Our president screwed up big time. More troops. Less killing. Right.

Feeling not so hot. Stomach and back hate me today.

My book provides refuge from the refuse.

Cold out today. Warmth is overrated.

I feel strongly about violence.

If you listen to fools ...

Something Wicked This Way Came

Heading to the post office at lunch. Already on edge because it's been one of those days (and for those of you who had to deal with my insane probing questions -- I appy-polly-loggy). I'm stopped at the corner of 3 and C when they come shambling out across the street heading toward the alley that runs behind Lufkin's.

Four of them. Large. Like small dogs. Shambling. Not quite right.

Raccoons.

Seeing this put me in a strange mood. Raccoons are nocturnal. This was a little after noon. These beings most likely had rabies and the way they were walking kind of confirmed that. It felt very end of the world like, and I knew that if they crossed in front of my car I would run them over. I would destroy these crimes against nature. Not because I'm cruel, but because I'm kind.

I made a super hot breakfast burrito for dinner tonight. Eggs. Cheese. Jalapenos. After Death Sauce. After Death contains red habanero pods, cayenne, spices and pure pepper resin. It's not the hottest sauce I own, but it is up there. It does burn. It does hurt. Couple it with jalapenos and it's a wonder I didn't need to go to the hospital.

As I've been told today by several different witnesses (can I get another?): I don't do anything part way, half way, half-assed or with any subtlety. I don't burn matches. I burn forests.

That seems about right.

Friend and co-worker, DJ, suggested a pizza run is due. I could not agree more. She's isolating herself. I commented on her blog my thoughts on the whole issue. I can see it. Isolation isn't bad. A pizza run won't solve that, but we'll be cellmates for a while. We will bounce ideas. And it will be like talking in the mirror ... only you don't have to worry when the mirror answers back this time.

Back to the raccoons.

I should not have been so freaked out by seeing these sick animals shuffle across the street. It felt wrong, though. Felt out of place. Fell like a break down of the status quo ... and not in a liberating way.

Arcata has had its problems with rabid foxes as of later. Eventually that would cross over. I wanted to stop it.

I never got to feel that satisfying crunch of bone beneath my wheels. But had they crossed in front of me, I would have. I would have and never looked back.

Sometimes animals are a lot like ideas. They need to be killed before they get out there and cause a real problem.

And So It Goes ...

On the Cusp of Human

I left work today and saw a perfect moon. It hung pregnant in the sky, white, silent. I was in awe. I sat and stared for quite some time and I thought about what ancient man must have first thought when he was cognizant of what it was floating there in the sky. At some point man must have taken a break from its obsession with eating and fucking to contemplate. At some point ancient man went from animal to human, and part of that transition came when it recognized the moon as something more than just decoration.

I can only imagine what that moment was like. What that human thought. What was racing through his or her mind.

I imagine it was something similar to what I felt like the first time I really noticed a female. The first (innocent) sexual thoughts I had. There much like any other heterosexual male's first sexual thoughts. It's that moment where the girl goes from just being kind of cool to hang out with to being someone to be desired. You notice that gentle swell of her breast, the way her ass moves when she walks away from you, the way her hair smells when her head turns your way. You see that sparkle in her eye and you fantasize that it's for you. You watch her legs and wonder what they would look like in shorts.

That moment is sheer exhilaration. It is like a light bulb exploding in your skull. You never get that moment back. It changes you forever, and I think that's what the first person who was awed by the moon felt like.

There are moments when nature devastates me. The beauty of the ocean. A sunset that hits just right. A snow covered mountain. The way the woods sound when no one is around. And then reality sets in.

Humans do more to fuck up the world around them than any other creature I can think of. We are the only breathing things on this globe that can create things that not only can we not destroy but that can destroy everything around us. We create more filth than any other animal and yet still have the audacity to call ourselves civilized. We do horrible things to others simply for "kicks" and declare that we are above the cockroaches that scurry about our kitchens when the lights go out.

That moon, the moon that captured my attention tonight, brought me back to that time when fire was still magic and the meat the dripped fat into it was worshipped. It put me on the cusp of human, and I liked it. We are advanced enough now that we have a sense of place in history that we can straddle that line between the awakening and the death. We can be stunned into silence before breaking into a sick frenzy of fucking, killing and eating in order to deaden the pain -- the hell with the survival of the species.

As I watched that moon, Obama made his speech. War would continue. Hope, the message he sold to a lot of naive voters who, in keeping with their assigned roles, cared more about rhetoric than substance. The irony of his award for peace was not lost on me. It was a perfect moment in a world where such things are a rarity.

That moon. The cusp of human. The stress of the day wore away, and then I eased my car into traffic, the Damned playing on the stereo. The animals were heading home en masse. We were alive, but not living, and that moon served as our notice.

I just wondered how many others stopped to pay attention

Cheating Time and Space

I got little in the way of sleep last night. Cleaning up a mess until close to midnight and then trying to lay down with a headache that threatened to turn my brain into a thick soup at the slightest movement did not make for a restful eight hours. Instead, I got around four and a half. That is, unfortunately, nothing new.

I used to not care about sleep. Thought it was for lightweights and the weak. I still feel that way in many respects. Now that I don't get much of it, however, I find myself needing it more and more. I am getting sicker because of it and stress (can't prove it, but I'm sure), and I wonder how long until I have some sort of total body breakdown that results in an inability to do anything. It can't be long. I can feel that. So I can either drive myself to that point and get it over with, or try to fix it, which I have but it hasn't been working.

I see my little girl today, so that will be good. I go to work today, so that will be bad. Cyber Monday (porn for shut-in shopoholics) will provide great amusement to me in one form or another because I love when people stick to their prescribed roles and the news reports it as if it were news. So, yes Virgina, there are good things in this world. It's all in where you look for them. Free shipping and %75 off Tiger Woods gear can only bring smiles to the faces of the masses.

Oh, and the conservatives should be thanking Rumsfeld for letting Osama bin Laden go free so that he can be a thorn in the side of ... well, everyone. Way to go, Sport-O! The Fox "news" morons will have their own spin on this like they do everything else, but you really got to hand it to the Bush administration. If history doesn't put it down as the most corrupt, inept administration of this era, then we'll know Fox won.

Come to think of it, doesn't Cyber Monday really sound like a porn thing? I don't think I can tell the difference anymore.

Food Stamp Misery (AKA -- It's Too Damn Hard)

I was alerted to the piece via e-mail by Celebrity Watchdog George Anthony Watson. He informed me that the North Coast Journal (a publication I have written for before) had a piece on food stamps that was sure to piss me off. It had pissed off others, including Watson, and he hasn't worked there in years.

I won't reprint the piece here out of copyright considerations. But you can read it here.

I was going to write a huge piece on this (and actually did before I deleted it). I figured I had a huge conflict of interest, and may be stepping on toes, since I didn't want to come off as a representative for food stamps. But what can I say? Hyperbole and laziness goes a long way. That's it. I have sympathy for neither. (Soul-crushing should be reserved for things like answering questions on your child's sex life for an assault case, not being at the welfare office. Idiot.)

On a totally unrelated note, I had a wonderful birthday. Saw a movie with my five-year-old and then went to dinner at Liu's. My daughter ordered for me ("he wants the beef extra spicy"), served me my food, and even asked for the check. When I asked if she was going to pay, she seemed shocked. "I have no money!" It was nice. Parts of the day were depressing (didn't hear from my grandmother or sister). But overall, being with my girl was the best way to spend the day. She gave me lots of hugs, kisses and plans for the next birthday. And then she asked if she would get her Christmas presents tomorrow. Gift overload, I guess.

I've got a ton of things to do tomorrow. Too much, actually. Don't really want to go to work Monday (too soul crushing). Back to the grind. And what a grind it is ...

A Clear, Expansive Sky

Black Friday. Woke up knowing the day would be a turning point of one sort or another. The question was asked of me last night. How long can I separate things in my mind before it becomes a problem. I said forever. For a guy who no longer makes decisions based on emotion, this seems like a plausible answer.

I put up my Christmas tree today. I only did it for my daughter because that's the only reason for me to celebrate the holiday. I sat on the floor surrounded by memories of the past. Plenty of ornaments marking her first, second and third year. Plenty of ornaments marking different times in my life. Times I'll never get back. Times I'm not sure I ever really knew what they meant.

My daughter, the one thing I do get emotional about because that is my job as a parent, was having a ball decorating the tree. Eventually I stopped doing it and sat back and watched her. She put ornaments together to make a scene. That made me smile because I do the same thing. She is my child. It's all right there. The hair, the mannerisms, the sense of humor.

And all those pieces of memories disappeared, and I now had a bunch of new ones. Good ones. Ones that wouldn't be yanked away like a dog running to the end of its chain. I took pictures of her in front of the tree. She posed in various ways, always the ham. She told me it was the most beautiful tree she had ever seen, and I told her it was because she decorated it.

Tomorrow is my birthday. My daughter will be with me, so that will be good. My friends and family care more about it than I do. Like I said at work the other day. Yeah, it's great. Let's all celebrate that my parents fucked. That's what it boils down to. I didn't ask to be born. I didn't ask to be put upon this Earth and be a hard companion of misery. These things were thrust upon me, and I don't claim them as my own.

My daughter is excited about it, though. She loves the idea of my birthday. That makes that okay. That makes me feel more human. It makes me think that if I bring her that much joy, I can't be all that bad. The mirror must be a bit of a liar. But just a bit.

The apparent female version of me (or, in order to be fair, I'm the male version of her), is off dealing with family over this vacation stretch. Dealing with family is like robbing graves. You dig into the mold and dirt, unearth treasures both forgotten and previously unknown, but when it comes down to it, you are desecrating the dead. You are delving into things not meant to be explored. You are in uncomfortable surroundings and you have to be on high alert lest you be caught. She deserves to be away from here, but she shouldn't be forced to rob graves.

Her sense of betrayal over what happened at work is like mine. Maybe not the same, but close enough. When I explained to a dear friend why I felt the way I did, she said, "Things happen for a reason." They do, and what happened wasn't my fault, but I knew when it happened that my co-worker's life was about to become very screwed up. It wasn't a pleasant thing to feel or live with. Still isn't, but I've distanced myself. The betrayal remains. The feelings are slowly fading.

My discussions with my friends (one in particular) as of late have been eye opening, to say the last. For once I'm pretty sure the observations made aren't way off base, and I wonder what that says about me. I tell my friends not to worry, but I know they do. I tell my friends I'll be fine, and I will be. The unspoken question remains, however: You'll be fine, but at what price?

There's more I want to say. Plenty, actually. But, as long time readers know, this blog ain't the venue for it. I've already gotten personal enough on here today. People either love the personal or hate it. Me? I feel like I'm poking a corpse, and I'm tired of it for the obvious reasons.

This is also the month my father died.

Talked about GG Allin last night. He's dead, too.

In about eighteen minutes I'll be another year older. One step closer to death. Maybe next year I'll have all this figured out.

But I doubt it.

Humboldt Retailers Brace for a Black Friday Storm

KIEM, our local NBC affiliate, has the only local news broadcast. Humboldt County has a large number of people actually concerned about their worlds, so they try to watch the news. Hence, they gotta watch KIEM.

Tonight's broadcast opened with a shoot, went to H1N1 and then hit Black Friday. It was reported this Black Friday will be better than last year's. The Kohls manager and the newscaster stressed how important it is to arrive early unless you want to risk failure.

You heard it shoppers. Come early. Get your goodies!

I gotta stop watching the news.

Ate a very hot pepper today. Brutal. Delicious. Proper.

Waiting for the police to figure out who sent the fake feds their way. Will keep you posted.

Just got asked for a cigarette. Would gladly help get the guy off the planet sooner but I am no smoker.

I would like it to rain and wash this filth out to sea.

Black Friday Secret Savings Deals and Other Pacts With the Devil

Door busters start tomorrow, but I've got my own sales strategy I'd like to share with like-minded souls.

If you're like me, you're sick of Black Friday and the herds that come with it. That doesn't mean you can't have fun with it, though. You, too, can show up at the mall early Friday morning. Not to shop (unless that's what you want to do), but to act your role and inspire others to do the same. You see, while some people will find that Doorbusters are sales, you can take it more literally.

Mobs tend to spring up and act based off the actions of just a few individuals. Now, imagine that you and a few friends took the sales frenzy to a fevered pitch -- breaking down doors (don't trample anyone), trashing displays in order to get sales items (that you soon drop when you see something else), pushing over racks, tearing down cash registers (and causing more frenzy for loose money), getting into shoving matches over any little thing ... the list goes on and on.

Make Black Friday your own Utter Chaos Friday. Tweet about it. Spread it over your blog. Your actions will inspire others. If you are truly into smashing capitalism, this will make but a small dent (those doors are expensive, though), but every little dent counts, plus you can sleep easier. Just make it look like you are a frenzied shopper and all will be forgiven because you are only acting out your role of a mindless consumer.

Now, obviously I don't really recommend this. I would laugh my ass off if it happened. I find these things humorous and inspiring. If the stores take large damages, maybe they'll rethink calling these sales "door busters." (Hey, why not Trample Your Fellow Human Sale?)

It's a day away. Get your sleep. Don your gloves. Get ready to rumble! How's that saying go? You can't complain if you don't riot?

Having a Ball With the Nigerian FBI

The following is an e-mail I received from the FBI! Seriously. It cut and paste it, but the official seal and photo of Robert Mueller did not come through (but I ran his picture from the e-mail at the top here). I've started and ended it with ** so you know where to begin and end. What follows is my e-mail response and my commentary. Enjoy the show. (In my e-mail response I have to explain a few things, and this will be done in [brackets]. Those bracketed notes do not appear in the original e-mail back to the FBI.


**FBI Seal Federal Bureau of Investigation FBI Washington Field Office (WFO)
Washington Field Office (WFO) Washington Field Office (WFO)



Anti-Terrorist and Monitory Crimes Division.
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Federal Bureau Of Investigation.
Seattle, Washington.

ATTN: BENEFICIARY

This is to officially inform you that it has come to our notice and we have thoroughly completed an Investigation with the help of our Intelligence Monitoring Network System that you legally won the sum of $800,000.00 USD from a Lottery Company outside the United States of America. During our investigation we discovered that your e-mail won the money from an Online Balloting System and we have authorized this winning to be paid to you via a Certified Cashier's Check.


Normally, it will take up to 10 business days for an International Check to be cashed by your local bank. We have successfully notified this company on your behalf that funds are to be drawn from a registered bank within the United States of America so as to enable you cash the check instantly without any delay, henceforth the stated amount of $800,000.00 USD has been deposited with Bank of America.

We have completed this investigation and you are hereby approved to receive the winning prize as we have verified the entire transaction to be Safe and 100% risk free, due to the fact that the funds have been deposited at Bank Of America you will be required to settle the following bills directly to the Lottery Agent in-charge of this transaction whom is
located in Lagos, Nigeria. According to our discoveries, you were required to pay for the following -


(1) Deposit Fee's (Fee▓s paid by the company for the deposit into an American Bank which is - Bank of America)
(2) Cashier's Check Conversion Fee (Fee for converting the Wire Transfer payment into a Certified Cashier's Check)
(3) Shipping Fee's (This is the charge for shipping the Cashier's Check to your home address and this fee includes Insurance)

The total amount for everything is $440.00 USD (four hundred and forty dollars only). We have tried our possible best to indicate that this $440.00 USD should be deducted from your winning prize but we found out that the funds have already been deposited at Bank Of America and cannot be accessed by anyone apart from you the winner, therefore you will be required to pay the required fee's to the Agent in-charge of this transaction via Western Union Money Transfer Or Money Gram.


In order to proceed with this transaction, you will be required to contact the Special Agent In Charge: (SCOTT ADAMS) via e-mail. Kindly look below to find appropriate contact information:


Special Agent In Charge: MR. SCOTT ADAMS
E-MAIL ADDRESS: sctadams.fbi@gmail.com

Assistant Special Agent In Charge: Samuel J. Macaluso
Assistant Special Agent In Charge: Gregory R. Melzer

You will be required to e-mail him with the following information to sctadams.fbi@gmail.com

FULL NAME:
ADDRESS:
CITY:
STATE:
ZIP CODE:
COUNTRY:
DIRECT CONTACT NUMBER:


NOTE : Do not click reply as replies sent to will not be delivered.
Credentials should be sent to the email of the contact person above

You will also be required to request Western Union details on how to send the
required $440.00 USD in order to immediately ship your prize of $800,000.00 USD via Certified Cashier's Check drawn from Bank Of America, also include the following transaction code in order for him to immediately identify this transaction : EA2948-910.

This letter will serve as proof that the Federal Bureau Of Investigation is authorizing you to pay the required $440.00 USD ONLY to Mr. Scott Gilbert via information in which he shall send to you, if you do not receive your winning prize of $800,000.00 we the FBI shall be held responsible for the loss and this shall invite a penalty of $3,000 which will be made PAYABLE ONLY to you (The Winner).

FBI Director
Robert Mueller.

We will anticipate the requested info for 7 working business days, and if we do not
hear from you throughout 7 working business days, we may choose to visit you.


Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Washington D.C.




FBI Director.
Robert Mueller
**

So this is what I wrote back:

Mr. Adams:

Thank you for contacting me! At first I could not remember entering any kind of lottery outside of the USA, but then I remembered that almost a year ago exactly I had answered a survey on men's swimwear for a British site, and that must be it.

The money could not come at a better time.

I have to admit that in my job I have to watch for scams, but if the money is to be sent by a Certified Cashier's check I know that can't be faked, and the fact that you and Director Mueller are verifying this is good enough for me. I just need to know how to send you the fees. (I also bank at Bank of America, so this is convenient.)

Also, is there an extra fee for express transactions? I'm willing to pay a bit more to have it quickly (no more than $200). Knowing what I know about taxes and whatnot, I find the $440 to be reasonable, and I can understand why nobody else can access the money now that it is safely in the bank. Frankly, I think that's a good thing, though I do understand that it makes your job harder.

It's also nice to read that if something goes wrong that the FBI is responsible for my winnings and penalty. I'm sure it will be fine, but the backing of the Feds makes it all the more stronger in my eyes.

I am giving you my work contact number. I will explain things in moment. My number is 707-441-4044. [Editor's note: This is not my home phone number, but it is the phone number of the Eureka Police Department.] You are going to ask for Mr. Wayne Adam Ford. [Editor's note: Wayne Adam Ford is a local serial killer who turned himself into the Humboldt County Sheriff's Department by pulling a female breast out of his pocket as way of proof he was up to no good.] This is not my direct number. I work in the field and can only communicate via radio, however, reception will be able to put you through to me. However, you need to know a thing or two.

First, only call between 8 am and 5 pm PST Mon-Fri. That's the only time I will be there. I am not telling co-workers about my winnings, but I will tell front reception. Front reception is trained to say I am either not there, not working that day or am otherwise unavailable (depending on who answers the call). There are only three different ladies who handle front reception. I am letting each of them know that I am getting a call from Special Agent Scott Adams of the FBI about money that most be wired to Nigeria in regards to my overseas lottery winnings. I will also tell them the call could come from Mr. Scott Gilbert if that is who is calling. Please make sure that he also gives reception that information so they know to get ahold of me immediately.

Thank you for taking the time to contact me. I rarely check my e-mail and I no longer have a land line. I appreciate it this, and I thank you for taking the time to protect our country. We are in this together. -Mr. Wayne Adam Ford.

Now, I never believed this was a real letter from the FBI. The fact that it even mentions Nigeria is a dead giveaway. Here are some fun things I found in it, though.

"During our investigation we discovered that your e-mail won the money from an Online Balloting System and we have authorized this winning to be paid to you via a Certified Cashier's Check." -- I was not aware the FBI got to authorize any "winning." Seems odd, but hey, I'm greedy. Let's go with it.

"E-MAIL ADDRESS: sctadams.fbi@gmail.com" -- Maybe I'm crazy, but I don't think the FBI has gmail addresses. Could just be me.

"This letter will serve as proof that the Federal Bureau Of Investigation is authorizing you to pay the required $440.00 USD ONLY to Mr. Scott Gilbert via information in which he shall send to you, if you do not receive your winning prize of $800,000.00 we the FBI shall be held responsible for the loss and this shall invite a penalty of $3,000 which will be made PAYABLE ONLY to you (The Winner)." -- Sweet! This random e-mail serves as "proof" that I should only pay $440 in fake fees to Mr. Scoot Gilbert. Also, double sweet that the FBI shall be held responsible and pay me a penalty. When I'm dumb and pay this money to these crazy-ass Nigerians, I'll get ripped off, of course. But then I'll go to the FBI and show them that they are responsible for this and they owe me a penalty. Damn, I almost hope I get ripped off! The FBI will most likely shoot me in the head, and I'll deserve it for being so damn stupid.

"We will anticipate the requested info for 7 working business days, and if we do not
hear from you throughout 7 working business days, we may choose to visit you." -- Only Nigerian FBI agents can make $800,000 in prize money sound ominous. I guess I'm suppose to say, "Boy, the FBI is really concerned that I get this money." Not, "Boy, why the fuck would the FBI care whether or not I claim this money?" I love that they may "choose" to visit me. Can't the FBI always "choose" to visit someone? I can choose to visit the FBI. Why do they have to get all noir on me? I'm just a humble overseas lottery winner.

But can you picture anything more insane than Nigerians in secondhand business suits showing up at your house pretending to be FBI agents? Thick accents. Nervous glances. Trying to maintain their cool as they realize that, shit, I'm not some podunk motherfucker with a computer. I've got a library full of books on improvised weaponry and instructions on how to shrink human heads. I've got tattoos, a shaved head and a septum ring. Halloween shit is left up year round. And I seem kind of into the idea that they may want to fuck with me because I may want to fuck right back, and I'm always willing to take things just a tad bit too far. You boys want a drink? What's the Ffff Beeee Eyeeee drink these days? A wink. A sly smile. I bet you boys are thirsty. You sure are sweating. Why's that you think? Threat level at red or some such nonsense? You know, I always thought the scariest terrorists weren't Al Qaeda or even our homegrown boys like McVeigh. Nah. It's those Nigerians. The ones who try to scam old folks out of their hard-earned money with e-mail scams. Is it getting hotter in here? Shit. I'll make you something to drink. No? Suit yourselves. You're the Feds. So, back to those Nigerian terrorists. My guess? If a bunch of them disappeared the investigation would be about this long: 'You see some Nigerians? No, Sir.' End of investigation. Hee haw. Shit, you boys know it, too. How long you been with the FBI? Three years? No shit. Babies. Where'd you train? Train? You know -- go to school, do your testing? I know there's a few schools around the country, but you all end up the same place, right? Now where is that? Funny, that don't sound right, but no matter. That may have changed since I last heard. You boys sure I can't get you a drink? Even the Federal government's finest men gotta drink every once in a while. And look at me. Here I am calling you boys, when you're full-fledge FBI men. You all look so young to me, though. Twenties and I'm in ... well, I'm not. Everyone looks younger than me. Hard to call kids men, you know. What else is weird is I don't see a bulge. You know, from your weapons. Now why would that be? Why would you not be carrying your issued service weapons? I know it's just a simple lottery check, but you are on duty. I could see not wanting to carry them if you were pulled over and not licensed to carry them. But being FBI you are definitely licensed. What's that? Oh, you want me to feel at ease. Well, I do appreciate that boys -- men -- there I go again -- but I'm totally at ease. You three, on the other hand, seem edgy. Like you may have gotten in bit over your heads. How's about that? In over your heads. I'm gonna give you say ten seconds to get your asses out of here or I start eating you. And if you think I'm fucking joking, you look in my eyes. I will disable you, and I will eat you. Alive or dead, I don't give a flying fat fuck. You will be eaten, and I may be shitting out pieces of you when you're still calling for your mother. Now quit fucking wasting my time and get the fuck out of here. One, two ...

I'd never get to three.

My only concern now is that the police don't call me on this one.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Shoot First

I apologize for any emotion that drifted into this blog again. There are other venues for that, and I've been good about that up until now. So, my appy-polly-loggies, to quote my dear droog.

I started reading some Rollins last night. Trying to get myself centered, and it may or may not work. I have become convinced, however, that I have to wipe out some stress. I don't know what that will mean, however, but like pornography, I'll know when I see it.

We are just days away from Black Friday. The business news coverage on it is shaky at best. Nobody wants to commit to an answer on consumer spending because they are getting mixed signals (that's how it should be). I did see some stats saying less people say they are going to spend less than they did last year. Of course, last year a lot of people spent rock bottom so there really is no way to spend less, meaning those stats could be off quite a bit.

One friend of mine remarked that she was surprised not to hear anything about terrorism with Black Friday. I reminded her that they don't want to scare the mindless consumers when they are supposed to have only one thing on their minds (spend). So retailers have their fingers crossed that Al Qaeda and Mother Nature co-operate. Good luck. I hope all works out well for everyone and everyone sticks to their prescribed roles so that the system continues to operate smoothly and everyone gets stinkin' rich.

Some have said I'm obsessed with Black Friday. Not true. I am, however, interested in consumerism, especially of the blind quality. It is something I think is worth studying. I don't care that people show up at the door at 2 a.m. (I think it's dumb but it has no bearing on my life). I don't care if they are getting cheap televisions to fill some void in their lives. I care about the mindset. I want to know what drives them. I want to know how that is used to herd them, to control them. That stuff is worthy of examination.

I'm also interested in what it does to our economy. (On a related note, CA now has to borrow money from the Feds in order to keep UIB going. It needs something like $7.4 billion just to keep it running through December. All of you CA unemployed people who are still lucky enough to be collecting a check should be keeping an eye on this. And as for the rest of the country ... coming soon to an unemployment office near you!) I am interested in what it does to "consumer confidence," which, if you look at how that is generated, is far from an accurate count of anything but is given so much power.

Some people care about the latest Nic Cage movie. Some people care about the massacre in the Philippines. One of the things I care about is this. At least I care about something, right?

Obama is set to make an announcement about troop additions in Afghanistan. This announcement could come next Tuesday (timed as to not disrupt the shopping patterns over Black Friday, I'm sure). The Nobel Peace Prize recipient is in a bit of an ironic pickle, especially since that award was given with a look to the future. What, oh what, is a president to do? Increase the troops? Pull out? Keep things status quo? My guess is that he'll increase the troops, but not as many as is recommended. He is, after all, a man who excels at the compromise. Pleasing everyone and no one at all ...

I've finished the formatting on the manuscript, isolating the problem. If I can get this published, get a movie deal (not necessary, as Hollywood would only fuck it up), make enough to quit my job and continue my goals, I'll be happy. Being the realist for now, however, I realize this is going to be a tough sell because "depressing" doesn't sell. Since most of the country is weepy, they want uplifting. They want Hugh Grant and John Cusack stories. They don't want Sid Haig wearing some girl's tits. (You can kind of get an idea of what kind of manuscript it is from that line.)

I'm watching a commercial for I Got Clocked. If you haven't seen this, the company puts a picture of you or a loved one (even pets!) on a clock and your arms indicate the time. $50 for such shit. Anyway, the commercial tries to be "racy." "We got clocked on our wedding night!" "I clocked my dog!" (She must be from Humboldt.) It turns out being cheesy instead. This is the kind of thing that interests me. This would actually not be all that hard to make on your own, and you could give it a better name. Instead, a crappy ass commercial makes a product I'm sure some people would want seem cheap. ("I got clocked up the ass in prison!" Okay, they don't actually use that one, but I was hoping.)

More writing tonight if I'm up to it. Having not really written for a few days, I feel a need to get a few posts done. Get your sleep. In days we shop ... but tonight we murder

Ruminations of a Sick Mind

I've spent the last couple days battling sickness. Stayed home today, too. Spent most of the day stretched out on the couch under a blanket and swearing that I was skirting fever. Television was on, surfing between small-claims court shows like Judge Judy and news. Sorting through text messages from concerned well-wishers. Sleeping. I did nothing much of anything much and that bugged me because I already don't have the time to get done the stuff I need to get done, though if the economy dives anymore and a layoff becomes the standard MO, I could have a lot of time to do just that.

Zoning out gave me a lot of time to think. Christmas is around the corner, and I have relatives coming to visit soon after. Other things are causing me stress, and as a friend recently said, "If you don't knock the stress out of your life, it will knock the life out of you."

Lack of sleep. Not-so-great diet. Stress. It's a recipe for disaster, and I think this cold knocking me out so easily is a sure sign that a knock out is coming.

I do need more sleep. Obvious. Necessary. Late nights and bad dreams do their best to ensure that more sleep is not coming any time soon.

Not-so-great diet? That I can easily change, and am starting to. More fresh foods. More organic. More variety. It feels good to eat real food again. I wonder if there was something to that woman on the bus telling me that the food we eat leads to mental illness?

Stress. Now there is the biggie, and I believe it also affects my sleep. Stress. I've been told I stress about things I can't control, though I believe that is only partially true. I don't stress about asteroids, but I do worry about the budget. One I can plan around and seems more likely to affect me, while the other is just a random act that I really can't do anything about and it seems ridiculous to plan around.

But this is going in circles. I've written about all this before. I briefly entertained the idea of throwing up my hands and using one of those great platitudes you see on the bumpers of rusted out stations wagons. "One day at a time." "Pobody's Nerfect." "Follow Your Bliss." "Let Go and Let God."

Yeah. I missed my lobotomy appointment.

So what did I learn in this fever-lite state? Not much. I opened my mouth for the Knowledge Communion and all I got was slapped in the face. The enlightenment I was looking for turned out to be nothing more than what I already knew.

So be it. At least I'm working on my self-imposed isolation stuff more. I'm being more social, which leads to me hearing some wonderful theories on my psyche and what I should be doing with my life.

Follow your bliss, indeed.

Answers to the Black Friday Question

The question has been posted here and at work: Why am I so enthralled by Black Friday? What do I have against it? I think I've been fairly vocal about all that, but maybe people have missed it. Here it is, laid out, as simply as my sick mind (bordering on fever, y'all) can do it.

People who live for Black Friday are absolutely apeshit insane.

2008. New York. Wal-Mart. The hot item? A 50" plasma HDTV. The morning found 2,000 shoppers outside the store. They were chanting, "Push the doors in." Thirty-four-year-old Jdiniytai Damour, who was a temp maintenance worker, was stampeded by the herd of shoppers (knowing America and its collective weight problem, one can only imagine how painful this was) as they took the door off its hinges, according to co-worker Jimmy Overby. Shoppers ignored the man's gasps for air in a mad rush to get their sausage fingers on that television. (I picture thick ropes of drool dangling from perpetually open mouths.) After the police arrived, they instructed shoppers to leave the store. A good number refused, some giving the reasoning as "I've been in line since yesterday morning." (Are these the same people who yell at loiterers to "get a job"?)

2004. Saudi Arabia. Ikea. The hot item? A $150 credit voucher, limited in number, of course. Three people trampled to death this time.

Granted, not all shoppers who like Black Friday are murderous maladroits intent in stuffing their stockings on the blood of others. But an interesting article I accidentally stumbled across while eating lunch (and where I got those two examples from) makes the assertion that they may be mentally ill.

In the 2/09 issue of Z, Bruce E. Levine wrote a piece called "Fundamentalist Consumerism and an Insane Society." I know there are a few of you readers who read Z. For those who don't, let me put it in (again) easy to understand terms so that my stuffed head doesn't have to work too hard. Z is the opposite of People. It's not flashy fluff pieces designed to amuse you while you wait for your hair to get done. It is full of serious, heady political pieces (left in nature) that not only look at the problems the world faces, but also offers solutions. You won't find articles on celebrities and their pets, but you will find pieces on worker's revolts in South American countries and security measures in the Middle East. It is fascinating stuff if your main desire in life is a better world and not a credit voucher.

Levine writes about how the mainstream media's focus on Damour's death said zero about "a consumer culture and an insane society in which marketers, advertisers, and media promote the worship of cheap stuff." He points out it focused primarily on "the mob of crazed shoppers" and parrtially on Wal-Mart's blame in the incident. He asserts that the corporate media and his "fellow mental health professionals" have also covered up "societal insanity." He does find one exception ... way back in 1955 in the form of Erich Fromm. "Yet many psychiatrists and psychologist refuse to entertain the idea that society as a whole may be lacking in sanity," Fromm writes. "They hold that the problem of mental health in a society is only that of the number of 'unadjusted' individuals, and not of a possible unadjustment of the culture itself."

Again, that is from 1955. Things have not gotten better.

Levine then presents six things that he states are being used by consumer culture to "psychologically, socially and spiritually" assault individuals. The consumer culture "creates increasing material expectations," "devalues human connectedness," "socializes people to be self-absored" (that's a huge pet peeve of mine), "obliterates self-reliance," "alienates people from normal human emotional reactions" and "sells false hope that creates more pain." You might find it to be bullshit, but he cites studies to back up this thesis, including ones from the American Sociological Review, William Vega (a well-known public policy researcher). It is a fascinating piece regardless of what you believe.

Levine, a clinical psychologist and author, states, "Fundamentalists reject both reason and experience." I believe that is something that is even beyond the scope of debate. And when you look at a term like "fundamentalist consumerism," Black Friday starts to make a lot more sense.

Damour died so people who didn't have enough money for a regularly priced plasma television could get one anyway in order to watch what is most likely utter garbage in high definition. He wasn't killed with a bullet, but under the dirty shoes of people who had nothing more meaningful to do with their lives but stand in line outside a big box discount store for hours at a time. When ordered to leave the store so police could conduct an investigation, they refused, afraid of losing out on precious deals and justifying it with the fact that they did nothing but stand in line the past twenty-four hours (failing, most likely, to note the ironic fact that long periods of inactivity are rewarded with a television of all things). For Damour, crass "fundamentalist consumerism" was not only the reason he was up so early, it was the reason he would never be getting up again.

And no, I'm not done yet. If you are reading this far, you have some sort of interest in this insanity, whether you agree or not, so let's continue with Damour.

Early reports suggested, much to his family's anger, that Damour died of a heart attack. The autopsy shows that he actually died of asphyxiation. To get an idea of how bad that had to be, you have to look at what kind of man Damour was before he became "aisle kill."

Damour was not your average guy. He was 6'5" and weighed 270 pounds. Not a single one of those stampeding pigs thought they were accidentally running over a handbag or even a backpack. They could not help but feel this man's girth ... at least the first wave of people had to. It has been surmised that the man was even sent to the door because he was so big, which would indicate someone had an idea of what could happen. A New York Daily News piece indicates that it was unlikely any of the stampeding pigs would be charged in his death. I imagine there would be too many cheap shoe prints to collect and how would you ever determine which one gave the fatal blow to the man described as a "giant."

On May 27, 2009 it was reported that Wal-Mart got slapped with the heaviest fine allowed under law for this sort of incident. It was not reported whether or not Wal-Mar would survive as a corporation if it were made to actually pay, especially when one considers the downturn in the economy. Luckily, Wal-Mart is one of the few places doing well while everything crashes and burns thanks to people like the stampeding shoppers, and the corporation should be able to bounce back after paying the $7,000 (that's seven thousand dollars) fine.

Other shoppers did try to help Damour, and some were injured in the stampede, so let's not think all of humanity has gone cuckoo for rollback. The fact that it happened at all, and that this isn't the first time and nor the last. (Fifteen miles away that same day another shopper was trampled at another Wal-Mart. She waited until she was done shopping, however, to file a police report. What a trooper. Don't let those "minor injuries" stop you from getting that cheap-ass microwave you've always wanted in your life.)

So, while I thought my disdain was pretty self-explanatory, I figured it wouldn't hurt to spell it out. After all, the fateful day is less than a week away now, and shoppers are already gearing up to trample someone else to death. Hey, maybe this year it will be an old woman or a newborn. The gods of consumerism have tasted blood, and now they will demand a sacrifice every year. If you can find parking without getting shot, be sure to appease your deity. If you don't, you may not get that $10 MP3 player you just got to have.

By and bye

Melancholy anarchist music plays on the stereo much too loudly. The words from earlier are stuck in my head like a bad pop song that threatens brain cancer every time you hear the chorus.

"It seems like under all your rage, there's a lot of sadness."

Maybe that's true. Maybe there is. I don't know if I've ever really dealt with the death of my father. I know I don't forgive him for never meeting his granddaughter, who is the best child on Earth.

I miss my daughter like mad when she isn't here.

I don't live up to my expectations at work.

I stress about everything.

I'm acting in ways I don't always like.

I dealt with a betrayal at work that angered me perhaps more than it should have. Sure, as it was pointed out, it was bound to happen. Doesn't negate the fact that I don't like it.

I'm sick.

I'm tired.

I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.

The only writing I do these days is here.

So, the black dog runs at night, and I've got no recourse but to possibly agree that yes, underneath this rage there is probably a lot of sadness. (And this music ain't helping one stinkin' bit.)

I don't really drink. I don't do drugs (unless you count the super rare pain killer which takes an act of God to get me to take). My vices are well-known and not at all constructive. I write to get the misery out.

I have a lot to be thankful and happy about, and I am. I've got a fantastic life despite the bitterness. When my daughter kisses me, every bad thing fades away. But I'm realistic, too. But I've always been better at anger than sadness, and anger is more fun to read and write about. I don't by into the whole depression scene.

Happy Friday, all. A lot of my friends are taking off for the holidays. I've done the isolation bit for so long I don't know much else. This Thanksgiving ain't gonna be different. Never liked the holiday much anyway. I give my thanks for the things I'm truly thankful for every day. I don't need a dead dumb bird to bring out feelings of gratitude. I'll see my daughter for part of the day. For the rest, I'll say a silent apology to the Native Americans who have suffered at the imposed "generosity" of the white man and do my best to stay away from the fucking television.

The Storm Arrives

Humboldt County, like much of the Pacific Northwest, is in the grips of the first "real" winter storm of the season. High winds, cold temperatures and tons of rain (again with keeping the hot stain status at bay). It's a comforting thing. I live for these winter rains. I know some people get depressed by too much rain, but me? I could have rain every day and be happy.

I've been up since 3:32. Before that I was sleeping soundly. I've come to peace with some decisions, and though I'm stressed about the budget and my car, I'm just going to do what I have to. When I wake up that early, however, I can't help but thinking about what is going on.

Students are protesting at schools throughout California due to tuition hikes. They are dumping garbage, marching and so on. I enjoy watching that sort of thing. I wish more people did that. Imagine hundreds of Sacramento residents dumping their garbage on Arnold's doorstep. What a happy photo op moment. Made even better by the fact that he won't be running for governor again. He states he's not a politician. No argument there.

Haven't decided about going to work yet. I'll probably go, though I feel even worse than I did when I was running a fever (which I may be running now -- just don't have the energy to check).

One week until the people impregnate the malls. Will consumers defy expectations? Will they spend less than last year? How will customer service be with businesses not hiring extra help? Who will get trampled in a rush for some China-produced toy? Target opens at five a.m. that day (a move I'm sure the employees are happy about).

La, la, la. Tis the season to consume.

Tired. Sick. Throat killing me. Coughing up alien things.

Air is colder. Wind picking up. No hot stain status. No dust bowl.

Love watching clouds boil in over the ocean. The sense of dread is comforting.

Twilight is taking over. Go team whatever! I vote for the serial killer.