cell phone to keep in touch with the folks. They were paying most of it, for which I still owe them, but I footed most of the bill on student loans.I didn't own a car (couldn't afford one) and I could barely afford to do laundry, but I made it. And I was proud of myself.

Until my 8-5 classes (five days a week) and my midnight work schedule (12-8) started to clash with my homework (usually at least 2 hours per class each night) and the extracurricular activity I had, fencing, which was also my only non-walking-to-class exercise. Oh, and the cute blonde? She wanted a cut of my time, too. And my neighbors didn't understand that some of us slept from 5-10, and liked to blare loud music while they studied. And I got shoved in charge of a small campus newsletter protesting the campus-run journalism organization's tastelessness and unprofessionalism, a position I did not request.

It was just too much. I took a semester off, and though I filed all the proper paperwork, the University still claims that I owe them $1300 because the paperwork was misfiled somehow. This also caused my student loans to come out of deferrment immediately. Since I didn't go to school there, I also lost my on-campus job, causing the full weight of the cost of my "education" to be felt immediately.

In the years since, I have had a run of bad luck with bad employers. I've been asked to leave a job because they demanded that my sick days be covered by a doctor's excuse, though I got no health insurance and they refused to pay me enough to see a doctor. When my parents bought me a car for my birthday and it basically imploded, I was working as a delivery boy. They cut my hours because I couldn't drive, but that also meant I couldn't afford to fix my car. I've had jobs blatantly steal money from me, denying me paychecks I have worked 20-40 hours a week to earn for reasons they've made up, because I couldn't afford to take them to court over it.

When I was in college, I lost my bank account. There's this lovely thing called "ChexSystems" that banks join that's like a credit-reporting-agency stoolpigeon, only for your checking accounts. Since most banks belong to it, screw up at one bank (or in my case, lose the receipt that proves you paid that bank off in full), and they'll hold it against you for at least 5 years, and you won't be able to get a checking account anywhere else. Last time I looked, it would cost me $350 plus the opening minimum deposit to clear up this ChexSystems nonsense from before 2007.

Since I can't get a checking account, there are a lot of places that will hire me, but refuse to pay me--most businesses refuse to issue paper payroll checks anymore, and rely solely on direct deposit. They won't FIRE you, they'll just not pay you. And somehow they can get away with that without being prosecuted into the ground.

I live in a rural area. The city limits of the town my Post Office says I live in is a two-hour walk away. It is the nearest source of employment. I don't have a car because I can't afford one, but I can't find a job without walking at least two hours in either the hot Kentucky sun, or the chilling Kentucky wind, and looking a wreck when I actually get to anywhere hiring.

And should I find anything in this little podunk town, I will most likely not get it. It's the kind of town where everyone knows everybody, so one irrational dislike will lead you to becoming a pariah quickly. I can't get a job in the service industry, either, because I can't afford dental care. Nobody will hire a waiter with a broken smile.

I can't look in other towns, with more possibilities, because I can't afford the gas money required to borrow a vehicle. $10 might as well be "I won the lottery!" to me, and spending it on an all-day job hunt in another town, which rarely turns up any possibilities, only becomes more complicated if I actually become employed in said town. How do I expect to borrow someone's car for enough paychecks to buy a clunker of my own?

I cannot get a credit card. My credit is shot because my student loans are in default--between my inability to find stable work, and outright lying by my lenders. I could get a secured credit card to raise my score (a whopping 502!), but that would require a deposit of cash. At a bank.

Banks are institutions, like credit companies, that only make money if you're poor. They charge you to use your own money, money you've earned, and they charge you more when you run out. They cannot remain viable unless you are in debt. This means I have to resort to cash, which I cannot use online (where most of my shopping is done, due to my lack of a vehicle), and most businesses frown nowadays if you aren't paying with credit or debit. I've actually been turned out of an establishment for attempting to pay in cash.

Furthermore, because of their consistency to charge excessive fees when they know (as they're handling your money) that you cannot afford them, banks and credit corporations are actually creating money out of thin air; charging you dollars that don't physically exist, because there's no caps on what they can charge. The U.S. Gov't does this as well, leading us to our current economic issue:

The more money "exists", the less each bit of it is worth.

By charging you cash that doesn't physically exist, cash that's already well beyond its ability to be backed by tangible assets, banks and credit unions are getting rich with invisible money WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY completely devaluing the American dollar.

So, let's review:

I cannot get a job without a bank account.

I cannot get a job without a car.

I cannot get a car without a bank account.

I cannot get a car without better credit.

I cannot get a bank account without a job.

I cannot get better credit without a job.

I cannot get a car without a job.

I cannot afford basic dental or healthcare without a job.

I have been turned away from jobs for my dental problems.

I have been turned away from jobs due to my credit rating.

If, after reading this, you still believe that the current economic system of deflating the dollar by backing it with government trust and no actual tangible value, leaving it to be created and destroyed at whim digitally by banks, credit companies, and the U. S. Government, actually works, please either

Give me some of the billions in your bank account, or

Go have your head examined.

Hope your health insurance covers that.

An Open Letter to mc chris

2011-10-11T17:56:00.006-05:00

We love your music. Really, we do. You spit clever and dorky. Your voice, while unorthodox, grows on the listener after only a couple of tracks. The work you do to raise awareness and cash for CF research is awesome. Your appearances on ATHF steal the spotlight in those episodes, that shit you did with Childish Gambino is my favorite jam, and everybody adores your Goonies rant.

All that being said, chris (can we call you "chris"?), you do not have the best PR stance.

I understand rappers are also average joes (one of my favorites told me just last night "WE IS ALL PEOPLE!"). I understand everybody gets down sometimes, and when people say things that hurt our feelings, we get a little bent about it. The difference is how we handle it.

I'm neither rich nor famous, so I can't say I know how you feel, but when people I don't know talk shit about me I handle it like an adult. I don't focus on it for days or weeks, making mad multiple posts on FB and Twitter about how I'm sick of the haters.

Fuck, I wish I HAD me some haters. That's how you know you made it. If I had bitches talking shit about me all the time, I'd know I was famous enough to flame. That's a big deal.

Yet, everytime someone talks trash about you, you let it get personal. You let it get inside you and fester and hurt your feelings and make it out to be more than it is. Some people are jealous. They will talk shit. That's a professional issue, not a personal one. It's got to do with your professional persona, and your music, and your fame.

Maybe they're jealous, maybe they genuinely don't like your music and they have nothing better to do with their lives but troll you because they can't get laid. Whatever the reason, LET. THEM. TALK. SHIT.

Every time you respond to your WHOLE FANBASE the way you have recently, two things happen:

Kissasses come out of the woodwork to dick-ride you in hopes that you'll acknowledge their puny existence.
You lose real fans.

That first group is gonna love you no matter what you do, because you're famous and they're not. They're not real fans, they're nut-huggers from the Alien porn parody, riding your dick because you're famous and they aren't. They're living vicariously through you, and may or may not actually give two half-price fucks about you or your music genuinely.

That second group, though? That second group is the group that comes to your shows because they like what you do. They buy your records because they fucking love your music. They go to your shows because they love hearing your rants. They're loyal, but they're not blind. They love you, but not enough to put up with abuse.

I'm in this second group. I fucking LOVE your music. Your tunes are the seed for my most-listened-to Pandora playlist, I blare your shit in the car, I listen to it while I code and game and read comics and shit. I'm forever telling people to check your music out, give you a chance, quoting your song lyrics as evidence of genius.

But I won't be spoken to that way.

I respect your art, and your struggles, but I respect myself, too. And if you don't respect me, as a fan, then maybe you don't deserve fans. I'll just file you away in the box marked "Makes Great Music, But Is A Total Douchebag" with Kanye "What-A-Twat" West.

I'm sorry you've had it rough lately, mc, but don't take it out on your fans. Don't. It's bullshit, and we don't fucking deserve it.

In closing, let me try my hand at this "rap shit":

You may think you're flawless,
that you're the most stylish,
But Donald Glover picked the wrong name:
bitch, you bein' childish.

Intolerance of "Tolerance"

2011-09-19T06:46:00.007-05:00

Lately, I've been hearing a lot of people speaking out against religious tolerance. Almost as many more have started championing religious tolerance. It occurs to me that neither of these groups really realizes what those words mean.

Pro-tolerance shouters want every religion to be "right." They want every religion to be seen as the right path "for you." They're religious individualists, believing that whatever you choose to believe is accurate and correct, that all religions share the truth, and that everyone will go to their faith's afterlife when they die. This is not tolerance. This is pluralism.

Anti-tolerance loudmouths say that none but their religion (or no religion, as the case may be) is "right." They want every other religion to be seen as the wrong path, publicly, for everyone. They're religious fundamentalists (or atheists) that insist that all views but theirs are rooted in superstition and lies, and that everyone but them (or no one) will go to an afterlife at all when they die, and therefore, only their way should be taught. This is not tolerance. This is ignorance.

Both of these camps believe that "tolerance" means "acceptance of truth" when religion is involved; that to have "religious tolerance" is to agree that all religions are true in their own ways. Tolerance is not acceptance of truth.

Tolerance, according to Google, means "the ability or willingness to tolerate (Allow the existence, occurrence, or practice of (something that one does not necessarily like or agree with) without interference) something, in particular the existence of opinions or behavior that one does not necessarily agree with."

For those of you following along at home, that means "religious tolerance" doesn't mean "all religions are right", it just means "a right to all religions." You don't have to believe the words of Moses, Christ, or Mohammed to tolerate Judaism, Christianity, or Islam. You don't have to believe Ganesh exists to tolerate Hinduism. Your answer to the famous Lovin' Spoonful song does not make you a Wiccan by default. Believing God is nonexistent is not a prerequisite for tolerating atheism. And believing in creationism doesn't mean you don't "tolerate" science.

Whatever your worldviews, whatever your faith (or lack thereof) teaches, religious tolerance is not "everyone is right." It just means "your faith is not my faith, but you have a right to have it."

Religious tolerance of this sort, the true sort, the sort where you keep your own beliefs in the absolute nature of your own faith, while acknowledging that others exist, is the sort that will start to bring about real conversations between faiths.

You don't have to like what they believe. Just know they have a right to believe it, even if you think it's wrong.

=Further Listening=

Here's to the Losers

2011-09-16T16:42:00.003-05:00

Hi. For those of you just tuning in, my name is Mitchell, and I'm a ~~fucking psychotic.~~ writer.

That means I'm crazy. And spastic. And prone to bouts of depression, self-loathing, anger, and all manner of egotism. Whatever I feel, when I feel it, is the most real it's ever been.

Which means that my bad days are really, really bad. This was one of them.

But, as long as the Good Lord keeps making pussy and pork fat, I'll have something to live for.

formspring.me

2011-08-09T10:37:00.001-05:00

Ask me anything you'd like. Anything at all. http://formspring.me/steamboat28

GG, GG.

2011-07-27T17:14:00.004-05:00

I have a list of role models that I cite to the public with frequency. It includes fictional characters (Willy Wonka), people of questionable morals (Vlad Tepes), and geniuses of all levels (from Einstein to Alton Brown). However, if you were too ask me to name only people who have had a serious impact on my life, my personality, and my worldview, only four people come to mind: Jesus Christ, J.R.R. Tolkien, Jim Henson, and Gary Gygax.

I'd to take a moment, on his birthday, to thank one of these people. He has helped me learn to solve my problems without fear or violence, he has shown me that there are a near-infinite number of solutions to almost every problem, and he has encouraged me to think outside the box.

He has helped me to make the greatest friendships with the greatest people I have ever known. He has given me a safe place to explore my personality, from either side of the cardboard screen. He's given this nerd boy something to do all those Saturday nights I could never get a date, and a place to show just what kind of person I can be. He's helped me tell stories in grand ways, and taught me the value of random chance. The worlds he created have been my imagination's playground for years, and I can only hope that my children, and their children, will appreciate them the way that I do.

Ernest Gary Gygax, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, thank you. Thank you for giving me a place to ask all those questions that don't fit into a normal day. Thank you for letting me use dice to understand that life isn't always fair, and to use my INT and CHA scores to overcome that. Thank you for showing me that DEX is far more useful than brute STR, that Craft (anything) really is worthwhile, and for helping me improve my Perform checks. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to meet the greatest adventuring party a guy could have, and letting this guild of wayfarers spread the joy of the worlds you've created to others.

I don't think it's a coincidence that you share initials with the phrase "good game." I think there's some cosmic humor in that fact that underlines the importance you've had in the industry, and in our hearts. I don't think I'd be the same without that printed cardboard screen, or those plastic dice in my hands. I don't think I'd be the person I am without the influence of Dungeons & Dragons, and your sense of adventure and wonder.

Thank you, Gary Gygax. Happy birthday, and until we can meet in the other plane, gg GG.

Summer Reading Fun!

2011-07-19T09:48:00.002-05:00

My favorite thing about summer growing up was always the local library's Summer Reading Program. Nothing beat sitting on sun-warmed grass listening to a storybook read to you out in circle-time, just before we rented our selections for the week.

In a move highly reminiscent of that, my friend Dennis Sharpe is having a summer giveaway to show appreciation for his readers and fans. You can check out the details here. Be sure to enter as many ways as you can, and good luck to you all!

Edits, edits, edits.

2011-07-08T20:41:00.002-05:00

I spent a chunk of today listening to my Ingrid Michaelson station on Pandora and finishing up the last round of intentional edits on my soon-coming book of poetry. I still need to go over it a few times, and ~~trick~~ request a few beta readers to take a gander at it. This process is a lot harder than I initially thought it would be, but it's very rewarding.

I remember when I was a child, I dreamt of becoming an author. I read so many articles in copies of Writer's Journal and Writer's Digest my father would buy me on trips to Paducah.Once, he bought me a massive great book with all kinds of tips for being published. He's always been big on my writing, Dad has. Mom has, too, but it's not the same for her. She doesn't enjoy reading like Dad and I do, and Dad's written a few things he should get published.

That's the thing that really surprises me. I mean, growing up, if you'd told me there'd be a day when I wouldn't have to beg a publisher, or defend my artistic vision to an agent, or compromise my story for the sake of what some bigwig thought, I'd have told you to stop getting my hopes up. It was just a pipe-dream that I could get my work out there in the same way that I wrote it, and a lottery to be published.

While that's still true for traditional publishing, technological advances and the oversaturation of the Internet in our lives has led to a kazillion ways for artists to share their work that they never, ever could have in the past, with audiences they never would've reached even five or ten years ago. It's utterly amazing to me.

That being said, it shifts the legwork of editing, publicity, and all that other jazz to the author, but I think that not only gives me more control, but makes me a more well-rounded businessman. I'm willing to do the work if it gets me what I want, as long as I can keep my head out of the Pessimist Pond it settles into sometimes.

My father has always been hard on me when it comes to employment. If I miss a day of work, even if I'm sick, it's a lecture. God help me if I quit a perfectly good job. My whole being was brought into amazement, then, when the last time I suggested getting a job all my father said was "I think you should write."

Maybe if this goes over well, he'll publish a few of his own works?

Resting on my Brass Laurels

2011-06-08T12:17:00.006-05:00

They say the pen is mightier than the sword.

That may be, but when's the last time you saw Inigo Montoya have "Fencer's Block?"

Daedaleus at Silver Pen Scribe sent me a link to a humorous blog post today entitled "Six Signs It's High Time to Give Up Writing". Hilariously written as it is, reading through it, I started to really get down on myself. I mean, seriously, I'm at least four of those six things, why do I even bother with this writing nonsense? I spend more time complaining about Writer's Block than I do attempting to write, and this "author's" blog I'm posting in has maybe two works in it, and one of those is an ill-conceived nerd-rap. What am I doing?

It's easy to get discouraged, especially in this game. Quick! Name five authors you adore, whose works you will always buy, but who have never had a best-seller or a film/television adaptation of their work...ready...GO! See? Most of you can't. The writers' biz is like a more exaggerated version of life: the ones that do well do very well, and the rest we never hear from. In a further similarity, having talent is less likely to assure you success than any other factor; most of the famous authors have simply found a niche and churned out whatever that audience will buy in a rabid frenzy of fandom. Makes it hard for those of us that do it because we love it to get anywhere.

Let's step back a few paces. I come from a very creative family. My mother's side is very artistic, musically, and she herself is quite a whiz with a camera or a scrapbook layout. My father's family can build or craft anything you'd like, and he (like myself) has been known to be both a writer and an inventor at times. My brothers, though you may never see it until you talk to them, are some of the greatest storytellers I know, even if they occasionally have problems putting it into words. I was taught to read at a very early age, and I started writing because I love to read. I wanted to give something back. From this perspective, it seems what Daedaleus says about me is true, maybe I really am "inkblooded."

The extension of this is that I also have very creative friends. Like Daedaleus, most of them are writers. My second-favorite sparring partner is working on his own novel as he's helping me power through mine. A few of them are fellow poets, or scribblers of short stories. A few of them are bloggers. Many of them are also either musicians, or actors, or sculptors, or painters, or some unholy combination thereof. I am attracted to these kinds of people, because they always spur me to greater and greater forms of expression myself. I've always said that man is no closer to God than when he engages in the Master's favorite pastime, and creation is what abounds when I'm near this lot I've chosen.

Some of them frustrate me at times. One, in particular (who is probably reading this over his second pot of coffee for the day, saying "That sneaky motherfu--" between sips), has published at least 3 books of poetry (you should buy them) and a novel (you should buy it, too) since this time last year. He even conned me into a short film. He's constantly blogging about his work, tweeting about his work, screaming about his work, sharing his work over coffee (which I'm pretty sure replaced the blood in his circulatory system about twenty years ago), or otherwise pimping himself. It annoys the shit out of me.

Mind you, it's not that his work isn't good (it's amazing). And it's not that his work doesn't deserve to be pimped (it does). And it's not even that he shouldn't pimp his work (he should, because he's having to do all the marketing legwork himself). It's just that he's done all this, sold all these copies, been noticed by all these folks, gotten all these amazing reviews (a few of which I penned myself), and I can't even get out of the damn gate. I can't get a peer review, even in the draft stages, to save my life unless I beg people I've never physically met to read it through the vastness of the Great Aether. And I get SO. DAMN. SICK of feeling like a complete burden to all these people I get second opinions from. I mean, with as many creative people as I know, I should be able to find someone to read this crap I splatter across a page, right? I mean, without resorting to begging through blogs or forum-stalking, or something? Hell, even this blog was named for my tendency to do half the work, then sit back waiting for a pat on the head.

Part of it is that I've always had a problem with praise, and that's all I get from friends. Whether they genuinely like my work, or are kissing my beautiful, round, well-sculpted ass, I can never tell. I trust my friends to be honest, too, it's just that sometimes I think they're biased in subtle ways. So maybe this self-whoring to complete strangers is the best? Or maybe I should just give up on the thought that I could, should, would need external advice and just do what I got in this to do.

Tell fucking stories.

=Further Reading=

Silver Pen Scribe, blog home of Matthew Gill

StudioNashvegas, home of Mitch Canter, an old friend and "Nashville's best WordPress designer."

d20 Dad, blog of friend and former roomie/MtG opponent/co-editor Justin Burgin

Words of a Witless Lackey, blog of author Dennis Sharpe. Check out his Twitter feed and his books:

Re: The Rapture.

2011-05-22T07:16:00.001-05:00

...yup. Still here.

The Big Switch

2011-05-18T06:53:00.002-05:00

I switched over to Linux.

To understand the severity of this, you must first note that I grew up a "DOS baby." (For you young pups and non-techies, MS-DOS stands for "Microsoft's Disk Operating System", which was the precursor to Windows.) When my mother went to school for computer-aided drafting courses, she purchased a computer--our first as a family--with this curious program called Windows 3.1 on it. I was young, and knew from movies that Macintosh had GUI's, (graphical user interface) but all the cool stuff was done at a command prompt. Since Windows still had a DOS-dependency, we considered it a "sometimes" tool; just another shell instead of the full-fledged OS it has since become.

Instead, we mainly stayed in the comforting white-on-black screen of DOS, hacking in commands with a keyboard. No waiting for clicks to be registered, or the GUI to catch up; commands were executed as soon as the hardware allowed, as fast as you could type. My first programming experience was in BASIC, in a DOS-based text editor, before I was in the 4th grade. It did much to sow the seeds of geekdom into my life. Since then, my typing speed and knowledge of MS-DOS command prompts lets me use a Windows machine with a keyboard faster than most users can with a mouse.

So why switch? A few reasons. In an effort to cement their near-monopoly on the personal computing world, Microsoft has made sure each successive release of Windows is more "user-friendly." In actuality, what this means is that every other "stable" release (in my experience) is completely unusable:

3.1: Good

95: Terrible.

98: Functional

ME: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA--*deep breath*--AHAHAHAHA

XP: Stable, functional, amazing.

Vista: see "ME"

7: Gorgeous, but crippled.

In addition to this, while the command prompt interface still exists, it is largely incapable of the type of versatility I have come to expect from a Command Line Interface (CLI), is horrifically slow, and typically has issues conversing with modern hardware in logical ways. Furthermore, Windows 7 completely destroyed the Search feature, making it nearly impossible to find anything you're looking for in a hurry. While each release of Windows tries harder to help new users pick up computers easily, anyone who knows what they're doing in any capacity quickly finds themselves frustrated with Microsoft's designs, and the software's HAL9000-esque tendency to do whatever it wants, regardless of user input.

I have long been a proponent of educational aid for the masses when it comes to learning new things, but (in almost every instance) the phrase "user-friendly" has come mean a dumbing-down of the product to such a point that it is no longer customizable, even in non-tech fields (see my rant about the Dungeons & Dragons equivalent.) Instead of preventing users from making mistakes by accidentally--oh, gods!--customizing the product to their needs, why don't we just educate users in the proper ways to do so? Don't prevent new users from searching, teach them how to find what they're looking for. The latter is much less frustrating in the long run, and serves to give them a peek under the hood of the most commonly used machine on the planet today.

Perhaps that's the trouble, though. Perhaps they don't want you to be an empowered user; maybe they like the awkwardness of Windows, because they know you're used to it. Change is bad, right? I mean, you'd lose all your files, and couldn't communicate with other machines, and, of course, since Windows is so "user-friendly" (read: "crippled"), surely any other operating system would be too hard for you to understand, right?

Wrong.

Linux is different, but not inherently harder. Linux has (free) programs that handle most daily tasks undertaken by Windows users (internet, email, instant messaging, word processing, file management, video/music players) in most of the formats currently in use by Windows users. Linux has (free) programs that handle other things Windows users like to keep up with (recipe books, geneaology software, flashcards) but have a hard time finding. Linux also has many (free) programs that handle a great deal of things the majority of current Windows users currently don't use (photo/image editing, sound editing, video editing, computer animation, CAD software) but could love to tinker with if the opportunity arose, and it didn't put them out-of-pocket.

Ubuntu (and other Linux distros with GUIs) still use the "click this!" interfacing Windows users are so familiar with, but additionally support a powerful CLI terminal for advanced tasks. Ubuntu uses either (with Unity in the newest release) a top-mounted taskbar and gorgeous graphic side-bar, or (pre-Unity "classic" look) a top and bottom bar to help you manage your tasks. It uses four workstations (think your "desktop"), on which you can organize a variety of different tasks. Ubuntu has a "trash" icon similar to your "Recycle Bin", that works in the same way. Overall, it's just basically getting used to where stuff is.

No, scratch that. It's easier. Ubuntu has a program that browses, searches, downloads, and installs software from a great, large repository with one click--many programs you'll need are either already installed, or available here without the hassle of typical installations. Other installation methods do exist, but I'm not used to them enough to comment (hopefully I'll figure out this .tar.gz stuff soon), and I've only run into them on one occasion for an obscure program. Ubuntu comes standard with Mozilla's Firefox, one of the best overall browsers in existence, as well as an email client, social networking post-manager, and multi-protocol instant messaging client not only standard, but integrated into the taskbar at the top so you never even have to fiddle with them unless you feel like it. Ubuntu installs your programs where it needs to, while making them easy-to-locate in the OS menus, and the "My Documents" replacement (your "home" folder), is 15x better, easier to deal with, and less cluttered than what you're used to. Ubuntu can even run WINE, which lets you run many Windows applications on a virtual machine in other operating systems. It really just takes a little getting used to.

Did I mention that Ubuntu, and most of the software that runs in it, is completely free? I don't just mean "free as in speech", but also "free as in beer." Most users don't notice it, but the Windows OS costs them thousands of dollars over time. In addition to the costs of extra programming (which typically costs anywhere from $50 to $1500, depending on what you need), the Windows OS itself costs you between $100-$300 every time you buy a computer. You don't notice it because it's tacked onto the price of the computer itself, but if you've ever had to buy a new copy of Windows for your machine, or upgrade, then you know exactly what I'm talking about. Ubuntu is free.

Let me say that again.

Ubuntu. Is. Free.

Get that? You won't pay a dime for it. Period. You can download it for free from the website listed below, or you can have them mail you a CD for the cost of postage only. It's free. And most of the software on it? It's free, too. Not only is it free, most Linux software is open-source, as well. If you aren't sure what that means, it means that the code that makes your programming run is open to the public--to public proofreading, public improvement, public suggestion, and public scrutiny. What this does is allow for improvements to be made by drawing from a larger pool of expertise than just your in-house programmers. This is a big deal in the area of quality control, as it means that basically the whole world's eyes are on your programming ability.

Still not sure if Linux is right for you? Try it out. Ubuntu has many different options to choose from; you can install it inside Windows (via the Wubi installer)to get a feel for it, or you can put in bootable USB device or CD, restart your computer, and "Try Ubuntu without installing it." I recommend the latter option (I haven't tried the former), as it will let you poke around in full Ubuntu mode without actually changing anything at all on your physical computer. If you like what you see, call a local geek to back up all your old files (so you can use them with these shiny new programs) and help you install it on your machine. If you don't, you're literally not out anything but time.

Give it a chance. It's not as hard as it looks, and it's quite rewarding. As your knowledge of Linux grows, so will your capailities to customize the system to your liking. If I can do it, you can, too.

=Further Reading=

Get Ubuntu

Ubuntu Wiki

Ubuntu Forums

"Ubuntu Linux vs. Windows Vista The Battle for your Desktop" at InformationWeek

"Windows 7 vs. Ubuntu 9.10 - Strengths and Weaknesses", on ZDnet

"Windows vs Ubuntu - Why Switch?", on TALLblog

"Relationship Stress Test", a tale of teaching a significant other how to use Linux, on The Blog of Helios

--
In a bit of irony, I used Notepad on WINE to hold the seeds of this entry before I posted it to the Great Aether. I'm still new to this Linux thing, and I don't know where everything is, but I'm learning. And learning FAST

Writing and Rainpocalypse.

2011-05-18T04:41:00.004-05:00

Now that I've finally caught up on Daedaleus' blog, Silver Pen Scribe, it seems like a good time to update my own. I mean, I can't let him hog all the glory, and he has hit a fair number of posts lately. As I've been too busy to think lately, writing seems a good substitute. (I'm sure there are at least seven good author jokes in there.)

I have, through recent rainpocalyptic events, been staying with friends recently. I didn't make it home in time for Mother's Day, which upsets me, but I'm working on salvaging my mother's computer from the scrap heap. Perhaps that is gift enough to last me until my dear mother's birthday, when I will once again have to scramble like a madman on a newsie's salary to find something she'll enjoy.

The rain finally let up slightly, which is a great relief; It means I can put away the canoe blueprints as a means of grocery shopping. It got relatively bad there for a bit, though. Paducah was seeing record highs, and the creek down the way from my friends' home was lapping over the tops of the bridge nearly daily. After a visit from a few of our friends, we had to make a midnight run to the other side of knee-deep water to help them move their car away from the rising fury. Obligatory joke that starts with "So Jesus, the Devil, and a Hippie try to move a car..."

I ran my first "real" adventure the other day. I've DM'd in the past, but never with a set module. I'm prone to improvisation behind the screen, and oftentimes it leaves my players with a wonderful story, but few records as to the mechanics of their accomplishments. It isn't uncommon at all for me to eschew dice rolls except to appease them, seeing if they can think and role-pay their way out of problems. I decided it was time to be a real DM, though, and make the dice count. I chose the Pathfinder system, and found a suitable adventure for my players, who had expressed an interest in a full, level 1+ campaign experience. They are, by and large, inexperienced--we all are. Sure, most of my gaming group (which is actually two gaming groups that occasionally intersect) know how to play well enough to get by, but we tend to have short, one-off adventures, and never get to really spend time with our characters. Because of that, we never get to see progressions as well as we'd like, and I sought to change that. According to word-of-mouth and my Twitter mentions, I'm doing a decent job so far. I can only hope they have as much fun playing under me as I have playing under the evil-DM-grin of Daedaleus.

Speaking of which, old friend, if you're reading this we were compared to the Inklings the other day. I was told that it sounds as though my friends "share [my] immense imagination, knack for storytelling, penchant for writing, and generally awesome worldview." They went on to talk about how it seemed we collaborate and correspond on our various literary adventures (along with other friends), and it seemed like the Jackson Purchase area was due for a few dozen of our amazingly-thought-out plots to hit shelves. I was flattered to the point of near speechless-ness (which, if any of you know me, that is a helluva feat), but managed to squeak out that perhaps we were more like The Lovecraft Circle, in that we're mostly all verbose and mad, but whichever works.

=Further Reading=

Silver Pen Scribe, my friend Daedaleus' blog.
West Kentucky Flood on Blogspot
"The Inklings", at Tolkien-Online
"The Lovecraft Circle: Their Correspondence Changed the Course of Weird Fiction", by Larry Latham on Suite101

Morals and Might?

2011-05-05T14:51:00.005-05:00

In the wake of the death of Osama bin Laden, many people have celebrated. I have been asked repeatedly what my thoughts on this are, and they are unpopular. I believe that we should celebrate the victory we have achieved, but one should never celebrate death. All human life has an inherent worth, one it enters this world with, that may not be ignored. Those who squander their lives with evil deeds serve to show us how far we may tread from the righteous path. At least three places in the book of Ezekiel, the Lord tells us that He does not delight in the death of wicked men, and neither should we. As a friend of mine put it, one should mourn their life rather than celebrate their death.

In a related conversation, someone asked me if Christians should be soldiers; if the peaceful teachings of our Christ are contrary to the ways of a warrior. This was my response.

A warrior, a real one, mourns his enemies as well as he would any friend. He insists on taking non-violent measures to solve problems as often as he can, knowing that his martial prowess gives him an unfair advantage, as well as the fact that all life has an inherent meaning and worth in the eyes of their Creator. While he may kill, he does so when it is to defend the safety of others, or when there is no other choice. He will pray for his enemies, and seek for them to find the error of their ways before they find the point of his sword. If they do not, he will mourn their passing, briefly, and the fact that they have strayed so far from the good path. A true warrior despises war, but undertakes it so that it may ultimately come to an end--that peace may win out, and he will find himself unnecessary in the future...A warrior is a man of peace who willingly sacrifices his ability to achieve it for himself, so that others may know of it. Much like a doctor or a craftsman, he must unfortunately sometimes break a thing in order to fix it

In that regard, I don't believe the two are mutually exclusive. Your thoughts?

An Embarrassing Truth.

2011-04-19T22:08:00.003-05:00

When I posted earlier in the year about writer's block, I took an extreme step to rectify it. I've been hesitant to share it, as it's not my normal fare, but I simply *had* to get something on a page. A friend challenged me, when she heard about this, to post one of the exercises I used. Here, without a title, are the lyrics to the first complete, coherent rap I've ever written.

Don't laugh. =P

I walk into the club in a three-piece,
Haters starin’,
but when I’m walkin’ out,
I’m in the bush like Garen.
Bitches like the look of me
and my personality
they buy all my drinks
from my iced tea to Hennessy
They all want a piece of me,
this cake ain’t no lie
Class gets you ass
piled up to the sky,
I ain’t even gotta try,
just open up my parsel-mouth
‘cuz I’m a silver-tongued serpent,
of this there is no doubt.
But I never spit game that ain’t based in truth,
like Obi-Wan, it just depends on your point of view,
and from my view of you
I can tell we ain’t square,
You need more proof?
Just check out this hair--
it’s luxurious
and like King T,
all you know is I’m “mysturrious”
Women all love me,
I’m artistic and Suavé, like Rico
and on the karaoke mic
I croon ‘em like Dino.
I spit a lot of fire,
but it ain’t without cause,
got bambinas in my lap
like I was Santa Claus
grantin’ Christmas wishes
while I peel off their stockings
Body of Apollo,
with the brain of Stephen Hawking
And if that weren’t enough
to keep your ladies gawking,
My vocabulary is plain damn shocking,
It’s my mastery of language
that keeps the ladies flocking
My poetic skills keep chastity belts unlocking
and bedposts rocking--
I’m a cunning linguist
and they like the way I get down
oral oratorial master of the verb and noun
makin’ your nose red, ‘cuz you’sa fuckin’ clown,
single-handedly keepin’ your bed lookin’ like a ghost town,
while all your best ladies line up just to lie down.
Dr. House’s rule of grammar: Everybody lies.
and in the end, sad it seems, everyody dies.
It’s the time in-between
that’s this actor’s scene.
If all the world’s a stage, and people just players,
I’m goin’ out for the lead, and y’all can play the haters.

The Song-Thief

2011-04-13T00:11:00.005-05:00

For my friend at SilverPenScribe

The Lonely Goat was a quiet little tavern in a quiet little town. The bar was lit by lantern-light, and the fireplace granted the only other appreciably source of illumination on this dimly lit winter's night. Though the wind outside howled like a starving winterworg pack, the hearth kept the inn warm enough for conversation and relaxation, a boon so far away from “proper” civilization. And though the interior was dark, the decorations didn't suffer for it; one didn't need more than candlelight to see the beautiful barwenches' soft curves floating carelessly in dances of servitude to customers lusting after a warm bowl of porridge and a well-shaped backside. This tiny hamlet didn't have much in the way of industry or culture, but the farmers produced more than hardy crops.

In fact, this little tavern kept the town alive during the harsh winters. Huddled for warmth, most of the townsfolk spent most of their days socializing and drinking, only going home to sleep. The few travelers that passed through stopped here for the waitresses and mead, both reportedly the best for miles. Today, the handful of half-drunk patrons in the building were gazing like half-dead cattle at the bottom of their flagons, waiting for day's end. That is, until the door opened.

Most doors open with a creak, a whine, a groan. This one did not. Mind you, this was not the fault of Bulwyf the Carpenter, who crafted the door; nor was this soundless occasion the work of Hrothbrand the Smith, who fashioned the hinges. This soundless ingress was caused by the cloaked figure opening it. All sound around him dimmed; even his footfalls were scarce as angels' breaths. The grey figure glided effortlessly across the floor to a chair in the corner, followed closely by a black-and-white Elkhound. A white-gloved hand carefully lifted a broad-brimmed blue hat and tossed it to the table with a dextrous flip. Pulling the chair back, the man lowered his bag to the ground. The Elkhound lay at his feet under the table, wagging his tail in time to a beat no other ear could hear. The man tugged off his gloves and tucked them into his leather belt, and pushed his dark blonde braids behind his ear. Adjusting the black patch over his left eye, he reached slowly into the bag at his feet. He began to strum the lyre it produced, matching the rhythm of his hound.

Copper coins flew across the bar into the hat upon the table. Patrons pushed back their chairs, pulling waitresses into dances. Poetry and song filled the air, as the man sang of great deeds and heroes of ancient days. The tavern erupted in song and appreciation, cares melting away as the snows would in spring. The tempo changed, and the dancing subsided. The lyrics shifted to those of lost loves and broken hearts, and the skald's voice receded like the tide, leaving nothing but a whisper that spoke of experience and truth. The hound lowered his head to his paws, and his tail lowered.

The song was cut short by an abrupt slam—the sound the doors should have made earlier—as the heavy tromp of boots splashed mud upon the hardwood floor. A massive orc, clad in furs and armor, clearly out of breath, screamed a harsh greeting into the tavern. “Where is the song-thief? Give him to me, and you all will live.”

A honey-sweet voice came from the corner. “Gentle soul, come! Have a seat by me, and we'll discuss your grievances. I'll even pay for your ale.”

“Song-thief! You stole from my tribesmen! Those goods were worth three times the price you paid, and--”

“And your chieftain agreed to that price.” The blue-and-grey clad gentleman returned his lyre to its proper place, dropping his boots to the floor. “I'm not in the habit of breaking business transactions simply because someone raises their voice. I ask you again, please sit, and we shall rectify this situation.”

“You are a swine! And your dog shall roast on our spit tonight if you do not return what you have stolen!”

“You mean, dearest friend, what I rightfully purchased. I, Faraldir Brísi, am an honest man. I'll tell you what: my goods are stored with my horse, in the stables. We'll go and fetch them now, since you feel I've wronged you so. You can take what I bought from you, and you can even keep the money I paid, provided you leave these lovely people to the fun they were having only moments ago. Is that a fair deal, Warrior-born?”

“All of it! No tricks.”

“No tricks.”

Brísi ordered the orc a drink for his troubles, and the pair walked out, the bard's arm around the warrior's shoulders. Silence stood inside the hall as without; only the snow hitting the shutters sounded over the crackle of the fire. Within moments, Brísi returned, holding a fresh shank of meat. Tossing it under the table, he scratched his faithful companion's ears. “Magni, my boy, you'll eat good tonight.”

Homesteading

2011-03-26T17:15:00.005-05:00

Last year, my father decided that we needed chickens. We built a chicken coop, ordered two breeds (Columbian Wyandottes and Black Australorps), and got to it. Since about Thanksgiving, we've had a steady supply of the most delicious eggs I've ever had the pleasure of frying, scrambling, baking, or hard-boiling. The roosters crow every morning. And every night. And every time they get cocky. And everytime they think you've forgotten about them. The hens clucking is almost meditative, and they are much more beautiful creatures than I initially expected them to be. We also planted a garden, but due to soil conditions and weather, that went over like the Hindenburg.

This year, we're replanting--today we bought asparagus, strawberries, and blueberries--and watching our flock strut about their pen. My brother has started raising rabbits, a venture that seems like it may keep us in stew meat and enough fur and skins to keep a hobbyist happy. Now we're considering another addition: bees.

When we first talked about it, my father was the only one to jump to my side of the argument. "Daddy J used to keep bees out here," he said. "It's not that hard, and we all like honey." Since then, between discussions of pollinating all our lovely flowers and fruit trees, the rising cost of honey, the rapid disappearance of honeybees worldwide, and the profit one can turn from beeswax, only my mother remains unconvinced.

I've never been a huge fan of insects. I'm not afraid of them, as I am spiders, they just don't appeal to me. Bees, however, are gorgeous creatures. Their yellow-on-black bodies fill the sky with color, and their buzzing is almost zen-like in nature. I've been stung by them before, and it's much less annoying than a wasp or hornet sting, so I think I'll manage there (especially with proper equipment). I'm excited about seeing these interesting creatures up close, eating fresh honey (with all the health benefits thereof), and harvesting beeswax so I can finally start making candles.

Dad knows someone, an apiculture genius of some sort, that will help us get started. We plan on hand-crafting all the hives to save a little money there, as well. We haven't gotten a definite start date yet, and don't even know what all it entails, but this seems to be the next big step in our homesteading, right before pigs and dairy stock.

The rising cost of both food and oil (shooting transportation costs through the roof) shows through in the supermarket. All around the country people are attempting to be more self-sufficient to save a few dollars in this recession. I think there's more to it than that, though. I think that every family that starts a garden to help with their food bill, every college neo-hippie raising a pair of chicks in an Eglu on the roof of their apartment building, every rural amateur that says "Hey, we can handle a goat..."--each of these people are bringing us back to a golden age of interconnectivity.

It's not just that you can save money by growing your own, it's that you get a feeling of accomplishment when you do, and that pride quickly distills into humility when you realize that you can help others as much as you've helped yourself. Dad's original plan was to sell our cage-free, grain fed chickens' eggs for a few dollars a dozen, and he still may. But so far, the excess has gone to neighbors I'm not sure we've met before, to family, to friends, and sometimes to strangers. Giving away the excess we produce not only saves someone else money, but it cements friendships, feeds the needy, and brings us closer together. Taking a dozen eggs to a neighbor you don't know well opens the door for conversation, moving them into a dearer place in your life. Furthermore, when or if they begin to do something similar, they're likely to remember the sharing of your wealth and reciprocate.

This is in direct contrast to, say, internet social media, where the focus isn't so much about others but on our own ego. Facebook, Twitter, and 4Squared are all great if you genuinely use them to keep in touch, but more often than not, we find our desire to involve ourselves in another's life easily placated by a poke or a follow. Social networking is slowly making us less social; it gives the appearance of caring about people with literally the least amount of effort actually expended, which defeats the purpose.

Am I suggesting we all give up our computers and live like filthy hippies? Of course not; you couldn't read my blog, and hippies are disgusting, vile creatures. What I am saying, though, is that as counter-intuitive as it may seem, self-reliance and independence go further to cement our social ties than all the internet-inspired interconnectivity of the modern era.

Don't believe me? Come see me in a year. We'll talk about it over a farm fresh meal and a bottle of homemade mead. Suck on that, Twitter.

On Fear..

2011-03-22T17:29:00.002-05:00

Fear will always exist. No one is truly, completely fearless; to be fearless is to be foolish. What matters isn't to release fear, but to weigh it against what you seek to gain and hold to that goal, through the pain and the anguish and the wrenched bones and shattered teeth. Hold fear dear, for it is what gives your actions meaning--the greater the fear, the greater we must be to overcome it. Without fear, life has no challenges; there is nothing to overcome, no victories to be had. Cradle your fear, like you cradle your mortality--keep it close to you, enough to smell it, to know it's there, waiting for you to falter from your path. Keep it close enough to you that when you triumph, it can taste your victory, and it can feel its defeat.

-M..

Great Joys of Life, Pt. II: Women

2011-03-11T00:13:00.003-06:00

"Who does not love wine, women, and song, remains a fool his whole life long."

They're snarky, hateful, spiteful, argumentative, stubborn, loud, stupid, ignorant, and evil.

And yet, despite all these flaws, men are still loved by women. You probably thought I was going somewhere else with that, but it's true. I mean, women can be all those things, too. In fact, they're better at them than men. The point is that they're also many, many other wonderful things. Women are also smart, beautiful, stylish, funny, enchanting, and captivating. That's why we put up with them.

Ville Valo said "Women are always beautiful." I have to agree. Even at their fiery-eyed, viper-tongued, she-beast worst, they're the most utterly gorgeous creatures crafted by the Maker. Their mere presence in a room changes the atmosphere, charging it with a magic usually reserved for glorious sunrises and the blossoming of flowers after a rainstorm. When they smile, the room floods with beauty. When they cry, it's as though the very sky weeps. When they hug, you are truly wrapped in the arms of love.

I haven't had the best track record with women, honestly. I've dated the most motley assortment of liars, cheats, psychopaths, and sluts imaginable. They've been terrible to me, as I'm sure they feel I have been to them, and have caused me a great deal of trouble and strife (which, fittingly enough, was once Cockney slang for "wife"). I can't trust them as far as I can throw them, and yet I routinely delight in their presence. Why? Because they're captivating.

The song "Pretty Women" from Sweeny Todd illustrates this point nicely, as do any of the ten thousand other songs written to proclaim their beauty. Poetry was, I'm quite positive, invented to spread stories of their grace, loveliness, and heartbreaking tendencies. As Futurama pointed out, "All of civilization was just an attempt to impress the opposite sex." I am, for all the trouble it brings me, addicted to women: their presence, their warmth, their forms, their functions, and their faults. Each one of them is gorgeous in a unique way, so long as they stay true to themselves. And as much as they might be the cause of many of man's problems, they're also a solution to a great many. We love you, ladies.

"Next to the wound, what women make best is the bandage."

Great Joys of Life, Pt. I: Wine

2011-02-12T16:10:00.009-06:00

"Who does not love wine, women, and song, remains a fool his whole life long."

I was challenged to write a three-part entry about three of the best things in life (besides Conan's answer, of course). I'll begin my discourse on booze, broads, and ballads with my thoughts on the libations that lubricate loquation.

I am a fan of alcohol. Not for its own sake, mind you, but rather as a medium through which to share pleasurable experiences. It is the air through which conversation floats. It is the blood shared by friends, and the libation of the gods. It eases interactions with strangers, giving common ground, and is the feeling of familiarity that hangs around old friends like clouds of smoke hugging a freight train.

My mother, God love her precious soul, is vehemently opposed to the consumption of any sort of spirit, neglecting to take note that they're named after the things they raise and embolden. She refers to wine left in proper conditions as "likker", just as she does with a wonderful scotch, or a full-bodied bourbon, or a crisp vodka, which makes me wonder exactly where I got this taste for the fullness of flavor and experience I enjoy in my booze. I wish there were a way to show my mother that in alcohol, one may find company, discourse, philosophy, joy, or truth. That the addition of a libation to even the most mundane circumstances, given the right group of people, will heighten the mood of the evening--not simply through chemistry and neuron interaction, but through an indescribable spiritual and mental cognizance of the simple greatness of now.

Through the proper application of good company (old friends or new) and alcohol, one may recite the past without dwelling on it, dream of the future without limit, and unlock the complete potential of the very moment one is standing in. You talk about yourself more, but the facts you give tell more about yourself. You listen more intently than you would normally, and laugh at jokes without reservation. Wine is both the glue that binds new friendships and the acetone that dissolves inhibitions.

The drink changes the perception of the man, as well. If I order a whiskey, I'm treated with the respect afforded a paragon of manhood, gruff but with taste. When I order a martini ("Vodka martini, stirred lightly, and make it a Dickens."), suddenly all the prettiest girls in the bar take notice of me, whatever I'm wearing. It works for either gender; when a woman drinks wine, I see her as either a sophisticate or a lightweight, depending on the type and situation. When she orders a scotch neat, however, she becomes a hardass, someone I'm more likely to swap war stories with than ice-breaking anecdotes. Both women are attractive, they're just so in different ways.

It should be noted at this point that I am not an advocate of drunkenness. It dulls the wit, the senses, and the ability to stand correctly. Drunkenness is the theft of class and sophistication, and should only be undertaken in the safest of circumstances with people that already love you enough to deal with it. Drunkenness should be a consequence and never, ever an intent. It isn't enjoyable to stumble haphazardly about, drooling on oneself, throwing out your worst game. If it happens in the course of an evening, that's fine--don't seek it. It marks you as someone bereft of both class and good sense.

Whatever the reason, whatever the drink, a life without a sip now and then seems like it's missing something. As Franklin said, "Beer is proof that God loves us, and wants us to be happy." He also, in His infinite wisdom, created wine--something man simply discovered and refined. Whiskey is a form of liquid grain storage with pleasant flavor and social side-effects. Alcohol lets you tell great stories, and make great new ones. Drink responsibly.

"Burgundy makes you think of silly things,

Bordeaux makes you talk of them,

and Champagne makes you do them."

Writer's Block

2011-02-10T19:34:00.002-06:00

This post is supposed to be about writer's block in an effort to help me get past it. I'm not sure it'll work, as I can't currently think of anything to write about it, oddly enough. I want to curse at writer's block, to shake my fist at it, to scream at the top of my lungs and impale it with my quill...but getting frustrated at writer's block is like punching a wall harder because it hurt your hand the first time.

All artists suffer from some kind of bleh period, don't they? Don't all writers fall to this from time to time? Don't artists put down their pencils and brushes in disgust as musicians fling sheet music into the air? How do they beat it, then? Do they continue in their art, making crap until good comes back out, like running warm water through the tap? Do they take a break, and if so, how do they remember to come back? How do you know when you beat it?

Really, I think at the heart of my particular predicament is the idea that nobody cares what I write anyhow. This sense of futility, that I'm the only one that enjoys my writing, saps that very joy from it, leaving me with nothing. And I'm not confident enough to ask people to read my writing, or critique it, or ask if they enjoy it, because I'm actually pretty self-conscious about it. Which is truly sad, as it's one of the few things I think I do well. Writing and cooking. And I guess unmentionables, too, but how pathetic can a person be if even their best isn't good enough for them? Am I a perfectionist? Or do I just hate myself so much I can't see the value of my work? Or, worse yet, what if my work is terrible? It's still the best I can do. I've fancied myself a writer my whole life, and if I can't do that right, what's left?

I'm not sure how many people would follow me on a literary adventure. I don't know if, when I set out on this road, anyone will be there to hear my minstrels sing of my glory, if indeed there is any glory to be found. Should I ask people to accompany me? Should I just journey for myself, and at the end of the road, look back to see if anyone came?

I don't know anymore.

What magical powers do you possess?

2011-02-05T11:25:00.001-06:00

I can quiet crying babies, feed an army for less than $100, fit things in interdimensional spaces in already-full trunks, ninja-fight rabid vampire monkeys, and make sweet tea.

Ask me anything you'd like. Anything at all.

Waiting at the River

2010-10-20T20:12:00.000-05:00

Today, I helped my grandmother on her last journey. We walked her to the gravesite, and stood silently, reflecting. I watched my grandfather's face as said goodbye to his wife of nearly 55 years, a love that never dimmed. My mother and her siblings held one another as they patted her hands in the funeral home. I thought about all the things I'd learned from her.

You see, my grandmother taught me to cook. A little, at least. I grew up underfoot in her restaurant, she showed me how to make hamburger patties and chop onions. She ate the pretend food I made in my little kitchen in the back. She taught me to make milkshakes and banana splits.

She also taught me a fair bit about music. If there were five seconds in a row that my grandmother wasn't singing, they were sometime in her sleep. Any sentence, word, phrase, or glance reminded her of a song, and I swear she knew every lyric to every song written before 1970. That's not even counting the time she sang with her husband in gospel quartets. That's an entirely different set of awesome.

Mostly, though, she taught me about what the word "Christian" really means. They took us, she and Papa, to church every Sunday. She talked about Jesus as often as she talked to Him. Her every action was full of kindness, and I never heard a harsh word come out of her mouth. Granted, she got onto us plenty. We misbehaved like mad. But everything she said, even when she was trying to get our attention, was out of love. Everything she did, she did to help others. She'd put her own aches and pains and heart-hurts aside and ask other people, "what do you need? what can I do?" She was truly Christ-like, in ways I can never quite compare to.

Sitting there in the chapel pew, I heard the speakers crackle. My grandmother's voice flooded the room. She sang a song I'd heard her sing so many times in the past, but this time, it was different. "I'll be waiting at the river for you." This time, she meant it.Many people ask why I believe what I believe. I have plenty of reasons, but there's another to add to the list. Granny said she'd be there. And I never heard Granny lie.

These Days.

2010-08-08T14:26:00.002-05:00

Last night, I attended a book release party in celebration of a friend's work. I must admit a twinge of trepidation, as I knew I tend not to get that "I fit in!" vibe around his typical entourage. Every time I hang out with these people, I feel like I'm an 8th grader loitering around the high schoolers' lockers, trying to catch cool as though it were a stomach virus. The sheer amount of artistic talent contained within these people is enough to power a small state for weeks on end (if you add in the amount of coffee and cigarettes they consume as possible energy sources, it becomes decades), and their almost cliché attitudes about life and art and hardship make you realize exactly where the stereotypes come from. Walking among these people is like stepping into an early-90's graphic novel, and you never really know what to do with yourself once you're there.

The party was astounding. There were readings from the book, by the author and his friends. A band played what I can only describe as the least likely, yet most beautiful musical style for the occasion, as bluegrass emanated from the kind of guys you expect to see at a skate park or tattoo parlor. The first selection presented was by a fabulously blue (literally) man on stilts, and Pablo Neruda's poetry made a cameo while waiting on repaired guitar strings. An artist in a TMNT hoodie gave her views on social media, something that's been gnawing at me since before Facebook boomed into the ever-present nonsense it has become, back when people were still taking shaky, blurred photos for their Myspace pages. An entertainer from NY struck out with part of the crowd, but was lauded as a genius by our little corner, who chuckled uncontrollably as he played Tool on the uke and told jokes too big for such a small-minded small-town crowd.

At one point during the evening, just after food was served, the man of the hour took me aside. He said he had an opening in the program for the evening, a slot he'd like me to fill with a reading. "I know you're a performer," he said, "and I wanted to give you a chance to say something tonight." Defensive and unsure, I reminded him that I hadn't yet finished reading his book, and that I couldn't pick a piece from it to present. "You can do something of yours, if you want. Or something you enjoy. Anything, really. Just, get up there and say what you want to."

I agreed, and excused myself to finish dining, to think on what I would say. A million thoughts rushed through my head. Panic pinned me to my chair, and I demanded a hug from a beauty at the table. I nibbled at pizza and spinach dip, and my heart sank.

I'm proud of him, you see. This author has worked so hard for so long on so many things, and with such raw talent, that to see him succeed is utterly amazing. However, this "my friend is epic" vibe is tempered with the very real knowledge that I have done nothing worthwhile. There exists no tangible record of my successes, only my failures. I have dabbled in so many hobbies and projects and wasted so much creative time, and this whole ordeal (much as I am proud of him, mind you) is like uncorking a bottle of bitter wine, made from the most sour grapes. I worried, therefore, that no matter what I did, or what I said behind that microphone, that it would echo these thoughts. And I just couldn't have that, not on his big day.

So, I panicked. Clearly, I couldn't read any of my old stuff; I didn't bring any, and I use poetry as a way to get thoughts out of my head, so I don't keep the poems in there once they're written. I didn't want to read one of the selections from the book, because I didn't know what other people were going to do later in the evening, and didn't want to step on any toes. Besides, I didn't know which ones I liked; I had only read a handful of pages before life got the better of my quiet time, and I had to put the book down for a bit. I panicked again. What does one writer say to another? I asked myself. What common ground do all poets share?

I borrowed a pen from the lovely lady in the Ninja Turtle sweatshirt, and some paper from the gentleman who brought us an interpretation of Neruda's literary voice, and started scribbling. I stood up in front of a room (well, a patio, really) of artists, in the artsiest district of the region, nervous as a whore in church. I spoke, and they listened. And it was good.

For the first time, my careers as a writer and a performer came together. My artistic debut, the first performance of my work by its author, wasn't a complete failure. It felt good, whether or not it was received that way (for I ignored everything but the light and the page). It felt like I was actually doing something again. And I think this is the start of my own personal renaissance.

You can read my friend's blog here, and you can purchase his book, The Years Distilled, on Amazon.com

DEAR CHRISTIANS.

2010-06-11T13:18:00.000-05:00

Salve and Shalom and Salaam and Salutations to you, brethren and sistren!

Over the past few months and years, I have noticed a few things that should concern those who share my faith. I wished to write about them where the greatest number of people would see them, thus, Facebook. I invite everyone who reads this to share this with any and all of their Christian friends by linking back to it here.

First, I would like to stress that this letter is intended for my fellow Christians. As such, it will be written from a Christian perspective, one that treats matters of the Christian faith as fact rather than opinion. Please be forewarned that the King James version of the Christian Bible will be used as both a religious and historic source text throughout, as that is its purpose within the Christian faith. If you are a Christian, and you are reading this, and you cannot abide by that interpretation, please continue reading, as I have a point to make about that in a moment.

Secondly, since I am discussing Christian issues with Christian people, I would request that any non-Christians refrain from posting non-constructive comments in the Comment section. This is not to say that I don't love all my Jewish/Muslim/Wiccan/Buddhist/Astaru/Hindu/Taoist/Atheist/Agnostic/Hellenic/Mithraic/Shinto/Zoroastrian/Pastafarian/etc. friends, nor should it suggest I'm not interested in your religion (or lack thereof) and discussing it with you in a civil, intelligent manner. It simply means that today is not a day where I'll be bringing religiosity to the fuzzy-wuzzies or discussing your opinions in public; instead, today I am literally preaching to the choir. My intent with this note is to make us people you'd rather hang out and less like people you want to strangle, so I'm doing you a solid here. Please return the favor.

Thirdly, and I cannot stress this enough, I am not talking to all Christians here. Only some. Hopefully not even a majority. When in doubt, ask yourself "Am I a good Christian?" If your answer is "No." I'm probably not talking to you. If your answer is "Yes," please, in the name of all that is holy and sacred, keep reading. If you still aren't sure, continue reading anyway, and see if any of the points I make apply to you.

Now that we've got the legalese out of the way, let's have a fireside, shall we?

--M. Willie

Dear Christians:

YOUR BIBLE IS LAW:Period. I am sick to death of hearing "I'm a Christian, but I don't believe Jesus is God's Son." or "I'm a Christian, but I don't believe in Hell/I believe everyone goes to Heaven." or "I'm a Christian, but I believe there is more than one path to Heaven." Sad news, folks: if you've said any of that YOU'RE IN THE WRONG RELIGION. There is no room in this faith for someone that non-committal. Revelation 3:16 is pretty clear on this point--"Therefore, because you were lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spew you out of my mouth." Your Bible, the law of your faith as a Christian, states the rules in simple terms: "I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me." (John 14:6) That means that, to a certain extent, it is AGAINST YOUR RELIGION to be open-minded and pluralistic. What do we find in the second chapter of Exodus? "I am the LORD thy God, which have brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. Thou shalt have no other gods before me...for I, the LORD thy God am a jealous god." If you can't handle the idea that the LORD thy God should be your first love, and that Christ Himself is the only path to the Father, go find you another, more forgiving religion. We have stuff to do over here.

REMEMBER THE COMMANDMENTS: Christ said "You shall love the Lord thy God with all thy heart...[and] love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets." (Matthew 22:37-40) How many of you keep even one of those rules? More on this in a moment.

STOP THIS DENOMINATIONAL NONSENSE:At least in public. I don't care how righteous you think you are, telling me I'm going to hell in front of a non-believer we're both trying to minister to does nothing but confuse everybody involved and piss me off. Apparently, according to the different denominations, I'm going to burn for eternity in Hell because I believe that God performs miracles, hang out with non-believers, wasn't baptised according to a certain script that's older than most fossil records, or because I love people they think I should hate. This is nonsense. How much further could we expand the Kingdom if we'd all just shut the frakk up and preach? We all follow the same God, we all preach the same Christ, why are we getting hung up on whether or not women are "good enough" to teach gospel, or how many songs you have to sing to get God's attention, or whether or not musical instruments are "sinful" in worship and contraceptives are a heinous sin? Let's pick the stuff we all agree on (y'know, that little book I was talking about earlier?) and stick to that in public. If you want to tell me why I'm going to burn for all eternity, where there is weeping, and gnashing of teeth, and the worm dieth not, at least have the kindness to do it in private, so we aren't making Christianity look like a bunch of headbutting rams with no brains to share between them, 'kay?

YOU AREN'T SAVED BY WORKS, SO STOP SAYING YOU ARE:i hate this self-righteous crap. It serves no one. Really. Baptism doesn't save your soul, donating money doesn't save your soul, feeding the homeless doesn't save your soul. You can't earn your way into Heaven. You can't. It's impossible. Remember the story of the man who tried to buy the Holy Spirit from the Apostles? Tried to pay his way into God's grace? Doesn't work like that. No ritual, no selfless act, no amount of "conversions" are going to get you in with the Big Guy. Just faith. Let me say that again: ONLY FAITH. How do I know this? because I know Galatians 2:16, Titus 3:5, and Ephesians 2:8-9 ("For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God not of works, lest any man should boast."). It is this faith that has caused God to give us, freely, something we could never earn on our own, for "all have sinned and come short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23). None of this is to say we shouldn't do good things--James 2:17 reminds us that "...faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone."--it's just to say that we should not do good things assuming they're a replacement for faith in Christ. Feeding the homeless will not get you into Heaven if you have no faith, but it will show others God's love if you do. Think about it.

JUST BECAUSE YOU BELIEVE HOMOSEXUALITY IS WRONG DOES NOT MAKE HOMOPHOBIA RIGHT:This is something the majority of Christendom fails to understand. The church at large is split somewhat on this issue, but that's not what matters here. What matters here is individual hearts. If you believe (as I do, using scriptural backing from both halves of the Bible) that homosexuality is a sin, that's your business. It does not give you a license to discriminate against homosexuals in any capacity, however. It does not you a "get out of showing them God's love free" card, either. Regardless of your personal feelings on the matter, homosexuals are still God's children, and we should show them the love, respect, and kindness that all God's children deserve. They aren't contagious; you can't catch "teh ghey" by being around them, or letting them hug you, or eating at the same restaurants as them. You can't be "turned" by drinking from a water fountain they've used. It's just as stupid as thinking you'll become an alcoholic if you share a lollipop with one, or that you'll turn into a ginger if a redhead with freckles kisses you on the cheek. And, ultimately, you have no business at all trying to butt into someone else's private life.Your only job is to show them God's love. Period. Not to tear them down, or make fun of them, or hate them, or discriminate against them. Judge not, or you'll get the same. Leave them to work it out with God, and you just treat them like the people they are.

REPRESSION DOES NOT EQUAL STRENGTH OF CHARACTER:If you genuinely believe that you shouldn't hang out in bars, because that's too much of a temptation, that's fine. But if you think that front huggin' leads to lusty baby-makin', you have more problems than can be worked out in 12 steps. I'm not sure if any of you realize this or not, but repressing your desires without learning to really deal with them in a healthy manner is like forgetting you left the pressure cooker on. The more you ignore temptation instead of confronting it, the worse that temptation will get, and the less stimulus will be needed to set it off. I'm not telling you to give in to your animal desires. I'm telling you to have the strength of character to maintain your convictions no matter what. If you can't control yourself at a restaurant that serves alcohol, or have to resort to "side hugging" to keep your carnal impulses in check, you need to re-evaluate your life a little. If you can go out to dinner with friends, though, who are all ordering cocktails, and you can convince yourself a Diet Coke is better for you, you've just reinforced your convictions, and made that temptation easier to deal with in the future. Don't go crazy with it, know your limits, but understand that fleeing from temptation takes a lot less strength than enduring it. And as long as you'll live, temptation will too--will you run all your life? Or will you be strong, like your Savior, and live your life on your terms?

YOU CAN LOVE PEOPLE WITHOUT AGREEING WITH THEM:Simple enough. Just because you're a Christian doesn't mean you have to treat Muslims or Jews or Buddhists or Unitarians or Scientologists like second-class citizens. God loves everyone, and you should too. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight. Deal with it. Racism, religious intolerance, sexual discrimination--all these things are hallmarks of a lack of God's love. And if you aren't a beacon of God's love, you're doin' it wrong.

STOP TALKING CRAP ABOUT THE JEWS:I don't know if you guys have noticed, or not, but Jesus? He was totally Jewish. Moses was, too. Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob...you get the idea. It makes me sick, too, because in the Middle Ages, Jews were banned from so many countries, and yet Christ was everywhere (I guess it's because they made Him look Nordic, with a patrician nose, and paled Him up a lot.) But srsly, gaiz, Jesus was a Jew. He kept the law. He studied the prophets. YOUR. SAVIOUR. WAS. A. JEW. So let's be nice to them, 'kay? Oh, and all this "let's blame them for the crucifixion" stuff? We can cut that shit out, too. Was it their fault? Sure. Should we hold it against them? No. Christ, as He was dying from blood loss, asphyxiation, and heartbreak, forgave them. We should too. Old news, water under the bridge, let's get together an play nice. Since we're technically a sect of their religion, let's learn about them while we're at it; we can discover more of our history that way.

JESUS WAS NOT A PUSSY.: And I don't care if you like that word or not, I'm using it. I'm sick of people painting pictures of MY JESUS as some weak, scrawny, blonde, 98-pound weakling who was nice to everybody. You wanna know what Jesus was really like? Let's take a look! First off, given His heritage (a genealogy is given in the Bible, if you'd care to check), we can determine He was very Israeli, complete with a Middle-Eastern skin tone, a Jewish nose, and probably dark, curly, probably coarse hair. Since His earthly father was a carpenter, and the customs of the day would have Him working at His father's trade, we can assume Christ worked with a fair amount of lumber. These were the days before Ace Hardware and Home Depot, so I'm also going out on a limb here, and I'm going to assume that Jesus was a buff dude. I can also safely assume He was probably at least slightly barrel-chested; a quick glance shows that men who gain muscle bodybuilding are ripped, but men who gain natural muscle through work are shaped like a keg, generally speaking. He had a beard and long hair, which we can safely assume because of the Jewish mitzvot against cutting the corners of the beard and the sides of the head, and we can assume He also dressed like a Jew: that the "hem of His garment" was probably the fringe, or even a tzitzit from His tallit. Now, as for Jesus being this super-meek, super-mild, Clark Kent sort of guy? Stow that. Christ overturned tables, violently, and chased moneychangers around with a makeshift whip because He got SO HEATED about the moneychangers in the Temple. Christ got miffed at a fig tree and told it to die because it didn't have fruit for Him to eat, even though it was the right season. Christ stood up and told the wind and the waves to "STFU" because He was trying to sleep, and all the pre-pubescent whining of the wussy sailors woke Him up. Christ yelled at the religious authority constantly because they were doin' it all wrong. So, you go ahead and paint my Jesus in a robe with bitty muscles and this Clark Kent look on His face if you want, but that's not the Messiah I worship. Mine could tear you apart quicker than Chuck Norris on speed, but He chooses not to, 'cuz He'd rather love you and feed you and make you feel better about yourself. And, to me, that's the best kind of strength there is.

YOU SHOULDN'T BE A PUSSY, EITHER!:A corollary to the previous point, it is important to note that Christians should not be pushovers. We are Christian because that word means we belong to Him, and we're supposed to be like Him. We're supposed to be Christ-like. If Christ wasn't a pussy, why are so many Christians? We sit back and let everybody push us over, like a reed in the wind. That's not how we were designed! We are a Kingdom of Kings, and Priests, and Warriors! We are to be like Christ--powerful, yet merciful; awe-inspiring, yet gentle; fearsome to behold, but kind to those who need it. We are to be like Aslan, the Lion--we are not meant to be safe, we are not meant to be nice, but we are meant to be GOOD. Learn the difference, and walk with a swagger in your step. You aren't some lowly peon, you are a Child of God, adopted into the family of the Creator of the Universe, and you should ACT LIKE IT. Stop acting like spoiled, scared children! Get out there and be men and women of God! Men and women who cause hope in the hopeless and fear in the evil hearts and light in the darkest places! BE POWERFUL. STOP BEING PUSHOVERS. Quit being Clark Kent and start being Superman! You are heirs to the most powerful Kingdom in creation, ACT LIKE IT.

And, above all else, stop giving the rest of us a bad name. Some of us are really trying to make the world a better place. Stop working against us, and start doing your damned jobs.

"The unanimous Declaration..."

2010-03-22T04:12:00.009-05:00

I'd like to share a bit of our nation's founding with you today. I do this to reflect on what has become an ignorance of the nature of our fine country and the way it was meant to operate by the Founding Fathers. I will be quoting extensively from the Declaration of Independence, described as "the unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America," which can be found in public domain in many forms. I have provided a link to the complete text at the end of this article.

Let us begin, shall we?

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

The congress of the day has decided, rightly so, that when two bodies must sever political ties, it's only fair to let one know exactly why. In fact, this is something I believe stretches to every relationship, from social to formal.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

We're all with them so far, right? Good. Moving on.

That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,

This is where we silly Americans get the notion that our government works for us—because that's the way we bloody designed it.

That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

The right of the people. Hear that. Say it to yourself for a moment. The right of the people. This is one of those they spoke of earlier, one of those "inalienables." This isn't a Republican right, or a Democratic right. This isn't an English right or an American right. This is a right of the people. Which people? ALL of them. All over. Our super-progressive founders have just brought out, into the public court, the idea that everyone has the right to be governed in the best way possible for themselves.

This is something Americans are very passionate about. This is what President Wilson meant when he said "The world must be made safe for democracy," before we entered The Great War. This is why we joined hands with the English, the Canadians, the Soviets, the Australians, and many others to stop the rampant growth of Hitler's Nazi regime and the unchecked expansion of the Empire of Japan in the second World War. It is why we have opposed communism the world over—in Korea and Vietnam, against Cuba and China and the U.S.S.R. It is why we went into Afghanistan and Iraq and made a bit stinking mess of everything. Because we, in our heart of hearts, believe that everyone should be free to choose the government that works for the people, and wherever this right is threatened, the United States of God-Blessed America is polishing its guns and looking angrily in a Clint Eastwood smile at the oppressive regime responsible.

Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.

This is the part where they remind us that we shouldn't undertake any of these things lightly. Old governments that work shouldn't be abolished for causes that can fix themselves, or can be righted within the system. There's no sense scuttling your ship if you can just replace the sail, so to speak. This is very sound advice we've always heeded. It's why such a volatile, rebellious, violent, passionate people have kept a stable system of government for two-hundred and thirty-four years.

But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.—Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

Are you reading the same page I am? When a "long train of abuses and usurpations" lead toward "absolute Despotism", it is not a right anymore. It becomes a duty. It is a right and a responsibility. It isn't something that a people should tolerate. One must rise up and cast off the shackles of oppression. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a form of government. Because you should shout, "Help! Help! I'm being repressed!" You should have the courage to tell others to see the violence inherent in the system, to continue the comedic metaphor. It is your right. Your responsibility. If you choose not to take it up, you are remaining silent to the plight of thousands and millions of others who lack the voice to speak for themselves.

The enumeration of grievances attributed to the King of England reads like a bulleted list of accomplishments by the last few presidents, including (but not limited to) the following:

Refusing to Assent to Laws "most wholesome and necessary for the public good."
Forbidding Governors to pass Laws "of immediate and pressing importance" until Assent could be obtained.
Obstructing the Laws of Naturalization of Foreigners
Obstructing the Administration of Justice
Erecting mulitudes of new offices
Sending "swarms of Officers to harass our people"
Rendering the Military independent of and superior to "the Civil power."
Mock trials
Imposing taxes without consent of the people
Depriving citizens of the benefits of trial by jury
"Taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments."
"Suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever."
Plundering the seas, ravaging the coasts, burning towns, and "destroying the lives of our people"

Sounds vaguely familiar, does it not? Especially in the last two administrations. Democrat of Republican, Right or Left, you cannot deny that list of grievances doesn't feel fresh in your mind after the last three elections. Recent Executive policy seems to be giving the American public a play-by-play recount of these issues with each passing day.

How did the Founding Fathers handle this?

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Oh. That's right. I nearly forgot. These fuckers invented the phrase "Tea Party."

Think about it for just a minute—the last time this many Americans got this pissed about the way their government treated them, they gave it the finger and started a new one. Then we fought a war, and put the ass-kickin'est war hero we had in our top slot on the new slate. Wise up, Congress. If this shit happens again, you'll be going up against "President Chuck Fucking Norris" commanding regiments of angry, rabid bear cavalry with robot laser eyes ridden by gun-toting Southerners and air support from flying sharks piloted by gangsta G-thugs blinding you with bling. And that's a battle I'm not sure even Bill Brasky could win.

History—learn it, or repeat it. Or get a penguin army marching on your tailpipe.

=Further Reading=

The Declaration of Independence, on USHistory.org
"President Obama hits healthcare reform stretch," on Politico.com
This picture.
And this one, too.

TESTIFY!

2010-03-04T14:33:00.006-06:00

I will admit it: I have a soft spot for musicals.

As such, I am a huuuuge fan of Repo! The Genetic Opera, because it also has healthy doses of sci-fi, horror, and humor cobbled in. It is a cult classic, and I will stand up any day of the week to testify that it is utterly amazing.

That being said, the fan base is pissing me off.

They are lashing out uncontrollably and frothing over the release of Repo Men, a completely unrelated film based on the same premise: that if you fall behind on your organ payments, a repo man will hunt you down and reclaim the "property."

The films diverge, from what I can tell, at that point. In addition to the not-being-an-opera thing, Repo Men tells a completely different story than Repo!, according to the trailers. Repo Men is made on a larger budget, and is based on a novel that was being written by the author of the screenplay, since published in 2009. Repo! is, however, over a decade old in its earliest incarnations, having been developed from a "ten-minute opera" called The Necromerchant's Debt. The Repo! film was released in 2008, I believe, before the novel on which Repo Men was based was published.

Is Repo Men a ripoff?

No.

Yet, the fans of The Genetic Opera seem to think it is, going so far as to publicly bash Repo Men before its release and boycott the film. While this is perfectly within their rights, I don't believe they really understand what is going on here.

By bad-mouthing a film they've never seen, even after they've been asked by Terrance Zdunich (co-creator of Repo! The Genetic Opera, and subsequently co-author of their collective fandom) to "kill 'em with kindness" in regards to this new film, they are making themselves look very, very bad. It makes them look rabid and intolerant and utterly incapable of coherent thought, as their mouths are moving without lease from their minds. By speaking out of emotion and hurt rather than taking a moment to think out their displeasures and put them into a logical framework, it makes them look rather silly. As a Repo! fan myself, I don't want to be labeled as such, unless it's the good kind of silly. The kind you'd find at the Ministry of Silly Walks, for example.

In his posts on the subject, entitled "Idea Repossession?" pts 1 & 2, Zdunich explains the events that lead both to Repo! and Repo Men as he understands them, and expresses his wishes to his fandom. "Sweetly recommend that they check out REPO! Opera," Zdunich requests, "because the film, and the community surrounding the film, is awesome."

In my opinion (for this is a blog of opinions, and not one of newscasting), the community isn't showing their awesome at this very moment. I fully understand that they feel hurt, as they are so deeply emotionally tied to Repo! as a fan-base, but I believe that by lashing out against this new film in anger, they do little to show their greatness. Instead, I believe it is a show of ignorance.

The fans pine and wail about how "unique" Repo! is, and how the very idea of Repo Men is stolen from Zdunich's hands, like an apple plucked from a neighbor's tree. They rail against Repo Men, some going so far as to say that one should be allowed by law to copyright an idea.

As a writer, I feel these statements are the same as saying "It should be federal law that only George Romero may make zombie movies." Or "Every robot movie ever made is just a rip-off of Capek's R.U.R.." Or that "The Chronicles of Narnia shouldn't exist, as it's merely a re-telling of the New Testament."

I do hope you see the fallacy in these claims.

Many stories start as other stories. Good tales are retold time and again. The Lion King is merely a retelling of Hamlet, mixed with a local African epic of a similar nature. Star Wars is basically a combination of Kurosawa's "The Hidden Fortress" and every epic, mythic tale of a young journeyer with a wizened hermit archetype to guide him. Nearly all of Kurosawa's films had plots based in stories around the world, and just as many of them were remade as westerns for the enjoyment of Americans.

Hellfire, even the idea of organ repossession wasn't originated with Repo! In '97 or '98, I wrote a short story for a class project that dealt with the same idea: two young lovers were in a car accident, and ran away from the hospital. They were chased by an agent of the hospital to "reclaim" the work done to save their lives. I mentioned it to a friend of mine, and we began playing a Shadowrun campaign based on the notion. I hadn't even heard of Repo! until it's theatrical release in a nearby town, sometime in late '08 or early '09.

Stories are retold. Ideas are reused. It happens. Imitation is, after all, the sincerest form of flattery. So long as there is no plagarism afoot, enjoy what you enjoy for the reasons you enjoy it. Repo! is unique, and will continue to be so, no matter how many other "dystopian organ repossession" stories there are floating about. Talking trash, however, is never a good way to get anything done.

In closing, I strongly suggest you check out both films and draw your own conclusions. I am a huge fan of Repo! The Genetic Opera, and plan to see Repo Men as soon as finances permit. I also heartily entreat you to check out the "Further Reading" section of this post for more information on everything I have mentioned here. Thank you, and goodnight.

= Further Reading =

Repo! The Genetic Opera, official website. (www.repo-opera.com)
Terrance Zdunich: performer, writer, and illustrator. (www.terrancezdunich.com)
Repo Men, official website. (www.repomenarecoming.com)
Lists of fiction and short fiction made into films. (via Wikipedia)

"The Intolerance of Intolerance"

2010-02-23T00:22:00.003-06:00

Tonight I had the great honor and privilege of attending a lecture given by Archbishop Desmond Tutu at Murray State University. Archbishop Tutu discussed reconciliation through forgiveness with the heart of a saint and the sort of jokes your grandfather might tell at the dinner table. He spoke with a warm, soothing passion that boiled up from the depths of his heart and spilled through the microphone, washing over a packed house. It was an amazing, unforgettable experience, and it has left it's mark upon me.

The Archbishop told anecdotes and parables that illustrated mankind's great depths of both depravity and compassion. He spoke of the amazing capability of human beings to destroy one another through vengeance, and of their equally amazing capacity for unconditional forgiveness.

I will endeavor to take this message to heart, to be more forgiving, to be more understanding, and to seek reconciliation with as many people as I am able. It will not be easy, but nothing good ever is.

Home at last.

2010-01-26T16:09:00.005-06:00

FINALLY got back from my trip. I've been gone for three weeks, and what a three weeks it has been.

I was invited to a LARP convention in Milwaukee, WI (Midwinter X, to be precise). The people who invited me offered to pay my way and pick me up, but live two hours from me, so I had to stay with them "a few days" until the time of departure. No worries, the event was in mid-January, so I figured I'd head up there on a Wednesday, stay 'til we left Friday, and come back to Kentucky on Sunday.

Wrong.

I was informed, due to financial reasons, that I'd have to come up on the 3rd and spend a fortnight in a small cluster of towns in central Illinois. I packed my things and began my journey.

When I arrived, it was to a two bedroom mobile home with no internet and newly frozen water pipes. There were two couples, a toddler, a pit bull and her 6 puppies, and two hateful but inquisitive cats occupying this cramped, broken-down space. Anyone who knows me well at all knows that while I am a social creature, my need for privacy is legendary. This was already shaping up to be a superb trip.

I was relegated to a small couch on one side of the living room, across from the futon (sleeping quarters of the second couple, parents of the toddler). As it turns out, both couples are swingers, so there are many numerous iterations of relationships between these four individuals, each with it's own high school puppy-love drama. Add to this the fact that one couple has a completely outsider third, who was there as often as I was, and that brings the count up to 5 adults, a child, 7 dogs, and 2 cats before we consider myself, the other couple that came over literally EVERY DAY with their 4 month old child, or the 7 or 8 other people who floated in and out as though they owned the goddamn place themselves. It was day two of thirteen, and already my sanity is wearing thin.

Did I mention their pipes were frozen? I didn't drive myself there, so I had no car, so I had to wait until the members of the house went somewhere (which was rare) to beg showers from complete strangers, or to use the bathroom (Ironically, at the time I was reading the Humanure Handbook on my laptop, and wishing I had the materials to construct a composting toilet. Had I but known, I could've alternately ordered a Shit Box). I would like you to note, dear reader, that the household itself felt no need to cease urination in the toilet-with-the-frozen-drain, though they were kind enough to save their "deuces" for the gas station restroom at the end of the road.

I will never understand how people on government assistance programs get more money for food in a month than I usually earn in two months when I'm employed, and yet still never have REAL food in their house. With two couples in the same house (and a third visiting, and therefore eating, every single day), all on government food assistance, you'd assume they'd have some of the basics, like flour or pasta or rice--staples in any intelligent kitchen. No. All of it was ramen and quick-yet-unfilling junk food. Every. Last. Dime. I had to FIGHT to find 1/4 of milk, not because they used it, but because they never purchased more. WTF, people? So there was nothing to cook. Not that it mattered; there was no water for clean dishes, so the point was really one of principle.

This is the part where I tell you that every single woman I met while I was there was trying her dead-level best to get into my pants. The only two possible exceptions were a pair of sisters--one was happily taken, and the other flirted, but I didn't see her often enough to discern whether she was sincere or not. This last woman was gorgeous, and single, but the rest were all taken and definitely not my type. They, however, didn't really catch onto this, so in addition to the drama caused by the botched swinger vibe, they were all backstabbing each other to try to get into my good graces. The punishment continues.

I had to completely reteach them all how to play this game, and when the event finally came around, I was ready to strangle them all with piano wire. The next two days were spent in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, with lots of gaming, non-drama, free booze (thanks White Wolf!!), and the most beautiful gamer girls you could ever hope to see. I'm not sure how many of said lovely girls I hung out with on the first evening (I had a bit to drink, apparently, because the security guard asked me to either go to my hotel room or go to prison at around 10 am when I was sleeping on the couch), but when game opened the second day, there were many flirtatious winks cast my way, so apparently I'm still charming when I'm "what-the-fuck-am-I-doing?" drunk. Game was a blast, I made a lot of new friends, and then it was over as quickly as it had begun.

Back to central Illinois to await a ride home. Knowing they were strapped for cash, I offered to stay until Friday because then we could catch another LARP game closer to home, where I knew people who could drive me the rest of the way home. The day before I left, the water thawed. I was so pissed. Then I found out that I didn't REALLY have to come up on the third; my hostess just said that because she was too lazy to pick me up the week of the event, and wanted more time to try to sleep with me. I was quite angry.

Now I'm back home. I couldn't be happier.

Of Christmas.

2009-12-27T11:28:00.005-06:00

My Christmas card for my extended family this year consisted of letting my true feelings about them be known. It can be found here for your viewing pleasure.

My immediate family was intelligent this year and merely got me money (along with a pack of much-needed socks; I'm a practical giftee). This was used to purchase, via pre-order at Gamestop, STO as well as sundries for my trip to Milwaukee. I also purchased a Speedball carving kit for block printing, which should prove entertaining at the least, as well as shaving supplies I desperately needed.

On that topic, my first straight-razor shave went terribly well: I only cut myself three times, I believe. Two were minor--one behind the left ear because it's an awkward angle, and one on my right cheek due to the razor skipping over a blemish.
The third is a not insignificant line on my neck. I wasn't thinking clearly and pressed too hard, and sliced a clean gash in my neck, just beside my throat. It hurts like a filthy beast, but will heal proper, thanks to judicious use of a styptic pencil. Never groom your face without it, children.

My brothers got me a new pillow (which I desperately needed) and a copy of Stan Lee's Mutants, Monsters, and Marvels, which I will thoroughly enjoy. My best friend and his wife got me a lovely rice cooker which will keep me fat even during my anti-social periods. His younger sister made me gloriously sweetened baked goods, and their oldest child got me a pack of Magic cards from the Unhinged set (which I adore!).

A few of my other friends took me out to see Sherlock Holmes, which is a must-see for anyone who enjoys the detective's exploits. They did a wonderful job of showing his cognitive process on camera, something I never thought would be possible. Guy Ritchie also succeeded in making him perfectly socially inacceptable while still lovable, and went with the classic Watson: a trim thinking man who can keep up well with Holmes, in possession of a wonderful sense of humor and adventure. This is in complete contrast of the fat, doddering imbecile normally depicted in film, but is truer to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's source, in my opinion.

My ex-girlfriend's mother dropped in this morning, giving me a wonderful gift: ink pens! One can never have enough ink pens. She called them "magical pens", and said they would keep writer's block at bay. 'Twas terribly sweet of her. I believe, however, she's still under the impression that eventually I will become her son-in-law. This would require her daughter to bleed the freon from her veins and install an actual, feeling, emotionally-capable human heart and subsequently using it to love me. Honestly, I simply don't see that happening anytime soon, but I may be wrong. Stranger things have happened.

That was my Christmas season. What of yours?

It's Guy Fawkes' Night

2009-11-05T04:15:00.004-06:00

Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Ought ever be forgot

It's Guy Fawkes' Night. Four-hundred-four years ago today, a group of Catholics gathered together with the intent to blow up the Parliament building, and thereby assassinate King James I. Their plot was discovered because of a letter sent to a Catholic in Parliament; one of the conspirators didn't want him to be harmed.

All of the conspirators save one, Sir Everard Digby, plead "Not Guilty." In his defense, Sir Everard stated that the King of England had reneged on his promise of greater tolerance for Catholicism in his territories. The men were found guilty after a trial that was such a public spectacle, admission was paid at the door. Fawkes, along with some of his co-conspirators, was sentenced to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. As he dangled, near death, Fawkes made one last rebellious act: he leapt from the gallows, breaking his own neck and cheating his executioners.

The people rejoiced that the plot had been foiled. The lit bonfires to celebrate the capture of the "demonic" terrorists. Many Catholics were imprisoned, and the confessor to the conspiracy was executed. He had openly disagreed with the plot from its beginning, however, that did not save him. At its first full session after the plot, Parliament signed into law a bill marking November 5th with special sermons and public speeches. This law remained in effect for over 250 years.

Today, Guy Fawkes night is a celebration of life and thanksgiving celebrated around the world. Children build ugly little "Guys" (our source of the word) to beg for firework money. Effigies are burned, and the peasants rejoice. Fawkes' defeat was a matter of pride.

When literary genius Alan Moore penned the anarchist neo-classic, V for Vendetta, artist David Lloyd gave him a Guy Fawkes mask. Anonymous, a collective name given to various occurrences of leaderless internet subculture groups for various purposes, and many anarchists have taken up the Guy Fawkes mask as an identifier: Fawkes has come to be seen as a freedom fighter rather than a terrorist, a distinction that is made by the source of the story.

Do I advocate mass murder and violence? Absolutely not.

Do I advocate freedom? YES.

This world is in a strange state, where governments have shielded their peoples from freedom for the sake of a "better life", but chastised others for doing the same. Franklin said "those who would sacrifice liberty for security deserve neither." I am inclined to agree.

If you would have the world be free, be the change you wish to see. Choose your weapon wisely: a sharp tongue, a quick wit, a fresh ink pen, or a podium. Take it out into the streets and start freeing people, one by one. The key to freedom is the mind: liberate that, and the rest will follow.

It's Guy Fawkes' Night. What have you done for freedom?

Disorderly Conduct.

2009-10-28T04:36:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, a housemate of mine lost his wallet. Two curse-filled hours later, he found it. Unfortunately, in his frustration, he'd left a wake of destruction of the magnitude generally reserved for natural disasters. Every time he loses his wallet, or his keys, or his cigarettes, he causes more property damage than the X-Men during a Sentinel fight. Once, a video game outsmarted him and he put his fist through the offending television. I'm still trying to figure out what the microwave did that upset him, but whatever it was, the result was identical. Maybe he thought the timer was some kind of odd counting game.

It was suggested to me by a new friend that perhaps this housemate has "an aggression disorder that needs treatment."

I know she meant well, but her response is just another example of the overmedication of society, something causing no end of troubles. Everything, it seems, is a "disease" or "disorder" now, necessitating expensive therapies, treatments, or medication. The list of conditions grows with every new day and behavioral problem.

Don't think, dear reader, that I don't acknowledge facts. There are a great many people who genuinely suffer from chemical and neurological imbalances that require a great deal of time, money, effort, and therapy to cope with. There are a great many people who live, daily, with conditions beyond their choosing or control, and these people deserve our sympathies and our aid as much as can be offered.

However, for ever one person who has a genuinely measurable chemical imbalance, there are many more that have simply been diagnosed, medicated, and charged for things that never required a doctor's hand in the first place.

Watching an episode of the animated television show King of the Hill a few nights ago that ties in wonderfully to this topic. Entitled "Junkie Business", it details Hank's inability to fire a drug addict because his lawyer states addiction is a disease, and therefore covered by the Americans with Disabilities Act.

I'm sorry, but I don't understand how an addiction can be considered a disease. Typically, with a disease, doesn't one suffer a condition without having intentionally introduced that condition to themselves? Something one can't simply will to end? One cannot simply decide one morning that their cancer is gone, or will themselves free of an autoimmune disease, can they? Yet, with addiction, isn't the prescription a detoxification and rehabilitation regime that teaches one how to overcome these "diseases" with willpower? Furthermore, one cannot even diagnose alcoholism or narcotic addiction without first willingly inducing those symptoms by partaking in the substance being abused.

The biggest issue with the "disease" concept is that it relieves the patient of all responsibility for their actions. If alcoholism is a disease, the drunkard can't be blamed for imbibing the intoxicants. If obesity is a disease, the overweight can sit back snacking on chocolate, secure in the knowledge that nothing they do will prevent them from remaining in their current state; a state they could improve by instead consulting with their doctors to find a healthy, medically possible way to lose weight. If "aggression disorders" are a disease, my housemate will simply pass the buck instead of owning up to his actions and learning ways to cool his head.

Perhaps I just suffer from "LUD" -- Logic Use Disorder, the complete inability to buy into illogical psychobabble and predisposition to promote logical solutions to real problems.

=Further Reading=

Alcoholism Is Not A Disease, from AddictionInfo.Org
Stop Over-Medication!, a plea by Nathaniel S. Lehrman, M.D.

New Things.

2009-10-26T18:57:00.003-05:00

I'm finding it increasingly hard to get outraged on a M-W-F schedule, so I thought I would post a bit about recent and upcoming events.

A friend of mine got married. Super happy for him. His wedding was Epic with a side of Awesomesauce. There was a Beatles theme, and there may or may not have been a bout of karaoke wherein he sang "Baby Got Back" while his bride did a booty dance. Also, there was definitely some Bohemian Rhapsody.

It was a grand time.

Also, signed up for NaNoWriMo this year, after ducking it since its inception. People keep telling me to join in, assuming that since I call myself a writer that I actually write. What a load, eh?

That's all for today. I'll get back to sounding intelligent as soon as I can.

Through a glass, darkly...

2009-10-16T21:53:00.004-05:00

Mirrors are windows to the soul. They reveal parts of us, snippets of personality, of which we may not consciously be aware. Mirrors reflect lines on our face, furrows in our brow, blemishes on our hearts that aren't physically noticable. Yet there they are, staring us in our own unbelieving faces.

I don't understand what has happened to my life, or where the last seventy years have gone. I feel as though I look more like my grandfather than myself, worn with years I've yet to live. I feel cool and calm, like an old bit of the ocean, with the whole of my fire removed from my spirit. Where has my passion gone? Where are the days of my youth, dangerous and full of intrigue? Where, then, are the uncertain nights, one hand on the body of a lover and another on the hilt of a knife? My body still keeps one eye open when I sleep in a needless vigil for enemies that no longer come.

I wish I understood why. My only hope in understanding lies in the scripture, reflected in a mirrored metaphor:

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.
1 Corinthians 13:12

Dungeons & Dimwits

2009-10-14T11:49:00.008-05:00

You could say I like Dungeons & Dragons.

You could also say that Einstein was a bright guy, the Spartans enjoyed fistfights, and Napoleon liked cookies[¹].

Thusly, when Wizards of the Coast announced it was ceasing production of my favorite version in favor of a new Fourth Edition, I was both intrigued and skeptical. The artwork was more beautiful than ever before, a feat in itself, but something about the way they said it would be "more accessible" stuck in my craw.

To fully understand why that bothered me, a bit of background is necessary. I am not a stupid man. Dumb sometimes, often ignorant, but not stupid. I hate being treated as though I am. I hate mollycoddling and condescending step-by-step instructions where they aren't necessary.

I have seen, over the course of my short life, the country I live in and the world around it cater to stupidity. Standards lower daily with little or no response from the public. Schools stopped teaching people how to learn and began teaching them how to pass standardized tests, completely defeating the purpose of the experience. Legislation is passed to keep people from endangering themselves in common sense situations in the form of helmet and seat belt laws. Warning labels prevent us from eating things common sense tells us are harmful, and there are directions printed on packages of Ivory soap. (Oddly, they say "Use as regular soap" the last time I checked.)

Technology is an active accomplice: calculators teach us it's okay not to learn the underlying theories of mathematics, while the proliferation of personal computers has caused us to all but completely eschew good penmanship. Cellular telephones and instant messengers have gone a step further, mutilating the English language into lol- and 1337-speak,something almost unrecognizable. The "small world" effect of global communication has encouraged us to forget about geographic spatial relations and cartography as a necessary skill. Who cares where Georgia or Tibet is if you can talk to people there on AIM instead of counting out postage? Who needs to be acquainted with Rand McNally when MapQuest or Tom Tom will tell you where to turn?

D&D was my safe spot. The complex mathematics involved, unique to the system in that they don't always coincide perfectly with what you'd see in a textbook, kept many at bay. The immense amount of variables and the ridiculous number of sourcebooks were prohibitive to anyone without at least a great desire to learn or a minimal intellect. I know people to this day who played AD&D and still don't understand how THAC0 works, just that they remember how to do it. When I picked up my dice (all of which but the d10 are Platonic solids) and my pencil, none of the silly stupidity of the world mattered anymore. I was free to use the full potential of my imagination in a world where creativity, quick thinking, and intelligence meant something.

You can see now, I hope, why a larger target audience would be great for WotC but bad for my play experience. A new edition with a bigger audience would cause their pocketbooks to swell, as they bring less-nerdy and less-geeky people into the fold. Capitalizing on the Massively Multiplayer popularity, they gained a greater audience. By making it "more accessible", they essentially turned it into a point-and-click MMO on paper. You have a certain set of powers to choose from, each with different cool-downs, and you just cycle through them until the enemies are dead. Is counting money too hard for you? No worries! No longer do you need to sell your findings for gold for new equipment. The rulebook even suggests that your Dungeon Master doesn't let you sell anything. The entire economy of 4e resembles that of Star Fleet: if you need it, it will be handed to you. In fact, the whole system reminds me of Enterprise: wonderful series, but you can't really consider it Star Trek.

WotC, I'm terribly glad you want to expand this wonderful game to a bright, new, inquisitive audience. Really, I am. It's getting harder and harder to find players and DM's for adventures and campaigns. Must you, though, treat them as though they are complete morons? Slighter changes could've made it appeal to a broader audience without giving the entire process a lobotomy. D&D != Everquest, so why do your best to make it seem like I should put down my pencil and pick up a mouse?

Wizards has proven that unless the public acts quickly we are doomed to a lifetime of decreasing standards. Speak up, or tomorrow your computers will make your decisions for you because we're all too dense to think.

4e D&D is a harbinger of the fall of western civilization. Don't believe me?

[[

^[1]

Hark, A Vagrant #135, Kate Beaton.

It's a Man's World?

2009-10-12T21:17:00.005-05:00

James Brown says it's a man's, man's, man's world. That gem was obviously written before the feminist movement fully permeated American culture.

Don't get me wrong, I love women (many of them, and often as I can), and I fully believe the Women's Liberation movement which started so long ago (beginning with women's suffrage) was necessary to promote the idea of women as equals socially and politically.

The movement even began to liberate women from their own biology. Advancements in birth control gave women unprecedented choice in when to conceive. Legislation and court decisions allowed the inevitable "mistake" to be rectified after the fact.

Sometime after that, however, feminism went crazy.

The rebellion against their own bodies cemented more than ever the idea that women were in charge of reproduction. Where women utilized the pill, men were stuck with few options aside the old rubber standby. When women didn't want to carry the "accident" in their uterus, men had no recourse over the product of their genes, and weren't even required to be notified. If a woman carried to term through her own choice, or pressured by society, men who decided they weren't ready to be parents (the same choice granted to women) were labeled "deadbeat dads" and sidled with child support.

Men were no longer seen as "equals" in gender equality, but were painted as vile oppressors and animals wearing business suits. Nothing men said could be trusted, and our every action was subject to questions about motive. We went from equals-according-to-feminism to evil stereotypes: the rapist, the wife-beater, the deadbeat dad, the oppressive patriarch.

A animated cartoon joke has a college professor telling a classroom "Look to your left and to your right. Both of those men will rape you." I laughed when I saw this sketch not because of its absurdity, but because of its honest look at the reality of modern thought.

Media depictions of the abuse of men are humorized, frequently found in rape scenes or violence against males. Women's scenes, however, are given the dramatic solemnity the subject truly deserves. Fathers are slighted in court cases because the legal system sides with mothers in regards to children at every stage of development, fetus to age of majority. Women are free to jokingly sexualize men, but even the slightest compliment from men sets fingers to pepper spray triggers.

All of these advancements have taken their toll on the male experience. As Tyler Durden would say, ours is a generation of men raised by women. There is no one on the planet who knows less about what it's like to be a man than a woman, and yet for decades, women have been telling us how to live as men. Women's desires dictate how men must dress and groom to be desirable, women give conflicting messages on how men are to act, and we are generally left confused. In an age where women are more free than ever to be women, men have forgotten entirely how to be men.

Add to this the stress of a society which has completely negated men's traditional evolutionary roles in society, and it's no wonder men are so furious with society. John Deere and Kroger have severely limited the amount of work a man must do for his own food, so our hunter's instincts are left dulled. Factory robots build things men used to craft by hand and forklifts lift heavy objects. War is waged with longer and longer distance weapons, taking most of the physicality out of actual combat. Those losses have left men's basic evolutionary instincts--a strong, physical specimen responsible for protection and provision--completely unfulfilled. Men turn to violent video games, football and hockey, and extreme sports to fulfill our eternal necessity for adrenaline rushes. Modern society has made us all but useless.

I do not blame women for men's plight. I do, however, blame feminism for the reason no one takes men's concerns seriously. I believe that men and women are equally important in all aspects of society. However, it is very important that we are all allowed to be ourselves.

Men are people, too, ladies.

Treat us like it.

=Further Reading=

Masculism, by Kelly Roache on Equal Writes
The Diverse and Growing Men's Movement, by Haley Swenson
Masculism vs. Feminism, by Pelle Billing

Four Legs Good, Two Legs Bad.

2009-10-02T12:35:00.006-05:00

In modern Western society, few would challenge the notion of the Founding Fathers of the United States in their assertion that "all men are created equal." Most would even affirm a change to the gender-neutral "all people." The idea that everyone, every person of every gender and every culture and every religion and every level of ability are equal is a very powerful one. It is a fundamental truth that no one is more important than anyone else.

Why, then, are people so ignorant of the true nature of the equality they champion?

Equality is a lovely thing in theory. It means everyone, regardless of who they may be, is entitled to exactly the same as everyone else. The same opportunities, the same upbringing, the same life-choices; everyone free to choose the same as everyone else, with no attention paid to their differences.

In practice, however, equality isn't so grand. The first hurdle is the impossible nature of the statement given above. Indeed, all men are not created equal. Men and women, for example, are very psychologically and physiologically different. Many anthropological studies have asserted these differences are either the product of evolutionary necessity, or are themselves the cause for the differing gender roles of prehistoric humanity. Environment is also a factor, with localities greatly shaping the cultures of societies living within. It has even been postulated that racial differences are the result of similar locational variety.

In addition, cultural practices themselves do a great deal to shape the human mind and body. Hunting societies see an emphasis on physical fitness, while technological ones focus on intellect. The build of a gentleman from an agrarian village in the Alps is surely different than that of a young woman from a nomadic Middle Eastern tribe. Human beings are born into such varied physical forms and cultural beliefs that it quickly becomes impossible to say that they are equal in anything save importance.

"From the fact that people are very different," Friedrich Hayek said, "it follows that, if we treat them equally, the result must be inequality in their actual position, and that the only way to place them in an equal position would be to treat them differently." This line of thought gives rise to the notion that maybe we are only equal in importance. James F. Cooper is quick to point out, however, this isn't always the case either. "The very existence of government at all, infers inequality. The citizen who is preferred to office becomes the superior to those who are not, so long as he is the repository of power, and the child inherits the wealth of the parent as a controlling law of society.”

Even human emotion prevents true equality. Orwell's animals quickly learned that "all animals are equal--but some are more equal than others." Racism survives in vestiges of what began as a backlash against racism. Sexism lives on in certain streams of feminist rhetoric as well as in misogynistic male hearts. The tendency of the oppressed to become the oppressor is staggering in these bloodless culture wars.

Should we not, dear reader, treat each and every person as we would be treated? Should we not also revel in their differences as much as we enjoy our similarities? Let us put aside the bickering about equality and instead bring it about in truth. Otherwise, we're left with something far worse in the eyes of Aristotle:

“The worst form of inequality is to try to make unequal things equal.”

Labels: Not Just for Blogs Anymore.

2009-09-30T13:51:00.008-05:00

In an effort to expedite the "getting-to-know-you" portion of making new friends, I like to make bullet points. Lazy? Yes. Effective? Totally. That is, until someone starts talking about how we should be above "-isms" and stop being such "-ists" all the time. Those words only divide us, or prevent us from expanding our minds...

That's foolish.

Those words exist because the human mind has an innate need to classify things; so we can gauge their relationships to one another. These words give guidelines and generalizations about us. They provide us with a way to say a lot in a very few words. I'd rather label myself now than have others label me later.

Problems with this system arise when labels aren't properly understood. Individual interpretations abound as people try to say that every term means one specific thing, instead of a group of guidelines. If used in conjunction, labels can form a sort of Venn diagram, placing something squarely in the overlap. That system works far better than repurposing and retooling every single "-ism" to mean exactly the perfect combination of things you think it should at any given moment.

Thus, what follows are a few of the labels I give myself. It is my hope to define these in future entries, as well as adding to the list as applicable. Below the list you'll find a link to an article on the subject of labels in modern society that I found extremely informative, and helped to shape this post.

Christian
Masculist
Traditionalist
Right's Advocate
Responsibility Advocate
Anachronist
Voluntaryist Panarchist
Linguistic Preservationist
Steampunk-Inspired Innovator
Gentleman Inventor
Autodidactic Polymath
Total Badass
Geek Supreme

=Further Reading=

It's Okay To Be An -Ist, Strangers In A Tangled Wilderness, 2006. PDF format.

Beginnings.

2009-09-28T14:08:00.000-05:00

Aristotle lies.

That's not entirely accurate, and yet it is. Please understand that I am not out to deny the philological aesthetics of Aristotelian logic. It's quite a marvelous system, really. It's simply that I believe he made an erroneous statement.

“One cannot say of something that it is and that it is not in the same respect and at the same time.”

I simply find this hard to believe. If I were to accept this Law of Non-Contradiction, I would cease to be. I am a man of conflicting beliefs that perfectly co-exist. I am a contradiction.

It is the goal of this weblog to prove, through my continued existence, that this is not an immutable law. Rather, it is a guideline to commonality, and I am simply one of the many exceptions.