Journal Entry: Nonfiction..

Journal Entry (nonfiction):


If you could occupy the world occupied in a novel, which would you choose? [taken from the book “IF” by Evelyn McFarlane and James Saywell]

Garsh, any where but here, really. I mean, with the wonderous worlds that books creates, even the evilest of ones, there’s more existing, there’s more excitement, there’s more adventure then this world can ever have!

The first world I would be drawn too is the world that took me to novels in the first place. Sherlock Holmes’ gaslamp existence in Edwardian and Victorian England. I’m not one to believe in past lives, but I have consistently been drawn to this exciting time when the boundaries of life were being rewritten in London. Steamerpunk (think of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen) was massively exciting, providing today’s technology but keeping the novelty of worlds yet to be explored . Jack the Ripper was haunting the streets, and trust me, I’ve read several novels about that creature. HP Lovecraft even pulled the style over to Boston, but the feel, the emotion, the DARK would still be there.

I have wondered, at times, there was something about past lives attached to this wonderment I have about this time period. There's an envigorating energy that comes across me when I read tales from this time period, this concept of, well, familiarity, that makes me feel kinda creeped out.

Okay, if you read my last post, you also know I’m a comic book freak. How I would kill to jump into the world of Metropolis, Gotham City or Genosha. Heck, I’ll even go one step further and say Paragon City. Yeah, I’d be a superhero. I’d fly. I’d stop bank robbers. I’d be thin.

And even though I’ve played in the worlds of Greyhawk and the Forgotten Realms, I don’t think the wonderments of Dungeons and Dragons would draw me in.

There were no toilets frankly.

But there is one world I would live in. Yes, it’s been novels. You’ve all been to Disney World. What I would do to live in those clean reproductions of tomorrow like Tomorrowland or Adventureland. I don’t know why those two would pull me so, but if I had to live IN an attraction (no novel required), it would be the Haunted Mansion. Gotta be.

Does Hollywood of the Day of the Locust count?

Movie Review: Kick-Ass

So yeah, I saw "Kick-Ass."


And yeah, it was against my better judgement. Seriously. I mean, I listen to Roger Ebert and Rotten Tomatoes. That doesn’t always mean I do what they say. I’m totally one for respecting others differences, but in the end, I believe that I have do what I want to do.

I wanted to see this movie. It’s pretty clear I love me some superhero movies. I really do. And everyone panned "Superman Returns. They were right. It sucked moosepenis. But I still went to see it. It’s just the way I am. Maybe it’s something inside my heart to be a rebel. And since I’m such a chickenshit to rebel against people I know, it’s much easier to rebel against writers and post-ers I’ve never met.

So I went to the critically panned Kick-Ass this past night. To show you how much of a rebel I am, I didn’t even try to convince my husband to go. The mere fact there was a swear word in the title turned him away.

Now I don’t know how to say this, but how can you agree with a critic AND say they’re wrong at the same time. Roger points out the violence in this movie, mostly instigated by and to an 11 year old girl, is just so out of place that it’s painful to watch. And reading that, even I was given some pause.

‘Cause it’s right. Most of the carnage of this bloody piece of work is about a super called “Hit-Girl.” And, through her and the other situations, the violence is heightened by its mere number. The message becomes clear pretty much from the outset. Superheroes, in comics and in the movies, are about the fighting. It is all about the combat.

And there is too much.

But is there? I’m reminded of Quinten Taratino movies. So much violence exists in those movies, you become immune by the final climax of all of his movies. The gore fades. And this movie, sadly, kinda does the same thing. I keep seeing fighting and blood. And by the violence’s profundity, I was able to tune it out.

If that makes any sense.

What ends up happening is you see the storyline underneath and realize, this is a plot we’ve seen before. In all of those other superhero movies. The film seems to realize this and ends with the same verbage as every other big picture adaptation of a comic book-a massive storming of the castle. In trying to get us to wince with every knife thrown, the picture, instead, gives up arguing with the audience and just goes with the easy way out.

No wonder they released the movie in April, that nadir of films that studios have no idea what to do with. If the filmmaker didn’t know what to do, how could the studio?

There are some bright parts---Aaron Johnson has leading man energy and keeps his energy focused with the movie spirals out of control. Take a look at Nicholas Cage’s quick performance. He’s still a good actor, folks, and also rises about the material. He should think about doing smaller roles more often.

But the movie itself is strictly for the comic book geek. Oh crap, I just outed myself. I’m totally fine with admitting my being queer—but I’m less forthcoming when it comes to my love for comic books and being a fanboy. Guess then I’m out of the comic book closet—and that’s probably the most interesting thing that can happen with his oddball flick.

Besides, being a comic book geek, I can say this:  The book is better. And in there, the blood IS terrible. I mean, look at the cover art alone....

Movie Review: Clash of the Titans

When is a classic a classic?


I came to this question when I watched “Clash of the Titans,” last week. See, for two hours, I had a bit of free time to really kinda ponder this query—given the fact that my brain was empty as much as this flick was. I saw it with a group a friends, should you wonder why I would subject myself to this show. I also wanted to see this from the perspective of a teacher. Nothing beats the classics, as it were, for teaching fiction.

And I’m still looking for a good example.

See, in 1979, I saw this now-classic picture with good friends of the family. Our world was recently turned upside down with that little upstart of a movie called “Star Wars,” making our expectations totally be rewritten when it came to special effects. But the original “Clash” held true. Yes, it was pretty obvious where the stop-motion special effects blared across the screen, but it proved something back then—

--when the story is well written, you can handle bad special effects because you honestly want to see what happens.

You know, a ‘classic.’ Older movies that really stand the test of time due to great writing and decent acting.

I’m starting to wonder if Hollywood really hates us when this is what they choose to remake. Why mess with success like this original’s title?

See, I’m fine with remakes. It brings us back to original while improving any flaws (if there were any) of the first go-around. They also expose youth to titles they never thought they’d like. I think of the remake of “Psycho” and was impressed with how many teens were in the audience. That’s a good thing. You know they were going to be talking about it over java at the Starbuck’s afterwards.

This isn’t that kind of remake.

Hollywood hates us, and this is the perfect example. Why write something original? Just hack up the starter materials. This movie completely revamps the original storyline. In the first go-around, Harry Hamelin’s Persesus is not an ace fighter. He looks rough-hewn. The gods bicker and look like they are having fun with toying with humanity. Now, we have Sam Worthington looking pretty with zero tan even though he lived for most of his life on a boat. His milky white skin reminded me of the ‘prettiest hooker’ played by Heather Graham back in “From Hell.” He’s so out of place, his placement in the movie starts looking like he was digitally edited into every scene.

But Hollywood doesn’t care for you or this movie. Sam’s the flavor right now, so let’s slapdash this movie together and spend more on special effects. They are grand, occupying most every minute of the movie—so the wonders of this Ancient Greece makes monsters as commonplace at hot dog stands in New York. Where’s the surprise, folks?

Further proof that with a decent story, we don’t really care. I could excuse much of this if I actually cared. Here we have Hades as the bad guy again; the Kraken moved to being his pet-project. Um, wasn’t that Poseidon’s pet?

Um, what?

The film flounders like this. You are given so much free time to let your brain wonder as I did, you realize how vacuous this picture really is. Characters appear without a name, disappear and then everything starts to seem like the director is sitting behind the camera mentioning, “bring me another latte, they’re releasing this in the spring. Besides, it’s not like they’re going to notice after the 3-D is done.”

Yeah, ANOTHER 3-D movie. Trust me, being a Disney buff, I love the wonderment those attractions offered at Disney World. But now those displays are obsolete—because now 3-D is as ubiquitous as political stupidity. It’s killing those cool Captain EO visits! And, well, the fact is, you can’t polish a turd. Again, Hollywood figures we’re stupid. They find all their bad movies and then add 3-D. They can charge us more with the 3-D stuff. Yet the movie is still bad. It’s even hurting any good movies like “Up” because we’re growing tired with the saturation of the market.

I’m waiting for a Mel Brooks’ parody, ala “Silent Movie” or “Blazing Saddles.” Something about a film director who is so lonely he wants to jump into everyone’s lap at the same time in every theatre. So he makes 100s of 3-D movies. There’s something in there.

Something creative and novel.

So, I guess what I’m saying is this—either see the original and enjoy it or save your money for the action films that are in the trailers before the movie. Unless you have a need to go to the movies. Then just buy popcorn and leave.

Restaurant Reviews: Indigo Joe's

Alright, I like to eat. And because of that, I sometimes don’t have discriminating taste. I don’t have many vices left, frankly, outside of a decent palate that needs tons of tasty bits to keep it entertained. So when I go out to eat and I’m actually going to sit at a table, I have decent expectations. Not high expectations. Decent is usually enough. In a world that gives us Applebee’s drive up service and Red Robin’s cookie cutter service, expectations will be slightly dulled after a time.

We went out last week to this place called Indigo Joe’s. Our western corridor of Colorado Springs is a mess. I don’t think there is one independently owned storefront or restaurant the entire Powers boulevard distance. So if I’m in that area and have to eat, I always tend to look for not the Mom-n-Pop diner, because I would have to squint too hard. Instead, I look for that one place that I’ve not actually gone to.

That’s I how I found Indigo Joe’s. It’s labeled as a sports bar. Sports bars are not known as high cuisine either. You figure the average Joe is going to be slamming beers, not wine, and the food should be salty, easy to chew and probably decently spicy to keep you buying drinks.

I’m okay with that. I like to eat, remember?

What you wouldn’t expect is fatty leftover bits, no flavor and bad service. It was pretty evident that’s what happened when we were there. We ordered an appetizer, salads and food. All showed up at the same time. The waitress complained three times about her ‘not getting the system’ of the computer. It was evident. But I believe I can expect a certain normalcy. She went ahead and put all three parts of the meal in at the same time right after we ordered. Then she left them under the lights until they were dry and rubbery. I’m not sure what she was thinking. I’m not sure what I was thinking either, expecting common sense in today’s world. I should pinch myself next time.

The appetizer was new to us-teriyaki sticks of beef. We thought, what the heck, it sounds different. Instead, it was the grizzle from some cheap beef covered in sauce. They were still pink. And really, really chewy. Bubble gum had more consistency. We had to spit out chunks.

Salads were fine. Just served at the same time. I would expect it to be fucked up, by nature of everything else.

Then the meal followed suit. Dry. Boring. I ordered something spicy, a Cajun chicken sandwich, thinking this would be the place to get something like that---my mistake. I didn’t realize the tanning bed of a heat lamp could not only kill the flavor, but actually move jalapenos towards the negative end of the spectrum. Instead, I got green boogers that had all the spunk of a Jonas’ brothers’ album.

It was gross.

See, cause I like to eat. But I don’t hate myself enough to subject myself to this crap. Folks…don’t go. Let’s at least encourage these people to work a bit for their chains.

Movie Review: Diary of a Wimpy Kid

Middle schools sucks, frankly.

If it didn’t teachers today would not have meetings, weekly, if not hourly, about ways of avoiding bullying and how to build self-esteem whilst the government sends messages that you are stupid and cannot be trusted---I mean, we have so many repetitive meetings, it is really impressive that many of these issues that one experiences only in middle school should been solved probably in the fifties. But these issues are STILL happening. It’s part of human development. Anyone who was in middle school knows it has nothing to do with adults. It has everything to do with being a pre-teen. The hormones, the inability to grasp any kind of reality and this nagging feeling that you’re not going anywhere---quite soon. That’s the focus of the kids, not the adults. And any movie that reviews the eons that are middle school years, that should be their focus.

So teachers, including myself have frequent meetings, all trying to figure this ‘middle school’ thing out.

And the kids are still all weird.

I loved middle school. In fact, in my years of growing up, middle school ranked right up there with college. Yes, it did. I had just moved to Colorado and my thorn, my older brother, stayed in New York. It changed my world. No one judged me. I was able to be myself for probably the first time in ages.

So I loved middle school.

I didn’t realize I did until I started teaching junior high back in the year 2000.

The reason I elaborate on this is due to our most recent viewing of Fox’s Diary of Wimpy Kid. We hit it up as a date night movie this past Friday night and it was actually pretty dang good!

I know, I know, some kind of date night, right? You have to understand, dear readers, my husband---we met over Disney movies. We still laugh at farts and giggle at rampant stupidity.

Yes, middle school seems to be his favorite too!

JK Rowling is a godsend on several levels, really. With her writing dang good young adult fiction, we have hundreds of other authors finding the time to put pen to paper and capturing stuff that is quite excellent—all for young people. Diary is an example of this. Yeah, there have been great authors before, but now, kids are finishing their Harry Potter and heading back to the local bookseller and trying to find something else just as interesting. Diary is an example of that. It started as a cartoon on the website ‘Funbrain.com’ and expanded and expanded. It detailed the trails and pitfalls that we have all blocked from our collective pasts when it comes to remembering sixth, seventh and eighth grade. Filled with stick figures to emphasize the humorous text, this book is a quick read that is full of the stuff that makes my first sentence true.

It sucks because, well, you’re becoming a person, you’re not one yet. Greg Heffely typifies the social experimentation that sixth, seventh and eighth graders suffer through. Maybe you should try out for the play; maybe you should take up wrestling. Greg is mortified by his best friend, Rowley, who technically does nothing wrong but be himself. He is browbeaten by his older brother, Brodrick. He doesn’t know what he wants. The book captures stuff I see in my job daily.

And that is why I liked this movie. Unlike JK Rowling, the villains here are not teachers who wield magics that are, quite literally, evil incarnate and can kill you. His parents aren’t not dimwits who seek to embarrass him either. Instead, all the normal stuff a preteen could fear are there—the bullies, the indecision, and the wicked older brother.
And it captures it quite well. Sure, it is exaggerated to some extent, but it truly takes the time to get it right.

I also should mention something about the lead, someone named Zachary Gordon. I’ve worked with teen actors my whole life. They want the fame and the recognition, but having to work for it? Kids only emote when no one is looking. This kid actually is engaging and I bought it. Kid actors tend to rely on the director to tell them the details, but Mr. Gordon pulls it off—a teen we like even when he is unlikable.

So here’s a movie to rent if you have a middle schooler. However, I’m not stupid, it’s not for you probably otherwise. I’d recommend it if you survived this review and maybe nodded once or twice. But beyond that? Nada. That’s why I’ll say it’s really good, but not excellent.

After all, middle school sucks, frankly.

Review: The Ghost Writer

"Boy that was a forgiving mother," my coworker explained.

Our discussion, for some reason, had led to my writings and she had inquired about at what age I had started being an author. I pointed out that I had abhorred a blank page and would sometimes create tales for no purpose whatsoever. The conversation verred this way and that, and at this point, I had elaborated on a moment in high school. I still hadn't mastered typing, so I had my mother transpose one of my handwritten tales for my English class.

The story was that of a murder. I had written a short story about a painting in a wealthy man's home where people would stare at it, go home and then multilate themselves graphically.

My coworker and mother were wondering why me, a person who really strives to find connections with the personalities around him; a man for whom the term "Poopiehead" is a frequent jibe---could write about a man who cuts off his own cheek and eats it.

I bring this up in lieu of my recent viewing Roman Polanski's thriller "The Ghost Writer." In the vein of the best of Hitchcock movies, the film is all about the plot and how it unfolds. The characters are as 3-D as a mystery can let them be. The fact is, in these kinds of delicious horrors, the characters are required to behave in a certain way--and that way means they have ability to be a cold blooded murder. Even the most likeable character in any of these stories must have the motivation to bite off a bat's head.

So when it comes to reviewing these movies, there's really one thing to write about. How well the film makers take the well worn path and stretch, stretch, stretch the tale so that we're belted to our seats until the very end. Everything else we sense, to some extent beforehand. We know something wrong with this person; we know that person is messed up already. But the fact is, who well is it handled.

Don't get me wrong, this is a good movie. Not excellent. Not bad either. What makes it not bad, is the filmmaker is taking a risk here. There's not the quick editing required for the MTV audience. There's the pressure of, at least, presenting these characters in a light that...even though they can kill a person, they must be likeable so that we care should they die unexpectedly. Kids today, they want movies with blood and zero complication. It's the reason there's been 3 Final Destinations but a decent flick like this released in the no-man's land of April.

Hitchcock would be proud. All the elements are there.

Polanski is an excellent filmmaker. His personal angst has led him and us to the ability to really pile-driver the pressure of a given situation. He also gives us a protagonist who is like myself. He knows better, and it shows. He's intelligent and he gets it. But he still goes forward with his writing.

But in the end, we're left cold with zero reward for swimming through the tension of the scenes. I felt that the energy lagged in the third act and, like a solider in a prolonged war, we're left just as wary. What is it with Europeans and their non-clipped storylines?

So you're looking at a movie that's half way decent and actually worth the price at the theatres, but ultimately, not creepy enough to ponder again when you get home.

Sure, there are themes in this movie about our sneaky government and how it throws wars for it's own gains; but really, with the insurance bill being arugred with daily on the news, Americans have already learned about this evil in spades. So the timing is off, way off.

If you could work for anyone?

My first instinct to pick myself, immediately. Surely, it would be a total blast to run my own business--I adore coffee and can see myself making daily for a bevy of young college kids who wear very tight tshirts. Occasionally, I could cook the lattes with charming music of some garage band that didn't have enough experience to use swear words yet but knew how to use gel.

But then reality of this dream sets in. I would have to hire every person and then take up the untidy position of firing those who don't work out. I would have to handle all the advertisements, whoring myself to all the nearby college campuses. I could never really go to the beach. Sure, I could GO, but the whole time, I'd be stressing that my assistant manager remembered to tally the credit card bills and someone met the plumber coming in to fix the girls' john.

Still, ilike the idea of working for myself in the sense of writing. An author, even a magazine author has a bit of autonomy. I can make my own deadlines, play with my own creativity, and not have to worry about the employees. Occasionally, I'd have to meet with editors and agents, but overall, I would be the product, not the worker. My heart and brains would be the commodity, not my hands and voices.

That, for me, is the true working environment that I would love to be within.

That's the world of crime...

I love scary stories, always have. The fact of the matter was, my mother sensed my intelligence and risked it once by buying me my first Stephen King novel when I was in the sixth grade. She sensed my reading prowness, coupled it with juvenile purient interests and then bought the book at a garage sale.

I was hooked into the grotesque.

Kinda explains my first marriage, come to think of it.

Time passes and my tastes mature. I move up to Clive Barker and Robert McGammon. Then I see the movie "Silence of the Lambs" and have to review it for a newspaper I was working for. To make the story fuller, I went ahead and found Thomas Harris' text and expanded on the topic.

And I discovered that sometimes truth is, by far, scarier than fiction.

Also, scare-ily like my first marriage.

Today's writing topic is what famous unsolved crime would I like to know the answer of. Well, the fact is, like Sherlock Holmes, I've read as many books as I can about good old Jack the Ripper. So much so, I have even developed theories as to he might be, but have never realy followed up in the reality department.

But, just like every other serial killer prior to him, I wanted to know the ins and outs. I could never hurt a fly, yet, here was someone who could drap intestines around someone's neck. That was where the fera came from and my interests--what could make the average person follow through on such a thing and yet walk amoungst us afterwards?

I would love to know who Jack really, really is. But here's the trick, frankly. I wouldn't tell a soul. The murders are passed now, everyone would question the answer as it was anyways. But I would love to find the solution and then apply it to the facts. The why. The where. The reality.

But the mystery is part of Mr. Ripper's mystique and I can never destroy that. Sure, it might give decesdents of his history some closure.

*) As I elaborate, I would also do the same for Zodiac. His trail was so twisted, I just want to see the answer just for the closure. But would say little--but his issue was that, in my research, he is either deceased or was captured, since we've heard so little of him since the seventies.

That's my story.

If I could change one thing about myself??

Wait...one thing?

Okay, okay, okay. All of us are on a journey in our life. Here's the problem, no one actually tells us what that journey is. Are we supposed to save puppies? Are we supposed to date that one person so they become famous and use you as the source for that one performace on hatred?

No one freegin knows.

Religion gives some ideas on the path we need to take for some. I'll buy that. But ORGANIZED religion merely just asks for money and sells platitudes for the masses.

I mean, have you seen New Life Church?

So basically, the plan is up for grabs.

And frankly, with all my writing as of late working on a novel, I've discovered somethign that makes me more whole. I could literally do this for a living, believe it or not. Just sitting and writng has caused me to lose weight and reduce stress, not exactly what I would have expected. So, obviously, putting pen to paper has a purpose for my journey in some way.

But knowing that I am improved in some way through the act of writing also proves something else for me. That I am greatly flawed. That there is something that must be improved.

Now, I give you this. I learned this long ago. When I went into college, the amount of information was incredible. I was constantly in awe and overwhelmed by how much I didn't know and was there to learn. Proof that I wasn't perfect. Not in the least.

So, okay then. I know I need to be smarter. But I have that down pat. I am always reading and growing.

If you look back at the first thing I noticed that improved when I started writing a novel in the long term...it was the fact that my pants were looser, baggier and longer. I had not done more sit-ups, I had even been sitting more than ever before.

If there was something I could improve? I'd lose weight. I'd be thin and beautiful. I have a husband that loves me just the way I am...but he has the waist of a 16 year old boy. I'm fat, folks. And worse, I know it. I think about it when I'm not thinking about eating. I exercise, to be sure, but it's not working any more.

So?

Let's return to my journey. If I keep this weight, I'll still feel bad about myself when I ahve to ask about how much weight a specific ride can hold at Disneyland. When kids impresonate me by putting a pillow around their midriff.

And fat people die early. We know this.

Not big on the dying bit. Would rather finish the journey.

So, yeah, I need to change my body shape. I want to feel good about myself there. My brain is in order. My social life is actually vivrant.

Now the physical.

That's what I'd change.

Do We Make Our Own Luck?

Ijust received some terrible news. A dear friend of mine met someone, let that person housesit for them, and they robbed him blind. Took the car, took the DVD player, took money, took all the things that defined him in his environment. The guy is broken and I feel terrible about it. I wonder if I could have done or said something more to protect my colleague.

Grant you, I doubt it, but if you care about someone, you don't particular want them to suffer.

At the same time, I'm having a terrible time at my terrific job. I can narrow down my aggravations to one specific person (see Monday's input). Now this woman's involvement in my daily existence is nominal, not at all like taking my friend's life in a box and dumping on their pride. But still, it brought me to today's question...

...do we make our own luck?

In Chinese cultures, there's the I Ching. The philosophy is that your luck will influence everything around you. Literally, everything, like coins in your pocket. And if you take the time to flip those coins, you can actually get a reading on the amount of luck that is floating off your body.

Interesting thought.

But I cannot help that we do make our own luck. WHat if, and trust me, I really trust this dude and think he's awesome...but what if he some how influenced this bad luck? My older brother is a fucknut. And bad shit happens around him constantly. And he lives for it. He brings it down upon himself.

Like, for example, they outlawed pitbulls where he was living. So he went out and bought one and then had a hissy fit when the dog was taken away. He likes 'loose women' but when the call back, he gets mad and then they harrass him and show up at my mother's parties and on and on and on.

But he continues to insist that this is totally out of his control. That some how, it was the woman's fault she was so loose and then, when she wants to see him again, he cannot seem to understand that he called her.

The difference between my brother and my friend? I think my friend is cool. And my friend doesn't make fun of me constantly.

I look at myself. I almost think I'm exasperating these problems with my friend so I can be fired and then lose my job and then have to move to Florida. And my friend, I'm thinking, just thinking, since he never really had a steady partner/lover, that he looks down on himself enough to find someone that uses him. And steal everything.

Did he know this person would steal everything? No. I don't think he did. But he played up the positive to a point that even if his gut-feelings came into play, he had a difficult time to see it. We all know, you should let a stranger into your house, even if you aren't fucking them.

Now there's an axoim to this. There are big ticket items I still cannot explain. The Tsunami. Katrina. 9/11. THose victims had very little to do with that. They did not choose to be in that building at that time. They did not choose to go on that beach at that time.

But I'm starting to think, in some ways, we make more of our luck then we think. The question is...why don't we want more good luck? No, not dream of good luck. We all dream of the lottery. But really, really, create situations so that luck will come hurdling our way?

Something to ponder.

Now, to go help my friend so his luck can change. Any single people out there?

The U.S. Constitution

The Republicans and their fellow Right Wingers (I collectively all them "the Flat Earth Society) amuse me. Yeah, I know it's a matter of perspective. When they had their man in the White House, Emperor Bush, they kept their traps shut. It's almost as if they realized through 9/11, Katrina and the bank crashes that their puppet was not one of their better choices. They wouldn't even quote him. Instead, they blanketed everyone critical as unAmerican, as if free speech and free thought were not be expected.

Now we have Obama in Washington, it's amusing what they find fault with. He failed to get the Olympics to Chicago...they jumped on that. Of course, no one actually died from this failure, like invading the wrong nation for personal reasons, but they yelled. Then he follows up with getting a Nobel Peace prize. They screamed, "for what?" Since they couldn't seem to read the treaties the Swedes printed on the internet.

Obama wants to fix health care. Now he might be doing it correctly, with that I can understand. Sorta like having an F student trying fix education by punishing all the teachers who wouldn't pass him...in fact, Bush failed out of school and yet he was the one who tried to reform education, but that's not the point. Obama moves forward and the powerful insurance companies, who have had control of Washington for years via their lobbists and controlling interests in the GOP, panic. They send a wave through their followers, via the churches and internet and these tea parties show up.

Never mind that you have a choice with this new program. You don't have to be part, but if you can't help it, you'll have coverage...these people go to meetings and I just laugh, cause what do they yell?

You're taking away my constitutional rights?

Um, what? Might as well say we will have death panels as well.

Oh wait, they did say that too.

I'm still not seeing how giving you another choice is taking away your constitutional rights. I don't understand it at all.

But this is what I do understand about the Constitution. It's actually kinda new in the history of countries. That's kinda interesting. And we still need judges to interpret it, again and again. Now some countries, like South Africa, still vote on segments of it, repeatedly and then it goes before committees to make sure that it helps the greater good of the populace and no one is ever left out.

For me, this seems to be a good idea. And it works in theory. However, knowing our system and how it was bogged down by personal interests and heavy involvment of large corporations, it could very well never work out. But I wish people would sit down and say, "there is a group being marginalized, what is this so in a free nation?"

Then, the churches say, "well, their mere existence puts us at jeopardy."

The retort would be, "so would every murderer and adulterer. Who do you deal with their existence?"

The dialogue would begin.

If only, if only.