Perfection / Addiction / Obsession

Perfection - Addiction - Obsession. Are they all the same but just wear different masks? I become obsessed with concepts (examples in the past have been stamp collecting, astronomy, and hockey to name a few), but that obsession always links up with addiction in that I need to expose myself to that topic or medium constantly to satisfy my interest. However, perfection plays a part as well. I will have to have an original piece or I precisely check objects for imperfections, and, if not right, I am haunted by their flaws.

Here are typical, everyday examples of these forces at work in my life:

• Buying the Third - whether music, books, or any product, I always buy the third one on the shelf, unless it is damaged in some way.
• Mustard "S" - when I make a tomato sandwich, I always have to put the mustard on in a "S" shape.
• Minute Details - I always look at the differences between variations like taillights of a 2004 Sedona compared to a 2003 Sedona, and I file them away in my head as I drive.
• Instant Education - when I discover something new that I didn't anything about, I have to learn everything about that topic as quickly as I can.
• Gobble, Gobble - I often will horde all I can of a particular interest so I am comfortable that I have it all.
• Mapping - before I drive anywhere I completely draw the route I will take in my mind and must take that predetermined route precisely.
• Assumed Knowledge - I learn many things, but my brain assumes that everyone knows the material as well so I hardly discuss any epiphanies I have had, although rare exceptions show I have been mistaken.
• Coin Flipping - Often, when I have a wrenching decision to make, I'll flip coins, or anything that has discernible sides, to help aide me in that decision.
• Unfocused View - I did this more as a child, but sometimes do it as an adult. When I spectated some event or activity, I would unfocus my eyes some and stare at the event with utter intensity in hopes of influencing an outcome.
• Whisper Travel - The idea of throwing a whisper into the wind and imagining its complete and detailed travel across the country to its intended destination, such as when the Braves were in the last innings of Game 7 of the World Series in 1991 and I wanted to offer encouragement.

When I think about the examples above I realize that there is nothing wrong with them (they don't really hurt others or myself), but the comparison of how I think "I should be or act" makes me skeptical. We always seem to compare ourselves to what a typical American would do or think, but that concept consists of a false reality and is rather flawed. A mustard "S" makes me me and to try and eliminate it from my life is killing a part of me. Isn't that the tale of America: partial suicides in hopes of a personal, utopian Americana?

Preacher

I remember going to band rehearsals in the mid-90's and a friend of mine, Jason, would rush in from just getting the newly released Preacher comic. He would tell me some of the storylines and show me the fantastic covers, but I, never a comic reader except for a couple of copies of Beautiful Stories for Ugly Children and Tales from the Crypt when I was younger, didn't weigh the notion of jumping into the series myself. After a few chuckles about a cover which depicted a guy who had shot himself in the face, we would begin playing through our set list for that week's gig and Preacher would slip from my mind.

About a year later I had surgery and Jason came to my house to visit me as I recovered. He brought me a book, Preacher: Gone to Texas, as a get-well present. It was a trade paperback book that collected the first set of Preacher comics. Still in pain and hazy from all of the medications, I put the book on my night stand and went to sleep. When I awoke, I reached for the book and began to read the first few pages. A couple of hours later I had read the whole book and desperately wanted to see how the story continued. The artwork combined with an addicting flood of plot points had made me a Preacher addict instantly.

When I was better and could move out of the bed, one of the first things I did was drive to the local comic book store, "Heroes and Dragons." I had never gone in the store before and didn't know where anything was or how to find any Preacher comics. I asked for help at the counter and the guy showed me where the trade paperbacks were and I bought the next two Preacher editions, Until the End of the World and Proud Americans. I read those quickly, too, digesting the dark storylines as Jesse Custer's conflicts became deeper and more disturbing, and I had to go back to buy the last Preacher trade paperback that was available at that time, Ancient History.

I had gotten to the point now that the Preacher saga had my complete devotion, and with no trade paperbacks left to purchase, I began to search for the actual comic books to pick up where I had left off in the storyline. I went back to the comic store and asked about buying Preacher back issues since I was slightly behind in the series, which, at that time, was about to begin the War in the Sun episodes. As I looked through what little back issues they had and at the price they were asking for each comic, I realized how popular the series was at that moment. The salesman guided me to the glass case where he showed me the Preacher #1 comic and he was asking several hundred dollars for it. I, only concerned with catching up with the story, bought a couple of back issues and purchased the current Preacher on the just released shelf.

The next couple of months saw me catch up with the Preacher story line and I began to wait the agonizing month for the newest Preacher release. I signed up to be saved a Preacher every month and would count down the days until the I could get my next fix. I had no idea how to collect comics or how to keep them in pristine condition, so I bought a white cardboard box to the store the comics in and started buying boards and plastic to put each new issue in. I also began trying to collect the older issues, which I had read in the trade paperbacks, and searched on eBay to fill in the holes, but anything under issue #5 was too expensive for my blood.

Once, while I was in Beaufort, I came across a little comic book store and looked in the Preacher back issue section. There, to my surprise, were the first five Preacher issues. They were not priced, and I felt like I had found the holy grail because Preacher #1 had become a myth to me: it was always too expensive and seemed unattainable. Shakingly, I took the comics up to the clerk and asked how much he wanted for them. He looked at me, the only customer in the store, and said $75 for all. I couldn't believe it; $75 was way cheaper than people were asking for just issue #1 on eBay, so I quickly accepted the deal. As the clerk bagged the comics I noticed he gave me all the comics, which included multiple copies of issues #2, #3, #4, and #5, and my heart fell to the floor with shock. When I got into the car I gazed into the bag to make sure I wan't dreaming. With the exception of one or two comics, I had now the entire set plus the magical Preacher#1.

I continued my reading of Preacher as the new issues emerged and would talk to Jason about the story and about Garth Ennis's statement that he would only produce about 60 or so Preacher issues. With Alamo, the Preacher saga began to come to a close and I was excited because I knew that the question of how Jesse would find and destroy God would be answered, but I was also sad because the magical effect Preacher had upon my life was about to end. I didn't really read any other comics, although I wanted something to capture my attention like Preacher had. With the last few issues of Preacher I also started reading the new DC Vertigo comic Flinch, but it didn't grab me like Preacher did, so when I bought the last Preacher I never returned to the comic book store again, not even for Flinch.

In time I sold my Preacher collection and went back to my routine of life. The storylines and artwork have begun to fade from my memory, so as I looked online a few days ago to buy a complete set of Preacher trade paperbacks, I stumbled across a full-run collection for a cheap price and bought it. I am not sure if there are comics out there that I am missing that would capture my attention like Preacher, but as I await for the collection to arrive, all I can think about is returning to that special time of my life when the beauty of language and art emerged into a perfect union called Preacher.

Willy Wonka

My wife, when she was a child, wanted to watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory as it premiered on national television in the late seventies, which was a big deal because there were only three stations at the time and the rerunning of movies were few and far between. Her parents, however, used the movie as a form of discipline, not allowing her to watch the broadcast after breaking a rule, so she spent the evening peeking from the door jamb of her room, trying to get any kind of glimpse of the film. I think that experience made the movie even more magical for her and the film lifted itself into a special place in her heart.

When I think of the film, I am always drawn to the scene when they are licking flavored wallpaper and Gene Wilder turns to Veruca and says," We are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams." I considered Wilder's ability to bring the spontaneity and crazed-compassion of Willy Wonka to the screen as the strongest element of the original motion picture. So, when Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory opened this weekend, we had to go see it and compare the two versions.

I was concerned about the new movie at first because so many people are currently making dreadfully awful remakes of films and television shows. My other concern, of course, was the affinity the American public has created for Gene Wilder's Willy Wonka character, and how Johnny Depp would respond to tackling such a well-known role. The original, even though Roald Dahl wrote its screenplay, drifted from the novel a bit so I also wondered if the new film would follow the novel's course more or not.

I have always been an admirer of Tim Burton, seeing all of the movies he has made (they even showed a clip of his next movie, Corpse Bride, in the new film's preview), including his first film Frankenweenie, and have always wanted to come from his movies excited and inspired. A past student of mine, Perry Walston, even played a lead role in one of the films Burton made in Alabama called Big Fish, so I was eager to see how Burton would do this time.

When you like an artist's work it can be hard to give a negative critique because our society tends to take stars and become devotees to them through thick and thin. I think that is a dangerous way to support an artist because an artist needs to receive realistic feedback on what works and what doesn't. Many bands have fans like that, who will take a record that was not well-received and still claim that it contains moments of brilliance. In truth, we all have down times. Even the most creative artists in the world experience failure, which is good because, I believe, only success can arise from failure.

Although I am a big Tim Burton fan, I must acknowledge that he has had some failures. I have always enjoyed his creative, Robert Smith-like approach to movies, but sometimes they have soured. The biggest disappointment, I suppose, was Batman Returns. Even going to see The Nightmare Before Christmas on opening day I came from the film with a feeling of approval, but I still felt like I was wanting the movie to be greater than the film's actually ability to be great on its own. I found Big Fish, as I watched it with much anticipation at my student's special opening day screening, was the same way, so when I purchased tickets to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory from Fandango, I was silently hoping that Tim Burton could return to the brilliance of old with films like Edward Scissorhands and Beetlejuice.

Happily, I can say that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory does work very well. The story line, especially with the revelations of Willy Wonka's past childhood, makes the film a much more cohesive whole. Despite having a xeroxed-copied Oompa-Loompa throughout the movie, Burton, through his wit and artistic vision, was able to recreate the Wonka masterpiece into its own realm of magic. Johnny Depp did a fantastic job of making the personality of Willy Wonka separate from Gene Wilder's adaptation, which is a strong reason for the film to exist as an alternative to the original and, thankfully, not a verbatim copy.

I think the Oompa-Loompas' songs were one of the most exciting parts about the film because there formats and atmosphere fit well to each child's fault that they sung about. Also, the artistic detail that Burton, a fabulous artist himself, brings to the film, like the crooked Bucket shack and the details of the factory, succeeds fabulously. All in all, I find my past affections for Tim Burton's work renewed, and I can hardly wait to view Corpse Bride on its opening night as well.

I think Tim Burton, or for that matter anyone else thinking about riding Wonka's success, should never make a film of Roald Dahl's sequel, Charlie and the Glass Elevator, because even Dahl himself admitted that it was a book he wished he had never written; he had only produced the sequel following pressure from his agents after the original film's world-wide acceptance. Roald Dahl, a very interesting writer who has always despised parents and schooling, and Tim Burton, one of the only original directors in Hollywood today, compliment each other's abilities wonderfully. It would be amazing to see what they could have produced together if Dahl was still alive.

Plath

I just finished watching the Gwyneth Paltrow movie Sylvia which is based on the life of the great American confessional poet Sylvia Plath. Although the movie has been out for sometime, it has always been able to avoid my viewership for some reason or another, so I queued it up on my Blockbuster.com account and received it the other week. I suppose I have heard or seen somewhere that the movie was not considered to be too great, and maybe that is why I have procrastinated in seeing a movie about a poet that has always moved and inspired me.

Now that I have seen the film, I have to agree that it was abysmal. The story line was slow and the plot points fell into so many jumbled pieces that it was often frustrating to watch. I couldn't help but feel that the movie was making an effort to try and mask Ted Hughes's mistreatment of Plath with excuses of her sanity, or lack thereof. In one scene, they even have Sylvia Plath trying to admit that Hughes's affair was an after effect of her not trusting him. It's exacerbating to watch a movie about such a magnanimous person, but yet the screenwriters are boxing her life into a drab existence that I find extremely offensive to her actual genius.

There was another film that came out years ago called The Bell Jar, which was based on her autobiographical novel. The movie's director took some liberties with the script, even including an element of lesbianism that Ted Hughes, at the time, found revolting. He sued the film company and the film makers and won the lawsuit. Ted Hughes, who was the Poet Laureate of England, died of cancer in 1998 shortly after the release of his book Birthday Letters which contained poems about his relationship with Plath and his subsequent mistress. Throughout his life Ted Hughes would never talk about Plath, and it was a shock when the book was released to an eager public that has always wanted to know his thoughts about those tragic events. I think he continuously wrestled with the demons of Plath's suicide and saw how his serial-adultery affected the world's affinity for her work and the world's disgust for him.

Ted Hughes's mistress, Assia Wevill, would later commit suicide in a very similar fashion to Sylvia Plath. With her daughter, Shura (fathered by Hughes), in tow, Wevill dragged a mattress into the kitchen, feed Shura and herself sleeping medicine, and then turned on the unlit oven's gas. Plath didn't murder her children, she stuffed towels around their door frame to insure their survival when she took her own life. Wevill, haunted by the presence of Plath's death, tried to end her humiliation of the entire Hughes experience by destroying herself and anything that was a sign of her infidelities with Hughes, namely their daughter.

Ted Hughes seems to have lived a life filled with defense of his short time with Plath. Being the widower, he possessed the power of editorialship and would often filter any information about Plath so she was made to look like an insane buffoon and he the victim. It has always been hard to buy a Sylvia Plath volume and know that the money was going to a man that many blame for her death. Although he had passed away before the release of this film, Sylvia still seems like an effort to redeem Hughes from the shackles he has worn, and still does wear, even in his own death, in regards to the demise of Sylvia Plath.

Cinema is a powerful tool that can touch many people's lives and minds throughout the world. I think that in due time a screenplay will emerge that sheds a deeper understanding of the conflicts Sylvia Plath faced in her life, especially in her frantic final days in 1963. Until then, her works, although few, can keep even the most devoted readers flabbergasted, amazed, and speechless. Now that I think about it, maybe the "cinema of the mind" should be where Sylvia Plath succeeds best, as she dances and twists in the ballroom of ravaged rhythm and macabre metaphor.

Dreams So Real

As a young R.E.M. fan I rented a VHS copy of Athens, GA Inisde/Out from the local Blockbuster video store. Of course I wanted to see the R.E.M. spots in the video, but the other bands, which I didn't know of at the time, also intrigued me: the crazy rock-a-billy of The Flat Duo Jets, the smoothness and mystery of Pylon, the rawness of the Bar-B-Que Killers, and the glossy sound of Dreams So Real. In fact, as I browsed the local record store aisles after seeing the video for the first time, I came across a cassette of the movie's soundtrack and bought it since it had inspired me so much.

A few years later, as I traversed through a Haywood Mall Dollar Store in the early 90's, I came across a bin that had cassette tapes flung in it. As I fumbled through the different titles, I found several copies of Gloryline by Dreams So Real. I bought a copy and listened to the tape over and over for the next few days. It was so good that I went back and bought several more copies to give to friends. The discovery of the cassette made me realize for the first time how many great bands are shunned and should have done very well, but, maybe due to bad timing or a lack of luck, were never given the opportunities they deserved. Now that I am a little bit older I can think of several musical compositions that are wonderful, but seemed to have escaped from the limelight of mass-market appeal: Daylight by Duncan Sheik, Message for the Mess Age by NRBQ, Now It's Overhead by Now It's Overhead, Poovey's Grove by Blightobody, to just name a few.

Despite buying the album for a dollar, Gloryline has remained a constant presence in my life. I have since bought more copies of it on CD and even today, fifteen years later, I like to listen to it on long drives, especially when I head to Athens to eat at The Grit. When I think of Dreams So Real, I remember watching that Athens video and being amazed with the quality of the drummer, Drew Worsham, and the clean, crisp sound they produced as they performed "Golden."

I assumed that the band had maybe broken up since their albums were cruelly being tossed in sale bins, so I decided to look up some info on the band on the internet. As I looked through several websites, I discovered the band had indeed drifted apart, but I also learned some very terrifying news about their drummer whom I have admired for almost 18 years now.

Drew Worsham had moved away from the Athens scene to the Brunswick, GA area and was playing drums for different cover bands and working as a computer technician. He was dating a girl named Dara Jo Wasdin in December 2003 when, early one morning, Wasdin's ex-boyfriend, Joel Chris Blankenship, entered Worsham's home and shot him at close range in the face after they had started arguing. Blankenship then kidnapped Wasdin and drove her to a wooded area a few miles away where he shot her in the head and then shot himself, also in the head. Blankenship died instantly and Wasdin died the next day from her wound.

Drew Worsham amazingly survived the shooting. The bullet that had entered his skull had not reached his brain, but had lodged itself in his eye socket. Worsham lost his vision temporarily, but regained some of it back after a few days in the hospital. Fellow local musicians organized a special concert for Worsham in January 2004 at Smith's Olde Bar in Atlanta since he was uninsured and needed help with paying his medical bills.

I have never met Drew Worsham or any of the members of Dreams So Real before, but maybe this feeble blog can reveal in a small way the impact their music has had upon my life. Just in case you ever stumble across these words, Drew, I wish you all the best in your recovery.

Cat and Marc

Cat Stevens, a huge rock star in the 1970's, formally became a Muslim in December 1977 and then changed his name to Yusuf Islam. His story is intriguing to me because he was a man that was at the height of his success and walked away from it all. He sold all his memorabilia, entered into an arranged marriage, and began practicing his Islamic faith full time. He pops in and out of the news every now and again, such as in the eighties when he came out in support for the death sentence ordered by the Ayatollah Khomeini against novelist Salman Rushdie for writing the book The Satanic Verses. Many people were displeased and stop playing his Cat Stevens' songs on classic radio and 10,000 Maniacs pulled their cover of "Peace Train" off of their In My Tribe album. Yusuf Islam made news again recently when he was stopped from boarding a plane because authorities were worried about him being a terrorist; the guards had no idea that he used to be Cat Stevens, they had stopped him only using their narrow-minded racial profiling tactics.

In an age when almost everyone plays air guitar as a child and dreams about being on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans, it is rare to see an artist voluntarily walk away from abundant prosperity in order to follow down a path of principles and morals. Many artists, despite the stress and battles with guilt, continue to try and last through the musical machine, but are often spit out, disarrayed and broken, like Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Michael Hutchence, and Marc Bolan.

Marc Bolan, also a huge rock star in the 1970's, had a life that interwined with Cat Stevens' in some respects: both were British rock stars, both knew each other, and both had experienced an almost spiritual transition in 1977. Bolan, a small, curly-haired, elfish figure, found himself on top of the world in 1971. He had transcended from the acoustic, bongo tunes of Tyrannosaurus Rex to the electric boogie of the revamped T. Rex. Despite not igniting the hearts of Americans with his music, Bolan found that the British fans had deemed T. Rex as the next Beatles after the massively successful single "Hot Love." T. Rextasy began to sweep across Europe and one Beatle, Ringo Starr, even joined forces with Bolan to capture the magic of their 1971 success in the film Born to Boogie.

After the earth-shattering phenomenon of Electric Warrior and the ending of Bolan's friendship with John Peel, T. Rex released their next album The Slider. The band's reputation, like the title of their new album, began to slide. Marc Bolan, once an avid vegetarian, poet, and Tolkien buff, drifted into the world of alcoholism, drugs, and egotism. His weight began to balloon up, his marriage to June Child (once Pink Floyd's secretary) ended, and members of the band began to quit including his bongo-banging sidekick Mickey Finn. As he struggled through the mid-seventies, Bolan found himself trying to reinvent the greatness he once had. He had a child, Rolan, in 1975 with his girlfriend Gloria Jones (the first to record "Tainted Love") and began to clean up his life. He started taking care of himself and began working to promote the newly emerging punk scene in Britain. On his final tour in 1977, Bolan had even invited The Damned to tour as his opening act.

In the summer of 1977 Marc Bolan released his last single "Celebrate Summer," which contained the eerie refrain, "Summer is heaven in 77," and Bolan began starring in his own television show called Marc. He helped showcase up and coming new talent like The Boomtown Rats (Bob Geldof) and Generation X (Billy Idol). In one outtake from the show, Bolan is on stage playing with his friend, and sometimes nemesis, David Bowie and falls off of the stage in the middle of the song "Standing Next to You." Marc, who ended each show with the phrase, "Keep a little Marc in your heart," would be dead exactly one week after the taping of the Bowie show.

On September 16, 1977, two weeks before his 30th birthday, Marc Bolan was killed in a late night auto crash when Gloria Jones crashed their purple Mini into a tree on a dangerous road in England. Marc, although he had an affinity for cars, never did drive and even had a premonition that he would one day die in a car crash. His premonition came true. Upon word of his death, people raced to his home and broke in stealing memorabilia, papers, and anything they could lay their hands on. Gloria Jones, still in the hospital with her jaw wired shut, had no idea her home was being ransacked. Although their son received some money from the estate, Jones does not receive any of Bolan's royalties. It has been a rather dark mystery as to who is receiving the money being made from Marc's music. Royalties are still being sent to an offshore account and being claimed by an unknown source.

Despite their ups and downs in the musical world, Cats Stevens and Marc Bolan still find their music alive and well in the covering of their songs by some of the most famous acts in the world today, like Sheryl Crow and Morrissey, and their work being featured in movie soundtracks and television commercials. 1977 found the death of one and the rebirth of another. Their stories reveal the pitfalls of excess and fame, and show the truth of the old gypsy curse: "May you get what you want and want what you get."

Brat Camp

This evening I saw a new show on ABC called "Brat Camp." It is about a wilderness camp in Oregon called Sage Walk (click here to see) that tries to help at-risk children who have ran out of options. As I watched the teens strip themselves from all their worldly pleasures, I realized we all need to go to Brat Camp. These teens are some of the most troubled, drug-addicted, boisterous Americans there are and they, upon their emergence into a natural life, find the meaning and purpose of living as a trusting unit.

Our current society seems to stress individuality to a point that we lose ourselves. Kids yearn to be an adult quickly so they can move away and live freely on their own, but once you find your little apartment you realize that it is not a wild adult party when the bills begin rolling in. Our separation from our families and communities leads to this aggressive nature to fight for the scraps we find everyday. Going out into the world alone is like a lone piece of string, that with a little bit of tension, will break. A community is a collections of strings that become a sturdy rope that hold up to the tensions of life. We need to rethink our views of desolation as some form of liberty; it is more a distraction from the experiences of various perceptions of the world.

I then watched Morgan Spurlock's "30 Days" episode about two city dwellers moving into an ecovillage called Dancing Rabbit. The show seemed to gel with my brain's deconstruction of what I saw on "Brat Camp". Places like the Dancing Rabbit Ecovillage (click here to see) and Zendik (click here to see) seem to be a couple of examples where people are joining together in a communal sense to remove themselves from the machine of current American life and to live life based on their own choices. It is an addiction we have with this overstimulating world we live in, but to think about removing yourself from the glitz and glamour of society's media, clothing, and fast food reveals how tough it could be. Our society has us enslaved with interest rates and bills, that, to leave the machine we are caught up in, would be hard, but to escape it and find the true realities of life, love, and purpose seems so intoxicating and so inviting.

I am jealous as I see those juveniles hike across the cold, Oregon terrain because they are on a path to finding themselves and I am on a path of monotony. But, when their time of introspection comes to a close, and they return to their suburban homes, I can't help but think that they will return to the competition and deflation of American life. It is almost like detoxing a drug addict, but then giving them the cocaine back when their detox is complete.

I flip through the hundreds of channels on my satellite dish watching these shows, critique my life as I sit in the comfort of my air conditioned home, and then type this blog and send it across the world on my DSL connection. I am so much a slave to these unnatural machines that beep and ding at me, but what do I do? How do I just severe myself away from this life? How can I free myself from a tyrannical system that dictates and limits any choices I may have?

Natalie Merchant

I remember walking the streets of Asheville, NC as a teen and listening to Blind Man's Zoo by 10,000 Maniacs. The pulse of the beats and the powerful crescendos, along with the crisp staccatos of Natalie Merchant's voice would grow stronger with every flip of the cassette in my portable walkman. Those songs became a soundtrack to my life at that time and when I listen to the album now on my Dell DJ, I am taken back to that magical summer.

Natalie Merchant left 10,000 Maniacs a few years later after the group moved from being a college band associated with R.E.M. to a radio mainstay on VH1. Merchant's solo music is ok, but the simple, yet original rhythm section and the fluid jangle of the guitar has disappeared. It seems that virtuoso musicians, although talented and very proficient, lack the enthusiasm and the creative imagination a less skilled musician may have.

I have played drums for many years and with many bands, and I have tried to study and advance myself like Neil Peart of Rush or Niko McBrain of Iron Maiden, but, even though those drummers do some very amazing things, I find myself touched with the gentle, but simple beats of people like Meg White or Jerry Augustyniak. Sometimes becoming so involved in complicating a rhythm can drain out the emotion that was there.

I think it is beneficial to all artists to remain in that realm of amateurism to a large degree. The studying and out doing of others begins to infect the music or poems that we produce. A poet that has studied English Literature throughout his college life becomes a slave to his views of literature based on T.S. Eliot or Yeats. A person who writes from the heart without the predisposed influence of "the masters" can create much more original and thought-provoking work.

Natalie Merchant, a once shy and bashful youth, poured that emotion into her art with 10,000 Maniacs, and when you listen to the albums you can hear and feel the wanting and the need to share their thoughts and ideas with us. The trick is battling past your successes, because the public turns a song or a poem into a "miracle," and it causes you to think that it will shadow anything you produce later. But it won't, I believe, if you continue to speak from the heart and retain that love for creationism.

I don't know if Natalie Merchant will join with 10,000 Maniacs again someday like Pink Floyd and the Pixies have done, but it would be nice to hear that voice couple with the musical excitement of a band that has returned to the place that they belong. But it will be without the fluid jangle of Robert Buck who succumbed to liver disease in 2000 (Click here to donate to the Robert Buck Fund).

The Big Herding

I am going to watch the next commercial break and report how many commercials are lies...hold on...be right back...

Commercial #1 - Jenny Craig with Kirstie Alley from "Fat Actress" acting like see is talking into a cell phone to Jenny Craig
#2 - Mastercard commercial where a guy makes a doomed matrix out of yarn
#3 - Silk Soy Milk where a brother and sister fencing team drink Silk everyday
#4 - Holiday Inn commercial where a clown is helping a cowboy ride a bull, but he is not a rodeo clown
#5 - Loreal commercial with Andie McDowell talking about how the make-up makes her so beautiful
#6 - some drug called Fosamax and paid actors telling how it helped them
#7 - A&E promo for a show called "Inked" where even one guy displays an "A&E" tattoo and the models say, "I did it alone" or "I did it with someone else."

All of them were lies! Well, you might say what does it matter, but once you start looking at the commercials and quietly in your head determine which ones lie, it makes you internalize how much of the world is fake and unreal. It is degrading when you realize that corporations are convinced that we are so stupid to fall for the dumbest and most blatant lie. We will buy what some actress promotes or wear the shoes a sports star models in. It shows the real use of media: to distort and obscure. Try it during the next break you encounter.

People complain that video games make kids violent and music makes people angry, but you never hear people say commercials make us lie and give us a false sense of the world. Congress won't address the ridiculousness of commercialism because it is a societal tool they use successfully themselves: political ads filled with lies. Commercials are the herding tools of modern man that imprison us away from the wild green pastures of orginality and truth.

The Flat Earth

"The meaning of our existence is not invented by ourselves, but rather detected."

"What matters, therefore, is not the meaning of life in general, but rather the specific meaning of a person's life at a given moment."

"We can discover this meaning in life in three different ways: (1) by doing a deed; (2) by experiencing a value; and (3) by suffering."

-Victor Frankl, from Man's Search for Meaning

Sometimes I feel trapped by the expectations of our society, but so much of it is lies. Commercialism feeds on all levels of our society, from the yuppie to the goth, the doctor to the dishwasher. We are told what to like and feel, but in time, you realize it was just a lie, maybe a lie to suppress our angst and calm us, but still a lie to subdue. I guess the best word for it is hype.

We suffer with the questioning of ourselves and our purpose. We beat ourselves up on what we should be doing and how we should act, reinventing ourselves in hopes of finding that ever-elusive moment of contentment. I am starting to believe that moment never comes. We entertain ourselves numb due to that realization, accepting that contentment will come knocking on its own behalf, but it won't.

Our search for answers and meaning lead us to false assumptions. When you look back in history we chuckle at those who tortured, killed, and imprisoned those who believed the Earth was round, but our humanistic nature to follow others would have placed us in the screaming crowd, too. The history of man is littered with mistakes and assumptions that we look upon and say, "We know better now." But we don't.

I think that we will also be the bearers of laughs bestowed upon us by the future generations: thinking pills could solve everything, killing each other about slight variations in religion, and inventing the idea of the "Summer Blockbuster". All are meant to make us feel right momentarily until the next generation takes over the battle.

American culture always deals with the after-effects of our decisions; we don't tend to prevent. The only answer I see that is remotely close to ending the anxieties we experience is The Four Noble Truths (click here to read them). We will suffer and we will question ourselves, and by accepting that suffering, only then will we move beyond our never-ending circle of despair. Forget the pills, it is ok to suffer.

Soda Death

How many 12 ounce cans of soda would it take to kill you?
Click here to find out!

Americans Who Have Died in Iraq

Coke banned from G8 rally

Edinburgh - This has not been a good weekend for Coca-Cola in Edinburgh.
First, the US soft drink was banned from Saturday's rally of more than 200 000 people, calling for action on trade, aid and debt in poverty-stricken Africa from this week's Group of Eight summit.

Then it was held up as an example of everything that is wrong with unbridled capitalism at a day-long G8 Alternatives summit that put across a firmly left-wing view of where the world should be going.

"We call on people not to consume any Coca-Cola products ... so as to change its behaviour to its workers, the community and the world at large," said Juan Carlos Galvis of the Sinaltrinal labour union in Colombia.

On the seats of the Queens Hall, one of the alternative summit venues, pamphlets for the International Campaign to Make Coke Accountable were laid out for the 300-odd participants.
Galvis has a particular bone to pick with Coca-Cola - he works for it, and implicates it in the deaths of eight trade unionists in Colombia.

He himself was the target of a drive-by murder attempt in August 2003.

"They are assassinating us, they are disappearing us," he said from a stage where his crisp white T-shirt stood out from the black backdrop with its "No G8" logo.

"It is a policy of imperialism ... They (multinationals) are responsible for poverty in the world."

Summits of the G8 leading industrialised nations have always prompted counter-summits and big street protests, and the one that opens on Wednesday at Scotland's exclusive Gleneagles golf resort is no exception.

Saturday's peaceful Make Poverty History march dovetailed with British Prime Minsiter Tony Blair's determination to put Africa at the heart of the summit, along with climate change.
Prospects for confrontation will grow in the coming days, starting on Monday with an attempted blockade of Britain's nuclear submarine base near Glasgow and, on Wednesday, a protest march past Gleneagles itself.

From the balconies hung banners: "Stop Bush", "Ban the Bomb," "Think Before You Drink Coca-Killa".

French leftist Francois Duvalle, a late addition to the plenary, brought the audience up to date on the stunning defeat of the European Union constitution in a referendum in May that plunged the 25-nation bloc into crisis.

He declared the no vote a landmark victory for the French left, after a heated two-month pre-referendum campaign "that was about lay-offs and mass unemployment".

Killer Coke

Isidro Segundo Gil, an employee at a Coca-Cola bottling plant in Colombia, was killed at his workplace by paramilitary thugs. His children, now living in hiding with relatives, understand all too well why their homeland is known as "a country where union work is like carrying a tombstone on your back."

A chilling description of Gil's assassination, based on eyewitness accounts, is the centerpiece of a lawsuit filed in Miami in July 2001 against Coca-Cola, Panamerican Beverages (the largest soft drink bottler in Latin America) and Bebidas y Alimentos (a bottler owned by Richard Kirby of Key Biscayne, Fla., which operates the plant in which Gil was killed.

In the lawsuit, Gil's union, Sinaltrainal, the International Labor Rights Fund (ILRF) and the United Steelworkers of America assert that the Coke bottlers "contracted with or otherwise directed paramilitary security forces that utilized extreme violence and murdered, tortured, unlawfully detained or otherwise silenced trade union leaders."

Minutes after the thugs showed up at the Carepa plant gate, they fired 10 shots at Gil, a member of the union executive board, mortally wounding him. An hour later, another union leader was kidnapped at his home. That evening, a building that housed the union's offices, equipment and records was set ablaze.

The next day, a heavily armed group returned to the plant, called the workers together and told them if they didn't quit the union by 4 p.m., they, too, would be killed. Resignation forms were prepared in advance by Coca-Cola's plant manager, who had a history of socializing with the paramilitaries and had earlier "given (them) an order to carry out the task of destroying the union," the lawsuit says.

Fearing for their lives, union members at Carepa resigned en masse and fled the area. The company broke off contract negotiations, the paramilitaries camped outside the plant gate for the next two months, and the union was crushed. Experienced workers who made about $380 a month were replaced by new hires earning minimum wage ($130 a month).

No charges were ever filed against Gil's killers or those who killed at least seven other Coca-Cola unionists. Like many multinational corporations, Coke tries to have it both ways: tightly controlling the manufacture and distribution of its products overseas and collecting the profits, but denying any responsibility to workers. But the Alien Tort Claims Act (ATCA), enacted by the U.S. Congress in 1789, may hold the key to securing justice for foreign victims of corporate abuses.

Several companies now being sued under the ATCA claim to adhere to one or more "voluntary" initiatives (like Coca-Cola's so-called Code of Conduct) that commit them to respect human rights abroad. Unfortunately, enforcement has proven impossible.

In essence, the ATCA permits foreigners to sue in U.S. courts for violations of fundamental human rights that are clearly defined under international law. It applies to "the law of nations," which federal courts have interpreted to cover genocide, war crimes, extrajudicial killings, torture, unlawful detention and crimes against humanity.

Recently, the Paris-based International Chamber of Commerce, representing thousands of companies worldwide, urged the U.S. government to stop the growing use of the ATCA to sue multinationals. It's "unacceptable," they said.

"It shocks the conscience that these companies seek to immunize themselves from charges of human rights violations," says ILRF attorney Terry Collingsworth.

Javier Correa, president of Sinaltrainal, adds: "We want justice. We want people to know the truth about what is going on in Colombia against Coke workers. Now that you know, will you please help us?"

Click here to visit Killer Coke.com

Joseph Duncan Blog

Joseph Duncan, the man who murdered Shasta Groene's family and then kidnapped her, kept a blog. It makes you wonder about what you may be reading on others' blogs.

Click here to read his blog

Bush the Cyclist

Bush reaches his limits -- as a cyclist

GLENEAGLES (Reuters) - U.S. President George W. Bush says he has finally reached his limits.

Bush went for a mountain bike ride on Wednesday, his 59th birthday, shortly after arriving at the Gleneagles luxury resort in Scotland for a meeting of world leaders. He promptly crashed at speed into a standing police officer, causing minor injuries to both.

Bush appeared at a news conference on Thursday with bandages on two fingers of his grazed left hand.

"I think I found my limitations," he said. Bush said he had spoken with the officer on Wednesday evening: "He's doing fine. I'm less worried about myself and more worried about him. It just goes to show that I should act my age."

"We were flying, coming in," Bush said.

"By the way -- when you ride hard on a mountain bike, sometimes you fall, otherwise you're not riding hard."

"And it was at the end of a good hour ride, the pavement was slick, and the bike came out from underneath me just like that person on the Tour de France the other day." The American cyclist David Zabriskie crashed while wearing the Tour leader's yellow jersey on Tuesday.

"He's a lot better bike rider than I am," Bush said. Bush began cycling seriously a couple of years ago when a knee injury forced him to give up running.

His usual trails are near his ranch in Crawford, Texas, and near a Secret Service training facility at Beltsville, Maryland.

School District Tyranny

I live in Richland county in the School District #5 of Lexington and Richland Counties. It is a very well-known school district because it has some of the highest test scores in the nation and is continuously number one in South Carolina. The School District has recently had an implosion, though. The school board voted 4-2 to fire their Superintendent Dr. Dennis McMahon and said they did not have to give a reason. Despite the massive support for the Superintendent, the board still voted to release him. Ignoring any form of democratic philosophy, the board, filled with newly-elected officials, took the firing as a personal matter, which is why they will not give the voters of the school district a reason.

One board member has been up in arms because Irmo High School allowed IB students to have higher grade point averages than the other students. Another board member successfully ran for the board after her husband was fired from his school resource officer position because he arrested too many African-American students. The principal that fired him resigned this spring. Actually, several principals resigned this spring who had also stood up to the board in the past, but with the newly elected majority, they had no choice but to leave or stay in a very difficult and disastrous situation.

This school district area seems to be blind to the fact that one school zone, Chapin, wants to control the decisions of the district. It seems to be the whole "white flight" syndrome, where they see minorities growing in the Irmo and Dutch Fork zones and they fear a change in their area. It is like one Chapin Principal told me in 2002, "We don't like change around here." The school board meetings have been bombarded by McMahon supporters, but the Chapin minority won out. Now the district has no Superintendent, but, not surprisingly, they filled the interim superintendent position with a former Chapin principal.

So, if Jonathan Kozol can hear me, you should come down and see the destruction of one of the best districts in the country. It is such a sad sight that tyranny, pay-back, and anger have brought down what was once a great school system.

Here's an example of the tyranny and revenge that plaques School District 5: Board Member Assaults Employee

The children of this district sure have learned how democracy can be thwarted and tyranny can reign, if only until the next school board elections.

Raisin Corn

I had "Raisin Corn" for the first time today. I wonder why it has never been mass-produced before? I decided to eat a bowl of corn flakes and I noticed a box of raisins sitting on the counter, and, presto, "Raisin Corn" was born! Now what else can I add raisins to besides bran flakes? "Raisin Cheerios"?

I am a vegan (I eat no animal byproducts), so I ate the "Raisin Corn" with soy milk. I switched to veganism in October 2004 after seeing Morrissey at the Tabernacle in Atlanta, GA. At the show there was a PETA table and they gave a CD that had a movie on it called "Meet Your Meat" (click here to see it). Right after viewing the movie I went to the store and bought soy milk and hummus for lunch the next day. I have been a vegetarian in the past, but it is easy to get off from when you are in college and see that you can buy $0.59 hot dogs. Switching back to veganism now has been very easy, maybe because I am older.

Being a vegan can be tricky at times because some products seem like they would be vegan but are not. For example, vegetable soup sounds vegan but most vegetable soups are made with beef broth. Even Morning Star and Boca meat alternatives like veggie dogs and soy burgers you have to be careful with because some of them contain eggs or milk. It is weird how some of the things Americans eat are vegan (click here to see some common vegan foods), but if it is labeled vegan then they tend to rethink their eating of it. It is weird how meat consumes our minds so much, even to a point of defending it. Our bodies aren't even made to digest meat, our digestive tract is modeled after plant eating animals, so the meats we eat lingers in our bowels because it is so hard to get out. That's a nice thought, huh? Sorry...it reminds me of the Chuck Palahniuk story "Guts" (click here to read). Supposedly when Palahniuk reads "Guts" at readings people faint because it is so terrifying.

I am going to tell you what I order when I go to restaurants as a vegan:
Taco Bell - bean burrito with no cheese
Burger King - BK Veggie, no mayo but add mustard
McDonald's - side salad with balsamic vinaigrette dressing, French fries
McAlister's - vegetarian chili in a bread bowl
Fazoli's - small spaghetti with marinara sauce, dry bread sticks
Chinese restaurants - home style bean curd or garlic broccoli, white rice
Mexican restaurants - vegetable fajitas, chalupas with no cheese
Wendy's - plain baked potato, side salad with fat free French dressing
Blimpie - Veggie Max with no mayo, but add mustard
Subway - Veggie Delight with no mayo, but add mustard
Mediterranean Tea Room - Hummus and tabouleh pita, falafel pita
Chili's - Black bean burger with no cheese, fries
Ruby Tuesday - Veggie burger with no cheese, fries
Midtown Atlanta Music Festival - Veggie corn dogs (made with Smart Dogs)
The Grit - Chicken salad-style tofu sandwich
CiCi's pizza - veggie pizza with no cheese

4th of July

As I see the country shoot fireworks and eat hot dogs, I think about how the world looks at us: celebrating our freedoms, but forcing democracy on other countries, especially Iraq. Our freedom is celebrated because we separated ourselves from the oppression of England, and as I watched NBC televise the fizzling fireworks over the french-donated Statue of Liberty, I can't help but think that the people of Iraq are in our same situation when we stood up against England. They don't want someone coming in and telling them how things "should run." Our constitutional amendments show how many mistakes we have dealt with over a two hundred year period, but we think we can make Iraq a xeroxed copy of America.

Democracy, which has waned a lot in our own country with a two-party system and the current ruling hand on the Republican party, must be founded on ideals and motivation. It can't be forced or fed to a society and then grow. I think our history books will show that after this Iraq mess fades into the darkness of humility. I think linking Osama Bin Laden to Sadam Hussein shows the current political approach of conning America into obedience. The rest of the world didn't fall for it, and as we eat our "freedom fries" and laugh at the rest of the world, we realize that our rash decisions are becoming our nightmares. Everyone in America looked at Iraq in the same way they viewed the Gulf War: an easy victory that will be very short and very profitable in oil reserves. Now we see that the Gulf War was hidden with many lies and false statements about the real effectiveness of smart bombs.

Basing decisions on assumptions and not principles leads to the predicament we are in now. We wanted easy money and to try and start an American force in the middle of the Middle East. If someone came to our country and used the same tatctics that George Bush has used in Iraq, we would be fighting back in the same way, too. How would we react to soldiers killing our children and bombing our communities, and contractors spewing into the country to stake their claim? Not expecting any resistance, the armed forces now look more like Mike Tyson than ever: intimadation at first, but a wearied has been by the sound of the bell. The war now shows are vulnerability to other nations who don't see us as a mighty threat anymore. Everything is spiraling into an endless pit of egotism and hard-headedness.

So on this fourth of July I hope this country can do the only thing they can to remedy this mess that we find ourselves in: apologize and get out. Just like the show "Intervention," friends try to help an addict find a solution to the addictions that are eating away at their life. Our friends, like France, Germany, and Canada, tried to help us see our error of our ways, but now America needs its own intervention. Our we too proud to ever succumb or admit mistake? Has our international realtions lowered to the mentality of "over my dead body"? Sadly, we've gotten too big for our britches.

Click here to read my Top Ten List of Destructions to America