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I'm Leaving Powerblogs, Continue to go to www.boyswearpants.com!

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-28T12:01+00:00

After much deliberation, I have decided to leave the Powerblogs platform. There are a few reasons for this. Antimedia was the one who convinced me to transfer platforms from the free Blogger site to a paid hosting platform and I'm still thankful for that advice.

Powerblogs allowed me to take ownership of my blog to a new level. This platform allowed me much more control than Blogger did at the time and also offered many of the high-end features that the free platforms did not.

But times have changed and those high-end features are considered standard anymore. Two things also happened with Powerblogs--the owners stopped talking to us. They had a development blog but haven't posted on it since July 7th, 2006 (not a good sign). Furthermore, they stopped selling to new customers (even worse of a good sign for any business). I'm not sure what happened behind the scenes but the landlords have been absent.

That being said, the developers have created a hell of a product here and I hope they one day open it up again for general purchase. I still plan on keeping my family site with Powerblogs.

Third, I met my buddy Chad at work who offered up his design team to totally redo my site and move it onto an independent server using Wordpress. I really like his redesign and think it matches very closely the tone and content of what I write about. It looks better than anything I could have done on my own and I wanted a site that will look professional as I move into the next stage of my writing career.

I've got some kinks to work out with the RSS feed and some of you may have to resubscribe but the domain name will remain the same so hopefully the only dip in readership will be from those spamming assholes out there who I don't want reading my stuff anyway.

As always, I deeply appreciate your continued readership and ask you to continue with me in mmy online writing journey.

Thanks,

Josh

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Hiatus

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-26T03:01+00:00

Bear with me, gang. I'm getting hooked up with a brand new web design which I love. More to come in the next few days.

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New Orleans, Panda Bears and Priorities

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-23T01:01+00:00

I can't begin to tell you how draining my trip to New Orleans was last week--draining in a good but complete way. I had exactly zero inspiration to pull out the keyboard this weekend and instead whittled my hours away in my LL Bean bathrobe and slippers, playing Lego Star Wars on the XBOX 360.

And I've been thinking about what to say about New Orleans, how it's like a ghost town there. How the people living there have a little of that same spirit as former lovers still in a marriage long over where both of them are thinking of cheating if they haven't already done it.

I could tell you about the great 80s cock rock band with the black lead singer who hit the high notes in White Snake's Here I Go Again.

Or I could tell you about how I broke down in tears three times walking through the D-Day World War II museum. Once when I saw the helmet of a Marine who died from the bullet which blasted out a three inch hole in the helmet. The second time was when I saw a video of a young Japanese toddler found by Allied forces who was huddled underneath his dead parents, covered in blood and standing there with a blank look on his face like, "What's next? What hell have I been born into?" And the third time was just a welling up in the eyes as I read the document that Truman sent to authorize the dropping of the first Atomic bomb.

I could tell you about all those things in more detail but instead I'll tell you about the short walking tour I took of the upper 9th Ward, the neighborhood where my company had sent us to help build a neighborhood for local New Orleans musicians for Habitat for Humanity. My good friend and I snuck out and took a short walk which didn't stray too far because I felt those mean streets start to lick its lips at the thirty-something Midwestern cracka ass crackas and the warning bells started going off which told me to get the fuck out of there or something bad was going to happen.

But before I did, we came across this house that had the door kicked in (see photo) We walked up on the porch and looked in--there was shit everywhere. No one had come back to claim any of it, it looked like. There were hats still hanging on the wall, clothes in piles, furniture which 500 days ago was all floating under water. There was even a stuffed panda bear lying innocent on a chair like it was waiting where its small-handed owner left it for safe keeping. I wondered why the child didn't take it with them when they left (if they left!) or if they instead chose to take another toy more beloved than that poor panda.

As in so many other cases in life, it all comes down to priorities. Where are our priorities? What are our priorities in the War on Terror? To kill all Muslims who harbor negative sentiments about America? To mobilize a half-million man army who marches for war instead of for peace? And what does it mean to march for peace anyway? Isn't peace a state of rest? Marching is the antithesis of peace, is it not?

What does it say about a country who was unable to allocate and mobilize internal resources for days after the biggest natural disaster in many of our lifetimes when the country immediately to our north had Mounties down there pulling bodies out of the water to safety 48 hours after the storm hit land?

What does it say about our country when the SPCA Human Society tagged a majority of stray animals in New Orleans and relocated them to Texas a week before the storm but old people lay dying and suffering while they relied on gang bangers to loot the local Wal-Marts to bring them food and fresh water but the mayor and the governor and the president sat back and played mouse trap, risk and battleship instead of stepping up to their civic duty?

I have never been so full of hope, so full of dread, so full of admiration at the human spirit to achieve greatness in times of tragedy and so pissed off at the incompetence of a system of government to perform the only function is has ever been charged with--the welfare of the common citizen.

There is going to be a hell of a recompense come due soon for the neglect and borderline crimes against humanity that this ineffectual government perpetrated on the citizens of New Orleans while thousands continue to do in a War supposedly meant to spread freedom.

Freedom for what? To do unaided while politicians from both sides of the aisle worry about poll numbers and reelection strategies? Remember the panda bear and remember your priorities.

Which would you grab first: the Declaration of Independence, the Bible, the rifle or the human hand reaching out to lift you out of the storm?

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Coins from the Dead Revisited: Reflections On My Grandfather and How He Came Back to Life

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-20T00:01+00:00

My aunts and uncles are in their seventies. My mother was born almost 30 years after my youngest aunt was born--she was a surprise to say the least.

So my aunts and uncles are much more like grandparents than they are aunts and uncles. And my maternal grandfather was a wonderful son-of-a-bitch. He drank whiskey like water. He won and lost thousands playing poker (not to mention a few hogs and cows along the way--forget Wil Wheaton and those fags in Vegas because farmers are the most serious poker players you'll ever find).

He sometimes fell asleep drunk on the toilet but he did it with class. He was a harsh man but I remember he had the most gentle hands and the biggest room-filling laugh.

My oldest aunt despised him when he was drunk--so he'd see she was coming and go to the cabinet and get out every liquor bottle in the house and do a couple shots so it smelled like he'd been drinking all day.

He'd invite his grandchildren over on Easter Sunday, after church, so he could give them melted chocolate that would ruin their nice outfits.

I remember being two years old and sitting on my grandfather's lap while we counted money. I learned to count, add and subtract at a very young age because I shuffled thousands of dollars in coins into piles for rolling.

On one of those occassions, he let me sip from his Jaggin' Coke and I remember liking the taste of the Coke a lot more than the whiskey. And this is where my Paw-Paw and I are different. I'm happy about that difference--it has made my life a lot more easier and far more enjoyable.

During times, the rest of the family probably felt like my grandfather made everyone's life around him harder except for me and my mother. He bought us a house when she was a single mother, divorced after less than a year of marriage, and forced to move back to a great big I told you so coming from her family.

But she had me with her and because I was so damned cute, I was like a Talisman against any criticism my family could heap on my mother for up and marrying a man who hadn't shown much initiative except for being a smart ass troublemaker and who was now out of basic training and headed for a spectacular career as an enlisted United States Marine (my father went on to become one of the most driven and gifted individuals I know and I am very proud that most of my inspiration and genetic drive for success comes from him and my grandmother).

But these memories of my grandfather I have just described to you are my family's memories that have been handed to me as sloppy seconds. These are things that happened before my time and are therefore easy for me to dismiss.

The most striking memory I have about my grandfather is that he was kind, gentle, and fiercely protective of me. And to a seven-year old child--that is God and it's a hell of a thing when your mother takes you aside on a Sunday and tells you that God died and that you won't be seeing him around here no more and sorry 'bout your luck but this is how the big bad world works.

So the seven-year old kid shed his tears at the service and when he lost it, everyone lost it, because even though the man was a wonderful son of a bitch to most of the people in his life, he loved that little Juicy unconditionally and that had to count something toward his character. It had to be something he could offer up at the gates of heaven to barter for admission despite the sins of his past.

When I cried, everyone cried because I cried like Mary Magdalene at the cross--I cried because God was dead and it didn't look he was ever coming back.

Well, imagine my surprise when my aunts and uncles came to Ohio to visit last week and my youngest aunt handed me a faded yellow envelope that had been folded into fourths. On the front of the envelope, written upside down, was my name with three lines underneath it--in my grandfather's handwriting.

She told me he had left this in a drawer and they found it cleaning up his house after he died. The envelope had been lying in the back of a drawer for years and finally showed up at an opportune time to bring it to me in Ohio.

I opened the envelope and shook the contents into my other hand.

There were three 1979 Susan B. Anthony dollars
There was one new 1983 nickel (this was also the year he died)
And there was a 1971 Kennedy half dollar with a black X marking out the eagle

Now, immediately, my mind fixed on this strange X and I wondered why my grandfather left me defaced US currency.

Could this mean that he was the eldest member of a secret organization that sought to replace the government-controlled communications delivery process like the Tristero in The Crying of Lot 49?

But when I flipped the coin over, I saw that a low arch had been penned from Kennedy's left eye to the base of his skull. Now I thought:

Is my grandfather trying to tell me that he was the one who shot Kennedy because he was an elder member of a secret organization that sought to replace the government-controlled communications delivery process?

Now, this is because I think and write so much about how communication processes in our society are changing reality daily, and this fixation has retarded the portion of my brain that deals with rational thought. Lucky for us all, I am aware of this.

So, I went for what was behind supposition number two. And immediately, my mind gave me an image of my grandfather and I sitting at the table and playing tic-tac-toe with money for money (there were nine half dollar pieces as game tokens but we played for a nickel a round). Hey, to a seven-year-old, that's a lot of money.

So that X was probably a game marker and that suspicious arc across JFK's head was probably an O that got rubbed out over the years (even though it is a perfect demonstration of the internal damage arc of James Files's Firebolt bullet as it was fired from the grassy knoll and entered Kennedy's right temple, forcing his head "back and to the left" while Charles Nicolette's bullet from behind, only a fraction of a second later, pushed Kennedy's head forward....but I digress)

Two days later as I held the half-dollar with the X on it in my palm (it has now become my take everywhere pocket talisman because when I am superstitious, I go all out). And as I stared at the coin, tears that were stuck in the faucet from twenty-three years ago started to roll and I had a good fourteen second squinched up facial convulsion that passed like the pain of losing anything does, anything but your own life.

It's a hell of a thing when a dead relative reaches out and touches your hand years after they're gone. Everyone says we keep people alive by their memories inside of us but that's a bullshit lie because memories are stillborn experiences that weren't taken to the very end. Memories are residual interest payments on the pain we inflict on those around us every day.

I imagine my grandfather used the sauce to drown out a lot of memories and who can blame him?

My memories of my grandfather are no more valid than my theories on the Kennedy assassination--just because I have them doesn't make them true. I can imagine that my grandfather was a secret conspiratorial Patrick Henry assassin instead of a hard-drinking, harsh-talking, deep-loving man who was a skilled construction artist and who didn't start loving and appreciating the people around him until it was almost too late.

It doesn't matter to me how pissed off my Aunts and Uncles still are at him all these years later because of what a shit he was to them when they knew him.

It doesn't matter to me how he spent months at a time away from his family and often left my mother standing at the door crying for her daddy who loved her unconditionally and gave her everything she ever wanted and who she wouldn't see for several months at a time.

It doesn't matter to me that granddad was a traveling man because I knew him after his big accident, when his legs had been shattered and all that was left were a metal walking cane with a grey rubber grip, the few braincells he hadn't stomped out with fifths of John Daniels on the Interstate roads of Kentucky, Indiana, and Illinois, and he had a heart the size of a god damned Illinois cornfield.

What matters is the way I still feel about him and about how good it felt to be touching a coin that was probably last touched by his hands.

I imagine him leaned over hunchbacked on that big kitchen table with the checkered vinyl tablecloth. I have just been picked up on Saturday morning after my weekly ritual of sleeping over at Paw-Paw's on Fridays. We had just finished the last of several games of tic-tac-toe and I was the big winner that day.

And my Paw-Paw was drunk but happy because he has a light in his life that he finally has the sense to walk toward. He is scrawling on a white #6 envelope that would eventually yellow with the age and wear of 23 years in my aunt's junk drawer. He is writing with a cheap ballpoint pen and he is writing the name of his toe-headed grandson which he underlines three times for emphasis; as if to say to his family:

You can tear down my house, haul out all my shit to the curb, sell it off and keep it. Send your kids to college with it or do something you love to do. I've been an ass and you've earned it. But whatever you do--you'd better make sure that this little boy gets these coins. He earned them! He's a hell of a tic-tac-toe player and one day, he might just surprise you, world. So you'd better watch out!

My memories of my grandfather are mine to dress up as I see fit but these coins belong to the both of us.

And no matter how hard I try, I could never erase that X across the eagle or the arc across President Kennedy's head.

But nor would I want to.

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The Best Thing About History

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-18T00:01+00:00

I was very privileged this afternoon to have been in attendance during a lecture given by Professor Douglas Brinkley, Professor of History and director of the Theodore Roosevelt Center for American Civilization at Tulane University. He spoke about his direct involvement in the Katrina disaster and its recovery in New Orleans. He just published a new book Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, and the Mississippi Gulf Coast.

The lecture was phenomenal but I asked a question during his Q&A session which probably made me look like a know-it-all asshole to the people I was with but also illuminated a valid point about the subject of history and why it is so important.

I asked him a What If question. I said, "What would the world look like today in terms of World War II, the Cold War and the War on Terror and the economics of New Orleans the city had Huey Long not been murdered and ran against and beat FDR in 1936?"

There were a lot of murmurs in the crowd after I asked my question and Professor Brinkley did his best to relate his answer to the discussion at hand and the interest level of the audience, making a very valid point about the nature of corruption in Louisiana politics, leaving the audience to deduce that this corruption would have made its way into national politics.

To me, the What Ifs are the best thing about history. You know, when Newt Gingrich writes a fictionalized account of what might have happened post-Battle of Gettysburg had Robert E. Lee not made a crucial error which he had never made in any of the previous campaigns prior to this one--what would the world look like? Would the North and South have continued as two separate nations existing side by side like in Europe? If so, what would the North American response to World War I look like? And how would that have affected World War II?

Fascinating stuff. This are the things that make history as a subject so pertinent in our daily lives.

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I Just Finished the Four Hour Premiere of Season 6 of 24

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-16T04:01+00:00

...Holy SHIT!!! Talk about raising the bar. This show is incredible!

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Review of Children of Men

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-15T22:01+00:00

Let me say first off--go see this movie immediately if not tomorrow or this weekend. This is the best movie to come out in at least six months if not a full year.

I'm going to talk about the plot so don't pussy out on me just because you want to be surprised. You'll still appreciate the film if you know what it's about--I promise.

This is a dystopian hero's journey where the viewer is an over-the-shoulder follower of Clive Owen's character as he makes his way from hollow order through hell into new life.

The movie starts off with London as the only city with any order left in the world. There was a worldwide flu pandemic which apparently ushered in global chaos and left the female of the human species completely sterile, unable to reproduce. The youngest child has become a worldwide celebrity and gets murdered by a fan when he refuses to sign an autograph. The civilized world is in mourning.

Clive Owen plays Theo, a man with a job in the last civilized country on earth. It's all about keeping the immigrants out--the immigrants are referred to as Refugees or "Fugees" in a hat-tip to Lauryn Hill and friends.

Theo walks to work with fugees behind cages stationed with armed guards. The fugees look miserable and beg for food as he walks past. Fugees throw bricks at the train as it moves throughout the city, carrying the civilized to work.

It turns out that Theo's ex-wife, Julian (Julianne Moore) is the ring leader of the Fish, a terrorist movement hell-bent on starting an uprising amongst the immigrant population of London who is being mercilessly suppressed by the British government. Oh, Theo and Julian had a son named Dylan but he died in the flu pandemic. They drifted apart and haven't spoken much for twenty years until she arranges for Theo to be kidnapped.

She begs him for a favor, to get his cousin to forge documents of safe travel for "a girl" to travel to the coast and board a ship to "The Human Project" a mysterious underground society rumored to be working on a cure for the female sterility problem.

Theo can only manage to get joint travel docs where he must travel with the girl. It turns out that the girl is a refugee who is pregnant, a miracle in a world without children and without hope.

Theo gets caught up in a situation of conspiracy and murder where he ends up shepherding this girl and her newborn baby through absolute hell on earth in order to protect the little life and get it to a place where it can mark the start of a new beginning for the human race.

There is a point in the movie where Theo, the girl and the baby end up in the middle of a very tense and bloody battle between the police and the Fish (who are both looking for him to kill him) and the baby starts crying, silencing all the guns, all the soldiers and all the militants. Everyone kneels in awe of the baby child as Theo leads her and her mother through the war zone to safety.

This is the most powerful moment in the movie, an absolute artistic breakthrough that must be meditated upon. Life stops death when normally it is the other way around. This is the marker of proper art, meaning art which holds the individual in aesthetic arrest in the moment. What is it that would possibly make both sides in a war halt their fire and kneel in reverence together? A miracle of a simple child's cry, something we parents take completely for granted--has the power to silence the loudest bomb and the simmer down the most riotous hatred in the heart of man.

The best fiction puts everything at stake all the time and this movie is one of the finest films that I have seen in too long a time. I wholeheartedly recommend that you see it and tell others about it.

PS: Kudos to the filmmaker for the Pink Floyd pig in the skyline when Theo is at his cousin's house--I fell in the love with the movie from that point forward.

LINKS:

Children of Men Official Movie Site
Sound Pulses That Exceed the Speed of Light?
Guinness Book Adds Video Game Scores to Its List of World Records
Drawings from People Tripping on LSD
The Meaning of Post-Sex Sleeping Positions
The Battle of Helm's Deep Made Out of Candy (Cool!)
The NSA Has Secret Built-In Access Codes in Windows Vista (sounds like a good time to switch to a MAC)
Will the 2008 Election See the Beginning of Online Debates?
Jack Bauer's Hit List (Very Cool!)

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Revisiting Spike Lee and Hurricane Katrina

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-15T00:01+00:00

In anticipation of my upcoming visit to New Orleans, I picked up the four hour Spike Lee documentary about Hurricane Katrina When the Levees Broke.

If you recall, I greeted the initial announcement of Spike Lee's project with, ahem, great skepticism. I'm an admirer of Lee's dramas, especially Malcolm X; but he really pissed me off back in the late 90s when he refused to speak at my college (the rumor was that there wasn't enough black students to merit his effort) but I was distrustful of his motives what with the emphasis in the media at that time of his focusing on the conspiracy theory that the government blew up the levees to flood the 9th Ward in order to prevent the much wealthier lake front properties from being flooded.

It's funny but I wonder how many other political Independents out there began breaking from the Bush camp after the ridiculously incompetent government response to the Gulf Coast disaster and the continued waste and ineptitude which continues to this day while people still wait out the rebuilding from their too-little too-late FEMA trailers and shady all-too-small insurance payouts.

I was very hard on Ray Nagin at the time, but I have to say that after watching all four hours of Lee's documentary, Nagin came across as the most genuine and most concerned public official throughout the entire debacle.

I'm not sure what to expect when I hit the Crescent City. Word is that the crime is so bad that the government is seriously considering instituting mandatory curfews like some Third World war zone. I'll be spending a day helping rebuild something in the community of New Orleans and I'm taking my camera to document what likely can't be described in words.

About Lee's documentary: it's an American masterpiece, a historical document of immense importance that should be watched by every American in order to reinforce the simple but often obfuscated truth that the government can never be a natural provider for its citizenry and cannot replace the will and ingenuity of the individual human being.

About Hurricane Katrina: I fear the wrong people learned the wrong lessons and how to profit from them and I can only pray that the right people learned the right fears and how to subvert the wrong people from their dastardly ends.

LINKS:

TAGS:Hurrican Katrina New Orleans Ray Nagin When the Levees Broke Spike Lee

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Why Do We Stop Learning?

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-12T11:01+00:00

I came across this quote on my daily calendar today:

Tiny children want to learn to the degree that they are unable to distinguish learning from fun. They keep this attitude until we adults convince them that learning is not fun.

EDUCATOR GLENN DOMAN

Why do people stop learning? There was a time when people got together, they asked the question, "Have you read [this book] by [this author]? And I imagine that more than often, the answer came back in the affirmative. Try that nowadays. 8 times out of 10, you'll get laughed at.

So when did illiteracy become the norm? When did that act of not learning become a badge of honor? There is such a deep undercurrent of anti-intellectualism in our society that to make a literaray reference in a conversation is to marginalize oneself or go totally misunderstood to point of having might as well not even have said anything at all.

I already know that you all (my readers) read, as a general rule, but I'm interested in hearing your thoughts about this issue.

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Why These are the Only Three Period of History Worth Studying

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-11T00:01+00:00

In the past, I have told you all that there are only two periods of history I consider worthy of studying (speaking personally here) and those are 1763-1783 in Colonial America and 1919-1944 in Germany.

But I want to amend that statement to include a third period, equally important to the other two: 1860-1864 in America. That's right, the Civil War and what led directly to it.

Here's my justification for this hypothesis. I believe that the entire present state of human culture and its immediate and long-term future are intimately tied to these three periods of history.

Yes, these historical periods are very America-centric and if that makes me an ardent nationalist, so be it. But hear me out for a moment. Prior to the 1760s, there was never a civilization in the history of world founded upon the precept that the individual human being was inherently free from the tyranny of an earthly power, be it parliament or king. Prior to the United States, no man was above the rule of law and the rule of law was ordained by God.

But after America, laws became an extension of the rights of individual human beings instead of slave cages to herd masses of nameless and faceless human forms through history in service of the state or church.

But America was a loose union of idealism from the 1790s up to the 1860s. Prior to the Civil War, we used to refer to our country as "These United States." The state was the organizing principle of government and the federal government was little more than a frame drawn around the states to ensure they stayed within the bounds of the Constitution which laid out how the inherent rights of mankind were to be protected from infringement by other men or by the institutions of men.

And like a dysfunctional marriage where one spouse is constantly looking to cheat--states prior to the Civil War were always threatening to secede from the Union. The Federalists tried to secede back when Jefferson, Madison and Monroe pulled off the three-peat to keep Virginia planters in the White House for a generation. South Carolina was close to seceding under Calhoun when Andrew Jackson was in office but he shut that shit down quicker than a gay man being offered a hand job by a female stripper.

And then there was Lincoln. His very election caused half the American South to secede and the other 45% followed shortly thereafter, prompting old Abe to initiate a campaign of warfare that led to the death of thousands of his own countrymen in order to keep the frame drawn around the states intact. Could you imagine what the world would be like now if that frame hadn't been fought for and had hundreds of thousands die for in order to preserve? North America would be Europe all over again and the Civil War would have only been the beginning of wars of aggression and outright politic on this continent.

And the Industrial revolution truly blasted off in an age of cheap immigrant labor and monopolistic cartels with the money and resources to direct towards society building in America and you come to the First World War which as we all know was perhaps the most ridiculous war ever fought in the history of mankind and which directly led to the Second World War and totally redefined the United States government's power over its citizenry and the further shrinking of the law as protector of the rights of individuals--moving further and further back towards the cage of restitutional demands upon the individual in servitude of unscrupulous men and the systems they create to dazzle and bewilder denizens who know no better than to bow to the will of what seems like natural authority.

What happened in Nazi Germany is a litmus test for the tyranny of man run rampant in a massive social setting and the dichotomy of what brilliant and powerful men can accomplish when opportunity, circumstance and raw will conglomerate together could not be more diametrically opposed than in the men who pulled off the Revolutionary War in America and the men who pulled off the mass murder of 11 million human beings from the face of the earth in a reign lasting less than twelve years.

History has many truths which reveal themselves only to the lucky and patient among us but there are also many truths as plain as the moon in the sky on clear and cold night.

LINKS:

Watch the trailer for this documentary about a group of frontline soldiers during the 1994 American occupation of Fallujah (hat tip to Fantastic Bastard because this looks like it will be a great movie well worth watching)
Lazy Dork (hat tip to Glardon)
Where the hell were co-ed naked parties at when I was in college?
Don't mind the man behind the curtain--it's just President Bush and his 100 billion dollar nuclear warhead
Did Judas Iscariot get a bad rap?
Did the Carl Sagan Martian probes from the 70s actually kill off the microbial life they were sent to search for?
A great documentary about the BGNews (my newspaper in college where I wrote an opinion column for a couple years)

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Why I Can't Call Myself a Blogger Anymore

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-10T01:01+00:00

I don't know what happened but at some point in the ln the last month or so, I have been unable to complete the phrase "my blog."3

It sounds so pretentious to me anymore and my constitution will only allow me to be pretentious in deeply subversive ways and the phrase "my blog" seems very superficial to me anymore.

Maybe its just a phase I'm going through.

I'm back to being a writer instead of a "blogger" and I'm back to having "my site" instead of "my blog."

I'm probably just splitting hairs here but long before I started using a cascading style sheet platform that catalogs web pages chronologically with the most recent page on top--I was a writer publishing his work online in an electronic format.

I'm still that guy...but I'ill answer to blogger also.

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If You Want to Know How I Feel About How the Buckeyes Played in the Championship Game...

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-09T04:01+00:00

...just watch Woody.

They played like a bunch of fuckin' losers who didn't deserve to be in a championship game in the first place.

It's bullshit.

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A Year Ago, I Gave You My Get a Better Job Tip #4

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-09T00:01+00:00

THE BIG SILENCE

One of the biggest take home lessons I learned from reading The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People is that while we may not control what happens to us, we have complete control over our reaction to it. Think about this for a moment, that in that that space between action and reaction, a choice is made by each person and in that choice lies power over life and death, right and wrong, prudent and imprudent.

Now, this is one thing in theory but it really sunk in a few years back when I had just started working for a high-level executive who needed some information immediately from another high-level executive.

So, I sent an initial detailed e-mail on a Thursday and hadn't heard anything by Monday morning. So, I sent a follow-up e-mail. Almost immediately, I got a response from this veteran executive, saying "Obviously you don't know my policy on asking twice. If you do it, I don't respond at all."

I was taken aback. I had no idea if he was serious or not, but I assumed he was since I had never met him before and would have no reason to think he'd approach with me with any type of jocularity.

And I started to fire back a smart ass e-mail, something along the lines of Sorry, I wasn't aware of your no-follow up policy. That has to work well for the quality of your work..

But I didn't.

I stayed my hand and kept quiet.

And within ten minutes I had the info I wanted from him in an e-mail. I responded to him immediately, thanking him for getting to it so quickly and apologizing for the indiscretion, promising that it wouldn't happen again.

And you know what, he responded in humor, something about keeping my boss's people in line.

And to top that off, this guy remembered my name and sought me out at the next all-associates gathering. He introduced himself, shook my hand, and we both laughed about his no-follow up policy (which apparently was legendary throughout the company and everyone was initiated into it at some point).

You never know who is going to be your next contact point within your network for a new job or opportunity so when you feel like burning a bridge, take a pause and make sure that you really don't want to get to the other side.

On the other hand, there are times when Fantastic Bastard's creedo applies: Why burn a bridge when you can blow one up?

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Mother Night and Letting My Eyes Go to Shit

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-07T22:01+00:00

I've been told I'm smart all my life but the truth is that I am a total idiot sometimes. In the past year, I have spent many white man dollars upgrading the visual quality of the technical components in my house. I bought an HD-TV, an XBOX 360, got HD cable with an HD DVR and an HD-DVD player.

All the while I've let my eyes go to shit.

I wear contact lenses, the two week kind. And while I take them out each night; I only change them about once every three to four months. Well, after a month or so, bacteria builds up on the lenses and its like putting a plastic cess pool in your eye every day.

I've noted a consistent degradation of my visual quality over the past year and its because my corneas were acutely inflammed. They were so bad that the optomotrist couldn't even complete the eye exam and had to prescribe me expensive steroid/antibiotic drops to be administered four time a day until next week.

I've spent hundreds on upgrading technology and let the visual biology of my own body sink into poverty. See what I mean? Dumb.

But while waiting for my eye exam, the woman next to me asked me what the best novel I ever read was. People ask me weird literary shit like this all the time. I guess I look like a novel reader. There are people who read far more and far less than I do and most of my reading is supplemented using audio books on CD in the car on my morning commute.

But I had an answer for her--Mother Night by Kurt Vonnegut. Here's the hook, as they say in the publishing business:

An American spy living and working in Nazi Germany becomes a radio talk show host who communicates his state-stolen secrets to the Allied Forces through anti-semitic rants over the radio which fuels the German fervor to carry out the most despicable mass murder in human history. So, while the secrets he was able to smuggle out were invaluable in helping the Allies win the war; doing so came at an enormous price.

You can do far worse than reading Vonnegut--like letting your eyes go to shit while you spend hundreds on new technology to help you see the world better through your television.

LINKS:

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A Letter to Richard Dawkins

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-06T02:01+00:00

What's Up My Godless Heathen Homey?

I thought I'd write you quick note after learning that the exchange of information is going to destroy organized religion and large-scale warfare.

I don't know, Richie boy--I think you've gone off the deep end a bit. I've watched a few of your You Tube offerings and read a snippet or two there (still haven't gotten to your books yet because Song of Myself is just too beautiful to put down and let's face it, anybody with a brain in their head and a heart in their chest should be reading Walt Whitman every waking moment of the day.

I don't know man--this whole science replacing God thing that you kooky Bioethicists have drudged up again is leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. Not that I'm against offending organized religion because, shit--me and Nietzsche invented that shit; but I find the whole premise of religion and war becoming marginalized by the greater exchange of information to be a bit laughable.

Speaking of Nietzsche, he said it best in Thus Spake Zarathustra: "You have made your way from worm to man and much in you is still worm." Much in you is still worm, Richie boy--don't forget your roots.

I agree with you that it's a bit preposterous that so many millions of people out there worship words and the books that bind them and the ideas they project to the point of continuing to murder over them. It is a bit childish to worship and facilitate a long outdated ritual (no matter what the religion). But wouldn't you concur that religion is ultimately a positive organizing force in society?

No?

George Washington did. He said:

Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable supports. In vain would that man claim the tribute of patriotism, who should labor to subvert these great pillars of human happiness, these firmest props of the duties of men and citizens.

Now I know you British bastages don't respect Washington as much as we do here in the land of fluoride and white teeth but I think he made a valid point.

See, science has a point where it ends, where it can go no further and at that point it shuts down as a support system because logic can only go so far (I know that truth may hurt but sit with it and let it kill your ego and you'll feel much better about this whole thing).

I guess what I'm saying is that you'll never convince someone to turn away from their conception of divinity by appealing to their logic and reason. You have to speak to their heart and to do that, Richie boy, you need to understand metaphors. One well-placed metaphor can murder millions or lift them up to the heights of ecstasy.

People need a reason to live and science is the scenery of life, it isn't the driving principle that makes our boners raise the sheets at dawn every day.

God is not in the details because God is just a word. But that word is trying to point us past itself to a universal truth beyond names and forms, an underlying factotum of existence so basic that it supports and subverts the very logic which seeks to ascertain its circumference and depth.

Anyway, keep up the good work tearing the churches down brick by brick but just remember that the human heart abhors a vacuum--something has to be rebuilt in place of the church and the world already has enough Wal-Marts and universities.

Cheers Mate,

Josh

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Review of Gears of War for the XBOX 360

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-04T02:01+00:00

This is the game I've been waiting to play on the XBOX 360 and every thing about it is beautiful--even the flying chunks of blood and body parts. You know this game is different from the first moment you step out of the prison cell in the beginning.

The game is set in a post-apocalyptic world where a demon horde of slithering and bulging mutants have slimed their way up through the crust of the earth forcing humanity to unleash a light mass weapon which devastated the surface of the planet, leaving everything in total ruin.

You play as Marcus, a soldier who went off the reservation to rescue this father and was thrown in solitary prison for life by a dickhead CO. You are broken out of prison just as the monsters have made their way into it to take it over. You are freed by your brother in arms, Dominic, who hooks you up with some sweet weapons (one of which is an automatic rifle with a chainsaw on the end (oh so very cool when slicing a bloody opponent to pulp in close quarter combat).

The game takes place over 36 hours and has some very cool, some very tough and some very scary parts. You can play through co-op with one of your buddies either online or in your own house (online is better because you get the full screen effect).

This is a game made by gamers for gamers and I give it a firm A+. You won't believe your eyes.

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A Letter to President Bush

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-03T00:01+00:00

Dear Georgie,

Since you won't return my phone calls or my e-mails and since you haven't posted on your ultra secret blog that you've been keeping from Laura and those tight asses in your Secret Service detail; I have to post this publicly. Now c'mon Georgie--you and I go back too far for you start acting like a punk, man. And this letter is an attempt to fix what's gone wrong with us because I care.

You know, when you and I started this thing in the summer of 2000; I had such high hopes for us--I really did. I thought we were going to be the Silver Anniversary surfers, my man--taking life by the big waves and smiling at the sun while the other surfers around us ate foam and wiped out one by one. Damn there's been a lot of wipe outs since that summer, hasn't there? But we've had a few good wave runs too, can't forget that and we shouldn't forget that you were the king dong on the board during those times. But we also can't help but pointing out that you were the Faust in charge when we ate it also.

Dude, I was with you in the days after 9/11--you were in my thoughts and prayers. I was with you when the lights starting flashing and the rocks started flying in Afghanistan. And I was even with you when the tanks rolled into the desert of Iraq and embedded media showed us, the populace and people who gave you the job, how a war begins in real time for the first time in human history.

I didn't get as bent out of shape as the rest of the country with the human pyramid torture pictures because I know that what Dr. Meade said in Gone with the Wind is some true shit: "Good Heavens,...this is war, not a garden party."

I was even with you on the surveillance stuff for the most part. Taking away the privacy of communications from the populace isn't anything new during war time. After all, Lincoln authorized simultaneous raids on every telegraph office in the North and seized the record of ever telegram written for an entire year by anyone in the north. He suspended Habius Corpus and authorized the seizing and imprisoning without being formally charged of hundreds of citizens. He took a shit load of money from the US Treasury and just handed it over to the Lords of Industry to procure the instruments of war from their impressive social and business networks and didn't even ask for a receipt.

So bad shit has been done by Presidents in the past who have also been picked by the three sisters who choose, measure and cut the string. Nobody's saying that you're the only one or even that you've gone way too far and deserve to get fired like your predecessor (even though he wasn't removed).

But I've been reading up on Lincoln a lot lately and things started to come into focus when I read this portion of a speech he gave to Congress on July 4th while the Civil War was still in its newlywed stage:

This is essentially a People's war. On the side of the Union it is a struggle for maintaining in the world that form and substance of government whose leading object is to elevate the condition of man, to lift artificial weights from all shoulders, to clear the paths of laudable pursuit for all, to afford all an unfettered start and a fair chance in the race of life...Our popular government has often been called an experiment. Two points in it our people have already settled, the successful establishing and the successful administering of it. One still remains--its successful maintenance against a formidable attempt to overthrow it. It is now for them to demonstrate to the world that whose who can fairly carry an election can also suppress a rebellion, that ballots are the rightful and peaceful successors of bullets, and that when ballots have fairly and constitutionally decided, there can be no successful appeal except to ballots themselves at succeeding elections. Such will be a great lesson of peace, teaching men that what they cannot take by an election, neither can they take by war--teaching all the folly of being the beginners of a war.

That utterance put so many things into perspective for me--with what we're trying accomplish in Iraq and the Middle East in general.

It's a monumental task to take a conglomeration of human minds so entrenched in their belief and in their worship of their deity (who in their minds calls for continued bloodshed in a ridiculous war which has lasted hundreds of years too long) and say to them that the age of religious zealotry has come to a crashing end and that instead of ascribing patterns and powers to the stars in the sky, mankind is now traveling to them and every race, creed and belief system is welcome to come along.

It's a bitch of a thing to say that to people, Georgie--believe me, I know. I've been trying to figure out a kind way to say that type of shit for over ten years ago and it still comes out harsh and unsympathetic. But since when has human history yielded to the sensibilities of the moment and the human emotion that swirls and fills the vacuum of the possibility of the next moment?

So, look--we're cool, Georgie. You can put my name back on speed dial in your Blackberry and you can start leaving comments on this blog again. Because we're down like that, I'm willing to wipe the slate clean in Two to the Double Aught Seven. Just make sure that everything you do is in the spirit of what Lincoln talked about in that speech because so long as you do that--you are still on the razor's edge, my man.

Keep it real in DC, Georgie Boy and next time you come to Columbus you don't have to hang out with just the millionaires. You can come to the crib and we'll throw down on the XBOX 360 in a little Call of Duty or Gears of War and my wife'll make her Shake-N-Bake pork chops, out of the box mashed taters and Bush's baked beans which is about as good a feast as any man needs.

Love,

Josh

LINKS:

Don't look now, but somone you know just won the very first Blog Carnival for Ohio Bloggers (thanks to Sadie's Take on Delaware Ohio for hosting)
Wal-Mart is Determined to Push Energy Saving Light Bulbs to 100 Million Homes

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Looking Forward to 2007

Joshua Minton — 2007-01-01T14:01+00:00

I don't make predictions because I never received my crystal ball in the mail. But in this armchair mystic's opinion, 2007 is going to be one hell of a year for us all. For me, personally, I feel stars aligning this year, clicking into Keplerian place as the orbits of the planets start humming in harmony again and shit starts getting right in the world.

Like my man reverse_vampyr, I too have been working for well over a decade on a story. His is a comic book, mine is a novel but you get the similarity. I've written this story a dozen times on paper and countless hundreds of times in my head. Snippets have come to me through dreams, waking revelations and insights brought on through personal relationships.

And now I've got an outline, bitches! That's right--I finally sat down and thundered out a rough outline that I'm in the process of turning into a smooth one. Plus, I've already written a few dozen pages to get the feel of the story and I likey-likey how it feels under my fingertips and the keyboard gets more and more battered and the page number and word count grow higher.

I learned a long time ago that good writers write all the time and great writers only touch the pen when inspiration calls them. My mind goes silent for weeks and months but I never complain because when the neurons fire up, it's like a lightning storm in Texas, Jack. And when the floods come roaring down the valleys of my mind, I never go for high ground--I grab a log and go where the river takes me.

And this river is going somewhere very special, my peeps. I will be revealing more and more about this novel to my readers as time goes on this year but know that if I go a couple few days without blogging--chances are I'm working on the goody good stuff.

LINKS:

List of cancelled shows from the 2006 Fall Season (None of the ones I watch, thank ya Jeebus)
Friday 13th, 2029--Date for Comet Collision with Earth?
Photoshop Your Car into a Pixar Car
Read the Classics in Bite-Sized Chunks via Daily e-Mail (this is a brilliant idea! Kudos to the concept and site owners)
Antimedia on the death of 3,000 US Service Men and Women and How We've Now Lost as Many in Battle as Were Killed on 9/11

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Happy New Year!

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-31T21:12+00:00

Have a safe and happy evening, everyone. And don't drink and drive.

Enjoy these links:

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Video of Saddam's Execution by Hanging

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-30T22:12+00:00

Sic Semper Tyranus. There is something both base and satisfying about seeing a tyrant meet his end. Enjoy.

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Warning: Remodeling in Progress

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-30T20:12+00:00

This site is going to look like shit the next couple of days as I'm redesigning for the new year. I've had a web designer tell me his graphic design team is going to redo my site for a little publicity which I was happy to agree to. In the meantime, this purple and yellow is starting to drive me crazy so it's out.

Thanks for the patience.

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5 Things You Probably Didn't Know About Me

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-29T03:12+00:00

I didn't learn to ride a bicycle until I was twelve years old
I am an ordained minister licensed to marry people in the state of Ohio and I will be marrying one of my best friends this coming Spring to his fiance
The first book I really remember reading is Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls
I often tear up while watching movies especially if they are about animals that die
I have met and been inspired by both Sherman Alexie and Rick Moody

And now I get to tag five bloggers to create their own five things list and I am going to name: JD, Antimedia, Reverse_Vampyr, PurpleThink and Infidel753.

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Why I Wouldn't Vote for Bush a Third Time

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-28T02:12+00:00

I proudly voted for Bush 43 twice but this administration has gotten completely out of hand.

American politics has a heartbeat and the emotion of our country runs very deep inside all of us. I believe it is within our abilities as citizens of this nation to do a collective gut check, lick our forefingers, stick them into the wind and ascertain which way it blows. Dylan said it first and today's weathermen are the Bill O'Reillys, the Keith Olbermans and the Chris Matthews of the world.

If we are honest with ourselves; we can all admit that during this past November's election, we saw the ruling mandate leak out of this presidency like air from a tire spiked with a five inch nail.

And if ever one needed proof that this administration is out of touch with reality, it's the recent press fervor over the President wanting to increase the size of the Army and Marine Corps. Folks, that ship has sailed.

Many make the argument that the historical occupation of Western nations rebuilding after an armed conflict took decades. But rebuilding infrastructure, like everything else in our world today, should and can be undertaken at the same light speed in which information and ambition travel.

Shit, if we can turn ten thousand acres of farm fields into a golf course community supported by both a Costco and a Wal-Mart in two years, surely we can secure the peace and rebuild infrastructure in a place where it already existed in five.

An administration with wisdom would pull the troops out when their function was completed.

An administration with brains would tell the world that our troops are coming home and that the all the cities and countries over there in the land of sand had better wise up and stop acting like 7th Century dopes duped by the written word and suppress their terrorist sub-cultures or else.

And an administration with balls would drop a thermonuclear bomb on the capital city of any country that allowed terrorist activity to fester into an attack on American citizens and load another one in the missile silo for the next bunch of stupid sons of a bitches dumb enough to fuck with a lion when he's cleaning his claws.

The War on Terror has become an atrocious display of corporate greed backed up by an unscrupulous spending-happy Congress and Lords of War military hardware manufacturers fueled by noble and patriotic soldiers and officers who are in danger of getting caught in a thick trap of their loyalty and honor.

I would never impugn the sacrifice that service men and women make for our country but Stephen Covey has a wonderful business analogy of people trying to make it through a jungle and frontline managers as the ones hacking through the underbrush while the true leaders are the ones who climb the tallest tree to survey the land and call down to the others, "Hey, we're in the wrong jungle." And the collective answer they get from the hacking managers is, "Shut up! We're making progress."

And I think the situation in the War on Terror is a lot like that--where the noble soldiers and officers are saying we're making progress and very likely are relative to their task at hand but We the people are ultimately responsible for determining if we are even in the right jungle.

And I think we're not only in the wrong jungle--we're in the wrong fucking desert.

What do you think? Holla!

NOTES:

Picture by Jason

LINKS:

Stop Calling Every Thing Blogs
Article Title of the Day Goes to Fox News for This One: "Human Penis Cartoon Campaign Proves Effective in Spurring STD Testing for Gay, Bisexual Men"
The Reason Why Widescreen is Better
Company Logos and Their Meanings
72 Things Every Man Should Know About Fatherhood
The Space Elevator Explained
521 Front Page Headlines In One Place
House Panel Faults FBI in Oklahoma City Bombing Probe for Not Investigating "Other Suspects" Who Might Have Helped McVeigh and Nichols (read Middle Easterners and possibly Iraqis)

TAGS:
War on Terror President Bush

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Christmas Aftermath

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-26T13:12+00:00

I remember Christmas being a hectic time as a child. I would be rushed between several homes to quickly open gifts and then off again to the next (I know, life is hard right?). Well, things haven't changed.

My wife and I have three homes (including our own) to spread ourselves out over from Christmas Eve to Christmas dusk and while the traveling is never more than 45 minutes away from our house at a time, the traveling and lugging packages tends to take its toll on one's constitution.

But we made it and Christmas was a bonafide success this year giftwise. My son got everything he didn't know that he wanted. My daughter is too small to even know or care what she got (but she appreciated it all immensely) and my wife was spoiled by my mother and me as usual (and like she deserves).

Me, I'm always spoiled.

I got Gears of War for the XBOX 360--the best game I've every played on the system thus far
I also received the XBOX 360 HD-DVD player which has 6x the resolution of normal DVDs and comes with Peter Jackson's King Kong (it looks amazing in 720p, I could just imagine what 1080p looks like)

Six Feet Under: The Complete Series Gift Set on DVD (this is arguably the best dramatic series ever on television and one of the few I consider to be a complete work of proper art)
And my wife gave me the best gift--the Easton Press first printing of Shelby Foote's incredible trilogy The Civil War: A Narrative which has been sold out of its second priting now for a few months. I have been wanting to read this series since the second time I watched the Ken Burns masterpiece The Civil War on DVD when I got it for Christmas a few years back. Foote's down-to earth method of speaking carries through into his writing and he conveys the entire lunacy of the Civil War in the guise of fictional narrative and he pulls it off in a way that even Michael Shaara doesn't pull off (and I enjoy his books as well). These are a very valuable set of books and I will tteasure reading them (of course any series of books from The Easton Press are valuable and worth investing in if you're a bibliophile like I am)
I got my annual desk calendar from my grandmother, a gift I always look forward to because it is one of the few gifts that really do last all year round. This year, she duplicated her success of choice last year with the "Word of the Day" calendar. I actually keep a list at work with my calendar of all the words I didn't know from each day and go over it periodically, tryign to use them in context in a normal discussion

And I was a lottery winner this year, tacking in at $40 worth of scratch off victories.

Sure, Christmas in the richest nation in the world is a bounty of excess and a ritual of adding debts many of us can't repay in a sensible time frame but there is still a lot of magic left in the world at this time of year and the proof of it is that there aren't more deaths from "Wrap Rage" as parents try to un-twisty-tie the toys they bought for their children which whose packages were likely designed by a bitter lonely old man somewhere in Taiwan.

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Death, Story, Meditation and the Decaying Mind

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-24T13:12+00:00

I took my son to see the live action remake of Charlotte's Web yesterday--it was actually a fantastic effort to remake an American classic. I am an emotional man by nature and often find myself pushed and pulled by sympathy and sentimentality. As a young boy, I would ofen anthropomorphize toys and other inanimate objects, attributing deep feelings and even death to them.

I can really think of no better way to introduce a young child to death (besides actually having them undergo losing a loved one) than through story. And I can think of few better stories to introduce a young person to death than Charlotte's Web. I believe this is because it masks the rough truth of death in undying love and selfless giving, much like the story of the crucifixion.

And while Infidel753 and I may agree on the inherent dangers of the human being that has given themselves over sheepishly to a constellation of religious metaphors put forth by a dubious beauracracy of men with questionable political and economic motives who seek to convert religious fervor into worldly power--I think we might also agree that we human beings need these stories to find ourselves and our place in our environment.

And this brings me to my point--how many people out there are living with minds already past the point of redemption? How many minds out there are stuck in a routine of thought that only spirals downward?

I think it is of the utmost importance to have a mind that is fresh and new and interprets the phenomena of the world just like the child's mind. Meditation is the only tool I know of that can refresh and recharge the mind. It can't be done through psychedilics, pharmaceutical or surgery because those things only affect intentional breaks in the patterned routine of the thought processes, breaks the mind must route around and which eventually cause a mental breakdown.

But meditation, the kind which begins with the draining away of the ego and the accumulation of experience through time in the moment (there is no process of becoming enlightened and free--the first step is the only step)--is the means of acquiring a fresh mind and every human being is capable of grasping this knowledge of the ending which is the beginning of true intelligence.

We need our stories but we need green thoughts that bud from the soil of our collective unconscious far more than we need anything else besides sunlight, water, air and food to keep our bodies moving.

Merry Christmas everyone!

LINKS:

Cannabis is "Affecting Young Minds" ("Duh")
Magic Mushrooms Ease OCD Symptoms
Buy your own Festivus Pole ("A Festivus for the Rest of Us")
Bush Ponders $10 Billion Reconstruction Plan in Iraq while the American Gulf Still Languishes (I will be reporting live on the state of New Orleans next month)
Study find video games may be beneficial to your brain
Calvin and Hobbes Snowman Tribute Page
What the NY Times wanted to tell you about Iran (but what the CIA wouldn't let them)
Weapons Made from office supplies
Salma Hayek has something to say (but I don't seem to recall what it was for some reason)

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How to Think: Living Between the Points

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-22T12:12+00:00

What does it mean to live “between the points?” What are the points? Are they science and religion? Are they conservative and liberal? Are they men and women? Are they childhood and old age? Are they intellectual and physical? Are they quantum physics and cosmology? Are they Freud and Jung? Are they the sacred and the profane? Are they nature and nurture? Are they light beer and stout?

To live between the points is to understand the nature of the human mind—where it begins and where it ends. The very structure of time is inherent in the process of thought—the ticking away of the clock in the song “Time” on the Pink Floyd album Dark Side of the Moon is the sound of the mind in movement. See, the mind is a function of the universe—much like Kepler’s laws of motion which keep planets swinging in elliptical orbits around a common center of gravitational mass.

The paired opposites described in the first paragraph are all addressed in the philosophy of living “Between the Points,” but more importantly they are surpassed for the ultimate pair of opposites—life and death.

When I was nineteen years old, I was enrolled as a Pre-Pre Med student meaning that my grades weren’t good enough to get me in Pre-Med and my patience for analytical science bounced me at about Chemistry 102. But in my study of the many fields of science, I developed a genuine respect for the scientific method and for the science of cosmology in general.

Cosmology is the study of the universe on a grand scale. Quantum physics is a study of the universe on a very small scale. I began studying the nature of the universe at a time when Cosmology and Quantum Physics were merging into a single vision of how the universe physically operates. That vision is still being defined to this day but there was something I learned in a book by Stephen Hawking, A Brief History of Time, that changed my life forever.

I learned about the nature of quantum singularities in space. Quantum singularities are events in space/time where the structure of the universe completely breaks down and the physics that operate everywhere else no longer function. The structure of the universe is space and time so time itself breaks down in these actual places out in the universe.

Well, what struck me about this was not the existence of singularities in outer space but it was the existence of singularities in inner-space and how they both were related to one another. See, I realized that time breaks down in the mind as well—in the form of memory. I can recall events that happened when I was three down to the sight, smell, texture, and even the emotions of vivid memories.

So, there is a point in outer space where time breaks down and there is a point in inner space where time breaks down. Beyond these points is the great unknown—death, birth, heaven, hell, whatever words you choose to use to describe it—the fact is that there is no direct human knowledge that can be quantified and proven through the scientific methodology that determined the edge of physical and mental existence.

So what is one to do with this insight? Well, it’s funny when I look back on these last ten years since I had this epiphany and it is almost as if some unseen hand were guiding me to the answers when I was able to ask the right questions. I’m sure it is the same for you if you were to examine it closely.

One day I found myself at a dead end fork in the road. There was no passion in my life. I had no interest in pursuing the college degree in my course of study. I quit school, got a job in a restaurant, and spent my days in the library chasing some kind of meaning for life. I came across a video series title Transformations of Myth through Time by Joseph Campbell. The answers to most of my questions lay within these twelve VHS tapes.

I came to understand that mankind had been dealing with this very same dilemma for thousands of years—ever since the first death was truly felt. One day, an ancient ancestor of man knew a friend, a wife, a child that was up and walking one day and then lay down and grew still, cold, and died. Something was gone that had just been there. It was at this point that the human spirit was born and it was at this point that art, philosophy, science, and even religion were born as well. These are all methodologies of attempting to discern the exact nature of what lies beyond the two points.

I also came to understand the nature of the metaphor. All words are symbols. The symbols T R E E are not great leafy carbon based life forms that take in Carbon Dioxide to produce oxygen. But we read the word TREE and immediately the letters conjure up an image in our minds. The problem with these symbols comes about when they are used to describe something that cannot be defined in terms of time and space, in other words when they are used to describe what is beyond the points.

Let us consider for a moment the supposed great conflict between science and religion.

Contrary to popular scholarly debate, there is no inherent conflict between science and religion. In fact, religion and science both have a warm history of expressing reality and invoking passion in the human mind. Religion is ultimately concerned with spirituality, with touching the center of man and transforming him or her from the crawling animal to the human being who strives to attain the unknowable, who mourns for dead relatives with established rituals and seeks to relieve the suffering of fellow human beings with compassionate acts.

It is the purpose of the institution of science to give humanity a vision of what the Universe actually is from moment to moment. Science as an institution is constantly in flux; there are no ultimate truths, only hypotheses that must be constantly tested.

Religion is a constellation of metaphors aimed at relating what is beyond the points to the human mind and it is the purpose of religion to penetrate the science of the day and allow the ultimate unknowable truth to shine through its metaphors. But this means that religion must also constantly be in flux and open to change.

The problem comes about when religions begin proposing to their constituents that the metaphors they use to describe the unknown are indeed the actual point of worship. This is the point where money becomes king. This is the point where murder becomes communication and when wars over words escalate so intensely that they threaten the existence of every human being on the planet. But this is also the point of ultimate redemption which can only take place in the mind of the individual for there is no such thing as freedom in a group.

Religious institutions are generally not concerned with spiritual breakthrough of the individual to a realization of the unknown but rather these institutions are supremely concerned with the social integration of their followers under specific teachings and morals. And let us not forget that all religious institutions are ultimately concerned with acquiring money and political power—often at the expense of the very ones they were established to protect and guide toward the sacred light.

The great religious texts that form the foundation of all major religions were composed millennia ago under different scientific laws. The Ancients, with the exception of the Egyptian astronomer Eratosthenes, believed that the Earth was flat. The Ancient Hebrews had never heard of or met the Chinese and if they did, it was never written about. Science changes and so must religious metaphors also change. The truths that all religions offer, however, those common human themes of justice, righteous living, and spiritual emancipation, are anthropic and therefore common to all human beings at all times.

Let us return to our points. So there is a point in outer space where time breaks down and there is a point in inner space where time breaks down; between these points is where the phenomenal world rests. This is the realm of linear motion, of birth and death, of social interaction, scientific investigation, and the worshipping of ideas and dates of historical significance. This is the phenomenal world, broken into pairs of opposites that can be neatly divided and classified under specific categories according to the laws of logic and structure of human existence itself. This is the realm of comparison in which science, religion, and art ultimately guide the human animal to becoming a human being. These institutions accomplish this by guiding the individual to these outer and inner points and ultimately laying the challenge down to go beyond while leaving the temporal and phenomenal world of the individual and collective ego behind.

To live between the points is to live in the realm of death. To understand that no thought or concept can go beyond those two points is the beginning of intelligence and not the intelligence brought about through time and study, but an eternal intelligence that is only present when the mind is quiet--silent. This intelligence is vast, all encompassing and all-powerful. When one has reached this precipice you have come to the realm of the sacred in the heart and mind of man and defining this moment as the boundary between Heaven and the phenomenonal world.

Intelligent human beings, the humble among us, understand that what lies beyond the two points is unknowable to the mind of man which has been composed by knowledge of the in-between. The intelligent understand this limitation, what thought is capable of and what it is not, and put thought aside in areas of life where it is not applicable. The in-between will never relate to what is beyond the points and the true mystic and quiet observer of this fact will come to understand that the two points are really the same point—the alpha and the omega—the beginning and the end. It is the still point upon which the Buddha sat and struck illumination.

The reference that religious metaphors refer to is the still point and to know the still point is to understand the nature of death in the moment. Once the understanding of the complete cessation of psychological movement is understood, not as a theory but as clearly as one looks up to the night sky and recognizes the Moon, a glorious palace of pure energy rises from the wasteland to replenish what was once a weary spirit. This is the shining city on a hill that is the beacon of liberty for all of mankind to take part in because they are human mortals who share this spinning globe adrift in an elliptical orbit around an average yellow star in one of many long arms of gas and dust that orbit a massive galactic core set adrift in a sea of other galaxies all moping around the greatest point of gravity known to the mind.

But there is only one mind of man and inside the mind of the individual is a point of infinity just as there is in the farthest reaches of space, past the 10-43 seconds after the Big Bang barrier that our senses and our science cannot see beyond. There is an alpha and omega of liberty and it begins in the mind of the individual and ends at the farthest point the mind can stretch toward and conceive. The distance traveled between these two points is that of time and history and we bring this experience into the present moment to create the world we each live in. Each human mind is the totality of the Universe and the Universe itself exists distinctly in the mind of each individual. E Pluribus Unum.

This world is a collective product of all minds active in the present moment, each bringing their own experience to shape reality which ultimately shapes the reality of human society. What would the world be like with ten, twenty, a hundred individuals who were capable of grasping the still point and losing themselves at any moment? The answer is that the entire world would eventually be composed of artists; every politician, auto mechanic, lawyer, check out clerk, writer, singer, actor and painter would be capable of shedding their ego and stepping outside of time to bask in eternity. The sun fire is hot on the sandy beaches outside the river of time. The solar rays of eternity shine deep and warm as the vicissitudes of time evaporate from one's skin and the sand of creative energy hugs and sustains the artistic vision that has inspired mankind to crawl from the muck as slugs to become rulers of this insignificant yet beautiful planet. The energy is eternal; it is the individual who falls into darkness without it. There is only one truth, yet the sages speak of it with many names.

TAGS: Philosophy, Spirituality, Religion, Joseph Campbell, Jiddu Krishnamurti, Quantum Physics, Cosmology, Science, Singularity, Between the Points

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The Ten Best Things I Did Since October 1st, 2005

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-22T02:12+00:00

Had a baby girl: It's been said that you're not a true parent until you've had two kids. I was raised an only child and I would never level such a charge against my mother who enjoyed assistance from my entire family in raising me. But another phase of life began the day I first met my baby girl and I revel in watching her and my son grow inches from minutes each day. Life would hold little meaning without my family; they allow me to charge the world following the angels of my better nature.
Told my wife and children that I love them at least once a day: Sappy, I know but the fact is that you never know when your last breath is going to take place and the first order of business in making sure your affairs are set in order should be to express your emotions to the people you care the most about. For me, that number one is my wife and children, although it may not seem like that to them.
Got a great promotion at my new job: I took a gamble and even turned down more money to come in at an entry-level position at my new company and was promoted to a pretty prominent role in less than a year. I look forward to continuing my upward professional climb.
Got hired at the greatest company in the world 7 days after #5: I don't name or talk about the company I presently work for so I won't go into detail. It is sufficient to say that not only am I proud to work for my company, every day brings a new and welcome challenge that I feel advances me in a worthwhile way.
Got fired from a douche bag company in 7 days: Remember this? I'm going to use a bad word now. Eff health insurance; eff shitty overhead health insurance jobs and eff United Health Care in particular. The boweevil faced corporate twat that I worked for was a slimy slug wallowing in the bowels of the hell she has made for herself, a great bloody field of mistrust and animosity that the entire health insurance industry has become. We have allowed health insurers to conglomerate around Congress and create an entire middle man industry out of a post-World War II loophole that provided a tax shield to companies who offered health benefits to their workers. This industry is literally sucking the life out of our economy and our pocket books and for my money is a far greater threat to our democracy than Al Queda or Saddam Hussein. When I see United Health Group caught up in a scandal, I smile because those bastards deserve to go the way of Enron and I would have quit if the douche's hadn't fired me first for surfing the Internet (Monster.com coincidentally) on my break. Assholes.
Bought a 42" HD Samsung DLP television: I love my television and refuse to watch any television show that isn't broadcast in High Definition. Call me a snob if you want to but if you're still watching 480 lines of interlaced resolution then you may as well be listening to Little Orphan Annie and The Shadow on the radio.
Bought an XBOX 360: The best game system out there, hands down. Don't give me the puss-boy PS3 blue-ray argument because the XBOX 360 beats Sony's overpriced gas bag at every angle. Video games are the best way to unplug, unwind and recharge that I know of besides getting into a really good book.
Got digital HD cable with an dual tuner HD DVR: Nothing beats being able to record all your favorite television shows in high definition even when two of them are on at the same time. Civilization isn't worth a squirt without DVR--without it, it would feel like living in trees and caves again.
Attended the OSU Michigan game:Quite simply the best college football game I could ever hope to attend. My buckeyes came out on top but Michigan still put up one hell of a fight, making the Big Ten look all the better. The pre-party festivities were barely describable and an experience that everyone should make a pilgrimage to come see.
Saw Tool play live here in Columbus: Maynard James Keenan is one of my favorite artists in the world, whether it's A Perfect Circle or Tool and this was the second time I saw Tool play live. While the entire performance was a knock out, my favorite song of the night was "Pot" from the new album 10,000 Days.

LINKS:

Why Gears of War Cost $60
Seinfeld fans can now give the gift the gift that keeps on giving: Make a Donation in Someone's Name to the Human Fund "Money for People" (hat tip to Fantastic Bastard)

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Taking Back Scrooge

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-19T01:12+00:00

What pisses you off at Christmas time?

One of the things that pisses me off about is when people refer to pain in the ass money grubbers as "Scrooges." So, for once and all--back off Ebenezer, you pricks! Scrooge should be heralded along with Santa Clause and Frosty as icons of giving and charity but no--those without a literary strand of hair on their heads persist in relegating Scrooge to the spot of his character prior to its transformation.

Consider the finality of Dickens's masterpiece:

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.

He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!

I guess I shouldn't be so surprised that so many would fail to pay attention to the most important part of the story and of this character when so many Christians allowed the holiday celebrating the birth of their savior (which was actually commandeered from a Pagan Festival celebrating the Winter Solstice--a time when light begins to dominate over darkness) to become perverted into a commercialized version of goodwill and brotherly love.

But for the record--don't call douche bags Scrooges around me because you're likely to get an earful.

So, sound off--what is it that roast your chestnuts this time of year? Those pain in the ass Santa Clauses ringing their bells outside Wal-Mart? How about the endless potlucks at work? White Elephant gift exchanges where people sit around for an hour swapping household trash? What makes your Frosty balls melt in the greenhouse of yuletide?

LINKS:

Full text of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
First Cloned Cat has Kittens
Anti-Bush T-shirts no longer allowed on airplanes
Funniest commercial in a long time
Die Hard 4 Trailer
Andy Mckee will amaze you with this guitar style

TAGS:
Christmas Ebenezer Scrooge Scrooge A Christmas Carol Charles Dickens

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Review of Rocky Balboa

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-14T03:12+00:00

I was privileged to receive early screening passes to see the sixth installment in the Rocky series and have to say that I was very pleased with Stallone's production. And I want to warn you that I am going to spoil the plot line if you continue to read this post but nobody goes to see Rocky movies because of the plot lines.

And like all the movies in this series, the plot isn't very complicated. Rocky is still learning to live in a world without his beloved wife Adrian who died of "the woman cancer" three years prior to the beginning of the movie. His son is struggling with living in the shadow of his famous father. Pauly is coming to peace with the cranky assholish way he's lived his life (and yes, he's still working at that frigging meat packing plant) and the nemesis of the ring, Mason "The Line" Dixon is struggling with not being able to find an opponent who challenges his heart in the ring, who can make him go the distance.

This movie is the swan song of the series that Rocky V tried to be but fell slightly short of becoming. There are quite a few old and friendly trinkets that come up like the fully aged and grown turtles cuff and link that Rocky bought from Adrian's pet shop in the first movie. Spider Rico (the boxer who Rocky opens up the first movie fighting and who head butted him with a cheap shot) is now a reformed man of God who works as a dishwasher in Rocky's restaurant (named "Adrian's" of course, established in 1995). The little girl who Rocky walked home from the Atomic Hoagie shop in the first movie (the one he had to use a bad word with--"whore" and who told him "screw you, creepo") becomes a good friend to Rocky. The painting from Rocky III where Rocky and Apollo punch each other in the final seconds is now hanging on the wall of his restaurant and we get to see him down an amazing five eggs at once from possibly the same dirty ass glass.

Oh, and don't forget the latest version of the classic song "Take It Back" which will never sound better than when the five guys sang it over the dumpster fire in the first movie Hall and Oats style.

But this movie is distinctly different from the others in the series in that it is all about heart. On his magnificent classic rap album No One Can Do It Better, The D.O.C. said, "You may think I speak of music/but I speak of coming up." Well, you may think this movie is about boxing but it's about coming up. It's about self respect--how to lose it, how to get it and how to fight your ass off to keep it.

On a technical aspect, the fight scenes are filmed totally different than any of the other Rocky movies, resembling an actual fight. You can tell Stallone learned a great deal from his time producing the amazing first season of The Contender with Sugar Ray Leonard.

And while the training part of the movie is pretty good--nothing beats the training montage in Rocky IV when Hearts on Fire is playing and he's doing those reverse crunches on his head--that still gets me pumped up every time I watch it.

Look--this movie is going to get made fun of but people all over the world inherently love the character of Rocky for the same reason that people love the concept of America--because it's simple. It's easy. It feels right--even when it falls short. And stories don't become myths because of the trickery of their plot lines (The DaVinci Code will never be a mythology despite its fascinating story line). Stories become myths because they feel right inside our hearts and allow our minds to suspend disbelief just long enough to let a little magic seep back in from beyond the borders of rationality and provincialism.

I do recommend that you see this movie because there are far worse ways to spend an hour and a half than in saying goodbye to an American icon as he walks into the limelight of a sunset that feels right. There are no losers in this movie; everbody wins. The movie is more about saying goodbye to the ultimate underdog as he overcomes one more impossible odd. Don't forget that Rocky has never been about winning; it's always about going the distance--even when he won.

Rocky Balboa gives you a warm feeling like going back and kissing the person you lost your virginity to--it's not the best you've ever had but it sure beats kissing a pig.

Has Uncle Josh ever lied to ya?

LINKS:

TAGS:
Rocky Balboa Sylvester Stallone Film Review

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Why Christians and Jews Still Cry by Joshua Minton

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-13T00:12+00:00

If you like, listen to me read the story while you read along by pushing play on the contraption above

The Night Mary Beth Jacksey Told Her Father that Jesus was a Coward

—That's it—the preacher said as he slammed his palm on the dinner table causing the antique crystal vase in the china cabinet to rattle and the dog to bark. Every member of the room, except Mary Beth's newest boyfriend, immediately looked at the vase and prayed it wouldn't fall. It had been in the preacher's family for generations. He was neurotic about it. The preacher, after checking the vase and seeing it unharmed, looked at his daughter with a calm eye—I will not have that kind of talk in this house. Please take this person you've brought with you and leave—Mary Beth's newest boyfriend was a greasy-headed mop top with a pimple under his left nostril and a barb wire tattoo that wrapped around his right bicep. His best friend told him it was, bitchin.

Mary Beth recoiled from her father's verbal front—Oh Daddy, don’t take it personal. I just mean that if Jesus really cared about the suffering of other people, then why didn't he stay here on earth and suffer with them? Wasn't it a bit idealistic for him to assume that because he suffered one day of intense agony, it would make up for the billions of people that had been killed already? Not to mention the billions that were eventually slaughtered in his name?—She sat back, assured that her father had no comeback for this recently acquired Philosophy 301 supposition. She had got an A. The whole time in class, she was giving her father the mental finger. Every word she read was a possible bullet to fire into the heart of her father's faith.

The preacher's face grew red as the ass curve of a rose petal. He threw his napkin on the table, scooted his chair back, and turned to walk away, tripping over the dog that always lay at his feet waiting for an edible handout—son of a bitch—he landed face down on the wooden floor. Restrained laughter hung in the air like wet smoke. He collected himself and left the room as diligently as he fell.

Mary Beth looked at her mother, who was already looking at Mary Beth—You know how your father is, Mary Beth. It's best just to let him have his say without arguing, like I do—As she looked at her namesake, Mary Beth's face contorted into the campus friendly feminist arguing pose—Mother do you have any idea how completely submissive you sound right now? I am so sick of daddy telling me that the world is his way only and everyone else is going to hell—She paused and added—I don't even believe in hell—Her mother looked down at her lap and said in a hushed tone, like she didn't want anyone to hear, maybe not even herself—Now I have to go repair what you've done—She pushed her chair back, got up, grabbed her dishes and pushed her chair back in. She turned to walk up the steps, stopping to empty her plate in the trash and rinse it in the sink. The dog began barking again.

Mary Beth asked her newest boyfriend what he would like to do next. He was not concerned with the present moment. His mind was on later tonight and the panties Mary Beth might or might not be wearing—Do you want to see something funny—He shook his head yes, not hearing what she asked him. Mary Beth's dog was a miniature collie named Rain. When someone would repeatedly smack his butt fast and hard, he would take off running around the house, barking and yipping his way through his own personal maze of ass slaps and close calls with the furniture. The preacher abhorred such behavior and forbade anyone to participate in the dog's psychological ass slapping disorder. But Mary Beth was upset with her father and had no remorse about trying his nerves.

She smacked the dog’s ass with multiple slaps and being used to the drill, he rocketed away, barking and yipping. There were different patterns he ran. Sometimes it was the figure eight; sometimes he opted for the straight circle. But this particular time, it was a Euclidean nightmare. He attempted to run the infamous, two-dimensional dodecahedron in between the living room, kitchen, and dining room. He was unsuccessful. With one lap left to complete the twelve-face geometrical Holy Grail, he was determined to avoid the ass slap. He juked left under the table, became ensnared in the long lace tablecloth, and bolted out directly into the china cabinet. The vase tipped left. Then right. Wobbling on its base like a top. It fell in an arch, drawn out like an Olympic diver. The dog, sensing an impending disaster, ran from the room just as the vase crashed. He wasn't seen for the rest of the night.

Mary Beth's mother ascended the stairs with the knowledge that she was the bridge builder, the pontiff, tonight. Her husband bridged the gap between God and people, but she bridged the gap between her husband and the family he estranged at God's expense. She entered the room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands covering his face. There was a half-empty rocks glass of Alka-Seltzer on the nightstand. The preacher was crying.

She went to him and held him. She knew that Mary Beth didn't hate Jesus and she knew Mary Beth didn't hate her father either. She thought that her daughter was just confused right now and that was okay because Mary Beth's mother had a great reservoir of patience. Her husband's bridges were strong, but his wife's patience was the water that flowed underneath them, always warm and always moving. She knew her husband had a rough day. He had been pushed to his breaking point. She could do more for her husband by just holding him. She hoped Mary Beth would eventually learn this art. A high decibel crash of breaking glass destroyed their healing embrace. The preacher's head jerked up towards the door—Oh don't tell me. Son of bitch. SON OF A BITCH—He ran out of the room and down the stairs.

Mary Beth's mother stared at the rocks glass. She picked it up and finished the rest of the Alka-Seltzer. She put the glass back on the nightstand and listened patiently to the rising voices as they echoed off the hallways and doors of the house. She would wait for the voices to settle before going downstairs to patch whatever rip had been made. She lay back against the pillow, thought of her own mother, and listened to the voices fence each other into the night.

The Night Mary Elizabeth Burnt Her Mother's Moses Cookies

—Mary Elizabeth, do you mean to tell me that the whole time you've been dating this boy you've neglected to mention that he's not Jewish? And suddenly after all this time, you tell us that not only is he a Gentile, but he's a Christian minister as well—Mary Elizabeth looked at her fifty-year old mother with her twenty-four year old eyes—Mom, he's a wonderful man. I don't care what you say about him. He will be here in a half-hour and so help me, you'd better not do anything to ruin this—Her mother’s jaw clenched—I told your Father that we never should have given you a Christian name—Her mother turned her back, which infuriated Mary Elizabeth. She turned her own back to her mother and left the room, smacking the doorframe on her way out.

Later that evening, at the dinner table, just after Mary Elizabeth had announced her engagement to her boyfriend who was not only not a Jew, but a Christian minister as well, her father grabbed her and her fiancé's hand with tears in his eyes—You have both made me so happy. All I ever wanted was for my daughter to marry a nice man. One that would love her, and take care of her—And her father smiled a wicked smirk—And take these bills off my back. She's like a full time payment—He looked to the young man—I hope you know how to swindle your congregation young man. She's a regular down payment weekly—Mary Elizabeth smiled at her father because she loved him. It was that simple. She looked at her mother and her mother was looking away.

Her mother bent down to pet the cat, mumbling incohesively. She took her hand away from the feline, swiveled forcefully in her chair and banged her shoe on the table leg. She did not reply when asked if she was alright. Her mother got up from the table and went into the kitchen. Her father called after her—Where are you going, you haven't even finished your meal yet—Mary Elizabeth's mother called back from the kitchen—I have to put my cookies in the oven so they'll be ready for dessert—Mary Elizabeth's mother often made cookies during Hanukkah. The family called them her Moses cookies.

Mary Elizabeth got up and followed her mother into the kitchen—Mom, why can't you be happy for me? Why do you always have to spoil everything—Her mother had her back turned as she was sliding an aluminum tray of blobby dough into the oven. She refused to answer her daughter—So help me mother, if you don't speak to me now then I don't want you to have ANY PART OF MY WEDDING—Her mother whipped around and stared at her daughter with horror—You would do that, wouldn't you? On top of everything else, you would just cut your own mother off. What did I birth? What did I do to deserve such a hateful child—Mary Elizabeth had heard enough—YOU ARE NOT WELCOME AT MY WEDDING MOTHER—She tore open the back door and ran into the night, leaving a hole in her mother's home that remained even after the door had been shut.

Mary Elizabeth's mother ran sobbing, back into the dining room where her husband and her daughter’s fiancé had been listening in disbelief to the argument raging in the kitchen—She hates me. She hates me. Her own mother—Her husband asked the fiancé if he would please excuse them. He took his wife upstairs and held her as she sobbed. They fell asleep only to be woken by the smell of smoke. The Moses cookies were blackened. They looked as if they had been hit by raining fire from one of the ten plagues of Egypt. For years, her mother blamed Mary Elizabeth for the burning of her famous Moses Hanukkah cookies.

The Day the Preacher Understood the Shame of Jesus

The Preacher shuffled up to the pulpit. He was wearing a white silk robe. He had no pants or undergarments on underneath. He arranged his Bible and poured himself a glass of water from a crystal pitcher, a gift from the Women’s Auxiliary. He cleared his throat and addressed the congregation—Ladies and Gentlemen, God is angry. God is upset. He has given us laws to live by. Simple laws, yet so many of us seem to fall prey to temptation and sin—His erection was beginning to stir underneath the robe—For so long God has been patient with us, and I ask why Oh Lord. Why do you have such precious patience with us Heathens? What did we possibly do to deserve this infinite gift of your attention and salvation? That you would send your only begotten Son, Jesus, to die on the cross for our wicked and sinful ways and yet we still refuse to give them up, Oh Lord I’M SORRY. I’M SORRY WE HAVE FALLEN INTO THE DEVIL’S HANDS—He grabbed himself down there as he spoke. Oh God, give me strength not to do this. Please. I can’t continue doing this. It started off innocently. A scratch. An adjustment. But then he got worked up. Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke of the infinite love of God by sending Jesus. It was the same speech every week, just different words. He took hold at a moment of great passion. One moment he was damning the Devil and the next he was jerking for Jesus.

He continued with his one-handed sermon—We are living in the modern day Sodom and Gomorrah. Whores on every street corner. Porno directors without scruples. Why, even the institution of God has become corrupted by the Devil’s seed—Oh God, please no. Don’t let me do this in your home. I can’t stop, it feels too good. This had been going on for about six months. The Preacher rationalized it by believing that his acts of Holy Masturbation were a covenant between himself and Jesus, something sacred only both of them knew. But there was someone else who knew. The Preacher glanced at his wife, sitting in the front row with a decent viewing angle behind the podium.

The Preacher realized, with horror, that his wife was watching him. They both remained frozen. He stopped speaking. The congregation became uneasy. Murmurs rose to a cacophonous roar. His wife stood up and ran into the Preacher’s office, behind the pulpit stage. His jaw locked. His tongue wouldn’t work. He turned to run after her, but his robe caught on a broken piece of lamination from the ply wood pulpit. The robe tore off and there he was, his back to the congregation, bare ass exposed, looking up to the wooden crucified Christ that hung on the wall highlighted by track lighting. He fell to his knees and raised his arms to the wooden idol as if to say—Why have you forsaken me Lord—The congregation was disgusted. They rose in rotting masses and filed languidly into the receiving room. Some took their offering out of the collection plate on the way out.

The Preacher lay on the couch in his office with his head in his wife’s lap. She was stroking the locks of hair that lay across his forehead. She was completely calm. He was staring at the ceiling as if waiting for a bush to grow out and light itself on fire, telling him he was redeemed. His wife looked at him like he was a child—You know, sometimes you’re like that damn vase you love so much. So fragile. Sometimes that’s what I see you as, a human crystal vase. Something that needs to be guarded against falling and breaking—The Preacher turned his gaze from the ceiling to his wife—You know that vase has been in my family for generations, Mary Elizabeth. It was the only thing left standing after my family was raided by Indians on their voyage west. And that was only because my mother was using it as bedpan for fear of peeing in nature—His family had actually been robbed by other white settlers, but the story sounded more in tune with American History when he told it this way.

His wife continued to look at him with pity—Well, all I have to say about this incident is that you’ll recover. Apologize to the people that decide to come next week and they’ll forgive you. They are Christians, after all—The Preacher’s lips pursed because he doubted his own congregation’s ability not to judge and to forgive, particularly since he judged every person he saw at every opportunity he had. He also held very little forgiveness in his heart. His wife gently pushed his head off her lap, got up, strung her purse over her shoulder and began to leave. She turned around and looked at him, still lying on the couch—Make sure you’re home in time for dinner tonight. Mary Beth is bringing her new boyfriend. And please be cordial—The Preacher shifted on the couch and closed his eyes—Is this the kid with the barbwire tattoo? The one that doesn’t go to church—His wife nodded her head—I know, I’d like to say something to her too, but I’d feel just like my mother. Mary Beth will learn. She just needs time—She opened the door and left. The Preacher rolled over, facing the back of the couch. Shuddering violently, he wrapped his arms around himself and began to cry.

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Did I Ever Tell You About the Time at Jesus's Dentist

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-12T00:12+00:00

When I graduated from college in the Spring of 2000, I hadn't been to see the dentist in over five years. And I still hadn't gone by the time I settled in with full time benefits at Anthem Blue Cross & Blue Shield in Cincinnati in the late Summer of said year.

Since cleanings and checkups were free with my insurance, I figured what the H? And I did the dumbest thing I possibly could--I opened the yellow pages and picked the first cool ad I found that was near to work and home.

The lucky dentistry practice was named Kingdom Family Dentistry and it was right around the corner from my work and on my way home at the time. I made my appointment for a Friday afternoon.

When I got there, nothing seemed out of the ordinary--it was a standalone ranch building that housed only the dentist office. The dentist was a beautiful black woman, mature but still classy. The office staff was nice enough.

I had to get x-rays with those insufferable frigging bitewings where the plastic cuts into your gums and you smile like a damned fool while high intensity power waves ripple through your gray matter.

As an aside, how safe does it make you feel when the hygenist goes around he frigging corner to push the button to avoid being hit with the rays herself.
I got into the chair and the hygenist started poking around and scraping inside my mouth. I always thought there should be a superhero who was hit by gamma rays and mutated in the dentist chair--perhaps The Molinator like in The Santa Clause 2. But I digress.

After the x-rays, the hygeinist starts poking around and scraping. She finds two cavities that she says the dentist will fill during that visit. So, she finishes with her cleaning and the dentist comes in and pokes and scrapes some more.

Then the drill came out and shit got crazy. Just after I was novacained up and before she put the drill in my mouth; she hit play on one of those little tv/vcro combos posted in the upper right hand corner of the office. I thought, this lady is going to watch soap operas while she drills my teeth.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

All of the sudden, this church shit starts up at full, surround sound volume. It was like being front row in a Billy Graham revival. And the worst thing was that the preacher was Rod fucking Parsley.

Those of you who have read this blog for years, know of my eternal and infernal disdain for this gruesome specimen of humanity and if you don't, feel free to catch up here.

Apparently, the word "Kingdom" in the practice name had more metaphyiscal applications than someone's last name (come to think of it, I've never heard of anyone with the last name of Kingdom so double dumb ass on me). And now I've got this crazy religious dentist lady drilling my teeth while Rod Parsley rages and sweats and ear splitting volume.

People, I'm telling you--I was in the fourth circle of Dante's hell (the fifth is reserved for Parsley himself and the sixth through eighth is for Haliburton and Enron execs whose sins have impelled God to evict the Devil back up to the slums of heaven, finally answering Tupac's immortal question of whether Heaven has a ghetto too).

Now, don't get me wrong--if you're a devoutly religious person and being esconced in the middle of quaint second through fourth century Middle Eastern metaphor and ritual get you through the day--more power to you.

If giving yourself over to the belief that you are inherently better than other human beings because of the direction that your thoughts flow as the electrical impulses spark and jump the gaps between neurons in your brain--I say, "A Salud!"

But don't fucking strap me down with a drill in my mouth and subject me to what would be construed as torture under the Geneva convention because I was too stupid to read the fine print in your yellow pages ad.

Needless to say, I did not schedule a follow up visit six months later. But, oddly enough--my teeth never felt cleaner. Go figure.

LINKS:

Reverse_Vampyr has a health issue and needs your prayers and kind thoughts--help a brother out and wish him well
WKRP is finally coming to DVD (with some substituted music, of course)
Infidel753 left a comment with a blog link here the other day. Check his blog out here--very insightful and pithy commentary on social issues there. He's earned a probationary spot on the BWP blogroll (don't worry Infidel, I'm not as viscious as JD is with cutting his blogroll--he cleans house frequently!)
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Thoughts on Blackberries

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-09T15:12+00:00

No, not the actual berries. I'm talking about the voice-data device which has been around for about ten years or so but which just recently fell into your never-humble correspondent's sticky little paws.

I suspect that all workplaces with these devices are the same--they are a status symbol. When you get to carry your e-mail and cell phone on your hip; your company has given you a badge of importance much like military stripes.

And it feels good to have one. It feels like you're important. People walk and roll the circle on the side like they're reading the most interesting thing instead of spam e-mail that gets through the filters.

And even talking on the phone with the blackberry is a power symbol. In an age when most phones are the size of a suppository, the blackberry is like a tricorder from the original Star Trek series. Again, it's not just a phone call--it's a social statement but one that my ego enjoys making.

So, tell me--what's your experience with blackberries or similar devices in the workplace? Are they just another ego-stroking measure by professional salaried people to lord their importance over paid-by-the-hour schleps?

Or are they a valuable resource for getting shit done in corporate America?

LINKS:

No one is worthy enough to face Ohio State this year (hat tip to Fantastic Bastard)
Should the Auschwitz Death Camp be preserved?
Have St. Paul's Bones Been Found?
Did water flow "recently" on Mars?
SPACE NEWS: NASA is going back to the Moon, the Russians want in and Ohio is considering setting up a space port about ten miles from my house
California Court says bloggers can't be sued for libel by posting defamatory statements made by others
The best divorce letter ever (hat tip to Reverse_Vampyr)

TAGS:
Blackberry Business Corporate Communication

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Please Tell Me That You're Watching These Television Shows

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-08T13:12+00:00

There is some great TV happening right now. I know that it's in style to hate on television because of its sex and violence and paper thin morality tales but there are some quality pieces of social art being created right now that you could be missing out on. Here are my votes for the shows you should be watching:

Friday Night Lights: I was a little skeptical about how successful a transition this show would be from the movie but I could have said the same about the movie from the book. My wife challenged me that this show would spiral into a 90210/One Tree Hill style teen soap opera but I believe this show has captured the look and feel of the movie and has engaging story arcs, believable characters and never strays from a love of football where the heart beats the loudest--high school. Also, Minka Kelly is the hottest girl on television right now and I would watch and eight hour movie of her sleeping and reading in silence if they aired it.

My Name is Earl: Funny. Funny. Funny. This show does for white trash stereotypes what the Simpsons did for boring cartoons. I have long been a fan of Jason Lee's (ever since Mallrats and I was very happy to see him get his own show. But I had no idea how funny this sumbitch was going to be. The premise of a reformed douche bag whose seen the karmic light of how everything is interconnected and now wants to make amends for all his past wrongs is brilliant. The execution of this concept is flawless and the icing on the cake are the support cast. Jamie Presley deserves an Emmy and millions of dollars an episode for her perfect white trash barbie acting. And don't count out Ethan Stuplee as Randy the idiot but kind-hearted brother and Eddie Steeples as Darnell, the very weird but funny ex-wife's new husband who is about as good a friend to Earl as anyone in the show. There is some fantastic writing and acting going on in this show.
The Office:What can I say? If you're not watching this show and you have the ability to then you're an idiot. This is the funniest show on television right now although my suspicion is that you won't appreciate it as much if you don't work in a cubicled office environment. Oh yeah, the original British version created by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant is just as funny and definitely well worth picking up the complete box set of. This American version was co-created between Ricky and Mike Judge (of Beavis and Butthead and Office Space legend).
Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip: I stayed away from The West Wing for a long time (until the last month, actually) because of stupid politics which just goes to show you that thinking politically makes people very stupid. This sophomore television effort to the West Wing takes place in a totally different environment--behind the scenes of a weekly live comedy sketch program (ala Saturday Night Live. Bradley Whitmore is as great as ever and Matthew Perry actually shines far beyond any work he did in Friends. And Amanda Peet is really good and still hot although I continue to see her completely naked in my mind like she was in The Whole Nine Yards. Sorkin's productions are fast and he gives no leniency to the audience in terms of explanation--he expects us to keep up which is something I appreciate. He and his writers and directors are also very bold in the story of their script structures, flashing back and forth between time periods and POVs and you have to be quick and attentive to follow what's happening. In other words, you should be watching this show but if someone talks to you during it, pause it and tell them to shut the eff up.
America's Funniest Home Videos: Great stuff. Always has been.
Grey's Anatomy: Sappy but addictive hospital drama that is an indulgence but features some really good situations that tug the emotions and loyalties of the viewer. This is a show for those who like to be moved by television and art.
Lost: This is the worthy successor to The X-Files and if you like weird shit, you're missing out if you're not watching it. Do yourself a favor and buy both the first two seasons on DVD and catch up.
Men in Trees: I can hear the pitch meeting now--Northern Exposure meets Sex and the City. A successful relationship author (Anne Heche) and non-lesbian has a rough break up and moves to Elmo Alaska to find herself and learn everything she can about men. She ends up falling in love the town and the town's hunk who is a biologist and woodsy type fellow. The town has some weird folks and weird traditions but the "normal" world of New York City and her writing career constantly pulls our protagonist in two directions which will be the primary conflict in the story of her search for love and happiness.

My mother got my wife watching this and I by proxy have caught most of the episodes. Let me just say outright that I am a HUGE fan of Northern Exposure--I think it was one of the best hour-long dramas ever on television and was so culturally subversive at times that it never should have been made. That being said, I was also a big fan of Sex and the City. And I think that the writers and producers of Men in Trees have done a good job of marrying the central themes and concepts of both shows in a way that takes away neither and edifies both. This one is well worth watching.
What About Brian: A guy who has great friends but serious commitment issues falls in love with his best friend's fiancee and causes their marriage plans to fall apart and the would-be bride to skip town. He's a video game designer who goes bust when his other best friend sleeps with the wrong executive who ends up taking years of hard video game coding and uploading it to a free Internet game site, forcing poor Brian into a miserable life of working for his father as a real estate agent. There are other story lines going on in this late-night soap opera but there's enough there to keep it interesting and keep me tuned in, although I'm very anxious to see the beautiful Sarah Lancaster make her appearance once again on the show.
Brothers and Sisters: Six Feet Under dumbed down for a network television audience. That's what is appeared like at first but this show has grown on me. First of all, it's got Sally Field who besides being one of the greatest actresses ever (remember the crying scene at the end of Steel Magnolias?), she's still pretty friggin' hot for her age and definitely continues to fall into the MILF category. But the story arcs and characters are very interesting as well, especially the not-so silent war which occurs between Callista Flockhart's character (a conservative talk show host who is slowly but surely becoming liberalized), her brother who suffered as a soldier from PTSD after the Afghanistan campaign and is a drug addict and now could be going back into battle in Iraq--and the mother (Sally Field) who carries a serious grudge against Callista for encouraging him to sign up in the first place. Great stuff here.
The Class: I started watching this show at Shane Nickerson's request because his sister writes for it. It's damn funny. It would take too long to explain the concept so do yourself a favor and check it out on Monday nights.
How I Met Your Mother: The second funniest show on television and something you should definitely be watching. Neil Patrick Harris's character "Barney" will go down in history if he keeps it up; make sure to read his blog each week.
Two and a Half Men: Charlie Sheen carries this show and he's as funny as ever.
House: Another great hospital drama with one of the most unique leading characters in all of television. Gregory House is a son of a bitch but keeps you glued to the screen to see how he's going to insult the next person and solve the next medical dilemma. David Morse's character this season, as the pissed off detective hell bent on breaking House over his knee, is brilliant and exactly what the show needed to keep it fresh. Congrats to the writing staff on this season--it's fantastic again!
24: The most unique concept in television drama continues to deliver. Last season was the most intense and well-acted season yet. I can't wait to see what they do with this one. Although I'm a little disappointed we won't get to see Jack being captured and tortured in China--probably some kind of politics going on with that one.
Prison Break: I've said it before--this show is edge of your seat cool. This season has been just as harrowing as the last one and the writers are keeping the show fresh where other prison shows like Oz tended to fizzle out towards the end. I think they have one more good season in them before they should end this show but WOW what a ride it has been!

Now it's your turn to sound off. Are there any shows I'm missing out on? Why are they worth checking out?

TAGS:
Television Friday Night Lights My Name is Earl The Office Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip America\'s Funniest Home Videos Grey\'s Anatomy Lost Men in Trees What About Brian Brothers and Sisters The Class How I Met Your Mother Two and a Half Men House 24 Prison Break

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Thoughts on DVR vs Tivo

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-06T00:12+00:00

My father-in-law called me last night to tell me that he purchased a Direct TV HD-DVR for $200. He was the first in the family to purchase a High Definition Samsung 50" DLP television and he bought the DirectTV HD-receiver at the time. The receiver did not pick up local channels so he had to buy an external antennae to pick up the local stations in HD.

He had a Tivo Series 2 at the time (and a Series 1 as well, which he purchase from my wife and I when we upgraded to our Series 2). But the Series 2 Tivo wouldn't record in HD and he ended up watching the majority of his shows in less than Standard Definition in spite of paying the premium through Direct TV for their High Definition package.

So, when his DirectTV HD-receiver started going on the fritz (after only two years, mind you); he broke down and got the HD-DVR. He said it will record 50 hours of HD programming or 250 hours of regular programming. This is massive.

My own DVR which I pay a $12 fee for through my cable company, only records 30 hours of HD programming but is a dual-tuner meaning I can record two shows at the same as I'm watching something I've already recorded.

Now, he's still underwriting the risk of hardware by purchasing the $200 DVR unit for DirectTV while my $12 a month will get me a replacement if mine breaks but even that is a far cry from the $1,000 that Tivo is asking for the Series 3. And you have to pay a monthly Tivo premium on top of that.

Tivo is now giving away Series 2 boxes but this is something they should have been doing three years ago. See, why do you think DirectTV has become so prevalent in the cable marketplace? Because they're giving away the equipment and encouraging people to leave the dishes on houses when they move. DirectTV can be installed on campers, buses, boats and other large vehicles whereas cable needs a static residence.

Tivo had some great online features that allowed for remote scheduling as well as downloading shows to a PC but these weren't valuable enough services to me to justify taking $1,000 risk on my own shoulders plus paying a monthly premium on top of that.

And guess what? Rumor has it that the Tivo Series 3 won't even work with satellite cable--how insane is that? Why in the world would you leave out such a significant portion of your market when you're striving to keep as many clients as possible, not to mention gaining new ones.

Tivo's demise is a market inevitability despite the one-time superiority of its product. They were the brand to beat in the DVR market at one time but now the brand is beaten and what will follow is the natural progression of the best goods and services bubbling to the top in a consumer market.

TAGS:
Tivo DVR Direct TV

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One Year Ago Today, I Told You a Story About a Dead Poet...

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-05T01:12+00:00

He was a Poet
by Joshua Minton

I had almost forgotten where I was going until she asked me. My granddaughter, Erin, asked me what a poet was. I had told her before that I had once dated a poet when I was younger. I tossed that word out as if it were common knowledge that everyone should know what a poet is. I didn’t know what to say to her. How could I explain? How could I even scratch the surface of what that man meant to me?

I said, “Baby, a poet is someone who uses words to show their feelings.” She seemed satisfied and went back to coloring. I looked in the rearview mirror at my older granddaughter, Rebecca. She had just turned seventeen and her mother made her come with me on this trip, because she wasn’t trusted to stay home alone. Rebecca had been caught by her stepfather sneaking out with her boyfriend and smoking marijuana. He found them in the park. My daughter, Donna, said that they started to tape Rebecca’s phone calls when they found a pipe in her drawer.

Rebecca had headphones on and her eyes were closed. I wonder what she was thinking about. I tried to remember what I thought about when I was seventeen. Then it occurred to me that I was seventeen when I met Taylor. I was just a young girl, knaive and trustful. He was raw and brazen. He represented everything my parents hated about the youth of that time.

It was the fifties, 1957 to be exact and I had just turned seventeen. One of my girlfriends took me to a soda shop for my birthday. There was a poetry reading going on, and there were saxophone players and drums along with bearded men reading aloud from leather-bound diaries. He was sitting in the corner, half-listening to the speaker and half-reading a Henry Miller book. I think it was Sexus. We got our milkshakes and sat down. I looked over and he was staring at me over the top of his book. It was one of those looks that seems to exert no energy from the one giving it; just a lazy gaze and he turned back to his reading.

He was very plain looking. He had on a flannel shirt and a goatee that was neatly trimmed. He looked like one of the poetry readers, but then again he didn’t. Something set him off, something made him different from the rest. At that time, I wasn’t perceptive enough to recognize it. Behind that casual look, there was the experience of something greater, something deeper that I’m still not sure how to define.

When I got up to go to the bathroom, I walked past the table where he was sitting, and when I came out, he grabbed my wrist and asked me to take a seat. He asked my name and I told him it was Gianna. He asked me what I loved to do most in the world. I told him that I didn’t know. Nobody had ever asked me that kind of question. Usually guys were only interested in talking about themselves. I had never even thought about what I liked to do. Since I was twelve my mother had been grooming me to be the perfect wife. She taught me how to cook and how to treat a man that was courting. My mother was a product of the Gone with the Wind generation, raised in Georgia; she felt that a young woman’s place was at the side of her beau.

He laughed when I didn’t have an answer to his question. I asked him why he was laughing. He said that the question was one that I should never stop asking myself. I didn’t understand this until years later. I was cleaning the bathroom one day and realized that I hated to do it. Then I started thinking that I didn’t know what I loved to do. This made me think of Taylor, and I started crying.

The first time I brought him home, my father really liked him at first, until they spoke. My dad asked him about Russia, and Taylor said that no one could win a war of ideals. My dad was a Marine in World War II. He saw what the Russians did to German women and children and so he took offense at Taylor’s comment. They got into a big dispute that ended in my father telling Taylor he was no longer welcome in his house or with his daughter. The thing is, that I agreed with Taylor and I realized that my parents were wrong about some things.

We had to meet in secret the whole summer. He would read me his work and I would act like I understood everything he said. The truth is that I had no idea at all. I just loved to hear him speak. When he talked, it seemed like there was nothing in the world that was unapproachable. His voice curled around me and put me in some kind of verbal stasis. He had an opinion about everything and it all revolved around poetry. He could discuss the holocaust and make it sound like a beautiful thing that people suffered so bravely and still remained rooted in their beliefs.

Rebecca’s voice jilted me back into the nineties. “Grandma, can we stop at the next rest stop? I have to pee.” We pulled in and unfastened our seat belts; the girls went to the bathroom. I didn’t have to go and sat outside instead. We were approaching Ojai. I could smell the orange trees in the breeze. I thought about all the great people who lived in this valley, Henry Miller, Krishnamurti, Taylor. Except Taylor never became famous. He was a genius, but he was deathly afraid of becoming famous or being in the public eye at all. It was a subject of which he almost never spoke. I think he was afraid of his art becoming something pornographic to himself. He didn’t have any money and I was the only thing in his life that he considered beautiful besides his art. He told me this, but the truth is that I really wasn’t that beautiful. I was just a little nuclear-raised white girl that didn’t know a damn thing about beauty or the real world.

My father followed me one time when I caught the bus out to Ojai to meet Taylor. Taylor had rented a wooden shack from one of his college professors. It wasn’t much, but there was a beautiful view down into the river from the back yard. We would kiss and talk until the Sun went down and it was time for him to take me to the bus stop. Those were the days when a kiss meant something. My father caught me on the way home. My parents sat me down and told me how dangerous subversive thinkers like Taylor were. They talked about drugs and senseless poetry and said they were only worried about my future.

None of their arguments made any ground, so they bribed me. They knew that ever since I was seven, I had wanted to go to the Sarah Lawrence school for girls in New York. The first time that I saw Martha Graham dance, I had wanted to go there. Joseph Campbell taught mythology, and his wife Jean-Erdman Campbell graduated from there and become one of the best dancers in the world.

I didn’t like to dance myself, but I loved to watch the dancers. The truth is that I was afraid to dance. I was afraid to dance for the same reason that Taylor was afraid of becoming famous. I was scared that I would lose the part of myself that I held sacred. To me, the will to dance clashed with my desire to observe beauty.

I was afraid that my dancing would not be as beautiful as the desire to dance itself.

I got my granddaughters back in the car and started down the dirt road that led to the shack and the river. The groves of orange trees started peeking over the horizon and eventually overtook the whole scenery. It was breathtaking. I thought about the last time I saw Taylor. It was the day that I told him I was leaving to go to school on the other coast. He breathed deeply, put his head back and closed his eyes. I could tell that he was trying to fight back tears. I never told him that my parents bribed me to get me away from him, but I’m sure now that he knew it.

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. I took my clothes off and gave myself to him. We had never really talked about sex, although I’m sure it was on both of our minds the whole time. It was a beautiful first time for me, but was also very sad. I lied to my husband and told him I was a virgin. Taylor gave something to me and I took something away from him. He trusted me. He opened up to me and I ran away at the first offer of something better.

After we had finished making love, he stood up and looked down at me, then turned and walked away. We didn’t speak a word on the way to the bus stop and the goodbye was half-hearted. He kept silent and I never heard from him again, until years later. It was after both grandchildren had been born and my husband had died. I loved my husband, but it was in a completely different way than I loved Taylor. Taylor touched something inside me that wasn’t put there by my family or my education. He touched something eternal in me, and I feel really stupid using that word but it’s the only one that I can think of to describe it. My husband was a companion, but Taylor was a lover and the only one that I would ever know.

We pulled up to the shack and I looked at my two beautiful granddaughters. Erin was still coloring and sipping her coke through a curly straw. She smiled at me. Rebecca was writing in her journal and listening to her headphones. I told them that I would be right back and they nodded, uninterested.

I saw the headstone in the backyard. Taylor died in 1985. He named me as his sole beneficiary and I was in charge of the care of his body and personal assets. He had purchased this land and lived here until he died. He left me all of his original poems and stories. I was approached by NYU to start a small library dedicated to the preservation of Taylor’s work. It seems that he gained a small cult following during his life and they wanted to keep his work safe and allow it to be printed. I couldn’t object. When I got the boxes of papers, I found a hand written scrap addressed to me. It said, “I never stopped loving you. Taylor.”

I had him buried on the same spot that we made love that day. I discovered that I had found the two things that I loved to do. I loved to observe beauty and I loved to be with him. I thought that having him buried here would be appropriate and what he would have wanted. I could never get up the nerve to come and visit the grave, but I promised myself that I would do it before I died. I owed that much to him.

I ran my fingers over the engravings. “Taylor Dorin (Poet) 1937-1985.” I started to cry. I felt so stupid, like I was seventeen again. I realized that this was the spot that my childhood ended and my life began, and now that I was back here I felt like a child again. It was a complete circle and that made me smile, it was the same smile Taylor had that day in the soda shop when we first met. It was the smile of knowing something through pain, through experience. He was the storm that tore down the bridge between my childhood and becoming a woman. I wiped my eyes and walked back to the car, where my granddaughters were waiting.

©1997 Joshua Minton

LINKS:

The BGSU Creative Writing Program (my Alma Mater)
Wendell Mayo (the greatest fiction author I studied under)
George Looney (the greatest poet I studied under). Buy this book">this book and this book--you won't be disappointed.

TAGS:
Fiction Short Story Joshua Minton

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A Listless Christmas

Joshua Minton — 2006-12-02T01:12+00:00

When I was a child, I used to create detailed Christmas lists. I can't remember if I addressed them to Santa Clause or not but I'm talking detailed descriptions, catalog pages and pricing columns which had a sum at the bottom. I have never been at want for something at Christmas time (or any other for that matter). I am a consumer to the core of my being.

I was not raised under the Protestant work ethic where it is taught that it is a sin to spend and a nobility to save. I was taught (or learned at an early age) that it was far better to have desire for things than not to. Not to have a desire for the newest best thing still feels like a big step towards the lonely coffin.

And I continue to create lists even in my Methusilian old age. But this year, I thought I'd try something different. I told my wife that I wasn't making a list and that she had carte blanche to buy me what she wanted for Christmas.

This sounds great in theory but the practice has already hit a major snag. She knew I wanted the Shelby Foote Civil War Narrative series from Easton Press. It's the first time the book has been back in print for a number of years and as my loyal readers out there know--I LOVE any book from the Easton Press; they are the finest made in the world.

Well, guess what? My wife gave the brochure to my mother who chose to sit on her hands and wait until last week to order the series. When she went to purchase them online, it said they were sold out. She called the customer service line and it turns out that they decided that they would only do one printing of the book in order to make it more valuable.

Doh!

So my mom gets on E-bay to see if she can find a copy for sale. She found one that was a couple hundred bucks more expensive than the list price and ordered it. But then they were stolen from the guy's shelf and he had to cancel the order. I imagine he found someone else who wanted to pay more and lied to my mother but that's just my cynical side talking.

So, I'm heart broken over losing the opportunity to own these books but life will go on.

We'll just have to see what becomes of my listless Christmas.

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Gran Turismo HD Abuses the Ability to Download Content in Video Games

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-29T00:11+00:00

I could believe it when I read the article that said that Gran Turismo HD will ship as two separate units. The basic game will ship with zero cars and zero courses--just the ability to play online and purchase cars for under a dollar each and courses for under $5.

The Premium version will ship with--wait for it--two cars and two courses.

There are 750 cars planned for the total game and 50 tracks, so let's do the math here assuming the worst cost scenario for someone who wants a complete copy of the game.

We can assume the game will cost at least $50 and 750 cars times $1=$750 and 50 courses times $5-$250. This is over $1,000 for a video game!!!

This is more than the PS3 which is already outrageously priced.

Now, I love the ability to download additional content for existing games and I'm even willing to pay for it but there is a limit to this insanity. For example, I bought Call of Duty 2 for the XBOX 360 for $60. Then I bought the picture pack and gamer theme (a menu background for the XBOX and picture you can add to your profile which everyone sees online). Then I bough the additional maps for online play when they came out about six months after the game did (another $10). So, I shelled out about $75 for a $60 game and I thought this was a reasonable return on investment for my entertainment dollar.

But if you think I'm paying $1,000 for a game you're out of your mind. If I had $1,000 to spend without fear or guilt (and I weren't happily married), it would be on a hooker in Vegas and not on some video game by a grubbing money-hungry company hell bent on turning people away from gaming altogether and forever.

LINKS:

Read the article that started this whole thing (Hat tip to Ed for sending me the link)

TAGS:
Gran Turismo HD PS3 XBOX 360 Downloadable Content

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On Black Friday 2006

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-25T16:11+00:00

First of all--why is everyone suddenly calling the shopping day on the day after Thanksgiving "Black Friday?" Is it because that is when stores supposedly go into the black financially? The truth is that they should call it Red Friday because that's when a lot of the consuming public go deeper into debt despite the great deals everyone thinks they're getting.

I love shopping the day after Thanksgiving and I did it again this year. To me, getting up at 4 AM to go shopping the day after Thanksgiving is about tradition, family and having a good time. My wife and I do purchase a significant portion of our Christmas presents on this day and Uncle Josh always gets his end wet as well.

This year, here was my loot:

From Best Buy:

100 DVD-Rs for $4.99Mission Impossible III on DVD for $7.99
A 1GB SanDisc memory card for my son's Fisher Price camera we bought him this year
Prison Break Season 1 for $19.99
A 2GB Pro Duo memory stick for my Sony digital camera for $39.99 (this is 8x the size of the memory stick I previously had which has now become a backup)

Let me tell you what I loved about Best Buy on Black Friday this year--no rebates! This is huge to me because I find the whole rebate process to be a major pain in my ass and the fact that Best Buy recognized this was a burden on their customer base and took measures to alleviate that burden speaks volumes to me about where their priorities lie in their business model and I have to say that they are in the right place.

Circuit City did not offer the same deal--they had rebates but lucky for me, nothing I got there had any. Here's my Circuit City loot bag:

Halo 2 for the original XBOX for $16.99 (I haven't played a Halo game yet but everyone has told me that they were the shit for the original XBOX and they are backwards compatible with my 360 and supposedly feature a significant graphics upgrade to High Definition or near it)
Red Dragon on DVD for $2.99
The Untouchables on DVD for $4
Memoirs of a Geisha on DVD for $5.99 (this one was for my wife)

And that was it for my Black Friday purchases. I know I'm getting older because while thumbing through the ads on Thanksgiving this year, I kept saying to myself, Don't need that--already have that--not interested in that. I used to have a list of shit I wanted thousands of dollars deep (far into the red, my friends--too far into the red!) But that list has dissipated into a been-there-done that.

All in all it was a great shopping trip which ended with a Tall Caramel Latte and an Asiago bagel from Panera Bread and some good stories to tell.

But beyond that, it inspired the idea for another How to Think about possession which I will be writing forthcoming.

I hope all your Thanksgivings were great and we'll talk to yous soon.

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Happy Birthday to the XBOX 360

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-22T18:11+00:00

One year ago today, I stood in a line of twenty people outside the small Gamestop attached to the Hollywood Video near my house waiting to shell out 400 bones for the XBOX 360.

I was one of eleven people who was getting one that day because I was the fifth person to put my deposit in and the small store only received 11 units at launch.

Looking back on this purchase, I am totally satisfied. I became an XBOX Live Gold member on day one and haven't looked back since.

I love the way that each XBOX game has unlockable achievements which add points to your gamerscore. This gamerscore is like stripes on your uniform.

I love that I can play a game online with my friends from all across the country.

I love the High Definition graphics on the High Definition DLP TV I purchased shortly after the 360.

It has been an incredible year with my 360 and I'm looking forward to many more.

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How Awesome was it to be at the OSU vs Michigan Game?

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-19T15:11+00:00

When trying to describe attending one of the most incredible sporting events in history, words will never do it justice. So here's some pictures.

The pre-game celebration began with a ten-keg party at ten AM.

Ultimate Warrior is insane!

Much partying was happening at the Varsity Club

This was the crew

This was the ultimate party bus--all the food you could eat and beer you could drink.

The cops were ticketing people for open container when walking from their party buses to the porta-potties if they had an opened can of beer. You could have beer in a plastic cup but if it was in a can, you got a ticket. Tell me that's not some stupid shit!

Just before kickoff!

Touchdown, baby!

The halftime game show with the Best Damned Band in the Land was the coolest one I have ever seem them do--they did a Pirates of the Carribbean/Titanic/Star Wars show. The Titanic actually sunk beneath the ocean (a blue tarp) and the band formed a Darth Vader head which turned into Yoda which turned into an X-Wing fighter and then spelled out "Star Wars." It was incredible!

Storming the field after the win came through!

At the end of the day--this is what truly matters!

Read the Boys Wear Pants How to Think Series

TAGS:
OSU Ohio State University Football OSU vs Michigan

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How to Think: Relationships

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-18T03:11+00:00

"Kill or be killed!"

That is the underlying mantra of human society today and it is being hummed in the boweled troughs of scale as well as at the high pitches where angels supposedly sing.

The mantra today is to distrust your neighbor and if he comes after you, you're supposed to say, "Fuck you and die, you bastard." Like you're Steven Segal in Hard to Kill, the entire War on Terror is based on the premise that a nebulous mass of sickened individuals are hell bent on killing each and every one of us at any time and place.

Is this any way to live?

This insanity has even pervaded business which is supposed to be providing the highest quality goods and services to the most people for the fairest market wage. But now it's too often, "Fuck you and die--let me step over your worthless corpse on the way up my ladder of corporate success."

This is no way for us to live as a species seeking to make it another hundred years on this warm wet rock hurling thousands of miles per hour through a space so cold and lonely it defies imagination.

Relationships are what make us human but so few of us ever stop to consider the mechanics of relationship and how important they are, not only to our happiness, but to our ultimate survival as individuals and as a biological species still finding its niche in a constantly changing and harsh environment.

So, let's take a moment to consider how relationships work and we must first begin with the way the mind works. The mind is an organ, like any other in our bodies. There is a reality which occurs in the moment and our bodies have five primary sense organs which gather raw information and relay it to the mind.

The mind receives this information from the five senses, processes it into mental images and then reacts to those images. If you hurt me, I store that image and it becomes part of your image in my mind. Likewise, if you flatter me, that also becomes part of your image in my mind. And this reaction based on fear and pleasure is what we call relationships.

But what the mind considers reality (the point at which it receives information from the five senses) is actually a step removed from reality. In other words, by the time the mind receives that information, reality in the moment has already changed and the mind is working with outdated material. And our sense of self is composed of these outdated mental images based upon false reality.

The mind is a warehouse of mental imagery from which we draw conclusions about the past and present and project the future. We have mental images of every person we come into contact with as well as how relationships between objects work in time and space. The scientific method is based upon observation, postulation, testing and theorizing about the certitude of causality in the relationships between objects in time and space and it's the same with mathematics.

Science works. Math works. They both serve a definite purpose and have allowed our species to construct the social niceties which have brought us down from the trees and let us build concrete jungles of glass and steel with weapons that can decimate all life on the planet in a string of nanoseconds.

But is there a point where the false reality of the mind actually becomes a danger and a detriment to our safety and future survival as individuals and as a species?

We keep images in our heads, not only of ourselves but also of the other people in our lives. These images are also based upon a false reality but even worse than that; they aggregate through a cataract filter of emotion which snowballs together until it becomes so obese with time and sappiness that the difference between the reality of that person and the image we have in our heads of them is as wide as the difference between Santa Clause and the parents who actually put the presents under the tree for their children.

It's a lie agreed upon and it is killing us like a gunshot to the heart.

If I have an image of you and that image is based upon my seeking pleasure from you and avoiding pain and you have the same type of image about me then we have no relationship. The only relationship is between two images which are based upon false realities and distorted by loaded emotional baggage.

So what happens when you see this as a fact? You recognize that it is unhealthy to allow dead images to drive your actions toward others in this life and you want to stop it because you realize that if you don't, terrible things will continue to happen in your life and in the lives of those around you.

You will continue abusing the ones you care most about and hating those who abuse you as will everyone else in the world. Seeing this fact is like the addict seeing the heroin taking their life after the needle has been injected and the plunger is halfway down the vial.

How do we stop?

How do we cease reacting towards others based on dead images? We recognize the true severity of the problem and the dire consequences for us all should we fail to act in some way? But what are we do?

The answer to that questions is a topic for another How to Think post. Stay tuned...

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Boys Wear Pants on Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-13T12:11+00:00

About 30 minutes into this movie, I started making comparisons to Curb Your Enthusiasm in terms of how the situations were driving the comedy and the acting wasn't acting but rather natural response to fucked up situations.

And when the credits were rolling, I saw that Larry Charles was the director and all things became clear (Charles is a driving creative genius behind both Curb and Seinfeld).

This movie is pure genius but it's very uncomfortable and there is what seemed like a lot of nudity. Normally that wouldn't bother me but in this movie, none of that nudity was female.

It's all about the idiot with a golden heart stuck in a maelstrom of culture clash. The situations that Borat gets himself in are similar to those that Larry David does in Curb in that they are difficult, if not impossible, to explain himself out of but the difference is that Borat lacks the cultural ability to express himself to even begin explaining his intentions.

I laughed for about 103 of the 124 minutes of this movie and I cringed through the remaining 21 minutes. There was one scene in which I was actually the most uncomfortable I've ever been while watching a movie and had to physically look away from the screen (you'll know the scene I'm talking about when you see it).

I highly recommend you see this movie--it's not necessary to get the big screen experience if renting and viewing in your own home is your preference but it is definitely something you should check out.

PS: The Reno 911 movie trailer was incredibly funny as well and will likely be a renter for me when it hits DVD.

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How to Think: War

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-12T16:11+00:00

War is the final divorce of humanity from reason and the spiritual aspirations of our highest ambitions.

War is the final three count of the human animal over the human spirit.

War is the moment of inception when the worms of hell finally burrow into the holy of holies in the human heart and begin to divide and replicate.

And war is totally necessary in the social evolution of mankind.

War is the agent of change--the white blood cells of society moving to attack the diseases which threaten to hinder our forward progress.

War serves an absolute and justified purpose but as with everything absolute; war has a beginning, an ending and a limit to its usefulness.

Greatness of human achievement is most visible in the act of war but it remains the greatness of the human animal engaged in teeth sneering murder to secure health, wealth, progeny and ideological lebensraum.

White blood cells die off once they complete their cleansing the blood of foreign and harmful particles as must the act of war once an equilibrium has been reached and the boundaries of future progress secured enough so that we may steer our ship of specie between the jagged rocks of time, decay and mortality.

The Cosmopolitan Citizen is the one whose paradigm surpasses the petty chains of nationalism and the superstitious metaphoric idol worship known as religion. The Cosmopolitan citizen is the one who thinks, not only in terms of their entire species or within the limited scope of all life on this planet but one who thinks in the absolute terms of existence itself. He or she feels themselves undulating in the peristalsis of life in the moment without tether to the ephemeral string of moments which came before or the rumor of the moment which is promised to come after this one.

We as Cosmopolitan citizens are imbued by destiny to define the scope of what an equilibrium with each other and the planet we inhabit both looks and feels like in every possible aspect, not just political and economic. We must deeply feel the interconnected web of all things and learn the beginnings and ends of each facet of our existence so that we may use the tool of war to its most effective end and put the tool away when that end becomes detrimental to the forward progression of our species.

The first step toward freedom is the only step in the process of true transformation and it can only take place within each individual's mind; anything beyond that is somebody trying to sell you something.

Naturally the common people don't want war; neither in Russia, nor in England, nor in America, nor in Germany. That is understood. But after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine policy, and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. ...Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is to tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country.

--Hermann Göring, Leading member of the Nazi Party, Second in command of the Third Reich, and Commander of the Luftwaffe--

TAGS:
How to Think War Sociology Politics Spirituality Evolution Joshua Minton Boys Wear Pants

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Josh, Are You Upset That Your Candidate Lost for Governor of Ohio?

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-08T10:11+00:00

Absolutely not. No more than I would be upset to see a suffering horse put down after its leg was broken. I tried my best. I made my case. I voted my conscience.

Bill Peirce put up a hell of a fight for an independent candidate, pulling in 2% of the vote (67,126).

But I'm not bitter. I'm thinking clear.

American politics today is like a broken down table in a house where the master refuses to replace it because its seemingly served its function for so long.

And the legs are breaking off one by one but the master still tries to convince himself that the table is good--to just give it two more years, four more years, twenty more years--all the while everyone is eating their dinner standing up because the table is no longer capable of serving its function.

But how many splinters will it take? How many broken dishes and cracks in the veneer will it be until the table won't service anymore? When will it be time to grab the ax and start swinging.

When will the bonfire blaze out back?

One thing this country has in plethora is plenty of trees to make new tables.

LINKS:

(MUST WATCH!) Penn and Teller Bullshit: The War on Drugs (Hat tip to Fantastic Bastard)>

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How To Think: Metaphors

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-08T01:11+00:00

The human mind is a funny thing--it works in metaphors. Metaphors are conceptual images that reference observable and unobservable phenomenon in the natural world and the metaphysical realm of human thought.

Normally, metaphors are very handy tools in the arsenal of human evolution. For example, in science--I can scratch the symbols: T-R-E-E onto a sheet of paper and immediately my mind conjures up an image of a large, green leafy thick stick growing out of the ground high into the sky. I can understand that the process of photosynthesis applies to this green life form and I can subdivide and classify the various species of this life form into several distinct categories which can be compared and contrasted.

But all of this, the image of the tree, the theory of photosynthesis and all the scientific classifications are all metaphors. They are all symbols. These particular symbols have reference to phenomena which can be observed in the natural world.

But what happens when a metaphor is referring to something which doesn't exist in the natural world, something which can't be observed?

What happens when we scratch the letters: G-O-D?

See, God is a metaphor which is supposed to point past itself into absolute transcendence of thought and experience. The very concept itself is supposed to bring a peaceful quiet to the mind, a death in the waking moment.

When the mind is not in movement, does the self exist? The mind is the storehouse of experience which is the byproduct of thought. When thought, which composes the content of the mind, is not in movement; the self ceases to exist and something entirely new comes about.

But what happens with most minds is that they encounter that word G-O-D and get stuck with it. Maybe it's because those minds are foolish enough to believe that they have substance like the tree and can be knocked on and make a sound. But they aren't. Our egos have no weight in the phenomenal world and the inability of the mind to reach silence when meditating upon the transcendence of the metaphor of God is a prime example.

Instead the mind sublimates itself in books, hymns, arcane rituals and pitiful projections of a savior who will deliver the soul into an immortal afterlife.

Doesn't it all seem so childish sometimes?

Why can't we sit with a fact? Why must we try to change it. Prod it. Poke it. Manipulate it until it looks like we want it to, sounds like we want it to? Until it whispers at us to drive those planes into the buildings or drop those bombs from three thousand miles away with the bravery of being out of range?

What happens to a mind which is emptied of its content of experience in the moment? That mind would be dead by all common definitions but in terms of spiritual awareness--this mind has come electrically alive in a way which is impossible to communicate in words.

When you can see beyond the metaphor and lose the shell of yourself as the observer becomes the observed, you will be approaching the sacred heart of what the metaphor G-O-D is referring us toward.

A sign can only point the way--it is up to each one of us to take the first and only step to absolute freedom.

TAGS:
How to Think Philosophy Metaphors God Krishnamurti Joseph Campbell Joshua Minton

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An Open Letter from Bill Peirce on Why You Should Vote for Him for Governor of Ohio Tomorrow

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-06T17:11+00:00

I have already cast my vote for Bill Peirce and I have never been more sure of the moral and political correctness of any ballot I have ever cast prior to this. I urge you all to seriously consider voting for Bill and start making the change now that our country so desperately needs.

Dear friends: I am writing to you today to urge you to vote for me, Bill Peirce, for Governor of Ohio in Tuesday’s election and to ask your friends to vote for me. If you believe the polls, I will not win the governorship in tomorrow’s election. So why should you vote for me? Because much more is at stake than just the governorship. What is at stake in Tuesday’s election? Freedom. The Libertarian party is the only consistent defender of freedom today. Where was the outcry when Congress abolished habeas corpus as part of the Military Commissions Act? Where was the protest when Homeland Security announced that the “no fly list” would be extended to all arrivals and departures by land or sea to or from the U.S.? How long before it will be a crime to be caught without your Identification Papers? How soon will it be a crime to own an animal without an implanted chip? Closer to home, who objects when the State assumes control of wage rates? Who questions writing a monopoly on gambling into the constitution? Can any voice be heard defending the right of a property owner to allow people to smoke in his building? Bit by bit, our rights are chipped away—and neither major party raises a voice in protest. What is at stake in Tuesday’s election? Ohio’s economy. The economic plans of both major party candidates are based upon the belief that bureaucrats and politicians are able to spend your money more wisely than you can. The results are obvious in the lagging growth and sagging employment in Ohio. The direct relationship between low taxes and growth and between freedom and prosperity is shoved aside in favor of “pay to play” for the benefit of the politically powerful. The young people understand what is happening and are streaming out of Ohio. It is not another college scholarship program that will keep them here. It is freedom, low taxes, and the economic growth that results. What is at stake in Tuesday’s election? Ohio’s future. Voting Libertarian sends the message that the people do care, that we are not sheep grazing placidly until it is time for shearing or slaughter. Every vote cast for me sends a strong signal that voters are fed up with the direction in which this state and the country have been moving. Voting for either of the two major parties sends a message, too: it tells the major parties that we are content with things the way they are and that we are content to elect the lesser of two evils, election after election after election. I urge you to make a difference. I implore you to make your vote truly stand for something. On Tuesday, I ask you to vote for Bill Peirce for Governor of Ohio. Sincerely, Bill Peirce

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I Have a Dream...

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-05T18:11+00:00

...that one day George W. Bush will sit down in a moment of solitude, slip on a pair of headphones and listen carefully to the Bruce Springsteen masterpiece Devils and Dust.

I got my finger on the trigger
But I don't know who to trust
When I look into your eyes
There's just devils and dust
We're a long, long way from home, Bobbie
Home's a long, long way from us
I feel a dirty wind blowing
Devils and dust

I got God on my side
And I'm just trying to survive
What if what you do to survive
Kills the things you love
Fear's a powerful thing, baby
It can turn your heart black you can trust
It'll take your God filled soul
And fill it with devils and dust

Well I dreamed of you last night
In a field of blood and stone
The blood began to dry
The smell began to rise
Well I dreamed of you last night, Bobbie
In a field of mud and bone
Your blood began to dry
And the smell began to rise

We've got God on our side
We're just trying to survive
What if what you do to survive
Kills the things you love
Fear's a powerful thing
It'll turn your heart black you can trust
It'll take your God filled soul
Fill it with devils and dust
It'll take your God filled soul
Fill it with devils and dust

Now every woman and every man
They wanna take a righteous stand
Find the love that God wills
And the faith that He commands
I've got my finger on the trigger
And tonight faith just ain't enough
When I look inside my heart
There's just devils and dust

Well I've got God on my side
And I'm just trying to survive
What if what you do to survive
Kills the things you love
Fear's a dangerous thing
It can turn your heart black you can trust
It'll take your God filled soul
Fill it with devils and dust
Yeah it'll take your God filled soul
Fill it with devils and dust

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Who Has the Right of Way at the Icee Machine?

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-04T10:11+00:00

I had this dream last night and I'm pissed off so here's the scenario. I'm in line to check out at Target and I've got my wife and kids with me. Everyone knows that Target has the best selection of Icee drinks (white cherry, c'mon...). Anyway, there is an Icee machine on top of one of those two door Coke cabinet coolers they put in every other line at target. I am next in line and I am parallel with the machine. As my wife moves forward with the cart, I decide that I really do want an Icee and I'm going to give in to temptation. So, I reach up (I'm a short guy so this is important), grab a small cup from the sleeve dispenser and start to fill up my Icee with a "Mint Lemonade" flavor mixture.

As I'm about halfway through filling up my cup, this big burly fat dude about two spots back from me in line takes an empty cup and pushes mine off the dispenser causing it to spill on my head (remember I'm a short dude--5' 5" and he was probably about 5'11", 280 pounds and wore this ridiculous belt buckle and jeans garb like you'd see in the Travolta movie Urban Cowboy).

Now, just because I'm a short guy doesn't mean I can't kick someone's ass or get deep into someone's shit in a public place--I do and I'm mean as hell when I've got my Irish up. There have been a few times in my life where my motto goes from "Do what pleases you as long as it doesn't hurt my life, my property or those of my friends and loved ones" to "Is this a private fight or can anyone join?"

So, I rip into this prick in line, telling him I'm going to file a formal complaint with the manager and take him to court, etc. I'm snapping pictures of him, his wife and the Icee machine on my camera phone, e-mailing my lawyer from my Blackberry and measuring off the exact distances of our proximity to the Icee machine with the tape measure my wife keeps in her purse.

His wife rips a throw-away Kodak from the end cap shelf and starts snapping her own evidence at the "crime scene."

Then the dream shifted to the court room and there are lawyers and media and the PR teams from Target and Icee are there.

And this big bully jackass prick has the nerve to have his lawyer claim the defense of him having to take his pill which super ceded my right of way to the Icee machine because I was closer in line to checking out (in fact, actually checking out).

So, my lawyer put this prick on the stand and ripped into his shit about what pill would you have to take that was so urgent that you couldn't wait five three minutes to take it with water.

The guy said it was his insulin pill because he was a Type II diabetic.

My lawyer then said, so you needed a sugar ice drink to take your insulin pill because your blood sugar was too high?

The guy's case folded like Jessup in front of the faggity white uniform.

To finish him off, my lawyer said, "And why didn't you reach for an Aquafina in the cooler case beneath the Icee machine?"

And the guy said, "Because I could reach the Icee machine but this guy and his cart were blocking the cooler doors.."

And there it was--this mother&*%^^# was a height bigot without patience to wait one minute until I was check out. Well, f&*# him because I sued him and Target for 50 million bucks (in my dream) and won. Here the dream ended and I woke up relieved to have not entered the American court system at all.

The moral of this little Just because you are taller and fatter than most other Americans, doesn't give you the right to bully your way into possession of our high-fructose, no-nutrition national resources.

In fact, fooling around with my Mint Lemonade small Icee could get your ass shot in the hood I be comin' from, Jack.

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How To Vote in the 2006 Ohio Governor Election

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-03T20:11+00:00

Actually, this is how I voted in the 2006 election and why. That's right--Uncle Josh voted absentee this year so he could get his ballot early and I think this gubernatorial race is one of the most important in the nation and will be a sneak peek of how the national political winds are shifting for 2008.

I voted for Bill Peirce (Libertarian) for Governor and Mark M. Noble for Lt. Governor. I voted for Bill because he is by far the most qualified candidate and because he's not a Republican or a Democrat. Here's the bottom line--if you vote along party lines, that is likely because you can't think for yourself to see that the two-party system of government is strangling this country and it is only when people begin to vote on the individual merits of candidates who choose not to align themselves into a particular party, when we as citizens begin to turn things around by seizing the power we have been bestowed by the Bill of Rights.

If you still need help deciding on who to vote for, try this little handy 30 question quiz that will match your answers up to those of the four major candidates running next Tuesday. Of course, being the individualist I am; I would never deign to tell someone else who to vote for. But I will tell you that if you vote for Bill, you'll earn my thanks and my respect for having the courage to politically act outside the box and send a clear message to the two major parties that we are mad as hell for what they've done to our country and we're not going to take it any more.

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Night Blindness and The Political Inability to Conjugate Verbs

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-02T01:11+00:00

Everybody wants to talk about John Kerry saying soldiers are stuck in Iraq but all the while my night driving has gone to shit. I'm getting old people and I'm not happy about it.

Last year, I thought I was had a heart attack but it turns out that I just pulled about four major muscles in my chest and back while I was sleeping.

...while I was sleeping!

There are soldiers carrying little children through war zones in Iraq and John Kerry dares to desecrate their sacrifice and I'm pulling fucking muscles in my sleep.

Some'n ain't right with the world, people.

And I know that Kerry apologized but my old man always said that you can never take back something you've said and apologies aren't even band aids for wounds made with words.

Someone sent me an e-mail list of intellectually questionable quotes from our current Commander-in-Chief today and all I could do was shake my head and wonder if he wasn't more on the button back when he was drinking.

What happened to Presidents with steel personalities like Andrew Jackson? He didn't have PR teams and campaign cabinet managers who massaged the media. If you pissed him off or questioned his integrity (or, God forbid that of his wife's) he would have challenged you to a duel and shot your ass. You may have hit him with your pussy shot but he would have taken it like the man you aren't. He would have raised his pistol with your bullet still smoking in his body, taken careful aim. and blown your head off with what passed for firearms in the early 19th century.

But Bush can barely conjugate his verbs. Kerry still can't seem to respect the uniform he pissed on to start his political career. I can't drive in the dark anymore and I'm deathly afeared of pulling my fucking trapezius and pectoralis in my sleep again.

Shit just ain't right in the world.

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Some Great Reaganisms

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-01T14:11+00:00

Hat tip to Fantastic Bastard for these. Does anyone else remember when conservatism was simple to define?

"Here's my strategy on the Cold War: We win, they lose."
- Ronald Reagan

"The most terrifying words in the English language are: I'm from the government and I'm here to help."
- Ronald Reagan

"The trouble with our liberal friends is not that they're ignorant: It's just that they know so much that isn't so."
- Ronald Reagan

"Of the four wars in my lifetime none came about because the U.S. was too strong."
- Ronald Reagan

"I have wondered at times about what the Ten Commandment's would have looked like if Moses had run them through the U.S. Congress."
- Ronald Reagan

"The taxpayer: That's someone who works for the federal government but doesn't have to take the civil service examination."
- Ronald Reagan

"Government is like a baby: An alimentary canal with a big appetite at one end and no sense of responsibility at the other."
- Ronald Reagan

"If we ever forget that we're one nation under God, then we will be a nation gone under."
- Ronald Reagan

"The nearest thing to eternal life we will ever see on this earth is a government program."
- Ronald Reagan

"I've laid down the law, though, to everyone from now on about anything that happens: no matter what time it is, wake me, even if it's in the middle of a Cabinet meeting."
- Ronald Reagan

"It has been said that politics is the second oldest profession. I have learned that it bears a striking resemblance to the first."
- Ronald Reagan

"Government's view of the economy could be summed up in a few short phrases: If it moves, tax it. If it keeps moving, regulate it. And if it stops moving, subsidize it."
- Ronald Reagan

"Politics is not a bad profession. If you succeed there are many rewards, if you disgrace yourself you can always write a book."
- Ronald Reagan

"No arsenal, or no weapon in the arsenals of the world, is so
formidable as the will and moral courage of free men and women.
- Ronald Reagan

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Even on Halloween, Some Shit Just Ain't Right...

Joshua Minton — 2006-11-01T01:11+00:00

...and this is one of them. Just because it's funny as hell doesn't make it right.

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"The Ginger of Holy Horror": How War is a Market of Investment

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-28T14:10+00:00

War is an investment market just like energy bonds and index funds. If you don't believe me, go ask McDonnell Douglas, Haliburton or the myriad of other companies whose entire business model is based on the premise of a consistent status of war as the foundation of human interaction on a global scale.

The organizing principle of American culture has always been in the Federal government's capacity to make war on foreign entities. In the beginning, the wars we fought helped to define an amalgamous mass of individual citizens with differing religious, economic and trade skill backgrounds into a hegemonious ideology which could be focused on the action of securing lebensraum through the dubious but necessary policy of Manifest Destiny.

But what happens when there are no more monsters to conquer? What happens when it just becomes the human race standing in a dimly lit room, looking at itself in the mirror for the first time--realizing the only other presence is the fear of our own reflection?

I just finished watching the first season of the HBO show Big Love about the polygamists and during the final episode you as the viewer are totally on the side of the plural marriage family as they are unjustly discriminated against and suddenly you're standing on the side of the monsters looking at things from a different angle.

The same thing will happen to kindhearted and open-minded people about homosexuality when they watch all six seasons of Six Feet Under.

The monsters in the closet are the shadows we refuse to see as cast from our own likeness.

And like it or not, the American political and industrial machines of war have a large responsibility in creating the culture of Islamo-fascism which currently threatens the Western way of life today.

I'm not saying we're to blame for it all but I am saying that both sides are looking into the same mirror and it makes no sense for the right hand reflection to blame the left hand reflection for the bad lighting in the room.

War is an investment market but what happens when the market itself changes? What happens when a paradigm shift slips in during the night like a silent lover who leaves you panting a satisfied but doesn't break your sleep or your dreams?

We are getting out of Iraq. Public opinion is beginning to weigh heavily on the Bush Administration and you can feel the change. Jesus once asked a group of dudes in dusty robes why it was that they could read the signs of the weather but could not read the signs of the times.

I think most people are like that--they think only terms of three dimensions when string theory tells us that there are so many more angles and plays going on than what is right in front of our faces.

I love my country--I do. But by my country, I mean the land and its people--not some artificially constructed notion of idealistic freedom which has no more foundation in reality than the idea that a man could physically ascend to a literal "heaven" when, even traveling at the speed of light his body wouldn't even be out of our own galaxy not to mention the hundred billion other galaxies out there.

Perception is the son of paradigm and paradigm is a fickle friend with its loyalty. It can just up and move when the check comes to the table.

TAGS:
Big Love War on Terror

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Celebrating Individualism and My Texas Readers

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-24T23:10+00:00

UPDATE: If you know any hilarious Texas sayings, please include them in the comments section--we've been getting some great ones from readers kind enough to take some time and leave them for us.

This blog has more readers from Texas than any other state in the union. I keep pretty detailed stats of all my web traffic, not to be some kind of big brother overlord but to keep my finger on the pulse of what people respond to so I can do more of it. I'm not interested in driving tens of millions of people here but I am interested in attracting an organic audience of intelligent and passionate individuals who come back on a consistent basis and add to the culture of this site.

We are in the middle of a war against symbolism--whether we are killing for the symbol of money, a national symbol or a symbol of god--the heart of man is deeply involved in a spiritual war of symbols and this war can only be won when the individual finally breaks free of all symbols and stands completely alone which means to be free even from the symbol of themselves (an idea of self put together by the mind through time but which has no external substance outside of the mind which composed it).

I am talking about absolute freedom here and nobody in this world knows more about absolute freedom than the citizens of Texas because they enjoy more individual freedom than anyone else on this planet.

If someone trespasses on your property in Texas--you can shoot their ass.

It has been rumored that people have smoked joints whilst walking the streets of Austin and have flicked the nubbed out roaches at cop cars as they drove by.

People in Texas have balls--even the women who are sexiest specimens of brilliant femininity the world has to offer.

Two of my favorite bloggers, Antimedia and JD Allen, are from Texas.

George Strait is from Texas and that man has the smoothest voice ever to lay down and wiggle over a steel guitar.

So I just wanted to take a moment and thank all my readers from Texas who, even though they got their asses smoked by my beloved Buckeyes this year; still represent the best of humanity in this country and embody the spiritual hopes for the freedom of the future of man.

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Was the Declaration of Independence Just a Lie Agreed Upon?

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-23T00:10+00:00

So I'm reading David Milch's book about his show Deadwood which just came out last week and I'm telling you right now that if you watch that show, you will be truly missing out if you don't read that book. (And if you don't watch that show, you're getting idiot points for every day you don't go out and buy both seasons on DVD and eagerly await the third).

The reason this book is so great is that Milch approaches his work from a very intellectual and spiritual level and this book is much more of a philosophy of life and how the radiance of the divine shines through a work of art grounded in a specific conceit than it is a "making of a television show book."

On page 55 of this book, Milch makes the statement about the value of gold as the agreed upon standard of value between human beings compared with the power unleashed from a strong symbol:

The saving power of an agreed-upon abstraction is enshrined in our Declaration of Independence, where our founding fathers declared, "We hold these truths to be self evident." All men are not created equal, but we're goign to accept the fiction that all men are equal. The same way that we are going to accept the fiction that gold is worth something.

Milch does bring up a good point--anyone with common sense knows that everyone isn't created equal but I think that the Declaration is a statement of the principle that every human being should be considered to have the same opportunity to pursue happiness given whatever state of faculty, talent and passion they are born with.

Do you think he's right? Is the Declaration of Independence a lie agreed upon?

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A Year and a Half Ago, I Gave You a Lesson in Negotiation

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-19T00:10+00:00

Let me tell you about the first time I went to the bank to get a loan. I was nineteen and I was looking to borrow five thousand bucks to invest in a pyramid scheme called Equinox (which has since been dismantled by the Federal government). I had on a shirt and tie, the whole deal. I was driving down the road in my POS 1981 black Mustang when this douche starts tailgating me on this country road and making like he was going to pass.

Now, those of you that know me know that I have Short-Man's Complex and at eighteen I was so full of piss and vinegar that you couldn't tell me shit. So, I swerve when the guy tries to pass me. He tries again. I swerve again.

We finally make it up to a major cross-section in Cincinnati and he pulls his car in front of mine diagonally across the lane like a cop in a movie. I said, "Hell no!"

I was out of the car and ready to go, all 115 lbs in a bundled rage.

This guy was fat--like 250 and 5' 8". He began walking up and, even though I had never been in a formal fight before, some kind of lion came out of me. I kicked him right in the crotch with a boot stomp that knocked the wind out of him in a "Ahoooooohaaah."

He started slapping at me like some little bitch and I was all over his ass. We must have looked so ridiculous, this short and skinny white kid with a shaved head beating the crap out of this fat ass middle-aged man on the side of the road.

Finally, my rage had subsided and I was standing over the guy with my fists still balled up. I took a deep breath, seeing that the fight had left him also. I reached out a hand and helped the guy up, trying to find some kind of apology that would put things into perspective in a way that he could explain what happened to his face to his kids.

I even helped him look for his glasses but they were lost in the weeds of Southern Ohio.

I never made it to my loan appointment because I had the guy's blood all over my shirt. I look back on this event with a mixture of shame and self-righteousness that always settles into some hegemonic haze of comfort.

So, fast forward ten years. Yesterday, I went to the bank to sign the final papers to open my company's corporate checking account. I had a 1:00 appointment with the lady. She wasn't there when I got there. The tellers had no idea where she was and were adamant that it was completely out of character for her to miss business appointments like that.

So, I waited for 30 minutes. I read all the webpages downloaded to my IPAQ and even finished the Time magazine about the London Bombing with pictures I hadn't seen yet (doesn't Time have the best frigging pictures in the world?).

Finally, I got up very calmly and went back up to the teller. I asked her if she could give the lady a message, that I couldn't wait any longer than a half hour and that I would appreciate a phone call by the end of the day to reschedule the meeting. I didn't scream. I didn't show any emotion other than mild disappointment. I could see in the tellers' eyes that they fully expected me to explode into an emotional outburst and to have caused a huge scene.

But what would that have gotten me? Back on the side of the road fumbling for an excuse for bad behavior with someone else's blood on my shirt?

No, doing that put me in a position of leverage where the person on the other end of the phone had to apologize to me regardless of whether it was her fault or not, if she wanted to keep my business.

It ended up being a scheduling mishap with her assistant.

I try to give people the benefit of the doubt now and let the little stuff go--life is too stinking short to tie yourself up in knots about things that don't really matter.

There are too many things that do matter which need the full spotlight of our time and attention.

Links:

For those who love to pop bubble wrap
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Going to School in My Car

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-18T00:10+00:00

I am a firm believer in using one's time wisely. Therefore, I am a huge supporter of listening to audio books in the car. I am in the car about an hour each day commuting from home to the babysitter to the gym to work and back home again and find that an audio book is a good use of what would otherwise be worthless time.

I am happy to announce that today I began Brand's biography of Andrew Jackson which I have been meaning to get to for some time now. Jackson has long fascinated me. I am still awed by the amount of physical and psychological pain he endured during his lifetime. Despite his obvious historical misdeeds (all Presidents have them); I consider him to be amongst the greatest of US Presidents and a model of a tough ass sumbitch.

More to come from this book...

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Boys Wear Pants on Why Neville Chamberlain was the Most Pivotal Figure of the 20th Century

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-14T00:10+00:00

Who do you think is the single person that had the most effect on world history from the 20th Century? To me, it's Neville Chamberlain.

Everyone knows Neville Chamberlain as "The Great Appeaser" but not too many people understand why his failure to act at several critical moments in world history in the 1930s directly led to the deaths of millions of human beings. This makes him, a single solitary man, one of the pivotal figures of world history in the 20th Century.

In 1936, Germans marched into the demilitarized Rhine-land and were given express orders that if the French showed any resistance whatsoever there would be a full German retreat. Chamberlain, along with the French, refused to act and therefore encouraged future Nazi conquest by threat of aggression.

In 1938, Germany seized Austria in the atrocious Anschluss where the greedy little European piggy nations lined up at the trough and allowed Hitler to rape the country while France, Russia and England sat by and ignored their pacts to defend the continent against that exact type of aggression. Also in 1938, Hitler took the Sudetenland and Czechoslovakia by the threat of another war.

Great Britain, France and Russia could have allied together against Germany at any point during these three key aggressive moves and would have easily defeated the Nazi military and leadership but Chamberlain foolishly convinced his fellow politicians of a peace with Germany that was never to be.

And beyond that, he helped Hitler in every way he could. Chamberlain didn't do jack shit to save Austria and he worked with Hitler to dismantle Czechoslovakia which was the only democracy east of Germany's border and was also a member of the League of Nations which turned out to be the worst costume party in civilized history. The Czechs had a standing army and fortifications that, when combined with the other Allies, would have obliterated the Nazi government from the face of the earth before they even got started on the shameful acts which ended up defining terror in the 20th century.

But the weirdest mystery of Chamberlain is why he suddenly decided to grow balls on the issue of Germany's demands on Poland that they immediately relinquish Danzig to German control in April of 1939. Chamberlain recklessly resisted Hitler's intrusive demands on Poland by unilaterally guaranteeing Britain's support for Poland should Hitler invade their sovereign territory (which, of course, they did).

Poland at the time was a nation run by a bunch of idiot "colonels" who had previously conspired with Hitler to carve up Czechoslovakia only to have him turn on them shortly afterwards (there truly is no honor among thieves). There was little worth to the western world in defending Poland, not like there would have been in defending Czechoslovakia. Yet Chamberlain chose this awkwardly placed country carved in two by a treaty so hated in the Weimar Republic that it essentially ushered in the Nazi reign of power.

And Russia offered to side with Britain several times to combat Nazi aggression in Europe and was turned down by Chamberlain every time (twice in early 1939 alone). But Chamberlain didn't even consult Stalin before he guaranteed British support of Poland in the event of a Nazi invasion (which, of course, they did).

As William L. Shirer says in The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich:

Finally, [Chamberlain] had done exactly what for more than a year he had stoutly asserted that Britain would never do: he had left to another nation the decision whether his country would go to war.

From this point forward, when Chamberlain made his stand on Poland; world history was set into motion like a sad dance timed to the death screams of millions.

I can't help but try to extrapolate these vital lessons of the past when considering the current state of affairs today with the War on Terror.

On the one hand, we have another world leader of the strongest nation at the time who has essentially put his country on a unilateral course of war by calling out other countries as "evil" and is now being put in a position of acting when those countries take actions deemed hostile (i.e. acquiring and detonating nuclear arms).

We're not quite at the horrible point of another nation deciding when we'll go to war (instead of Congress) but we're not all that far away from that point either.

And on the other hand, we have a leader who isn't sitting back and crying for peace while other nations slap us in the face and take by force that which we are entrusted by treaty and integrity to protect--individual human freedom. We have someone who, instead, realizes that sometimes you have to kick a little ass before dickheads in the world perk their ears up and look up from the mutilated carcass of the weak they go through life chewing on.

History is a strange thing as it's not quite a mirror and it's not quite a window but rather; history is like an old woman standing on the side of a highway whispering directions to drivers trying to get to the land of peace and plenty while they drive by at 100 MPH. Only those who slow down and take the time to listen carefully are going to have any shot at all in getting to their destination.

Everyone else is just along for the ride and waiting for the inevitable crash.

LINKS:

Olbermann asks, "Why does Habeus Corpus hate America?
Gun shoots a million rounds per minute (the most dangerous non-nuclear weapon ever created by man)
Distant planet is half-fire and half-ice

TAGS:
Neville Chamberlain, History, Nazi, Hitler, Politics, war on terror

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The Ultimate Warrior is Insane!

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-11T23:10+00:00

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The Ridiculosity of This War We Own

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-11T01:10+00:00

I swear; I feel like I've been asleep inside of a cocoon these past five years. I stopped watching cable news (and never watched network news) about two years ago so I've almost become revirginized to the utter foolishness of American media (thank God for Antimedia).

So imagine my surprise when my higher intellect suddenly woke up just as I caught the words WAR ON TERROR come up during a Fox News Alert in the lunchroom at work the other day.

It suddenly dawned on me that this corporate political machine with their propagandic media arms have actually convinced me that it is a wise and just decision for my country to declare a war on an emotion.

The War on Terror.

Why not, the War on Jealousy?

Or, the War on Sentimentality?

Can you remember a time when we declared war on people and countries instead of emotions? A War on Terror is something a father should declare when his child is afraid of the monster in the closet, not what a country does when it is ruthlessly attacked.

You know what scares me today? It's not Arab freedom fighters.

It's lettuce.

And spinach. And carrot juice. The general mass food manufacturing machine that has driven most small farmers out of business and left us with non-nutritional spammy green shit that is killing us rather than making us healthy.

The real enemy of the American people is the endless line of shit we shovel into our gullets on a daily basis. Consider this quote from the book Harvest of Rage: Why Oklahoma city Is Only the Beginning by Joel Dyer:

In 1962, the Committee for Economic Development comprised approximately seventy-five of the nation's most powerful corporate executives. They represented not only the food industry but also oil and gas, insurance, investment and retail industries. Almost all groups that stood to gain from consolidation were represented on that committee. Their report [An Adaptive Program for Agriculture] outlined a plan to eliminate farmers and farms. It was detailed and well thought out.

It's some evil shit, people and we are about as far away from the agrarian democracy that twinkled in our forefathers' eyes as Michael Jackson is from a functional monogamous relationship with an adult female.

People, if it smells like shit, looks like shit and tastes like shit--don't eat it.

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The Last Cigarette I Ever Smoked

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-09T01:10+00:00

Jesus came and visited me during my nap today. I knew he'd be coming and I thought for sure that he would ask me how I felt about the season premiere of Battlestar Galactica and if I thought that the Bush administration had any inkling of how subversive it is to the War on Terror which is becoming ever more ridiculous and transparent as the days drag on.

I thought for sure he'd want to know what I thought about the Cylon machines that man made and which had since turned against man had now developed a fanatical belief system revolving around the concept of God which fuels their force-led occupation of New Cylon and what remains of the human race now in captivity on Cylon.

And I thought for sure that my bearded, cross-bearing friend would ask me what I thought about the suicide bombings that the most fanatical human beings started up in order to free themselves from a crusading army hell bent on imposing a foreign way of life on them in order to "save" them.

I was going to ask Jesus if he thought the Cylons would start referring to the people defending themselves and their property against invasion by an outside force as "insurgents" or not.

But that conversation never took place. Instead, Jesus asked me to tell him the story about the last cigarette I ever smoked which is strange because I've told him that one about five million times now.

That story always makes him laugh and I guess chuckles are hard to come by when you're the son of man responsible for bearing the world's sins on your lonely shoulders and all.

So I told him again because when the boss drops into your home, you fix him his favorite dinner and let him sit in the Archie Bunker chair right in front of the TV.

It was a Monday morning and I was just nineteen years old. I had been up late the night before, partying with Tiggity Turgin and Connelly and some other fraternity brothers. Bong hits, keg stands and beer slides--all in a day's work down on Digby in the Phi Delt house at the University of Cincinnati.

I was on my way to work and it had snowed heavily over night. I worked as a salesman at the electronics counter at Service Merchandise in Springdale. I was driving a 1981 black mustang with moon roof and I was late.

I must have been spacing out because I almost missed my exit. I slammed on the brakes without thinking about the sleet on 275. My car started fish tailing and whipped around until I smacked hard into the guard rail and came to a dead stop in the burm facing oncoming traffic.

I remember seeing the faces of two or three of the drivers as they passed me. I remember one man in particular, he had a wiry mustache that looked like it came from the 1970s. He was looking at me like, "What the fuck is that kid doing?"

I had no idea, myself.

I was about twenty-five yards into the off ramp of my exit but I was facing the wrong way. So, I started backing up onto the off-ramp. When I saw a break in traffic, I pulled a U-turn and weaseled back into traffic going the right way.

My hands were shaking and my heart was racing. I could have easily died had my car went the other way out of the fish tail. I needed a smoke or at least I knew that I was in a situation where a good smoker would be reaching for their stash and I thought I was going to become a good smoker because my coolest fraternity brothers were good smokers and I wanted to be like them because I was a lowly pledge and lowly pledges always want to be like the cool actives.

While I was stopped at the light outside the Comp USA there on 747, I fumbled in my glove box for the half-smoked pack of Marlboro lights and the cheap plastic yellow see through lighter I had been using lately. There was a solid brown stain on the side of the lighter from capping metal bowls being passed from Cheech to Chong.

I pulled a cigarette and stuck it to my bottom lip, pulling it into my mouth with my top lip. I flicked the spark wheel, totally forgetting the little game I was playing with the valve the night before as we sat outside by the pool as the snow started falling and the marijuana took hold of our minds and the conversation rose to a clamor.

Unfortunately for me, the lighter was set to its highest flame setting and when I flicked the spark wheel, a great plume of butane fire jumped past the cigarette and peaked on my forehead.

I screamed like a woman and threw the lighter to the floorboard on the passenger side so I had a free hand to put out the flame on my face.

I blew the cigarette out of my mouth when I said, "MOTHERFUCK!"

I smelled burnt hair and looked into the mirror. I had no eyebrows left. Back in those days, I didn't have a goatee and had recently shaved my head on the sides and had long hair on top. Without eyebrows, I looked like a shaved penis vomiting hair.

I don't have to tell you the punishment I took from the active brothers and even my good friends. It took about a month for my eyebrows to grow back.

That was the last cigarette I ever smoked and the next time Jesus wants to hear this story, he can come back to this blog post and read it himself.

NOTES:

Pic comes from Antimedia

LINKS:

In a study of Presidential doodles, JFK wrote "9/11" with the word "conspiracy" next to it.
Watching Battlestar Galactica from the Middle East
Keith Olberman's Definition of the Difference Between Terrorists and Critics

TAGS:
Battlestar Galactica

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The Aftermath of the Mother Bitch Storm of October, 2006

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-08T01:10+00:00

It has been put forth by many prominent anthropologists that the concept of god was born from the voice of thunder as frightened man-apes went running from the enormous booms.

Well this past Wednesday night, an enormous storm descended upon my great city and did a fair amount of damage. My own home fell victim to the outrageous plum-sized hail that pummeled my poor home on its western facing side. As you can see below, the hail punched several holes in my sliding screen door, ripped two screens right out of the window (I still haven't found one of them), chipped several pieces of vinyl siding, and smashed the hell out of an old ice cream bucket that my son keeps all of his outside rocks in.

There weren't any tornadoes despite the warnings but this storm still left my family (dog and cats included) huddled up in the basement with a flashlight, a jug of water and my police scanner.

I don't know if it was the voice of god or not but I do know whose going to foot the $500 deductible to fix all this shit and it isn't his royal majesty on high. Somehow Jesus and his father always seem to hit the bathroom when the check comes.

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Boys Wear Pants on Marley and Me by John Grogan

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-05T01:10+00:00

When I saw this book listed on the Entertainment Weekly's biggest grossing non fiction list, I assumed it was a biography of Bob Marley. It wasn't. Turns out, this is one of the best animal owner memoirs I've ever read--right behind Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls.

Marley the dog was a 97-lb. yellow lab who was crazy as hell but loved his family without end. Grogan is a very good writer and his voice kept me engaged (I listened to the audio version of the book).

The book covers the entire life of Marley from puppyhood to death and the growth of Grogan's family from a twesome in West Palm Beach all the way to his three children in the snow drifts of Pennsylvania.

The book was easy to keep up with, it was moving at times, bringing tears to my eyes (I'm a softy when it comes to animals and especially dogs); and it was hilarious. I must have laughed out loud twenty times during this book.

I highly recommend Grogan's book. Buy it for your mother for Christmas--you won't be sorry.

NOTES:

This is my own dog in the picture. I love the Boxer breed and wanted one for several years before I moved into a home big enough to accomodate my sixty pound beauty. She's dumb as a rock but has the heart of Rocky Balboa and I have always cherished big hearts over big brains in my animals and close friends (I have enough brains to counter-balance the ratio).
The first five minutes of Lost blew my fugging mind! I will be posting about this show tomorrow after I cogitate the sweet lunacy this season has started off to become.

LINKS:

TAGS:
John Grogan Marley and Me

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Why President Kennedy was Wrong When He Said, "Ask Not What Your Country Can Do for You..."

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-03T23:10+00:00

Everyone knows the soundbite. Kennedy's sharp New England accent peaking crisp--"Ask NOT what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country."

This is one of the most deceptively evil sound bytes in history because it has gone down in popular history as a statement of social duty for the individual living in a free society when it is actually something that would have been far more appropriate for a Joseph Stalin, Chairman Mao or Adolf Hitler to say to their country.

This country was founded on the concept that government is a necessary evil and the most beneficent government is the smallest one with the dullest teeth. Of course, this noble precept was pretty much aborted once the Federalists got hold of the shaping of the country during the period of the Constitutional Convention when the Articles of Confederation started getting holes in their knees. Instead of patching the holes, the Federalists opted for changing clothes altogether.

Isn't it ironic that our Emperor has given up clothes altogether and continues to strut bare ass naked through the ridiculous news parade each day?

So what does it mean when you tell a country of individuals not to ask what their government does for them but rather what they can do for their government? I think it's complete fucking nonsense because governments and countries are not tangible, flesh and blood objects that take up space in the real world.

You might as well say, "Ask not your imaginary girlfriend to give you a hand job. Ask if you can see her invisible boobs."

Sure, the buildings the government inhabits take up space and the ridiculous waste a government produces takes up space in terms of paperwork and mountain high piles of bullshit exuding from all the chicanery and backstabbing which goes on to supposedly secure a government--but government itself is a fictitious collective delusion enforced upon innocent biological creatures upon entrance into this Class-M atmosphere.

I would counter our righteously dead ex-President by saying that when compared to the discarded skin flakes of one of the lowliest individuals who compose it, the idea of a country is worth less than the feces of a slave working the deepest diamond mine;

it's worth less than a ripped up back page in a fifty year old hymnal in the back row of a one room Amish church in the backwoods of Pennsylvania;

it's worth less than the ridiculous notion that peace can be secured through war when death is obviously the only thing secured through war;

it's worth less than the I love you of a rapist as he seizes and grunts over the quiet woman who was walking alone under the stale sodium lights of Anytown college U.S.A.

I don't buy the notion that any government, no matter how grand, is worth protecting over a single law-abiding individual constituent (meaning one who doesn't infringe upon the lives or property of his fellow citizens).

I guess I'm old fashioned in that I believe that the only use for laws is to protect the lives and property of individuals and that the definition of a just law is one where a collective group of individuals have simultaneously deferred their innate right to defense of life and property to a governing body which polices to ensure the protection of their life and property. And I believe that this act of deference, which creates government, gives it charter, is a two way street and this power should always flow back home--to the individual--and not to the governing body.

Call me simple minded but I think President Kennedy was full of shit about a great many things and especially this little do gooder sound byte anthem that barked the death charge of thousands of soldiers who died pointlessly in the Vietnam conflict and the War against radical Islam which began soon after.

I say, "Demand your country protect your life and property and piss on all the rest of the beauracratic bullshit."

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A Year Ago, Jason and I Put Out Our First Podcast...

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-02T23:10+00:00

This is part one of my conversation with Jason Patterson about art, spiritual awakening and the nature of true intelligence.

Jason and I worked together as entry level grunts in a customer service call center about five years ago. We used to have the most in-depth conversations on philosophy and individual freedom during our coffee breaks. Everyone around us thought we were nuts but we knew who had the goods.

I invited Jason to have another one of those deep conversations on my podcast so you can get a glimpse into the hell it has been for us to put the pieces together so that they fit in our minds.

Throughout both parts of this Blog Cast, Jason and I discuss:

The difficulty of collaborating with others in an artistic venture
The similarities between Tool and Pink Floyd and what I believe is Maynard's overall vision
The meat of the conversation is about Jason's decision to stay away from highly-opinionated and fear-based mindsets (aka "Rush Limbaugh") and what this means in terms of reaching individual Enlightenment for yourself
Jason tells us the most inspiring book he's ever read (hint: I bought it for him)

Tags: Joshua Minton, Jason Patterson, Boys Wear Pants, Blog Cast, Art, Spirituality
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What's So Funny About Peace, Love and Mitch Albom?

Joshua Minton — 2006-10-01T00:10+00:00

I don't get why people cap on my man Mitch Albom for his books. He's got a new book coming out this week titled For One More Day which is about a suicidal alcoholic who is granted one more day to spend with his dead mother.

I have read both of Mitch's other books and watched both of the movies made from them and I have to say that I came away a better and more reflective person for the experience. In Mitch's interview with Entertainment Weekly this week, he said:

I've always been mystified. Since when did sentimental become a bad thing? Everybody's favorite movie is a sentimental movie--It's a Wonderful Life, or The Wizard of Oz. Nobody's favorite movie is some dark, dysfunctional slasher story. Everbody's favorite song is a sentimental song. So why all of a sudden is it bad to be sentimental in books? Critics have a problem with sentimentality. Readers do not. I write for readers.

There was always something that bothered me about the styles of literary criticism I was asked to mimic in my creative writing lecture courses; they all seem so disconnected from the reader. I mean, why else read a book unless it has something to do with you?

I guess you could apply the same reasoning to religion as well. In most religious sects, it is blasphemous to say that practioners can become just like the icons who founded the faiths. Try walking into a Catholic church and announcing to everyone that you've had an epiphany that you are just like Christ--you will likely be hanging on the wall right next to the wooden Christ next Sunday's mass.

But what's the point if it doesn't touch you personally? But then again, institutional instruction is all about putting you in line, putting you in place, giving you an identification number and making sure that you holler out that there are three lights when there are really only two (obligatory Star Trek: The Next Generation reference for those that have a pair to hear).

I often pissed off my professors because I would write about how the books affected me instead of how it commented on the state of lesbians or Indians or the souls of black folk. Piss on it. If it doesn't affect me, it isn't worth reading or writing about.

Mitch Albom's books affect people on a deeply personal level and critics and criticism in general have no more effect on the average person than what color cellophane is used to wrap the leftover caviar at a million dollar a plate fundraiser in Beverly Hills.

Folks, if it doesn't bleed then I don't read. And I will be reading Albom's new book.

LINKS:

For One More Day Dot com
Entertainment Weekly

TAGS:
Mitch Albom For One More Day Entertainment Weekly
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Why the President Should Be a Traffic Cop First

Joshua Minton — 2006-09-29T04:09+00:00

If you need proof that President Bush (and most U.S. Presidents) is out of touch with the common man, look no forward to the President's travel schedule. Today, he came to Columbus to spend a few hours with the Limited Billionaire Leslie Wexner at his home which happens to be in the same area as my own.

So, does the President fly in at 1:00 PM when most people are at work and back from lunch? No, he flies in at 5:00 PM and his secret service detail demands the major roadways get shut down so he can make his meeting on time.

So, while he rides in limousine comfort--the common man is stuck in traffic while his wife and children wait for him with cold dinner on the table.

Let's just make it clear, Mr. President--you work for me. You should be waiting in traffic while I get home on time after slugging my 8 hours to pay my taxes to fund your corporate shenanigans. In fact, next time you and your entourage with all their ear pieces and sniper rifles should get all your asses out and direct traffic so we all get home on time.

That would be truly be servicing your constituents and not being a burden to your fellow man.

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Boys Wear Pants on the Inevitable Death of Tivo

Joshua Minton — 2006-09-27T00:09+00:00

There has been a coup de tat in my household and a mighty tyranny has been overthrown. Since September of 2004, an evil regime has reigned with an iron fist in my household, a regime with a no tolerance policy for cable television. That regime has now crumbled and a new day of High Definition digital greatness in the Minton household.

Seriously though--I made a deal with my wife in the late Summer of 2004 where, if I bought a new laptop, I would give up cable television for two years (I actually had Direct TV at the time). It was a good deal although it left my Tivo with only antennae juice to feed it and the Tivo fell prey to a lightning storm shortly thereafter.

So, I was totally off television for more than a year, watching DVDs and reading more (go figure). But in November of 2005 I purchased an XBOX 360 and there was a major techtonic shift in the digital atmosphere of my household--and the urge to purchase a HDTV became unstoppable.

I was proud to add a 42" Samsung DLP to my digital arsenal in January of this year and a new dawn of High Definition viewing (and video game playing) was born. Due to my location in Columbus, I was able to receive every major local High Definition signal with a $40 amplified antenna.

But for the past two months, I have been getting a real itch to get back into cable--probably the roll-out of the new Fall television schedule. But I cannot stand watching real television. I have to have a DVR or a Tivo so I had to research several options.

First, I could have repaired my Tivo which I still have a lifetime service plan on (they no longer offer this as an option). It would have cost be about $150 to get it fixed and would have worked adequately to record the network shows. But a Series 2 Tivo does not record in HD. To many of you that may not sound like a big deal but I assure you that once you start watching television shows in High Definition, going back to watching standard broadcasts is like going from sleeping with a Penthouse pet back to masturbating in a dark room.

The ability to record HD on a DVR was very important in my choice of which way to go.

This left me with three options to explore:

Purchase a Tivo Series 3
Purchase a Direct TV HD-DVR and get back into service plan with Direct TV
Digital Cable with HD-plan and HD-DVR

The Tivo Series 3 just came out a couple of weeks ago and costs about $1,000 for the unit plus you have to pay a $12.95 a month service fee. And because I'm not a South American coke dealer or own major stock in an oil company, I don't have those kind of duckets lying around the house to piss away on entertainment (no matter how cool High Definition is).

So, onto Direct TV. You can get an HD-DVR for Direct TV for about $300. The good news is that there isn't an additional fee to pay for the DVR service itself since it's built into the Direct TV unit. You do have to get a specialized antennae that has three prongs on it, so figure on shelling out another $100 for that at least. So, for an upfront cost of roughly $400, I could get a programming package that would probably run me every bit of $60 a month for HD through Direct TV.

And cable. I already get my internet through my cable company so bundling services would save me an automatic $10. Beyond that, the cable company underwrites the cost of the HD-DVR equipment so there is no upfront fee and no risk of the product wearing out or breaking. Plus, there isn't a service fee broken out from the cable packaging itself--in other words, I pay for digital cable with DVR and and extra $7.95 a month for the HD package which includes Discover Channel's HD theatre, ESPN HD, HD NET, HD NET Movies and all my local stations in HD. The DVR records about 40 hours of HD programming or about 200 hours of standard and it's fairly easy to use.

That being said, Tivo's big advantage is its ease of use. It's much easier to set recordings, season passes and navigate through the software with Tivo but the price makes it totally out of the box when it comes to sensible people on a budget making smart choices about their entertainment dollar.

Right now, I'm sticking with cable--it seems to be exactly what I'm looking for.

If you guys have any opinions or stories about your own DVR search, please leave us a comment so we can all learn from each other and find the best avenue for wasting our money.

TAGS:
Tivo Direct TV DVR HD High Definition Cable

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Links While You Wait

Joshua Minton — 2006-09-26T13:09+00:00

Sorry gang, it's been a harrowing last few days and unfortunately, blogging has taken a backseat to life (as it should). I've got a new post coming out later today but in the meantime, enjoy these videos courtesy of Fantastic Bastard:

Freak Out
Favorite Word
Pen and Teller on Libertarianism
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Boys Wear Pants on Sophia Coppola's Skills

Joshua Minton — 2006-09-23T15:09+00:00

Ahh, Sophia Coppola...

Folks, she may have been the young woman bursting to age with mature sexuality and tragic misplaced love in The Godfather Part III but it turns out that this beautiful Italian bardess has one of the most intrictate understandings of storytelling and story arc structure within a physically confining medium (you really only get about 3 hours of the audience's attention to tell a story on film).

SEE ASIDE#1 AT THE BOTTOM

And Sophia Coppola has consistently delivered us a consistent series of well-written and well-produced films which were both character-driven and universally applicable in terms of theme, circumstance and character reactions based on the words, actions and backstory we are allowed to see as an audience.

Many directors are able to deliver on the above laudation but Sophia Coppola has also given us interesting people with fantastic mannerisms that are so real you wouldn't be surprised if they walked up to you on the street tomorrow and said, "Hello."

And the relationships she displays to the audience, even in their dysfunctional mire and circling a plot without end or beginning; are real and interesting relationships worthy of further examination.

I could go on and on but suffice to say that if her past work is any indication; Marie Antoinette should be a very good film when it releases at the theaters.

ASIDES:

Star Wars

LINKS:

Sophia Coppola
Don't look now but Will Smith is about to have the Forrest Gump role that will make him an acting legend

TAGS:
Sophia Coppola Marie Antoinette

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Boys Wear Pants on Tool Live

Joshua Minton — 2006-09-22T23:09+00:00

"Round on the ends and high in the middle." This is how Maynard started off one of the greatest musical performances I have seen in my many years of wandering this jungle of the Midwest.

"Listen up, stoners!" came next, followed by Stinkfist.

But first came the band Isis which was great musically but they lacked a strong lead singer--once they find that missing piece, look out for these guys because they are truly talented for a six man ensemble.

In between Isis and Tool, while they were setting up the stage; they had some crazy shit being played. I have no idea what this voice was saying over the speakers but it was insanity which eventually bled into a heated conversation between a ghetto ass black dude and a nerdy ass white guy where the black dude kept saying, "I'll kill you motherfucker. You don't know evil! I'll fucking kill you." It sounded like a real conversation that someone had taped (ala "Message from Harry Manback") but who knows with Tool.

The stage set up was brilliant: white stage with one step up riser which was also white. Justin Chancellor played his bass on the lower riser and Adam Jones played his guitar on the same level. Maynard and Danny Carey set up on the step-up level and there was a series of six foot video monitors which spanned the entire stage behind Danny and Maynard but which was also projected onto Nationwide's huge big screens (this is the same arena in which the Columbus BlueJackets NHL hockey games are played).

The sound was amazing. Maynard is the greatest male vocalist singing today and possibly ever (he'd give Robert Plant a good run for his money but they are two totally different types of singers). Danny Carey is the best drummer putting out music right now and he is in his prime, amongst the greatest to hold the sticks since Neil Pert and John Bonham.

So the music was incredible and the videos were in sync perfectly with the music being played (I'm talking down to the second here). They didn't play any pre-Aenima songs but the ones they did play were all the ones with heart (has Tool ever made a song not from the heart?).

There were a couple douche bags in the audience. One guy two rows back from me kept yelling, "Everyone sitting down is a pussy. Stand the fuck up, man!" I fought exactly three urges (each greater in intensity) to take my car key and jam it in this prick's eyesocket. Who the hell was this dickless shit to tell me what to do with my body in a public place. But I behaved--mainly by doing a little breath control and meditating on the notion that even worthless douche bags who have so little self-confidence they have to bark meaningless orders at an anonymous crowd still serve a purpose in the world.

One cool thing about last night was that the band took their intermission break on stage. Every other band I've ever seen has always left the stage and the crowd chants louder and louder and the band comes back on like it's some big sacrifice that they're willing to do a couple more songs for the $100 ticket and parking price that most people shelled out. Fuck that! Tool is so much more mature than every other musician out there when it comes to this prehensive bullshit.

There were hundreds of lighters being lit while they sat there and Justin held his up as well.

This was an amazing musical performance by what I consider to be the best band in the world right now who are each working at their artistic prime and it was an aesthetic experience I will cherish for the rest of my life.

LINKS:

"Those Who Speak Do Not Know: Kundalini Yoga and the Music of Tool" by Joshua Minton
Tool Band Dot Com

TAGS:
Tool Columbus Ohio Nationwide Arena Maynard James Keenan Danny Carey Justin Chancellor Adam Jones
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Boys Wear Pants on Lost Season 2

Joshua Minton — 2006-09-20T01:09+00:00

Every asshole in the universe was born with an opinion. The difference between me and most of them is that I lack the humility to stop me from bending over and constantly showing off mine.

So, Lost.

I stopped watching season 2 halfway through the second episode because my Tivo took a shit and froze up and I didn't have the patience to stomach watching live television again. Something about being forced to sit down and watch a show at a time designated by some jackass network executive just totally affronted me and turned me off television altogether.

But DVD is another medium altogether, now isn't it?

This is one of the best shows on television because nobody knows what the hell is going on in it but they can't stop watching. It is, without a doubt, the worthy successor to The X Files.

But I got burned by Mulder and Scully when the series finale came out as a complete and total cluster hump. So, I'm reserving final judgment on Lost but I will put forth a theory.

I believe that all the characters are dead and are stuck in a Tibetan Book of the Dead style of purgatory. Consider the three tempations of the Buddha: Desire, Fear, and Social Duty.

The castaways are continually being pulled by their desires and pushed by their fears. And consider that the common term in Buddhist and Hindu terminology for social duty is...you guessed it...Dharma. It is no coincidence that the project which built and manned all the hatches on the island was named The Dharma Initiative.

Also, consider that the purpose of the Book of the Dead is one last chance for those who did not achieve the ego release of illumination upon death to deal with their issues and give up the ghost to the finality of everything. Further note that Boone and Shannon, two of the main characters in Lost died shortly after finally dealing with their issues (Boone with his infatuation with possessing Shannon and Shannon with her raging desire to be believed in).

I think that the Others are some kind of angels who take those who are innocent (children) and those who are able to be spoken to logically about their release. I don't think it's a coincidence that they captured Jack, Kate and Sawyer at the end of Season 2--the three strongest personalities with the biggest egos on the island.

So, the button actually served a function; Desmond caused the plane crash; Locke and Eko will have a new mission (assuming they survived the explosion); Charlie is going to get laid finally; Michael is likely to get his bitch ass shot off by Sayid who is on the Elizabeth with Jinn and Sun; and the other castaways are basking in the glow of an electromagnetic bomb that just went off over their heads.

Oh, and Desmond's hot ex (the wife from Mind of the Married Man) is on to his trail. I wonder if he survived the explosion and the e-bomb?

I'm probably totally wrong about what's going on but I don't care because I love a show that keeps me interested and keeps me guessing.

I can't wait for October 4th.

LINKS:

The Lost Website
The Neo-Nazi Party just won a party seat in a local election in Germany (will Europe never learn?)

TAGS:
Lost

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Putting the Dragon Outside the Cave: How to Break the Oligarchy Controlling America

Joshua Minton — 2006-09-18T23:09+00:00

Oligarchy: a form of government in which all power is vested in a few persons or in a dominant class or clique; government by the few.

Sometimes I'm late at catching the small shit in life. It took me fourteen years of listening to the Dire Straights song "Money for Nothing" to realize that Sting was singing backup vocals with Mark Knopfler. But sometimes I catch things quick like when I knew right away that Don Henley was singing backing vocals on the Roger Waters song "Watching TV" about the Tiannamen Square Massacre.

But you would have to be a cosmic idiot not to know that America is run by the few at the expense of the many. And I'm not talking class warfare here but rather how the decisions about national policy are made and what influences them. See, this country was born in a fury of local politics but its likely to die a sad death in a fever of displaced nationalism where a small group of individuals with access to the wealth and people resources of the world are making short term decisions that benefit no one at the long-term expense of everyone alive and those yet to be born.

The Bush administration has been rather successful at running elections pitting certain demographics against others but this will not work as a long term strategy for solidifying a party base. Take me for example. I was a huge Bush supporter in 2000 on through 9/11 and even up to the re-election in 2004. But something happened last year. It was like a switch was thrown and every other word out of his mouth became a rotted turd steaming in the sun without meaning. But I still believe that he was the right man at the right time for the job, if that makes sense.

But times change and so do jobs.

Being President must be like wearing Sauron's ring--a position so corrupting that it warps the very fabric of your existence until you become a wraith of humanity, moving your mouth only to hear the scraping of nails down a chalkboard when you talk.

But on the other hand, one has to ask the "Progressives" of the world exactly what they would do were they to miraculously wrestle power away from the Oligarchy. How would you distribute the workload? Because the fact of material existence in human society is that we live in a world of scarce resources and these resources must be allocated to support an overall style of living.

As humans, we each have different standards of living and different visions of happiness and if rumor holds true, we are each endowed from birth with the inherent right to pursue our visions of happiness provided we do not infringe upon the life or property of other citizens to achieve it (and what success is worth all that, finally)?

The hard truth is that we cannot defeat an Oligarchy when we live in an oligarchical paradigm of existence--just like you can't defeat a theocracy when you live in a theocratic paradigm of existence. It's like drowning in an ocean and wishing you were on land--that kind of revolution has no meaning and is the playground of fools and zealots.

The only way to beat a merciless God is to eradicate it from the minds of those who cling to the fear of its graven mental image.

So if you want to beat the dragon, you have to take away his cave, all his treasure and everything he's ever known to be reality--everything that is worth defending. Not only will this break his will to control the world, it will break his will to even fit into the new world he is put into.

So, how does one go about changing a paradigm? Well, here is the rub--the only paradigm we each control is the one we live according to--the one inside our own heads.

Krishnamurti was fond of saying that we are the world and the world is in us. Reality is a hell of a flimsy thing--a long series of lies we all agree to overlook. There are gaping pot holes in the fabric of our everyday existence and what we tell ourselves is a smooth silk sheet which runs from birth to death is actually cut up skivvies with doo doo brown stains that we've assembled into a pattern like the ancient Greeks gazing at the stars after a nice mug of lysergic mead.

The trick to altering the paradigm in our head is to find one of these potholes and fixate on it until we fall into the rabbit hole and lose everything in order to gain more than we can possibly imagine. When enough people understand this, when a critical mass of the empty of head but full of spirit is reached, then you will see the dragon put outside the cave and the reign of the Oligarchy broken.

The only revolution worth showing up for is the one that begins and ends in each of our minds because that's the only one that is real.

And once again, the revolution will not be televised.

LINKS:

Concentration Camps for American Citizens?
Call Dwight Schrute's Dunder Mifflin Paper Company Voicemail at 1-800-984-DMPC (3672)
Endgadget does the awesome new High Definition Tivo Series 3 (Only the infernally stupid will pay $1,000 though)

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The Ohio State Buckeyes vs the Cincinnati Bearcats

Joshua Minton — 2006-09-17T19:09+00:00

Oh yeah, the Buckeyes won too.

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Uncle Billy's Farm: A Pre-History of the Ohio State University

Joshua Minton — 2006-09-15T02:09+00:00

In the year 1818, Columbus Ohio was an up and coming village that had been founded by Lucas Sullivant, a territorial surveyor of the West during George Washington's second term as President.

There were less than 2,000 residents of Columbus in 1818 when William Neil came to Columbus from Kentucky. The war of 1812 had only been over for two years and there was a lot of opportunity for a big boisterous man like "Billy" Neil. Some called him a sonofabitch, some called him a beneficent leader of the community but everyone called him The Stagecoach King.

He started a small inn across the street from the state capital building on High Street. He was an honest man but a hard man as well. God help you if you crossed him.

He started putting his money into stagecoaches and in a few short years what were many coach lines became few and guess who owned them?

Anc once the King of Stagecoaches was living comfortably, he started putting his money into land--the only thing they weren't making any more of.

In 1824, Columbus had a lot of low lying wetlands which bred mosquitoes by the thousands. These mosquitoes brought a plague to the residents and killed off many of the first generation of Columbus's finest.

One of these fine citizens owned a huge farm just north of the village proper. Billy Neil bought the land when he died. The Neil farm ran from First Avenue to Lane Avenue and from High street to the river we all know, love and call the faithful Olentangy. The Neil farm in the mid-1800s was the showpiece of Columbus--the jewel in the crown of central Ohio.

Billy's wife Hannah was one of the most kind-hearted citizens Ohio has ever known. She founded the Hannah Neil Mission and Home for the Friendless as well as the Columbus Female Benevolent Society, a charity which continues to provide for the needy to this day in Columbus, Ohio.

In 1863, possibly in anticipation of the Civil War smoldering down to its inevitable conclusion, the Neil farm house caught fire and burned to the ground. Hannah became sick with pneumonia shortly after and died. Billy followed her seven years later. The Neil farm was then used as a site to found the brand new Ohio Agricultural and Mechanical College which changed its name in 1878 to The Ohio State University.

They started a small football team in 1890.

The Ohio State University is now the third largest arena of higher education in the United States and not only has the best football team in the nation, it has the Best Damn Band in the Land.

So, when we're all downtown watching the Buckeyes kick ass this weekend, let's remember old Billy Neil and his saint of a wife who made Ohio a better place for all of us. Actually, it's hard to forget Billy Neil because his farm had a private drive that one had to travel on to reach his farm house. It was named after, well, Billy Neil. It's still around today only now we call it Neil Avenue.

Here's a salute to the people of Columbus. Even though I can't stand your friggin' asses in rush hour traffic, Monday through Friday; I sure do love you bastards on Buckeye Saturdays.

Go Bucks!

TAGS:
The Ohio State University Billy Neil William Neil The Stagecoach King Columbus, Ohio OSU Buckeyes football

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Ambitionz Az a Ridah: Remembering Tupac Amaru Shakur

Joshua Minton — 2006-09-14T00:09+00:00

I won't deny it, I'm a straight rider, you don't wanna fuck with me...
Tupac, "Abmitionz Az A Ridah"

Ten years ago tonight, Tupac Shakur finally died after suffering six days on life support. On September 7th, he had been shot four times in the chest and once in each arm and a thigh.

I became a Tupac fan after I bought the album Thug Life on a whim--I still consider it to be an excellent album. I remember watching him in the movie Juice back in high school; it was obvious he was talented.

But I never expected to see him come up the way he did. Tupac had an amazing lyrical talent for writing very clear and picturesque scenes. Tupac wasn't the Bob Dylan of mid-90s rap; he was more like the Phil Ochs of the gangsta rappers.

Right after he died, his name was changed to Machiaveli and he released an album called Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory which had a picture of Tupac being crucified in Salvadore Dali style.

There is a common misperception with older Caucasians that rap music isn't worth the plastic it's imprinted on but this is as ignorant a point of view as black people who don't think Hank Williams Sr. and Johnny Cash weren walking music Gods.

Here's the truth people--they are all plates on the buffet table of American greatness. Stop playing favorites and pile a little of everything on your plate.

Don't be afraid. It's life and life only.

Tupac was an American artistic genius and our culture suffered from the tragic loss of his death ten years ago today.

LINKS:

Tupac Fans Dot Com

TAGS:
Tupac 2Pac

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Stripping the Bark Off Hoobie Bone's Tree

Joshua Minton — 2006-09-11T23:09+00:00

I was a rotten damn kid sometimes. There was this kid who lived across the street from me in Decatur, Illinois when I was growing up. His name was Jamie Bone. His dad's name was Hoobie. I don't know if it was a nickname or not but it sounds now to me like a nickname.

We were merciless to this kid, calling him "boner" all the time, pushing him down, inviting him along just to make him the butt of all the jokes and to leave him stranded when nobody was looking.

Whenever we played guns he was the first to die everytime and whenever he was "It" in Hide and Go Seek, we'd all let him hide and never go looking for him--it would sometimes be days until we saw him again (although I assume he finally gave up on us and went home and didn't stay hiding for days).

But one time we went too far and the cops got called. These were small houses, not ghetto but middle class in a working class town which means they were respectable domiciles--nothing flashy or overbearing despite the errant pink house which was no doubt populated by human beings with melanocyte counts numbering far greater than my own. We weren't poor but we all "weren't rich" together, if you can dig what I'm saying.

So Hoobie bone had a pretty small yard and there was a great big oak tree in back which took up a lot of it. He had an industrial size picnic table underneath the tree which, to my knowledge, nobody besides us ever sat at. Well, one day we were goofing off and mucking around; a small pack of douche bags on the come up, and someone started picking at the bark on Hoobie Bone's tree.

We were probably having a conversation that ranged in topics from what Serpentor was going to do to in the next GI Joe Marvel comic book in that fantastic story arc to who had the highest score on the 8-bit Nintendo Super Mario Brothers game.

And the bark kept coming off.

Pretty soon there were four hands picking it. Then there were six and finally, all eight hands were working feverishly, clawing and pulling the bark off this tree which had probably started growing back when FDR held Fireside Chats with a country struggling in an economic depression in a world undergoing a technological revolution and bracing for the most brutal war ever faced by mankind.

And here we were, a bunch of punk ass, know-nothing kids stripping the bark off this tree who had held up under Southern Illinois tornados, lightning storms, the onslaught of suburbia into the soybean fields and graveyards of proud Native American warriors, wives, sons and daughters--just ignorant and fucking with history.

The bark strips piled at our feet by the time the sun went down and there was an oval of open tree flesh about three feet high and two feet wide on the once proud oak, a scar that everyone driving by the Bone Home could see clearly day or night because of the spotlight that Hoobie Bone turned on each dusk to prevent prowlers from getting in his garage.

So it turned into this big thing, right? Cops were called. Parents were talked to and we were talked to in turn by our parents. My mother, God bless her, was always of the opinion that even when your son pulls a boner (pun intended), he's still your son and you look out for your own. So, I don't remember being punished, although I probably had my Nintendo taken away for a week or something like that.

But I do remember feeling ashamed of myself every time I walked outside and looked at the tree in the Bone's backyard. I had done that. I had scummed up the neighborhood by making a living thing look like shit. I don't know if I was quite mature enough back then to actually think these thoughts beyond shame but I absolutely remember the emotion of shame and the lesson it taught me.

I knew that I never wanted to leave the world around me shittier than when I found it. And it took me a lot of years, broken friendships, fist fights, and bridges of love blown clean off their moorings to figure out that it's pretty damn easy to strip the bark off the relationships we have with the people around us in life. It's easy to pick them apart, splinter by splinter, and leave a gaping scar that hangs in the air and rots for everyone to feel and smell. And I learned that it's damn hard to keep your hands from prying out of boredom at the bark which holds our lives together.

Sometimes the greatest kindnesses in the world come out of the things we don't say and what we stop ourselves from doing when every corpuscle of our existence is telling us to act and act now!

I recently went back home and drove through my old neighborhood. I almost cried when I saw that the Bone's tree was still standing and the bark had fully grown back.

And I'll be god damned if that house wasn't painted pink.

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