Celebrating 40 Blog Entries
Rather than torture my poor, long-suffering friends with two bad jokes that they’d have to hear over and over again, because I forget who I’ve told what to and when, I’ll post them here for the world to ignore. These jokes are vaguely ethnic, but I’ll do my part to make them even more vague.
Joke#1: It seems a country gentleman had a visitor from a big city, where, perhaps, the folk are not known for their swiftness. The country gentleman was showing the city guy various sites, the rolling hills, the green pastures, when they happened upon a sheep with its head stuck in a hole in a fence. The country gentleman tells the city guy to wait for a minute while he has his way with the hapless sheep. The country gentleman thoroughly enjoys himself, and when he is done he says to the city guy, “Okay, your turn.”
To which the city guy says, “Oh, no, I’m not about to get my head stuck in that hole.”
Ahem. Now Joke #2: A group of campers were in a forest area that was home to two native tribes: The Futhabuckas and the Fuhkawees. The Futhabuckas were known as excellent trackers and hunters, and supposedly could find their way around the huge forest while blindfolded. The Fuhkawees were artisans, known for their beautiful headdresses and tribal jewelry.
Presently, the campers were deep in the forest, and it started to rain, covering up the sun. The campers’ guide had lost his compass crossing a stream a few hours back, and he worried that he was leading his friends further away from their camp. With the sky darkening, he feared the worst. The campers huddled together under their jackets, trying to keep dry and warm, but without any provisions, they were thristy and hungry, and they felt hopelessly lost. They spent the night under the canopy, hoping for better tidings in the morning.
When dawn broke, the campers heard voices in the distance. Nervous, but encouraged by the sounds of other humans, they tracked down the sounds. The campers found a group of natives huddled under another tree, with animal skins over their heads.
The campers’ guide walked forward to greet the native that stood out the most, the one with a tremendous white and red crown of feathers over his head. This native looked proud and commanding. The guide said, “Excuse me, but we’re hopelessly lost. Can you tell us where we are in the forest?”
The proud native looked at the guide and said, “I dunno, we’re the Fuhkawee.”
Sigh. I know. I know. At least I didn’t have to tell these to you in person.
Posted by Jonathan at 12:53 AM, 27 September 2002 | Comments (0)
TIPS-top shape
I was going to rant a bit about Eunice Stone, the busybody cum patriot, but I found a better, over-the-top, column about it, here. An excerpt: But no one spoke of charging Eunice Stone with perpetrating a hoax. Because Stone is a portly blond nurse in her mid-forties and the three young men were dark skinned West and Central Asian-Americans, the burden of proof fell on the Muslims to defend themselves against the accusations of a 'real American.'
Welcome to the new America.
Posted by Jonathan at 01:02 AM, 26 September 2002 | Comments (0)
Chick Pea Salad
And this non sequitur is sponsored by Lingua Shapta. We performed for the very first time on stage at the Munchaba Lounge in Levittown, Long Island, New York, USA, Earth. In my unbiased opinion, we did pretty good. In my rockstar persona, we kicked major ass, dudes!!!
We’ll eventually do it again, to be sure, but look for a QuickTime movie to be uploaded in a week or so. That’ll be in Creative, in the special Lingua Shapta section, which doesn’t exist yet.
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And being that I only write one blog entry per day, at best, I shall completely change subjects again to point out that I’m linking to a couple of other blogs, Breakfast of Champions and Evilninja, because they’re just fine fine blogs that are updated a helluva lot more often than this one and are funny and interesting and thought provoking and all the good stuff that blogs should be. Breakfast of Champions is run by Erynn, who lives in a mystical land to the north that she calls “Canada.” Evilninja is an American, but secretly so. Share and enjoy.
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Chick pea salad is what I’m eating right now. Ah! Bet you thought there was no reason for that. Right? Right?
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My back is killing me. Ouch.
Posted by Jonathan at 02:15 AM, 20 September 2002 | Comments (1)
No lessons from Sept 11
I tried to stay silent on the anniversary of the terrorist attack on America this past September 11. I stayed away from the news. Each little bit of media that seeped in felt like vinegar to the scraped flesh barely grown back over an old wound. The feelings never died, but are compartmentalized like the loss of a loved one. They faded, faded, faded, until the harsh light of recollection brought them into sharp focus. What was it all for? Why did this happen? What happens now?
And a year later, I have no answers and expect none from any source. It was too big. Despite the rise in resolve that bloomed forth from the waste of that day, America still has no idea why. We chase phantoms, and our leaders distract us with tough talk and colorful warning charts. The world has changed, they tell us, as if we couldn’t grasp that already. But they hide from the truth of the situation, because they’d have to admit that they’re not too sure what happened either.
They want to call it “Patriot’s Day,” I guess because Memorial Day was taken. It would highlight the surge of love that American’s showed for their country, but, God, it would be a lie. If is faked and forced, and I know so few people understand America, what it is, what it stands for. Patriots, true patriots, would die for their country. Those poor saps that died in the collapse of the Trade Centers didn’t die for their country; they died for the cause of sick, religious fanatics.
Patriots work for their country. They sweat for their country. They die for their country. Sticking a flag on anything is not a patriotic act. Swearing allegiance to that same flag is not a patriotic act. American soldiers do not die for the flag. They die for freedom. In theory, anyway, if that was the way wars worked in the last half of the 20th century. Instead we get boys dying for causes outside the scope of protecting freedom. Instead we spend all our money protect “American Interests,” which are corporate interests that help purchase our elections.
But this is not a rant about stolen ideals. Not directly. This is a plea for American’s to truly wake up and rise from the ashes and to close the psychic wound that gapes in our hearts. Focus. We will never bring Osama bin Laden to justice, because he died in the flight from his Afghani cave. The Taliban, once a benefactor of $2 million US dollars in the War on Drugs, is not our enemy, but a fanatical, repressive cult that would have been brought down by natural causes soon enough. Saddam Hussein is a whipping boy for the Bushies and is impotent on the world stage. He did not fund the terrorist attack on us. He is a threat to the region and should be treated as thus. This is not worth our time.
We should break with Saudi Arabia and follow the money. The idle-rich class of princes spends more timing assuring that they will not be overthrown by berating the U.S. and Israel to the common folk than they do on improving their country. They know that “American Interests” flow deep within their country’s black heart, and so we will keep out mouths shut. This should not be tolerated by any patriot.
The face of Mohammed Atta haunts my nightmares. Hussein, bin Laden, these men don’t even give me pause. They are the faces of men who have pissed off the CEOs of America. But Atta, he worked hard to assimilate himself into our country and culture, and he still found reason to hate us. This ignorance is our enemy. This prejudice is our enemy. Nineteen men tore us apart. Nineteen men passed judgment on our country and found it worthy of terror and death. Nineteen men changed the very core of our country.
And now we fix it by chasing after phantoms, while our leaders distract us with tough talk and colorful warning signs?
I still have no answers. But this I know: More are now aware. Our leaders are inept. They are looking so hard at their self-interests that they are blind to the dangers our country faces. Instead of steeling our resolve, they pass laws that make it easier to spy on our own citizens. They take away our freedoms, telling us that life will be safer.
But a patriot will die for his country. And my country is freedom. And I will live free or die.
The raw nerve that September 11 has exposed is still painful. My thoughts glance on it with delicacy and tenderness. It is still too big. Are there lessons to be learned when 3000 die? Is there anyone who will listen? I have no answers and expect none from any source.
Posted by Jonathan at 02:28 AM, 13 September 2002 | Comments (1)
Jonathan, Lingua Shapta, and the Munchaba Lounge
So I’ve been fortunate enough to have been a part of “The Carnival of Arts” festivities every Thursday at the Munchaba Lounge in Levittown for the past month. It is an open-mike poetry night, along with a couple of other artistic endeavors. I’ve read “Raw,” “Spring Cleaning,” “Counting Backwards,” and several other of my poems in front of a very generous and responsive audience. It is much fun. Consider this an open invite for any Thursday, around 11 p.m., to come on down and see me, and quite a few other more-talented performers, grace the stage at Munchaba. Need directions? E-mail me.
But wait! Lingua Shapta, the fusion of my poetry with the musical genius of rich(e)rich, will be making it’s first live appearance at Munchaba’s “Carnival of the Arts” in two weeks. That’s Thursday, September 19th. We’ll perform “Raw” and “Song XVI.” Wow!
Posted by Jonathan at 02:21 AM, 06 September 2002 | Comments (0)
