the new domain to steal property

With Bush and his Republican cronies handing out the largesse to their friends, like Haliburton, for rebuilding New Orleans what do you think the chances are the poor will be let back in?

Given the recent USSC decision that gave cities (and probably by extension state and federal governments) permission to use the right of Emininent Domain to steal property away from poor home owners and sell it to wealthy corporations under the guise of civic improvement, what do you think the chance are that this won’t be used in New Oreleans, for example, and make the Republican cronies even wealthier?

Of course one reality is that most of that land was probably mortgaged, and given there’s nothing left and most of the people who lived there are now scattered and unemployed, I suspect much of it will be repossessed by the banks holding those mortgages. If that turns out to be the case ED won’t be needed. The banks will sell to the highest bidders and that alone will lock out the poor. Until next time.

matt good's acoustic show

Here are the details for the free Matthew Good show here in Ottawa on Sunday, October 16th…First, and most importantly, please be aware that this is an acoustic performance and will last approximately 45 minutes to an hour at most. It is being held at Zaphod Beeblebrox, 27 York Street. Even though Zaphod’s is commonly a licensed establishment, we has been nice enough to make the show open to all ages. Doors are at 6pm and the show starts at 7pm. It’s first come, first serve.

The show is going to also feature a short address by members of by Amnesty International, who will be there promoting the 10,000 Voices Campaign. If you’re planning on attending, please make sure to stop by the Amnesty table for information and to lend your support to the action.

-Matt Good

If you're missing the rock, why not join us? I will definately be there.

the myriad of things thrown at me

Why do I trust the world? Why do I break my own rules? Why do I sometimes put true things on a blog thats perfectly happy with beautiful lies? I know when you'll die. I never know whats going on never care whats going on.

Being the dancing monkey that I am, I sometimes tend to take direction from those (even pimply faced adolescents) on power trips. Some peoples actions only further demonstrate the utter unprofessional conduct of the public schools here in the Ottawa valley, let alone a students unappreciativeness towards a solid education.

Growing up as a student here, I would urge you to start an action to have yourself allocated to a private school (art school even) or at the very least an insane asylum (for the free jello and play time.)

Earlier, someone had asked me how people fall over like anvils while somewhere in between the lines of corn starch statues and gregarious sex talk. I am going to publicly state that I will no longer be accepting offers from colleagues to attend parties (unless of course it is within a relaxed environment. Acoustic performances help too). Besides the myriad of things thrown at me as of late, both literally and aborad, I have simply reached a point where I am unable to overlook the idiotic behaviour of some in attendance of a get together and the amateurish handling of such. The other night, where I briefly described spending most of my time transfixed on the night sky, I was averting those who spent the majority of the night conducting themselves like school children in a stage of crisis.

With a vibrant past doused in shit due to alcoholic hooliganism, I gave grown through personal experience to know I really don’t care how much one feels entitled to drink themselves into a stupor. But, here’s the kicker, what really gets me fired up is that no one has the right to endanger the safety of others. If I experience anything of that nature again, I will stop and leave. After a life time of putting up with the drunk, immature, and moronic - I have reached my limit.

After witnessing this party with the sort of behaviour that I would expect from of little more than a glorified post secondary high school, never minding the fact that no one there ever confronted an artist and the creative genius behind making a statue made from corn starch.
I remember looking over at Sharon, my girlfriend, in the middle of the night and mouthing the words "I’m getting too old for this bullshit". She smiled, I nodded. I’m not too sure if she heard me. But I am.

light travels faster than sound

"Light travels faster than sound. That’s why some people appear bright until you hear them speak”

I put together a gallery of pictures from the other day. Yes, it’s true, Ottawa is a barn yard village but of concrete and glass. That being a fact, the one thing Ottawa has more than farms is that it has even more of it's fair-share of traffic. Yesterday, Sharon and I were on another one of our trips, creeping along a few miles in a discouraging bumper to bumper line up towards the undiscovered west end. I started to have second thoughts about our relaxing little getaway party before the oncoming busy month ahead of us. Seeing the aggressive pickup that we’d cursed out earlier, this seemed it would be mildly entertaining, but it wasn’t the kind of fun we were after.

“I want to scream,” said Sharon.

“Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

She let out a shy, reserved little scream that probably didn’t do much to release her frustration, but at least it made me laugh, and helped ease mine. In the middle of the mess, we came upon a open house. We were told the house party was under construction. Delays were expected. Thanks for the heads up.

Eventually things began to move. The space between the beers and corn starch building blocks stretched to a breathable distance, and the view through the window changed from smokestacks and oil refineries into grassy knolls and tall, green trees. It was a charming little place, it reminded me of something. Not as charming as my youth, of course, unless you have a soft spot for office parks, that is, but still a pleasant little borough.

It was the one end of town in a steep, windy place that leads to what used to be rolling farmlands. I hadn’t been on the road for what felt like years, and I was disappointed to see the hills crammed with large, anally landscaped, residential communities. We pulled the plug when sex talk got too gritty and people started falling like anvils.

atomic batteries to power. turbines to speed

Between Batman and a discussion with my dog I came to the ultimate conclusion. We die. You will never hear those words spoken in a television ad. Yet this central fact of human existence colors our world and how we perceive ourselves within it.

"Life is too short," we say, and it is. Too short for office politics, for cape crusading, for busywork and pointless paper chases, for jumping through hoops and covering our asses, for trying to please, to not offend, for constantly struggling to achieve some ever-receding definition of success. Too short as well for worrying whether we bought the right suit, the right breakfast cereal, the right laptop computer, the right brand of deodorant to fight crime beneath our sweat-filled costumes.

While counting tiles on my kitchen floor I found Life is too short because we die. Alone with ourselves, we sometimes stop to wonder what's important, really. Our kids, our friends, our lovers, our losses? Things change and change is often painful. People get "downsized," move away, the old neighborhood isn't what it used to be. We get sick, get better, get bored, get on our nerves. We grow up hearing news of a world more frightening than anything in ancient fairy tales. The wicked witch won't really push you into the oven, honey, but watch out for AK-47s at recess.



Amazingly, we learn to live with it. Human beings are incredibly resilient. We know it's all temporary, that we can't freeze the good times or hold back the bad. We roll with the punches, regroup, rebuild, pick up the pieces, take another shot. We come to understand that life is just like that. And this seemingly simple understanding is the seed of a profound wisdom.

It is also the source of a deep hunger that pervades modern life — a longing for something entirely different from the reality reinforced by everyday experience. We long for more connection between what we do for a living and what we genuinely care about, for work that's more than clock-watching drudgery. We long for release from anonymity, to be seen as who we feel ourselves to be rather than as the sum of abstract metrics and parameters. We long to be part of a world that makes sense rather than accept the accidental alienation imposed by market forces too large to grasp, to even contemplate.

And this longing is not mere wistful nostalgia, not just some unreconstructed adolescent dream. It is living evidence of heart, of what makes us most human.

Corporations are human too but for some reason they don't like us humans. They leverage our longing for their own ends. If we feel inadequate, there's a product that will fill the hole, a bit of fetishistic magic that will make us complete. Perhaps a new car would do the trick. Maybe a trip to the Caribbean or that new CD or a nice shiny set of Ginsu steak knives to cut me some bread. Anything, everything, just get more stuff. Our role is to consume.

Of course, the new car alone is not enough. It must be made to represent something larger. Much larger. The Asian chick with helium-filled breasts, all draped over the hood looks so much better than the lady bitching about the... dishes. Surely she'd understand our secret needs. And if we showed up with her at the big golf game, wouldn't the guys be impressed! Yeah, gotta get one-a those babies. This isn't about sex, it's about power — the greatest bait there ever was to seduce the powerless.

Or take it one slice closer to the bone. Leverage care. For the cost of a jar of peanut butter, you can be a Great Parent, the kind every kid would love to have. You can look out on your happy kids playing in that perfect suburban backyard and breathe a little sigh of contentment that life's so good, with not a wicked witch in sight. Just like on television. We die. And there's more than one way to get it over with. I know advertising has some serving suggestions for your premature burial.

in the curious position of being requested

The only thing I like better than a good bank robbery is a bj with a medicine ball twist. Hi, I’m Dane Atkinson uncensored and I can kick your ass in so many ways, kids, that you better watch it because I will. For fun...and for profit.

On my lucky days I have miss girlfriend speeding along the beach freeway to my cranky ass. After spending a day with her it may have you questioning the fact as to why I'm still an asshole about everything? The answer is no. Being alive is what makes me an asshole. I only live a little and it'll happen to you too.

Yes, I have for some reason left entertainment outside of my list of links to amuse you. Blow me. I’m 109 years old if you had to ask. In case you didn’t know, this is a blog. Get a life. I have carpal tunnel, but I can, with a little help uncurl my middle finger, raise it high and shove it right through your acid washed gap baggies. Don’t think I wont.

Call me a blogger. What the fuck is that you ask? Alright then, just call me the blogfather. Is that supposed to have some form of respect along with the name? Listen smart-ass, how about an email? How about a comment? How about chilling out for a fucking second. You'll get yours if I get mine first.

I wish I flowed with 120 hits a day. You know who used to get me 120 hits a day? Not you. Not the real blogfather or the instapundit. Nude anime chicks (yes, naked cartoons) got me 12,000 hits a day so step off bitch. But that was a long long time ago. To me blogging is a variety of things. First you must know how to write. Best thing about writing is that the more you do it the better you get and unlike beating off, writing well is something that you can parlay into sex, drugs, money, and power. So practice. When you’re done practising read a good book. When you’re done reading do curls, pushups, or sit ups.

One day you might find yourself in the curious position of being requested to lift a young lady up in a corner of a suite in a swanky sunset blvd hotel far above the madding crowds and let me tell you the goal isn’t to get there, it's to stay there. The correct response is please don’t leave me here alone tonight. Call in sick tomorrow and drink cocktails with me by the pool.



So that’s writing. The part that hollywood has all but given up on. The part that television couldn’t care less about. The part that Mr. Miyagi would have considered both the wax on and the wax off of life. Work at it work at it work at it.

Writing isn’t bitching. Writing isn’t whining. Not one man has gotten double teamed by Brazilian gogo girls because he was a whiner. Want proof? Who's the biggest whiner of all? Thats right, Drudge. Please, if you do not know who he is, is an American Internet news personality who is frequently called a "cybergossip". He is best known as the proprietor of the popular U.S.-based Drudge Report website, which made national waves when it was the first to break the news of a relationship between "a White House intern" and President Bill Clinton (the Monica Lewinsky scandal in 1998.)

Now ask yourself, what sort of pussy does Matt Drudge have walking around his studio apartment clonking around his hardwood floors while he's trying to type his little bullshit?

Zero, people.

Zero.

There will never be a "cribs" crew rolling up to Drudge's pad asking him to open his fridge to see if he's got gold bottles of bubbly and a stripper pole in his boom boom room. Whiners wouldn’t know the first fucking thing about a boom boom room, so dry your tears and remove the back of your hand from your forehead. Writing is comedy poetry and a freestyle booty call that dips through drama and ends in a flourish of philosophy. Spread your wings and fly and make sure there’s a beginning, middle, and end.

Do you want to know the easiest way to piss off a hack: when you ask him to bring up his endings.And lie people. The asshole who told you that your lives are interesting shouldn’t be trusted. I lied in nearly every keystroke of this masterpiece. Even kids know that a good art heist beats a bank robbery any day under the sun.Lie when you write.

That’s what I do, and you know it.

That’s the shame of it, you know?Your boy Drudge does.Then there’s design. I like designing more than writing. I like to illuminate and I love my girlfriend whateverhername is from youfuckedupmylife.net.

She has a blog too. I love love love her design. Love. And I haven’t even linked her sweet ass yet either, so back the fuck up, boys. If I truly had interns instead of little teases who say they want to intern but don’t, they'd do the upkeep on the day-to-day. I’m trying to lead by example, so don’t make me make examples of you.

My advice?

Think you’re young and original and get out before it’s too late.

i swim with the fishes cause the fish are alright

There is a car parked outside that has a self-made laserjet printout taped to the inside back window. It is a silhouette of the outline of Iraq, and some pithy statement, "Don't dishonor our soldiers - Stay and finish the job!".

You may have heard of that line, usually when some dispassionate conservative is speaking about Cindy Sheehan. The logic, I suppose, is that over 1,899 soldiers have died in Iraq, so we need to have more soldiers die in Iraq so that the ones who are already dead will not have died in vain. Because, you know, they died to prevent Saddam from using his weapons of mass destruction against us. I mean, to topple a cruel and vicious dictator who tortured his own people in Abu Ghraib prison. I mean, to liberate the Iraqi people and bring them sovereignty, security, electricity, water, schools, and the vote. I mean, to make Iraq into the model democracy of the Middle East where Shia, Sunni, and Kurd live in blissful harmony and the entire region cascades into America-lovin' capitalism like falling dominoes.

Hell, I don't know what I mean. I think last I heard it was to protect the oil fields and pipelines from the terrorists who weren't there until we went and invaded. Whatever. As long as those boys don't die in vain.

So, all I ask is this: What is "the job" and how much is it going to cost? We heard "overthrow a dictator with WMDs, about six months, very few lives, and the country can pay for its own reconstruction." Now we've heard ever-shifting rationales, it's 29 months later, we've lost 1,899 lives (actually more) and thousands of limbs, and it's cost $200 million. So what is it?

Let's even give them the "We have to fight them there so we don't fight them here" point for the sake of argument (as if terrorists can't multi-task). Let's even dreamily delude ourselves into the idea that the three ethnicities who've hated each other for centuries and all desire their own land can somehow be cobbled together into the shining beacon of Middle Eastern democracy. Even ceding those ridiculous pipe dreams, I still ask "what's it going to cost?"

What's the answer, untax-and-overspend conservatives? Bush said "whatever it takes?" What is that? Three more years? Five years? Ten years? Twenty years?

How many lives? Another 2,000? 5,000? 10,000? A Vietnam-like 50,000?

How much treasure? Another $200 billion? $500 billion? A couple trillion?

I wouldn't let a contractor remodel my house without nailing him down to at least some sort of estimate. Yet we're supposed to "stay the course" in Iraq, giving the president a blank check, an open calendar, and neverending pool of twentysomethings, even after every previous estimate has been shown to be fraudulent, even after two-and-a-half years of proven failure and incompetance?

An American serviceman never dies in vain. The act of sacrificing oneself for the ideal of protecting one's county is never a misbegotten act. We must have a military and we must have people willing to volunteer to follow orders without question, or else that military cannot function. In trade for absolute obedience to elected authority, all the military ever asks is that the mission be clear, the goals be achievable, and the deployment of lethal force be used only as a last resort. The serviceman who dies in the line of duty is always noble, even if his leadership is not.

Withdrawing from Iraq would not be a failure of our military. It would not render any dead serviceman's sacrifice unworthy. It would only be a recognition of the failure of our administration and render our leadership unworthy. But since this is the gang that can never admit any mistakes, I have a feeling that many, many more servicemen are going to not die in vain before this is over.



My girlfriend hates bugs, but her hatred is fuelled by something else all the more diabolical than I. I remember there was this fly following me around everywhere I went. He was buzzing around my head as I drank coffee, landing briefly on my shoulder, then taking a few laps around my living room and landing on my head. I tried to shoo him away, but to him my hand was only a game. I didn’t see him follow me as I left home and took the bus downtown, but as soon as I sat down to do some work, there he was, buzzing close enough to feel the breath of his wings and hear them whining like a tiny motor. It continued all day long, though he took breaks to explore.

When I left the librar I stopped and the fly landed on my hand. People will try to tell me it wasn’t the same fly, but I know better.

"You again?" I muttered and sent him flying with a flick of my wrist. But flying is what flies do, and it didn’t disturb him much.

Zig zagging through the air, leap frogging from my plate, to my arm, to my head, and back again, like an annoying puppy who wants to play. When he rested on the edge of the table I stared him down. He rubbed his face with his spindly arms, the way a cat might while lying in the sun, content. Without warning, I swooped toward him with an open palm and caught him in my fist. He didn’t seem to panic, or even be confused. It’s easy to catch flies late in the summer, and perhaps he’d been through this before.

As felt him crawling on my skin, with what seemed to me a little too much nonchalance, I was tempted to crush him. I didn’t, of course, for a number of reasons, but without getting into the Zen of it all, let’s just say I didn’t want to get my hands covered with the yellow snot of fly guts.

I only held him for a few seconds, but that must be like a few months in fly time, and when I opened my hand to let him go, I expected him to rush off and try to make up for the life he missed. Instead, he sat in my open palm long enough for me to change my mind if I’d wanted to. I didn’t, though, and a moment later, he lifted himself straight up like a helicopter, then zoomed over to an empty table across the aisle to regroup and, I hoped, reflect.

The fly persisted, attracted to my head as if it had become a real horses ass instead of just the metephorical one it usually is. I somehow managed to make it through without going completely bonkers, hoping to lose the fly on the way home. As I was sleeping a few minutes ago. I’d fallen asleep with my clothes on, and all the lights on as well. I woke up from the buzz of a fly in my ear.

"Leave me alone," I snapped, his sinister motives finally dawning one me. "I’m not dead yet."

I’m in a rut, and the fly can smell it. He relishes my inertia, anxiously rubbing his hands, anticipating the moment when all forward motion in my life stops once and for all. He’s not trying to tell me something, he thinks it’s a done deal, only a matter of time, and that’s how he can afford to be so bold. But I see him, and I know what a fly buzzing over a body means.

"I’m not dead yet," I said again. And this time I meant it.

i cannot imagine a better childhood

Right now I'm sitting on my lunch.

ryan_d says: This "contest" has taken over the airwaves here at 106.9 The Bear in Ottawa, and with all do respect to the station, this has turned into a prize night gala, including a free concert. I was really excited to hear that Matt was coming back to Ottawa and coudn’t wait to get in line to buy tickets for my favorite artist for the 15th time. Alas, this is strictly a win to get in promotion. Being a loyal fan for years, and having seen you in Ottawa, Vancouver, Banff, Calgary, and Kingston, I can only hope that my magic dialing finger stays in Good shape, in order to win my way in, or perhaps you might consider a second show? Just a quick question Matt….. Do you think my wife would be upset if I posted a note on the fridge that said "Gone to Sugar, be back in a week"??

I'm at a nearby internet cafe listening into a conversation between monkeys. Hmm...

jambon says: It’s a shame though that the contest had to be paired with something that relates NOTHING to Matt Good. I mean unlike some of the other welfare bums that can sit by the phone all day and call a radio station I have a life and a job and can’t be waiting like 8 or more hours with a phone in hand to TRY to win tickets to a show I wanna see, especially when I am competing with well over a couple thousand others that more than likely don’t give a **** about seeing Matt Good in concert. It sucks… what ever happened to the days of just buying a ticket via ticketmaster and going to the show? I mean, if you want only serious fans to go to the show the solution is to raise the price. If a show is only $20 your gonna get people going just casue it’s a show. If tickets are like $60 people are only gonna spend that kinda money casue they LIKE the band. Personally I would prefer to pay more than to have to win tickets, casue at least raising money doesn’t involve total luck. It’s easier for me to make the money at work than to sit by the phone all day you know?

That is, the internet blind leading the internet eyeless.

daneatkinson says: Dear Mr.Good, My name is Dane Joseph Atkinson of Ottawa Ontario. I’m not as complicated a man as I’d like to think, but I’m a very unlucky one in winning contests. I’ve been a fan of yours since the fall of 1999 when I first listened to your Beautiful Midnight album next to my grand-mothers death bed. I have just bought your latest release and it is candy that makes me dandy. before i thank you, i remember visiting you as of october 2004 at carelton university. birthday bumps and good times. i loved it, so did you from what i can remember. if you could help me with my personal malady. heed me. thank you.

This is all about the contest featured on 106.9 The Bear for concert tickets to Matt Good, of course. It's about a date with destiny that ran flat on tire and you're without a spare. Not allowing this state of affairs to conjure me into any ill faith towards anyone, here I find myself reminicing about the good times, like the first time I met my grand-mother. It was a long time ago. I'm not sure what her along with the rest of my family expected but my mother got me and you know she didn’t predict this, but for a mild mannered native american from the reserve, she didn’t freak out as much as you'd think.I’d like to think I wasn’t much of a wild kid. Nor, growing while up I guess that became the case. The doctors called me hyper, but my grandmother called me a kid. My mother along with my family was very patient with me and quite smart... most of the time.So when the doctors called me hyper she said, but my boy can sit still and do a whole jigsaw puzzle, and the doctors said, oh, really? Because of that, they were unable to prescribe the ritalin or whatever they were going drug me with and we went on our way.

Mother raised not only me, alone (since father was away), but my brother as well, who is also crazy. Needless to say my mother was never bored. she worked long long hours at headquarters. Sometimes I think it was because she didn’t want to go out to the madhouse that we so-call the real world. But when she did come out it was always with love in her heart and McDonalds in the car and loving questions about school or homework or things like that.I could never have asked for a better mom. That being said, I had not one mother alone but was raised along by my blood-mother, my aunt, and grandmother.My Aunt was a computer programme for the government. During holidays we would go down there and we'd always end up at the library and I am sure that my love of books and writing is directly influenced by my razor sharp aunt who read two newspapers before 9am and was working along with one of my uncles hypothetical conspiracy theories or novels before breakfast was done. I will never forget what they did for my brother and I. I will never forget how difficult it must have been to be a working to support us. I cannot imagine a better childhood.

I cannot think of anything I could have wanted more than the ability to be myself, and free, and trusted, and loved. My mother did all those things for me and she continues to. The only thing that she asked in return was that I be the best reflection of her and the family I can be... only if it weren’t for the swear words, or nasty pictures that I paint for your mind in this blog. I now have a brand new job working in the governments department of justice as an administrative assistant. It includes my very own office made of concrete and glass, served cold just the way I like it. I now gaze upon the cubical masses and I take care of business. I’m doing my best at 20, although I know I fail pretty much every day. Thank you.

Gotta go. I've gotta find me some tickets.

son of a engrossed newspaper

We grabbed a seat on one of the benches and proceeded to eating our bag of fresh juicy lime green grapes. “Better?” she asked and I shrugged.

We sat and watched moms, baby strollers and toddlers parade in front of us on their way to and from the aquarium. A mother and her son bought ice cream and sat near us on the bench. A few minutes later another kid—four or five years old—eating an ice cream cone, and standing on the sidewalk in front of the first kid, started talking, out of the blue it seemed, about how dumb he’d been while in pre-school. The first kid was busy scraping his lemon ice cream with a plastic spoon and didn’t appear to be listening, although it would’ve been impossible for him not to hear.

“I was so dumb when I was in pre-school,” said the second kid, and then he let out a loud “Whoo-wee” and a sigh. He shook his head and waited for a reaction. When he didn’t get one, he continued anyway. “I was so dumb. I was so dumb in pre-school…I was…I was as dumb as a pre-schooler. I was so dumb I couldn’t even spell A. Whoo wee. I was…I was…I was so dumb in pre-school I couldn’t even count to fifty…”

“Look at the kid’s father,” I said, noticing a guy who looked exactly like his son engrossed in a newspaper. “He’s totally tuning the kid out, pretending like he doesn’t even know him.”

“He’s probably heard it a million times already. He’s thinking; ‘Here we go again with the I was so dumb in pre school speech.’” Replied Sharon.

“One of these days he’s going to have to sit the poor kid down and level with him,” I said. “He’ll have to tell him, ‘Look son, yes, you were dumb in pre-school, but the truth is, you’re dumb now, too. Sorry to say you’re always going to be dumb. No way around it, I’m afraid.”

“You’re so mean,” said Sharon, punching my shoulder.

“Aaargh! What?” I said. “It’s okay. Not everyone can be smart, there’s nothing wrong with that. Some people are gifted in other ways. That kid’s gift happens to be stand-up comedy.”

I don’t know what’s up with me. I’m convinced that I have graphic OCD (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder). I stand in my bedroom with a glass of milk trying to piece things together. I spend long periods of time staring at glasses, at buildings, at light fixtures, wondering how they can best be incorporated into layouts. Life has become layered, flattened, filtered, a fixed-width page begging for its borders to be carelessly drawn over. I’ve got a nasty head cold, maybe that has something to do with it. Maybe I should learn how to use something more flexible. It’s a welcome change, truth be told. Between discovering a new realm of work in the governments’ Department of Justice, here at home I’m trying to keep up with the daily flood of information, my head’s grown heavy. Again, it could just be the head cold.

Less racket. I slept most of the time away and had a bizarre dream in which I was laying down in a field of crops out in the middle of nowhere. There was a white maple tree casting shade upon myself and then suddenly it died in an instant. I drowned peacefully in a shower of dead white leaves. When I awoke I found myself feeling too woozy to properly conduct myself so I laid motionless for another hour attempting to convince one of the dogs to bring me something to drink. During that time I came to the conclusion that I should lay in bed more often, not unlike Cameron in Ferris Beuller’s Day Off.

It seems to me that nothing in this world is more satisfying that doing nothing. If you think on it, most of us have been brought up thinking that the ultimate lifestyle is one in which we do as little as possible. So what are we waiting for?

Don’t ever feel sorry for me. I know I whined a little this morning and I might whine a little in the future. I will try again tomorrow and will make sure not to write about it. Meanwhile, please feel free to take advantage of whatever little my new fully functional site with everything ME you need. One thing is for sure, there are different pages for different things I do recommend you read. Soon I will have everything up and running a bit better. It took much too long to do all this mind you, so love me.



I found this new desktop for those who want to update their knowledge and visual mandate to the global war on terrorism. As you may know, many terrorist organizations have had their finances frozen. So they have resorted to counterfeiting Canadian money. The Canadian government has decided to redesign their currency to prevent terrorists from using it. It is also hoped that this will have a positive effect on tourism.

5 percent solution as a band-aid

Awhile ago I made the colossal mistake on perhaps the least understood strategy in creating a blog. I have now moved to www.blogger.com in hopes of reaching a greater potential in reinvigorating the visitor experience. No longer will I allow my thoughts to dominate let alone. Now, readers, much like yourself have the necessary means ‘and freedom’ to share your thoughts and opinions on my reflections, ideas, stories, and extraction of news material. During the following few weeks you will have to excuse my new construction period I’ll call the ‘5 percent solution as a Band-Aid’. With all such attempts to improve my traffic flow and overlook, I’ll try my best on admitting that there will not be a lack of daily posts.

the message with a little L

I woke up today and yet again, I'm sick. It hasn't gotten any better since.

"Have you thought about killing her?" he asked.

"You mean in my stories? Or in real life?"

He burst out into a loud cackle, "Both, both."

When I had just finished the first draft of one of my so called short stories, he and I were discussing it. Since the website and my material was semi-autobiographical, I wasn't sure if he was asking about the character, or the person. He meant the character, of course. He was concerned that there wasn't enough plot for a book idea to have commercial appeal. He suggested I add a murder, or maybe a suicide. "It's not the kind of thing I'm going for," I reasoned. "Thinking about it to a further extent, I think it isn't a roller coaster ride. The arc I'm going for is more like a walk across a bridge."

"Sounds boring but I think I understand what you're trying to do," he nodded. He appreciates a plotless book as much as anybody. "But that stuff is out of fashion. It'll be a hard sell without some kind of twist....Have you thought about making this into T.V."

"Fuck T.V." I replied.

"Do you think of it as revolutionary?"

"Hardly. T.V. is terrible." The shows have been on the air for years and here's what the producers are given: hot young lesbians who like to have sex, a cable network that can show nudity, a public who is ready for a show that revolves around lesbians, and a public who has warmly embraced strong female sexuality in sex in the city as well as gays in will & grace and queer eye for the straight guy."

"The bases seem more loaded, you know, for bringing that shit home," he said. "Why not try adapting scripts and have them sent in for assessment?"

Unfortunately instead of blowing the lid off my T.V. at the time to prove a point, they delivered me a topless after-school special. I set the chair down and relaxed. The biggest problem with the L Word is it's too adult, too melancholy, too safe, too serious, too dull.

As exciting as thirtysomething seems, as dramatic as peeling potatoes, and as sexy as Willard Scott, The L Word sure shows tons of sex and lets us in on sex talk and we see hot chicks and steamy situations, but alas its as cold as an overnight with Martha Stewart.

The L Word is as representative to lesbians as Cosby was to African Americans. all the chicks are hot, all the guys are hot, all the sex is bland, all the conversations are about either lesbianism or sex or cosmo or getting pregnant or lesbianism or sperm or lesbianism.

Meanwhile, Sharon courses me into watching Oprah on the television and there’s hardly any music playing anywhere, there’s very little background noise, or atmosphere. Only showtime, who has a long history of making sex dull and disposable. Oprah could make the first lesbian tv series so unwatchable that I’m not sure I will tune in next week to see the (still) extremely sexy beals go down on her partner again. Besides the lifeless dialogue, the tone is depressingly sombre. No more Dr.Phil, please! Back to the lesbians! Did these lesbians get a hold of that type of drug that just knocks your ass out? They act as if they’re all getting root canals in the morning. They act as if they ran a marathon yesterday and they're still recovering.

The sole "straight" couple have such uninspired sex that you wonder if both of them aren't gay. Their sex is so unsexy that you could balance one of the glasses of merlot they're constantly draining on a pillow on their bed and it wouldn’t tip over.


If I have a daughter and I do not want her not to be a lesbian, I would show her this tv program and tell her that all lesbians are this lethargic, emotionless, too tired, washed. and santa monican. If the queer eye boys bounced into the L Word these women would have a damn heart attack. Are they lesbo librarians in training? Are they auditioning for this hour has 60 minutes shows? Can they just sit back and have a laugh without it leading to sex or having to do with sex? Just one laugh?

My girlfriend, Sharon, of course, loves sex in the city. This show may have been ridiculous and worthless and written by gay men for straight women, but at least it tried to keep things somewhat light and didn't completely take itself seriously at every turn. Women I know who like the show totally Want to be one or more of those women on T.V. But why!?

I can't imagine anyone wanting to be any of these sad fakers who seem only concerned with one thing: boring the hell out of anyone who wanted to learn about this usually interesting world. So Congratulations, we're bored.

Sometimes I think me writing is a big mistake, but I do not write with dreams of being a commercial seller. I write because I can’t help myself. Readers of the early drafts were encouraging, and put the thought in my head that I could get it published, but I didn't really care one way or the other. Not at first, anyway. At first all I was after was a catharsis. It turns out the story wasn't very good at being that, either.

"Is that part true? Did that really happen?"

Dissecting and deconstructing the story, explaining the truth and the fiction, what really happened and what I made up, has done nothing but keep bad memories on life support. While the main characters I create are clearly based on me, it is a me at my most broken. Whatever made me think that crystalizing such a sad sac in print would be a catharsis is beyond me.

Now, it seems, the only way to make it all disappear is to keep on writing. "Do you think you can write another?" I was asked. "If so, what's next?"

"I dunno. Guns? Spies? Robots? Maybe even all three..."

Yesterday, I had a wonderful time with Sharon while she took care of me in bed. While she aided to my failing anti-bodies I forgot about my daily trivialities and thought about love before I slipped into a haze. The word has been slandered by hundreds of thousands of cliches over the years. All one has to do is turn on the radio to any pop/top 40 station and wince at the mixed metaphors and terrible comparisons made to a word that carries much more meaning than that.

At times I'd tell her love isn't pretty. Love isn't kittens and flowers or that euphoric feeling you get after you've sat up all night talking to a beautiful woman you met for the first time. Those feelings are all well and good, and translate well into more sales for hallmark, but they are not the standard by which I measure love.

Love isn't reserved for two people. There is such thing as a greater love for humanity. A love that transcends jealousy and bitterness. A love that several nations have shown after the recent natural disaster.

While some talk politics and others sit around discussing the merits and lack thereof, others are actually acting. If you haven't done something to help the effort down there, you have no right to criticize. If it didn't put you out to help, you didn't really make an effort.

Consider:

The image of Afghanistan pledging a hundred thousand dollars?

Or the Singaporeans flying rescue helicopters over New Orleans?

Or that Sri Lanka, itself a victim of a national disaster during the tsunami, offered $25,000 to the Red Cross, all it could afford?

I have personally watched people open their doors to families they've never met. Offering to shelter and feed people as long as they need it, just because it's the right thing to do. Maybe this is a trend that'll catch on, maybe it won't because some families are not potty trained and like shitting on your wall. But, instead of being greedy and covering our own asses; people could extend the olive branch of love, and help each other out when needed.

All the speculation about how quickly aid would've/could've/should've come if this had happened is useless. At the end of the day there are still people suffering, and there are still people dying. All the pundits in the world can't spin that positively. All the negative commentary in the world won't bring them relief.

No, love isn't some greeting card message; real love is cleaning the shit off someone like Sharon cleaning my Rudolph red nose... because I, like they, can't do it for themselves anymore.

vanity has got to be my favourite sin

If I was president I'd act first and ask questions late. And we'd have a super-raging, red-hot volcanic debate over posse comitatus. Ten times worse than this petty BS finger-pointing right now. That would be an impeachable offense, even if BushCo manned a human chain and held the levees and saved every lost life in NOLA. Congress would be FORCED to impeach him.

Let me tell you a few things about being a leader. A leader saves peoples lives and worries about his job later. A leader cuts his vacation short when he sees that people of his nation are drowning and help is not in the way. A leader is that help on the way. The definition of a leader is someone who brings the group to where they need to be. George W.Bush has never cared about being impeached, and the democrats dont have enough chutzpah to even try to impeach him.

He and his bros stole the election in 2000 and the dems didnt go after him. He and his bros lied about not knowing that terrorists would fly planes into buildings and the dems didnt go after him. He and his bros lied about the presence of weapons of mass destruction in iraq and iraqs threat to america and the dems didnt go after him. Bush and his bros challenged the ideas of torture in relation to the geneva conventions and the bro who questioned it the most might be our next supreme court justice. And yes, death and torture did happen in the prisons of iraq and gitmo and the president isnt in danger of being impeached.

So this limp defense of the president's inactions in new orleans last week that if he brought help or overstepped his bounds by saving lives might get him impeached is laughable to the point of being sad. Where Bush.Co. is ruthless and selfish and hopeless and inept, the dems are pussy and silent and weak and timid and worthless. The losers of this slamdance of fucktards are Americans and Iraqis.

A real leader, a real president of the United States, whose number one concern was not his ass or his politics but his people would have flown to new orleans the day that he saw people floating in the water and brought the calvary. Period. Everyone knows that where the president goes, the heat comes with. New Orleans needed that heat.

Yes sometimes shit stops when the president is around but thats because the president is a idiot and a pussy and inept. and those who vote for him repeatedly and support him are part of the problem, if not theproblem, but this isnt about them. The world today is about him.

A leader doesnt eat cake while people are screaming for help. a leader doesnt play guitar as people are drowning. Especially after 9/11. Especially after what's happened to the economy and the deficit and the gas prices and the war and the budget cuts to the levees and the flood plain. A leader says, just like he said at gitmo, what law, I'm going to fucking save the world, I dare you to impeach me for saving 10,000 people, impeach me for saving lives and watch your party disappear. A leader does what the group is either too afraid to do or too stuck in excuses to do.It's why they say leaders rise to the top. It's why they say leaders are born not made. It's why they say follow the leader. It's why I say Mr.Bush is not a leader.

Someone out there may hate me for saying this, but Paris Hilton is more of a leader than George Bush.

Paris and Nicky (whom Paris considers her best friend) are tired of being accused of being famous for nothing, according to Smith. Nicky Hilton tells Smith: "I just want to say to these writers, 'I'm 21 years old, I run two multi-million-dollar companies, I work my ass off. Like, what were you doing that was so fucking important at that age?' I feel very accomplished for my age.

And Paris—I mean, the movies, the fragrance, the book, the album, and people just love to take everything away from us. I don't know why. Maybe they feel it was just handed to us. Yeah, we were born with a famous last name. I get that. But just look at how we took it to another level."

-Press release from vanity fair

Talking about the final portion of being accepted into the Federal Government for work. I had to have an interview with the Council of various organizations and the administration. At one point they asked "what would you do if your staff wanted to do one thing, but you wanted to do the opposite?"

I said, "I would ask them to explain to me why they wanted to do it, and I would tell them that I would consider their idea, but if I felt that mine was better, I would lead us that way."

They said, "but don't you respect your team, what if they wanted to quit, what if they were offended?"

And I said, "...there is a reason why a tribe only has one Chief. It's not to go along with consensus, it's not to sit at the head of the figurehead table, it's to make the tough decisions, and sometimes the tough decisions means going against the group."

I haven't heard from the results yet, but I think I lost by one vote, 2-3, but I would say exactly the same thing again, because I still believe it. Sadly enough, the account may not agree.

The president's job security is not more important than the lives and well being of those suffering and dying in New Orleans. The lack of preparedness, the absence of government funding, the slow-as-molasses "rescue" effort, and the bungling of FEMA and the department of homeland security, and the horrendous lies by the president that brownie did a heck of a job and that the newspapers on Tuesday said that New Orleans dodged a bullet caused as many deaths as five 9/11s.

This president has sat at the grownup table and ignored the August 2001 CIA briefing that said that Bin Ladin was determined to strike inside the US and we had one 9/11 he attacked Iraq and we lost as many US soldiers as another 9/11 and over 100,000 iraqis died. In order to get re-elected he continued to cut taxes during wartime and part of the monies that weren't collected were supposed to go to the levees and the flood plains and the result was five 9/11s.

At some point the leader takes responsibility for what happened on his watch, be it something he did directly like lead us into a false war, cut taxes for programs that would have saved lives, or played it safe and not immediately aid the devastation of one of his cities. At some point the followers call bullshit on the leader. This is that point.

I'm sick of 9/11s.

I'm sick of hearing this figurehead never taking responsibility for anything.

I'm sick of this administration only being punk rock when it has to do with denying things to gays and women and our military and political prisoners and those in disaster areas screaming out for help. The democratic party isn't the one that impeaches presidents over bullshit. That is the other party. The democratic party doesn't impeach anyone but themselves.

The American people are the ones who need to stop acting like the democratic party and sit on their hands and watch this government splodge on themselves as they fuck up time after time. New Orleans was a fuck up from the ground up. And at some point the president needed to say OK, I'm taking over for a minute because I am seeing that this red tape is strangling people. Impeach my ass later but now I’m gonna show you how its done.

But we don't have a leader in America

Although we have plenty of sheep.

Now we have 10,000 more dead people.

People are dead and others worry about finger pointing?

I for one know this leadership type of deal is never cut out to be what should be. This country doesn't have enough leaders or sense and I don't have enough middle fingers.

then there was nothing but stars

At exactly 12:01 AM I realized I had forgotten my girlfriends birthday a day too late. I left my room and made my way to the front door. There were two police officers waiting there to escort me to the vehicle. And as I emerged from the carport into the driveway the crowd erupted like their home team had lost to a winning goal for the world cup. This made me hesitate a little. I hadn't been outside since I'd left school and was taken back by the multitudes that had come to see me burn. So it was safe to assume that I was trying my best not to turn and run or throw-up all over my shoes. After pausing briefly I started walking again and eventually reached the vehicle. I paused again slightly, and stood there for a second longer trying to catch my breathe and then I opened my mouth. And this is what I said:

'There used to be this place I went when I needed to think about things. It's not far from here, just a block or two towards the ravine. Anyway, I used to sit there are say to myself 'Man, what're you going to do with your life after all of this beginning stuff has ended'. And every time I asked myself that question I could only come up with one answer: 'I'm going to be better than I am now. Everything's going to be better than it is now. And that'll be enough'. I find it funny that I've never told this to a living soul before today and now I'm doing it in front of a live audience... But I guess that's my whole point. How come most people think that way? How come everything that has to do with improvement revolves around the future? How come it just can't be that way now? I realize that a lot of you might think I'm just some naive kid, but I've given it a lot of thought and I don't see that it's such an immature point of view. If the world is just some place where people disagree about everything all the time and we can justify that by calling it 'educated' or 'advanced' or 'enlightened versus unenlightened' then I'd have to say it's all bullshit...'

There were a variety of gasps from the crowd due to the use of profanity. 'You'll pay for this!', 'You forgot your girlfriends birthday you fucker!', 'Oh my dear Lord it's the end of the world!'

I continued, 'John F. Kennedy once said that we all have something in common. We all share this small planet and we are all mortal. I find it hard to believe that the pursuit of eternity can cause such divisions between people. That our mortality itself can be transformed into a barrier that divides people instead of bringing them together. And I'm not going to stand here and say that religious differences are the only root of that problem. Not at all. Social standing divides people, beauty divides people, intelligence divides people, the control of geography divides people, even skin colour divides people. Sometimes it's nothing more than a brief glance in a hallway somewhere that rubs someone the wrong way. And for what? There's nothing more decadent than applauding our intelligence while we allow such divisions to affect our everyday lives. What if heaven wasn't just for Christians or Jews or Muslims or anyone else for that matter? What if it's just like the world? What if it's for everyone? What then? More of the same? Or does everyone suddenly undergo some big change or heart when they get there? I've had the opportunity to gain some insight into it and I can tell you this. It's not so different from life down here. It's not without hate or mistrust. It's just a place to make bigger mistakes because we've got an eternity to make them. If one thing's true about our mortality let this be it: we're given this life to try and realize our mistakes in time enough to learn from them. And in this day and age, after everything we as a species has been through, if we can't learn from those mistakes then we're doomed to repeat them. And not only in this life. Because what are we if not our basic selves? Are we transformed into something more enlightened and understanding? I dunno about you but it's an awful big assumption. Maybe someday there will be a great awakening and all of this will cease to exist as it does now. And when that day comes and the clock stops ticking you might find yourself looking for your own place to think. And maybe you'll ask yourself the same questions I have. And on that day, just maybe, everyone will find the same answers. We, like I, will make it up to ourselves someway, somehow. I'm finished for now, so go ahead and shoot...' and through the air came the sound of a great and massive thunder clap. And at that moment my head jerked back suddenly and my body seemed to rise off the ground as if in slow motion. And then there was nothing but stars. Cool grass and a warm breeze.

I awoke to a brilliant solar system of stars. Billions of them, all sparkling and filled with possibility. And as I watched them slowly pass in front of my eyes I began to count them, one by one. And as I did that I felt my being slip away and my mind cleared of everything save the numbers. And that's all there is to it I'm afraid. No parades, no medals, no endearing last lines. Just the wind. And the fact that it blows over all of us at one time or another.

ensure the safety of victims of hurricane katrina

Today I walked down the dirty streets of my hometown at the pace of one owned by the clock or the man or the metronome of the living...

two navy helicopter pilots and their crews returned from new orleans expecting to be greeted as lifesavers after ferrying more than 100 hurricane victims to safety. instead, their superiors chided the pilots, lt. david shand and lt. matt udkow, at a meeting the next morning for rescuing civilians when their assignment that day had been to deliver food and water to military installations along the gulf coast. it will the last time they will ever do someone a favour. Amnesty International expressed deep concern over reports that victims of the hurricane that devastated New Orleans and surrounding areas were left for days in increasingly desperate and unsafe circumstances.

The organization called on authorities to urgently deploy adequate resources to ensure that all those now evacuted or who remain in need in the affected areas are protected from attacks and are provided with food, water, adequate shelter and appropriate medical care.

Noting that many victims were rendered especially vulnerable to the impact of the disaster due to prevailing conditions of poverty, Amnesty International further called for a full, independent inquiry into whether authorities could have done more to ensure the safety of the affected population, and what should be done to facilitate their recovery.

In addition to the authorities’ failure to ensure that basic human rights such as adequate shelter, water, food and medical attention were provided to the degree and speed required in the immediate aftermath of the disaster, the organization noted with concern reports that thousands left trapped in a convention center and other locations were preyed on by armed gangs, and risked being shot, knifed or raped.

the place where the dead are left lying on the makeshift streets of vera smith. she was an ordinary woman who, like thousands of her neighbours, died because she was poor. abandoned to her fate as the waters rose around her, veras tragedy symbolises the great divide in America today. however vera smith may have lived her life, one thing was certain. in death, she had no dignity. killed in the chaotic aftermath of hurricane katrina, her body lay under a tarpaulin at the junction of magazine street and jackson avenue for five full days. not her friends, her grieving husband, not her neighbours could persuade the authorities to take her corpse away. finally, disgusted by the way she had been abandoned - and concerned, too, about the health implications of advancing decomposition - her friends buried her in a makeshift grave. A local man fashioned a simple cross, and on top of the soil that was shovelled over her body he placed a white plastic sheet and wrote 'here lies vera. god help us.

The government's duty to protect includes securing the city and surrounding areas, as well as bringing the perpetrators of such crimes to justice. However, Amnesty International is concerned that a "shoot-to-kill" policy authorized by Louisiana’s governor and reportedly implemented by security forces could lead to a disproportionate and unlawful use of lethal force. This may apply, for example, in the case of unarmed individuals described as "looters", some of whom may be trying to seek supplies to survive in the absence of aid.

Amnesty International urged that police firearms be deployed only in response to an immediate threat of death or serious injury that cannot be contained by lesser means, as required by international standards. All shootings must be rigorously and impartially investigated, with the results made public.

Authorities should also ensure that all those in custody, including the thousands of prisoners reported to have been evacuated to other locations, have access to their families and attorneys at the earliest opportunity.

The organization expressed its deepest sympathy for the victims of the tragedy and support for survivors, relief workers and others working to provide relief, health care and other aid."
(From Amnesty.org)

Now begs your the following questions. Is this sorry excuse for an administration act in the best interests of the people they're supposed to represent and launch an inquiry into the debacle that was the response, or 'stay on course' and continue to display utter contempt for just about everyone outside of their tight-knit circle?

As we all know, the government will do what the government will do. Responsibility and accountability has been slim to non-existent up until now so that won't change here. Hell, lets not forget that the response by the FED Government was described as exceptional by some higher ups.

the us government agency leading the rescue efforts after hurricane katrina said on tuesday it does not want the news media to take photographs of the dead as they are recovered from the flooded new orleans area. the federal emergency management agency, heavily criticized for its slow response to the devastation caused by the hurricane, rejected requests from journalists to accompany rescue boats as they went out to search for storm victims.

It is us in the 'public' that must make the demand for the inquiry as to 'Why'. The responsibility lies on the people to take an irresponsible leadership to bat, and not leave until they are satisfied. Here's an excerpt from a recent article:

A CNN/USA Gallup poll released Wednesday suggests that Bush's response to the crisis was rated "bad" or "terrible" by 42 per cent of Americans surveyed. That is in comparison to 35 per cent who said it was "good" or "great".

Except for the attacks on the Welfare State, some may have sympathy for his perspective. He may have been right in classifying two kinds of disasters - a natural disaster, and a man-made disaster. But of course, there was a third, Administration-made disaster. You may also find that all of that 35% have white hoods in their closet and large bank accounts. All one can say is what the hell?

And without further ado, I would like to present the following article An Unnatural Disaster: A Hurricane Exposes... by Robert Tracinski. It should help answer most of your wonderous questions. So this is what it feels like... when doves cry.

mob rules

I want to be away from here. But I don't have a car. I don't have a plane. I don’t have chopper one because its getting a new deck. I don't have a skateboard. I don’t have a pogo stick.. I don't even have a pocketful of mischief. I'm always in need of a weekend but I'm not even going to get that because all the coppers are going to be flying around and all the bad guys are going to be everywhere else and where theres bad theres the ugly and where theres the ugly theres me in the shadows telling people what to do. The field general. The quarter back. The master of puppets. The bullet in blue sky.

Remember when I said: "Life is like trying to commit suicide with a toothbrush. You're all geared up to do it but decide to brush your teeth first." You knew then I wasn't making any sense anymore. You know this is just some cheap form of therapy. People say all the time and ask me all these questions about it.

Some people even get angry, like I'm supposed to be taking some kind of black and white stand just because that's what they'd do if they had the opportunity. I'm not saying that my true goal isn't to inject my own thoughts and views into these things. Some people just get confused with all the babble in-between. If you look hard enough you'll probably figure it. Contradicting myself is just the fun part. You see, I'm just as full of shit as everybody else. Maybe more so.

Wow, what a lazy weekend. If there can be such a thing. I mean, the weekend was what it was, but it certainly made me lazy to live in the midst of it. The city wasn't as empty as it sometimes is on a long weekend—either a lot of people chose to stay close to home, or else the ones who left were replaced by an equal amount of tourists—but despite the people, the atmosphere was relaxed.

The other night I framed the pastel skyline. Above the city, a sharp sliver of moon was cut out of the pink and orange sky. The sun gradually set, revealing a rare sight: stars. None of them as bright as the myriad jets lined up for landing, of course. Sometimes, if you look up long enough, as many as four planes appear to be strung together, heading for the airport, while countless others swarm higher overhead.

"Is that a plane?" I said to myself, pointing my head towards a particularly high flying one. But yes of course, what else would it be? A UFO? I’ve always wanted to see a UFO just like the terrifying ones that thrill my dream filled world a nightly. "Wouldn’t that be cool?" one like I would guess. Yet when you come to think of it, it can also be kind of frustrating, since no one would believe you. "Yeah, I’d probably lose a lot of friends." They'll think that I'm contagiously crazy.

The only plans I'd made was to take some photos of the ACSA BBQ event this past labour day at Vincent Massey park. I woke up bright and early on Monday morning, stretched and sighed, went for breakfast at the bent out of shape coffee shop in my old neighbourhood to say hello my old friend caffeine. The day was far too nice to spend it inside.

Sometimes I tell myself I don't want to be doing this any more. Even though its exciting. Even though its nice to know everything that is going on in this fair city at all times. Even though it means that we can read your emails and listen to your phone conversations and see through your house and x-ray vision through your frankie bs. All I want is a light at the end of the tunnel and if it's a bud light I'm going to hurt someone.

I want, I don't want, I want, I don't want. I sound like a baby. I'm not a baby. I'm someone who thought everything was going to be one way and then it turns out to be the total opposite, as in total as in toe tall. I met with my girlfriend, Sharon (the executive board member of her group), and joined the Asian student reunion at the park the other day and I pretended that I wasn't there but I was. The only problem with that particular event was that it started as a faction all its own which has since just turned into another faction.

It wasn't her fault, I told her, no one understood the message of 'community'. But, like most things, maybe no one was really listening all that closely. So eternity went marching on and things grew steadily for the better or worse. So, that, in a nut shell, was the dilemma. To be quite honest, most people just want to spend their time in peace. In actuality they far outnumber the trouble makers. But it gets difficult when the minority starts lighting things on fire because they're not happy about something and a great many innocent bystanders get caught up in it. So people who would never normally resort to fighting back find themselves turning into the exact thing that they didn't like to begin with. And, eventually, everyone ends up on one side or another. And that, my little friend, will no longer do.

As time had come to the end of a proverbial rope. We decided that unless everyone changes their thinking in a big fucking hurry, we're gonna shut this event down. And let me tell you, the alternative was not attractive. I don't suppose you have ever been to oblivion so let me fill you in on something. There's nothing there. Just empty space. I don't know about you, but floating around in empty space for all eternity with billions of other people doesn't particularly seem too thrilling. And it's not like this place won't go on existing either.

People were floating around in space forever, but we'll be doing it with a zillion retards that'll be telling us stories about how they once dwelt in this kick ass place where life was sweet but they screwed the pooch for everyone and now life after death consists of a twenty four hour space walk and public fornication in a zero gravity environment. What a mess.



So that was the deal. And that was where the executives came in and pulled their own hair out. You get the glorious task of telling everyone down there that they have to shape up or they get shipped out. I knew for one, not to expect anyone to listen for quite some time. We made the mistake last time of giving our guy some special powers so that he could convince people that he wasn't kidding. But not this time, Andrew (the club president) grabbed the machete like the good old fashioned Asian he was and said "...sometimes you've got to do it all by yourself."

That was about the time we were taught a lesson. And we fully expected him to do it too. Rarely does the guy bluff. And I'm sure there will come a time in the future when Sharon and Andrew will change their minds and try all of this again but I can't say that for certain. The only thing that's ever been for certain is this place. And well... there goes that theory.

So ACSA tried to calm itself down a bit. Why not do it? What was there to lose? If people weren't willing to listen to them it wouldn't be their fault. They didn't have control over their communities actions and thoughts, only they did. Anyway, I took some photos as planned, click here to view the gallery. With what I've tried to assemble, they should be in some cohesive order, but aside from that there was nothing cohesive about what was going on.

As the voices fell silent in my head, I realized that I was shaking like an epileptic. Fear was not an applicable word for what I was feeling. Terror, though somewhat more directed, was a weak substitute. All in all, I enjoyed myself immensely.

symptoms to the underlying racism

We've learned that some people have a very difficult time discussing racial bias in journalism. We've learned that some people have a very difficult time realizing that the media's influence in public perception is stronger than some believe.

And we've learned that some people have a hard time believing that the press can make such blatantly racist blunders, which could be symptoms to the underlying racism that still exists in our culture. We were also reminded that the anonymous negative commentors are just as clueless and worthless and cowardly as we always remembered them as being.

I spend so much time writing, do the anonymous commentors only look at the pictures and choose which words they are going to read? Lately I have only written one or two posts a day. Do us all a favor and read them before you put your foot in your mouth.In this initial post I provide two pictures from the devastating New Orleans flood. AFP was capable of calling alleged looters looters, and that, unlike some have claimed, it was not an issue of two different agencies defining terms.

The problem at hand was that AFP had called Blacks with goods looters and whites with goods finders. At the root of anonymous negative commentors is something twisted that makes them poor readers, poorer critics, and that might lead to their cowardice of refusing to play the game like everyone else and putting their real name/email/blog next to their bullshit.
Some so go step further and alleged that I was a race-baiter. Because as we all know, if you see the press call whites "finders" and Blacks "looters" and you call the press out on their bullshit, and if you link to other discussions where others have concurred, then you are a race-baiter. Bloggers and wanna-be bloggers out there learn from this lesson: no matter what you do to prove a theory or write a post there will be snipers that will come at you from the weeds. They will attack you when you are making a clear and valid point.

Instead of aiming at the issue at hand they will name-call and try to distract the audience away from the point. Ignore those critics, especially when they don't have the nads to put their real name/email/blog next to their distortions. They will try to smear and discredit you and all I can say is ignore them, they're just slapping at your arm as you’re driving the lane. Go for the hole and tick tock don't stop.

Which means its probably in more people's hearts than we all think. Therefore think about your perceptions and your biases and if youre a journalist, just tell the damn story and keep your opinoins to the op-ed page.

And bloggers, definitely call out those who deserve to be called out, especially those who propigate stereotypes to millions through captions of photographs. Odds are there are far more people who will read the caption than the story, so those words are the most powerful in the grand discussion that we are all part of.

Slowly over the last few months I've come to the realization that I’ve been using this blog in particular and the net in general as a shelter from my life. A yearly excuse to not get involved in life around me. A shelter from my own emotions and a substitute for interpersonal relations. It helped me get through my breakups and I've "met" many wonderful people through it. For me, not necessarily for any other bloggers, it was an escape from my life, just like anyone could so call a drug and that was wrong.

However, closeting myself in this room for days on end, only getting out to shop or go for a solitary hike, is neither healthy or emotionally safe. That's why posts have slowed in their frequency and sometimes more shallow in their content. Discontent with my life along with a lot of extra responsibility at work is rearing my head.

About a few weeks ago I re-established contact with my ex-girlfriend, Sharon an we're we nearby visited each other several times. We both realized, without saying so to each other, that we were very attracted to each other and so when the time was right for both of us we got back together again to go to the mountain festival and the rest has been, as they say, history. My days, yet still spent on my computer like always, are now also spent together living, away from the net and it is simply wonderful.

So this is my way of saying that although I won't be shutting this blog down, I'm not so sad anymore. For the a time in my life I've experienced real lasting happiness and I intend to pursue that with all vigour.

climate change remains to be proven

In most blogs, some people most often explore their archetype and write it off as a passage through life, somehow, some people can still question my affinity to not delve into details about a life of someone within the confines of another. I can never see how it under any circumstances can ever measure to the catastrophe at hand and be debunked so easily. You can say I'm a little pissed. That's drunk in British speak. Ruminating on administration and failure that I'm going to explore and ramble on about how I got here. I guess you could call it a period of adjustment. The familiar has morphed into the strange. Or maybe it’s the strange that’s become too familiar. I can't be sure. I'd say it started with my morning coffee, when it stopped tasting rich and flavourful and began tasting like warm, milky water, but I'm not sure. In any case, writing about things feels different lately, and when I think about some of the things I've written previously, especially about time travel, I cringe.

There is little doubt that the destruction and loss of life in the southern United States is both extremely tragic and devastating. And while some are displaying truly heroic traits, others are taking advantage of the situation. Widespread lawlessness has been reported in New Orleans, including shootings (shootouts), theft, and carjackings.

Everything from office buildings to hospitals have been looted with reports of armed gangs having moved into numerous hotels. The question now is - do authorities have sufficient resources to combat the problem and focus on the continuing evacuation of the city?

Here are a variety of interesting articles about the situation...

• Why Thousands May Die
• Federal Government Wasn't Ready for Katrina, Disaster Experts Say
• No One Can Say they Didn't See it Coming
• Why New Orleans is in Deep Water
• Did New Orleans Catastrophe Have to Happen?
• Disasters Keep Coming but FEMA Phased Out

As many of you are already aware there is a terrible tragedy unfolding, one that has affected hundreds of thousands, if not millions, and will continue to do so. It has robbed people of their homes, of their livelihoods, of their security, of their hope.

You think I'm talking about the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, don't you?

Strange how you might assume that.

After two and a half years, Iraq has seen nothing but death, destruction, and deprivation. Basic services in Iraq are still intermittent, sewage remains a drastic problem, and the unemployment rate is over 50%. And now, beyond the insurgency, which has grown, diversified, and shown amazing resilience and adaptation (in Al-Anbar province it has fought the United States to an absolute standstill), Iraq’s constitutional crisis may very well act as the last nail in its coffin. After two and a half years of foreign occupation and grief, the people of Iraq may now have to face civil war.

What is the difference between the devastation wrought by Hurricane Katrina and the devastation in Iraq? There is absolutely nothing that anyone can do about a hurricane.

It's disturbing how an agenda can alter how much value we place on life, not to mention race. How much death is excusable for the promotion of democracy or to fulfill the gas guzzling needs of others? The hammer must hit home to all whom think we're in 'ridiculous' times only when they mileage is effected. Is the life of a child worth a quarter off of a gallon of gas? How about twenty children? Were they white children I can assure you that alternative fuel technology funding would be through the roof.

For the most part, we view death through a surreal filter, through a soft lens, from the comfortable confines of living rooms, from the cushioned warmth of couches. We watch as one dimensional personalities detail death with perfect hair, their exquisite dental work giving death a smile. We have become so accustomed to a sanitized reality that it has become nearly impossible for us to fathom our own culpability.

President Bush cut his vacation short and returned to Washington to address the country, to reassure Americans that the government is doing all that it can in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. What Mr. Bush did not mention was that more than a third of the members of the Mississippi and Louisiana National Guard are either in Iraq or supporting the war effort. These are the men and women who are supposed to be the first available resource with regards to rescue and security operations in disasters such as this. According to National Guard officials in those states affected, the limits of available manpower are already being stretched. It should also come as no surprise that most of those remaining to face this disaster have already done tours in Iraq.

The US Army Corps of Engineers is now tasked with trying to repair the damaged and overrun New Orleans levee system, a task that will take some time to accomplish. But what might interest you is that, in 2003, federal funding for the Southeast Louisiana Urban Flood Control Project was severely reduced. Walter Maestri, the emergency management chief for Jefferson Parish, Louisiana, told a local news paper in June of 2004 that funds had been diverted…

"It appears that the money has been moved in the president’s budget to handle homeland security and the war in Iraq, and I suppose that’s the price we pay. Nobody locally is happy that the levees can’t be finished, and we are doing everything we can to make the case that this is a security issue for us."

Ray Nagin, the mayor of New Orleans, has said that hundreds, if not thousands, have been killed in New Orleans alone. A public health emergency has also been declared for the entire Gulf Coast.

Widespread looting and random violence have also been reported. Local police and fire have also reportedly been caught looting.

During these times, while reaching or safety, we’re sublimity given a long look into the gaping, repressive, black hole inhabited by those little considered. It's times like these that the differences between 'us and them' are blatantly exposed. While those in Darfur not only have to live as refugees, but also in fear of constant attack, those who have fled Hurricane Katrina do not. Unlike those who were devastated by last year's tsunami, many of Katrina's victims will be able to rebuild their lives because of insurance, a generous outporuing of public and international assistance, federal aid that won't be halved or disappear after this event is no longer a headline. International aid will not be misappropriated, fail to show up, or arrive only to be a tenth of that promised. Those who survived Hurricane Katrina will not be so easily forgotten.

Please, take some time to visit amnesty.ca for a better, happier - shit hole.