Mary

Mary is a four-year old Asian girl. Three of her classmates are Iranian. Mary and her five other Asian classmates happened to run faster then the Iranians, and Mary concluded that Asians are faster than Iranians. A stigma was created. “Iranians are slow.” Oh, and they smelled of spices, but Mary only knew the word ‘stink’, so Iranians are slow, and they stink now too. Mary’s new Asian friends look like her, and they know Chinese. They quickly build a common bond, and then they forced the Iranians out of the playhouse because they are brown, and thus slow and stinky. And the Iranians are outnumbered, so they are weaker, and they don’t belong, like the cat does not belong on the page with the apple, orange, and banana. Besides they dress funny, don’t talk English too well, and don’t talk Chinese at all.

Mary had become an instant racist. Nobody had taught her this. It was a product of Childs play--a product of real life and growth—an innocent and natural occurring form of racism that led to pure oppression and discrimination! Mary did not feel ‘hate’ at all for the Iranians however. It was all play and fun. Mary was happy to play Princess and be the ‘bestest’ of the playground. But the Iranian girls felt hurt. And they hated that feeling. And they began to hate Mary and her Asian friends for delivering the hurt. They hated Asians because they were hurtful. And so they hit Mary on the head, out of anger, and called Mary “stupid.” So Mary now felt hate too. And hurt. And she hit back.

Mary had become an oppressive, hateful, violent racist within the first two hours on her first day of pre-school; and her first day around other children.

Racism, hate, discrimination, anger, oppression and ‘people in general’ are not the problem at all because these things just happen. It is Ignorance that is the problem, because ignorance does not ‘just’ happen. Ignorance has already happened! All we have to do is learn from what has already happened. You’d think that would be easy.

World Cup

I watch the World Cup on ESPN2. When someone scores a goal, the announcer says, “he scored a goal.”

On the Mexican TV station, the announcer says, “Goooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllll. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL. Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooall.”

See the difference?

When Mexico, Germany, France, Brazil, etc scores, their WHOLE COUNTRY ROARS. The whole country knows. But when the USA team scores, some kid in Chicago is buying a hot dog with no relish--clueless. And some other guy is sitting in traffic with his radio tuned to Howard Stern.

My Portuguese friends’ root for Portugal, my German friends root for Germany, my British friends root for England. And it’s the same with my French, Japanese, Korean, Brazilian, Australian, Iranian and Italian friends—all for their country of origin. Who roots for Team USA? Who in the USA really gives a damn? Just me? Hell, we probably outsource most of our players from other countries anyway.

Where is our National Camaraderie? Where is our National Pride? Has it dissolved into the mixing pot? Is this good? The greatest game in World History has no place in the Greatest Nation?

Maybe we have become so anti-establishment that we ARE the establishment. And what have we established--a Nation of modern day Hippies? Not to say there is anything ‘wrong’ with the Hippie mentality, there are the attractions. But I want to see a Hippie who can play soccer--a Hippie who can see a competitive game as a means to enhance peace and love; a Hippie who can respect and command respect from other Nations in the game; a Hippie who can talk peace, yet can also pick up a ball or gun and get excited about something. Excited about America!

Such a Hippie leader can bring back the Bond America is missing. A Bond that will put us all on the same page when acting on ‘What is RIGHT’ for our Nation and the Nations we share the Earth with.

A thousand years from now, our history books may credit the salvation of our Nation to a shorthaired Hippie sporting a tattoo of the Grateful Dead and carrying a soccer ball.

Misty

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“Long ago, and so far away, I fell in love with you, before the second show...”
You loved Karen Carpenter; I remember. You loved life.
Remember the time, when you and I sat together and observed the world?
And for that moment we shared eternity.
And we knew what life was all about, it was so simple.
We listened.
To life.
As one.
Here’s to you, Princess. And I don’t even have to say it.

We don’t even have to say it...

Water

Inspired by the writings that grow in Straw Houses

---

the wind comes

and leaves her leaning one way.

fruits fall,

roots dig in and water sooths the pain.

She runs and falls and loves

and sits,

then sees the memories of laughter

and me.

time cannot evaporate the memories

of what never was.

Alaska vs. Sad Sac

So this was Alaska. Cool. I approached the float plane sporting my Indiana Jones outfit. Equipped with my adventurous look, I was confident that I was going to impress the two girls who were already inside. But upon entry, I hit my head on the door frame so hard that I fell on my back and my Skittles (which were in my shirt pocket) spilled all over the dock. All of a sudden I was an instant dork, and the smirk on the pilots face confirmed this. When we landed at our destination, I cautiously deplaned first, unable to ignore or hide the sprouting bump on my forehead. I had to walk to the trading post alone because the two girls wanted to stay and talk to the pilot dude, who had gallantly overshadowed my Indiana Jones outfit with his greasy hands, grinding gears, and general he-man mannerism.

So I took to the trail towards the trading post all alone. But then a miracle! There before me was the sight of two beautiful young Japanese girls, disembarking from a helicopter. They were obviously tourists, complete with expensive Nikkon cameras, floppy hats and brand new hiking boots. I quickly approached them and threw out a friendly greeting, “O-Hiyogozai-masu.” They responded, not with the flurry of Japanese yakking that I had anticipated, but rather with a simple, “You’re bleeding man,” in more than proper English.

After describing the crash landing, and close shave with death, I talked them into taking a short detour through the woods; to a place by the lakes edge where I assured them would yield great pictures of the glacier on the other side. They looked upon me as a seasoned adventurer with extraordinary knowledge of Alaskan tundra and woodlands.

Then the mosquitoes came in relentless torrents, buzzing and bumping and sucking the blood from all exposed skin and even through my clothing. I swapped and slapped, and screamed in futility while the Japanese girls, garnished with pre-adorned repellant, avoided the debacle completely. They also whipped out these electric wand things that exerted an inconsequential current to humans, but exploded mosquitoes on contact. It sounded like they were popping corn.

“You don’t have repellant?” They asked
“True explorers don’t bother with trivial things.” I said, very aware there were tears in my eyes at this point. The mosquitoes were getting stuck between my eyes and glasses, and engorging themselves on my bloody bump. They called in more of their friends—thousands of them-- and my head became a focal point, a feast, a living feeder. I must have looked goofy because the girl in the yellow hat mumbled the word “Bozo!” I had lost all reputability—I was no doubt a tactless fraud in their minds--but I didn’t care, I was just trying to survive. They offered to turn back, but I insisted we stay our course, and that this was an everyday occurrence for me, and just a minor annoyance.

When we arrived at the lakes edge, the girls took more pictures of me than the glacier. I had lost control and stuck my head in the lake. My hat disappeared into the ice cold water, and when I emerged, my hair looked like a frozen mosquito nest. The girl with the yellow hat blurted out, “Barney” to her friend--not even trying to hide the offending word under her breath to spare what was left of my ears. Then they took more pictures of me.

When we made it back to the trading post, it was lunch time. They served freshly caught salmon, deer, rabbit, and other delicious looking dishes. A buffet of kingly pleasures! Now this is what I’m talking about. But the float plane girls hooked up with the Japanese girls and they wanted nothing more to do with me. And I sat alone in the corner staring at the two aspirin on my empty plate, that the waitress was so kind to give me. My lips were starting to swell--yes, I am deadly allergic to mosquito bites. I couldn’t eat, or even stand up to get the food. The girls that once glanced in my direction with laughter in their eyes now stared with alarm. My face felt like a balloon about to pop. I could barely see through my swollen lids, and my glasses started bending and digging into my head. My hands could have doubled as surgical gloves that some wicked kid filled with water to shower an unwary victim. I couldn’t even hold the water glass to take the aspirin.

I looked down at the sight of my once baggy pants, now threatening to burst at the seams. But where were my private parts, my manly bulge? They were being squeezed in by emerging thighs. I was looking at camel toes!!! A distinct feminine feature that had no business in my pants! I heard myself scream. Then the gasps came. Then the camera flashes (those damn Japanese girls.) …Then the medi-vac.

The Wizard

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I first became aware of my powers when I was 8 years old. I saw the back of a man wearing a white shirt and walking a small black dog with a distinct background of a large glass wall. It was a dream. But a month later my parents took us to the county fair for the first time. I watched in awe as I saw the back of that same man and dog at a dog show there. The glass wall framed a large bleacher area.

Later, such dreams would occur time and time again. The most memorable happened when I was in my twenties. I started having re-occurring dreams of large mansions. In one dream, I was a little boy playing in a large room. I ran out of the room and into a narrow hall with wooden railings that shaped into a square. It was open in the center to the foyer below. There was a floor above me, and below me with similar railings, and the foyer was at the bottom for a total of four floors. I ran to the foyer and looked up to see the squares—the squares got a little narrower as it went up, kind of like a pyramid, but not so distinct. I had the feeling I did not live there, but enjoyed playing there. There were other kids there too.

In a second dream, I was also a kid. I walked into a side door of a mansion and there was a huge room with men eating and drinking on long tables. There was a bar or kitchen on one end. The ceiling was low and it was not a formal dining area.

A year later, I happened to be in Providence Rhode Island on business. It was very cold, close to zero degrees, and I was ill prepared with my isotoner gloves. But none-the-less, I ventured out to check out the Great Mansions which were open to the public for tour, and was recommended by business associates. There were tons of mansions on my ‘mansion map’, but I only had time to visit like six of them, and some of them were closed due to the cold and snow. One mansion, I was the sole tourist, and the mansion guide was an older female in her forties who could not hide her lust for my tall dark male frame. (I was young and arrogant.) I could tell she was fantasizing about me as she led me into room after room, her tail becoming increasingly welcoming and actually calling out for attention. But when we got to the foyer, my distraction vanished as I gazed up to see the three square halls. Identical to that of my dreams. I stood there looking up in awe for what seemed like minutes, and debated whether to reveal my dream to the female in heat who by then was giving me a quizzical look. I choose to keep my mouth shut. When we approached the room on the third floor, I knew what it would look like and my heart raced as we entered another familiar room. The woman in heat reported it as a play room. Despite my gentlemanly appearance and our age differences, I still regret not ‘taking’ her in the laundry room.

Another mansion reinforced my wizardly experience. The guide led me into a side door of a mansion where there were at least 30 children seated on the floor around another guide in what appeared to be a field trip. The room was identical to my dream, and still full of life. Other rooms in this mansion were familiar to me from my dreams as well, and a square piano which I so wanted to play in my dreams but did not. (like I was not allowed to play it.) And I had the same strong urge to play it in my present life, but with the guide at my side and the plastic cover over the keys, I was again denied.

The bottom line, is that I ‘saw’ both the past AND future in a present dream. I have powers. Wizardly powers. And I’ve exploited them a bit over the years. At the race track I won $1,800 on a ‘vision’ or a 7/4 exacta long shot. I strolled the Casino floor and it paid off. I locked onto one slot machine that according to my ‘vision’ would hit a jackpot on the very next spin. I put in two quarters and was $500 richer. The same jackpot I envisioned. But I still fail at trusting my powers. I passed up putting $100 down on the two double zero’s on a roulette table—Twice in minutes. I left in frustration for not trusting my visions.

So one day, I parked my car and closed my eyes. And I prayed to God that, “if these visions are real, then when I open my eyes, let there pass before me, a person in red.” The exact moment I opened my eyes, and between some low hedges, and across the street, a girl with a bright red jacked peddled her bike right in the middle of the space where I was looking! I was astonished! It WAS real. So I said, “God, if this is all real, then let there be a million dollars beneath my seat.” I looked and found nothing. So I said to myself, “well maybe it does not always work eh?” and was satisfied. A couple of days later, I realized I was parked above an underground garage. And I may not have been specific enough. I bet there was a car parked below me and my seat that contained a million dollars for my taking…

So last month I was watching the lotto balls come down the tube on TV. After the first two I decided to try a ‘vision’. The third and forth was a no go. But I got the last two and the balls positioned the numbers in the EXACT angles I had envisioned. So I need a way to envision ALL the balls well before they are dropped to give me time to buy the ticket. But it’s hard work. It’s hard to concentrate on six balls, I can only do one or two at a time.

So even with wizardly powers, I remain a failure. (that is I have to work for a living.) What a waste. I’m probably the only Wizard out there who is a loser…

If I were King…

I’d be at the beach right now.

I’d bring my armies home from Iraq. Iraq is not my Kingdom.

I’d let Iran alone. But warn if they harm my Kingdom or my friends, then harm will come unto them.

I’d buy everyone in my Kingdom a brand new Harley, or a 72 inch flat screen LCD HDTV ready TV, or a grand piano—their choice.

I would dabble with acting and play opposite Vin Diesel as the bad guy.

I would live modestly in my Castle, but throw a smashing party at least once a month with plenty of good hearty meat and drink.

Drugs, prostitution, gambling--all legal. Except for minors.

Everyone can say ANYTHING they want. The ‘N’ word becomes defused and just another word. People of all colors and orientations love each other.

9/11 would never had happened and there is no threat of terror—Osama would get his 72 virgins without having to give his life.

Mexico would be thriving and illegal immigration not a problem.

Anyone can commit any crime they want. But they risk getting something chopped off--maybe their head or private parts. No need for prisons. (and their Harley would be taken away.)

Guns and shooting ranges are plentiful, and you can ‘carry’ concealed anywhere; but people will rarely have to, or want to.

Out of a job? Join the New Army. No age restrictions. There is a job for everyone. No need for Welfare.

And on the 7th day, I shall rest…