Camouflage

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camouflage

We've all seen the reports about "Problem America" and our supposedly rabid bloodlust for gun violence, but that only tells part of the story. For every raging "gun nut" with a pseudo-militaristic bent who's overdosed on too many boyhood war flicks, there exists an actual veteran with a licensed weapon who belongs to a legitimate gun club, carrying an updated permit tied to a rigid background check with a psych screening (perhaps a blood test with a urine sample or two thrown in, for good measure) that's current. Why would owning and driving a car require more testing than carrying a deadly weapon? It shouldn't be like that, and that's not our intention here*.

As a nation of expats, exiles, and immigrants from war-torn countries around the world that have in power a wealthy ruling elite funded by corruption, Americans tend to be a little sensitive about oil barons in fancy trucks who have all the guns, and we don't. Our Constitution actually preserves our rights as citizens to form an opposing militia, in the event that it all goes wrong somehow with our government sometime in the future, like, maybe during a zombie apocalypse coupled with the latest impending nuclear attack. It's extreme, really. Or perhaps, like my gentlemen friend from the post office who sported flannel along with his ole fishing hat with NRA and scouting badges: you grew up in rural upstate New York where the wild things live, because hunting and fishing is a big part of your life.

I'm not talking about those faux hicks who sell it in modern "cuntree" songs about some pretend lifestyle that preserves inbred rednecks getting drunk and shooting off guns in the middle of woods, because we certainly have those type of kooks 'round the way, too. My former handyman from the 'hood is just such a type of Nuyorcian. One afternoon while he and his skeleton crew worked (including a one-eyed Mexicano who didn't have his own paintbrush, even though they were there to paint my apartment, and he's probably an illegal alien, too), my friend came up to me while I was writing a novelization of yet another office situation gone mad in the city, he though it was more than acceptable to interrupt my work at the keyboard so as to settle some crazy-ass nonsense he and his brother had about Bruce Lee. 

You read that right, amigos. My handyman though it was totally fine to ask me in the middle of my work day to "squash a beef" for him about Bruce Lee, by asking me to look up a YouTube video for him, so as to ascertain whether or not the video was real or faked, like, some far out Sasquatch or Loch Ness type of shit that would link up to Lee's faked death, a la President Kennedy and the grassy knoll type of situation, ya feel me, peeps? We all have that kind of paranoid, conspiracy-theory friend. I told him that it was definitely possible for a real martial artist like Bruce Lee to bust that kind of move on film with nunchucks**, hard as it was, because in addition to his professional acting chops, he really was master martial artist.

After his grunting concession to that blatantly obvious and very well-known fact from martial arts movie history (I know, "hood rats", I know. I'm rollin' my eyes, too), I couldn't help but notice that my friend had decided that today was the day to sport (from his colorful bevy of them) a charming camouflage print do-rag*** decorated jauntily with silhouettes of very large guns because, of course, he and his wacky friends have indeed gone upstate to a remote location (or so they thought) to get drunk, get loud, and mow down trees... or not, as the case may be.

You see, another one of my handyman's wacky theories was finding out if you can indeed get 1) crazy drunk, 2) whacked out of your mind on blow, and then 3) shoot down a tree, if you only have enough ammo and the right AK-47. It's just one of those things that freakin' Ricans do. You see, back in the day, some o' my peeps were so desperate for cool green spaces in the 'hood that they decided city parks sucked (too much crime), and that parking by the side of a busy highway upon first seeing any type of grass at all was perfectly fine, car exhaust be damned. It was so widespread a thing that as we drove back from the city, my family called them "Puerto Rican picnics" because you are not supposed to park by the side of a busy highway just to eat with your little children. It is, in fact, highly illegal, as is almost every recreation that my friend attempts in his leisure time.

He proceeded to tell me about how they pissed off the farmer next door (because, you know, that early rising scumbag with all the kids and animals to take care of is racist, man), and then the cops were called, with tickets, fines, and summons issued, all because my dumb-ass friend and his stoopid crew of wackadoos from the 'hood thought it was funny to shoot at shit in the dark of night, with the lights of a distant farmhouse next door suddenly signalling to them that is, indeed, not okay to do that to your neighbor, you dumb fuck.

And no, he didn't chop down a tree in his friend's backyard at three a.m. with his big gun (nor did any of his friends), because there ain't enough ammo in the world to do that job well, and also because (this is key, kids) that IS NOT what our Constitution guarantees (nor do any of the Amendments), but he decided with more than a few beers in him to take what we fight for everyday and wipe his butt with it, because despite charming t.v. sitcoms about "making it", a locale change for him and his motley crew can't make up for what education and life skills can really do for them. He needs that. Not more ammo. Certainly not more guns.


*     https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Right_to_keep_and_bear_arms 
**    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nunchaku  
***  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Do-rag

Right Stuff

This one's for you, boys.

https://www.wwiimemorial.com/Registry/plaque.aspx?honoreeID=333036

Spoils of War

http://voc.tv/1jOnjUT

I watch and read a lot of content that isn't specifically designed for me, nor catered to my particular demographic, because it's part of my job to stay au courant of pop culture trends. Like my former job description as an Art Director in Adult Trade book cover design ("You can't judge a book by its' cover" for the umpteenth time. Haha...yes, you can, and you certainly should. That's why we invest so much into it upfront as our most important marketing material: to create enough visual interest on a bookshelf for you to pick it up and want to explore further, because we actually really fucking care about the books we make. But I digress, shit-heel...), people think my job is one thing over the actual reality of it: to be an expert who accurately judges and assesses any type of creative content, in whatever form it takes, in any language or country, on any device, for any audience. 

It's actually a lot harder than it sounds or looks, because you're big hit bestseller may, in reality, be a totally trite and highly repetitive piece of derivative shit for me; one that's almost exclusively driven by slavishly current marketing trends, which is a really bad sign in creative businesses, because if you can't come up with original ideas consistently, you're done. It means some asshole middle manager who is a big nobody has sapped your talent and then gets the pathetic joy of discarding you like you're a used car battery, which is the worst thing that can happen to any artist. You are no longer relevant culturally because you've lost your platform.

With that in mind, I always try to let my friends at the library know what I'm checking out as part of my job, and what I really like, because part of their job as librarians (who are some of the most important people in our audience to market to) is knowing my preferences and suggesting materials to me as recommendations, then talk to me intelligently about it (but really, you, not me, because I already know). We publish almost exclusively to libraries at times, in special Library Editions; maybe large print books for the blind or vision-impaired, or perhaps books designed to handle the rougher climate of a public library's bookshelf by using tougher binding materials manufactured just for them. They know me and my audience here, because I've published books just for them at certain times, or oversaw it as a supervisor at some point in time in my long career.

That's why I read the "Twihard" series to my great displeasure: because my weirdo aunt who is emotionally stuck at 14, due to the severity of her mental disabilities and impairments, desperately wants me to believe that I am just like her, through this obviously fake Christmas "gift" (because hoarders use objects to express their feelings for people....ugh): I'm permanently stuck on stupid with some "hot" vamps involved, just like her. Uh, great. It's a series, right? And so I read the entire series as part of my professional follow-though routine, and because it also became a wildly popular movie series of some of the worst tripe I've even seen marketed to teens, which really pisses me off. And the books really suck, too. Bad writing.

So, when I check out some white men war movies, it's always attached with the caveat that this content may or may not be marketed for me, which is fine, because I'm a grown up, and we might also have the added bonus of making fun of some really bad art at the check-out counter, because librarians are people, too! I digest way too much content that is throwaway junk, but that's no different than any other day for me: it's for you, kid, and not for me. Mommy has very few needs. And so it happened that I saw a string of war movies recently, representing different types of people (loosely drawn from the facts), in the form of wacky expensive movie fiction, which is problematic for a realist like me. If it's tied to actual human beings who exist(ed), then great; my job just got easier by cutting out the rich white man to go directly to the source. Moms also don't need puppet shows that are stand-ins for real people, kids!

"Unbroken" was about some small town guinea who was picked on for being Italian (yeah, me, too), which got him angry enough for his brother to use as an energy in the white man Olympics, in front of Nazi's who yearned to be the purest whitest people ever....uh oh, Dago Boy is in real trouble. And then he is: all of his fancy Olympian skills become fodder for some mentally ill jerk-off who wants to channel his homoerotic energy into breaking an American Olympian cleaning up shit in a Japanese prison camp. Tough guinea wins (we usually do), but he never gets the apology he wants by the mad rich Jap who heads for the hills in embarrassment after the war. Boohoo, bro. No guts, no glory. We women know boys find war games really fucking fun. Would you want to grind sawdust into the scant remains of the flour that you have on ration, while your children starve slowly in front of you? No?! And that was one of the easier WWII scenarios women had, back in the day. You don't want to know about the rest: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unbroken_%28film%29.

"Lone Survivor" is better: this tough muthafuckin' white boy (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marcus_Luttrell) pulls through champion-style, too, but with a broken back and a new foreign friend. I like that he manages to rise above the spoils of a typical war by bonding with the villagers who hid him from the enemy, because they realize that the nasty war tribes around them are totally fucking nuts, regardless of nationality, and they would just as easily kill them as that broke-back white boy, because they're right. People are driven mad by war, because video games with real targets (like pregnant women and their nursing children) are really fucking hard to kill, even if you know that they are human smart bombs sent to rip you to shreds. Do you want want to be the person flicking the switch to that electric chair, you monster? (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monster%27s_Ball)

I know I'm a great warrior who would totally fucking kill you in a knock-down, drag-out battle to the death for survival, but it's a rare thing to have a fair fight, when the righteous wins over evil. What do you do when the sands shift under your feet? Or, how can I be a good guy when I just blew the head off of a defenseless woman? That's the kind of thing that stays with you, man, and sometimes it kills you back at home, where another type of war rages: the one that plays inside your shell-shocked and highly concussed skull, which is what this white boy played in this fucking war movie about how war may turn even your new war friend into a foe, in a heartbeat: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Sniper.

Not so glamorous anymore, is it? These actors don't go home to nurse you through the after-effects of your war-induced illness, bro. I do that for you, people in social services do that for you, but this fucking celebrity gets to breeze through a photo op at the local VA, drop a check, and he is gone, gone, gone, girl. Then, the really bad movie starts to play in your head, once again...where will Hollywood be? Nowhere in sight. That's the true spoils of any given war; money you don't get and will never see, while you heart-breakingly watch (by yourself) your son or daughter struggle through yet another series of tremors that the Veteran's supposed benefits package just ran out on, and G-d forbid that they get their hands on that kitchen knife before you do. Who will be there in that room with you? 

Here's a wild guess: it won't be a Bradley Cooper type of actor. The man who helps you pick up the pieces later on will be your real friends, family, neighbors, and community activists. That's who you owe, and that's who I work for everyday, because that's who I am: your friendly fucking neighborhood war hero. But, like, so not with the actual PTSD that's so dramatic on camera, dude. That's, like, totally not cool, you know? Pay me, yo! I'll throw you a real party, man, with no weird gold statues that don't mean jack-shit, either. I promise ;)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Iraq_War_films

Small Town America: Nyack Memorial Park

Nyack Memorial Park, Memorial Day Weekend 2013

Hello, Readers! This weekend may have begun cool and rainy, but it ends with something grand: the remembrance of heroes past. I started practicing Tai Chi Chuan again, here in this beautiful park (weather permitting) and at the end of class, our venerable Lao Shi (Teacher), told us that it is a law for Americans to take a moment of silence today at 3:00 pm for our vets. 

Of course, no one will come to your house and arrest you if you don't, representing another brilliant, beautiful part of our shared American experience: freedom. Oftentimes, I make work about the inequities and flaws within our system, but it is always done with the greatest of love. 

I believe that our society and government represent the ultimate experiment ever endeavored in the history of the human race: the quest for a true equality. That's certainly something worth fighting for, don't you think? All of us living together in relative harmony, here on Earth. It's a lovely thought, and a worthy ideal. Peace! Osu!

Small Town America: Memorial Day

We cherish, too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led;
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders Fields. 

 

excerpt from We Shall Keep the Faith, Moina Michael, November 1918