You Made A Bad Choice. Now I'll Take A Testicle.

I hate reading stories about bad things happening to defenseless people: little kids, the elderly, harmless animals, but I especially hate coming across stories about gang rape.

I've never wanted to be a vampire, or a superhero, or possess abilities that would allow me to rise above being an average mortal with too many pairs of shoes. But when a glaring act of injustice occurs -- when someone elects to harm another with the kind of viciousness that makes me hope there is a hell, my first thought is not compassion. Maybe it should be. My first white hot thought involves getting in the perpetrator's grill, ripping the grill out, and then hacking out every tooth with a soiled pair of pliers -- one by one.

A recent gang rape in the Bay Area jarringly put into focus how a collection of ugly factors can explode into the kind of appalling brutality that was inflicted on a fifteen-year-old girl as she left a homecoming dance. The violence enacted on this girl is a result of - a fucking horrible symptom of - a societal gangrene we're all exposed to whether we want it or not.

The gangrene's many elements involve an entrenched and violent inner city culture; young, impressionable, and stupid high school students and dropouts; troubled men who have aged out of continuation school and juvenile hall with their tarnished and malfunctioning moral compasses in tow. Mix in generous heaps of drugs, alcohol abuse, and boredom and you've got one hell of a potent molotov cocktail that once hurled exploded a toxic chemistry that burned, charred, and seared not just the victim, but all of us.

My anger is not just limited to the perpetrators. I want to expose and humiliate the subhumans who stood by and watched as events unfolded. They took pictures and they took video. I want them all to explain what they were thinking. Then, I want to rip out each of their eyelashes, one by one. And then I want to slowly cauterize a "V" (for voyeur) into their foreheads with a blowtorch. Everything has a price of admission.

I have no doubt that those arrested will be incarcerated for a very long time. I know I should feel some compassion for the guilty (most entered the world with major disadvantages), but we all come to pivotal crossroads and have to make choices, and they made theirs. And now I want one testicle -- each. Their karmic burden is not my business. But, it's time for them to sacrifice a profound part of themselves. I'll take their testicles.

Summertime Clothes on a Summer Day in November

It is November 2, 2009, and on this day the sun perched itself showily in a new November sky free of clouds and smoke (the Santa Cruz mountains keep birthing forest fires) and radiated a warmth we don't often feel in the middle of summer -- much less an autumn stretching itself into California's version of winter.

I did what any sane person would do: I marveled at this unexpected gift of 80 degrees on this 306th day of the year, and played hooky from editing assignments to take myself for a walk -- a glorious walk. Today was a day for pool parties, barbecues, shorts, and contemplating one's naval or election choices (tomorrow's Election Day) outside.

As I walked through the streets I felt an exuberance return with which I had parted ways months ago. The sun whisked away remnant cerebral cobwebs, and my situation - one in the midst of yet another career change - tilted in a direction, if only by perception, that was decidedly positive.

Naturally, I had trouble easing my way back indoors. There is no WiFi on the patch of grass in the backyard, alas, which a job search grudgingly requires. Luckily, a melodic encapsulation of this November summer day crossed my path (or ear canals rather) in a most synchronous manner, allowing me to relive the warmth and all-around sweetness of this short-sleeved day once the sun had made its farewell, and as a theatrical and thoroughly rotund harvest moon hoisted itself into position.

Rip off your sleeves and I'll ditch my socks
We'll dance to the songs from the cars as they pass...
Walking around in our summertime clothes...
And I want to walk around with you
And I want to walk around with you

Indeed.

Summertime Clothes - Animal Co...

Harlem Shakes Makes Me Shake (in a good way)

My guess is that the members of Harlem Shakes, an indie band from New York, were birthed in the 1980s, making them definitive cardholders of Generation Y. So, I was immediately suspicious when the lyrics to their cheery latest, "Natural Man", referenced Morrissey.

I'm not going to get up in their collective grill, though, just because they were probably making the transition away from sippy cups and getting their second molars around the time Morrissey released his first solo effort in '88. And, because I was a second-grader when The Smiths broke up, and I still went through the requisite Smiths infatuation my first year of college, flirting with vegetarianism, and the idea of shunning leather shoes because Morrissey did.

It makes sense that as Harlem Shakes trudged through Yale they learned to roll a proper spliff along with bathing their psyches with the kind of skinny tie music madness Morrissey and Johnny Marr perfected -- especially the kind inspired by soul-whipping UK cold and thick-as-duck-down cloud cover that was likely a contributing factor in Henry the VIII's decision to behead a couple of wives. (BTW, I would totally be into singing about my boyfriend in a coma if lack of Vitamin D malnourished me from epidermis to organs to woe-as-woebegone diary entries).

Harlem Shakes didn't squander its Morrissey reference in "Natural Man". If ever there were a cleverly crafted auditory circus masking as a simple 4:38 song that could easily transport one back to the days when anything, anything, anything was possible because youthful invincibility said so, and Zima was a truly viable alternative to cheap frat party beer, this tune is it.

"Zima saturday sunsets, watching the world
See how sad the real fun gets with the morrissey girls"

Nicely done, Harlem Shakes.

Natural Man - Harlem Shakes

I'm back from the dead; follow me on Twitter!

Imagine a continuum. Imagine on one end there is an existence not unlike that of a sloth. Plenty of sleep, little urgency unless one must use the facilities or one is out of low-fat Chips Ahoy. On the other end of this ephemeral continuum is a workaholic existence fueled by a cortisone level that causes heart attacks in the old and weak-hearted.

I had the privilege of making my way from slothdom to becoming one with my BlackBerry in unhealthy co-dependency in the span of a few short weeks. Instead of rolling out of bed at noon, I had long lists of action items that gave me paralysis and cut off my air supply until I found myself gulping air. I neglected friends, returning non-work-related phone calls, abandoned laundry and cleaning, healthy eating, and gained five pounds [fuck!].

My project, the one that made me cranky and lie awake nights for fear of stark and bitter failure, ended last Friday with a whimper and a lot of wine. I still have a lot of work to do, but there's more yin to go along with my yang now. And more time to record insights, observations, and stupid inanities. I've got a lot to say before the end of the year. Rolling up my sleeves now...

And don't forget to follow me on Twitter!

Sleedeprilusion

And so it goes:  Zero to 60. A pitch black night to a bright, sunlit day. The abrupt end of one chapter entitled:

Chapter 17:  Unemployment :'(

...to the lickety split turn of the page, and a new chapter entitled:

Chapter 18: Gainful Employment :)

Prior to Chapter 18, the notion of engaging an alarm clock (and its corollary, sleep deprivation) was as hazy as the faded ink barely protruding from a sun blanched newspaper.

Prior to Chapter 18, the downside of unemployment (poverty) stood hand in hand with its stark silver lining - actually, screw that - its fiercely good as gold super feature:  a    w   i   d   e    swath of time to sleep, and nap, and fall sway to even the slightest of the slight-li-est urges to shut my eyes and paddle drowsily toward a haven of rapid eye movement. At any hour of the day.

I certainly don't regret flipping the page to a new chapter, despite the accompanying lack of sleep, subsequent late night delusions (about 30 minutes ago I couldn't remember how to spell "Wednesday"), and the spike in cortisol level.

In a corner of my heart (right hand corner of the pericardium) I carry some fondness for the previous chapter. I'll miss constantly confusing the days of the week, sleeping like a sloth, and the crisp vision that was a gift of steady somnolence.

The best part of Chapter 17 was that I could watch today gradually curl into tonight without constraint or restriction, and then alertly greet tonight's today while the world around me slumbered. And then wake up and eat my eggs while the world around me ordered lunch.

Tonight’s Today - Jack Peñate

Peace Out, Twilight Zone

How many red-faced mortals does it take to screw in a light bulb?

How sun salutations does it take to transfix a surly mood into a positive one?

How many evil eye pendants does it take to ward off the evil eye and other associated bad luck bullshit?

For a year my pressing question was: How long does it take to find a job? And then there were the corollary questions. How many cover letters? How many interviews? How many butterflies have to hatch and flitter about in my stomach while waiting for word back? How many days of trolling job boards, and positive thinking, and mantras?

425 days. A nice, crisp, non-prime number.

After an exciting era of graduate school, travel, and non-nuclear family living, the meltdown of global markets ushered me, among many, into the Twilight Zone, and into the Casa de Mom & Dad.

The Twilight Zone greeted me warmly. It wrapped me cocoon-style in a suffocating embrace, rarely leaving me less than an arm's length away. At first, I fought my stay. But whenever I felt the Twilight Zone's breath hot on my face, I realized resistance was futile; the Twilight Zone was cock-blocking me from gainful employment, and that was that.

The more the Twilight Zone and I learned to cohabitate, the more it released me on furlough. There were the temp jobs before they dried up completely, and the editing gigs that made my eyes bleed and bullied the median nerves in my wrists into paraesthesia.

And then came the point where we could stand side by side, not exactly holding hands, but no more epithets, no more teeth-gnashing, no more angst, no more identifying with broken-souled poets who bled their torment on paper.

I exorcised the self-pity, I started writing again (out of which came House of G), and when I finally looked up from my wallowing saw all the silver linings scattered around me.

It occurred to me to contact awesome, as faithful readers of this blog may recall. For newcomers, awesome is like a beneficent Zeus, a guardian angel, but more omniscient and with greater power than the National Rifle Association and the National Tobacco Association combined.

I'd like to say that only mere days after writing a letter to awesome I landed a job. I didn't. But, I did get an interview, and a few weeks later a friendly rejection. Awesome had heard/read my plea, however, and entered into negotiations with the Twilight Zone. Last week they finally struck a deal. The Twilight Zone immediately evicted me. Two days later I started my new job.

Writing an open letter to awesome may not be your bag. But, I'm proof that it doesn't hurt to put requests/dreams/desires out for the universe to consider -- in whatever format you deem most appropriate and genuine.

I just have one last open letter to write.

Dear Twilight Zone:

Thank you for your hospitality, your (hard) lessons, and the beautiful silver linings that came along unexpectedly. I'm sure we'll see each other again. No need to send a postcard. Be well. Peace.

House of G

Thank You - Alanis Morissette

Super Powers

A year ago I began putting together a storyline for a graphic novel. With shyness in one hand and full-blown curiosity in the other, I asked some friends what super power they would choose if they could pick any power on land, in the sea, over land and sea, on this Earth, in this galaxy.

I was moved by the responses. Through them my friends provided small photographs of their lives at the time, framed by interesting tidbits about themselves that only might otherwise emerge during a game of 20 questions coupled with a round of cocktails.

A few friends asked if I would share what others said. I agreed, started the email, and never finished. So, herewith I share what super powers some would choose, not just to gift themselves with a talent, but to crack through the bubble they/we all live in to affect people in a more extraordinary way, let's say, than allowing someone with less groceries to cut in front of you at the grocery store.

I would read auras. Then I would be able to read people's intentions and see what kind of people they ACTUALLY are...me entiendes? No foolin' with auras.

If I could choose only ONE super power...I think it would be to have the ability to zap people and make them happy...without them realizing I did it, and at the same time, for it to feel totally natural for them, inside their minds/hearts (and for that happiness to be easily re-channel-able). If I could have one other one, I would, in a BLINK, be able to be some place else (like near a loved one right away). This one works particularly well for me tonight, where everyone I love is not near at all."

EASY...complete control of time and the physical properties that would result. I have given this lots of thought. So for example, if I could slow things down to half speed, then the force would be 4 times greater due to the laws of physics. I would not want this to always be the case. Imagine if you slow things down 100 times such as making bullet move at 13 miles an hour...then each action would generate 10,000 times the normal force. So, even touching someone would be fatal. However, when people stop time completely, than all molecules would be held in place and no damage is done. However, I have always wondered how people are able to move when even air molecules would be like fixed cement...hmmmmmm.

To be anywhere I chose to be, at any time. Flying, transporting, whatever. To be able to go where I wanted whenever. A form of escapism I guess.

Actually for me this is a really easy question. Ever since Leadership Edge I have put some thought into it and I decided that I would most like the ability to teleport anywhere (this was also before the lame movie "Jumper"). Not only to any place, put also to points in the not so distant future. But not the past, that would be too much power in any individual person. All people have their breaking points when they do something bad, and going into the past to change your present is one of them. But I think being able to teleport, while subject to some risk and threat of abuse, would be such a fun power to have since all T-Birds are global citizens and love to travel. Added bonus by the way, you would reduce your carbon footprint to almost zero! Al Gore would approve.

So, without thinking about it I immediately said Teleportation so that I could go anywhere in the world (and possibly in time) that I wanted to in an instant. BUT this has me thinking a lot about the whole superhero phenomena...I think the nature of a superhero (hero being the operative word) is that at some point they use their power/s in the service of others. What I would find intriguing and unique in a superhero is to exploit what has been traditionally viewed as womens' "powers". What if you explored things like intuition or healing or love supersized?

I would fly. To speed over traffic and leave leave less of a carbon footprint.

Without a doubt, the super power I'd pick would be the ultimate gift of persuasion. I don't know if that counts as a super power, and if it doesn't, then I'd go with my second choice: ability to speak/understand/read/write any language on Earth.

What would your super power be?

Superhero - Garrison Starr