I'm flattered, but I disagree. Yeah, these are turbulent times. I'd long hoped history would skip my idiot generation, but 9/11 changed all that. No, my voice isn't required to take on the burning issues before the nation.
Hmmm, I've hit a new low it seems. How many basements are there in this house anyways??? I'm now writing quite seriously on the topic of writing silly...
Yep, there sure is a lot of joblessness in America. The job of every human is to be faithful to God, and live in a state of infectious joy. So yeah, there sure are a lot of people out of work.
Harumph harumph, bald hillbilly has a lot of dang nerve lecturing on the celestial, when thousands are losing their homes. First, I'm not lecturing anybody. I'm simply paraphrasing the words of Jesus, who according to movies I've seen looked a lot like George Harrison.
Human hearts are prone to infection; something's gonna dwell there, so why not joy?
We can't be joyful every day, life isn't designed like that. Hospital waiting rooms and funeral attendance are appointments in every life. But I think we all go around dour faced and glum too often, with too little justification.
So I'll just be silly, until I decide to be something else. Small feeble attempt to remind a few people of what we already know. This is an amazingly funny world. It has giant worms and backwards green coments, and cows with names give more milk than nameless cows, but I'll have to get to that in the future.
Sure, these times feel like changing a flat in cold hard rain. Lots of shrill voices are screaming about whose fault it is there are nails on the road. Some of them are likely correct. There aren't enough voices observing how cool it is that there's air in the spare. I'll be silly old "air in the spare" guy and let others address the burning issues.
And hey? I've got burning issues of my own, all right? I'm still trying to figure out how bats manage to poop while hanging upside down.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
An apology
My legal counsel says my remarks about scary movies might be deemed injurious by some in the movie making community, and I should apologize.
Instead of taking the path currently popular among politicians and celebrities, an apology that boiled down actually says, "I deeply regret that my statements were misinterpreted by some weirdos, losers and morons" I'll go with option B and really apologize.
I sure didn't mean to imply that making good scary movies is easy as pie. There, that should satisfy my friends at Horowitz, Horowitz, Horowitz & O'Brien.
Yeah, making a good scary film is very hard work. That's because one has to hit some formulaic markers in a way that feels natural to the audience. I'll use as examples two films that seem quite diff but are really about the same movie, "Tremors" and "Jaws." In each of those, you have a buddy pic where a monster happens to show up.
OK, before I hear from the Monsters Union, let me say? I've great admiration for monsters in general, and the monsters in "Jaws" and "Tremors" specificially did groovy work. More than that, a lot of the formulaic horror movie constructs? They apply very directly to monsters.
Like for instance, the monster absolutely can't be shown until the second half of the movie. First half, partial glimpses are fine, but save the full on shot for second half. That builds audience anticipation, which brings me to another rule. The audience has sat there imagining the monster for an hour. If it's going to be a good scary movie, the monster must exceed their expectations.
While we're on that subject, I will say? If you want to make a really great scary movie, that hits audience in the gut and becomes an enduring film, well? You're going to have to let the monster eat somebody the audience identifies with. It's not a great scary movie, if all you feed the monster is cheerleaders, OK?
Now, now, wait a minute. My statements weren't meant in any way to condone an ambivalent attitude towards cheerleaders being eaten by monsters. Cheerleaders are fine patriotic Americans. At primary and secondary education levels, and in professional sports, cheerleaders work hard and add value.
Hmmm. Never thought about that before. Wonder why they don't have cheerleaders at baseball games. Oh, they probably don't need cheerleaders, since the players are all on steroids.
Now, that was taken out of context there. In no way did I mean to suggest that anything but a tiny minority (well, they're not tiny really, they're huge) of baseball players use anabolic steroids in pursuit of success in baseball, America's great pastime, a sport for which I've always nutured...oh, I give up!!!
Instead of taking the path currently popular among politicians and celebrities, an apology that boiled down actually says, "I deeply regret that my statements were misinterpreted by some weirdos, losers and morons" I'll go with option B and really apologize.
I sure didn't mean to imply that making good scary movies is easy as pie. There, that should satisfy my friends at Horowitz, Horowitz, Horowitz & O'Brien.
Yeah, making a good scary film is very hard work. That's because one has to hit some formulaic markers in a way that feels natural to the audience. I'll use as examples two films that seem quite diff but are really about the same movie, "Tremors" and "Jaws." In each of those, you have a buddy pic where a monster happens to show up.
OK, before I hear from the Monsters Union, let me say? I've great admiration for monsters in general, and the monsters in "Jaws" and "Tremors" specificially did groovy work. More than that, a lot of the formulaic horror movie constructs? They apply very directly to monsters.
Like for instance, the monster absolutely can't be shown until the second half of the movie. First half, partial glimpses are fine, but save the full on shot for second half. That builds audience anticipation, which brings me to another rule. The audience has sat there imagining the monster for an hour. If it's going to be a good scary movie, the monster must exceed their expectations.
While we're on that subject, I will say? If you want to make a really great scary movie, that hits audience in the gut and becomes an enduring film, well? You're going to have to let the monster eat somebody the audience identifies with. It's not a great scary movie, if all you feed the monster is cheerleaders, OK?
Now, now, wait a minute. My statements weren't meant in any way to condone an ambivalent attitude towards cheerleaders being eaten by monsters. Cheerleaders are fine patriotic Americans. At primary and secondary education levels, and in professional sports, cheerleaders work hard and add value.
Hmmm. Never thought about that before. Wonder why they don't have cheerleaders at baseball games. Oh, they probably don't need cheerleaders, since the players are all on steroids.
Now, that was taken out of context there. In no way did I mean to suggest that anything but a tiny minority (well, they're not tiny really, they're huge) of baseball players use anabolic steroids in pursuit of success in baseball, America's great pastime, a sport for which I've always nutured...oh, I give up!!!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Boo and stuff
It's the witching season and everybody knows what that means. 187 cable channels and not ONE decent Halloween movie is playing, not even en Espanol.
I realize that comment may have opened me up for accusation of being "judgemental" and Lord knows nobody wants to wear that scarlet letter in these times. Nazi pedophile would be easier to bear! But like Steve Martin, Martin Luther, Martin Luther King, Don King, and the Kingston Trio? Comes a time when a man must say, "Here I stand, I can't do otherwise, and hang down your head Tom Dooley" or something a lot like that.
Hollywood perhaps believes it's making horror movies. Mere typo, they're to be forgiven. What they're making is horrible movies.
Saw 87, or whatever number they are up to now? That isn't scary at all. I'm from the generation upon which "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" was first launched, so I was there at ground zero when "Gore is more" cinema saw the light of day. Nobody thinks such movies are really frightening, not in the least.
If one wishes to make a horror film, the formula is fairly simple. Characters the audience can identify with and root for are menaced, and stuff jumps out at them unexpectedly. That's all there is to it really.
We don't need plausible explanations of how all this came to be. If you say there is a thirty foot long nuclear mutant alligator living in the sewers under Manhattan, then I will go for it. The reptile can even be an accomplished violin player, I don't care.
Just give me somebody in peril that I can root for, have stuff unexpectedly jump out at them, and we're cool.
Now, there's a totally different genre of Halloween movies that couldn't in their wildest dreams be scare fodder, but are still loads of fun. I'm not going there, as I'm a very busy person, what with the whole vetting process for my nomination as Halloween movie Czar in the Obama administration.
There are two ways to scare people with movies. Cerebral cortex or spinal chord. Very very scary movies, hmmm, let me do a partial list...
Something wicked this way comes
The Lady in White
Dead Again
The Mummy (orignal version with Karloff)
The Uninvited
Ghost Story
Poltergeist
Gothika
All it takes is somebody to root for, and stuff jumps out at them unexpectedly. Pocket your $40M in special effects. Dudes and dudettes in Hollywood? Ain't like this is whaddya call 'em, one of those Quantum physicals?
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The whys of spies
It's generally accepted, closeted homosexuals make the most effective spies. Nobody knows why for sure, but I figure? They're already successfully keeping one big secret, so a few more shouldn't hurt.
The 'household' names spies; Nathan Hale, Benedict Arnold, Mata Hari and the Rosenbergs. We know of them because they got caught. Know why they got caught? Yep, that's right. Because they weren't homosexuals.
While invasion plans and atomic secrets are glamorous, it's always been industrial espionage where the big money and steady work are found. In that area, there's no one personality type that shines above the rest.
The Quinine project, that was big deal industrial espionage. One of the team was captured and tortured to death. The brilliant team leader was an Alpaca farmer.
Operation silkworm was even bigger, when done in the 11th century, and two monks pulled that one off. I really should be more admiring of their daring, but I'm distracted by reverence for some other guy in the silk story, lived a few thousand years ago and his name is lost to history. Whole thing must've started like...
"Hey, Kwang Chai, see that worm chewing that mulberry leaf?"
"Yeah, so what?"
"We should make clothing from its cocoon."
Wow! What an original thinker!
But of all industrial espionage stories, the chair has to be my all time favorite.
First, I think it's hilarioius someone had to invent the chair, yet archaeologists agree the chair was first invented in Egypt.
One is tempted to sympathy for the untold preceding generations of the human race, telling each other, "I'm so tired of standing up, but I don't want to lie down, somebody should do something about it!" But our sympathy truly belongs with the Egyptians, I think.
See, by all rights they were sitting (literally) on a gold mine of export biz with the new invention. Only problem was, once an outsider got a look at the chair, good luck defending your patent! The cat was out of the bag. Wait a minute, ancient Egyptians, how would they say it? Oh yeah! The scorpion's out of the canopic jar buddy! So you got this really cool invention, and you won't make a darned shekel off it.
If that's not bad enough, try putting yourself in Pharaoh's place for a minute. You've invited dignitaries from foreign lands, to intimidate them with the might and majesty of Egypt. You say, "Behold our eternal pyramids, our sphinx, our war chariots in number like unto the stars in the sky" and just when you get going good, it's "Excuse me Pharaoh, but what's that you're squatting on there? We got NOTHING like that back home! Can I try it out? WOW! A cup holder too?"
You can imagine how, after four or five ambassadors in a row, it would get annoying.
And, I don't know? Could've been way indirectly, invention of the chair even led to conquest of Egypt. Think about it. A guy sitting on a stump. I sure couldn't with a straight face address such a man as "Alexander the Great." Stumps simply aren't regal. History might've been vastly changed, if every time an ambassador visited, Egyptians were just standing around winking slyly at one another. Alexander might never have become a conqueror. Instead maybe he'd have been a spy, and a really good one too, cause he was homosexual.
The 'household' names spies; Nathan Hale, Benedict Arnold, Mata Hari and the Rosenbergs. We know of them because they got caught. Know why they got caught? Yep, that's right. Because they weren't homosexuals.
While invasion plans and atomic secrets are glamorous, it's always been industrial espionage where the big money and steady work are found. In that area, there's no one personality type that shines above the rest.
The Quinine project, that was big deal industrial espionage. One of the team was captured and tortured to death. The brilliant team leader was an Alpaca farmer.
Operation silkworm was even bigger, when done in the 11th century, and two monks pulled that one off. I really should be more admiring of their daring, but I'm distracted by reverence for some other guy in the silk story, lived a few thousand years ago and his name is lost to history. Whole thing must've started like...
"Hey, Kwang Chai, see that worm chewing that mulberry leaf?"
"Yeah, so what?"
"We should make clothing from its cocoon."
Wow! What an original thinker!
But of all industrial espionage stories, the chair has to be my all time favorite.
First, I think it's hilarioius someone had to invent the chair, yet archaeologists agree the chair was first invented in Egypt.
One is tempted to sympathy for the untold preceding generations of the human race, telling each other, "I'm so tired of standing up, but I don't want to lie down, somebody should do something about it!" But our sympathy truly belongs with the Egyptians, I think.
See, by all rights they were sitting (literally) on a gold mine of export biz with the new invention. Only problem was, once an outsider got a look at the chair, good luck defending your patent! The cat was out of the bag. Wait a minute, ancient Egyptians, how would they say it? Oh yeah! The scorpion's out of the canopic jar buddy! So you got this really cool invention, and you won't make a darned shekel off it.
If that's not bad enough, try putting yourself in Pharaoh's place for a minute. You've invited dignitaries from foreign lands, to intimidate them with the might and majesty of Egypt. You say, "Behold our eternal pyramids, our sphinx, our war chariots in number like unto the stars in the sky" and just when you get going good, it's "Excuse me Pharaoh, but what's that you're squatting on there? We got NOTHING like that back home! Can I try it out? WOW! A cup holder too?"
You can imagine how, after four or five ambassadors in a row, it would get annoying.
And, I don't know? Could've been way indirectly, invention of the chair even led to conquest of Egypt. Think about it. A guy sitting on a stump. I sure couldn't with a straight face address such a man as "Alexander the Great." Stumps simply aren't regal. History might've been vastly changed, if every time an ambassador visited, Egyptians were just standing around winking slyly at one another. Alexander might never have become a conqueror. Instead maybe he'd have been a spy, and a really good one too, cause he was homosexual.
Friday, October 23, 2009
The borders of wilderness
No, I haven't run out of silly. There's still lots of it out there. For instance? Pearl Jam is angry because their music was played loud and often to annoy Gitmo prisoners. While I understand how the band feels? As the father of a former teenager I must admit, that's a very effective method. Works on parents anyway!
The B-17 tour is worth some attention though. It complements the general theme of middle aged determination to expand one's horizons. And yeah, too? This life ain't a dress rehearsal, so stop and smell the roses (or in this case the machine guns) or whatever the Creator puts it in your squirrely head to find honest joy in smelling, every chance you get.
But this should be about the plane and the boys.
Here are two things every American schoolkid should know about the B-17...
A.) If you survived 25 missions in a B-17 you automatically rotated back to the US for the duration of the big shooting match. You'd done your bit.
B.) One third of all B-17's that saw combat were shot down by the enemy.
That makes it sound like an unsafe plane, though it was anything but. The Nazi military carefully studied all B-17 wreckage (they're so precise, those Germans) and concluded it was one stubborn aircraft.
Better to let an actual participant speak. Paraphrase from an interview, New Yorker magazine, 1944.
I was bombardier, sat right up in the nose. I remember my first mission. The Ack-Ack exploding far below us looked so beautiful. We dropped the bombs, seemed like a game to me. On the way home, I saw three B-17's explode. Not go down smoking, but explode, mid-air. One minute they were there, and the next gone.
This one mission I recall? I thought they had us. I fired a nose gun until it jammed, ran aft and fired a waist gun until it jammed too. They were coming in so close I could see their faces. About that time the belly gunner got hit. I ran to him, and about that same time a round hit me, nothing bad but knocked my headset off. He was blinded from plastic dust in his eyes, from the bubble getting shot up. He was leaking bad from the cartoid artery, all I could do was apply pressure, and he was in semi-shock. I was yelling fore loud as I could, "Get me some help back here, Eddie's hit kinda bad. My headset got blown off." So now he's screaming he's gonna bail out, cause Johnny just got his head blown off. I'm yelling right back at him, "Shut up you idiot! I'm Johnny, who ya think has his hands on your dumb throat?"
So that's what a participant had to say about it in 1944. But it's not all blood and gore and fighting for your life over Europe. A certain amount of absurdity attends every human endeavor, moreso if Americans are involved.
A B-17 once got so lost, they bombed Zurich, Switzerland. Not funny for the citizens of Zurich, but kind of hilarious in an objective sense. I really don't know how they managed that, Switzerland kind of being known for lots of Alps and stuff, but they did it. However it happened, they had a good story apparently, since they were absolved at the Court Martial. Myself, personally? I think the navigator was distracted by listening to Pearl Jam probably.
What I don't understand about last weekend, is the old men flocking to run their hands on the fuselage of that B-17. That's something I'll never forget. The way they lovingly ran their hands across the riveted skin of that old plane. What makes a man revisit an artifact from the borders of his personal wilderness? What is it that draws old men to a symbol of past terrors, almost impossible to imagine?
I wish I'd had the guts to ask them. But shaking their gnarly cookie hooks, thanking them for what they once did, tears in my eyes? I couldn't ask them WHY, because my heart was filled with a partial understanding of their personal WHAT.
Why do old men flock to an artifact from a time in their youths, when they nearly died, over and over? I'm not sure, but I suspect Pearl Jam has something to do with it.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Dis-Honest Injun
It's fairly weird actually. Sure I got some data on folks pretending to be French or Russian, but nothing in numbers or intensity compared to the fake Indian gag. Why is that? Hmmm...
American Indians have been romanticized for nearly two centuries now. The lure of the underdog too, there is that. Also, these hundreds of cultures are mostly lost now, and there's always a willingness to believe lost cultures took with them mysterious wisdom. So yeah, I get generally why somebody would want to go Indian. There's probably lots more going on in each individual choice though. Such an intensity to it.
Grey Owl was the first widely famous fake Indian. Books, lots of time on the lecture circuit. Once he passed away, turned out his name was Archibald and he was from England. Me personally? I'd have rather been "Grey Owl" than Archibald any day. Wish I knew more about him, but I suspect at the lecture podium ol' Archie really thought he was Grey Owl.
Forrest Carter is a stranger case. Back when he was Asa Carter, might've been the only guy ever got kicked out of the KKK for extremist views. But around 1970 he started taking a bizarre turn. Wrote a well recieved book about being an orphan raised by Cherokee grandparents. Only snag there was he wasn't an orphan, and didn't have enough Cherokee blood to interest a vampire bat. From 1976 until the end of his life, Forrest Carter insisted he didn't know who this "Asa" Carter was, and why does everybody keep asking about him. I kinda think he believed that at times.
My favorite fake Indian is Iron Eyes Cody. He's a born in Louisiana, and his a momma and a poppa, they were from a Sicily. At some point in his life though, he went Indian all the way. Married an Indian girl, adopted two Cherokee kids, wouldn't leave the house unless in the buckskin getup. What an amazing thing really.
Objectively, I so admire those who go straight at whatever their heart desires. Admittedly, such behavior seldom yields positive results, but hey? It's fun to watch!
Surrounded by fake Indians! Drawing most of my life experience from B-movies, I think my line is, "Yeah, it's quiet. Too quiet."
Tonto, Jay Silverheels, I trust him. He was an authentic no kidding Indian. The Lone Ranger though? I don't trust that guy. It's not the mask, but the powder blue jumpsuit. Just saying? If I'm sitting around a campfire in the desert and cat in a powder blue jumpsuit shows up, I'm going to keep a sharp eye on him.
American Indians have been romanticized for nearly two centuries now. The lure of the underdog too, there is that. Also, these hundreds of cultures are mostly lost now, and there's always a willingness to believe lost cultures took with them mysterious wisdom. So yeah, I get generally why somebody would want to go Indian. There's probably lots more going on in each individual choice though. Such an intensity to it.
Grey Owl was the first widely famous fake Indian. Books, lots of time on the lecture circuit. Once he passed away, turned out his name was Archibald and he was from England. Me personally? I'd have rather been "Grey Owl" than Archibald any day. Wish I knew more about him, but I suspect at the lecture podium ol' Archie really thought he was Grey Owl.
Forrest Carter is a stranger case. Back when he was Asa Carter, might've been the only guy ever got kicked out of the KKK for extremist views. But around 1970 he started taking a bizarre turn. Wrote a well recieved book about being an orphan raised by Cherokee grandparents. Only snag there was he wasn't an orphan, and didn't have enough Cherokee blood to interest a vampire bat. From 1976 until the end of his life, Forrest Carter insisted he didn't know who this "Asa" Carter was, and why does everybody keep asking about him. I kinda think he believed that at times.
My favorite fake Indian is Iron Eyes Cody. He's a born in Louisiana, and his a momma and a poppa, they were from a Sicily. At some point in his life though, he went Indian all the way. Married an Indian girl, adopted two Cherokee kids, wouldn't leave the house unless in the buckskin getup. What an amazing thing really.
Objectively, I so admire those who go straight at whatever their heart desires. Admittedly, such behavior seldom yields positive results, but hey? It's fun to watch!
Surrounded by fake Indians! Drawing most of my life experience from B-movies, I think my line is, "Yeah, it's quiet. Too quiet."
Tonto, Jay Silverheels, I trust him. He was an authentic no kidding Indian. The Lone Ranger though? I don't trust that guy. It's not the mask, but the powder blue jumpsuit. Just saying? If I'm sitting around a campfire in the desert and cat in a powder blue jumpsuit shows up, I'm going to keep a sharp eye on him.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
The Bluff City
I'M GONNA TOUR A B-17! WOOHOO! A REAL B-17 WITH A HALF NAKED LADY PAINTED ON THE FUSELAGE, THAT FLEW MISSIONS IN WW2!!! (not the half naked lady I mean, I don't know what she was doing at the time)BUT THE PLANE! THE PLANE!
Calm down David. Deep breaths, think of a quiet meadow...OK
Memphis would have long ago changed its name to "Rodney Dangerfield" but the City Council won't consider any proposal unless race can somehow be injected.
Any time a "worst" list is published, look for Memphis near the top. Most obese, dumbest, least healthy, most violent... Memphis is always on the list somewhere. Now, when "best" lists are made? Always look for Spokane near the top. My personal opinion, somebody from Spokane is making all these lists, but I can't prove that, so I'll talk about Memphis instead.
Memphis just had a mayoral election, and keeping with tradition two of the candidates were an aging professional wrestler and a self-identified space alien. This is taken in good spirit because of the modern South governing rule...
Visitors to Memphis would be forgiven for believing the city is actually governed by the Bail Bondsman Association, since they seem to profit most from the status quo, but it's really not like that. It's the rule that governs.
Stated vaguely, goes something like: Do what you like, long as you're not hurting anybody else, and I don't have to watch.
Now the recent biz with the "National Coming Out Day" billboards? That was example of knowingly violating the rule and leverage of the resulting reaction. Me, I didn't even know there was a National Coming Out Day, but there is. Big billboard on a main thoroughfare, grinning homosexual Marine. Somebody was going to tear it to shreds, cause they have to drive that road everyday, and considered the billboard a violation of their privacy. Then the advocacy group had a big "Stop the Hate now" rally, getting more donations and publicity than if the billboard had been left alone.
See? Even when violated, the rule works, long as everybody knows there is a rule. Everyone involved had fun and nobody got their eye poked out. Which is a much better result than some family reunions I've attended.
Conversely, when people ignore the rule it looks like what it is; trashy and disgusting. Example of that is vandalizing the Jewish frat house last week. Spray painting swastikas. Swastikas for Lord's sakes? Nazi stuff? Hang on, let me look that one up...
OK, says right here...NAZI: Group of people believing blue eyed blondes are destined to rule the world, organized and led by a guy who looked like Moe Howard.
Yeah, that's a very logical bunch to emulate. But aside from that, it's against the modern South rule, with no goal except to hurt strangers. If folks leave you alone, you leave them alone. Bunch of Jewish college boys, just wanting to quietly do their thing, and some creep paints swastikas on their frat house. Now I'm just saying? It might've been somebody from Spokane, snuck in here and did that.
Either way, it really is an amazing world. Spray paint is easy, but I'm about to tour a B-17. A plane built by civilians who hated swastikas, flown by young, frightened boys who hated swastikas. The world can't ever be rid of those who do creepy things, but we can turn the spotlight upon the response, and consider courage and sacrifice instead.
Calm down David. Deep breaths, think of a quiet meadow...OK
Memphis would have long ago changed its name to "Rodney Dangerfield" but the City Council won't consider any proposal unless race can somehow be injected.
Any time a "worst" list is published, look for Memphis near the top. Most obese, dumbest, least healthy, most violent... Memphis is always on the list somewhere. Now, when "best" lists are made? Always look for Spokane near the top. My personal opinion, somebody from Spokane is making all these lists, but I can't prove that, so I'll talk about Memphis instead.
Memphis just had a mayoral election, and keeping with tradition two of the candidates were an aging professional wrestler and a self-identified space alien. This is taken in good spirit because of the modern South governing rule...
Visitors to Memphis would be forgiven for believing the city is actually governed by the Bail Bondsman Association, since they seem to profit most from the status quo, but it's really not like that. It's the rule that governs.
Stated vaguely, goes something like: Do what you like, long as you're not hurting anybody else, and I don't have to watch.
Now the recent biz with the "National Coming Out Day" billboards? That was example of knowingly violating the rule and leverage of the resulting reaction. Me, I didn't even know there was a National Coming Out Day, but there is. Big billboard on a main thoroughfare, grinning homosexual Marine. Somebody was going to tear it to shreds, cause they have to drive that road everyday, and considered the billboard a violation of their privacy. Then the advocacy group had a big "Stop the Hate now" rally, getting more donations and publicity than if the billboard had been left alone.
See? Even when violated, the rule works, long as everybody knows there is a rule. Everyone involved had fun and nobody got their eye poked out. Which is a much better result than some family reunions I've attended.
Conversely, when people ignore the rule it looks like what it is; trashy and disgusting. Example of that is vandalizing the Jewish frat house last week. Spray painting swastikas. Swastikas for Lord's sakes? Nazi stuff? Hang on, let me look that one up...
OK, says right here...NAZI: Group of people believing blue eyed blondes are destined to rule the world, organized and led by a guy who looked like Moe Howard.
Yeah, that's a very logical bunch to emulate. But aside from that, it's against the modern South rule, with no goal except to hurt strangers. If folks leave you alone, you leave them alone. Bunch of Jewish college boys, just wanting to quietly do their thing, and some creep paints swastikas on their frat house. Now I'm just saying? It might've been somebody from Spokane, snuck in here and did that.
Either way, it really is an amazing world. Spray paint is easy, but I'm about to tour a B-17. A plane built by civilians who hated swastikas, flown by young, frightened boys who hated swastikas. The world can't ever be rid of those who do creepy things, but we can turn the spotlight upon the response, and consider courage and sacrifice instead.
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