Death And Politics

So apparently Dr. Jack Kevorkian, the suicide king, has it in his mind to run for congress. Despite still being on parole for all that dirty business that came up a few years ago, the man's gonna put feet to concrete and try to get on the ballot.

Now it could just be me, but this whole thing seems to make a lot of sense.

In this day and age, where politicians tend to treat their promises like drunken, loose women at a club, it's a little refreshing to have someone who stands by their convictions run for office. Most political types tend to speak poetically, with long powerful speeches about the need for change, and the ardent fury in which they will bring that change to us, the tax-paying public. And we buy into it, every single time. Those sparkly eyes with those impassioned, enchanting speeches, it always takes the breath away. It's something out of Shakesphere really.

And we run with great haste to those voting booths, and slap that person who won our hearts, deep into the office of their choosing. And we sit, hands clasped, waiting for the change to rain upon us. Weeks and months go by, and we realize we've been had. Underwear on the floor, shame on the face, stuck with the bill. It's the way the game is played, and we've all come to accept it.

Now here's a guy whose taken something we hold sacred and dear, the sanctity of life, and had his way with it. He helped people end their lives. And what's better, is he had no qualms about being honest with the world that he did it. "Yes," he said, "I killed those people, I felt it was the right thing to do, and if you weren't throwing me in jail, I'd do it again."

The man has fortitude. Even now, he's unapologetic about a decision he made, despite the fact that the rest of the world has painted him a monster. And he's willing to stand on the pedestal and defend those decisions in an effort to be elected to office.

Hell, with that kind of straightforward determination, can you imagine what other things he might get done? This man might just have the guts to say, "Screw you commerce and industry, your wants are not what's right for the people!" And when those conniving bastards whip out their list of past politicians that they've had under their coattails since the beginning of time, ol' Jack can simply smile and whip out the list of people he's put into the ground. The business world would immediately back off and tell Doctor Death that he can run the country any damn way he pleases.

This could be our doorway to utopia people. Embrace it.

People I Hate: Jessica Simpson

Name:
Jessica Ann Simpson

Born:
July 10, 1980 Abilene, Texas

Profession:
Singer/Performer, Actress, Marketing

Reason I Hate Her:
She's marketing stupidity, and succeeding


I'm the first to admit that reasons for hating Jessica Simpson are abound in copious amounts. The woman puts out so much infuriating energy, that she could probably sell it as a perfume. This particularly holds true for people like me, who tend to crave a little more reality and sincerity with their time. Still, most of it is things I can't get too hostile about. They are just simply elements about her that conflict with my opinion, and as such, cannot be torn asunder.
However, there is one element in this debacle that should be challenged:

She is deriving financial success from being a complete and total dumbass.

I'm sure we all remember "Chicken By The Sea." Where our heroine, completely dumbfounded by the labels that advertisers use to expand a company's reach, is confused as to whether or not tuna is, in fact, chicken or fish. When it first reared it's ugly head on my television, I was in a rage. All that success and good fortune, and the basic survival sense one needed to get by in the world was nonexistent. If a person didn't know what section in the supermarket to buy canned tuna from, they surely wouldn't be able to defend themselves when the wolves come.

And being a trifle ego-maniacal, it tends to irk me when people who I couldn't depend on in a life-or-death situation are sitting better than me. I know, with all degrees of certainty, that if I had to kill a deer barehanded just to live, I could. But in this current environment, such instincts are meaningless compared to sex-appeal and pop credentials...neither of which I possess. So, it got me angry.

But, I've had time to sit with that incident, and realize that mistakes can be made. Her youth may have been different. I was working in a grocery store when I was seven years old, routinely stocking things like canned tuna and chicken. I've got a bit more experience in the field when it comes to such matters. Besides, mistakes do happen. Everyone has a lapse of intelligence and does something completely foolish. Hers was just captured on camera, that's all.

So, I was ready to let bygones be bygones. Let her moment of foolishness slide into obscurity, and not beat a dead horse, knowing full well that she would do the same.

Of course, I was wrong. She didn't just beat the dead horse, she disemboweled it and wore the corpse as a headpiece.

I wasn't deluded into thinking she'd decide to MENSA or take a few online courses, of course. But, I assumed she would be out there trying to vindicate herself in light of this embarrassing situation. She, in fact, did just the opposite. Now every time she stands in front of a camera, she immediately plays the whole rap of, "I'm ditzy! Tee hee hee." Misunderstanding more labels, being unable to open doors, all with that adorable little "I don't get it" look about her.

Ms. Simpson, take note of this: lack of intelligence is not endearing, it's pathetic. Children who make silly mistakes like this may make for funny side notes in the stories of their parents, but a lesson is expected to be learned. That child is supposed to improve and grow from that point on. Besides, children can be forgiven, mistakes come with the territory. Lack of experience, they don't have it, and are trying to get it. This story changes significantly when an adult person acts like a damn fool. There is no severance for it. You've had the time to be acquainted with things, and somehow avoided all of it. Those of us who have invested that necessary time tend to feel a bit of contempt at how content you are at being so inept.

And a person of your age, with your amount of resources , should be able to rectify this. You've got no excuses Jessica. There are college students living off of ramen and old cheese that could do twelve times more with a fraction of your money. There's no reason you can't pick up a book or two. Do a little investigative research into how the world works. It's a good thing to do, and above all, necessary. For without the producers, promoters, sponsorships, and so forth, you are merely one of us. And we expect more out of that skull of yours. If you are unwilling to use it, expect to stick potatoes in hot oil and put other people's food into bags for the rest of your days.

So, get out there and do something. Read a newspaper, take a class, hell walk into a grocery store and look around for christ's sake. It's good for you, and good for us who will no longer have to see quotes from you that read "I'm having a blast in Iraq!" The irony of which, I'm sure, is very very lost on you.

Ship out, shape up, or get eaten alive. The choice is up to you.

Paradise Lost

Comfort, it's a wonderful thing. Small, little pleasures that pop in and out of one's existence and make things a bit more tolerable. We all have them, and most stockpile them whenever possible.

There is great diversity in the world of comfort. Some favor long walks through quiet parks, fresh air, and sunny days. Admittedly, I don't know many of this type of person, but I know you freaks are out there. My stable of running mates usually tend to favor things like stiff drink, old movies, and loud screaming. It's not for everyone I suppose, but it does help the weary get by.

As colleagues in comfort, I think we can all sympathize in that feeling of frustrated depression when said comfort is stripped from us. And inevitably, it always gets stripped away. Whether by time, responsibility, or the bottom of the bottle, one cannot stay comfortable forever. And it's never easy to bid those cozy moments adieu with any degree of grace or civility. Losing our places of serenity gives way to reactions similar to stealing a security blanket from a toddler. Composure is lost, and the frustration returns.

This reality became particularly clear to me the other day, with one of my minor comforts: clean sheets.

This may seem surprising to you, my loyal reader. Surely the Boogie Man's comforts are more along the lines of barrels of mead and animal sacrifices. Whilst those things definitely have their place, there still is no sense of peace greater than climbing out of a shower, and into clean bedware. Fresh sheets, decent smelling blankets, it's a paradise. A cotton and softener-laced garden of eden. A place where the body can rest, and the mind can let go of all those nagging preoccupations.

Comfort was in my hands, when it was all stripped away from me. And not by some hostile force, or adversaries looking to disrupt my utopia, but by nature itself. For you see, when one is in a comfortable place, and has achieved a state of relaxation.......oftentimes certain gases tend to emanate out of certain orifices.

You guessed it, Boogie cut the cheese in his clean sheets. And paradise was forever ruined.

For no amount of mental bargaining can help you escape the fact that the things your body didn't want are now floating in the cotton boundaries you've created for yourself. At this very moment, an unseen enemy is infiltrating itself in the 200 thread count sheets I've secured myself in. There they will hide, slowly rotting my flesh and breaking my peace of mind.

And I am powerless against it. The lights are off, and my need for sleep has overtaken me. No sense in changing the bedding now, I'm already situated. I'm here for the duration. So sleep I must, surrounded by my own fumes, white flag in hand.

In the light of day, it seems like such a silly thing. There's no sense in getting riled up over this nonsense. Flatulence is a natural thing. And I'm around myself enough to know that most of what I put into my body is pretty decent stuff. But, in the end it isn't about that. It's about the little personal meditations we make for ourselves. The things we look forward to, just so we can get up the next day and face the world. We clutch on to them with a death grip, hoping they never have to leave, but knowing that eventually they will.

So, relish your comforts people. Embrace them where and when you can. Relish them while you have them, for they all bid farewell far too quickly. As for me, I have blankets to wash.

Kids With Guns

A few weeks ago, Northern Illinois University became a statistic. Another shooting, another kid with artillery, more decent folks shot down. These days, it's nothing new. A week before that, Louisiana Technical College had it's own little firestorm. From a nursing student no less. Then of course we're rapidly approaching the anniversary of that mess that occurred over at Virginia Tech.

This isn't your run-of-the-mill premeditated violence that occurs daily in inner cities. No ties to gangs. No fancy shoes, diamond encrusted jewelery, or any of the other things that spawn urban violence. This is different. Premeditated is the word for it. These folks woke up in the morning and had their breakfast cereal with the plan of shooting a bunch of people by day's end. Most had zero intention of making it home for dinner. No, this is something new.

And it's nothing to be laughed about or celebrated in any way. Certainly nothing that gets turned off like all the other forms of youth on youth violence we're surrounded by. It's unacceptable to leave things like this with simply shaking the head and turning the page. Ignorance will not work here.

I dare say, ignorance is what got us into this mess in the first place.

I'm sure we were all there when Columbine became an ugly word. It was a dark and scary time, even for those of us who had escaped high school intact. The notion that you could walk into a room full of acquaintances and start shooting is too far out of reality for the likes of me. These were not our daily bastards, not the folks who make life a little more annoying. Just faces in the crowd. People who you may have recognized from a class, but didn't know their name offhand. And they were killed, simply for where their personal geography was from a bullet. It's scary stuff.

It gets even scarier when you do the math. Steven Kazmierczak, the young man who made Northern Illinois University a darker place, was 27 years old when it all went down. That means in 1999, he was 18. Same age range as Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold when they executed the shootings at Columbine.

We don't have random shootings committed by lost, young people. We have a lost generation.

An era of disenfranchised youth who have yet to fully adapt to the world as it stands now. People so confused and unattached, that the only reasonable solution appears to be opening fire on a crowd of colleagues. Where a blaze of glory, followed by a quick end, seems to be the only real statement of their existence.

These youngsters were my peers. I share their generation. Still, I'm not sure I can ever understand what led to this. The cause and effect, topsy-turvy occurrences that pushed all these people over that edge will probably never be made clear to me. That edge is beyond me, something I try to steer clear from.

But I've come close. I've snuck a peek over it once in awhile. Tried to make heads or tails over my options. And I've had plenty of company. Day in and day out, I see more and more of the disenfranchised weigh those options. A lot of them don't feel like their ready for this place. Unadapted. Obsolete even. No sense like they're even a cog on the gear of life's clock. The past came with few explanations for them, and the future..........well, the future is a mess. Even those firmly experienced in the times will attest to that.

And I can't go blaming violent movies, or ultra-realistic video games. Music and dress are not responsible for any of this. They've had their part, no doubt, but cannot stand trial all alone. What is to blame? I'm not sure. I've yet to find the answers, try as I might. How does one guide a soul who's lost? Especially when they're asking questions you never completely answered yourself? I've yet to figure it out.

But I know this much, that lost generation is getting older. They're in college now, graduating even. They're gonna be in the real world soon, where things are even more bloodthirsty and cruel. And they may still be confused. Still convinced that raw firepower is a viable option. A decision they may make when in general proximity of any of us. It's a scary thing when you can't trust the person standing next to take your well-being into account.

So what's left? Not much. Wish well for these people I guess. Hope they find that special someone who has the time and patience to understand them. Hope maybe they can afford therapy. Hell, just plain hope they can live to an age where they can laugh it off someday. Try and stay understanding of the folks who pop in and out of your life. Be open, be civil,be a friend even. Don't give them a reason to succumb to that kind of mentality. Who knows? We might all get to our 50's, and make a toast to getting out of this godforsaken time with all our parts.

You And What Army?

Here's a fun experiment in perspective.

Take the phrase, "You and what army?" It's original meaning being, "You are not tough enough to actually win in a fight with me for I am powerful enough to succeed in a battle with several well-trained men." This phrase became popular in the early, post-WWII, 50's, as a means of intimidating one's adversary. But, between Bruce Lee and Arnold Schwarzenegger, who had the abilities to destroy entire armies all by their lonesome, the phrase has all but been retired to the annals of history.

Still, there are times when the finger is pointed at you and the question is asked. And one must count his list of allies to best decide how to contend with the situation.

So, when the President Of the United States gets asked "You and what army," he needs simply but to point towards the nearest military installation (or given our current deployment situation, in the direction of Iraq,) to show his army. Said adversary now has to contend with a large military force, instead of a single, gray-haired, old man.

If a US military corporal finds himself in a similar situation, and is asked the same question, he simply needs to point to his platoon. The option of confronting a single well-trained military man no longer exists. You see, this simple phrase can illicit a variety of fear-inducing situations dependent solely on who's perspective you look at it from.

It gets really funny when you look at both these scenarios and try to guess which of them has the stronger army.

Give up? Why, the corporal does of course.

The corporal's army is actually acquainted with the corporal. It means these guys know what kind of person he is, and trust him with their lives in a firefight. This man is their buddy, their comrade, their brother in arms. These men have been forced together by conflict, and are ready to protect each other in a pinch should the hammer come down. This also means, they've got a pretty good line on what this corporal is like. So, when the phrase in question is uttered, and the ensuing conflict is a righteous one, that army will leap to the cause. And if the corporal happens to be drunk, overly aggressive, or simply having a bad day, well then that army might do everything in their power to prevent a fight from taking place.

And the Presidents army? Well he does not have the luxury of comadre. Matter of fact, it would be a safe bet to say that the man probably doesn't know most of those troops on a personal basis. His army is derived from the fact that he hired the men who writes their paychecks, and that makes him the boss. A faceless figurehead atop an unseen mountain. Naturally, most people do what their boss tells them to do, but there's a catch. You see, it is a common belief amongst the employed that their supervisor may not have everyone's best interests at heart. It's possible that the man in charge is being fueled by other forces, and making his people do things that a rational person may not otherwise instruct upon his people.

This means that dissension can occur at any given time. Said army can start to take a little bit of what they're ordered to do a bit personally. See, when the corporal starts falling out of line, his squad of loyal brethren are right there to inform him, "Dude you're being a douche." Whereas the president can be a douche and never know it. Therefore, the corporal's army, though smaller, is far more loyal to corporal than those huge battalions are to the president. And when the corporal is in the wrong, his colleagues might set him up with a life lesson, whereas if the President is in the wrong, well he might eventually see a lot of very angry guns being pointed at him.

And the moral? I don't know. I don't think there was one. This was merely an exercise in futility. Hope you had fun!

Happy Birthday To Meeeee

Well, today the earth has spun around for another full cycle in my existence on this small blue blob we call home. Sometime between noon and 1pm of this day, I was born some 29 odd years ago. The world, has yet to be the same.

It's my typical habit, you may have noticed, to be regretful about a day like today. To mourn the loss of time, and all the things I had wanted to accomplish, but never got around to. Most days, I would consume healthy doses of stiff drink and harsh reality, and try to come to terms with the failures fed by my procrastination and perfectionism.

Today doesn't feel like one of those days.

Today, I think I'll try something a little different, and celebrate a few milestones I've managed to bring forth in these 365 days. Because somehow, I was able to do a few things worth commending.

So, for this, the first day of March, here are ol' Boogie's milestones:

• For the first time in 6 years, the label on the back of my pants says 36 instead of 38.
• For the first time in 11 years, I have short hair.
  
• For the first time in over a decade, I actually gained more friends then I lost
  
• For the first time since her adoption, my dog can be trusted to run around without a leash.
• For the first time in 15 years, I'm comfortable with my musical sound.
• For the first time ever, I have an album in the world.

The last one's quite the head trip for yours truly. For a long time now, I've blown out birthday candles (or opened beer bottles or wept into towels, depending on which of my birthdays you pick from,) and told myself, "This will be the year I do it!" The next birthday would come along, and I would find myself no closer to that goal. Another year of my sonic goodness remaining trapped in hard drives, cassettes, or my aging noodle. Always assuming that next year, things would be done.

And here it is, the 29th birthday, and I'll be damned if I didn't actually do it.

I finally have an album. A musical baby of my very own. Granted, it's not the powerhouse rock opus that I had thought it would be all those years ago. It doesn't revolutionize or change the way people perceive music. Matter of fact, it would be a flat out lie to even say it rocks. But it's mine, no apologies about it.

Matter of fact, I almost have two of the damn things. Despite a few setbacks, I've almost managed to make two complete works with my pitiful handwriting all over them. I'm feeling pretty good about this whole mess I've made for myself.

Now, I admit it would be a lie to say, that in the four short months it's been out, that my music has taken the world by storm. Things are still pretty quiet on the BGO front. But, people are listening, and that's always good. Plus, I have yet to hear someone say they hate the album so much, that they rue the day it became public. Bonus points for me.

So one year short of thirty, and I am able to find things to be optimistic about. How about that? Age is something I dread less than I used to. My pants fit better and I am certainly less disgusted with what I see in the mirror. Life is good people.

So, I'm gonna leave you now. Tip a glass of Merlot, slice a slab of cake, and indulge in the simple pleasures of breathing and existing, steeped with high amounts of sugar and a bit of libation. I hope today, birthday or no, is equally pleasing to you all.

From the top everybody,

"Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday dear Boogie,
Go buy my CD."

All the best.