So today I took the inevitable first steps toward my fate of working at an ad agency.
When my boss found out I’m a creative writing major he asked me to write something “funny” for our next marketing flyer.
yey.
“Chess is as elaborate a waste of human intelligence as you can find outside an advertisement agency.” -Raymond Chandler
Amazing how sometimes what you’re thinking gets put into the perfect words.
Today’s hero comes in the form of our most distinguished alumnist, Pat Sajak.
http://www.humanevents.com/article.php?id=23656
“If any group of citizens is uniquely unqualified to tell someone else how to vote, it’s those of us who live in the sheltered, privileged arena of celebrityhood.”
Sweet. I suddenly feel like my coming Columbia diploma is less worthless.
An eventful weekend. Too eventful perhaps. Today I got a lot of work done but the nature of it has made me jittery again. My personal essay for creative non fiction changed- writing about my near-death-experience last year is never easy for me- but reliving it like that was not something I was completely prepared for. No lies in this one. No trying to gleam meaning or create drama or guilt. I just flat out said at the end that I don’t have closure.
Anxiety has been pretty low the last few months, things have been going great. Why this ticking though? Nausea. Shaking. Turning over in bed for hours. Ticking. That’s what I call it. I feel like my heart never has a moment of rest. Scared. Always something to be scared of. If the only thing we have to fear is fear itself then I would fear fear itself pretty powerfully.
People say to sublimate. Let it get into my writing. Use the paranoia, the anxiety in a positive way; make it work for me by creating something. It goes both ways.
Pray. Take a dietary supplement. Eat fresh fruit. Go back to bed. Toss. Turn. Be afraid. Repeat.
Hypochondria makes everything interesting.
The line between the two is so blurred for me that it’s not even funny. If writing is therapeutic, then it must treat everything.
You know you’re a hypochondriac living in the information age when:
you google “nausea”
and instantly believe you might have
1. High blood pressure
2. Acute kidney failure
3. Panic disorder
or 4. All of the above.
You can probably guess what I’m leaning towards at the moment. Can’t lay down. I’m the only person who jogs at 3 in the morning.
Once four AM gets here I’m usually ok, but until then I’m usually certain I won’t wake up tomorrow.
running out of articulation…
gone.
http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2007/11/19/071119fa_fact_anderson
So it appears that we may finally be doing something right in Iraq. All across the board, I’ve been reading about a vast decrease in violence in the country, especially in Baghdad. Of course the powers that be are claiming that these dwindling numbers of death are due to the success of the Surge. How accurate these numbers actually are is impossible to tell, and we must keep in mind that they have lied to us at about every single turn thus far. But let’s suppose that it’s true, that the Surge really is working to dramatically reduce the number of sectarian and US deaths in Iraq.
How did it happen? In reading the encouraging, if somewhat frightening New Yorker article, we learn that this has been made possible by greater cooperation with the population. The occupiers are finally managing to work with the natives in order to conduct proper counterinsurgency. (Whodathunkit?) While it’s more likely that this peace is made possible by Sadr’s cease-fire and less with our own tactical brilliance, it’s nice to see that something, maybe, is finally going right over there.
The Surge was the brainchild of Robert Gates and the new contingent of strategists that came from Bush I’s camp after Rumsfeld, Morons and Co. were ousted. At the time I was skeptical that adding 20,000 extra troops could do anything to quell the fire. (The actual number is more like 50,000, which makes alot more sense.) But it would appear that at this moment, the plan is working.
So, what now? While we can pray that it continues to work we can’t just rest on that laurel. The bloodshed in Baghdad is so pervasive and complicated that the only way to REALLY stop it is a coherent social, economic and political solution that enough people can get on board with to stop the civil war. (Radical criminal elements are simply a fact of life and probably will never completely abate in Iraq.) There are several positive signs that can help make this a reality: Sunnis and Shiites have comte together and as a result, Al Queda is all but completely marginalized. Iran is helping to stop the flow of arms. While 2007 has been the deadliest for our troops, recent months have seen a dramatic reduction in fatalities.
Suppose these trends continue. It will take at least another few years for things in Iraq to really stabilize. (Provided that Cheney, Nutjobs, Inc. don’t attack Iran.)
What do we do? Stay in Iraq? Will the next likely Democratic president keep our troops on the ground and continue to stay the course? Hillary certainly will, I’m not so sure if any other candidate is elected. Is this the right thing to do?
I have been deadset against this war from the beginning so it’s very difficult for me to change that stance just because we’re dying at a slower rate. But I also really am uncomfortable with immediate withdrawal. The problem is that I am paying for this war, whether it’s going good, bad, or anywhere in between. It has already cost the average American taxpaying family over 20,000 dollars. That’s alot of money in this economy. That’s alot of money, period and it’s going to continue to go up.
Another problem is that I’m paying for it, but not fighting it. Our troops have been asked far too much of already. Tours of duty have gotten completely out of hand and those returning are having a great deal of medical and pyschological problems. It’s unfair to ask them to keep fighting for another several years.
I haven’t made up my mind yet but I think a phased withdrawal ASAP is still the best plan for the future of Iraq. Maybe it will descend into chaos the minute we leave, but hey, that’s really not a problem that we can afford to deal with any longer.
When I visited my extended family in Idaho this summer for a reunion, we went wave-racing on the Snake river. I held on tight to my cousin’s life preserver as I got bounced and sprayed by the modest fresh water waves. On either side of me at any given time, I could see that the riverbed was exceptionally low. I’m not a geologist and I don’t know anything about rivers, but I could clearly see that there were rocks piled several feet high that used to be under water. But there they were, baking in the August sun. My aunt mentioned that the water level was the lowest that had ever been recorded. I was on vacation though, and news stories about climate change and envrionmental collapse were the last thing I wanted to hear about, next to the war. For a week I was free of television and the internet, so I was released from fear-mongering news, or so I thought. Nature has a way of making us pay attention, whether we like it or not.
On the western side of the Snake river there are rolling hills or small mountains, whatever you’d like to call them. As my cousin bobbed and weaved on the water I found myself squinting at the darkened patches of ground that covered the mountainside. When the waveracing finally ended, I asked my aunt about the giant shadows covering the ground. She said that there was no shadow; two weeks prior there had been a wildfire that had burnt several square miles of land. I looked again at the black stain on the hills in awe, realizing that it was miles and miles of charred grass and trees.
When the week was over I returned home to Chicago to the big news story of the wildfires in Greece and Southern California. I started researching it and found that the problem was much wider and prevalant than I could possibly have imagined.
I have yet to see a real effort by the mainstream media to cover this terrifying story. Kudos to the Nation for bringing it out of the closet.
As the World Burns: http://www.thenation.com/doc/20071203/e ngelhardt
So some of you may remember this character. His name was previously mentioned as Box. He has beaten up a white boy and taken his ultra cool sneakers, then his mom found out about it and kicked him out of the house. Now he lives with his gang-banger cousins and deals for a living. The last time we saw him, two members of a vigilante Muslim neighborhood watch group roughed him up and then shot him in the back.
The Woman and Her Dog
The second that the bullet hit his spine, Anthony Vargas slipped into a coma that he would not wake from for three days. In the meantime he dreamt of the woman and her dog. Only she was certainly no woman, and the creature was certainly no dog.
The dog was a nine-foot tall greyhound with black fur that reeked of burnt flesh. It didn’t seem to mind, however. Despite its smoldering hair it never yelped or barked and its pure white eyes gave no indication of pain; the beast was completely blank. On its neck there was a red dog collar with a nametag that read “Angel.”
Each night it came to Anthony and escorted him to a 70 story high-rise where its master lived on the top floor. Standing in the elevator with the creature was unbearable, as Anthony had to cover his nose to keep from gagging. The smoke made water fill his eyes as he watched the floor numbers glow.
The numbers of the floors were reversed. Every time the elevator dinged going up another floor, the number indicators went down. They started at 69 and descended as the car went up. Finally at the top floor, the button labeled “0” lit up and the doors opened.
Anthony followed the dog out of the car and found himself in a freakish downtown rooftop garden. The city was a few miles away on the eastern horizon, burning. An orange glow emanated from the charred skyscrapers and abandoned streets. The dog led him through the garden past rows of three-foot high mushroom clouds that were planted in wide, clay flowering pots. Several servants tended them; pouring gasoline onto the columns of smoke from water sprinklers. They all wore fencing uniforms and faceless masks and took no notice of Angel or Anthony. They went about their work, helping the fiery plants grow as their masks protected them from the leaping flames that ballooned and hissed with each spray of gas.
Near the end of the row there was a staircase that descended to the woman’s top-floor suite. The dog’s frame nearly filled the entire stairway, and Anthony was careful to stay a few paces behind so he wouldn’t have to smell it. As they entered the lights turned on and a voice called for them to come in. The suite itself was almost entire empty, except for statues lining the walls and a silk bed in the middle of the room. Lying on it was a woman in a short black dress wearing red lipstick. She sat up and smiled, then patted her leg with her delicate hand.
“Come here Angel!” She whistled. “Come on boy!”
The towering dog rushed forward and sat down next to her bed then she started petting him and rubbing her nose into his face as he licked hers.
“Who’s a good demon? Huh? Who’s a good demon? You are! Yes you are!” Anthony frowned.
“Da fuck?”
The woman continued coddling the dog and then reached behind her on the bed. She pulled out an eighteen-inch dagger with a silver handle and dangled it above the beast’s head.
“Does somebody wanna play catch? Hmmmm?”
Angel perked his head up and barked. It was not a normal bark; it sounded sickly and hoarse. “Awwww.” The woman threw the dagger across the room and shouted. “Fetch!”
The dog went bounding after the blade as it skidded across the marble floor. When it caught up, Angel held the blade with one paw and then started chewing on it like it was a bone. His canine teeth scraped the metal and blood started dripping out of his mouth, but he kept right on chewing his toy. Anthony shuddered and tried to focus on the woman, who didn’t seem to notice him until then.
“Oh. Hello Lieutenant. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Lieutenant?”
Anthony glanced down and saw that he was no longer wearing his baggy, shredded jeans. A pair of perfectly polished black shoes bottomed off his beige suite pants. On his chest, there was a green jacket with gold buttons, and over his heart there were a dozen bars and medals. Hanging over his awards was an American eagle lapel. “What’s all this shit?” He patted the coat all over, making sure that it was real. The silver and gold medals were real, shining, and cold to the touch.
“Your uniform, silly.”
The woman stood up from the bed and walked over to him in her bare feet. As she approached, Anthony noticed that her hair color was the same shade as Angel’s.
“Look I don’t even know what’s goin on here. I ain’t got no uniform, I ain’t in no army, and who the fuck is you anyway, and what the FUCK is up with that dog???”
She burst out laughing at this.
“Oh just relax.”
Anthony was about to scream “bitch is you crazy?” but he wisely decided to censor himself.
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
The woman stepped around him and started rubbing his shoulders from behind, and the stiffness in Anthony’s neck and upper back slowly started fading away. “Just take it easy. I’m gonna take care of you while you get better.”
“Get better from what?”
The woman stuck her fingernail in the wound on his back and then it all came rushing back to him; the park, the Sheiks, the gunshot, their dark features, their black hoodies and their thickly accented shouting, the taste of the sidewalk on his tongue, and the terror shaking him all over. As he remembered Anthony started shaking again and he reached back to touch. A lightning bolt of pain shot through him from the gaping hole in his spine.
“I’m gonna kill em. All of em.”
The woman kissed Anthony on the back of the neck and the pain stopped.
“Yes. Yes you will, dear. But for now you need to rest. You’ve got a lot of work to do, and you need your energy.”
Her delicate fingers stroked through his thin black hair and she whispered into his ear.
“Let me take care of you. Lieutenant Vargas.”
Then a long, pink, forked tongue emerged from the cave of her mouth and it licked Anthony on the neck. She came around and kissed him with it then dropped to her knees. Anthony was too scared to look down and watch her as she unbuckled his pants. He trembled at her touch. Over in the corner he saw Angel licking the edge of his toy blade, cutting his tongue and gums, seemingly loving to bleed. Anthony cringed and looked away from the dog to the walls, but they weren’t any more comforting. They were covered from top to bottom with an enormous portrait of blue skies, white clouds, and dueling angels. Some of them were wounded, painting the pure clouds a shade of pink with their heavenly blood.
Suddenly, he realized who the woman was.
Lieutenant Vargas felt his boxers slide down to his ankles and he screamed.
Normal Mailer died this week. Arguably the best American writer of our time. I could quote from the Naked and the Dead, but the man’s non-fiction and philosophy was always much more compelling. So here’s an interview with him from 2002 that I found. Amazing stuff.
I don’t adhere to party lines or partisanship. When we see a candidate getting clubbed for no good reason on either side, we should defend them, no matter which side of the aisle that they’re on. There are many reasonable Republicans who despise Bill Clinton, but thought that the blowjob impeachment proceedings were a joke and a travesty to justice.
I considered myself to be a moderate liberitarian Republican until King George the 2nd took office and flipped conservatism on its head. Over the last six years, I’ve moved left. Then more left. Then left again. But I’ve never believed that a party affiliation or political ideology should take precedent over what’s best for the country.
So, in that vein I’d like to take a moment to defend Ron Paul. This man is the only Republican candidate who wants immediate withdrawal from Iraq. While I certainly don’t agree with all of his positions, I feel that Iraq is the most important issue we’re facing today, on equal footing with climate change. What does Ron Paul get for speaking his mind and not towing the party line? Malicious attacks.
Fox Satan News’ Chris Wallace, claimed that Paul was taking marching orders from Al Qaeda because he wants us out of Iraq. I’m not even going to go there because if you don’t see how ludicrous that idea is then you probably aren’t even literate enough to read this anyway. But Fox Satan News is not the only one attacking him. There are people coming out of the woodwork on both the right and the left to discredit him as a neo-nazi. (I don’t even know, so don’t ask.)
In an ideal world, the media would not control who gets nominations and we wouldn’t be stuck with Hillary vs. Rudy. But we are stuck with these mainstream candidates because they support either the war or the business establishment.
If the GOP were to suddenly find its soul and nominate Ron Paul, I’d take him over Clinton or O’bama any day. It’s time that more of us started voting based on principle, not just on who we think has the best chance to win.
So I’m looking to get an MFA in creative writing somewhere in the midwest.
I will not, shall not, can not, continue at Columbia.
Yesterday, two fine examples why:
I had to read a kid’s essay in my creative non fiction class. He was a male model in New York before venturing to Chicago for college. At one point in the essay, he claimed to not be a narcissist. I wrote “really?” above it. Now I don’t know the guy personally, but after reading 3 pages I could see that somewhere in the piece would be a line about doing too much coke. I was not disappointed.
Then the bleeding heart commie in my Advanced class claimed that it was “righteous” to say that Jews have suffered more than any other group of people, historically. I reminded him of the millions who fled Soviet Russia.
…
It’s just kids like these that I can’t stand being around anymore. They have no real life experience. They have alot of money, intelligence and a vague idea about doing something positive through art, yet no talent or humility to pull it off.
Purdue is looking good at the moment, but looking elsewhere as well…
This is the latest on a poll from the Nation that asks Democrats who they would pick if the primaries were held in their state today:
Joseph Biden
(219) 3%
Hillary Clinton
(224) 3%
John Edwards
(670) 10%
Christopher Dodd
(65) 1%
Mike Gravel
(83) 1%
Dennis Kucinich
(1704) 27%
Barack Obama
(2416) 39%
Bill Richardson
(794) 12%
I almost voted for Edwards, but decided to stick with Kucinich.
I heard him on the Democracy now podcast today and found myself clapping out loud on the street. I’m so tired of all the derision he’s getting from mainstream Dems.
What’s really telling here is Hillary’s piss-poor showing. It shows you that she does not represent our interests and that most informed people know this.
Sad that most of those same people still haven’t noticed that Obama’s platform really isn’t all that different from HRC’s.
My outlandish idea for the day:
A third party ticket pairing Edwards/Kucinich.
Eh? Eh?
My goal for this next cycle is to really bring awareness to electoral fraud on both sides of the equation. We cannot allow another Florida incident, Ohio debacle, or Ralph Nader mugging to interfere with our democracy, no matter who wins in the end.
Calling out war mongers, free market flunkies, climate change denialists, and mindless Marxists on their bullshit.
