For the Ladies ...

I was in line ordering a sandwich.  Behind me was a table with four females ... all in their early to mid-twenties.  They were giggling, having a grand time telling tales.  And then one told this one. 

"So get this: Ron [I don't remember his name, but Ron seems about right] was out in the living room drinking with Brandon and Tia last night.  He comes into the bedroom about three-thirty drunk and tells me he's going to the store.  I say, 'You're drunk.'  He starts bitching and leaves.  Later he comes back in, bends over by the bed and farts in my face three times [I must stress at this point that I am not kidding -- her friends, by the way, are laughing]!  [She then makes the standard flatuent sounds like you hear in the movies.]  Three times!  I told him to knock it off, and he just laughed at me.  He gets into bed and keeps doing it!  [The friends are really laughing now.]  And then I feel something weird on my hand.  He shit the bed!  [Guffaws all around.  Not sure why.  It's digusting.]  It's on the blankets, my hand, and then somehow it gets in my hair.  I tell him he shit the bed, and he laughs some more.  So I get out and show him the sheets with shit all over them, and he keeps laughing.  When I tell him I'm sleeping in the other room he just says, 'I'm sorry, baby.'"

Okay, ladies, if this seems normal to you, or if you don't see much wrong this picture, let me state something: You are setting your standards too low.  This is not normal behavior.  This is not acceptable behavior.  Why this woman didn't flip after her "man" passes gas in her face three times is beyond me.  I would've stabbed him.  No joke.  Stabbed.  In the stomach.  Deep.  Why she doesn't kick him out when he defecates in their bed is also beyond me.  I can buy that she may have been tired at first for his inital assault, but shitting the bed?  No.  At that point the wind-breaking, bed-shitting motherfucker would have been out on his ass, and he wouldn't be coming back.  Why was this accepted?  Because he was drunk?  So what?  You know who can crap the bed and get away with it?  Babies.  Really old people.  Sick people.  That's it.  Drunks aren't covered.  And if you do something like that and laugh?  Jesus.  What is wrong with this woman?

She's not partners with a man.  She's partners with a three-year-old in a man's body.  Only a kid would do that sort of thing and think it's funny.  Why didn't her friends say, "Wait.  Why are you still with this dumb waste of flesh?"  Is it because they would accept that sort of thing, too?  Maybe.  I don't know.  They were laughing as if they had all experienced it before.

I've had great relationships, and I have had not-so-great ones.  In none of those did anything like this ever happen.  Drunk or not.  I don't find bodily noises all that amusing (unless, of course, it's the gurging that accompanies the slit throat of a bed-shitter), and expelling solid (or liquid) waste where I sleep is not even an option.  Listening to her tell her story it seemed that the only thing surprising to her was that this happened on a Saturday morning instead of a Sunday morning.  How pathetic is that?

When I looked to see who this pathetic woman was, I was horrified.  I had had conversations with her in the past at her job (which is food service, incidentally -- hope she washes the shit off herself before he next shift), and while she has never seemed all that intellectual, she never came across as that bad.  I had to wonder what a guy would have to do to get her really upset?  Urinate in her corn flakes?  Once you shit the bed, the sky is really the limit, isn't it?

To all the ladies reading this, please listen to me.  If you have a man like this in your life -- leave him!  That relationship is never going to get better.  He will not suddenly mature.  He's not going to wake up one day (preferably in a clean bed) and think, "You know, breaking wind in my girl's face is rather rude.  So is shitting the bed.  I think I'll stop."  You have a better chance of hitting the lottery than you do of that happening.

Believe me, you can do better.  And if not ... well, a life full of solo dinners and masturbation is far better than a life with a guy like that.

Eureka, CA Mother and Son Love Their Drugs!

If a family duo is arrested in Eureka, CA you can bet it either has to do with prostitution or drugs.  This time, as reported here by the Times-Standard, it was drugs.  GerriAnne Schulze and her son, Damon Patrick Wright, were busted in their motel room with items typically used for drug consumption and sales.  The article even cites "meth pipes."  Why this even made the news is beyond me since when it comes to Humboldt, drug use never falls far from the tree.

I'm a firm supporter of the legalization of all drugs.  I don't care what someone puts into their body.  If they are breaking into people's cars to feed their addiction, then I care.  Otherwise, I think legalization puts people on the recovery track and frees up resources to fight other crime (like white collar crime that led to our financial meltdown).  Yes, drugs are insidious, addictive and are far from good from you, but so is Pepsi.  Of course, I don't know the last time someone prostituted themselves for a 2 liter, but some things are more addictive than others.

Eureka, as is most of Humboldt (at least until harvest season) is a depressed economy.  The blight we see in Eureka is partially the result of this depressed economy.  Fishing is about dead.  Logging is dead.  Nothing has replaced those things.  (Not saying they should come back in full force, either, but the economy is an ecology in and of itself, too.  Take one thing away and it must be replaced or the imbalance becomes too great.)  When the economy fails, people do what they can to make money.  That's capitalism!  They will fill a need.  Drugs are profitable.  Just ask the makers of Viagra, a legal drug (such distinctions mean little to me).  This mother and son team filled a need.  It's not how I would make a living, but it is so common here in Eureka that I'm surprised it warrants a mention even in the terror-filled Times-Standard.  (Almost every day you can read some AP piece of horrible child sexual abuse or murder.  It's almost like those Mexican death magazines.)

Humboldt has many newsworthy things happening every day.  Familial drug dealers is not one of them.  Taken out of context, with no background, this story just feels exploitive.  There was no delving into the duo's past.  No mention of what brought the police to the motel room initially.  Nothing other than the facts.  In this case, the facts are no different than what goes on every day in motel rooms throughout the county.  What the paper thought was special was that was a mother and son team.  What those of us who keep our eyes open know, is that the only thing different about this one is that they got caught.

Under The Bridge: Masturbating Perverts and Junkies

Eureka, California has this large bridge.  The Samoa Bridge.  Under it is a dock for launching boats.  Before it is an under-utilized park where a blues festival is held every year.  It's also home to assorted perverts.  I wasn't always aware of this, however.

When I first moved here, I had no idea what kind of insanity lurked under and around the bridge.  I was exposed to it (pun intended) when I took my bike on a leisurely ride along the bay.  As I got to the the end of the line, I stopped to look at the boats, when a rustling sound in the bushes behind me caught my attention.  No, it wasn't a sea gull shredding the remains of a hamburger.  It was a man.  More specifically, a masturbating man.  Broad daylight. 

I didn't stick around, but since then the bridge has been a constant source of inspiration in my various stories.  (Melinda actually utilizes the location in a way that mirrors what I actually witnessed a few years later.)  Since that masturbating bush man incident I've visited the bridge about once a year, sitting in my car and people watching.  I haven't seen such a flagarant display since then, but I've witnessed the junkies, the homeless, the hookers and the men looking for other men, as well as the dog walkers, the fishermen and the bicycle riders who have (presumably) yet to be exposed to the delights of exhibitionists and their shortcomings.

I suppose every town has a place where the civil laws of society sort of fade to the background and it becomes a free for all of sexual delights and substance abuse of every sort.  Picture Burning Man without high ticket prices and kinetic sculptures.  And though I find it a source of inspiration, I also find it kind of sad.  The homeless, the dope slammers, the closeted men, the ladies looking to make five bucks -- it's a Norman Rockwell painting that he always wanted to do but never had the guts to actually pull off.  It is the people society would rather forget about, and that's why those places are always sort of out of the way.  You don't see them.  They don't exist.

In time I imagine the area around the bridge will be developed and the fringe riders will have to find a new place to congregate.  They will, through some weird signal system that only they understand, alert others of a similar ilk to their whereabouts.  Until that day arrives, however, you tourist types now know of a place that isn't in any of the Eureka guide books.  If you need some black tar heroin, a hooker of questionable age, or a hummer from a guy who will go home to kiss his wife about a half hour after he's done with you -- you now know where to go.  Or you can just go to the zoo like all the other tourists.  Where's the fun in that, though?


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Up Against the Wall Motherfucker

Paying my monthly Friends of AK Press contribution always makes me feel pretty damn good.  I'm reading Realizing the Impossible: Art Against Authority currently, which I got through my monthly contribution.  Right now I'm at the section that deals with Black Mask (later known as Up Against the Wall Motherfucker!).  I wasn't around to experience those heady days of busting into the Pentagon and "shutting down" the Museum of Modern Art, but that doesn't mean I can't be giddy when I read of Black Mask's exploits.  A perfect fusion of art and activism meant to destroy the very society Leftists apologized for and Right Wingers sought to protect at all costs.  Again -- giddy.

A lot of Black Mask's activities had the air of theatre and pranks.  The group challenged everyone and everything.  The very first issue of its magazine said this on the cover: "We assault your Gods ... We sing of your death.  DESTROY THE MUSEUMS ...."  How can you not love a call to arms like that?  As Chumbawamba sang, "What we need is a break from the old routine."

These days, anything close to Black Mask/Up Against the Wall Motherfucker is looked at as a terrorist organization to be infiltrated, disorganized and eventually penalized.  After all, the government can't have people running around threatening to throw bombs, or even -- God forbid -- really throwing bombs.  That's its job!

My small contribution to AK Press every month helps to keep it afloat.  At a time when publishing houses are so scared of the written word that they refuse to print anything that could be deemed "controversial," AK Press, along with a handful of others, knows no such fear.  In fact, AK Press looks at preserving history as one of its jobs.  Radical history, yes, but that's the only kind of history that's really changed things. 

What we need is a break from the old routine.

What I think we're getting is anything but.  I wonder how Black Mask would deal with that these days?  What would its challenges be?  What would it target?  Back in the late '60s it targeted everything under the sun.  It's goal was no less than total annihilation of the sacred cows, though the members admitted they knew no such thing would happen.  They wanted disruption.  The starting members embraced anarchism and used that as a platform to threaten chaos.  In those days people were receptive to the ideas put forth by Black Mask.  Today?  I'm not quite sure, but I know that many of the things that appear quite radical are nothing more than variations on the themes they propose to abolish. 

Still, I can't help but smile.


Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: Clicking on a link may get me a small commission.  It may also broaden your mind.

We Mobbed Over and That's How We Roll

The Subway by Winco in Eureka, CA is the home of many fascinating cartoon-characters.  The more cynical side of me says they are placed there to let me know we really are living in a computer generated reality.  The realistic side of me says people are just really cardboard cutouts with no real sense of self and even less sense of purpose.  Case in point, the man I call Dawg.

I call this man Dawg because that's what his hat said.  Dawg.  A purposeful misspelling of "dog,"  something that humps your leg and shits on the floor when you aren't home.  Something they eat in foreign countries.  Dog.  Dawg.

A shock of red hair was under that hat.  A TapOut shirt (of course) clung to his torso.  Baggy jeans and sandals completed the picture.  The usual assortment of bad tattoos that were, oddly enough, pot related, dotted his arms.  He looked to be about thirty-five-years-old, but he could have had a hard life and was maybe fifteen.  He sure as hell talked like it.

He was ahead of me in line and on his phone.  He was talking loud.  I don't know if it was because his reception was bad or because he thought he was the center of the universe and all those little planets around him wanted to hear his conversation.  His conversation was not about the situation in Libya or the legal stand-off in Wisconsin.  It wasn't even about the Giants or the NASCAR race that was getting started.  In all honesty, I couldn't understand what it was about because I don't speak Moron.

"Yeah, we mobbed over and that's how we roll."

That was the only line in the conversation that was anything more than two words strung together and accented with a "fuck, dawg."  "Yeah, we mobbed over and that's how we roll."

If you're over fifteen and say things like "mobbed over" and "that's how we roll" in a way that isn't meant to be ironic, you don't deserve to have anything you say taken too seriously. 

What really completed the picture was the arrival of his lady and, from all indications, his child (a five-year-old boy also in a TapOut shirt who is doomed before he started).  They "mobbed" in, not bothering to meet the eyes of those who wanted to marvel at the kind of woman who would accept Dawg sperm.  She wrapped his arms around Dawg's waist.  The boy looked hopeless.

"My old lady's here.  Later." (She looked ten years his younger.)

When their turn came to order, Dawg, Mrs. Dawg and Dawg, Jr. proved their grasp of sandwich ordering wasn't much better than Dawg's grammar.  Maybe it was their first time in Subway.  Maybe they were just naturally undecisive.  Maybe they couldn't read the fucking menu and the accompanying pictures were just "too damn complicated, Dawg."  What should've been a quick and easy order, quickly became anything but.  "What do ya mean, 'footlong?'"  "If ya toast it, how crunchy does the bread get?"  Mrs. Dawg funneled all her requests through Dawg, who should not consider interpretting as a new career choice.  Her constant tugs on his shirt and corrections to the orders he was giving threw the guy off.  He constantly had to correct and get items taken off her sandwich.  That's how they roll.

The woman who was the "sandwich artist," as they used to be called, was doing her best to maintain her cool.  She was Asian, a fact not lost on the ever-observant Dawg.  At one point he told his old lady who was younger than he, "She don't understand me."  This was accompanied by him putting his finger at the corner of his eye and pulling it to the side.  I imagine he was trying to show Mrs. Dawg his Asian impersonation, which, since he used one eye was, in his world, really the mark of being half-Asian.  Luckily, the employed woman (Dawg's employment was questionable, but I know which side I find myself on) had her back turned at the time.

I must have muttered something out loud because Dawg turned to me and said, "I know, right?  She don't know."  Oh, I think she knew, all right.  Then he noticed my septum piercing.  "That is tight.  Where'd you get that at?"

Tight?  It is tight?  I'm sorry.  I don't speak Dumb Motherfucker.  Well-versed in Sarcasm and Fuck With You, though.  Very well-versed.

"I don't know.  Got all messed up on PCP and woke up with it, yo."

He kinda laughed at that.  Then he told me he was thinking of getting it done, but wondered if it would hurt too much.  "Tats ain't nothing, but that's sticking a needle through your skin."

Brilliant.

"I wouldn't know about that," I said, crossing my arms, which have a few tattoos on them.

With that he turned back to complete his transaction.  Arm around his old lady's shoulders, kid forgotten, but in tow, they made their way from the restaurant.  I watched to see if God would do the world a favor and have an Escalade plow into them at 45 mph, but God was apparently too busy mobbing somewhere else.  The happy family, someday Harvard bound, made their way toward Winco unscathed by Social Darwinism.

I ordered my sandwich with far less difficulty.  The Asian sandwich artist seemed relieved to be done with the Dawgs.  "I'm going to tell you something very scary," I said to her as she placed my bacon in a microwave.

"What's that?"

"They may continue breeding."

She laughed a bit nervously.  Like she knew she wasn't supposed, but it was funny.

"That's one dog that definitely needs to be fixed." 

Human Pony Girl: A Missing Teenager, A Sex Shop, and The Manuscript

Back in the day I worked at the Pleasure Center.  For those not in Humboldt County, the Pleasure Center, before it went corporate, was this little shop that catered to people's various sexual desires.  The owner at the time, Bill, designed it to appeal to women ... mainly because he called himself a lesbian trapped in a man's body who routinely sexually harassed the women who worked for him and the female customers who stopped in.  (He's dead.  I found his body.  For the shit he, or to be more fair -- his corpse -- put me through that day, I think I can fairly call him that.  I'm not exaggerating.  I witnessed him hit on women on a regular basis.  I occasionally said something, but most of his attempts were so lame and weak that they were far more pitiful than menacing.)  One of the items we carried was this dildo-like object where one end of it resembled a horse's tail. 

You can imagine where it was to be inserted.  You'd be right.

It was while working at this place that the seeds for the manuscript I'm currently working on really started to germinate.  At the time a teen girl went missing, and while there was plenty of speculation on her whereabouts, nobody really had a clue as to what happened to her.  The most that could be figured was that she got into a white car and was never seen from again.

Humboldt, for those of you who don't know, has a pretty open sexual community.  There's the Imps, regular wife swapping, bestiality, and plenty of fetish-based prostitution.  There's also an undercurrent of the dangerous, though.  Many places have this.  Humboldt has it in spades, and I got to see plenty of it.  People who wouldn't/couldn't associate with the more open people because even the most open-minded wouldn't accept them.  Then there were the ones who just didn't care to associate with the sexual counterculture because, like most countercultures, you have to wade through a lot of crap to get to the gems.

The Pleasure Center branch in Eureka, where I started working, attracted those who traveled below the underground ... as well as the more prominent citizens.  One of those customers was someone involved in the investigation of the missing girl.  His sleaze of choice?  S&M videos.  At that point I started to wonder if the missing girl were tied up in his basement, a bucket to the side for bodily functions, a camera on a tripod before her.  That idea bounced around in my head without a home until about a year ago, when I started the manuscript.

Walking around with that image popping up from time to time can be distracting at best.  I knew it was a good image, and I knew I would use it eventually.  (To be quite honest, however, it merely inspired this manuscript.  The actual story I want to tell about that will probably be next after this book is written.)  The image sort of made it into the manuscript in passing.  (Some of you have read some scenes from it.  The feedback has been generally good.  I've been doling it out piecemeal, though, so a complete picture cannot be formed.)  It is a strong image.  Strong enough to inspire a totally different story.  You have to respect that power.

Working at the Pleasure Center had its moments.  Great characters.  Strange pornography.  Solid co-workers.  The inspiration that came from the place cannot be undervalued.  I learned more about Humboldt County working there than I have ever learned from our local news station or newspaper.  I met newscasters whose toy of choice was Jenna's Twat Twister, and men who liked to be tied up and urinated on.  I met girls who thought they were being dirty by buying pretty little vibrators, and men who bought videos where the cover girls resembled their daughters.  (Yeah, Humboldt County has plenty of perverts that are borderline dangerous.)  It served as a spring point for many story ideas, including one I've been toying with that involved finding Bill dead.

The missing girl has never been found.  Some say she ran away.  There was a rumor she was being held captive by meth addicts for whatever sick games they had devised.  Others said she was working a carnival up in Oregon.  Me?  I had my ideas.  I never really believed her disappearance was anything other than a crime of opportunity, and for some reason I think she got buried out in Samoa someplace.  Not by meth addicts, or twisted cops, but by a kindly stranger who convinced her to get in his car and maybe party a little bit.  She was game, and soon she found herself in over her head, regretting taking a ride from that proverbial stranger.  And when she found his fingers in her mouth, she really knew she was not going to make it out alive.  She fought, and he had to explain those scratches on his arm and face to his wife, kids and co-workers ... maybe his brother or something.  For weeks he worried.  What if someone saw him?  They got the car color wrong in the media, but what if someone remembered?  What if someone put two and two together?  The missing time and the scratches?  What if a dog dug her up?  After a few months, though, when there was no loud knock at the door -- the type that cops are trained to do -- he realized he got away with it.  Clean away.  Free.  And the thought scared him.  He wasn't going to it originally.  Just wanted to cop a feel.  Things got out of hand, and he had to kill her.  He had no choice.  She would tell.  There would go his job, his marriage, his family.  He would lose everything.  He felt bad about it, for sure.  He even threw up.  When he realized he got away with it, he wasn't relieved.  He was scared.  What if he did it again?  No.  That wouldn't happen.  But now, when he's alone driving, and he sees a teenage girl walking, he inadvertently slows down his car.  He fiddles with the crotch of his jeans.  They are tighter.  He drives by, his eyes going to the rearview mirror.  He sees those headphones all the kids wear.  Her head tilted down as she watches the sidewalk.  For a moment he wonders if he looks like her, and he remembers the fingers in the mouth.  He goes home and kisses his wife.  The kids are gone now.  Off to college.  His wife never suspected.  He will never stop for the walking girl ... or so he tells himself.

A missing girl.  A porno store.  And a single video rental.  It set off a string of thoughts that hasn't ended to this day.  Funny how those things work.



FTC Disclaimer: Clicking on my affiliate link, which is actually my Kindle short story, will net me a commission.  This is not the manuscript I'm talking about.  It was not inspired by the Pleasure Center, either, but is kind of twisted in its own way. 

Exploiting the Dead: Scavenging the Japanese Graveyard

Warren Buffett, that financial guru who tells you what to do with your money and you listen because he has your best interests at heart, doesn't let a tragedy like a major earthquake coupled with a killer tsunami and topped with a bit of radioactivity slow down investment.  In fact, he sees the tragedy in Japan as a "rare opportunity" to invest in Japanese businesses.

This is all done under the guise of helping out a struggling country while getting a little return for your buck, and it does do that.  Make no mistake, though, this about being the fastest and biggest vulture on the block.  Capitalism has ensured that when markets are worthy, they will get the funds needed to rebuild.  (Correct me if I'm wrong, but I didn't read about Buffett making the same claims about Haiti.)  Japan will recover, and if you get in now, you can get a piece of that pie ... and help them out a bit.

I'm sure the Japanese will appreciate the help, but I'm also sure they'll realize the greed behind it.  They are capitalists, too, afterall.  They aren't strangers to voodoo economics and trickle down myths, but unlike us, they are a bit more realistic about it all.

The Nikkei went nuts after Buffett's words to the elite went out.  Like Jesus walking on water, Buffett had arrived to save the Japanese citizenry like a white-haired Gamera.  "Buffett, Buffett!  He's our man!  His words are going to save Japan!"  Like Charlie Sheen, the Japanese stock market went a little crazy, and like CBS, Japan may have to embrace a little crazy in order to bounce back. 

Buffett doesn't even call it a "tragedy" or "earthquake."  It's an "extraordinary event."  Imagine the kind of world you must live in to see everything as a matter of simple economics.  A world where thousands dead from a natural (and soon to be unnatural) disaster is an "extraordinary event" and not a disaster.  I picture Buffett sitting on his couch, his well-manicured and smooth hands fondly his shriveled penis.  CNN is playing its usual loop of disaster coverage.  The tsunami starts throwing vehicles around as if they are paper cranes.  His penis starts to twitch.  It's getting harder.  Stoic Japanese faces fill the screen.  Look at them.  Going about their business without all that troublesome looting so epidemic in the West.  Harder now.  He is stroking.  Faster.  Look at those roads.  They'll have to be rebuilt.  The power plants?  Them, too.  That'll take a lot of money.  Boom!  His orgasm is over.  A trickle of clear semen moistening his elderly fingers.  He imagines it tastes like money.  Everything does.

What an extraordinary investing opportunity.  Imagine the possibilities if those reactors thoroughly explode?  Now that will be a proper economic orgy.



Usual FTC Disclaimer: Warren Buffett did not pay me to write this positive piece about his masturbation habits.  If you click on my Amazon affiliate link in this post, however, and buy the anarchist book, I'll receive a slight commission, which I may or may not use to invest in this extraordinary event.

Palin Visits Israel. Is She Lost?

CNN reports that Sarah Palin is visiting Israel!  Holy shit, Batman!  She's on a fact-finding mission to find out how they deal with those pesky Palestinians so that when she gets "elected" back in the good ol' US of A she can do the same to liberals.  This has "international incident" written all over it.

Palin likes to present herself as a person just like you or me.  And she is.  I've been governor of Alaska, and I've also had my own TV show.  On a whim I can visit foreign leaders and pop onto to Fox News to spout nonsense.  So, Palin is just like me ... and you.  Nothing special about her.  No way.

Or so she thinks.

A lot of those Tea Party Parrots love her.  Worship the ground she walks upon.  Would gladly sacrifice their own first born (but not in the womb) for her.  They want her to be president.  They don't need another hero.  They need a savior.  And that is why Palin is going to Israel.  She wants to see where all that "Bible stuff" started.  She wants to see Ground Zero for the Holy of the Holiest.  If she can't lead them to freedom from stone throwing, bomb-wearing terrorists, nobody can.  (Except, of course, some U.S. supplied weapons.)

Where I really want to see Palin go is Africa.  Deep in the heart of Africa.  Unaccompanied by photographers, body guards and her dancing daughter.  I want her meeting with gun-toting maniacs in Rwanda, and then I want to hear her report on it.  That's the kind of move I expect out of presidential hopefuls.  Israel, as they say in Delaware, is for pussies.

Wisconsin Businesses Fight Back! Still Hope They Lose...

Wisconsin Manufacturers and Commerece, a pro-business group issued some strong words against the boycott of Wisconsin businesses that supported governor Scott Walker in his 2010 campaign.  Wisconsin businesses apparently don't like losing money any more than public servants do.  Guess what, though?  If you take away the ability of someone to make money, you take away their ability to spend it, so ... why spend what money you do have at businesses that supported the man who took that money away?  James Haney, the president of that pro-business group, must think union members are as dumb as he is.  I support continuing the boycott.  In fact, here's the next business ...

AT&T!

My old enemy (you can find many posts on that company by clicking on the label below), through the AT&T Wisconsin Employee PAC donated $21,000 to Walker's campaign in 2010 from its headquarters on the 13th floor (how appropriate) of 722 North Broadway in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  (If you live nearby, you should stop in and see them.)  My hatred of AT&T is well-known.  The company is run by idiots and has some of the worst customer service in the business.  If you are a union member and the actions of Scott Walker righteously pissed you off, now is the time to drop your service plan and let the company know why.  Yes, an employee will try to talk you out of it, but stand firm.  Remember, an attack against one is an attack against all.  

If you want to read the rest of the boycott list, this is a good website to go to.

Happy business busting!

Targeting Wisconsin Businesses -- Fun, Fun, Fun!

We have all heard the news.  Well, at least those who pay attention to the news anyway.  Wisconsin governor Scott Walker, a lickspittle to his corporate masters, promised to bust unions and has done so with the help of his Republican drones.  The man who proudly believes girls who are raped by their uncles shouldn't be allowed to abort, wiped out collective bargaining for public unions ... except firefighter and police unions because they supported him (way to go, my union brothers).  Walker wasn't only aided by cops and firefighters, though.  He had plenty of business support. 

The website Scott Walker Watch has a list of businesses that have donated money to the governor's 2010 campaign.  Think of it as Megan's Law type site, but instead of sex offenders it's really crappy businesses that hate organized labor.  While I feel sorry for the employees that work for them, I don't feel sorry enough not to target them in effort to make them lose money and ultimately go out of business.  First on the list is ABC Supply Co..

ABC's site is handy and bland.  It helps you find stores near you, so you can go protest.  If, like me, you are fortunate not to have a store nearby (and hopefully never in my neighborhood), you can e-mail them your feelings on businesses that support such candidates.  There's even a phone number you can call!  608-362-7777 gets you in touch with its National Support Center.  ABC is, according to the site, America's "largest wholesale distributor of roofing, siding and windows."  Hey, somebody's gotta do it.  With some well-timed protests, some creative sabotage and bad press, ABC can go from America's largest wholesale distributor of blah, blah, blah to "the first business to fall due to Wisconsin's anti-labor Republicans."  If ABC wants to support a man who hates labor so much, maybe this company that caterers to laborers should feel the effects of its actions.  Any of you union construction workers should look to make sure you aren't dealing with materials bought at ABC.

Touchingly, and without a trace of irony, ABC posts its core values on its site.  And here you thought the owners only wanted to make money.  ABC has "American Pride."  "We pay tribute to our country, believe in the American Dream and all it stands for, and honor and respect the men and women who serve our great nation."  Unless, of course, you are a public servant union member (cops and firefighters excluded).  Perhaps it's time to add, "Fuck the unions.  We support Walker and his attacks on unions and women's rights!"

And if any of you readers happen to work for ABC and feel just as disgusted as I do, I offer you to anonymously send in any kind of incriminating memos or documents you have, and I'll post them here if they are newsworthy or even mildly interesting.  Got pics of your boss in blackface or sleeping with a tranny?  I'll post those, too.  Fuck ABC.

Charlie Sheen -- Why the Hell Do You Care?

I had this amazing conversation with someone about Charlie Sheen.  She was upset because if he continued the way he was going, he would "die." 

"Porn stars, drugs and alcohol?  Who wouldn't want to go that way?  Would you rather he die a long slow death from some disease?  Perhaps you'd rather see him shot or die in a car accident instead of doing something he enjoys."

The person was appalled I'd even say that, but I'm fairly sincere about it.  Unless you are a close friend to Sheen, why would you even care what he does with his life?  Does Two and a Half Men mean that much to you?  If so, you may want to re-evaluate your life.  Are you afraid he won't be around for a Hot Shots! Part Deux reunion at some convention?  If that's the case, you may want to find something else to be concerned about, like weeds in your yard or something.

It's not like Sheen has contributed in some wonderful way to our culture.  He's on a CBS sitcom.  That's what?   A step above a PBS show?  And yet far too many people are way too concerned about his sex life, drug intake and rants on radio shows.  California is heading for a total shutdown which will fuck up the rest of the country.  Billionaires backing politicians have openly declared class war in Wisconsin.  And you are worried about CharlieNavy SEALs Sheen.  You know who has every right to be concerned?  Martin Sheen.  If you didn't play the President of the United States on NBC, your concern rings kind of false.

Charlie Sheen comes across as the braggart who, once you get him in a private setting one-on-one, will ask to borrow a few bucks off you with the promise he'll pay you back tomorrow.  He then asks you not to tell anyone, and you know the whole time you won't get the money back.  He's not a great actor.  He's not even mildly amusing.  But give the guy a break.  If he wants to make his life a trainwreck, at least let him go out in the crash.  Hey, it's not like he has kids with him to keep him occupied.  He's got to do something.  Why not porn stars and crack?  He may never see his kids again.  He may even die.  At least we won't have to worry about a sequel to Terminal Velocity.

Hey, Wisconsin! Fuck You!

Dear People of Wisconsin,

If you are tired of watching the working class and union members have their lives treated as throw-aways, I've got one word for you: Egypt.  Your Republican servants obviously don't give a shit about you.  Why not return the favor?  They are attacking your very livelihood.  They are attacking everything you've built up over the years.  Do you think a little yelling and banging on a drum is going to get them to stop?  Hell no.  You've got to, as I used to say, fuck shit up.  General strikes.  Wildcat strikes.  Boycotts to businesses that support them.  And if that doesn't work, get louder and louder.  They will only understand the loss of money and violence.  That much is proven.  If that prank call that circulated earlier is any indication of what you union folks are up against, you've got to ratchet up the protests.  Be careful to keep the public on your side.  Most people don't get that after they dismantle the public servant unions they will go after the general unions and then things like OSHA.  Big business is doing its utmost to dismantle labor.  It's time to return the favor.  Those billionaires who like to fund the Republicans -- show them what strength in numbers really means.

And as for you Democrats in hiding -- good job.  Your peers on the other side of aisle are nothing but lickspittle motherfuckers who can't even see when they are being played.  They will do anything in their power to render even themselves useless and beholden to corporate America.  Don't give up on this one.  Hang them with their own rope.

Negativity and the Art of Blowing Things Up

When you are told you are being a "negative" person, it's often by someone who is afraid of truth.  It comes from a place of wishful thinking where if you don't point out the negativity the problem will either magically disappear or people will forget about it.  It's the same mindset that let child sexual abuse and domestic violence occur for years with nary a mention in the media or polite society. 

People who are truly content with whatever another person is being negative about won't even grace the so-called negativity with a mention or thought because it will be out of the realm of their possibilities, or -- gasp -- they will discuss it without labeling it "negativity."  It is only the people who truly don't believe the shit they are slinging that will get defensive about it.

Why rock the boat?  Why upset the apple cart?  Why speak ill of something?  Why point out flaws?  I can't speak to everyone who does these things, but I can say that when I am doing them it is in the hopes of making things better.  You bring up the shortcomings so that solutions can be reached.  I called it being "realistic."  Some people would rather just daydream.

I know plenty of positive people who try to say something equally positive about everything, and that is totally fine by me.  Many of these people, when confronted with perceived negativity, embrace it well and want a discussion (after all, you just can't be negative without offering solutions -- it's like being accepting without being able to explain why -- you just look like a simpleton).  There are others, however, who think that "never is heard a discouraging word" is a mantra to live by.  It is the symbolic plugging of the ears with one's fingers and chanting, "Naaa, naaa, naaa.  I can't hear you!"  Comical at best.  Destructive at worst.

I watched the news earlier (hence this post) where the "man on the street" was being interviewed.  The "man" this time happened to be a woman looked like she really loved her credit cards and Macy's.  The reporter asked her what she thought of gas prices going up due to unrest in the Middle East.  Her response?  "Why can't they leave well enough alone?"  Why be negative?  Why protest?  Because well-enough isn't good enough, and that reporter should have called her out to explain her take on the Middle East so the viewing public could see her for the fool she is instead of letting her get away with such a statement.  Why must they complain?  It bums me out.

We live in a culture where speaking one's mind is fine ... as long as it goes along with the status quo.  Stray from that well-trod path of least resistance and you slapped down by people who have never quite managed to see the road ahead.  Why can't you leave well enough alone?  The answer is simple:  It's that attitude which made "well enough" a living Hell for anyone with anything that resembles an active mind.

Sometimes you have to throw your hands in the air and let the chips fall where they may (try working for any kind of corporate or government organization and you'll be doing that a lot if only to keep your sanity).  Sometimes you have to be vocal.  In those times, when you speak out for what you perceive to be wrong, and people label you "negative," well -- stay on course.  It means you're onto something.  It means you've hit a hot spot.  It may not be worth it in the end, and at some point you may just want to let people drown so that you can smugly sit back and one point and between fits of laughter say, "I told you so."  But until you hit that point you need to not let the wide-eyed lobotomies turn you into one of them.  Or you need to shut the hell up and enjoy the show.

Terror Threat Level High: Eureka is Being Invaded by The Man!

There's an old joke about cops.  You can never find one when you need one, but dodge a red light and hit a pedesterian and they are all up in your grill.  Finding a cop will be a hell of a lot easier tomorrow if you are in Eureka, CA.  We're getting about 1,000 of them into town (and ex-hippie governor Jerry Brown) to honor Thomas Adams, 24, a California Highway Patrol Officer (remember Chips?) who was killed in a collision right around Piercy.

Today I drove by the church the memorial is set to be held at.  There was a gathering outside, including some uniformed people who may have been officers.  Orange traffic cones lined the side of the street the church was on for several blocks.  I was in the lane closest to the church and was about to pass it when one of those uniformed guys stepped out into the street for some random reason and indicated I should move over into the center lane, which me and the three people behind me did, cutting off all those cars in that lane and almost causing an accident.  Brilliant.  The memorial service was a little less than 24 hours away.  Were they practicing?  No matter.  I did as directed and got on with my day.

Adams was a local boy.  He apparently grew up in Fortuna.  He didn't have a wife or kid (at least not from what I read), but tomorrow there will be close to a thousand of his peers honoring him.

I'm fairly sure that myself and most people reading this will never have a thousand people at our memorials.  It's kind of rare when that sort of thing happens, and I can't help have some respect for that.  Hell, if I died in the course of duty at work (a likely possibility these days), if more than ten people show up at the service my ghost will be impressed.  Adams, as mentioned before, is even getting an appearance from the governor.  My guess is that if the governor is involved with me in any way it will be some sort of trial situation. 

Those expecting something sarcastic are slowly finding themselves disappointed, I'm sure.  The guy died doing his job.  The idea of police is against most of my political beliefs, but it's not like the officer was part of the elite ruling class.  He was an average working joe, and to die on the job kind of sucks no matter how you look at it. 

I can't help but wonder, though, how all of Eureka's many, many tweakers are going to react to this influx of authority.  They're already a paranoid bunch.  Seeing them witness a parade of thousand in uniform could prove highly entertaining.

Eye of the Tiger: The Strange Case of Daniel Wu, Congressman and Nut Job



This clown is more trustworthy than Wu.

 Oregon.  Known for haven for Califorians, highbrow Shakespeare festivals, the filming of Kindergarten Cop and a city with a ton of strip clubs.  Now it has something else to add to its fame: a nut-ass Congressman.

David Wu.  Democrat.  Oregon's finest.  He makes Lindsay Lohan look coherent.  He's the reason I love politicians. 

Confrontations with his staff.  Bizarre speeches.  Interventions.  Strange e-mails sent to his staff either from his children or from Wu posing as his children.  E-mails sent with a picture of Wu dressed as a tiger.

No shit.  If you acted like this at your job, you'd be fired ... or promoted to management.  You wouldn't get re-elected.  Wu did, though.

Wu's staff tried to get him help.  Whether they were concerned or had visions of the campaign going down in flames is really neither here nor there.  One member was quoted as saying the only thing worse than losing would be winning.  You can almost see the hand wringing and the misty eyes.

An e-mail sent to Wu's staff at 1:38 a.m. had the subject line "wasted."  It was supposedly sent by Wu's son.  It read, “My Dad said you said he was wasted Wednesday night after just three sips of wine. It’s just that he hasn’t had a drink since July 1. Cut him some slack, man. What he does when he’s wasted is send emails, not harass people he works with. He works SO hard for you … Cut the dude some slack, man. Just kidding.”



5150? Cosplay nerd? Congressman? Your guess is as good as mine.

 If this was Wu's son, Wu, Jr. is just as shithouse batty as his old man.  Note, this e-mail arrived minutes after another e-mail landed in staffers' inboxes -- this one apparently from Wu's daughter!  Who does that?  The guy who dresses like a tiger, that's who.  (Yes, that is Wu above.)

In Star Wars Ben Kenobi asks Han Solo who the bigger fool is.  The fool or the man who follows him?  I would ask: Is it the fool or the people who elect him?  Oregon: This guy represents you!  He's playing hide and seek with your tax dollars (when he's not sipping wine and making fart noises into a microphone, that is).  Was it a pity vote?  Were you that unaware?  I can see not knowing about the e-mails and Tigerman get-up, but apparently his behavior was well-known.  And you still handed him the keys to the public policy.  Gotta love it.  No wonder people from a state that elected two sucky ex-actor governors love spending dough and driving badly in your state.  It's like we were made for each other.  Hell, if Wu came from CA I could actually accept his behavior.  (Eureka, my city, gave Larry Glass a seat on the city council.  He's no Wu, but fuck ...)

Wu has sought medical help, which is par for the course.  He has blamed the stress of the campaign, the death of his father and raising two kids (who apparently love sending out e-mails to his staff at all hours of the morning, those scamps) solo on his behavior.  He did not blame wine or toxins caused by his Tony the Tiger get-up, however.  Whatever the reason, be it campaign stress, raising two e-mail happy kids by himself or a bad batch of Peruvian blow, Wu has got problems that need addressing.  He could be voting on healthcare or on whether or not we should be invading some Middle East country that just got VHS players.  I don't want his kids (or him pretending to be his kids) sending some dictator an e-mail saying something like, "dude we are so gonna blow your ass back to dinosaur times.  that's not the wine talking.  that's good old American kick assness.  the attached file is a picture of me dressed as natalie portman in black swan.  i want it to be the last thing you see before you suck down a nuke.  later dude."

Thank you, Oregon.  I guess we should all just be thankful David Duke wasn't running in your state.

Long live the New Flesh. *Sol Invictus*

Let Chaos Be Your Calling Card

Some random thoughts to brighten your day.  (I'm in a "mood."  My back hurts.)

I've been thinking of shaving my mustache like Michael Jordan and Hitler's.  Hitler obviously ruined it, and Jordan brought it back.  It's a look that worked for both of them.  Now, I have no basketball skills, and I have nothing against Jewish people, but I'm still slightly afraid people will take it the wrong way. 

People in Humboldt County are really upset about the PG&E SmartMeters that are being installed.  These SmartMeters transmit your energy info through the air via magic to PG&E voodoo houses for billing purposes and, if you are to believe some people, mind reading.  If people are that upset they need to leave dangerous animals around their meters or steal PG&E trucks and dump them in a river somewhere.  Non-violent protest only gets you somewhere in Egypt.  These days, you have to hit people over the head with a hammer to get your point across.  To be clear: They only understand violence or the loss of money.  Protest is quaint like the doillies your grandmother still uses.  It's so Sixties.


Never underestimate the power of a well-placed Out of Order sign.  Especially if something is not broken.


Also never underestimate the power of a good prank.  Not only can they change reality and expose the naked emperor, they're just plain fun.  I've pulled off many, and I've got another big one brewing.  It feels good.  Kind of like when you first discover masturbation ... only it never gets old!


Next time you see one of those people who has a funny, pro-shopping key chain or bumper sticker (like the kind that says something like, "Hold me back!  I'm going shopping!" or "Addicted to Shopping") point it out and happily say, "My God, it's like you're sexually assaulting the mall."  Let that image be associated with their novelty sayings for the rest of their lives.  Always smile when you say it, though.  Everyone loves a smile.


Not everyone loves a clown ... in makeup.


Calling people's sexuality into question in a positive way, especially if you are claiming the opposite of what he/she is (i.e., you're a guy and say this of a fellow male, "He's awesome.  He really likes to hug a lot.  I like it.  It's nice.  You don't get many men expressing their feelings this way anymore."), often times shows your foils for who they really are.  Especially if they are homophobic but are afraid to admit it in these PC times.  Homophobia is ridiculous, like buying coffee by the cup every morning or thinking Taco Bell uses real beef.

The Sex Pistols taught me a lot.  They asked concert goers if they ever felt cheated (who hasn't?), and they claimed to be the poison in the human machine.  Words to live by.

The Soft Spoken Lies of a Psychopath

Working on the manuscript the past few days (not as non-stop as I'd like, but more than I've been doing) has been a lot like getting a glass of water after wandering the desert for three days.  Refreshing and a little overwhelming.  I'm on the symbolic and literal chapter 13, and I realize I've written more pages are in the last book I read (Doctor Who and the Day of the Daleks for those keeping score at home). 

I'm getting to a point where I lost the original manuscript, and things are definitely going south for the characters.  It is screwing with me less on a mental stage this time around, and a lot of the nastiness is at such a ... wet... level due to the stress at my job.  Writing it is as much a relief as it is a foundation, and I'm finding myself enjoying it more this time around.  I realize that getting it published is as long a shot as they come, but self-publishing has not been ruled out for it or any of the other manuscripts I have floating about.  It will cut out the middleman, and I can negotiate things on my own terms that way.  Ideal?  No.  This manuscript, however, may dictate it.  The marriage of sex and violence done in such an unapologetic way may leave even the most jaded publisher a bit cold, I imagine.  (And while the manuscript is not porno by any stretch of the imagination, the porno publishers would never touch it in a million years due to the subject matter.)

So where does that leave me?  Fired the hell up, that's where.  And now, as I get ready to go to the insanity that I find myself consigned to for the time being, I can't help but think that the end result of this manuscript and the drive to make the blogs succeed financially will be beneficial in almost every way possible in the end.  Dreams of a mountain compound away from all but whom I want to be around and the knowledge that future is not only seizable but conquerable keep me sane.

Of course, I could be wrong ... but I would never dream of going off course as that is the ultimate kiss of death.

Love You With a Razor

It should be a good week when both Enter the Void and The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest (American version to star Owen Wilson!) show up at your bidding.  That was tempered, however, by a stressful week otherwise that has me digging up all kinds of old editors and trying to figure out how to make a blog generate a few thousand a month in income.  Not an easy task because I'm not writing about HDTVs or foreclosures. 


I've even considered taking those two Amazon Shorts, which I now have the rights to again, and making them e-content for the Kindle.  The only problem is, I would never use a Kindle or any other e-reader, so why would I expect others to use it to read my stuff instead of pushing it in print form.  A bit of popular advice is that if you are going to buy stock, buy it in something you use.  I think the exact opposite is true, too.  Don't put stock in something you don't use.  I don't use an e-reader, so I'm not making something exclusive to that.

There are, of course, other options.  There always are.  I'm not ready to go those routes yet, as they are not the backup plans I want to engage.  Self-publishing is still in the picture, too, but I'm still not sure that is the way to go.

With the editorial change at the North Coast Journal I wonder if there is a bigger place there for me.  The article I did on Willow Creek paid well.  I've been told it is looking for more critics, too, so that may be an avenue worth pursuing if only for potboilers.

Seeing old friends tonight and this weekend may inspire me to step up the game a bit more, too.  I feel like I haven't been devoting as much time to this plan as I should be, but stepping it up as I have been has been a good step in the right direction.  If anyone has any good ideas, I'm more than happy to hear them.  Writing jobs, publishers, affiliates (not AdSense, as my account for this blog is yanked for good), or anything else, I'm open to it.  I've written for plenty of magazines in my time -- some good (Tattoo Savage), some not so good (UFO).  It's not always my favorite type of writing work, but it's a check and exposure.  Savage and Film Threat opened a lot of doors. Now I need to open some more ... especially if I want this current manuscript published.  Man, that one is going to be a hard sell ... at least in America.

Facebook Monsters

A friend asked me why I don't post on Facebook more often than I do.  It was a weird question, or so I thought.  I told him I'd post the answer on Facebook.  I was being ironic and a smart ass, of course, but there is a reason why.

I use Facebook for a set number of things.  Promoting my writing, keeping in touch with family, friends and professional colleagues; making sarcastic posts on other people's walls; and posting fake celebrity death news.  On occasion I will do a more personal post, but I don't make a habit of it, and there is a reason why.

First, I'm private.  I just don't need people knowing what I'm doing.  It's weird, and I'm not vain enough to think that anyone would care.  I'm not that self-important, which I tend to think Facebook really promotes.  I also find posts where people tend to post such information to be odd at best.  I don't know what to say to someone who posts, "I'm sitting at my table with sushi."  What do you say to that?  It's fine if people want to post that, but with few exceptions I will abstain.

Facebook has been a great tool for marketing my writing and for making friends and family uncomfortable.  Beyond that, I could leave it behind and not worry about it one bit (and have often thought of that).  People act much the same way on it as they do in real life, too, despite the general consensus that it is otherwise.  They talk about petty things and take offense to the most innocent of comments.  I have text messaging and e-mail for the latter, and I try to avoid the former at all costs.

So, dear friend, that is why I don't post more on Facebook.  Nobody needs to have an up-to-the-minute update on my actions, and I have no desire to tell anyone, either.  I stopped reporting in when I was about 14, and I was a much better person for it, too.

Keyword Fun Time Again

Every month or so I do a listing of some of the strange keyword searches that have brought people to my blog.  I want to note that I will no longer be including Regan Reese in these unless it is crazy because she shows up every time.  Almost daily, it seems.

"'Hood over the head' asphyxiation video" is one of the searches that brought people here.  That I can understand, since I wrote about that video.  This, however, is not a site where I regularly post such things. 

"'Writing about Kool-Aid'" and "arson and drugs" were next up.  For some reason I can't help but think of Jim Jones and his merry band of poisoners.  And in keeping with the Jones theme, I did have some people directed here who were looking for "Aleister Crowley death pictures."  Who on Earth cares about that sort of thing?  Ozzy?

Perhaps the most disturbing and ominous search was for "butchers lie about cancerous breasts."  What the hell does that mean?  Who are these butchers, and why are they lying about cancerous breasts?  Freaky.  I hope this doesn't refer to chicken, though.  I know a really gross story about that.

The next two searches don't even make a bit of sense.  "Cakif fuking video" and "cancerous zeitgeist even a mature isn't safe."  I don't know what a "cakif fuking" video is, but if you can't spell properly when you're looking for porn, you deserve to end up here.  Hope I killed the erection with my endless ranting on the Tea Party.

Apparently I'm not the only one interested in the black sun, either.  I had searches for "dark matter harnessing" and "harnessing the power of the black sun or the ultimate sun."  Dude, if you found something on that, I'd love to know about it, too.  Thanks for stopping by.

People are still searching for "Eureka, CA hookers."  Second Street.  In front of the library.  How many times do I have to say that?  Oh yeah, and on the City Council, too.

"Devils nails," "nail devil" and "Larry the Cable Guy" were also searched.  I grouped them together because they should be.

"Naget women with focking" made as much sense as "qatar 'ball gag'  -- rawanda -- paraguay -- portugal."  Am I missing something here?  Where does "ball gag" fit into that last group?  I don't think anyone in any of those countries owns a ball gag.

"The cold finger film" was another one that sounded vaguely bothersome.  The same goes for "yanks woman humping pillow."  Actually, that just sounds funny.  "What's your fetish, Danny?"  "Oh, Yankee women getting all busy with a pillow."  People never cease to amaze me with what gets them off.  Whatever happened to a little hair pulling and pierced nipples?  No, these days you need regional women getting intimate with fluff-filled fabric sacks.

That's all for this time.  The general insanity of Internet searches brings some awfully strange people here.  I don't know if they stick around and have a look, or go back to searching for their bargain basement porn.  Either way, I'm happy they at least stopped by.

Mouth for War

About a year ago I did a piece on a group of National Socialists adopting a highway.  (You can read it here.)  I came across a news item about the National Socialists when researching a piece on a ritualistic slaying that I wanted to write about.  The slaying was probably the more headline grabbing of the two, but what fascinated me about the National Socialist story was that there were plenty of articles on it focusing on the outrage, but not a single one that looked at its historical context.

When I first started my current job I was reading Noam Chomsky's At War With Asia.  A friend had spotted me reading the book and asked me what it was.  When I told him, he asked, "Why are you reading a book on Vietnam."  When I explained it provided a fascinating insight into our military action in Iraq he didn't get it.

Context is everything.  No situation exists in a vacuum.  What is happening today is tied into what happened decades ago, and people seem to forget that.  It's easy to forget, actually.  If you only get your news from one source, or only from sources you agree with, you aren't getting the entire picture.  And since many of our journalists don't even have a clear concept of historical context there is no way they can present them to their audience.

The National Socialist story was fascinating if only because what the group was doing was right in line with National Socialism's core beliefs.  The Colorado group that had adopted the highway did it more as a stunt, but it had historical context.  I didn't read any articles stating that, however, so I decided to write it.  I was going to use the incident as a springboard for an examination of how environmentalism became a leftist issue with its rightist background clearly ignored, while at the same time being something the Right fought against.  I never published that version.  After doing my second rewrite I knew I was writing something that few reading the article would be interested in.  The Associated Content pieces I did had to have a wide audience, and what I was thinking was just too specialized and demanded that the reading audience would have to have at least some understanding of the history of environmentalism.  I could not trust the readership to have that.

Context and history is important to understanding the events that shape us.  What I've come to understand those rare times I seriously discuss current events and politics to with people is that when someone doesn't have an idea of context and history, it takes far too long to explain it, and even then it's a crapshoot whether or not they'll get it.  Instead, it's easier to nod politely and give a bit of a smile.  Anything else is an exercise in self-torture.

More on the Gervais Controversy

I watched Ricky Gervais on Piers Morgan's new show last night, and he was offensive in the worst possible way.  He declared himself an atheist, refused to apologize for anything he said at the Golden Globes, stated he did nothing wrong, defended himself, questioned why religion has the monopoly on being "good," stated (like I had earlier) that nobody had a right not to be offended, and did not repent.

Obviously, I'm being sarcastic when I say he was offensive.  He defended himself the absolute best way I've ever seen a celebrity do so under the same kind of fire.  I applauded him.  Here was a guy who knew who he was, knew that comedy was an art and was able to articulate why, refused to admit that the religious were the only people who could be good (and he had the best answer to that age-old question geared to atheists I've ever heard in the mass media).  He was, as Girl put it, "open and honest."  And it was damn refreshing.

He continually stated he did nothing wrong and nothing was sacred.  He was centered and self-actualized.  He knew what worked in his comedy, and stated he didn't care what people thought of him.  That wasn't his problem.  He also stated that when he did his comedy the only person he cared about making laugh was himself.  It sent chills down my broken spine.  This is exactly how the arts should be.  As soon as you start caring about what the public or even your audience thinks, and then start tailoring your work to that, you are doomed.

I know that some of you reading this are artists.  If you are worth anything at your craft, you know this to be true.  I also know some of you are pure entertainers (I'm not making a judgment call this time, Bryan), and you may not even care about the artistic side of things.  All good.  Some of you may have no idea what I'm prattling on about, and that's okay, too.  (I'm being super diplomatic this time, perhaps because I'm in pain and have already resigned today into the dustbin as I have a training to look forward to.)  You don't need to get it, but you do need the artists you admire to get it.  That is absolutely essential.

I'm glad Gervais refused to apologize.  I'm glad he made people uncomfortable.  I'm glad Morgan didn't let up on him, demanding through sane, pleasantly asked questions, that he justify himself.  Why?  Not because I wanted to see Gervais squirm (he didn't).  Because I knew Gervais could do it, and you rarely hear it done.  Too many people apologize for what they have said and done, blame it on one such thing or another, and act contrite.  Not many people buy it.  Gervais, on the other hand, stated flatly that he has nothing to apologize for and won't. 

Thank you, Ricky Gervais.  You get your art.  You get what it means.  You speak your mind and remain true to yourself, and by doing so you make it so that nobody can really hold anything over you.  If more artists spoke out with the same candor, we may have a society that actually reaches my expectations of what we can be.  Instead, we have a culture of self-entitled, self-important, hypocritical, happy-to-be-victims, offended-at-the-drop-of-a-hat, apologetic folks who wouldn't know truth if it slowly chewed open their necks.

Cheers, mate.

Eureka: Earthquakes Aren't The Only Thing That Breaks Us

If you're a fan of crappy Mexican food and live in Eureka, CA, you probably already know that the Jalisco on 101 is closed.  This comes at a time when the Bayshore Mall announced that four more stores were leaving its overpriced folds: Hallmark, Anchor Blue (thank God), 9 Months Later (I think that is what it is called) and Gold Rush Coffee.  Last but not least, Eureka also lost two KFC restaurants and long-time local hang-out Stanton's (another restaurant).

The economy, as they say, is showing signs of improvement.

Like those parents who videotaped their child, all of 23 months old, smoking pot, the people who think the economy is getting any better here in Humboldt are delusional at best, but are more likely just plain ass stupid.  Perhaps they don't deserve to be in jail like those idiotic parents (for whom jail is far too pleasant, but at least they probably get to see family and friends in there now), but they do need wake-up calls like this to remind them that the yellow brick road is really just a lot of paint and a fancy name.

Too many of Eureka's residents are really like those parents (both figuratively and literally).  They are oblivious to reality, and not only are they oblivious, they revel in their ignorance and display it for all the world to see.  When they are caught, however, it becomes one of those deer-in-the-headlight moments we've all seen on windy country back roads.  "Oh shit, I'm fucked!"

As anyone who has spent five minutes in this county knows, pot fuels our economy.  Luckily, our local growers and dealers are fast and loose with their money for the most part, so the businesses get the benefits of that (not to mention some of those businesses are involved in those operations).  That's not something you want to build an economy on, however.  With legalization being inevitable, which will surely drive prices down, Eureka and Humboldt County has to start looking at other ways to keep itself alive (and all those Humboldt shirts you see people wearing for some stupid reason is not enough to do the trick, either).  So what would turn the Northcoast's economy around?  What do we need to do in order to survive?

Small businesses are nice.  They don't employ many people, but they do create jobs.  Larger businesses create more jobs, but much of the money leaves the county.  The tourism industry is a bust when gas is creeping into the $4.00 a gallon range.  Pot will eventually be legal, and the price will drop ... and the tobacco companies will move in.  Prostitution won't be given the thumbs up any time soon.  Our lumber and fishing industry have been sucked dry.  So where does that leave all of us?  California is in the throes of a financial disaster, and as California goes, so does the country.  But to save a state, you have to start with one county at a time.  Humboldt can't do it alone, but we can watch our own backyard.  All it takes is a little elbow grease, and some great ideas.

As anyone who has read this knows, I'm not a huge fan of the current state of capitalism.  Greed on everyone's part has led to much of the disaster we are in.  I do think a survival instinct will get us out, however, and a great big part of that involves Eureka not turning its nose at anything that reeks of big business.

Blasphemy, I know.

The jobs that Eureka lost with these current closings will be felt throughout a community that is already reeling.  Many of these workers had families.  Mouths to feed.  There aren't enough new jobs or open jobs to absorb this.  And anytime anyone wants to start a new business that would have more than five employees there are so many hoops to jump through and so much knee jerk opposition that any common sense argument is lost in the din.  I don't like Wal-Mart.  I don't like Best Buy.  I don't like Home Depot, and nor do I care about Trader Joe's.  But let's get realistic.  Any one of those businesses will create more jobs than another small coffee shop that may last a year or two, and then those people who are employed there can spend their pay checks at the local small businesses if they so desire.


Big and small businesses have the same end goal as far as I'm concerned -- both want your money.  Small businesses often can't compete on the same level as the big ones can, but they don't have to.  They can offer services that the big businesses can't hope to compete against.  Instead of focusing on that, however, too many of the small businesses here just flatly state that people should support them because they are small businesses.  It's an inefficient argument that does nothing to really sell their cause.


If there's any reason to shop at a small business (besides the money staying in the community, but that means less than you'd think in a global economy), it's for the personalization of services.  The staff at your local small bookstore will know you.  The staff at Borders won't.  That is the real draw of the small business.  People will be willing to spend more for that.  I know I am, as that "your local dollars stay local" line means nothing to me when I have to comparison shop.  I want whatever goods I need at the cheapest price possible, but I'm willing to pay more when a business makes me feel special.


Example: Big Pete's versus Poppa Murphy's.  Big Pete's is better pizza.  No comparison.  It's also more expensive.  Even when I have to be super careful about what I spend, I'll spend it at Big Pete's simply because they know me there and are able to address me by name.  Hell, even if the pizza weren't as good as Poppa Murphy's, I'd go just for that.  Fortunately, the pizza at Big Pete's kicks ass, so no real problem there.  I'm willing to pay more for the personalized experience.  Hell, when I call them there are workers there (hello, Jackie!) who know my voice.  They ask how work is going.  They sit with you at the table and discuss movies.  You won't get that at the chain store where you are nothing but a dollar sign.


Our local businesses need to realize that and push that, and then they need to get on the Internet and sell themselves there, too.  Instead, they whine about how big box retailers will destroy us.  Yes, they will, but only if we let them. 


Right now, Humboldt needs jobs.  Period.  Those jobs can be from small business or big, but realistically speaking they are going to come from the big businesses.  Target employs more people than a group of small businesses combined.  Once we get our economy back on track, we can look at ways of keeping it stable without the use of big businesses.  Until that happens, though, we need their cash infusion if only in the form of jobs.  There are many of us who won't shop at them regardless of cash problems, and plenty who will regardless of the service.  They can co-exist in a community with small businesses and small businesses can actually use them to help bolster their own economy if they are smart about it.  We can be mercenary, too, just like the big box retailers.  Lure them.  Let them create jobs.  Get the economy kick started, and then abandon them where they stand, force them out, and utilize the building for something else.  Unfortunately, that will never happen here, and the reason why is exactly why our economy is struggling so bad in this area.


We have just enough people to keep those big businesses in business, which does eventually hurt the smaller businesses that don't know how to compete (more the pity on them, but regardless -- lost jobs are lost jobs).  On the flip side, we also have a smaller number of people who are even more influential and successful at keeping these big businesses out.  Thus, a large influx of jobs are rarely created, and when they are, we lack the courage of our convictions to boot the businesses out once they've done what we need them to.


If we don't do something soon, this lack of revenue is going to send more businesses under ... and a great many of them, like the past few weeks have shown, will be small businesses.  And then where will we be?  Really stuck, as now even those who refuse to engage with big business will have little reasonable choice, and those who are employed by the smaller businesses will be out of work.  It's not a future that looks good by any stretch of the imagination, but it is happening.  It is real.  And it is the wave of the future. 

Safety in Boredom

I checked my e-mail this morning and found a missive defending the outrage over Ricky Gervais' hosting of the Golden Globes.  The letter writer does not read my blog, and nor is he a Facebook "friend."  I have refused to friend him simply because I know he would read what I write and be offended by it, and then I would get e-mails like the one that showed up in my inbox this morning.  I'm not going to reprint the entire thing here, as it would bore you.  However, you should note that Mr. X was under the impression that I watched the Golden Globes and that I would think the controversy over Gervais was ridiculous.  He was right about the latter.  My comments to his observations appear in brackets.

Mr. X thought Gervais went "way over the line" with "jokes about Jews and people's sexuality."  [I think drunks who insult Jews and then don't expect to get called on it go over the line.]  It was "uncalled for, unprofessional, and unfunny."  [It was definitely not unprofessional.  Gervais is a comedian.  That is what he is paid to do.]  An awards show, according to Mr. X, is "no place for comedy."  [Then why do they hire comedians?  Are the organizers of these award shows unaware of the hosts' daytime gigs?]  If a comedian "has to be used," they should go with "someone safe like Tim Allen or Hugh Grant."  [By 'safe' you mean 'boring.']  Otherwise, he states, they need to "stick to the professionals" and "not hire 'funny men.'"  [Professional award show hosts?  Who are these people?  Who would want to watch them?]

Mr. X was pretty certain I'd be upset over the fact that people were offended by "what were offensive jokes."  He suggested I "take a chill pill and realize that when you throw a bomb into the room you have to deal with the fallout."  [I have a problem with people equating words with bombs.  There's a term I hate.  'F Bomb.'  It's what people use when they don't want to say "fuck," because it will give cause their tongue to burst into flames or something.  If you are one of these people, here's what I want you to do.  Gather your loved ones in a room.  Stay at the door and yell, "Fuck!"  Wait five minutes.  Chances are your loved ones will still be in one piece.  Now take a grenade and throw it into the same room.  Wait five minutes.  The outcome is probably a bit different.  That's the difference between bombs and words.  See, you learned today!]

Mr. X pretty much epitomizes what my prior post was talking about.  He's the blissfully ignorant person who wonders through life with a smile and an expectation that nothing should ever offend him.  He just doesn't get it.

Speaking of not getting it, CNN jut reported that Regis Philbin is leaving his show.  This was reported as "just in" news.  I imagine that when this is what passes as news, it makes sense that you have a populace that becomes offended by people who poke fun at celebrities.

If you have anymore comments on this, please either comment here or on my Facebook page.  Otherwise I may run the e-mail with your name, e-mail address and all the misspellings intact.