Heroes are born, but heroes die...

GMC and History Repeating Itself

A couple of quick thoughts....
GMC is having massive problems, and closing factories across the country. They're just not profitable. Here's an idea. Perhaps, if you built vehicles that didn't end up on every list of bad buys, you might sell more cars. Don't believe me? Look at the list of bad buys on Consumer Reports...or Consumerguide.com. Whether or not it's all deserved, GMC has a terrible reputation on workmanship and durability. The reason people spend oodles of cash on foreign imports is because they actually last more than 80,000 miles. People who don't, I would suspect, like myself, cannot afford such imports, or are simply just dedicated to buying American.

Second of all, with the newest revelations about Shia death squads running around Iraq exacting revenge on the Sunni population, I can't help but be reminded of all of Reagan's follies in Central America. This trend seems to happen every time we decide that we can reform a foreign country with the barrel of a gun. The "good guys" end up become just as evil and bloodthirsty as the "bad guys" we invaded to rescue the country from in the first place. How many times are we going to have to go through this before someone in the government reads a d#@n history book?!

The Decline of Western Civilized Fairs: Part I

Attending the North Georiga Fair in Marietta on friday, it was impossible for me not to take note of the immense changes that have come about in carnival life since I last frequented fairs, (circa 1984-1990). I had an absolute blast, no doubt. But the difference was tangible, almost physical, not just some reaction to an impossibly idealized memory bank.
For starters, the utter lack of Freakshows was astonishing. I mean, I realize that we might be in a more "enlightened" time where people's physical differences are treated with more respect, however, anyone who saw a freak show in the era that I did, knows very well that the show usually had nothing to do with actually physically deformed people. The kinds of Sideshows they had when I was coming up were obviously fake and usually based around bad costuming, or cheap scares. I remember the "Ravages of Drug Abuse" attraction, where you stepped in a dark trailer, with a quick, winding entrance only to come on a caged guy, in bad, grey, pasty makeup and fake spots on his arms, sitting in the corner, drooling and making weird eyes at you. Then he would jump up and make non-sensical noises; "boogley oogley" and you'd run out, right past the big painted "Just Say No" slogan on the wall. My other favorite one was the "Horriffic Oddities" tent, that had the stuffed two-headed calf, two-headed dogs, the rabbit with four legs, the infamous "mermaid"; all of which were products of not-so-cunning taxidermy. And of course there was a healthy smattering of vaguely spooky but almost wholly undiscernatble objects in jars, floating in ancient formaldehyde, long gone cloudy. These weren't politically incorrect. They were cheap thrills, at the expense of the viewer. There was an understanding between the sucker and the suckee, the unsaid, undone nod between both that meant knowing. It was the kind and style of the fakery that was appreciated, because there was no mistaking the obviously dishonest nature of the advertising.
There were some other obvious differences, for instance the coke mirrors that one could win at the dart-balloon games have totally changed. Even though I was of course too young to realize their purpose at the time, (similar to the kids who won roach clips and thought they were just very painful fake earrings) I had a healthy smattering of Prince mirrors, as well as Dio, Molly Hatchet, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden and G n' R. The jewelry was distinctly based around a crystal aesthetic, with a dose of satanic occultism thrown in. The carnies definitely never wore uniforms, the whole nature and mood was much darker, and just plain more evil.
And the rides. The rides were much much longer. The only ride at the N. Georgia Fair that even approached the timing of the old fairs was the Himilaya in the back corner, one of the standard, "go real fast in a circle and crush your friends on the outside of the car" rides, still run by the benevolent old man, whipping out hits like "Slow Ride" and "Shake It Up".
Don't get me wrong, going to the fair was exhilirating. The petting zoo was amazing, and being almost assaulted by a tiger was similarly endorphin inducing, but it did make me nostalgic for the days when sinister was just around the corner, and the more grime at the fair the better. More on this subject later...

AJC.com Gastrointestinal Apocalypse Grips Norcross Office Park

AP- Several hundred people were evacuated from a Norcross office park on Tuesday as one man's gastrointestinal apocalypse threatened to spread across the whole northeast Metro area.

It was a typical day at HPC Publications in Norcross, that is until the Starbucks arrived.
"I had a double mocha chocodieuretic with whipped cream, and it went south rather quickly," says the Honorable Reverend Battermann, who works in the building at 3119 Campus Drive, "I rushed to the bathroom but it was too late."
Stacey Woods, Dave's cubemate, recalls what happened next: "There was a huge explosion...well, more like an assplosion. A stall door came through the drywall and stuck into the side of my cube. People were screaming, clawing their way out of the building. Blood was everywhere, people's hands, arms, legs...all torn off by the initial blast. It was horriffic."
Emergency medical crews and the local Fire department rushed to the scene, but were quickly overcome by the fumes.
"We had to send some people back for more masks," said Chief Bill Whackenschnutter,"and call the Hazmat team. I had guys puking blood. It was awful."
Reverend Battermann tried to make an escape, but was quickly apprehended. Police had no problem tracking him by the scent of putrid Starbucks effluence that followed him around like a bad credit score.
As of ten o clock last night, four lanes of 85 Northbound were closed, due to a greenish cloud that had settled in the aftermath. Hundreds were reported injured by the fumes. In an apparently related incident, several thousand residents descended on the local Starbucks in Duluth and burned it to the ground. The delicate smell of burning mocha and bad, hotel-quality art drifted through the town until early morning.

Ruminations IV: Adrian's Revenge

All the discussion about the new Iraqi Constitution has left out one important theme... any Constitution that has as its main tenet that "No law shall be passed in conflict with the laws of Islam" means one thing and one thing only: Theocracy. Who will enforce these laws, you might ask? Well, it's right in there too: appointed religious leaders, (mullahs and the like) sitting on courts.
The Preamble has all sorts of nice sentiments about freedom and equality and gender protection and all, but if the law of the land is based on a religion, it's not a free country. Period. No amount of voting, nice intentions or all-encompassing efforts will change it.

Also hilarious are the conservative talking heads who are pointing all the fingers at the failure of local and state government in the Katrina wake. These are the same folks who are always talking about how local government is so much more effective than Federal, and all about State's rights. But here in America, apparently we can eat crow while trying to convince everyone we know that it's really prime rib.

It's all sad really. That the whole debate about Katrina's aftermath is being framed in the same way that the talking head culture has framed Social Security and any other "issue." Two, diametrically opposed viewpoints are represented, and that's it. Because if more than two were presented, my god, the American people might have to think. And that's dangerous.

Speaking of local government, belated congratulations to the citizens of Sandy Springs! You've now taken all your tax money away from Atlanta to buy your own, ineffective and corrupt system! I mean, if you're going to have someone wasting your money, it might as well be in your backyard. The best bureaucracy money can get! Have fun!

Canada, The Great Satan

The host John Gibson on Fox news in Factor Followup interviews the Canadian Embassador (Frank McKenna) to the United States about a comment that Bill O'Riley made on his show the other day, that Canada's only contribution to help with Katrina has been to send one rescue team and no money. (This was "confirmed" by Tony Snow who was on O'Reilly's show at the time.) The Embassador pointed out that not only is Canada shipping 91,000 extra barrels of oil a day to the U.S. to keep our gas prices from spiralling, but that Canada has had one of the quickest and most generous responses to this crisis, sending millions of dollars from provinces, four naval ships filled with supplies, they've tapped their own national stockpiles, Canadian Red Cross teams, military divers and that's just the beginning...literally a huge effort.
Gibson admitted this, and even pointed out that some Canadian rescue teams were in St. Bernard Parish before the American teams got there.
THEN, he goes on to ask the kind of question that would only be asked on Fox news:
"Mr. Ambassador, as we all know, there are a lot of people who lean to the left politically up there in Canada who hate George Bush....are any of the relief efforts that Canada is participating in, are they designed to embarrass the president?"

My lord I'm glad that FOX news jumped on this...the Great Canadian Conspiracy is Revealed! Embarrass the U.S. with kindness! Destroy Bush with formula, bread and diapers!
Maybe the Canadian rescue teams have come to New Orleans to ravage the city's notable antique district? Or help set up a program by which they can sell their fantastic Georgian and Louis the XIV furniture resources to rebuild?
Evil Evil Canada! Is there anything they won't do?!?!

Just ate lunch? maybe you shouldn't read this then...

First of all, if anyone has been unfortunate enough to see the latest Krystal advertising campaign, you'll know what I'm speaking of. If you haven't, go here before you read anymore....

http://www.chilicheesification.com/index2.html

Or, even better, drive by your local Krystals and check out the obscenely large posters in the window.
So basically, some ad agency somewhere decided that the way to get people to add cheese and chili to their Krystal meal would be to cover models in chili and cheese. Unfortunately, this has the distinct effect of making them look completely covered in god-awful diarrhea.
And as referenced in the above website, they also decided to make a chilicheese Slip and Slide, which would be more aptly named the Chili Cheese River of Shit.

I discovered the effect of this ad campaign on the way back from Ohio with my dad, who is a lifelong Krystals junkie. When I was young, we would go and order six Krystals and a small chili, savoring the flavor of the wee, steamed burgers dipped in the gelatinous, yet tasty, chili. When we stopped last week though, I was confronted with the aforementioned huge photos of the feces-smeared models, staring at me, penetrating me with their dead, soul-less eyes. I was frozen. And nauseated. Suddenly, the Krystal burger which I had ordered looked like a steaming pile of wet poo. The whole restaurant whirled in a brown spiral of self-loathing and bloated taste buds, every soggy inch of bun and impenetrable meat substance a poison pill. Running...no, clawing my way out the door, I breathed deeply of the outside air, letting it replace the thick fetid chili stench that had invaded my lungs. Keeping the promo posters to my back, I got into the truck and wept silently, until we were back on our way.

Random Ranting

Point One: "We Don't Need Another Hero" by Tina Turner is the ULTIMATE MORNING MOTIVATION SONG! What it motivates you to do, however, is up to fate.
Point Two: What has happened to New Orleans is tragic. I was hoping that there'd just be enough damage to make it a cheap destination for this winter, but it looks now like they'll be rebuilding for quite some time. Surreal, how the hotels downtown look almost like the Murray Federal Building: shattered, windowless, broken.
Point Three: How many times can I be reminded that it is not in the nature of myself and the people closest to me to be fake about things, people, situations. This is fortunate, because I know I can always count on brutal honesty. It is unfortunate as well, because I can always count on brutal honesty.
Point Four: The time it takes to wash off one's deck is inversely proportional to the amount of time it takes one squirrel to f#@k it all up again with pincone shards.
Point Five: I am incredibly fortunate to know great people who have fantastic minds and twisted, ironic souls.
Point Six: Randrea's tomatoes are so good they make me want to dig up dead family members and slap them.

Baptisms and Nostalgia

I sit in the student center of Sinclair Community College, where I once attended what seems ages ago, (1995...wow, exactly ten years.) waiting on my dad to get out of a meeting he's attending regarding some religious group on campus.  Don't remember there being a student center when I was here...or at least I never visited it.  Nice computers, and besides not being able to get on nerve.com, pretty well open in their browsers.  It smells new still, the walls and paint are very shiny, strange flyers posted everywhere, (how to register to gun safety to Miranda rights to the Native American Cultural club meeting changes) and there's a ton of trophys in a case to my right.  Overall, kind of McDonalds meets Adult Education media center.  Odd to be here, ten years after I attended, so desperately trying to get my grades up after doing nothing close to education at Young Harris, young and full of ridiculous ideas and no direction.  My sister was still in high-school then, my dad still working in the SES at Wright Patterson.  Now, dad's been retired for four years and is ordained, I own a home, and my sister is a new mother.

Which brings me to the reason I'm here in Ohio in the first place, my little neice.  It's very strange, almost unreal that I'm an uncle, but so concrete when her little fingers curl around mine, or she burrows under my chin, or her tiny face goes from confusion to smile to cry all in what seems a microsecond. She can be pretty fussy, but overall was very quiet during the baptism itself.  Afterward, I went out to the entrance of the church to take her and let my brother in law go back in the sanctuary and take communion.  And there I was, alone, in a big empty narthex, holding this small little baby, swallowed by her baptismal gown, (made from the train of my sister's wedding gown) bouncing her up and down, watching her yawn and squirm.  I don't know what to say, other than she's just amazing. So small. So much time to grow. Now things are very different...a commercial for Disneyland comes on TV, and dad mentions that "we'll probably be going there in about seven or eight years", my mother is now "Nana", I am now "Unky Dave" and little Rachel hasn't even learned to talk, much less crawl or do anything other than sleep, look around, eat, and poop.  A lot. 

Coming back tommorrow with dad, leaving around 6 am so we can avoid traffic and get back at a decent time.  I feel changed. (Incidentally, haven't had a cigarette in almost three days.)  I feel also that I need a good, non-family vacation as well.  Late September.  And I need to camp.  Batteries recharged. All systems go.

Misplaced Opinions

So as I turned on the late night punditry last night on PBA 30, I caught a discussion about the popular culture of today's teenagers. Normally these shows are totally engaging or boring to the point of suicide, but last night's discussion betrayed so much about not only the gap between media spokespeople and reality, but the generational gap between the aging flower children and today's post-apocalyptic teenager. Basically, they were saying that kids nowadays are too busy worrying about their 4.0's and clothes to rebel; that rebellion has been swallowed and packaged by today's corporate interests, and essentially that there's nothing to rebel against anymore. They stated that Rock and Roll has been assimilated into so much mainstream culture that there's no rebellion to it anymore; they pointed out that the largest selling shows in the country are all old rock bands like the Stones, and asked the age-old question, "is rock dead."
First of all, yes, rebellion has been packaged. Whether it's "alternative music" (alternative to what?) or the co-opting of the "punk" look into pop, (read as Avril Levine, etc.) or the fact that any teenager can buy any offensive shirt they want from their local Hot Topic and never have to leave The Almighty Mall, it has been taken to a good extent by the powers that be. Rage Against the Machine rages against a corporate machine that makes them very very rich. Kids who look straight out of a gutter punk scene go home and put on albums by Yellow Card or Blink 182. Fashion is the cannibal, consumers are the meat.
But this means nothing, inherently. And this is where my problem with the analysis comes in. Just because yesterday's uniforms have been taken by very non-rebellious forces in the economy, does not mean that kids can no longer rebel against things. It's the arrogance of the marketplace, the assumption that mainstream soceoeconomic culture is all that exists. You can't tell me that there isn't a small army of kids who search out obscure music, who get nauseaus when they hear the radio, that realize just as much as any "hip" adult that the whole corporate music and cultural scene is one big jackoff. You can't stamp out the anti-consumerist leanings of people, even if you have the majority of the country worrying about their shoes and changing their wardrobes every two months to stay current.
And then the gall to suggest that because the "biggest" concerts in the nation are dinosaur bands, that rock might be dying is just absolutely preposterous. Again, the financial arrogance comes to play: of course these are the biggest moneymakers, because the tickets to these shows are $100 and over a piece. The only reason that they even make money is because apparently there are enough stupid people who are willing to pay these prices to see retread shadows of their former glory days prance around in a middle-aged, safe way. Nostalgia sells, especially to those with enough disposable income to witness it. I wouldn't pay $100 to see Jesus Christ.

Association

the greeny-eyed snake looks on the stairs leading it to the Mouth of Sheol, raining ridiculous red tin roof stained with rust and angel's wings, that touched once a smiling wand, the greasy handed stall that gleams unholy in the night. who has birthed this miracle of steel, aiming to shoot rockets like cauliflowers, raining on a sunday. while people point fingers and laugh others wake in broken roofed homes who listen and smell the time of taps loose and dripping, the scent of water that falls through broken brick and stains the points of bayonets glistening. trashed streets in rubble, children cough rivulets, old women shuffle in dust. doors open and close in a hot afternoon, sun unbroken through thick ivy and white pales the sides of horses and carts, retreat the soft boot unbroken, whittling away each breath with a number, eating crisp heat and sweating, all steps only footfalls no echo. cavernous breath beating time, drums fall silent, clouds fall apart, the weary fall rested only for a while before twilight takes her umbrage.