Spanish Neal

There was a boy, he came from afar,
They called him Spanish Neal.
He hailed from Scotland, some would say,
Or maybe was it Eden?
Wherever it was, it wasn’t Chile.
And never did he dance.

American Idol

Another season of "American Idol" has wrapped up and the most talented, beautiful, and adored vocalist in the country has . . . oh who really cares? Well apparently about 500,000,000 Americans do. That's how many votes were cast by TV viewers this season to select their favorites. Yes, that figure is nearly double the population of the U.S. but unlike a truly fair and democratic system, like the American government's electoral system (disregarding voter intimidation, voter challenges, faulty polling equipment, disenfranchisement, etc., etc.), "American Idol" allows multiple votes from a single individual. Now compare this figure to the number of voters in last year's presidential election where about half of the nation's registered voters turned out to pop their chad. Roughly four times as many votes were cast to elect a pop singer than the leader of the free world, and I use that term loosely.

There are two main points to make here. First, Americans are entirely too enthralled with sitting on their asses in front of a television screen. And secondly, voter apathy and a general disinterest in politics continue to grow, despite a slightly higher voter turnout in last year's election from 2000's level. So how can we solve these problems? I say we accept the fact that Americans are fat and lazy. We have reached the point of no return so don't waste your time trying to fix it. Instead, let's allow people to vote in presidential elections from the comfort of their own home, just like on "American Idol". Press 1 for Hillary Clinton, 2 for Condi Rice, or 3 for Paula Abdul. After the votes have been tallied, the winner will perform a live solo and get a multi-million dollar record deal. Having a president who is also a pop star will keep the young people of America interested in politics and may even help to thaw the world’s opinion of us because everyone knows that foreigners love crappy American pop music. So In 2008 let’s experience record voter turnout while keeping the masses' hearts entertained and their minds numbed with the soft glow of the TV.

False Advertisement

Just when you thought blatantly obtrusive advertising couldn’t go any farther, it did. A few years ago a paleontologist unearthed what may be the largest tyrannosaurus rex skeleton ever to be discovered. This was sure to be big news in the world of science and for all dino-loving folk out there. The lucky digger published his findings in scientific journals and a little later, the story made it into the public press. But wait a second. If you’re a careful observer, you would have noticed that the date on which the bones were uncovered, according to the mass media such as CNN, differed by a few weeks from that stated in those scientific journals. What gives? It recently came to light that our heroic scientist was being funded by Universal Studios who, not coincidentally, was about to release its summer smash Jurassic Park 3. In order to drum up more excitement around the film, the Hollywood powerhouse convinced our paleontologist to fudge the discovery date too more closely coincide with the movie’s premiere. So all of us who don’t subscribe to Paleontology Weekly but heard about the story in our local newspaper or on TV, were deliberately given false information so Universal could milk us out of a few extra bucks.

You may be thinking, “Big deal. What do I care if the bones were dug up in June or July?” True, I don’t really care either. But the precedent this sets is alarming. If a relatively minor fact such as a date can be altered for the sake of advertisement, where does it end? I think it is even more disturbing considering that this involves a pretty significant scientific discovery. I wouldn’t be surprised if the moon landing was faked so they could sell more crappy, dehydrated astronaut ice cream. The line between news in the mass media, i.e. television, and entertainment was being blurred too much in the first place. Now science, the sole pillar of truth and understanding, is being seduced into a nasty ménage à trois.

In a similar vein, a deformed bulging varicose vein, I saw a commercial the other day for the “National Treasure” DVD. If you buy now, you get a free replica of the Declaration of Independence as seen in the movie! One of history’s most important documents is being treated as a simple movie prop like a light saber from Star Wars. Hmmm. Now throw in a light saber and I’ll take two.

Star Wars: The Revenge of Bush

Everyone’s favorite evil lord of the galaxy and his twisted, half-mechanical henchman are back. No, I don’t mean the Emperor and Darth Vader. I’m talking about George Bush and Donald Rumsfeld. And it seems that they too have laser powered shoot-outs and weird-looking aliens (oh, that’s just Dick Cheney) on their minds. Yes, Star Wars is back! The updated United States’ Space Policy came out today and the militarization of space is on the agenda.

Space weapons have been forsworn by all American presidents, save Ronald Reagan whose infamously elaborate and ultimately unworkable space-based laser system earned the nickname “Star Wars”. But the Gipper’s dream of being able to zap enemy combatants in space is alive again thanks to Bush and Rumsfeld. The final hurdle was cleared when the U.S. backed out of the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty in 2001. Under that agreement, the U.S. and Russia both declared that space would be, in effect, a demilitarized zone free of any weaponry. Today, however, top military brass were averring America’s “freedom to attack” beyond the limits of Earth’s atmosphere as a major tenet of our new space policy. Foreign satellites would presumably be the main targets of a space-based weapon although it’s hard to tell who or what may be in the crosshairs of a trigger-happy Bush administration.

So if you can’t make it out to the theatre to catch the new Star Wars movie this summer, just keep your eyes on the sky. There may be a real life Death Star coming soon to an orbit near you.

No Nukes are Good Nukes

“To be, or not to be?” That is the question - on the minds of delegates from 190 countries meeting in New York this month for the five yearly review of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT). Unlike the bard’s lofty ponderings, nations today are considering the benefits and woes of being lumped into one of two categories: nuclear haves or nuclear have-nots. To be a nuclear power means not only the obvious advantage of possessing the capability to annihilate nearly any other country on earth, but also to wield a lot of influence. The five official nuclear haves, the U.S, U.K., France, China, and Russia, are also, not coincidentally, the only permanent members of the United Nations Security Council. They tend to be regional, if not global, powerhouses and can set the agenda on most international issues. Why then wouldn’t all those nuclear have-nots set out to develop their own nukes and earn a taste of the big time? Most non-proliferation experts like to think it is because of the NPT.

The NPT was drafted to realize two long-term goals. First, and most obviously, the treaty aims to stop the proliferation of nuclear weapons. In other words, all of those have-not countries agreed to forego the nuclear option when they signed on the dotted line. This doesn’t seem too fair considering that certain other nations have huge arsenals of nuclear weapons. Here is where the second objective of the NPT comes in. The five nuclear haves are required under the terms of the treaty to make every effort to cut their caches with the ultimate target of complete disarmament. But in case you haven’t noticed, none of the five nuclear powers has renounced its nuclear weapons. China continues to pour Great Wall-esque amounts of money into its nuclear weapons’ program and under the Bush administration, the United States is busy looking for ways to renege on its promise to end new weapon testing and development. Can you blame the nuclear have-nots for being pretty pissed off?

The simple fact is that the world’s nuclear powers have not lived up to their end of the NPT bargain. Not only have they failed to make substantive cuts to their nuclear arsenals, in many cases they are going in the opposite direction. This promises to be the main focus of this year’s NPT review. The world’s best safeguard against proliferation is in desperate need of a fresh dose of enthusiasm. At the very least, the nuclear five need to start taking their commitments seriously. If the nuclear haves do not change their ways and work wholeheartedly towards disarmament, the NPT will disintegrate. Countries who have willfully forsworn nukes under the treaty’s auspices will not stand for the nuclear club’s arrogance forever. And the end of this story could well be much gloomier than a Shakespearean tragedy.

Helping Hands

Ten little fingers and ten little toes,
I think my accent’s better than those.
A million lives might make it safe,
Or burn your throat, it’s all the same.
Red and green and blue and red - yellowish red;
Brown on my shoe – we’ll all come out ahead.
With all those hands and all those toes,
We’ll all fall down so nobody knows.
And we’ll live in ice huts like Eskimos.

Pop Culture?

The term "pop culture" seems to be the most egregious oxymoron in current use. When I think of culture, things like fine art, classical music, and poetry spring to mind, not Britney Spears or Hollywood movies. Could this mean that when something becomes too "popular" it loses its sense of "culture"? Van Gogh and Mozart are pretty well liked and this hasn't lowered their cultural value. More likely, the masses really are too stupid and lazy to appreciate the finer things in life, instead preferring to numb our inactive minds with the drivel we're fed from television. It's a sad state of affairs.

Psuedo

Feed me O Heavenly Father,
Bearded one, feed!
I’ll grow mine longer,
There’s no further need.
Don’t sneak in the back now,
We’ll take it from here.
Walking and praying,
He’s now in the clear.
May I eat more now,
Or is there nothing left?
There’s cops in the church now,
That’s no holy fruit
Listening and shining,
Like a relic unlocked.
Listening and shining,
Like organs and trains.

Brown and Out

In sporting news, Kellen Winslow, the second year tight end of the Cleveland Browns, sustained extensive, yet oddly vague, internal injuries as a result of a motorcycle crash. The Browns organization is keeping the extent of Winslow’s damage under wraps since they are not required to report on ‘non-football related’ injuries. I suspect they are remaining tight-lipped to avoid the mass hysteria that would erupt onto the shores of lake Erie once Browns’ fans learn that their chosen one has been lost for another season, if not permanently.

Winslow was drafted by the browns in 2004 to provide some offensive firepower to the woefully inept scoring machine that has been the orange and brown since their 1999 resurrection from the ashes of Baltimore relocation. The highly touted tight end dashed Clevelander’s hopes of a winning season when he sustained season-ending knee damage during only the second professional game. If he had hurt his knee on a spectacular touchdown catch, I could live with it. But no, he had to get rolled on by a fat guy during a special teams play. His young NFL career has been, therefore, quite short and uninspiring.

But ah, then comes a Clevelander’s favorite time of year, next year. There’s always another one, and let’s face it, the next one has to be better. With the football fairies still prancing in their minds in the wake of another blockbusting NFL draft, Browns’ fans looked to autumn and the prospect of good things to come. And then Kellen Winslow wheelied his way out of the season. Things couldn’t get worse, right?

The NFL has a standard clause in all contracts stating that the players must not engage in any dangerous activities off the football field. A pro player breaking his neck in a skiing accident, for example, would prevent him from having the opportunity to have it broken during a football game. So Kellen Winslow breached his contract by riding a motorcycle. You would think the Brown’s management and owners would be pretty upset with their young hope. Maybe that’s why they are going to let him keep the majority of his multi-million dollar salary? Say what?! It true, after losing his signing bonus and a few other cuts, Winslow will keep the lion’s share of his $44 million annual salary. According to the Brown’s top brass, this is a “goodwill gesture” towards Winslow.

Goodwill gesture? Talk about an understatement. Even if he is physically unable to play another game in the NFL, Winslow will be set for life. I wish I could make $40 million for crashing a motorcycle. My dad once almost died in a motorcycle accident and all he got was a hospital bill and a limp. Maybe I should contact Randy Lerner, the Browns’ owner and credit card giant MBNA’s Corporation Chairman. I wonder if I could convince him to give me a “goodwill gesture” and erase my mountain of credit card debt. After all, I have done absolutely nothing for him, just like Winslow has done nothing for the Cleveland Browns. It all makes perfect sense to me but, alas, the real world rarely listens. Perhaps we are witnessing the new wave of professional sports. Instead of paying athletes obscene amounts of money for playing a game, teams will start handing them cash for doing nothing. Think about that the next time they raise the ticket price of your local pro team’s games.

The Media: Stuck in Traffic

Breaking news alert! According to a study by the Texas Transportation Institute, the frequency and intensity of traffic jams are spreading throughout the United States. Let’s see, given the growing number of lazy overweight Americans coupled with their insatiable love of stepping into an automobile, yeah I guess that makes sense. It’s almost as if the mainstream media didn’t have anything better to report on that they must stoop to covering the blatantly obvious. It’s not a new trend, I know, but it seems the major news outlets are getting blander by the day, churning out the same cookie-cutter fare: mix two parts fear and danger then add a heaping spoonful of the same crap they served up last week. If I had kids, I’d put them to bed early before I turn on the news. If you believed everything you heard on the local news, death or dismemberment awaits us around every corner and the anti-Christ just moved in next door to you. And the repetition! Do we really need half-hourly updates of a lackluster story just because it’s a slow news day? I wish the major media outlets would branch out a little more, stop trying to scare us, and get back to informing the public about what is happening in the world around them.

Which brings us back to the problem of traffic jams. Gridlock is strangling our streets; this is not newsworthy, just look out the window during rush-hour. How to reduce the mess would be a much better topic to explore. News stories looking at public transportation and city planning would actually give us something new to think about. Thanks to the Texas Transportation Institute we now know that traffic is a problem in some areas of our country. Figuring out how to wean an American family of four from owning a half-dozen SUVs is a dilemma that will have to wait for another blog.

Bumper Stickers

There was a time that the Stars and Stripes and the Confederate flag represented very different ideals, at least in the minds of their followers. Both icons have gathered up so much legend and have had stereotypical auras constructed around them that nowadays the mere sight of them can invoke strong guttural feelings. And more often than not, the adherents of one banner’s ideal sees himself at odds, or worse, with his counterpart and that other standard. But when these flags are stuck on the back of a pick-up truck I struggle to see the distinction.

I don’t remember seeing that many American flag bumper stickers prior to 9-11. There was the odd ‘love it or leave it’ slogan or a veteran-related message, but by and large Old Glory was severely outnumbered by classics like ‘shit happens’. Following the upswing in patriotism since the attack on the homeland, the number of flag bumper stickers has risen exponentially. People want to show their support for our country and for the troops that have been put in harm’s way to prevent another tragedy from occurring. But the longer that our men and women remain overseas planting the seeds of freedom and democracy making fun of Iraqi detainees’ genitals, the folks’ attitudes back home continue to change.

From what were initially feelings of brotherliness and unity in despair, quickly evolved into anger and hostility. The latter emotions still linger but have been tinged with a proud black and white world view of Us vs. Them. You’re either an American or you’re a Foreigner (and if you’re an American immigrant, well I don’t know how to feel about that but I’ll keep my eye on you). Whenever I now see a U.S. flag on the back of a pick-up truck I wonder why that person feels such a need to defend his worldview. Slapping an adhesive plastic label on your truck is a pretty feeble attempt at this, I admit. Nevertheless, this is exactly what s happening. The flag has come to represent not our country’s democratic ideals but a xenophobic outburst of superiority and isolation. Most trucks that have a flag bumper sticker have at least one additional sticker. Since I have never seen a sticker arguing for the separation of church and state or for the need for independently appointed redistricting committees next to the American flag on the back of a Chevy, I conclude that I am correct in this assertion. Instead, next to our Stars and Stripes are charming phrases such as, ‘your heart may belong to Allah, but your ass belongs to George W.’.

So when you think about the rage, closed-mindedness, supremacy, and conservative values that generally pop into most peoples’ mind when they think about the Confederate flag, take a closer look at the bumper sticker on that pick-up truck. There are a lot more stars than there used to be.

Techno

Technology is so out of control and ominous. Big Brother is not just keeping tabs on us, but technology itself has become Big Brother. Everywhere, pervasive. When does a tool become a smith? When does a slave become a master? The evolution is happening right now.

Enough is enough. I don’t need 24 hour coverage of the Micheal Jackson trial. I don’t need to be able to converse instantly with any person at any time at any place with the touch of a few buttons. I can wait a little while, it’s cool. Life is in such a hurry lately and I wouldn’t mind letting mine take its time.

The Deck

That old deck we used to have, it was so old and beat up and but together by a couple of amateurs (my dad and my uncle) it was like walking out onto a suburban death trap every time you stepped foot on it. The wood was old and it smeled funny. It got blistereing hot like a brown-gray slab of shale on a burning Ohio summer’s day. It leaned from side to side like an old demented man and moved ever so slightly under your pace. What treasures were hidden beneath its boards in that eternally damp, sun-starved soil formed the dreams of me and my sister. To crawl to the very back of the old deck, to the part that met the wall of the house, was a challenge we laid before us fitting of a heroic epic. I think I only once I managed to make it all the way, and it took every ounce of mental courage I had. Physically, I could crawl around like the best of them, but to put my bare hands in that dead dark soil as the air around me chilled by about 20 degrees. Nearing the edge of hell itself, I touched the cold concrete blocks that formed the base of my house and in a near panic turned around to scramble the hell out of there. But in the challenge came respect. And in the beat down scorched aspect of the boards, a charm. And in the fragility of her leanings, a love. It was so white-trash and I never knew it. Only now do I realize that I grew up with a classic poor white-trash icon in my backyard, a delapidated old deck. But it was the best damn porch I have ever been on in my life. Fancy and my deck laid on extreme opposites of the spectrum. It was spartan, basic, and bare. It was plain and worn and faded like an old thrown away sock with one too many holes. And it was the greatest deck in the world.