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Saturday, June 4, 2016

Going ape over a gorilla


Sometimes a tragedy is just a tragedy.
This past weekend, a three-year old boy at a zoo in Cincinnati fell into a gorilla habitat and was dramatically dragged by the leg by a 450-pound gorilla. In order to protect the child, the zoo staff fatally shot the endangered primate. The boy escaped without serious injury.
I’ve been astounded by the angry reactions of people.
The most ridiculous reaction is from those who think the ape should not have been shot. Although the gorilla had not greatly harmed and in some ways acted protectively toward the boy, the great beast could have killed the child by accident or on a whim. You cannot reason with a gorilla or predict its behavior in a unique situation.
What’s really ridiculous is that some are angry because they feel like the gorilla should not have been shot, as if this 3-year-old boy deserved his fate because it was his fault he fell into the pit where he did not belong. Thankfully, this opinion seems to be rare.
People’s lives are more important than animal’s. If a snake, a dog or a gorilla threatens a child, you shoot the animal. You don’t sit by and hope for the best. I wonder how the people who protest react when they are bitten by a mosquito?
What isn’t rare is the instant vitriol aimed at the boy’s mother. “How dare she allow her child to fall into the pit!” they say. “She should face criminal charges!” they say. “I would never allow that to happen to my child!” they say.
What planet are these people from? How can they be that unaware of just how easy it is for kids to have an accident or get into trouble? I don’t have kids, and even I know.
Unless you watch your child hawkishly, every single second, which you could not possibly do if you have more than one child unless they were somehow tied together, your child could have an accident or get into trouble. If they were determined enough and it was physically possible, they could fall into a pit with a wild animal at a zoo.
In the past year, I’ve gone to two events with my sister and her two kids to zoo environments and my No. 1 concern was keeping track of those two kids. It was impossible to do so 100 percent of the time. That was with two adults and four eyes. These were field trips, so teachers and chaperones were watching literally dozens of kids and they were vastly outnumbered, so think of that.
At the Jacksonville Zoo, we were standing near the lion environment and my nephew was hanging on the wall, which was maybe chest high on me. I made him stop, but I thought then that if he wanted to climb over, he physically could. How long would that take? Maybe 4 seconds? Maybe 6?
At Okefenokee Swamp Park, there are no walls. The only thing keeping children away from the jaws of the many alligators there are the gators’ disinterest and the child’s natural fearful respect of the beasts. How long would it take a child to trip and fall and land right in front of an alligator?
But if one bit a child, these same people blaming the gorilla mom would be blaming the alligator mom.
So only if you watch your child every second can you honestly say that this mother is to blame, and even watching every second is not a guarantee.
But you can’t watch a child every second. Not even every minute. No one watches their child so obsessively, and if they did, just imagine the psychological damage it would do to that over-protected child.
If you’ve ever had a child fall and break a bone or hit their head and needed stitches and you weren’t watching them at the time, then you are basically in the same situation as this mother, at least as far as we know. And that’s OK, because sometimes stuff just happens.
Every day you’re driving down the road and putting your child in more danger than if you take your eyes off your child for a minute or two at a zoo. Wrecks happen all the time but I’ve heard of maybe two children ever falling into an animal habitat at a zoo.
Now, having said all this, I’m not saying the mother was being responsible as a parent. For all I know, she could have been texting on her cell phone for several minutes while paying little attention to her son.
But from what I’ve read, we don’t know exactly what she was doing immediately before her son fell into the pit, and based on what little information we do have, there is no reason to judge her.
Too often, people rush to judge and condemn people on little information and when there is a child involved the judgment seems to be more harsh, which I suppose is understandable. Often these condemnations are based on news stories that are told in a sensationalized manner, and I’ve learned there’s a lot of danger in that.
So the next time you read about a cop shooting a suspect or a child dying in a hot car or a child endangered at a zoo, hold off on judging. Wait until the whole story comes out, and then, well, you probably shouldn’t judge then either, unless you’re on a jury.
But then again, who am I to judge you?

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

America is Sick, Part IV: Paying to be Brainwashed


So far I have examined the way people think through examining cognitive dissonance. I've also broached two of the problems contributing to America's sickness: Tribal mentality and incessant arguing, though I probably understated the pervasiveness of arguing in our society. It reaches all aspects of our lives, from politics to home.

And it will continue. Why? Because there's profit in it.

When it comes to government, I am no extremist. I believe that the best government is a balance of opposites. A good economy needs mostly-free market capitalism to provide competition and incentive to invest and grow, but it also needs strong regulation to prevent the abuses of power inherent when power accumulates, as it necessarily will do with capitalism. Unless you believe that sweat shops, wage slavery and child labor are acceptable, you don't fully endorse capitalism. Unless you believe state control, extreme poverty and famine are acceptable, you don't fully endorse communism.

And most modern industrialized nations are a balance, even America, though the US leans far too heavily to the right, at least compared to the rest of the world.
But still, we need capitalism, but there are aspects of capitalism we do not need. And these three things are the main points of this whole essay, and you should dedicate your political energy to eradicating these three things: Lobbying legislators, political contributions by corporations, and unregulated advertising.

All three of these things could be summed up as "organizational free speech." It's what the famous Citizens United Supreme Court case granted to, in particular, corporations. Corporations have the rights of people in the US, but corporations and other organizations are not people. They have more power and less liability than people, and by giving them free speech, among other freedoms, we give them near unlimited power.

Already now I fear that they have too much power. That we will never be able to put the power back in the people's hands. What if all the corporations decided to move from America? It would be disaster. But aren't we already being extorted by that very threat?

I hope it's not too late.

Obviously, corporations control America. Of this, there is no doubt. President Jimmy Carter has even said that America is not a democracy but "an oligarchy with unlimited political bribery," meaning that America is ruled by the rich elite, not the people.

And until our government is ruled by the people and not the rich elite, then no other issue matters. Your opinion on guns or prayer in school or abortion or transgenders in bathrooms does not matter at all. You don't matter at all.

No matter how loud you shout, you will only have a voice if you vote for a candidate that says he will end Citizens United, who pledges to take control from the corporations and put it back in the hands of the people. It will take a Constitutional amendment and it's only the start, but corporations should not be considered humans.

Only one candidate in the current presidential election even spoke about ending Citizens United, Bernie Sanders, and he will probably not win because, in part, the powers that be do not want him to win. This means we will probably have to wait at least 4 more years before we can make significant changes, but this is a war, not a battle.

And we need to maintain focus. Something we sorely lack. Why do we lack it?

Because we're all brainwashed.

Everyone is brainwashed by something: Whether it's their religion, their school, their friends or their company. If you're reading this, you're brainwashed by a lot of things.
You are brainwashed by social media, the internet, cereal boxes, soda cans, and condiment manufacturers, pill companies who want you to notice you're sick not to get you well but to feed you their pills. You are brainwashed by your doctor, the laws, your significant other and the English language, because not all brainwashing is bad. You are brainwashed to hate people different of you, because a lot of brainwashing is.

Even if you're some Appalachian wild man who just happened to look at this screen on some tablet he found in the foothills and has never purchased or sold, talked to anyone since childhood or watched a television, even he has his parents to blame. And I'm trying to actively brainwash him now.

But chances are very good that you are much more brainwashed than that.

You may be sitting there, stewing in your cognitive dissonance produced from your pre-existing romantic belief that you are a person entirely determined by your own free will. And then your stomach growls, and you walk into a grocery store. Or maybe I should say supermarket, because you don't realize all the "psychic" knowledge stores have about you.

You open the door, and invariably, you will find fruit or flowers. Color and freshness overwhelm you. You feel like you've just walked into the Garden of Eden. (Maybe that's why the Bible starts with it, too).

The items the store wants you to buy the most are put at just the right eye level to catch your attention. Maybe you have a bit more freedom if you're drastically under or over average height, but they find other ways to snare you. The supermarket uses in-aisle gondolas or end caps at the end of the aisle to bait you with a succulent bargain that actually isn't. You pay more and feel empowered by finding a "deal."

The supermarket knows you will spend more the longer you are inside, and it knows you move more slowly the slower the pace of the music, so you won't be listening to punk or speed metal as you shop. You'll be listening to nice, somnolent easy listening that lulls you into a borderline hypnotic drone.

Items will not be alphabetized, because supermarkets know that if you find what you're looking for right off, you might convince yourself you don't actually need it. If you have to search a little, then you're so relieved when you find it, you won't consider passing it by. Everybody likes to win the little game.*

That's just one type of store. Think of the endless variety of advertising bombarding us constantly, and it's not just the obvious ads in television and other media. Corporate stadium sponsors. Corporate partnerships. Movie product placements. Even the news. If a disaster generates enough of the right kind of publicity it can even boost sales in the long run. Exxon, Tylenol and the Catholic Church have all survived and even flourished after well publicized disasters.

But all advertising does is raise awareness about products, right? Wrong. Advertising, by design, creates desire. The most successful combinations of advertising, timing and product design create entire markets of desire. Think of how we now need cars, planes, computers, cell phones, telephones and televisions, air conditioning units, anti-lock brakes, air bags, smoke detectors, plastic diapers, straws to drink soda at fast food restaurants. We don't need any of it, but we can't live without it.

And advertising is not only about selling products, it's also about selling political views, mostly through corporate media and political institutions, like think-tanks and groups like ALEC that design laws for legislators to pass. It's about manufacturing issues and sewing discontent. It's about selling cognitive dissonance, about manipulating the irrational and emotional, and about giving us something to argue about without accomplishing anything.

It's about everything I've written so far.

Take most hot-button political issues. Most of them are not very important. They might be important to a small group of individuals, such as transgenders using bathrooms or gay people getting married, but they aren't life or death matters like wars or health care.
Laws against transgenders using bathrooms are largely unenforceable and people could still marry without the law recognizing it, but of course, liberals like me support the rights of LGBT people because we want fairness and tolerance. And I do support their rights, but I see what's really going on, and what is going on is that the issues are crafted to keep the children arguing. We're the children, and we certainly act like it.

We should be demanding to be treated as adults, to have our votes count, but instead we are concerned about bathrooms. We should be taking back the power, but we can't follow an issue for more than a few days because corporate media constantly changes the channel.

But we have free will, right? We make our own decisions, right? While we're concerned with the latest hot-button issue. When was the last time you expressed your opinion about Occupy Wall Street or Casey Anthony or Elian Gonzalez?

Caitlyn Jenner becomes a story and within a year, politicians are passing opposing bills about transgenders and the president's administration is issuing an edict. There were transgender celebrities before and will be again, but I bet we won't be hearing as much from them once this cycle and the fire about transgenders cools down.

The media highlights black men being shot by other races, and then suddenly people are arguing about cops and Black Lives Matter on Facebook. Racism comes out of the closet, in part as a result, but the story passes by while the damage remains. Black men were being shot before and they are being shot now, so why only for a short while was it an issue? They weren't just being shot by people of other races and cops, so why are only those reported? Too much blame is cast at cops when the issue is much more broad. Black Lives do Matter, but little is being done to address the larger issues at play, like an unwinnable drug war that allows criminal organizations to support themselves and creates a predator-prey relationship between cops and poor people. Divisions are deepened, though we all want the same things: Peace, prosperity, trust.

Instead, we're at war with ourselves, and even though there are real issues in every hot news story and breaking headline, we don't remain focused long enough to have any real effect, to solve anything. It almost seems programmed, like a conspiracy, but it may just be the drive for profit, for ratings, for power and prestige thriving off of chaos and feeding itself eternally. But when groups work together to create profit or gain power, that is a conspiracy, and we call them corporations. We are the victims. And they are brainwashing us for their gain.

But the very fact that we have competition among those trying actively to brainwash us for their profit guarantees we will never have unison. So we need to find a way to shut them up.

* Most of the knowledge about supermarkets came from "Uncle John's Absolutely Absorbing Bathroom Reader" by the Bathroom Readers' Institute. Those books are fascinating at times.

When evidence is not in absence


So this is one of my biggest pet peeves, when someone will not accept the truth even when presented with evidence. Look, we're all wrong about things, probably a lot of things. But when someone shows you definite, conclusive and contradictory evidence, you should change your mind, not just go with what feels right to you. For instance, for a long time I corrected people's usage of the word "citizen." I was taught that people are citizens of a country, not of a town, so when I saw someone say "citizens of Ocilla" I changed it. Then, recently, I actually looked it up and saw that you can use citizen to refer to residents of a town, so I changed my mind. But this way of thinking is not as common as it should be. If you've ever had an argument with someone who doesn't believe in evolution, you know what I mean. If science proved God existed, I'd be like "Dang. I better figure out which religion to join." But what if science proved that God did exist, but he was the God of another religion. How many people do you think would change their religions? Feelings and faith are fine in the absence of evidence, but if they stand in the way of accepting evidence, then your way of thinking may be flawed.

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Nothing Compares 2 U: A Tribute to Prince


I was never a huge Prince fan.

By that I mean, I don't have Prince posters on my walls. I don't own all his albums. I never even once saw him in concert.

But having said all that, how can anyone not be a Prince fan? I've enjoyed every song I've ever heard by him. I would like to take time to listen to more, and now that we've lost him, I think I'll take that time to sample some of the immortality he left behind.

Like many of you, Prince has also affected my love life, though unusually, he affected mine in a mildly humorous way. When I was in high school, I dated a girl who wore a barrette in her hair. My dad used to tease me about it by calling her "Little Red Barrette." Or was it "Raspberry Barrette?" Maybe it was both.

Ironically, it was a song written by Prince, but not performed by him, that had the most effect on me: Sinead O'Connor's 1990 hit "Nothing Compares 2 U." It was my favorite song at a time when I had had few favorite songs. I remember, in those days before you could call up YouTube and listen to any song at any time, that I would listen to the radio in hopes that they would play that tune.

It is and always will be one of my favorite songs of all time.

Only a few years ago, the longest romantic relationship of my life came to an end. A few days later, I was driving home from work and "Nothing Compares 2 U" came on the radio. That song that had connected with me for so long, connected with me as it never had before. I felt the emotion in every word "like a bird without a song."

When I got home, I sent a link of the song's video to the woman I loved, and it led to us reuniting, if only for a while. In that way, Prince helped give me one of the last tender moments with someone who may end up being the love of my life. He helped me, like he has helped many of us, love.

What an extraordinary gift.

So this is my gift back to Prince Rogers Nelson, an artist without compare. This is my own rendition of the song that meant so much to me. It always will.

https://youtu.be/R8WC9xzcH5I

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Paranoia is the Dark Side of Imagination


This is a song I originally wrote and composed around January 2015. "Paranoia is the Dark Side of Imagination."

It is, if you think about it. Literally.

Essentially, the song's title is meant to illustrate a Taoist principle. "What is a good man but a bad man's teacher, what is a bad man but a good man's job?" We think of paranoia as a "bad" thing, and yet it is a natural consequence of a vivid imagination, which is considered "good."

It's neither good nor bad, but I'm glad for my paranoia.

https://youtu.be/jhkG6tKLzUA

Here are the lyrics:

everywhere I go/everybody wants to know answers/tell me what are you scared of?/hey, have you thought I may be afraid of your questions

each time that you close the lid/you just leave me cut up in sections/make me a part of your collection/dissect me like some pinned down, dying butterfly

please don't go/please don't stay/please don't go/just let me go away/cause I'm color'd by my paranoia/I am sinking, thinking all these thoughts/I'm caught in: my fault, my bad, I'm mad, it's sad, but I'm glad for my paranoia

this is just/this is just/this is just the dark side

and there's light/everywhere/imagination shades me/saves me from the dark/saves me from my broken heart/savors darkness and its arts/parts to play let's light the spark/that's just D composing/you come close/save me/in my dreams you are never far from the stars, far from the brightest, fall from the brightest, you fall from the brightest of the stars/I will climb, sliding down/staring up, I hit bottom/bottom's up, I'm up for nothin'/somethin's down, the sum of sufferin'/don't want to suffer for nothin'/so in fear I am engulfed and drown

I don't want to win/I don't want to grin/I don't want a cent/listen to these people so in hurries for a dime/too much on their minds/the only thing they'll never make again is time

tell me give a try/tell me get around/tell me get a life/I'll tell what I've found/every time I try/this is what I get/I get paranoia/and if I should cry/don't mean I'm upset/fears are sublime/tears are just wet/if you read minds/you know mine says/"this is paranoia"

everywhere I look/I'm always jumping at shadows/nothing's what I'm really
scared of/hey, maybe I'm just afriad of all my future sorrows

and when the subject's sad/I always joke and kid/deflection/everything's cracked in
reflection/feeling's my philosophy/I wonder why: why birds fly/and I wonder why they sing/do I?/and the sun rises/I wonder if it sets because it gets tired of shining all the time?

please don't go/please don't stay/please don't go/just let me go away/cause I'm collar'd by my paranoia/I am sinking, thinking all these thoughts/I'm caught in: my fault, my bad, I'm mad, it's sad, but I'm glad for my paranoia

Saturday, April 2, 2016

My Home Invasion


Let me tell you a bit about my home.

It looks very much like a tornado ran through a Dr. Pepper factory, then a Marlboro plant and afterward both places were plundered by looters who thought the place looked too tidy.

I am a slob. And it shows.

Soda cans and empty boxes, of cigarettes and otherwise, litter my floor. Dirty laundry accumulates in piles which have their own weather patterns at the peaks. Cobwebs dangle from every corner of every room though even the spiders seem too horrified to touch the floor.

It’s a wreck, my home, but I must like it that way. Some folks have considered my messes to be like living art and have taken photos of them for display. I’ve been accused of being a hoarder, though it’s really more about laziness than any fascination with collecting junk.

A few weeks ago, my mom, who owns the house where I live in Irwinville, decided she wanted to change insurance coverage. Unfortunately, this required the new insurance provider to need to come to my home and take photos of the inside.

This spurred my mom to require me to clean my home, which is only slightly less difficult than rebuilding a country after a war. She told me to do this during a particularly stressful period of time for me, due to health and internet problems, and I seriously started wondering if I would have a nervous breakdown.

I procrastinated and procrastinated, and just when the deadline was nearing for me to have my home clean, she told me she was just going to stick with the old coverage, which may cost a bit more, but I pay the insurance on the house anyway, and I was glad to pay it rather than have to undergo the rest of the ordeal of cleaning. Also, there was a bit of unease at having someone come through my house uninvited, like it was an invasion of privacy.

Well, I thought I was off the hook for having someone invade that privacy, but... fate seemed to have other plans in store for me.

I got home from work last Tuesday and set about playing video games and adding to the collection of cans on the floor. This lasted for hours, but after all that Dr. Pepper, a bladder has to give at some point. So at about 9 p.m. I pried myself from the floor and headed to the bathroom. However, before I got there, I noticed something out of place, which is difficult to do in the third-world environment of my home.

Outside my bathroom is the hallway leading to my laundry room, where there is a backdoor to my home. In the middle of one of the piles of laundry was the entire frame of my backdoor window.

“What the %@&*?!” I said aloud.

Then I noticed the door was open and ajar, the wind whipping through the curtain. Someone, it seemed, had broken into my home.

Apprehension crept through me like vines, and I backed away from the door, worried the intruder was still in my home. I backtracked through the house, keeping a vigilant eye toward every dark corner and picked up my phone to call 911, but I had slovenly left the phone off its charger and it was dead. I would need to walk to my mom’s to call.

Because I’m too fat to comfortably sit in the floor playing video games in blue jeans, I was in my boxer shorts at the time, so I needed to dress. Worried a burglar would pounce on me at any moment, I grabbed a knife to defend myself, though it was the kind of small, just-for-show knife that was more likely to cause skin irritation than an adequate defense. So, holding my knife aimed toward the back of the house, I pulled on a pair of pajama pants, backward I later learned, and some shoes and headed outside. Unfortunately, I had never gotten to chance to use the bathroom, which had, especially combined with my fear, become a rather urgent problem, so I fulfilled my biological prerogative outside as my forefathers did, trying to appear like I was about to enter my car. As the burglar could have been lingering outside, I still carried my knife, though I was careful not to circumcise myself.

Afterward, I walked down the road to my mom’s, hiding my knife from the passing cars so I didn’t look like a homicidal maniac on the loose. Then, when I knocked on the door to my mom’s and my stepdad answered, he turned on the light to look out the window of the door. Seeing the knife, I’m surprised he opened the door. I imagine he thought, “Dusty’s finally lost it.”

He returned with me to my home, as I wanted him to help me inspect the house for intruders and make sure there was no other possible explanation than burglary. He surmised that someone had stood on my back step and kicked the window in, which seemed hardly feasible to me, because if so, the burglar would have been either Spider-Man or the Karate Kid, considering the thin steps up to my backdoor. After my stepdad returned to his house to call 911, or so I thought, I installed a light bulb in my laundry room and discovered that the burglar had thrown a concrete half-sphere, something used to attach reflectors on the side of the road, through the window. So superheroes were eliminated as suspects.

Shortly later, my mom arrived because, though she called 911, they required my exact street address, which she didn’t know, in order to respond to my house. I thought I was lucky I was not being murdered at the time.

With the correct address, she called on her cell phone, and we waited for a deputy to arrive. Meanwhile, she called one of my neighbors, who as it turns out, spotted someone lurking outside my backdoor suspiciously at about 4 p.m. that afternoon, some 5 hours before I discovered the break-in. I guess the knife was not needed after all.

Deputy Bob Billotte arrived and asked, as I led him through the house, if anything was missing. I jokingly remarked, “How could I tell?” while showing him the unnatural disaster which is my home. But in truth, nothing was missing. There were probably $30 worth of dollar bills laying about my floor, all of which have since been picked up for all you prospective thieves, and none of my few valuables were taken.

However, I was a bit disappointed the burglar didn’t take the broken down television which one day I will have to remove myself. The burglar could have done me a huge favor by cleaning up a little!

Instead, maybe he was scared away by the mess. I honestly don’t know what could have caused him to not steal anything after brazenly breaking into a home on a busy highway out in the open in broad daylight.

Maybe he decided he’d find more value for less trouble digging through a real garbage dump.

Originally published in The Ocilla Star on Dec. 7, 2011. I later learned that the burglar stole a tray full of change which also included my class ring, my back-up pair of glasses and other items. He was later revealed to be one of my best friends, who pleaded guilty as a first offender. After some time, we're friends again today. Turn the cheek, y'all.