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New Year's Party!

New Year's Eve party. Brett was so kind as to host all of us at his house-sitting gig. What a good time. He recorded the event with this laptop and camera, taking time-lapse images every ten minutes. I think we got on there for the toast at midnight.
The candy configured in such a way as to optimize its consumption and availability. For a robot maybe. I mean, it's way too angular to be optimized for human consumption. It should have flowing lines, and something that activates your eye. The Toblerone is way to static for anything that is attractive to a human. Unless of course, you want to swordfight with the Toblerone.
Brett shows off his time lapse video setup. It impressed me, I have to admit. He's running it off his Mac laptop, which is also quite impressive, and ... OH MY GOD! Is that homemade guacamole? Let me at that shit, yo!
Brett holds a box that was laying around the house. Now I know that there's alot of hot air being blown around about cloning, and about how cool it is going to be when we have our evil twins running around. It's just the whole "spare body" part that I don't understand. And how does Brett know that the spare in that box is for him?
Dudley, the kindest dog that I met. He just likes to get attention, and I just like giving it, so we hit it off perfectly. If you notice, he is half sitting on the stairs, and half standing. I don't know if that is comfortable, but I guess so, because he was chilling there before I took the picture, and continued to chill there after.
Brett plays video games. I don't know how he did it, but he started playing games, and then all of a sudden, BAM, he was playing video games on THE SUN. I kid you not. I wouldn't believe it myself, if I didn't see it with my own digital camera.
Jeff plays F-Zero. This racing game is for the racing game fan who just cannot sniff enough coke. The game goes at a million miles an hour, and you can't help but bang into the walls the first time you play it. Okay, maybe I totally suck, but it is intense.
The host and one of his guests. I don't remember the conversation at this point in the night, so I'll just ad-lib what I remember. "Did you say 'Pickle?' That's an awesome name for a band!"
Jeff and Amanda, chillin'. Amanda tastes some of Brett's scrumptious treats. I think this was before the cheese got too stale from being out too long. But it was good cheese. Before the stale part, I mean.
Brett gets his booty smacked. I don't know what prompted this sudden outburst of violence, I just know that I got it on file. Just to be in an obscure and unrelated court case in the future, I'm sure of it.
Beating brett continued for a while. In this episode, Brett believes that the vengeful god represented by Amy wants to gouge out his eyes and use them as lubricant in his new cloning device. So he is trying to protect his eyes. But in reality, Amy is just punching him where she can reach. His shoulder.
Jeff shows Amanda just exactly how to work a corkscrew. The lesson material that Jeff drew from dates back to the 1920s, as more and more people had to figure out how to tap into bootleg liquor. Except I don't think this liquor is bootleg. In which case, forget all that.
Brett doges the powerful photon torpedo that comes out of the digital camera. I have to admire his efforts, and he seems to enjoy it, but I don't have the heart to tell him that he's just not fast enough. I mean, it's not my fault if I have superior technology, is it?
Jeff and Matt are keeping the food company, and Jeff takes his best shot at being a blogger. Well, Jeff, it takes many many years of passionate study and nearly monk-like lifestyle in order to be a great blogger. What do you mean, "How would you know?"
Jon and Karl arrive at the party at last. Some of us at the party were found to be saying to ourselve or out loud, "Where are Jon and Karl?" at various times during the evening. Strangely enough, after they arrived, those of us asking the previously-mentioned question were no longer asking that question. Strange, indeed.
Brett wanted to take a picture of some people at the party, but then this wierd white ball of lightning came up to him while he was holding the camera. I reacted like a Roya Python, and took a picture of it. He still denies that it ever happened.
Well, I can't say that I always like pictures of myself, since I'm so used to being on the other side of the camera. But this one. It speaks to me. It says, "dude." To which I reply, "duude." Ad infinitum. Courtesy of Jeff.
This time, I shot a little low, and got the lower half of Brett's face. I wonder if this would line up with this picture? I haven't tried, I'd be interested to know if that works. If anyone figures it out, please email me.
Jeff delights in the camera kidnapping and use. What was he taking a picture of? I couldn't tell you. And anyway, do you ever REALLY know what someone is taking a picture of? I mean, what if their perception is unique, and the recording and playback of that same image to someone else does not elicit the same reaction? Does that mean that you two are not looking at the same image? Because if it was the same, wouldn't it ellicit the same response? Anyway...
Jeff is either holding a weapon of some sort, offering a drink to someone, or preparing to perform hara-kiri. For the sake of the party, if nothing else, I was personally glad that it was number two in that list.
Jon gets booted in the head. At some point, he got into a conversation and issued the challenge, "I bet you can't kick me in the head." I believe that's how the conversation went. So, in order to win that bet, Jon takes a foot to the head. Jeff wants some action, too, so he jumps on in there, too.
Jeff, after being assualted and harrassed by Amanda, is set free again. Responding to the question as to why Jeff was assaulted, Amanda replies, "Well, if I don't know where sunlight comes from, who does?" Enough said on the topic.
At this point in the night, the O'Connor clan, hoping to aspire to their Irish roots, pin down one of the guests and beat the snickers out of him. Okay, that's no what happened, but it looks like it's about to happen, doesn't it?
Amanda is delighted. At what, we don't know. Could it be laminated spark plugs? Perhaps. An electrified howler monkey blanket? Maybe? The flawless performance of the orgasmatron? Absolutely.
Brett has eyeballs. This was news to me, I thought that as a robot, he didn't need eyeballs. But it turns out he does! And he's also not a robot! I almost didn't get it, but then I realized that robots don't drink beer! Wait, what if they do? Also, does this image fit on top of this one?
The Sharpe started going around, and the Sharpe tattoo fest began. This specimen is a limited edition and limited distribution tattoo. It has the words "high" and "tech" abbreviated to "hi" and "tek," in addition to a hyphen. This makes the value of this Sharpe tattoo a MILLION dollars.
Brett tries to weasel his way through the doggie door in the garage. We didn't believe it could happen, so he decided he would prove us wrong. Well, that didn't work out well, so he changed his mind, and showed us just what it looked like when he got stuck.
The party goes on, and someone pulls out the Sharpe permanent marker. Then the tattoos start appearing. I totally dug this tattoo. Talk about tough, too. I mean, damn. Summit what?
Jeff gets his knuckles tattooed. What a badass, I mean, if you ask me, I would have to say that Jeff is a badass. In the true sense of the word, too. No dinkin' around.
This picture makes me think that the ghost of Brett came to visit us at the party. He's got this really eerie ghoulish type look in his eyes. It might just be the Near-IR on the camera, but then again. It might just be the ghost of Brett.
Amanda and Karl exchange pleasantries in an odd moment during the party. They took a break from the caged death-match for an instant to catch their breath. Nobody would believe me, either. I mean, how often do you get to have a caged death-match at a New Year's party?
Brett flexes his WERD muscles. Well, I guess he's flexing his knuckles here. Not his muscles. So just forget about what I said earlier. Those are definitely his knuckles. And I think that's Brett, but now I'm not sure of that, either...
Cory executes some massive swing dancing moves at the party with Amy. It's all the swinging that I don't understand. I mean, I was all about the swing set when I was a kid, but now I'm just in the dark. No idea what the excitement is all about. Regardless, Cory's damn good at this stuff.
I do think that Jon or Brett took this picture. I can't recall at this point, not due to massive brain hemmoraging or memory loss, just plain old...memory loss. Anyway, Jeff and I are obviously thrilled to have our pictures taken, so we demonstrate it in this manner. Hope you like it.
The device named the orgasmotron went around from head to head, and the orgasmotronating occurred on more than one instance. This thing had copper wires that could be formed to just about any shape, and when arranged in such a way that one's head could just barely fit inside of it, then it felt really durn good. Thus, the name.
Cory begins to breakdance. I think he's just showing off, because I mean, ANYBODY can do that. My pinky can breakdance as well as Cory can. What? You want me to show you? Well, I would... it's just... my pinky's tired from winning the WORLD BREAKDANCING CHAMPIONSHIPS OF DOOM. Yeah, it was yesterday. I hope you understand.
Jon performs the slap dance. I was informed that this was just "something that Jon does" every once and a while. I figured, "cool." So I watched, and took some of these photographs. I hope they mean as much to you as they do to me.
Jon is one of the few people who can get their picture taken and actually not be doing what it is I photograph them doing. Okay, that didn't make too much sense, so I'll put it this way: Jon is not tripping in the near to immediate future in this picture. He's actually dancing. Alhtough it looks like he's tripping. He's not. Get over it.
At one point, Jon decided to show us what it would be like if we all got really drunk, and flew to the sun. So we did, and even though it was really really really really hot, Jon still insisted on wearing his hat. He said it was because 30% of his body lost it's heat through his head. I was skeptical of that.
Cory begins scratching the imaginary turntables. I say, more power to ya, buddy. But then Cory thought I was an inflatable llama, and tried to hitch me to the nearest post. I wasn't feeling it, so I decided to tell him that there WERE NO TURNTABLES. I regret that to this day.
Brett and Paul stand on the landing, surveying the party. Brett decided at some point, that it would be a good idea to photograph all these drunken, dancing fools in all their glory. Good idea Brett. Blackmail, it's the profession of the future.
Some of the dancin' fools bustin' up their favorite songs. Hopping, skipping and jumping. All the way to grandmother's house. Wait a minute, that's not the way the song goes! Oh well, keep jumping around...
Paul and Amy chillin'. Just hanging out, doing nothing in particular. At least, THAT'S WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO THINK. Just don't let them out of your sight, then they start stealing and eating your children. Well, maybe just talking to them, BUT STILL. If I had children, that might freak me out just a little bit too much. Maybe that's why I don't yet have children. Hm. I don't think I took these pictures, maybe Jeff?
Okay, Amy looks completely wicked in this picture. I think she was directing the evil at the photographer at the time. I think the photographer at the time was Jeff. So that means that Amy wants to eat Jeff's children. I think. Not positive about that one.
I think Jeff took this picture, too. I'm not too sure what he was going for, but I'm guessing it's some kind of angle on world hunger.
I think at this point, I should have taken the camera away from Jeff. He took this picture, too. Amy looks definitely mischevious, and I can't tell if she just broke something, or what.
Jeff scratches the remainder of the song on his fly zipper. This is called talent. I don't care where you are from, this is crazy stuff to watch. I almost jumped in there myself. I just didn't have a fly at the time.
I walked around the island of food and wine, and took pictures of everyone at the party. I think this is after New Year's, and we're all just basking in our post-toast glory. Which is quite glorious. I mean, just look at the photographs, yo.
Kirsten and Amanda hang out. A bonding moment, fragile and delicate like a catepillar's old cocoon, still gently swaying in the spring breeze. Promptly crushed by the brute force of the camera flash, I'm sure.
Brett battles it out with his arch-nemesis in Madden 2004. It started out civil enough, with the polite gestures, and the condescending "good play," complements. But soon, the insults were flying, and the folding chairs were brought into the brawl. Okay, maybe that was another party...
Jon has since mellowed out since the knee-slapping incident, and now he is just like a big puppy dog. With no fur. And a knit cap. And standing on two legs. Whoah. You're right, that is a freaky lookin' dog.
Some might hypothesis as to why anyone would create such a thing, living in the desert. But then again, in the tropical rainforest, such a thing as an "umbrella" might actually come in handy. To this, I got no sympathetic listeners.
Madden 2004 over Brett's shoulder. I bet he went blind when I took this photograph, with the glare off of the television and all. I think maybe that is why he lost the game. Because of the recurring flashing lights. Oh, who am I kidding? It's all the bad drugs...
Jeff gets really sleepy, and keels over on the recliner next to Amanda. At this point in the evening, people were fading, all the mad dancing and crazy drinking and eating were taxing their tired heads. Silly sleepyheads.
Everybody packed into the television room to watch Brett battle for his life in Madden 2004. We had planned to take the loser upstairs and do something quite evil, but we changed our minds when we saw that Brett was losing so badly. We didn't want to hurt him, just scare him. So we didn't hurt him at all. Although he may still be scared just the same.
Although one might think that Brett is not very good at video games because he lost one game of Madden 2004, that is not necessarily the case. I'll have you know that Brett schooled Jeff at SSX3. Then me. Then Kirsten. Then Jeff. Then me again. It was a viscious cycle.
Amanda dozes off in the comfy leather chairs that surround the video game wall and audience. Oblivious to the world, she didn't seem to notice our excitement at playing video games. Not noticing at all. Maybe if we draw something on her forhead, then she'll notice...
The last game of the evening, Brett versus Kirsten in a head-to-head SSX3 challenge. Of course, we know who won. I mean, it was silly for any of us to think that we could hold a candle to the MASTER, Brett. I will forever hold my head in shame for ever thinking I could do so. That is, until I buy the game and BEAT IT MYSELF! MUhahaha....

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Broadway To Denver.

On Broadway, looking up toward Denver. A straight shot all the way up north to downtown. This is the view from my neck of the woods. At least the neck of the woods that I grew up in. That car is not driving, it is stopped at a stoplight. And so am I. I don't want to cause a panic, you know, people thinking that I'm taking pictures while driving.

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The parents.

My parents, at dinner. This restaurant was also a really dark place. I thought that I would not use the flash, but then they got really grainy. It's not their fault. The color balance was also extrememly hot. Even though I white balanced on the check at the table before taking the picture.

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Sunrise Through the Trees

The sunrise slowly creeping up behind the trees in my neighbor's yard. At 6:45, the sun had tinged the clouds a dark violet, so dark that this picture taken with the digital camera was quite grainy at full size. If that means nothing, this scene was barely lighter than pitch black.

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Aquarium Adventures

A visit to the aquarium in Denver called Ocean Journey results in these closeups of aquatic life. I liked the seahorses the most. They scoot along the bottom, and wrap their little tails around the grass, and hang out upside down. Groovy. Although, the title of this place is kind of a misnomer. I mean, the exhibits are "Denver River Journey" or something of that nature, and is redeemed only slightly by "Indonesian ..." something. I don't remember off the top of my head. But there's a FRICKIN' Sumatran Tiger in the exhibit. Yeah. That's really aquatic, jerks. What the hell? I wasn't going to let that spoil my visit, though. Petting the rays made up for it.

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Gaming, gaming, gaming.

An evening of ps2 and gamecube and beer. Of course. Good games, and an expressive performance or two by a melodramatic loser or two.

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Lots of Equipment.

The family's office, and the racks of equipment stuck in the corner. It is kind of meditative, listening to it hum...

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Tunnel of DOOM.

Looking into a repeating tunnel of doom. This effect is created by aiming the video camera into the screen of the computer. Image the image and create a tunnel. Of DOOM.

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Mega-Food-Buster-Bonus-Super Happy.

This was the spread at the beginning of the party. Unfortunately, I didn't stick around long enough for the end of the party.

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Bowtie. Or Ribbon.

Dad gets creative with his extra christmas ribbons. We don't let him out often enough.

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Mother Made a Mess

This is what happens when you whip cream without the manufacturer's suggested equipment. It's okay, though. She's only messy once a year.

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More Mountain Horizons

The horizon, and the mountains as you come down the hill, under Sante Fe on C-470. And the dashboard, where my camera was resting.

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Respect Life

Columbine, the state flower of Colorado, and the phrase "Respect Life." I wonder if it has anything to do with the school?

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Highland Horizons.

On the way to breakfast, the clear blue sky above the Rocky Mountains and the foothills. Don't worry, I wasn't driving at the time.

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Saddam Billboard.

I can't believe that someone actually put this up. What an arrogant sign. I can't image this helps foreign relations at all. I pulled out and expanded the two sections of the billboard which I found most offensive. First, there are bars superimposed over his face (representing imprisonment), and the "Courtesy of..." is just plain obnoxious. Look for it heading south on Sante Fe Blvd, south of Evans.

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Oh, the Debauchery

Brett points to the glass that contains poison. I though it was popularly called scotch. I guess the vernacular is different here in Denver.
Brett is looking at something, probably in converstaion, but the 'nightshot' feature on this digital camera has little IR illuminators, and it makes everything look like they are in headlights up close. Like now.
Loving the invisible sandwich, popular in such depraved cultural settings as this bar, Brett displays his affection publicly for his Invisi-Hoagie.
Brett's back is to me, but that doesn't keep me from taking a picture of him. No way! I'm all about the back shots. You can't ignore me forever!
Amanda hanging out, and enjoying the conversation, ranging from SCIENCE to SCIENCE of DOOM. She handled it pretty well. I thought so at least. Now, I don't recall taking this picture, so I am going to pin this one on Jon.
This is where the aliens took over Brett's eyeballs, and drove them around town for a while. He missed them while they were gone, but the aliens were nice enough to return them (undamaged) at the end of the evening. Courtesy of Jon.
The pub crowd, as taken by Jon.
The pub crowd, as taken by Jon, 2 seconds after the crowd shot above. If you'll notice, people moved. Very quickly. Away from him.
A conversation on the side of the main table. Little side conversations and catchings up. Very pleasant. I do agree. Courtesy of Jon.
This woman at the pub named Aspen had this awesome hair. I told Brett that I wanted to take a picture of him touching it. She was gracious enough to oblige us.
Aspen allowed me to photograph the full length of her braids. These must have taken decades to grow. Someone correct me here...
Two of the ladies at the pub, demonstrating their height difference. Can you believe the one on the left actually thought she was shorter? That's ridiculous!
The check, at the end of the evening. I think this is the largest pub tab that I've ever seen at the end of the evening.

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Dinner Company.

Good rendevous with friends over dinner. And what a dinner, too.

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Incredible.

And I was awed again by the striking clouds.

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Homesteaders.

My friends, and their fabulous house.

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Destruction and Terror.

Okay, no terror. Just destruction. It used to be a Burger King. I don't think that drive through works anymore, but that's just me.

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Raccoon Prints

In the areas where Metro Denver is still wild, the evidence abounds, like these footprints of giant raccoons.

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Long's Peak

Way in the distance, you can see Long's Peak, poking out of the snow clouds.

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Dirty Stripe.

A dirty stripe, down the middle of the car. What a wild carwash that must have been.

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Top Secret.

These buildings, due to close and intimate knowedge, house a data center for Visa Card. The building on the far left is a data warehouse, and the windows on the exterior are fake. No large vehicles are allowed near these buildings, and the people who work there, in the middle building, are expendible, because any possible terrorist explosion would destroy the middle building before it destroyed the left building. All of this is slightly disturbing. All for my credit card?

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Mystery Diagrams.

These were discovered on our table after lively conversation. I will give you a hint as to what they describe. They outline a video game. But what title? Highlight answer here: Dance Dance Revolution.

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Video Gaming.

This little boy was sitting at his table, playing his little video game. So was his sister. They weren't talking to each other at all. :(

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Ice Fight

With the spilling of the ice tray, someone got the idea of putting ice cubes down shirts. I don't know who the wiseguy was, but look at the chaos which ensued.

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Chandelier

The chandelier in the dining room, way under-exposed, so that you can see the lights and the reflections. I'm into reflections lately, can't you tell?

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Drained Teacup

A drained teacup on the table after dinner. Just chillin.

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Wine Glass Nightshot

The reflections from the house and the room in the wine glasses on the table looked really spiffy. So I took a picture of it.

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Confidant

I don't know what they were talking about, but it sure looks conspiratorial, for sure. Like, ever.

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Oh My God.

I can't remember what this was about, but Dad did something really funny or really dumb. No way to tell which.

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The Gang Watching the Slideshow.

The family watching the slideshow and describing their relations to people as they flashed up on the screen. Kelsea could be heard saying, "you already said that!" After the same person appeared more than once.

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Reception Watcher.

As we watch the slide show of the reception over the Thanksgiving holiday, we all drifted into a semi-coma state. The comfy chairs only accellerated that process.

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Switched Hats!

Tricky, tricky! He switched hats on me, and wanted to see if I noticed! I've got the responses of a drugged bovine, man! Therefore, I didn't notice until after I looked at the pictures a few times. Even then, I had to be told. Responses of a drugged bovine aren't cool, man.

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Food Coma

Food coma after a great meal, and we piled back into the comfy chairs in order to watch the pictures of the East Coast get-together.

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Crowned Clown

Wearing festive bows and ribbons has always been a hobby of Jay's, he's just been really shy about it. Until now.

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Tickled Out

This one looks all tickled out. I think we had to shunt them out the front door in the end. And even then, they were still wired.

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Tickle Sisters.

I remember when my brother and I used to have the responsiblity of tickling and distracting the young girls. Now that they're growing up, it appears that they fulfill that role on their own. So now I take pictures of them, instead.

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The Other Side

The west side of the dinner table, volleying conversation off of the east side.

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The East Dinner Table

The east side of the dinner table, basking in the warm glow of food coma.

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Still Watching the Wedding.

The wedding still going in full swing, even though we're getting ready at this point. Slowly making the transition from "wedding-watching" mode to "gorge-your-face" mode.

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Sharpening the Knife.

Getting ready to dig in for dinner, dad sharpens the knife. Mmm, yeah.

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Watching the Wedding.

Still glued to the television, Kelsea finds her Sephora box more interesting.

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Glued to the Television.

Watching the DVD of the most recent wedding, the party is glued to the television, and oohing and aahing over the wedding. Okay, more like teasing me over my dancing skills, but that's okay, because I'm not bitter.

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Laughter is the Spice of Life.

I think that's how the saying goes. I'm not too sure. You bet these girls can belt out some shrieks and laughter like no other. A regular laughing machine, I'm tellin' ya.

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Shrimp Discovered!

It seems as though my father was able to find a piece of shrimp in the platter. I think he unearthed it from the carpet, though.

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Mowed Down On The Shrimp.

It appears as though all the shrimp cocktail ( the seasonal favorite for these regular get-togethers ) has been emptied. I think Kelsea is nibbling the last fleshy bit of yumminess.

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Hors Dourves

Snack time! Crash in front of the coffee table, and mow down on some shrimp cocktail. And with the spicy sauce, too!

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First Guest!

Like clockwork, Eric was the first guest to arrive. With bundles of joy under each arm, just the way we like it.

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Video Conferencing.

Doesn't work in our house. We're trying to get in touch with my brother, whom we are not celebrating Christmas with this year. First year apart, :( Well, it's all for the best, but not before we pull out all our hair over this malfunctioning video conferencing device.

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Sweet Orange Potatoes.

I was elected to create this dish for Christmas dinner. I volunteered because I thought it would be easier than the alternative recipe. You can track the progress of the recipe through these images:

1. 
   

   Removal of orange contents and cleaning out of shells.

2. 
   

   Combining the sweet potatoes, sugar, salt, and orange contents into a mashed mixture.

3. 
   

   Ready to nuke. The mixture has been poured into the oranges, and marshmallows are topped on each shell.

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The Parent's New Chair.

The leather chair luxury and reading lamp that is now my parent's living room. Exquisite, and I hope that I get much sitting done in that chair. I think I'm more motivated by the fact that it's not mine than the fact that it is comfortable. Hm.

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Wine Glass, Apple Juice.

I guess you can't tell, but there's apple juice in that glass. It looks cool with all the reflections. Okay, maybe only I think it looks cool.

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Huge Clouds.

One thing I miss for sure, is the high clouds that just poke across the sky, and let you look to one direction and dependably say, "looks like it's clearing up this afternoon." The low clouds that cruise and break up and come and go leave you no room for error. Unforgiving fog. This is the sky I miss.

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Ah, Mountain Horizon.

Okay, shitty picture, but it's the mountains on the horizon! What a great sight to see! They're so pretty! And if you don't like it... move to Kansas.

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Robots!

This robotic cart-pusher was herding the carts in the Sam's Club parking lot. What a riot. I think the world is getting lazier and lazier. I remember working across the parking lot, fetching renegade shopping carts and lumber carts. Ahh... those were the days.

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Tax The Elves!

I think that I'm all for elven empowerment and emancipation. It sucks that they have to lower themselves to do this kind of work.

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The Menu.

The menu at Sam's Club. Yum, I want pretzels.

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Towers of Pop

Just rows and rows of pop. All shrink wrapped and six packed and paletted.

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Dance For Your Life.

At least, that's what I think this sign means.

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Wonder.

Maybe not brand name, but if you wanted to feed an army, you could lead them here.

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Coke.

The piles of Coca-Cola to be consumed.

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Lampola.

The lamps hanging from the cieling at Sams. Big honkin' lights. I can't make out this kind of detail with my eyes.

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The Roof Is NOT On Fire.

Especially when it's made of steel, like this one. The warehouse roof over Sam's is quite high. High enough so that you can stack lots and lots of pop cans on top of one another.

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It's Beef.

America's been increasing it's consumption. Do you think this is the one mad cow?

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Looking Out The Back.

Driving to Sam's Club, purveyer of fine bulk foods.

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The Living Room.

It's all white. Should it be padded, too?

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Dad.

Cleaning the dishes. Thanks, Dad. It's nice to be home.

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Good Morning.

Hello. I am blogging my Christmas and New Year vacation with a gusto. This is my first shot. I woke in the morning, had some oatmeal (yum), and was looking at this plant. We've got about 4 or five of these chifleras sitting on the counter, my parents like to behead them, and spawn them all over the place. I think they look cool.

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Likening US Policy to Israel

Harsh words and comparisons come from The Daily Star, a Lebonese online publication. The United State's occupation in Iraq seems to cause more trouble than the ousted leader. This, I can believe. At least it's not that far fetched.

All the big wigs in Washington might say that the 'resistance' will decrease, because there is no figurehead for them. No, there probably isn't, but fighting for their freedom from the US probably is.

It's like a tar pit. You sell some weapons and such to the tar pit, then when you try to go back and get them, you get all sticky, and covered in shit. If Bush and company had only listened, or had a bit more compassion, I hope this quagmire would have been avoided.

Then again, I guess I could continue to gripe, or do something positive about the situation. I wonder if there's some way to expedite the end of the occupation? Hm... homework for me.

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What a Day for Words!

Ad Hominem - Defined by Merriam-Webster to be "appealing to feelings or prejudices rather than intellect." Sounds quite familiar. It doesn't sound that far off from the foreign policy of our country. Hard not to have feelings toward "evildoers," since, well, we all think that evil is a bad thing.

Interregnum - Defined by dictionary.com to be "the interval between two reigns." Hm. Do they target their words of the day as political events unfold? Just to create saavy politicking and smart sounding people? Boost vocabulary during times of vibrant public discourse? How awesome would that be?

Has it always been this way? I hasten to assume that it has, I have just been naive enough to think that democracy has always been true.

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Earthquake!

My first earthquake today. Talking on the phone with my father. Just sitting in my cubicle (yes, my life is that dry), minding my own business, trying to talk in a soft enough voice to gain some kind of privacy.

Then the building jerks. Like a sneeze, cough, or twitch. The cube I sit in has got these little cheap plastic windows, about one foot high, and about three feet long. They are like the packaging you can't tear open from a desperately wanted toy. The only noise was the fifty or so faux-windows rattling back and forth in the little cube windows.

I could feel the building move, however. I was sitting in my chair, and the building felt like it went over a tiny speedbump. My chair transfered the energy up into my butt, and it felt like I dropped something on the leg of the chair.

We looked at each other, my dad was on the phone, and I asked, "was that one?" As if everyone knew what I mean by "one." And they did. It showed up on the internet a few minutes later, and is available on the usgs.gov website as of this writing.

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Formal Declaration

While this is frightening, it does not include Iraq, anywhere. In looking for the declaration of war against Iraq, I found the declaration of war against terror. What a bunch of bullshit, to declare war on 'any entity'. This is verging on the obscene abuse of power.

Public Law 107-243, as far as I can tell, is what the US is running on, in order to justify their military occupation. But now it's bogus. The document refers to the Iraqi regime, which no longer exists. There is no control structure in Iraq that resembles what the US wanted to destroy. Job well done.

Now go HOME.

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Busted

Flags are flying, and Bush has got a new campaign slogan. "We got him." I'm sick of it already. I will admit, it is good news to know that a fugitive has been caught, and is going to be brought to justice.

I suppose that's only half the story. So are we still at war with Iraq? Or was war only against Saddam Hussein? In which case, this thing should be over, right? What's the point of being in the country now? "Stabilization?" Give me a break, man. Shit is messy because you've put your nasty paw on it.

I am looking forward to the end of this war, and I only hope that this is going to make it happen sooner.

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Captured
~ 8:30 PM, AST. 20:30 GMT.

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Justice or PR Stunt?

I believe that the new court that will try Saddam Hussein on war crimes and crimes against humanity is a good thing. I can't see how any person would believe that it wasn't. You have to wonder, however, at the timing of it all. I mean, after Milosevic was desposed, how long did ittake before The Hague tried him? Obviously not while the NATO was was going on. So I question whether the court is set up for goodwill toward men, or if this is more the "hearts and minds" variety.

See more ...

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Warm Fuzzy Feeling

I get it every time I hear of this happening!

• on news.bbc.co.uk
• on www.reuters.co.uk
• on edition.cnn.com
• on un.org

I wonder why there isn't more attention paid to this kind of thing. Justice is being made, evil is being made accountable. This is a reason to not fear everything in our feeble little lives. Why not rejoice?

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Euphemism = Domination

Lately, I've been reading this book called "Domination and the Arts of Resistance," by James C. Scott. Recommended and praised, I figured I should give this material a shot. I'm diggin' it. I discovered his postulation that those in a position of power use euphemisms to "obscure the use of coersion." No doubt, yo!

See more ...

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"Our warehouse of answers does not stock the right parts anymore."

A quote by Willaim C. Howell, PhD, adjunct professor of psychology at Arizona State and Rice universities, in this article titled "Psychology and the Soldier."

It doesn't address what I was looking for, but it's a good quote. I was thinking, today during my quiet commute, what kind of hell it must be like to be attempting to anticipate terror attacks, suicide bombers, roadside bombs, ambushes, assasinations, and the like. Insanely traumatic, I'm assuming.

Add to that trauma and (assumedly) typical masculine disclosure, that results in a hell of a lot of pent up rage. To ask young men, 18 to 25, to deal with these conditions over and over again, for months, you start to wonder (at least I do) how come atrocities aren't committed more often. I am not excusing them from occurring, it just seems remarkable that they can hold it together for that long.

One comparison can be the way that massacres occurred during the Vietnam conflict (not War, oh no...not officially, at least). You know, I have no idea what it's like, and I don't know what my cracking point would be, I am just hoping to God, Allah, Buddah, anyone, that our situation today doesn't lead us there.

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Too Bad To Be True

If this world gets broiled in another world war, you know where I'm going? No? Good. Because it's a long fucking way away from this cesspool of governmental bullshit.

I saw a book the other day, which documents most of the United States' atmospheric nuclear tests. All the nuke clouds pluming into the air is frightening. Imagining the devastation caused by each of those 'tests' is boggling. And this is what we're afraid of. A 'rouge state' acquiring this 'technology' (oh, I got words for that...later) and using it against us. As if the alternative is any better.

It's not enough that it feels like this affliction that is United States Imperialism is offensively oppressive, it feels hopeless to find the good side of it all. I mean, if there are people in the world who are so convinced that they are right that you can't communicate with them, what's to stop them from doing something destructive?

Also, recently it's come to my attention that people don't always talk about their feelings. Which is perhaps a reason we're all in this together today. If that happened, would we be so desperate for peace?

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He's Got Terrorists!

Broken clouds over the bay and sunbeams through the morning fog. The ferry passes an aircraft carrier (#4) docked in San Francisco. The landing pattern for Oakland International Airport draws SouthWest planes over Angel Island and Treasure Island, blasting south through the bay. I can barely comprehend one of those machines devestating a 100+ story building. But I must, because that is the basis of all this fucked up shit going down. "Terrorist" is the new "cooties". Seems that George hasn't really matured at all, he has just learned new language.

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CIA Finds Head In Ass.

An article in the SF Chronicle today: "CIA says Iraqis dubious about U.S." You don't have to be a part of the intelligence community to figure that out. What citizen of this country honestly believes that our country's military presence in a foreign country is welcomed? What kind of arrogant prick could assume that? And who is so afraid of their superiors to not said it until now? "I'll tell the boss next week that our plan is in the shitter." Yeah, good idea. Waste more time, money, lives, and hope for peace in this world. Thanks, jerk.

Article on sfgate.com

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Super Org.

Is it ever realistic to believe that one organization can do it all? Take the UN, for example. Is the supplication of the US by the UN going to solve/end all the violence in Iraq? As a beurocracy, one might think the UN would be even more sluggish in their response. Also, is the UN still considered an US puppet? I honestly wish that the UN could bring peace back to Iraq. Just thinking of the millions of people - multitudes of beautiful, multi-faceted minds - living in a violent and oppresive environment makes me nausious. All for what, fearless leader? I despise that motherfucker.

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Poverty Draft.

I was not aware, until recently, that there was ever an option to remove one's self from fighting in a war when enlisted in the military. Then, I learned about "Conscientious Objector" status.

An objector either changes their mind about the whole killing thing after they join the military, grew spiritually and followed a more righteous path, or realized that the Military may pay for your college, but you gotta do some nasty shit back for them. Most people come from the last category, which is mostly poor, naive people, looking for a way to fund their education. Then they get sent off with a rifle, and a pat on the ass, and expected to be killing machines.

There are all sorts of ways for soldiers to opt out, but usually these methods are obfuscated. The Military doesn't want you to leave once you're in there, apparently. And when you leave, you are ostricized, and harrassed. For doing what you believe to be the right thing.

Damn, this shit still goes down...

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Insert Heart Here.

An unheard-of report comes from the depths of hell, er, I mean the bowels of the defense department. Turns out that there MIGHT be SOME kind of ALTERCATION, and that there may be DIFFICULTIES ahead. PERHAPS.

Rumsfeld the warmonger has a heart. Was it the wizard behind the screen? Where did he find it? How much longer is it going to be before the rest of the warmonger tribe in suits finds theirs? Damn, I hope it's soon.

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Back off, Greedy fuck.

Yesterday, the United Nations Secretary General announced that some people "pursue unsustainable levels of consumption." Oh wow. I didn't know if he noticed the opulence of this country, but hell, yeah. Born and bred to use and throw away, disposable, and (overused)immediate gratification. This is stuff that's been put into our heads for YEARS.

I wonder if anyone is going to own up to that. A press release from some mega-corpo-swashbuckling organization that states: "We deliberately mislead you, public, into believing that our product was necessary for your survival and success. We also did not respect the environment when we built our huge capacity factory a couple miles upstream from that protected wetland habitat. In addition, you may have cancer metasisizing in your brain from coincidental doses of our product. Thanks for being a loyal customer."

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Oops.

Looks like the cat is out of the bag. Or it was never in it in the first place. Yes, that seems appropriate. The International Atomic Energy Agency has declared that no such evidence exists to support the Iraqi-Mass-Destruction weapon theory.

I don't know about you, but that kind of makes our president look like quite an asshole. And to think he projects the air of American supriority when (oh, god, I hope) nothing of the sort ACTUALLY exists.

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No more food.

Who knew that 30% of the UN's Oil-for-Food program revenue would go to organizations claiming losses during the invasion of Kuwait. Well, that's all deceptive and evil, and I'm glad that it's ending. The program is to be "phased out" by November 21.

I don't know if I trust anyone in the oil industry as far as I can spit. After that, are they renaming the program? Perhaps Oil-for-nothing program? Let's see Bush & Co. pass that one through.

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Bush <heart> Money.

Now the government covers up and squashes evidence that greenhouse gases, such as carbon dioxide, cause global warming. As well as: our government senior officials all have purse strings ... er ... I mean ties to the Oil Industry. Kind of like organized crime. Wonderful.

Even better, considering this war was not SUPPOSED to be about oil, but then again, nobody can find any other reason for the atrocity. I wonder if the UK was in on this, too. And how dumb they would feel if they realized they were duped into war for greedy little George.

I hope it feels real shitty.

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Bring It Home.

I learned today that since the end of "major combat operations" in Iraq on May 1st, 77 United States Soldiers have died in various attacks. I also learned today that since the end of "major combat operations" in Iraq on May 1st, 56 United States civilians have died in the city of Oakland, in various attacks.

Congratulations, you've brought it home. I don't see why it's such a rebellious and un-schooled place across that wide ocean. I mean, I work close to Oakland, does that qualify me for some kind of compensation from the government, like the loss of limb or loss of life packages offered to US military personnel?

Not to mention the fact that POTUS does a really good job of ignoring the IMPORTANT issues, like poverty and education, and THINGS THAT MIGHT MAKE A FUCKING DIFFERENCE IN OUR LIVES.

Putz.

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Two Years Later.

8:37 AM

Waiting for the ferry. Walked through bustling people in the financial district. Suits everywhere. A man wearing full camoflage gear, with pack and large knife, carried a small-to-medium American Flag. A symbol rife with meaning and connotation today.

See more ...

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#1 Warmonger.

In an article published by the New York Times, Donald H. Rumsfeld proposed this remark:

"You can't tuck in and hide and pretend that it's going to go away," he said of terrorism. "It isn't. The only solution is to do what we're doing."

In other words, we can take the terrorism out of the war, but you can't take the war out of us? What the fuck is he talking about? It's blatant warmongering, believing that we are fixing the world by occupying it, one poor country after another.

I think I will award the first candidate in the next election to use the word "fuckheads" to describe the current White House staff with my first ever campaign contribution.

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DARPA Does It Again.

The headling "Pentagon to start futures market for terror attacks" in the newspaper immediately caught my attention. The Pentagon, the symbol of the military force that is the United States. A market, a trading place, bazaar of goods, services, and information. The military is hoping that everyone ELSE in the world will do their research for them.

This gives me a great idea. Next: "Zwarg replaced by internet robot." That will be the next headline in our company newsletter. Oh, wait, we don't have one. Well, in the inaugural issue, it will discuss how my duties have been assumed by this robot, which can be controlled by anybody on the internet. Of course, there will be time-sharing, so that one user cannot use the robot all day, and let other people assume my duties. Spread the love around, you know?

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Shooting Two Hairy Men.

Well, hopes are looking up for the Iraqi people again. Our good guys got their bad guys. The devil twins (okay, they're not twins, but still...) were killed in an attack on a residence in Iraq on Wednesday. What great rejoicing. What wonderful news. More casualties by an abrasive and arrogant occupier.

I wonder what kind of effort is being put into this lousy two-bit manhunt. For example, if you had 1,000 people well trained, and searching for this Hussein character, you'd think that they'd be able to find him sooner rather than later. HOWEVER, if you took those same 1,000 people, and asked them to start rebuilding the infrastucture of a country that has been crippled, you'd also think that they'd be able to fix up the country sooner rather than later.

Right, so like I was saying: why keep the poor schmucks down? You'll get more brownie points if you ACTUALLY HELP PEOPLE. Even I know that.

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Operation Arctic Submersion.

So I got back from Alaska last night. About ten days of silence, quiet, no reference to any war, or any politics. The best ten days of my life, and the wonderful void that came with it. The lack of super-stimulus that follows us around these days. Billboards that electrocute your retinas, commercials that make you want to vomit, radio stations that are offensive to listen to.

I didn't set out to do it. I didn't think that I would be ever placed into a situation where I might be capable of doing so. But I was, and I did. I might have, actually, which may be scarier, because there's still an element of doubt. I think I saved one of my friend's lives. And I don't call myself a hero or wave some kind of huge flag. It's something that you live with on a daily basis after that fact.

I can't imagine the burden of living with the knowledge that you had taken a person's life. If this feeling is so fulfilling, then what kind of trump would you feel like knowing you had extinguished something so unique and precious? I don't know but maybe all the soldiers today do.

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The Shipping News

These are the ships that I pass by on my way to and from work. The listing is grouped by day. First is the name of the ship, then the city or home port, then the morning or evening commute hours in which I observed the ship at the wharf. The fewest ships that I have ever observed is one, while the most I have observed is six. There is one round trip, the Manulani. I'm assuming that it went to Hawaii and back in the time that I've been documenting the arrivals and departures of these great steel beasts.

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Counting Ants.

After a recent protest in San Francisco, they decided to fly over and photograph the protests, in order to count the number of people there. I guess last time, when they lied about how many people were there (reporting 50,000 instead of more realistic 250,000) they got kind of nervous, and called in the experts.

I guess if you've got a hell of a lot of time on your hands, you can try to count them all up as well.

Frame 1 - City Hall to McAllister and Market.
Frame 2 - Market Street, from 8th to Turk.
Frame 3 - Market Street, from Golden Gate to O'Farrell.
Frame 4 - Market Street, from Sutter to Ellis.
Frame 5 - Market Street, from Post to California.
Frame 6 - Market Street and Drumm to Ferry Building.

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Twelve Nuts In A Can.

Well, I guess this puts a cap on it, I couldn't really agree more with this guy.

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/gate/archive/2003/07/07/hsorensen.DTL

It's basically an analysis about how our leader recieves commands from God. Thoroughly horrifying, if you ask me. This man is hoping to relieve tensions in the Middle East between two groups vying for the holy land. And he thinks his commands from his God are any better or more justfied than the commands from the other's God?

No use praying, it's all written now...

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Ship Log Entry

OOCL Hong Kong, Hong Kong - AM
Manulani, Honolulu - AM
Manda, Honolulu - AM
APL Korea, Oakland - AM
Alwadi Al Gadeed, Alexandria - AM

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Ship Log Entry

NYK Lodestar, Panama - AM, PM
Manulani, Honolulu - AM, PM
APL Korea, Oakland - AM, PM
Alwadi Al Gadeed, Alexandria - AM, PM

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Ship Log Entry

Maui, Honolulu - AM
APL Holland, Singapore - AM, PM
Alwadi Al Gadeed, Alexandria - AM, PM
Direct Condor, Monrovia - PM
Manulani, Honolulu - PM

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Ship Log Entry

Alwadi Al Gadeed, Alexandria - PM
APL Holland, Singapore - PM
Maersk Auckland, Monrovia - PM
Nordstrand, Limassol - PM
Maui, Honolulu - PM
Singapore Express, Neipaeyi (?) - PM

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Ship Log Entry

APL Sweden, Singapore - AM, PM
Kauai, Honolulu - AM
Stuttgart Express, Hamburg - AM

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Ship Log Entry

APL Sweden, Singapore - PM
Kauai, Honolulu - PM
Stuttgart Express, Hamburg - PM

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Ship Log Entry

Manulani, Honolulu - AM, PM
President Grant, Oakland - AM, PM
NYK Aphrodite, Panama - PM
Hanjin Washington, Panama - PM

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Ship Log Entry

Hanjin Bremen, - AM, PM
CSCL Tianjin, Valletta - AM
APL Thailand, Oakland - AM, PM
Direct Kea, Monrovia - AM, PM
Manulani, Honolulu - PM

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Ship Log Entry

Maui, Honolulu - AM
APL Belgium, Singapore - AM, PM
Lihue, Honolulu - PM

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Conversation Over.

It seems that George is not fooling anybody. His declaration on May 1, 2003 was that the "major combat" was over. This seems to have led some to believe that the war itself was over. These small handful of opinions seem to show that not everyone was fooled by nonsense rhetoric.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/talking_point/2987264.stm

I wonder when this country is going to start holding it's leaders up to a higher moral standard. Actually, it's not only this country, it is others as well. Not many globally active members of our world society, but still. Look at the president of Liberia, for instance. Indicted on War Crimes, egotisctical, etc.

It's enough to make one conservative... sheesh.

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Ship Log Entry

APL Belgium, Singapore - PM
Columbus Florida, Monrovia - PM
Maui, Honolulu - PM
Leverkusen Express, Bremen - PM

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Pants on Fire.

http://www.house.gov/reform/min/inves_admin/admin_nuclear_evidence.htm

Deciet, lies, evil, corruption, greed. And that's only the beginning. The way that we have found to convince people to fight for some kind of truly moral conflict, is to lie to them. I'm surprised I haven't thought of it first myself. I heard somewhere recently that the way to win an argument is to change the truth to suit your needs.

How appropriate. I wonder why the world exists with these people in it. Do they serve to remind us all about the idiosyncrasies in the human condition? Maybe that's it. Their suffering and toil and errors illuminate the way for the remainder of the human population. I guess in that manner they do us all a bit of good.

Thanks, George.

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Fraudulent Leadership.

We are taught early on that leadership is a trait that is somewhat synonymous with honesty, integrity, and perhaps even morality.

When faced with glaring incongruities on the decisions and facts presented to the public by the leadership of our country, these qualities come into question.

When seeing the corruption, greed, and guilty pleads by the leaderships of the corporations, these qualities are doubted heavily.

Truly, I propose to change the definition in the dictionary from "guidance; direction" to "engaging in fraud; deceitful." I think that the youth of our nation would more likely be able to identify those they call 'leaders' today.

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Gone Fishing.

Videos of Saddam's family and his family celebration are the latest hit at Blockbuster Iraq. The people can't get enough of the monster's ball. After a tight lid on the dictator's family life, this leaks out, and all the people want to see it.

Debunking favorite movies from playlists like Rambo. How does that work, exactly? No, kids, Rambo is just a movie. But this asshole Saddam, you better be careful. No, he's the one with the baby bouncing on his knee.

"Gratuitous violence only happens on television, children. Say, have you seen our neighbors? No, the ones on the other side. Not the ones that disappeared last month, silly, the other ones."

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False Memory.

The other day, I heard a rumor (that's all it was) from one of my friends. "The war's been over," she says, like I've been living in a hole for a few weeks. It's as if all things have ceased existing in the same plane for a few moments, as if our parallel lives collided breifly before we resumed our mutually exclusive world views.

Then I looked. And I searched. And I dug around some more. NOWHERE on the internet could I find a statement from any person of our government declaring the war to be over. No news service has any official release by any house of any color (or lack thereof) on the topic. In curbing my wrath, I find it sad that someone could think that this nasty, disgusting part of our nation's identity would just go away if not payed attention to.

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Yet Another Revolution.

An evening of outspoken spoken word has inspired me. To listen for yourself, you'll have to do some digging, but the words of Kamau "Pitch-Black" Abayomi are powerful and mentally rocking.

At the end of the performance, the notebook was whipped out, and the raw, dripping thoughts burdened with coarse emotional charge were unleashed on the house. The clarity and passion of his writing seared through my senses as the thought of revolution was invoked and inverted. The revolution starts here. And ends here. An internal revolution will change more of the world than just one person. A universal revolution therefore will have all the more impact.

The poison of bling-bling is killing everyone's brother.

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War On.

Flowers bloom, war breezes blow, people walk hand in hand, laughter eminates from coffee houses. The smell of the air is sweetened by pollen and the sunlight is softened to that perfect summer glow. The water reflects the sun as if configured in the middle of a Hollywood soundstage. The blue sky is deepened, and richly colored, even before the digital effects.

It makes me want to scream, shake each person I see, and yell into their dense, self-absorbed lives, "WAR IS ON." How quickly average American Joe and American Jane decided that the 'end of major conflict' equated to the end of the war. This devestation is continuing, and the continuing policy of this state is negatively affecting any route towards true peace or progress.

End it now, please.

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Track Records Are For Losers.

The United States, the regime-changing fuck up in the political arena. Out of the latest attempts to change regimes, Afghanistan and Iraq now appear to be just adding to a long list of failures. When you consider Haiti, Nicaragua, Iran, South Korea, Vietnam and the Phillipines (or is it Indonesia?), the United States doesn't look so competent. Some might even call them inept.

Yet the game goes on. How do these people summon the arrogance to think that they know how to do such huge things? Impossible tasks in our own country do not all of a sudden become possible outside of our borders.

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I Know Not Peace.

My childhood was great. I have memories of endless summer days, the baking heat tanning my body, and the carefree air of no responsibility. Basically, I am lucky.

I am among a lucky few to be born into the middle-class of America. Where suburbs offer security and quiet, and gracefully ignore 'all those bad things'. Versus those less fortunate, I had it pretty well off.

But what about those people who know nothing of comfort, or happiness? Loneliness, abuse, violence and fear rule their lives. Intellectual pursuits suddenly don't seem so noble, amazing, or useful. How could I survive?

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Insert Foot Here.

http://money.cnn.com/2003/05/05/news/companies/war_bechtel/index.htm

It might come as a surprise that a construction company in the United States was funded by Bin Laden. A wealthy Saudi Arabian family, the name Bin Laden is quite common. And it's also known that Osama Bin Laden's income was mostly from construction. Interesting. And now that there is a country needing rebuilding and construction services, it is not surprising that there are going to be many contractors and sub-contractors.

It all quite a circular reference, isn't it? I mean, the government starts war. It pays it's soldiers. It pays for the munitions. It pays for the equipment. It blows everything up. Then the government pays companies to rebuild what they had blown up. And the taxpayers pay the government, and fund this whole mess. And the government pays its employees, who are taxpayers, by the way.

I want to know how I can opt-out of this war. Isn't there some link I can click on?

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Rebuilding Awards.

http://www.caii-dc.com/News/Iraq_news.htm

So it looks like Iraq is going to get some assistance in their rebuilding. An organization called Creative Associates has been awarded a contract to rebuild the education sector in Iraq.

I wonder if they'll be responsible for installing larger anti-aircraft weapons on the roofs of the schools, or plowing up those useless playgrounds to make them into bunkers. Or, at the going rate, those open spaces will be great locations for mass graves. I think this definitely should have been investigated while Saddam was still in power. Or at least they could have charged him a huge consulting fee.

How exactly does one rebuild an entire SECTOR of a nation? A contract to rebuild an educational sector is like consignment on ocean water. How does that work, exactly? And how do you put some kind of price tag on it as well? It's not like there exists a price sheet or going rate for "Educational Sector Rebuilding." It sounds like something in SimCity.

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Atrocity.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/3026821.stm

One thing I have a hard time understanding, is how one human being can conceive of the idea of murdering huge numbers of people. To me, the idea of extinguishing the life out of another person is apalling. Not just because I don't want to become a nice piece of prison ass, either. The impossible amount of disregard for another person would be, well, impossible to summon.

And the fact that Hussein himself probably had this act done by some subordinate is just as appalling. What kind of hatred and maliciousness has been pervading the whole control structure of Iraq, in order for this to be Standard Operating Procedure, or even just another order to follow? At what point did the subordinating officer or gruntsurrender any faculty for reason or compassion, and coldly execute?

What a twisted motherfucker.

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Deception? Not In Prime Time!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/correspondent/3028585.stm

It appears that we've all been duped again, folks. That world-class private that had been taken as a POW in the beginning of the war ends up being a little more than a traffic accident. The funny thing is, how can you confuse bullet wounds for scratches?

I think it's a hilarious description of the rescue operation, and I love the references to Hollywood. I can almost imagine the calls now, "go-go-go," as troops come storming down the hallway.

Coming up next: my documentation of my rescue mission in Tibet. As soon as it's cleared by the CIA, of course...

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Documentation Ends Here.

So it appears as though the CNN.com coverage of the war in Iraq, dubbed 'War Tracker' is no longer current. A discovery on their website states that they have documented everything up until May 1. "A day-by-day look at the war in Iraq, archived after President Bush delcared on May 1 that "major combat operations in Iraq have ended." ( http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2003/iraq/war.tracker/index.html ).

What a convenient thing. The president thinks that the major combat is over, and so it the war. And the suckers at a premier (at least well-funded) news source buy it, hook, line and sinker. Well, that wasn't difficult to convince anybody of.

When does it end? When do the occupied people truly become free? I have my suspicions that it has yet to come to fruition, and will be a while coming.

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Broken Down Dog.

The Yoga pose of our social services. Debate continues in San Francisco about funding of homeless support services. Amazing that so many things that weigh so much more in the light of humankind are in front of everyone's face, and this is what they think about.

How do you check yourself and realize that the whole big picture of everything is so much larger than anything any one person could ever hope to be. That utility bill being late is NOT GOING TO MATTER next week, or even tomorrow.

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To Occupy, Or Not To Occupy.

It turns out that what we've been doing all along is occupying our new-found friend's country. Silly us. I mean how could we have known? We installed a huge military presence in their country in order to dispose of a terrible leader (didn't they know that already?), and well, we just rolled over one day, and woke up with the silk sheets bunched up our butt crack. Then we realized that well, shucks, I guess you could call it a military occupation.

Can you blame us? I mean, we've got to help the little guy distribute his natural resources across the globe. I mean, don't you want to keep driving those fifty miles to work? I thought so.

It comes down to this: you gotta win some to lose some.

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Worst of the Worst.

So the story starts out with a group of children and teenagers living in a group home. This home is for troubled teens, those who may not be able to live 'normal' lives. The administrators and guards at this home are wicked, abusing and even torturing the children.

And then war comes. The gates are flung open, and kids run out into the poorest neighborhood in the city, getting assaulted and raped by the residents. In addition to the kids leaving, people come in to the home to loot and vandalize. Things have now progressed from bad to worse.

When this happens in war-torn country, it makes me wonder. What kind of condition are kids in who live in my city? Are conditions here just as atrocious? The level of funding for safe environments for teens in this country is pretty minimal, and I'm nearly positive that in a poorer country, these services must not exist. Children raised in a living hell, and never know of anything better.

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Thanks, But No Thanks.

Now that America is going back to carelessness, the popular sentiment in our newly acquired territory ... I mean liberated international trade partner, seems to be falling. The people of Iraq can be heard quoted on National Public Radio saying, "Please leave us alone." "We can take care of ourselves." One is inclined to believe that if the people knew they were being led by a despot, there would have been revolution, and not liberation. Maybe they were just in the planning phase. Maybe they're too proud to ask for help. Maybe he was on his way out anyway. Maybe I don't know the first thing about this subject.

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Caring About Stupid Bullshit again.

After tragedy, everything takes on new seriousness, import, weight, and things actually mean something. After 9/11, everything that was spoken was real, except for the bullshit, which wasn't. But the outstanding volume of conversations I carried with friends and family didn't have any unecessary syllables. Everything was crisp and trim.

Now, after blind victory, military valour on paper and print, moving images and sound bites, words have turned empty again. Their hollow shells dancing on the sidewalks as the gatling gun-mouthed poser talks loudly about international relations to whomever listens. Trying to burn the sun, and claiming success at the inferno.

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Love Thine Boys

This dark diatribe against my own countrymen shoult not be seen as a demonizing account of our brave soldiers. Their voluntary contribution to donate their lives, so that others may live is a very noble act. Theirs is of bravery, selflessness, which I doubt I could summon if circumstances warranted so.

These men and women are used as fodder for egotistical and political means. Apalling use of force resorted to in a game of international hardball. And these people cannot claim victory over anything, only the desert. Nothing has been conquered, claimed, or awarded. A war of altruism, is what they want us to believe. I maintain a useless war, fraught with worthlessness.

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Send Me Home, George.

The fighting is over, we are told. The American military is slowly returning home, we are told. The Iraqi people are free, we are told. But we are still at war. A blank check, still in our pocket.

Under International law, once war is over, all parties must return Prisoners Of War to their respective states. I don't see our government returning anybody to any state. Keeping prisoner around 6,000 Iraqi people. For what reason? To find the Weapons of Mass Destruction and Chemical Weapons? I doubt that's the only reason. Massive interrogation and pervasive harassment is most likely occurring as I write this, and as you read this.

So how long until the innocent cannon fodder can be free? Don't speak to me about how the people are free, and you keep the trouble makers detained. Forced enrollment into the military most likely is the cause for all those POWs, and they just changed masters, and freedom is still a dim light for them.

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Major Combat.

No, it's not an action figure (though it could be), it's a statement by Bush that the "Major Combat" in Iraq is over. But not the war, oh no. Definitely not. Our nation should hold that bill open as long as possible, right? I mean, what if we want to declare war on Iraq again in 6 months? Why bother declaring again? Just keep them always down, you wouldn't want them to be independent, now would you? Just imagine where that could lead. Iraqi tourists, Iraqi students, and Iraqi scholars. All coming to our contry, to make your life miserable.

I have a very hard time trying to figure out why it's all so god damn hard to just treat another human being as exactly that. Another breathing, beautiful creation that leads its own wonderful existence. Not something to be trampled under the sole of your shoe as you try to live your life regardless of your fellow man. Each time I see it, I have the emotional "AAAGGGHHH," which would be akin to the primal scream that I hear while playing any number of violent video games.

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I'll Bet Those Odds Are Good.

Well, now that things are winding down, the numbers are starting to roll in. It looks like a little over 130 American military personnel are dead in these 41 days. With no official military casualty count from Iraq, the estimates are pegged at 'thousands'. So, say perhaps that's two thousand soldiers. 2000 / 130 = 15.4. It sounds like good odds, that each dead American mauled 15.34 Iraqis. And that's only the military. Not to mention the civilians, shit, I'm not going there.

Is this going to be the new standard in United States foreign policy? The major line for the campaigns this coming year: "Victory!" Well, you can whip them Iraqis into shape, let's see you sink your teeth into public education! Hell, why not look at Health Care for every person in this country? I have a feeling that the incredible hulk in the international arena will shrivel back into his mild-mannered "well, ah, you see, hm," when he tries to do something that will benefit everyone in his "great nation." Misdirected fanaticism, for sure.

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When Does the Wind Change?

I can tell it's coming, the way you can smell rain right before a springtime storm. Maybe the way that you can hear tracks whine when a mile-long freight train is rocketing down a hill. Or the way that the hair stands on end, right before a lightning bolt hits you.

I'm waiting for the backlash to come against all the people who wished, hoped, and acted for peace. One moment you are a peaceful hippie, the next you're a terroristic pagan. Before the war started, all peace protests were covered and commented on as an excercise in free speech. Now, it's unamerican, not patriotic, and who knows what else.

Now I'm prepared to duck and cover as the bullets of rhetoric come flying my way. I'm just going to revel the day when some bitter veteran calls me a peace monger.

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What A Pleasant Surprise.

"Today, class, we're going to learn how to set up a claymore mine. Can everybody say 'claymore'?" Over 100 Iraqi schools were taken over by the 'enemy' as weapons depots. With knowledge of the U.S. methods of attack, most government and valuable buildings were emptied by the Iraqi leadership before bombs fell. Which means that all other buildings for innocents were commandeered for the cause.

By throwing their own people in front of the train, these few twisted leaders hoped to gain some ground. And of course they failed. I can't help but to wonder, what would I do if I saw that happening in my city? What if the military started occupying my schools, my neighborhood restaurants, riding on public transportation with me to work?

Come to think of it, I should just ask any New Yorker, they probably already know.

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Life After War

To be discussed intellectually and logistically, the method of rebuilding a nation and a government during peacetime is unfathomably complicated. Life After Saddam says CNN.com. What about Life After Tomorrow? When did Life During Saddam End? There's no place anywhere that delineates the end of this war, and I don't know if there ever will be. Does the US government think that it can let this drag on.

By the way, what's the deal with the Taliban nowadays, anyway? Why is the US military still there? Are we at war on two fronts now? When are we going to get our bloody paws out of every nation that 'threatens' us? Just yell terrorist, then send in the Marines.

Convenient enough, just make sure I get my tax refund on time.

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Universal Oppression

Does it matter anymore WHO you are, or WHERE you are? No! Now you, too can get oppressed by your own neighbors! Just order our informational booklet, and learn how YOU are being oppressed now!

Just imagine being massacred by Turks. Yes, YOU could be Armenian, too!

Don't just dream about being harassed in Indonesia by your own government if you are of Chinese descent!

Live the life of the oppressed Shiite Muslims in northern Iraq!

Want to have those pesky kids whisked away by men in white (or is that white men?), well then you, too could live like a native Aboriginal.

Feel the hatred boil among you and your neighbors as racist beliefs harden over decades as you see a white minority rule you and your South African friends.

Experience the feeling of wind in your hair as your and your Rawndan family flees rampaging militants.

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Reprise.

"Baghdad Falls" reads headlines this morning. Photographs of murals destroyed, and jubilant crowds (or extras) celebrating. The red carpet seems to be rolled out, according to the article I read, and the resistance is offering the incoming Marines biscuits and tea.

So many suspicions

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Only Having Hope.

It's been said that keeping hope and holding onto hope in the face of atrocity and oppression is the only thing that one can do. Keeping hope is one's way to keep up resistance against overwhelming odds.

The hope of Iraqi people to be free, and to be able to freely speak and have politcal freedom, is hopefully (!) soon to be realized. According to the gentlemen in Washington. But what about those who keep a resistance against freedom? Do they long and hope for oppression to return, to keep order to the people? To force a regiment down the throats and minds of all people in it's domain?

I hope there are those who do not hope for such things.

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Jubilation Minutia.

Well, it appears as though the Iraqi people are celebrant, now that their dictator is gone. A couple hundred show up, and call themselves a party. That's not bad. If you're considering a couple hundred a representative sample of oh, let's say 5 million. More like a block party, if you ask me.

I bet you could find a couple hundred people in this country that wouldn't mind standing around and tearing down a statue of a Bush. I think that means that we need to oust our dictator.

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How Much Is Enough?

Walking home tonight from a very good movie about the Austrailian Aborigines. Amazingly shot, and profound. The treatment of "others" by the white man seems to know no lower bound. To my increased displeasure, a disagreement with my girlfriend where I felt like she was accusing me of driving a fuel-guzzling vehicle and prviding motivation for this horrible war. When I do what I feel I can in order to be voiced, and I protest the insanity by not remaining silent, what else can I do? Protest? As one who believes in individual power so much more so than collective power, I don't see that even being effective. And as soon as I become friends (or distant colleagues) of the administration, I'll start working my overwhelmingly powerful personality and stringent morality upon them.

Until that day, tune in here instead. And everything should be okay, since my girlfriend and I made up.

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NationBuilders, Inc.™.

The question has arisen, "what do we do when the war is over?" Some people have the balls to think that the easy part will be rebuilding. As if for one second, in the light of all that's been happening, a war-torn nation is going to sit around and not mind a "military occupation."

Sounds like a god damn inconvenience, if I ever heard one. Win the "hearts and minds" of people by taking all their liberties away in the name of freedom? Then comes the less-than graceful track record of U.S. troops stationed overseas. How many people have been brutalized and harassed by soldiers who cannot be prosecuted by local governments? I believe that's the case in Japan, and I can't imagine it's any better other places. In attempting to repair this situation, this great nation is dealing with issues yet to be perfected. It may be funny to see how this whole thing plays out.

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A Bugger of a Life.

Sometimes, we as humans exhibit traits which are clearly observable in other species on this planet. Today I watched as an insect (mosquito) try to fly out of a closed window. The insect was attracted to the fading daylight, and continuously rammed the window as if it could fly through toward the source of the light. The continuous ramming, bouncing off of the surface of the window, turning around, and doing it again, made me think. There are quite a few things in our lives that we run up to, ram our foreheads (or our conceptions of reality) against, and rebound, and repeat. Not until we transcend our own consciousness to realize that this barrier exists, and venture into the shadows, and beyond the barrier, do we realize what true freedom means.

Thank you Mr. Mosquito. Now I will squish you before you suck my blood.

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Dubbing the Gods.

Sometimes the knowledge base that drives people to speak is faulted to the core. Basing a holy war upon one god and the vision of righteousness that comes from that religion is a terrible mis-interpretation of any attempt at holiness or transcendance.

The language throughout this whole conflict is glossy and overwhelmingly ignorant to true life. The psychobabble projected forth from our leaders is a humiliating reality check to us as a nation. To neglect the repercussions and to show no sympathy for others, polarizing the subject into right and wrong ends up miscategorizing too many people. This wrathful and vengeful personification of the conflict embodied by a headpiece which exudes ignorance is painful to witness.

Listen as if it wasn't you.

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True Debate.

An evening of dining on expensive sushi and exorbanant appetizers resulted in a severely critical analysis of our political and military situation. Fueled by qiups during the day, my girlfriend thought I was defending this horrible stance that my native nation has. However, I have an unusual and priveledged view of this conflict.

A debate of what is truth, what is propaganda, what is right, and what to do about it all. To sum it all up, this horrible state of affairs is driven by honest people trying to do right, but directed by a twisted few. The money must come in, and we must appear to be on the side of righteousness. It's a difficult stance to take, assuming righteousness among criticism from all sides.

This balancing act is not a sustainable one. That's why it's only an act, and not the whole play.

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The Fighting Few

Those selected few people who defend us and our global community from fanatical dictators get so few thanks. As battle rages, and the heirarchy of military steamrolling continues, it's the few peons and runts that are crushed beneath the wheels of war.

These are the people who have the least amount of say, yet the most impact. They are the ones on the front page, riding their Bradleys like Mustangs across the desert. They are the ones conditioned to fight on, into the meatgrinder, upon a moment's notice.

Thank god for them, because it will never be me.

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Winthrop Aldrich Rockefeller

The man that never was, instead and astute John Rockefeller, Junior noticed the initials of this unfortunate person, and dropped the middle name.

The name for war, in so many languages, is the same as the name for hate. Isn't that how this usually starts? I hate you, so I'm going to blow you up. On what grounds has a war ever been fought because it's the 'right thing to do'? I guess many times in United States foreign policy, I suppose it's no big surprise. It's also no big surprise that the United States is in the business of regime changing. After one abortive attempt after another, you'd think that the soulless fiends in our nation's fine capital would learn.

You'd sure think that, wouldn't you? Yet here we are.

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Don't Shake My Cage

As I move throughout this world, I find myself seeing both sides of an issue. It's intereesting, since conversations and arguments with myself take on presidential-debate like elaborateness. I tell myself that I should be more assertive. To stand up for myself if someone is making my life uncomfortable. To get involved, and be a positively proactive force. But then the other candidate chimes in, "what business is it of yours?" Why should I try to get involved in, say, an argument between two people on the bus? What business is it of mine to tell a deranged man yelling curses on the bus to shut the fuck up? I mean, just who do you think you are?

So then I go back and forth, but end up going nowhere. Very frustrating, because if it came down to it, and I was threatened, or something close to me was threatened, what would I do? Fight or flight? I'd like to think I could stand up and defend myself against anything that tried to take anything like my freedom away.

But then could I follow through?

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Day of Fools

The should rename the day April American's day. On the radio today I heard someone speaking, and I couldn't believe that they allowed themselves to be broadcast across a country saying the things that they were saying. Trying to introduce the service economy into the global marketplace, politicians are all angling for their dollar. "The United States economy will increase the average income of a family of four to X, and will bring people worldwide out of poverty." So, there is no such thing as a family of four outside of the United States? We get to pat outselves on the back when we bring a person outside of our nation up above poverty? Should we have a party? Increase our dividends and offer stock options?

The largest congregation of fools are the ones who have the audacity to proclaim that their selfish interests are those of the greater good. I declare that it would do this Nation a great service if every beautiful woman from theage of 18 to 30 gave me head for thirty minutes. Hell, I should be a Senator!

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A Ribbon of Fear Runs Through Me.

On the bus, in the middle of a protest against the war. Surrounded by motorcycles on all sides, roaring through town and rendering streetlights useless. Peace signs flashed as riders revved their engines, the young ladies at the bus stop holding out their hands to get them slapped by riders gliding past. Never ending, flowing over the hill, down the street, then on again for as far as I could see.

Then the fear started to rise in me, as I saw out of the corner of my eye, something ominous, and gray. A cloud, rising from the middle of the crowd, and wafting over the riders and the bus itself. The pulse in my neck rose, and the grip on my girlfriend's hand tightened. The smell of burning rubber reached my nostrils, and although it was difficult to breath deeply, I did, and sighed for relief.

A motorcyclist burns his tire, and I get all freaked out. I can NOT imagine the hell the normal person would be going through right now around the world, living in a cage of fear, not knowing where the next dreadful package will arrive.

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Collective Atrocity

Berserker:
The feeling in wartime of invincibility and/or the suspencsion of rational thought. For example, urinitating in a dead soldier's open mouth.

Fay:
The prolonged conflict resulting from knowledge of defeat. For example, the continuing fighting of German and Japanese armies even after the leaders knew there was no possibility of success.

The psychology of an individual in a war environment cannot be analyzed by assuming that their basis or starting point is anything that can be described during peacetime. A huge rift in the reality of warfare versus the reality of peaceful living. No wonder. War = hell.

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Dichotomy or Contradiction?

Amazing how I can read in the news about paramilitary action against refugess one second, and laugh about obscene violence in a film the next. I realize that this quiet evening in my house is an un-heard of thing in other parts of my city and my world. For these things, and for the wonderful people in my life that make it so, I have great love for them.

I figured it out! That's why! Saddam just needs a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, hey, I'm not picky!

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The Museum Visit.

This evening the museum opened it's doors to members (plus guest) to view award winning art from local artists. As I disembarked from the train and shuffled my way down the alleys of downtown, I pondered the size of a new building (shouldn't they be called builts?) rising in the skyline. Upon rendevous with a friend and associates, we ventured forth for some viewing.

What a wonderful evening. We went, and viewed the art through thick environmentally barricaded glass. The long, sweeping lines. The arcs suspended in space. The thick swaths of shadow and light. Colors, electrified and muted. Texture dancing across a canvas larger than any artist could ever fill. We were viewing a piece of art much larger than a single artist could dream of completing. The skyline and bridge of San Francisco, glowing and pulsing with the deep evening traffic. The profiles of buildings across a shadowed night sky. The blushes and diffused explosions of electric lights along the facades of buildings. A truly beautiful composition, elaborately orchestrated and constructed.

And that was my art for the evening.

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My Life During Wartime.

If you could divide my life into the parts when there was this war going on, and the parts when there was no war going on, you would see a startling difference. Instead of asking about the weather, and wondering if our politicians realize the true impact of harvesting our virgin forests, I now ask about the war, and wonder if our politicians realize the true impact of protestation and the budgetary crisis that results.

And not much else is different.

Except the fact that I know that something must be done to prevent any innocent suffering. Something also must be done to keep a homocidal maniac from controlling a country in dire need of help. These somethings are the things that I've been wrestling with for months now, if only I could think of a solution, it would make it better.

Think, dammit!

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Restless Natives.

A violent exchange of words outside the grocery store this evening. Aged veterans screaming at each other over the true nature of violence. Colorful and vibrant curses emanating from the lips of an elderly gentleman. Odd, if you askme, but what do they hope to accomplish by raising their voices? So that the rest of the clientele of the grocery can hear their malformed opinions?

Now that you mention it, what's the point of continual demands and political accusations? So that the rest of the world can marvel at your hideously grotesque ego and poor judgement? Remarkable.

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The Revolution Will Be Televised.

Watching from tens of thousands of miles away, today we can watch war happen. We can tune in to CNN to watch a tank ambush, or MSNBC to see some firefights. The Blomberg channel is broadcasting patriot missile launches and scud interceptions. There is now a very small division between reality and television. The amount of violence in both is now staggering. Desensitization of our people has begun. Next, there will be a riot outside someone's house, and they'll tune to CNN to watch the coverage from their back room. "Look honey, someone just threw a brick through our window!"

How much is enough in the sake of freedom of speech? Television, the one-way medium, blasts at you images (worth a thousand words, mind you) and words like a fire hose. Whatever you agree with, or disagree with doesn't matter now, because you're watching what someone else wants you to watch. So like it, bitch, and take it this way as well.

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Natural War.

I have to remind myself that right now, in another country, snowflakes are not falling from the sky. The payloads of the projectiles falling from the sky are not to nourish life. As the snowflakes spatter on my face, I have to remember that there are people who are encountering bullets and shrapnel simultaneously. This silence that rings my ears is nothing compared to the deafening explosions that send shock waves through everything. The security I feel now, in the middle of the woods listening to snow falling is completely negated by the unimaginable fear of the innocents imprisoned in their house, or else face the land falling anti-aircraft fire and spurious bomb.

The rift between natural conflict and war is too great to cross. War has become a mechanized machine with moving parts and lubrication. All that the mightier sword does is supplement the fragile ego of a megalomaniac.

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Silent Rhythms.

Fortuitous new of the advancing front sounds like garbage cans thrown against the wall. I'm not talking about a wastebasket from the office, with a small, soundless 'Bump!' I'm speaking of a thirty five gallon tin garbage can, hurled against a cinderblock wall, which shatters and sounds around with an incoherent clash of reverbirating decibles. "Now our continuing coverage..." Where have all our concerns gone? Weren't there other things in this world that we cared about? If the Kenyans (all of them) started square dancing, nobody in this country would notice. A biased profile from a biased country, with opinions already fixed. Each person seems to think this is over something else. "No blood for oil." "Peace in the Middle East." The scary thing is, the people who really know what's going on can't school these people as to what reality is.

Trying to flee the melee of war/anti-war, I displaced myself into the woods, far from these voices. A fire and a creek keep me company tonight. All the babbling that they want to do is quite all right by me. First day of spring, and the world is already fucked. I just wonder how long it's going to take to unfuck this whole mess at the end.

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The Youths Speak

Another beautiful day in the city, unknowning of the war around the world.

An evening of fiery tongues, in the form of words. The heat of competition from young hearts learning the most beautiful and most terrible of all emotions. The words that link themselves together to try to pull down these feelings, anchor them to a solid work, and haul them off into the audience's ear. But sometimes the chain is too heavy, or the feelings to airy, and the only thing delivered is a bucket of links and C.O.D.. But when the connection is made, and the right words were strewn across your eardrums, then the magic, the electicity of whoops and cheers erupts over each other, fighting for the last decible.

The most magic seems to come from those with the freshest perspective. This old rotten system of ours could stand to be infused with this wild new blood. Everything new, everything fresh, everything so justly right or so grossly wrong.

Today started "Shock and Awe," a strategy for destroying a nation. Can't the government get a fucking public relations firm? Some of this material is pathetic.

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Helicopters, Human Chains and Harbingers.

The early morning doze broken by crashing cans and bottles, the revving of a huge deisel engine. The recycling truck, working it's way laboriously down the block, one agonizing house by agonizing house. The yelling must've come earlier in the night, intermingled with my dreams. The blaring horns from the traffic was definitely not.

This, the first day of the war, and protests abounding. As sunshine graced the city, the snakes of traffic wound around the blocks, through the intersections, and around the corners. No end in sight. The coarse grating of engines and tires on eardrums, relentlessly pounding and vibrating the sidewalks and walls.

A short walk down the sunny side of the street, and wondering why it is such a beautiful day. Of all the terrible things gone wrong, why does that godforsaken sun still shine so brightly? Hasn't it heard the news today? We are a nation at war. If that means that all citizens, all people, all dogs, cats and parakeets are at war with all your people, dogs, cats and parakeets, then please don't count me. I must not be counted, for this truth is too hard to handle.

It's been said once, and I will say it again: not in my name.

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