The Sputnik Rules

Yes, it was only 50 long years and at least a generation or three ago when the Russians (that’s what we called them back then) successfully launched the worlds first satellite into the heavenly void to begin its menacing orbit of the Earth, mechanically beeping its eerie and undeniable message of Soviet Superiority as it soared above us, looming down on our awestruck faces, solitary, untouchable, unstoppable, terrifying and otherworldly.
The Public cowered and the Military shook the Halls of Power with their panicked rhetoric.

They’ve beaten Us to space!

They’re Winning!

Soon They’ll be able to rain missiles down upon us from the Stars! Throw godlike thunderbolts of Communist aggression onto our Armies, cities and schools at will!

We have to fight back! We must beat them to the High Ground!

And so this basketball-sized aluminum egg circled our globe and kicked into a much higher gear what we would later call our “Cold War” against the monolithic power of the Communist Soviet Union, a “War” that would have the entire planet on Doomsday Alert for the next 3 decades and then some. As a direct result of that metal sphere flying inviolate through our skies the US Government went into a frenzy of missile production determined to build thousands of nuclear warhead payloaded ICBM’s that could strike at any moment into the heart of the Enemy’s cities- having the USSR basically ringed with Military Bases and being able to violate their airspace with entire formations of B-52 bombers being apparently insufficient to our defense needs as long as Sputnik was up there somewhere!
The USSR, angered and frustrated militarily by our Air superiority and brass-balled flyovers of their Motherland but retaining the edge in rocket technology, subsequently ramped up their production of same and in a few short years we both had thousands of missiles pointing in each others direction and poised to launch at the literal touch of a button, almost assuredly leading to a catastrophic confrontation of civilization ending proportion as it was certain that not much of the rest of the world would likely survive, or even want to, the Nuclear Winter that would follow our showdown with the Soviet Bear.

So our little game of Atomic Chicken was All In, boys and girls! The only two Great Nuclear Superpowers were perfectly ready, willing and (for the 1st time in history) able to bring down the other along with the rest of the planet in One Big Boom before either of us surrendered to the Menace of - pick ‘em- the Spread of Evil Communism or the Threat of American Imperialism, depending on which side you were standing, while everyone else paced on the sidelines and prayed for the best.

We both took turns accusing, tough talking, posturing, threatening, spying, saber-rattling and stockpiling our deterrents in a near hysterical mania of military one-upmanship.

We both engaged in disastrous conflicts (Vietnam, Afghanistan) to prove our willingness to fight, military might and dogged determination to the other guy.

We both, combined, spent more money on weapons than most of the worlds economies complete GNP’s, combined.

Then, as befitting this glacially paced conflict, in 1989 the Berlin Wall came down signaling a death knell for the Soviet Union.

In 1991 Premier Gorbachev officially folded his cards and the USSR dissolved.

We won.

Almost 5 decades of teeth gnashing hostility, harsh words and very real threats ended with no bang but something much more like a whimper.

7 separate US Administrations (Democratic and Republican) were at the wheel during all this time yet somehow we managed not to kill each other and everybody else with not one single missile launched in anger over those many, many tense years. I don’t know about anyone else but I’d call that a history of proper thinking, bilateral responsibility and hope for the future.

The American architect of this almost unbelievably sound and sensible policy?

An Ambassador to the Soviet Union, George F. Kennan. In 1947 he wrote an article that would become the foundation for decades of US policy concerning the USSR. The article’s advice- Containment.

Mr. Kennan correctly and very wisely surmised that nothing fruitful was to be gained by direct conflict with the USSR and instead preached strategic containment. In short, match the Soviet Threat- politically, ideologically and, not the least, economically- and we will eventually win a “War” that does not need to be fought on any battlefield.

“Thus the decision will really fall in large measure in this country itself. The issue of Soviet-American relations is in essence a test of the overall worth of the United States as a nation among nations. To avoid destruction the United States need only measure up to its own best traditions and prove itself worthy of preservation as a great nation.
Surely, there was never a fairer test of national quality than this. In the light of these circumstances, the thoughtful observer of Russian-American relations will find no cause for complaint in the Kremlin's challenge to American society. He will rather experience a certain gratitude to a Providence which, by providing the American people with this implacable challenge, has made their entire security as a nation dependent on their pulling themselves together and accepting the responsibilities of moral and political leadership that history plainly intended them to bear.”

I’m not at all confused about Our Republic being under current threat but I think I’ve said all that I’m going to about the nature and reality of that challenge we now face.

(Analogblog:My Ex-Pat Manifesto…continued/4.10.07)

There are ways to deal with terrorists. I would suggest small, effective, covert assassination squads. Then go to the source of the terrorist Hydra and salve the wound before it grows two additional heads.
And I’m certain that greater minds can think of even better ways.

To be clear let's remember that for decades we faced off against total annihilation and somehow, someway, slowly, surely triumphed. Now we face religious fanatics who willingly kill themselves in order to take a few of their enemies, and lots of the innocent, with them.

What did our current leaders come up with to combat this most modern form of aggression?

The War on Terror.

We needed a long range foreign policy with realistic goals and sensible short range actions. What we got was a laughable slogan (Remember the War on Drugs? Yea, Drugs won) that didn’t even work on our own shores, a candy color-coded panic meter and a near endless bloodbath with a dog that wasn’t even in the fight.

A threat must be dealt with appropriately but fear is only fear, it can harm no one but can most certainly lead everyone to disaster.

Mr. Kennan, where are you when we need you?

Larry, we hardly knew ye..........

Well Senators and fellow citizens, Judge Porter from the great State of Minnesota has ruled and it now appears- pending possible appeal- that Sen. Craig’s mailed in plea of Guilty to the charges of Disorderly Conduct in the Minneapolis Airport Toilet will stand up in Court.
In a rare and sound bit of jurisprudence the Honorable Judge Porter stated,

“The Defendant, a career politician with a college education, is of, at least, above average intelligence…he knew what he was saying, reading and signing.”

Fucking OUCH!

King Solomon couldn’t have done it any better and have you ever read a judgment that was so brutally honest, sober, fair, scalding and wickedly sarcastic all in the same incriminating package. Christ, this legal bodyslam alone manages to restore my faith in the Justice system as it now lives and breathes. I don’t know what Judge Porter eats for breakfast but give me a barrel of it!

As for the Senator with the newest misdemeanor record- Keep your head up, Larry! You’re in good company and your club will undoubtedly be filled with more fresh Republican faces (the good money is on Sen. Stevens from Alaska, who knew they had corruption in Alaska?) before the next election year. In a solid show of old fashioned gumption and new age chutzpah and as a real gay burr in the Please-believe-we’re-super-straight Republican saddle Sen. Craig has reversed his position (insert pun here) and proclaimed that he will NOT resign his Senate seat as previously announced and will instead serve out the remainder of his term until Jan. ’09.

GO LARRY, IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY…..GO LARRY IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY!
GO…GO…GO….GO….GO…….GO!

But please Senator………..get yourself a nice boyfriend, spend the money if you have to, settle down and stop creeping around public toilets. It really isn’t very becoming Sir.

Here I sit, broken-hearted...............

As I type these words Sen. Larry Craig (R. Idaho) is awaiting his second day in court (well, technically his 1st since he mailed his initial guilty plea in without appearing before the bench) on charges of disorderly conduct. The original charge upon arrest of Sen. Craig in the public restroom of the Minneapolis Airport was suspicion of lewd conduct.

It is at this early point that I must beg faithful readers to pause…….take a breath…….. and consider the nature of those arrest charges, however momentarily, against that stalwart bastion of Republican Family Values and faithful soldier for the great State of Idaho.

Suspicion of Lewd Conduct.

I for one, must state here and now that I would like to publicly broadcast almost all my examples of lewd conduct were it not for my sense of modesty, decorum and respect for my partners’ privacy but SUSPICION of lewd conduct?

HUH?

Good Lord if I were to be arrested for suspicion of lewd conduct almost every woman I looked at on the street, or in private for that matter, could have the cops drag me away to the slam in a horny heartbeat. But I digress.

First let’s state the objective facts of the Senators case on which all parties- Sen. Craig, the Police Sting Unit, the Prosecution, and the Defense- agree in full.

Was there any actual, physical sexual contact of any kind between these 2 fully grown men? There was not.

Did Sen. Craig attempt to physically coerce his victim (the undercover Officer) into any sexual activity? He did not.

Did the Senator attempt to physically detain or restrain the Officer in any way? He did not.

Did Sen. Craig implicitly or explicitly offer any financial compensation in return for sexual favors or verbally state his desire for same? He did not.

Ahem. (or as the Good Senators constituents might say- Amen!)

So, in shorthand, we have a 60ish US Senator lurking around public restrooms trolling for freebie fuckbuddies willing to freak with him because he’s so sexually straight jacketed that this unseemly practice appears to him reasonable or at least necessary and we have an entire Law Enforcement Unit (comprising up to 9 full-time Officers) also lurking around the toilets, sniffing anywhere and everywhere for illicit blowjobs, buttfucks and any other Adult consenting hookups that they might stumble across, or better yet, entrap their lecherous fellow citizens into before they righteously snap the cuffs on these villains and thus keep our society safe from……….um………….gee…………………gimme a minute………………uh……………my gay friends moaning in the stalls?

Congratulations Minnesota, your tax dollars are hard at work and your airport restrooms well on their way to being pleasure-free!

An ancient Buddhist koan says, “Treat matters of great importance very lightly and matters of small importance very seriously.” And with that in mind let’s examine this farce sans uproarious Democratic laughter for a moment.
My Republican Friends (OK…OK…I don’t actually have any Republican friends, what can I say- I rent), don’t you see where your disastrous and desperate clinging to social policies based on a wholly unrealistic- and you all keep proving that- and twisted sense of morality is leading? Family Values sounds good and sells well and you probably can’t go far wrong politically by trumpeting your disgust of Homosexuality to your Bible-thumping, God-Fearing, People-hating, scared shitless, sexually repressed masses that just want to hang onto their money (and who can blame them for that) and that unfortunately form approximately 51% of the voting population but you guys just keep popping up out of the closet like lily white, Brooks-Brothered, Power-tied, Flag-waving, cock-sucking whack-a-moles!
You just won’t stop talking the Christian Right Talk but you can’t walk the CR walk.
Here’s some free advice and I pray (seriously) that you take it to heart.

Embrace your Gay brothers and Sisters! The Log Cabin Republicans may be your last hope and the Gay Community the last minority group you actually have a chance of persuading to join your joyless minions. Burning each other at the stake for sins that you yourselves have likely or will likely commit in the very near future is a modern Witch-hunt leaving your party with nothing but charred innocents and maniacal closet cases. Further, this volcanic cauldron of sexual repression and hypocrisy that is boiling just below your uptight, upright surface is always and inevitably going to blow up right in your too tight faces with all of the YouTube Nation glued to their screens and savoring your very public humiliation. Your children don't need this! Your Nation doesn't need this! You are the Party of Abraham Lincoln! Small Government...remember? Do not go any further down that road.


What am I doing? Forget all that. You guys are on your own. Just keep doing what you're doing and see you in '08.

And Sen. Craig? Your case looks like a winner so tough it out. Your Wife and Kids? Your problem but let me help you out.

Larry? Senator Larry???
Think about Lawrence ‘cuz I’m pretty sure it don’t say Larry on your birth certificate. Now go and sin no more.

Exile Off Main Street (continued)

Recently I was drinking with my Japanese Mentor, a man older than myself by some twenty years, which is quite old indeed, and after our fifth drink at our third Izakaya(casual J-land Bar/resturaunt) he explained to me in his emphatic, halting English (his Eigo being much more useful than my pathetic Nihongo) a fact of his singular existence in Japan.

“I am a stranger in my country.” He said not quite proudly but not exactly sadly either.

Having known him for only a short while I somehow believed him completely.

When I got to know him better my trust was validated and as I learned more of his personal history I gradually came to understand that he was something of a rebel in his more than somewhat conformist society. He was the maverick I thought I’d been. At the advanced and frightening age of 40 he’d dropped his salaryman yoke like a virus and then set out to do it his way, an extremely bold move anywhere but especially daring here in the land of the most rigid of career paths.

He was, and remains, the nail that sticks up.

But he had a good idea, clear vision, excellent timing (pre-bubble), steely determination and good credit at the Bank so he rolled his life’s dice and borrowed heavily, gambling everything on his will to win.

15 arduous years later he has, to a great measure, achieved overnight success.

His loan is long since paid, he now makes his decisions without consultation, sets his own hours and everyone else’s, lives exactly where he wants to live, drives exactly what he wants to drive, eats like a king, vacations frequently, works hard when he has to and plays hard when he wants to, which I am led to understand is often.
A favorite boast of his is that he loves his family, his money and his car, approximately in that order.

He is competitive beyond all reason, keenly perceptive in all situations, riotously funny, enormously generous, the life of all parties, supercharged with boundless energy and proud of all things Japanese. He would make a splendid American if Japan ever tires of his act.

A stranger, I thought to myself as I sat with him that night.

“Wakarimashitta.” I replied at last.

We didn’t talk all that much for the rest of the evening, we didn’t need to; we were comfortable with each other I like to believe. I was adjusting to that feeling of peaceful affinity and I discovered that it was a necessary adjustment in my new world.
So as most guests learn I did as well, perhaps a bit more grudgingly and painfully than others younger than me but I learned. My responsibilities were few if any, my hosts shouldered every load as if it was their pride and pleasure or at the very least a social imperative. I slowly discovered a heretofore unknown ability towards common courteousy.

It was easy enough in the end, good examples were all around me.

There were few demands placed on me and I gradually learned how to pour a beer, wait my turn, arrive early instead of late, serve someone else first and pick up a check. When I needed one I got a job, was grateful for it and there was plenty of help at the office. I did what I could, the work was easy and I prepared well. I was happy to do it and it seemed to be more than anyone expected or less than was generally produced by my foreign brethren. I may have been a commodity but it was clear to me that I was a human commodity and nothing less.
I walked through the streets with an unfamiliar but not uncomfortable sense of pride, I was doing something worth doing in a place worth doing it. Perhaps I was pulling my share of the load I found myself hoping.

There is a special place in my new neighborhood, an old temple tucked snugly and surreptitiously into the labyrinth of side streets that shield my neighborhood from the tourist traffic. It’s a simple thirty second walk from my door but when I enter it could easily be 600 years ago or more that I’ve walked into, further than any past I could ever imagine. I haven't learned its name and most times don't wish to, it's enough to be there and to be my refuge. Its large grounds contain three ancient wooden structures (1 grand,2 smaller), a small still pond, a low slung stone bridge over the pond and a wide open uncluttered panoramic view of the stars with no evidence of any modernity clutching at its edges. Whenever I sit beside its stately natural grace and melt into its pulsing but low-key serenity I realize how comfortable I am inside its wide open borders. The Temple has no locks, gates or fences and anyone is welcome on the grounds at anytime. Perhaps not so strangely it is largely ignored by my Japanese neighbors and too far off the beaten path for anything but the most serious or dedicated of tourist.

Often at night I sit on its steps and gaze up into its massive eaves as I sip my drink, smoke my smoke or simply breathe in the peace while the moon beams down on me as if in personal blessing. One of my favorite seclusions is to sit quietly at the foot of the bridge in the evening, facing the massive main doors, almost covered by the outstretched branches of a neighboring tree, the moonlight dim and warm, and wrap myself in the calm. Often I become so quiet, so still that more than once a neighbor has walked through the grounds on the way home from work, the path being not more than ten feet from my spot on the bridge, and simply strolled past me without even noticing me sitting there.

For reasons I don’t know this always lends me a gentle comfort.

On most occasions I imagine it as my private estate and given its vast but simple grandeur and almost complete lack of visitors it is not a difficult illusion for me to maintain.

I’m a lonely Prince in Exile waiting for my chance to return to power-

I’m a lost romantic Poet nursing a wounded soul-

I’m an outlaw Ronin on the run hiding in plain sight from an unjust world that can’t understand me.

All these fantasies are soothing in a playful way but most often I strictly feel at home there, comfortable and calm. Grateful.

Time passes, of course, but my physical incongruity never has and certainly never will. Japan is, for the most part, a homogenous society but I come from a land of immigrants of which my father was one. Japan’s culture is of course older than my entire Nation by many hundreds of years and far too dense for my over stimulated American mind to grasp without a great deal more time so instead I just try to objectively appreciate the differences as I slowly, slowly learn.
I find it an increasingly easy task.

My homeland is a land of strangers and strivers running away from a nightmare or running towards a dream, sometimes both. I believe it’s a good dream and I hope most make it there.

What do the Japanese dream of, hope for, work for, reach for? The same things I do I now imagine but I can’t know because I am not one of this great Nation, I am the most obvious Other much as I was at home and perhaps what I would be anywhere, anytime.

“A stranger in my country” I sometimes hear my Mentors words echoing in my head as I look hopefully into the eyes that are looking hopefully into mine.

But I’ve learned that this sense of “strangeness” doesn’t just apply to the way we all look or even feel. The sense of being different, not fitting in is in itself a connection that many share, foreign or native. It’s as strong a bond in many ways as fitting in perfectly because there is a necessity in its reality, a solid gravity to its weight. In Japan a flawed teacup can surely be more desirable than a perfect copy. I believe the purity and truth of imperfection, impermanence is regarded as a strength in the Japanese aesthetic and as a pleasure to most. There is a celebration for the stranger among his fellows here and, I now believe, perhaps everywhere and all are welcome at that celebration. Isn’t that, ultimately, what friendship is about?

So today I no longer feel like a guest nor do I desire the position of one. On my better days I like to think that I’ve moved beyond that particular status and that, just maybe, I have a place here, a part to play in this Nations drama, a responsibility to the people who are not me but are friends. The people whose lives are not mine but whose streets, trains, rivers, seas, forests, mountains and sky we share together, that I am allowed to share freely. Maybe I can help.

Exile Off Main Street

“Now, after ten years, I have realized that an exile has no place anywhere, because there is no place, because the place where we started to dream, read our first book, loved for the first time, is always the world of our dreams.” Reinaldo Arenas

“I know it’s only Rock-N-Roll….. But I like it.” Mick Jagger


The country in which I was born is a vast beautiful ocean away from me now, thousands and thousands of empty blue sea miles with the only life hidden underneath its solemn mysterious waves; to cross this great expanse is many hours by expensive jet plane, too many by slow boat and not attractive to me either way, having already done it once. The fact is simple- a person needs a reason for such a journey, a good reason, or he needs a reason to stay put, dig in. In the end I find it easy to weigh the two.

My grand birth Nation is also smack dead in my face everyday like a splash of cold water. I can see it coming and feel it hit me, but I cannot touch it or dive in. It’s almost everywhere I go even this far away, it’s like the moon or stars, the same everywhere and everywhere.

There’s a newspaper headline screaming our latest blunder or more luckily, our great good deed.

Here’s one of our fearless leaders talking at me on the boob tube, just like home.

There are the ubiquitous signs for fast food, gourmet coffee, designer blue jeans, hardcore hip-hop, Hollywierd Movies and the assorted detritus of a junk culture I thought I’d left behind those thousands of ocean miles ago, entrenched firmly among the riot of Neon Nippon advertisements that, pitifully, I still can’t read so I gain little comfort from either.

I’m alternately totally disconnected from my new environment and an uncomfortable object of curiosity no matter who I’m with or where I go. I am exotic, mundane, polite, profane, a delight, a disgrace, valuable, worthless, handsome, ugly, coveted, repulsive and I have no control over any of it. I am a guest and my hosts will make all decisions on these matters but, of course, this position is the one I’ve chosen freely and for my own reasons. Perhaps it might be the same in every corner of the planet but I am here and my face announces my strangeness to all, an instant and inevitable fact. I’m not from anywhere around here, I’m far from home. There is no need for discussion for it is no revelation, just the simplest of realities.

The majority of my hosts generally behave not quite like the majority of my countrymen and at the same time not all that differently.

Both groups are driven to succeed whereas I am not-

Both, to a great degree, measure that success in terms of material wealth or at least material accumulation, I do not-

Both are increasingly hooked into a digital cyber world that conversely (or is it perversely) sets them adrift from the more physical one they inhabit, I have a generational aversion to all things digital-

Both are routinely inundated by mass media consumer driven hard sell messages almost everywhere they go and both seem to seek solace from the onslaught, being somewhat of a recluse I am less susceptible to the barrage-

Both seek a faster, easier future of comfort and leisure while simultaneously yearning to reach back and connect with their own personal history, their roots, I can trace my roots back to my grandfather and no further and have no further desire or curiosity.

In all these ways I am as comfortable here as anywhere because the rules (or is it the plan) seem to be similar if not the same, whether I agree or follow along is another matter entirely and for me the question of whether to play along has always been open and unanswered.

It took me decades to learn how to say thank you and mean it (or not) in my country and I never did learn the rest of the rules if in fact there were any. I had a suspicion there were but no inclination to pursue my discovery any further and now I am in a land where my suspicions about these “rules” are a good bit stronger but my comprehension of how to properly absorb the complexities of them is even more uncertain. At home I gave up on discovering these facts and it was easy to do so, I practically felt patriotic in my surrender for wasn’t I ( we?) a strong single minded individual hell bent on doing it his own way? Wasn’t I a maverick, a rebel, an untamed non-conformist? Wasn’t I an outlaw, a cowboy, a loner? Didn’t I seek the road less traveled?

Maybe.

But now I’m here and those particular roles seem somehow socially unnecessary and more than that, personally unsatisfactory. I’m not home and maybe there is no home but I’ve been welcomed openly in this land where the only objective certainty is that I don’t fit in. I’ve been treated as a guest, and one of honor, not a feeling I was familiar with in any previous environment. I’d done nothing I could think of to deserve this kindness, nothing to warrant such hospitality but it was there nonetheless and it was freely given; a much more than generous gift given to me- at the time of my unheralded arrival an anti-social misfit who wanted nothing more than to be left alone to work or more often, play.
But a small confession is in order.

(continued...)

You Have No Friends- Part II

Hell, this one had me in stitches.
Recently at the behest of a friend I loaded some work onto a fiction/article sharing website. Their tag is-
“Where Knowledge Rules”.
I should’ve known better right there. But, well, sometimes I just can't gauge the level of true excellence or at least true knowledge.
To my subsequent regret, I loaded a few stories on their site in what I considered to be the appropriate categories.
The Editors considered differently and unceremoniously bounced my shit out after just a very few days running. Not being terrifically interested in their site I didn’t realize until a week later when I happened to click their channel.
I was DELETED!
Can you grasp that? I got kicked out of a FREE article sharing site where NO ONE gets paid to contribute because my “Knowledge” apparently did NOT rule, at least not sufficiently for those Good People and scholarly fellows.

I think I can safely say that I’ve never been more proud of myself. I felt like an Outlaw/Outcast/Misfit who’s unfit to play with the Nice Kids. I had elan. I was wicked. My beer was extra delicious on that particular evening.

But if you have a minute to amuse yourself then check this “dangerous” bit of my imagination out. I guess I just need another Judge. This is one of the pieces that it would appear was just too raw for their wide open pages but please remember-

THIS MATERIAL MAY BE UNSUITABLE FOR THOSE UNDER 18.

You’ve been warned.



Folding Money

It was a shit day all around. One for the books. It started off sometime around noon with my head split into a hundred different chunks of pain, possibly having everything to do with the 11 beers and generous amount of whiskey I’d sipped the night before. I knew the number was eleven because I subtracted the one bottle I had left in my fridge from the twelve I’d bought the previous day. Since I’d spent the evening alone, the math was not difficult. The empties strewn around the vicinity of my garbage can were further damning evidence but I wasn’t yet ready to count all of those, the subtraction being infinitely easier than the addition in my critical condition.

The harsh light pouring through my apartment windows was scorching my eyes and they felt like desert sand. You know it’s difficult to enjoy the sun shining when you feel you need assistance to make it to the toilet. I’d been in rare joyous form the evening previous as I’d got into the drink and indulged myself with sad music and happy fantasies but that memory was distant and worthless as I sat down on the bowl to collect my remaining cool and dump the excess poison. After I was drained I burned a book of matches to beat back the wretchedness of my bowels then hit the shower and stood under the steamy water for as long as I could take it.

It helped a little.

After I toweled off I felt slightly better than the putrid paralyzed wreck I was before I’d washed and dried. Now I was only a slightly paralyzed wreck, almost but not quite prepared to face a cruel world but as soon as I threw on some clean clothes and spiffed up I could’ve passed for a sharp dude, at least on the outside, I thought. The inside was all crippling hangover and shaky nerves. It was a nasty business I felt sure I could successfully conceal from the general population and I was determined to do exactly that.

The entire process of this clever deception had, unfortunately for me, taken just a little bit too long. One glance at the clock told me that I was not going to make it to the slave in time. No possible way. When your gig starts at two-o-clock in the afternoon and you still can’t make it there on time it’s pretty tough to come up with a reasonable explanation so I decided to treat myself to a good breakfast and roll into work a little later when all the action would be starting and in so doing, hopefully, skip the explanation process altogether.

In my agony this idea seemed a stroke of genius.

After bacon, eggs and hot coffee I felt so topnotch I was pretty sure everyone on the job would see it my way. It is shocking to admit but this was not the case.

For some odd reason I keep thinking that if a man has his nose to the old grindstone for 8 or 9 years at the same salt mine then somewhere along the line he’s gonna get a little slack cut his way. I’d been busting my nuts in the same train station for all of those 9 years and I can tell you that slack, at least on that day, was not being handed out to this employee.

I was a redcap. That’s what they call us when they call us.

“Hey Redcap, I need some help with my suitcase!”
“Yo! Redcap! Where’s track 18?”
“Hey Redcap, I got a load of bags up on the street, can you gimme a hand?”
“Redcap! Can I have a ride, I can’t make it to my train.”

After the request I make my decision. If you got some of that green paper in your hand when you ask your question then you can call me Johnny-on-the-spot. I’m your MAN. If all you got is the question then things are a bit different.

“Yea....Well... You see the thing is.. Is I’m kinda busy right now..... And..... Um......”

And it goes on like that until they come across with the cash. Usually it doesn’t take very long at all for their sweaty travel panic to set in and subsequently see things my way. In that respect you could say I sell confidence. I know the ins and outs and can get you where you got to go with minimum hassle and maximum haste, I know it and make sure you know it. Maybe the uniform helps a bit; jittery types are always reassured by a man in uniform, no matter how ratty the rank. The good news is that the requests for assistance are endless, nonstop and it puts me firmly in the driver’s seat.
If they fail to produce the requisite gratuity then it’s,

“Gosh, sorry but I’m terribly busy right now, maybe I can get back in ten minutes.”

Then I show them my heels. It’s a big station so you can pick and choose your opportunities. As all the older Redcaps say,

“It’s a beautiful thing.”

What isn’t so sweet at all, however, is the supervising office types hawking your every move, waiting for a chance to make a name for themselves by bringing some enterprising hustler down. Or maybe The Honcho just wants to bust your balls with some bullshit time wasting assignment assisting some helpless ticket holding victim with his wheelchair or taking care of somebody else’s senile grandmother or maybe riding herd on a boatload of screaming welfare rug rats without a dime between them while said Honcho kicks back and sucks down coffee and doughnuts and yaks on the phone, hiding in their office, having done their duty by offering your services to the downtrodden.
Those supervisors are good for that. It’s amazing how saintly so many of them are when they don’t have to get off their fat asses to pull the weight, but you know it really takes the fun out of the job.
And upon my tardy arrival I found out I had the all time loser Honcho hanging over my shoulder. She was my sworn enemy who’d been out to get me ever since she tried, but failed miserably, to have me fired three years previous. Her superiors had kicked her around a few departments since her aborted attempt at my scalp (the complex routine of the dismissal process had cost the company not a little bit of money, certainly more than she was worth, and they wanted to make that point clear to her) and now she was back and nursing her grudge like a fat baby with a big bottle.

Sometimes it seemed to me that the railroad was where bitter old angry people (especially women) like elephants, go to die. Felson was a horrible lonely woman of maybe 50 who could’ve easily passed for 60. Her job was her life. There was no husband, no kids, no boyfriend, no prospects and she was none too easy on the eyes. If she wasn’t a lesbian she should’ve been. She had a face that was sliding into the grave at a frightening rate of speed but however fast it was, it wasn’t fast enough for me, that day or any other.

I arrived on the floor in my semi-paralyzed state just as our rush hour was jumping off, trains going in and out every few minutes and commuters running around by the thousands, vast herds, everybody desperately heading somewhere, fast. I’d managed to avoid Felson at the time clock and for the first two hours I slipped out of her claws every chance I got and I had plenty of chances. She’d been yapping at me on the radio (we all carried our own radios but hardly anyone ever used them) to do this or that but I was hustling and too busy with passengers to respond. Every once in a while I’d yell frantically into my handset,

“Sorry, I’m with a passenger right now… got five minutes to make the train….BREAKING UP….”
Then I’d key it up next to the nearest roaring engine, which always ended the attempted conversation promptly.

Then things slowed down a bit and I ran right out of luck.

First chance I got to break I lit a square and chilled outside on one of the platforms, the first time I’d stopped for a blow in over two hours. Felson crept up on me when my back was turned and I never saw it coming.

“Walter, there’s a wheelchair lift on 352 coming in. I need you to take care of it. You better get going, it should be in in five minutes.”
I ditched the smoke.

Lifts involved dragging a cumbersome stainless-steel mechanical Rube Goldberg gadget about the size of a large cow down the platform maybe fifty yards, maybe more, then hand cranking some fat-ass in a wheelchair into or out of the doorway of the train, of course first you had to find the lift and that was a ball buster in itself as the labyrinth of tracks ran a mile on either side of the station and the lift could be anywhere. The lifts themselves were absolutely backbreaking, usually a big fat zero and a particularly loathed assignment universally dodged by all. They were so profoundly hated by every Redcap that in order to get them accomplished in any timely manner at all, the supervisors had to specifically assign one certain unlucky redcap to handle them each day.

And it was not my day. A fact I wanted to make clear to her.

“I’d like to help but I think that’s Rudy’s assignment today. Ms. Felson.” I cut as much sarcasm into the remark as I could manage, accenting the “Ms.”
She looked constipated, old and mean all at the same time, she always looked like that.
“Well he’s busy. Now I’m giving you a direct order.. So get moving. Now!”

Felson glared at me as if she wanted to fight about it, mean little marble eyes almost swallowed by saggy decrepit flesh. If she were a man I would’ve invited her to take her best shot but seeing how she was a type of a woman, sort of, I wasn’t holding any cards.

“O-Kee-Doke. I’ll get right on it.”

I grinned my sweetest grin and she looked pissed that I didn’t want to argue but I walked away fast before things escalated, groping the fat wad of cash in my pocket that I’d managed to accumulate in my two hours on the clock. The wad made it pretty easy to walk away. I had three hours to go to the end of the shift and I was already thinking about my first cold one, to hell with old skull face.

The day collapsed right there.

It turned out there were three lifts on 352 and by the time I was done a half hour later I was drenched in sweat, head to toe. Needless to say the lifts were freebies. They almost always were. I met Rudy on the way back in, he was drinking a cold pop and talking to Felson, they were both chilling, getting all cozy at one of the boarding gates.
Rudy was in his fifties but not the ugliest guy on the RR, sort of in the salt and pepper Latin Matinee Idol mold, and there were rumors that he had a little monkey business going on with Felson. If he did whatever she was paying him wasn’t enough. Turns out Rudy was asking for permission to leave early and she granted it. I picked up his slack. Then two other Redcaps pulled the plug and Felson made sure I got their slack as well. My gal.
The next two hours Felson was attached to me like a pit bull on a poodle.
I was starving, thirsty and weak but she never stopped coming with her long list of orders, barking at me nonstop over the radio,

“Redcap Rangel, come in.”
“Redcap Rangel, I need you at the north concourse for passenger assistance.”
“Recap Rangel report to ticket window fourteen immediately.”
“Redcap Rangel needed in the south boarding lounge for wheelchair assistance.”
“Redcap assistance to Canal St. immediately,”
“Come in Redcap Rangel?”

At the end of the two hours I was wrung out and my legs were lead. She’d had me bouncing like a pinball all over the station and now my tank was below empty, I was running on fumes. The alcohol had poured out and nothing else had gone in to replace it.
Then she left early herself, a minor miracle. Maybe Old Rudy was going to slide her some pipe on the sly, God bless him. I started praying that perhaps some nice truck driver might manage to smash his rig head-on into her car on her way home. It was a happy thought.

I had exactly one hour to go until it was my time to skate, sixty short minutes. I was thinking- Maybe I can make it!

Late in the evening the station slows all the way down and it’s an entirely different atmosphere from the rush hour circus madness. It’s sedate, almost soothing. It has an Art Gallery feel to it but instead of leisurely gazing at art, Redcaps get to leisurely search for cash. With skull face gone it wasn’t bad at all. I was the last Redcap left on the floor for one train coming in and one going out, the rest of the time was my own. Since I was the last one standing I had my pick of “people movers”, little go- karts we used that could carry up to four passengers (or two fat ones) and haul their bags behind it in a conveniently attached baggage cart. It was a lot easier then the running, lugging and schlepping I’d been doing for the last four hours. All I had to do now was load, unload, and drive. Sweet.

I was determined to go the distance and dreaming dreams of fat green rolls of throwaway cash and drinks on the house served by Big Titty Girls with friendly smiles all around.

The outgoing was first up and a real pain in the ass. Boatloads of losers with no money and lots of problems, I took care of all of them, sweating all the way. After I dropped the last bag into the car I jumped off, the train pulled and I counted the loot. I must’ve put a dozen people on that train and I couldn’t calculate how many bags.
I had four singles in my hand.
I didn’t have time to bitch because just as I stuffed that pitiful sum in my pocket the inbound came smoking around the corner, riding the brakes into a hard stop. I had to jump but it was my last train of the night and I didn’t mind. C’mon baby.
The train was a big one that was coming from the coast, two engines, two sleeping cars, 3 coaches, baggage car and diner-it was six hours late, there were bound to be plenty of happy travelers on it but it was no time to worry, I had to hit the gas just to make it to the last car before it stopped. I made it. I figured I’d scoop up as many people as I could on my way in and go back out if, and only if, it was absolutely necessary.

Then I caught a bit of a break.

The train was light, not too many passengers and since it was the last one in nobody was making any connections, everyone on it was either at the end of their line or would be spending the night in a hotel. That was good for me because it meant mostly quick easy trips to the cab stand for people whose pockets were full of cab voucher cash for rides to their hotel with everything comped by Uncle Sam and the RR .
I made three trips back and forth in twenty seven minutes, the money was good.

On the last comeback I had two winners with me when I passed a couple of old white men who were easing very slowly down the platform, they were the last ones left out there. One had a cane and was moving even slower than the other. They had one suitcase a piece. I had room for both of them so what the hell, I thought.

“Gentlemen, can I offer you a ride somewhere?”

They both looked up at me and smiled.

“No, No. We got it. Just taking our time is all.”
“Yea, we’re alright. We’ll make out O.K.”

I noticed they both had WWII veteran caps covering their white hair. One of the caps had the name of a battleship on it. They were both large men, one a little more so than the other and one, the smaller with the cane, had a kind of prosthetic leg and foot. I noticed the leg when I looked back at them as I drove past, you could see the metal part of the leg sticking out where his pants rode up a little too high. They both waved as I passed.

I dropped the winners I had at the cabstand and pocketed my swag making me well and truly done with ten fat minutes to spare.

Ten leisurely minutes until I hit the clock.
Ten minutes to freedom.
Ten minutes to that cold frosty cure for the aches and pains.
I could almost taste it already but I figured I had time for the old guys so I swung my ride around and headed back.

They’d made it off the platform to a bench and were sitting back, chatting, taking a break. It seemed to me like a good idea.

“Gentlemen, I’m back. Now what can I do for ya’?”
“Hey what’s your name kid?” The bigger one said.
“It’s o.k. with me if you call me Walter, sir, everybody else does.”
“Alright Walter. Hey listen. How do we get to this passenger service office?” It was the smaller, “We gotta cash in this voucher they give us and get us a hotel room. We’re gonna take the train to Philly tomorrow.”
“Well sir…. It’s your lucky day because I’m here to take you there gentlemen. It’s what they pay me for. So whattya say? Why walk when we can ride… That’s my motto.” I made a magician’s wave of my hand over the seats of the mover. It did the trick.
“O.K. Walter, O.K.” They both made a move for their suitcases.
“Gentlemen, I gotcha covered.” I scooped up the bags before they got their hands on them and piled them on my cart. They laughed a little as they sat down on the car seats.
“You’re alright Walter.”
“Nothing to it, gentlemen. Ain’t nothin’ to it.”

The bigger guy was Don and the other Tommy. He looked like a Tommy too, not a Tom at all. His eyes were bright blue and full of the boy he must’ve one day been.
He and Don were both easygoing and cool considering that it was almost midnight in a strange city where they hadn’t expected to end up and didn’t have a room to end up in yet they didn’t seem the least bit concerned about anything. They said they were on their way to a reunion of WWII vets that weekend in Philly.

“Not too many of us left there, brother.” Don said proudly.

They both had a resigned chuckle at that. It was one funny line but I didn’t think it was my place to laugh so I didn’t.

“Well hey, Don, Tommy….. I sure would like to thank you men for showing up over there and taking care of business.” I meant it too. Tommy spoke up.

“Yea... Well...... We didn’t have too much of a choice one way or the other.”

They both roared at that one. Doubling over. I busted a grin myself, had to.

When we pulled up to the glassed enclosed office the only person left working was a black lady of a certain age named Alice and she was closing up the shop, everyone else had gone home. Alice was a sweet, slender, tiny boned woman who didn’t like to take any shit from anybody and, consequently, was rarely trifled with. I always did my best to stay on her good side, which was very damn good. I left Don and Tommy on the car and walked in.

“Hey sexy lady. I got the last two guests of the night out there and then we can both go home. Can you take care of them?”

Alice was already peering suspiciously at those old white guys while I was talking.

“What they need baby?”
“Cab fare and hotel..... They’re both alright.”

She was the only one who could take care of the problem and we both knew it, but she didn’t have to, and we both knew that as well. If anything went wrong for any passengers off the late train Felson would catch the hell for cutting out early. For me it was win/win then Alice made her mind up quick.

“Bring ‘em on in here.”

I brought Don in to talk with Alice while Tommy waited on the mover. In about ten seconds Don had Alice cackling like an old hen and batting her eyes like a virgin. He didn’t need my help so I went back out and sat down with Tommy.

“Hey Walter, we ain’t holding you up are we? Hell, we can make it to a cab alright from here.”
“Naw... This here’s my last job of the night and I’m determined to do it, and like I said… there ain’t nothin’ to it.”
He was good company so we got to talking.

They’d first met on a hospital boat ride back home from Europe; they’d both been wounded and were taking the slow boat home. Turned out they lived not too far from one another and someway or another managed to stay in touch through all the years, talking and meeting on a regular basis. They’d also managed to get a group of their old unit together for yearly reunions and they were meeting in Philly for this one. I got the idea that the boat ride back had been some moment in both their lives.
Tommy had lost the leg in France when he got blown into a ditch by what he guessed was a mortar round. He’d laid in the ditch all night long half submerged in water, too wounded to move and too afraid to call out for help because the Germans were close and in a foul temper at the time. In the morning some G.I.’s found him and got him out of there but his leg was far too damaged by then and the doctors took it just above the knee. I asked him how old he was at the time.

“’Bout eighteen.” He said. Matter of fact.

When I was eighteen I was getting drunk on weekends and trying desperately to get laid to no great success.

“It was a terrible time, back then. Terrible.”

It was all he was going to say about it and his eyes told me enough and more than I wanted to know.

He’d been through a few different prosthetics since that day and the most recent one they gave him had held up until six years previous, he explained, but then his remaining limb had gotten infected, requiring more surgery, and he had to have the prosthetic replaced again in a VA hospital.

“But they give me a pretty good one this time. I can get around real nice. Watch this!”
Then he popped up on his feet and did a happy little jig, hopping on one leg, then the other. He kicked out the fake leg so I could see it. His eyes were burning bright.
“See....See.... Works pretty good, don’t it?”

Then he sat down satisfied that he’d made his point. I told him that was a pretty fancy jig.
“Yea, I’m making it O.K. for my age.” He was sporting a great joyous grin and surely must’ve been one handsome devil at eighteen.
Just then I saw Don through the glass windows of the office shaking hands with Alice, she was smiling shyly like he was asking her for a date to the prom and maybe he was because Alice was not the type to smile for no good reason.

He walked out to us and announced,
“All set.” They both sat down.
“I’ll be back in two shakes gentlemen, and then I’ll get you that cab.”

I ran into the office as they leaned into each other with cool easy smiles they must’ve been wearing for decades and had certainly earned.

“Hey beautiful, I’m just gonna ride them to a cab and I’ll be back in a flash. Can you wait to let me back in so I can punch out?”

The last person out of the office locked it and Alice was the only one with keys. She was officially done for the night and had no need to stay.

“No problem baby, I’ll be here.”
“Let’s you and me go get a beverage afterwards…..whattya say sexy, I’m buying?”
“I say Ima’ go home and have my own drink in front of my own television next to my own bed. So hurry your skinny ass back here before I change my mind.”
“You got it, lady.” I dashed.

It didn’t take more than five minutes to get them a cab. I threw their bags in the trunk and we all stood there awkwardly, me more so than them.

“Thanks Walter, let me give you a little something.” It was Don.
“No sir. That was on the house and thank you for riding with me.”
“C’mon Walter, take a little something.” Tommy this time.

Man, those guys didn’t owe nobody nothing.

“Gentlemen, it was my pleasure. Thanks anyway, but I gotta go.”

They both looked about to wrestle me to the ground and force the money on me so I hopped onto my car and pulled away, I stopped and waved as I yelled.
“Thanks again for everything.” What else can you say?
They were getting into their cab.
“Alright Walter, we’ll see you.”

When I got back to the office Alice let me in and I punched out quick. The station was peaceful, quiet and dark. I asked her if I could walk her to her car and she said O.K. so I did. We made it in no time and she waved as she pulled away, smiling.
I turned towards home and thought, that was one for the books alright. Tomorrow wasn’t looking too bad.

END

Welcome to the Jungle

So let’s examine this privilege we call Freedom. What is its meaning, what are the implications, where will it lead, who owns it, creates it, practices it, shares it?
Simple answer- We do.

Or rather, we should, we must, we can.

Because when we discuss this Freedom, when we engage in this thing called Freedom, when we insist on this Freedom as our birthright then we have well and truly opened a door that cannot be closed. We have crossed a bridge with no turning back and we have crossed into uncharted territory. There is no map and the timid need not follow because the path will be uncertain at best, horrible at worst and almost always treacherous.
The rewards of this freedom? Greater than anyone can imagine and almost certainly more than we deserve.

Do you want to come and go as you please without the Police asking questions and frisking you down? Congratulations, so do I. And so do THEY. It’s much easier to carry guns and bombs that way.

Do you want to stand up and call your Maximum Leader an ignorant SOB without fear of ending up in jail, tortured or executed?
Please do my friend and remember that not many men around this planet can.

Would you like to lock your doors at night, draw the curtains, smile at your partner and engage in that thing you both really like doing without fear that some SWAT team is going to crash your door because your version of a good time is a little different from the norm?
Amen, I say and fight for your right.

Now what about the guy next door?

True Independence is the property of Adults and can only be fully explored, enjoyed and appreciated- if it ever can- by same.

My question- Who do you want to fuck?

The only answer- Don’t matter, just go right ahead.

You a woman who wants a woman? A man who wants a man? A woman who wants 2 men? A man who wants 2 women? A man that wants to share his woman? A woman that wants to share herself? A couple in search of a third? A couple who only want each other?

The answer’s the same. Have at it.

The results of your exercise of this gracious gift will most likely be unexpected. Having crossed the aforementioned bridge we may find the territory hostile or at least a bit more unforgiving than we were prepared to deal with even if the pleasures were beyond our wildest imaginings.
And we may lose that woman, that man, that feeling…………………forever.

Yea,,,,,,,,,,,, it ain’t free.

The alternative? Bind yourself into a tight little duplicitous box of the mind and let the time grind past you as your soul slowly shrinks. If you manage to die sometime before you explode in rage, frustration and all manners of inappropriate behavior then consider yourself the big winner of a lost life.

Recently I’ve begun blogging, no reason really…….oh, possibly a cry for attention or simply a desire to rid myself of the poison but I’ve discovered that I have a great deal of company in this pursuit. The Internets are the current, convenient and most accessible means of purging the poison and its cyber-reach is VAST. This community is global, legion and far beyond any Governmental or National control and continues to grow larger with each passing day. On the Web, Freedom reigns in all its terrible glory, seeping quietly and creeping easily into every home and gaining a firm foothold in every community.

Morons spout inanities.

Idiots preach hate.

Attention whores celebrate stupidity.

Trolls lurk for the innocent.

And every so often a lone voice speaks reason and this voice rings throughout the world, healing wounds and creating a community where before there was not even the possibility of kinship, brotherhood or, dare we dream, love. A very real solace is achieved through a cheap wire and a few clicks of a button. That lonely kid suddenly realizes he is not alone, that angry boy comes to see that he is not the only one and gains valuable perspective, that lost little girl finds a safe home that is meaningful.

Recently I read an article in the newspaper- Yes, I am analog and still read actual paper newspapers- and found my liberty-loving back pressed firmly to the wall.

The article described the practice of a California male (no need to call him a man when he is clearly a monster) who preys on children for sex and spreads the details (including helpful hunting tips) of his pursuits on his blogsite. Outraged parents discovered the site and are currently tracking his whereabouts as best they can. Because he is not a convicted sexual offender and does not specifically describe his acts he is not breaking any current laws and can therefore sleep under the very same blanket of Freedom that you and I enjoy. If you’re grinding your teeth right now, don’t feel bad, YOU are not alone.

These are the cards that we have dealt so we can read ‘em and weep or fold’em up and play the next hand.

This is the wide open swamp that we all muck around in, searching for reason and grasping reluctantly at responsibility.

Please allow me to offer another example of Freedom on the March, one that you may be more familiar with or at least aware of.

The very last Empire on Earth -or at least its leaders- has recently decided to invade a little country known as Iraq and IMPOSE our notion of Freedom on its grateful populace. The results? Mixed at best, horrific at worst.
It seems quite clear that we Americans have, once again, failed to read our history. We’ve marched into an ancient religious/cultural/political feud -Shiites, Sunnis and Kurds - with absolutely no reliable solutions, no negotiable parties, little reasonable chance of success and every possibility of chaos erupting at any time while simultaneously arming ourselves with big fucking guns, not-quite-thick-enough armor and the generous gift of Independence as we stand around on foreign soil waiting to get blown to pieces. Or do some good……whichever comes first.

Let’s, for one moment, take it back to simplicity in regards to Iraq- You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink it.

And so we fight on………..and on………….and sink deeper into a Middle-Eastern quicksand that resists all the more even as we try desperately to pull away. Our most recent Brilliant Idea? Let’s add more Troops to the mix.

But let’s not be too harsh with our Iraqi Friends (and surely we must have some, somewhere).

Consider this- We started our own little experiment in Freedom around about 1776.
Right around then we decided that we’d had enough of those British Fuckers walking around on our good land (which we stole fair and square from the Natives) while they were sucking up all the good stuff, showing us their noses and sending the cash back home and so we promptly kicked them dead in the ass and out the door for good. We had quite a bit of help.
Well, almost 100 YEARS later (1860’s) we engaged in a little conflict amongst ourselves to perfect this idea of Freedom as, unfortunately, we had not as a Nation sufficiently agreed on all its terms. This little conflict only cost us near to 600,000 American lives before we got it settled. Some folks might argue that it still ain’t settled but perhaps that is neither here nor there.
It may, however, be fair to say that 150 years after that particular tussle we are still perfecting the idea.

As we sit in Iraq and search for easy answers.

But let's not despair or surrender and I do believe that the Monsters – and Governments- of our world must not, cannot and will not rule our Freedom and that it is Our responsibility to stand up and stop them. Wherever they are, Wherever they hide, wherever they run and wherever we are, hide or run. 200 some odd years ago those Old White Guys may have been as crooked as a mountain road (T. Jefferson among them) but if you can show me a more meaningful document than the Declaration of Independence than I’ll eat it.

“We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights- that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.- That to secure these Rights Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their Just powers from the consent of the governed- That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute New Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to affect their Safety and Happiness.”

Grab a hand and join in, Brothers and Sisters………………………………………………………plenty of room for everybody.