No Matter What, Watch This

Okay, this is sappy. But so worth it, watch the whole thing, and if you're in exactly the right mood, you'll be blown away.

Computers, or at least A computer when my dad worked on them....

That's one computer filling a whole room. There were cards that fed it the language...or something.

Don't tell me, we don't have the technology to do this, or do that...it's silly. Let's get going on developing our portable renewable energy maker converter gadgets, and a catchy new name for whatever it is, too.

GMA is EVIL- Life in the Philippines

GMA stands for Gloria Macapagal Arroyo.
This paper can be purchased at any news stand here in the Phlippines. A student was reading this in my class, and I couldn't help but notice the headline. Only part of this was scannable, the right margin is missing. I grabbed it because this is the general feeling of anyone here I've ever talked to, and this headline is quite blunt. I can't even imagine a major newspaper in the US running a headline that says GWB IS EVIL.

Here's a joke picture of her I found on Flickr.

Just to mention...there's isn't a hint of misogynistic hatred here for her, it stems purely from corruption, the most used word here in the Philippines. The gender of the president is neither here nor there to the people, likely because of the beloved Corazon Aquino.

Anyway, just thought I'd share.

Part I and II Working Title: The Pedestal

In The Desert

In the desert there is sunlight and heat and rattlesnakes minding their own business, not even bothering with their rattles. There's brush here and there. Off in the far distance is a huge dark wall of a mountain, but straight ahead is a winding road to an ocean shore.

In this desert I'm hot but happy, comfortable and careless. This location isn't one far from civilization, it's just on the edge, not far from a shore or change of landscape or life. There's a paved road and in this desert that's where I'm walking, almost shuffling, thumbs in my jeans. There's a hot wind blowing, giving my hair a treatment. My hair seems long from the top, but is cut short and thick with layers blowing over my face and off again. I'm quite pleased with it.

I'm thinking about this because it's just me and the desert, me and denim and cotton and canvas-rubber shoes and a cool haircut. It's just me and my hairdo and my freckles and my form, shuffling along.

I could go off road and watch a rattlesnake, but I'm headed toward the beach. I'm not afraid of snakes, even venomous ones, but I'm walking to the ocean. This desert turns into dunes before joining the ocean, but before that, I'm stopped in my tracks.

Off to the right maybe twenty-five long steps away I see a pedestal. I don't know if it's ionic, or Doric, or Corinthian, that hardly seems the point. There's a clear glass box on top with blood red contents. Off in the distance, there are bushes and a young man, or maybe a boy is hiding there. I pretend not to notice. There's no way I'm not going to look at that box. I'll deal with that person if I must.

This is a perfectly cube shaped clear glass box. I step up and can open it from the top, the top frame of glass is a lid. Inside there are rose petals! Rose petals! How delicate, beautiful, vivid, soft. I reach my hand in to feel and find something like a card that I pull up. It's a photograph- of me!

Kind of. It's this beautiful version of me. I mean, more um...polished. Well not really me on any given day, but it's me nonetheless. And all I can think is-

What is this shit?
---------
Children of the Apocalypse

There's at least one person who knows.

The cryptic missive in the bushes knows I saw him, but he's a child of the apocalypse. Children of the apocalypse don't answer questions. These children have a set mind that 1) at any given moment they've done something wrong and 2) others have bad motives toward them; and so to hide their vulnerability and protect themselves from harm, they answer all questions wrongly regardless of topic. They could be asked where they purchased their rations for the day, or simply what time it is, but every question is a potential assault. Even eye contact is out of the question. They dart to and fro continually as scavengers of sorts. If they like you, they don't mind if you figure things out on your own. Hints or clues will be dropped sometimes. I can see that he's still peeking at me from behind the brush, but just the thought of talking to him sends a wave of irritation over me from head to toe. Presently, I don't feel like playing games.

My thoughts return to the mystery of the pedestal and the box. My moves aren't planned in advance, so this wasn't placed here for me. This was not supposed to be seen by me, and it doesn't feel like it has anything to do with me at all. Yet, this is a picture of me, kind of. So anyway, which is the creepier reality? For me, or not for me?

These are the things I'm pondering after turning on my heels to head back to my bike. My steps now are much more purposeful and speedy. I expect there to be a couple more children of the apocalypse near my bike, but I won't ask them anything.

Children of the apocalypse are so named because they are survivors of such. Had there been a planetary apocalypse, I suppose we would all be children of the apocalypse, but theirs was a localized destruction. Only their settlements were obliterated.

All that they had, every resource, every tool, every tradition, all that they knew to be true fact and every shared belief was gone, torn away, ruptured and raptured at the cellular level. What didn't rip apart atomically was damaged and so failed to replicate and so died. Many children live on, as do some of the mothers, but these mothers live in the past, unreachable.

The children that dart to and fro scavenging here and there and avoiding eye contact, these are the boys. Their given names are like Noah, Josiah, Jeremiah, Zeke -short for Ezekiel, Hosea, Amos, Elijah, Seth, Isreal, Jebediah, Micah, Jonah, and Bo- short for Boaz (my personal favorite and the nickname I have given any and all of them.) Their worlds are gone, they live in no world. Yeah, that's right, come to think of it, they live in no world.

There were girls, but they're all gone. They've easily assimilated into any group of their choosing. Melding together with new loved ones and new identities, they were changelings, or simply became invisible. These are called Mary.

The boys make their way daily by being useful to others which is quite a feat considering they do this with no direct communication. It has to be experienced to be believed. Schematics of archaic apparatus from their tribes survived their apocalypse, so these boys are good with technologies and adapt them to others' apparatus that, they believe, could use a retro-fit for improvement. All are water technologies. Now, in reality, people have the water technologies that they need and these children of the apocalypse came from tribes that used cumbersome and cryptic technologies to get anything done. I've never personally found anything that they've had to offer useful, and most settlements won't either. But there are those with limited time and resources to plan well, and sometimes these boys can fit a niche here or there, "upgrading"- as they like to think of it- a traveling vendor's water apparatus, or some motorcycle here and there. It's a temporary fix, whatever they're doing and the materials are not renewable, but it's cheap so for the time being all parties in the transaction are happy.

That's why they love my bike. It's not really powerful and it's obvious that I've made some adjustments to it, so they figure I'm the type that wouldn't mind a "more efficient" (it's not) water system. I happen to know that, if anything, it's a lateral move at best. Anything they could offer is done better on the new bikes. New bikes are cheap anyway. I just happen to like my bike.

You can't blame them for trying, so sure enough, my bike has a couple of Boes examining it, and they're having an animated conversation with each other for my benefit. I figured as much anyway. I know what to do. As usual they are avoiding direct contact but the message is loud and clear. It's not appropriate for me to address them directly, so I start up my bike and happily mumble something in a friendly tone about getting a new one. I grab two wrapped pieces of candy from my pocket and throw them on the ground behind all three of us, I wink with my left eye to no one in particular and put my helmet on, which in these parts is necessary for a sand screen, and I speed off.

The Boes are young enough to dart for candy and they laugh hysterically at some funny joke that I'm not in on. They like to try to make people feel that they are laughing at them. Frankly speaking, Boes are punk asses. Alot of people don't like them, but they're in a tough position.

It's really hot out here, and I don't know where I'm headed.

Vinnnie Quits OCC- I Finally Saw The Episode

We're out here in the Philippines and we get OCC on the Discovery Channel Asia where it's called American Choppers. I found out on the internet awhile back that Vinnie and Cody had quit, but I hadn't seen the episode. Well, last night it was on, so here's my take on the whole thing.

One, I'm glad there weren't bad vibes. -On camera. I mean the whole thing is like...wait a minute, no two weeks notice, no goodbye party? So, I mean, I'm not dumb, there's some kind of situation for sure. I was happy that senior said to Vinnie that he appreciates what he did there. It was strange how Vinnie said a warm "thank you" but didn't even turn around.

I had read on the internet that Senior said something like 'anyone can be replaced'. It sounded pretty cold. Watching the episode and his demeanor for that part, I wasn't too upset with him. He said he's been in business thirty years and he's seen good people come and go. That was nice. Then it was edited to the comment, "anyone can be replaced"...it was just Senior being philosophical, and really, I've seen the same thing in work places. Life tends to go on.

I like the show and will continue to watch it. I do wonder this, though:
Do the Teutuls have the right perspective on Vinnie's importance to the show? Now some may think, well, that's not important. The heck it's not. OCC is a tv show whether or not some may pretend otherwise. I wouldn't know these people unless they were on television, and their tv reality is woven into their business. We're not just flies on the the wall there...the choppers they make speak to their unique status as a TV SHOW: Bill Murray, Billy Joel, visiting Russel Crowe's house in Australia, the list goes on. The auctions for the charity bikes work well because OCC is a TV SHOW, it's not just because nubby does a pretty paint job.

So what I'm saying is while they're tooling around in the shop, they may want to believe that they live inside a reality in which Vinnie is just another tool, just another employee, some low man on the totem pole, or whatever. But guess what? That's not reality. The reality is that Vinnie was a cast member on a world wide popular tv show and people love him just as much and maybe even more than the other players. He actually built the bikes, you know, a lot of the time. And he's a nice guy, funny and all that jazz. He was straight man to all the chaos if it broke loose. Some view Vinnie as indispensable to the success of that show.

When this story broke, I found out about it because I got hundreds of hits a week on my blog here, people looking for information about it. Every week I still get people googling this even though the story has died down a bit. People love Vinnie, it's that simple.

Like I said, I'm not quitting OCC as a viewer, but I just felt the need to share my view on that whole thing. My best wishes to Vinnie and Cody as they start their new bike shop.

Did You Ever Have One Of Those Days?

This is how I feel today. Did you ever have one of those days, where you hear a song and it hits you JUST RIGHT?



This is one of them days for moi and this is the song...play it.

Funny Mitt Romney Video

I know this makes me look not neutral, but I am...
and it may make me look godless, but...
this is FUNNY. Sometimes swearing is ok. I guess.
No, swearing is never ok...I hate it. It's just there's genuine frustration with this lame thinking, ya know?

Clone This

I HATE smoking. Hate it. But Brad, you're adorable. I also don't watch your movies because most of them are rated R. But...still I wrote this for you:
If you read my blog on MySpace...you've already seen this, sorry.

I'd like to make the case that Brad Pitt be cloned. Why should women have to suffer with the lack of choices out there? Many of us have already decided that we like him, why should we have to continue to search the world over?

Clone as many as neccessary. One for any woman who wants one.

The problem that I see with this, is that men woud clone a bunch of Angelina Jolies.

And then...

You know what would happen. All the Brads and all the Angelinas would run away together.

But think...

of all the children that would be adopted. Would there be any needy ones left?

So then I come full circle...let's clone Brad!

(Come on Angie, can't I have just one?)

-----------------------------------

You, know I was thinking after I wrote this about how this came up. Actually I was in class with the Koreans and we were talking about cloning and this is the conversation that came about naturally, it's just the way I think. The students were in stitches though. I forgot about it until Dave posted this picture of Brad in my comments section. Hm..

And I've always had this fear that if I got together with Brad Pitt that he would dump me for someone else. Now, that sounds like a joke. It's quite funny, so I say it as a joke, but seriously. I really did think that one day. So I say it now and again and there's usually someone around that will go into convulsions of laughter. Also because of delivery. I say it quite seriously. So because I really do think like that, when I thought about cloning Brad, those old fears raised their head again and I thought, sure then here comes a bunch of Angelinas to steal him. But then I enjoy them as a couple and their work. They're doing great things in New Orleans now.

Imagine a whole new meaning to 'Attack of the Clones'

Dedicated to the Lost Boys of FLDS

Hinkley, the president of the Mormon (LDS) church died, which has got me thinking.
LDS is not a cult...but FLDS is...
The people who get out, or are ex-communicated have a very hard time adjusting outside, and Anderson Cooper reported that the young men that leave are called the "lost boys" and are almost all of them- on drugs. My heart goes out to them and how hard it must be to adjust to the outside world. They don't need conversions, they don't need drugs...they need help with material things and opportunities and emotional support. They don't need another Warren Jeffs running their life and they don't need all the crazies out there in thunderdome, either.

Wow, I forgot how cute Mad Max is.

Out of the ruins
Out from the wreckage
Can't make the same mistake this time
We are the children
the last generation
We are the ones they left behind
And I wonder when we are ever gonna change it
Living under the fear till nothing else remains

We don't need another hero
We don't need to know the way home
All we want is life beyond the thunderdome

Looking for something we can rely on
There's got to be something better out there
Love and compassion, their day is coming
All else are castles built in the air
And I wonder when we are ever gonna change it
Living under the fear till nothing else remains
All the children say

We don't need another hero
We don't need to know the way home
All we want is life beyond the thunderdome

So what do we do with our lives
We leave only a mark
Will our story shine like a light
Or end in the dark
Is it all or nothing (less)