Death to Paper

    In the Op-Ed piece “Long Live Paper,” Justin B. Hollander states “…we shouldn't jump at a new technology simply because it has advantages…” Where would society be if this were the consensus when the idea for the automobile or airplane was conceived? Hollander’s primary gripe is that electronic readers (e-readers), applications for smartphones, and other electronic devices for reading and note taking are replacing tried and true methods of education like pencil, paper, and books. While he does raise a couple of points for legitimate worry, his primary argument seems to come more from a place of traditionalism versus innovation. The simple fact is this: electronic devices will be as revolutionary to education as the railroad was to western expansion, and are not only safe, but have actually become an even more effective learning tool than good old paper and pencil.

    Can replacing books with electronic devices really be “extremely dangerous,” as Hollander claims? He couldn't find any evidence to back his claim besides a vague statement by an independent researcher who stated the results of her studies are mixed. In fact, he speaks only of worries and possibilities of potential hazards to students. Nevertheless, the point needs to be conceded that, like in everything else, there must be some danger to the conversion.

    One foreseeable danger to using e-readers could be for those that would do so while driving. According to “Cognitive Distraction While Multitasking in the Automobile,” distracted driving accounted for 25 percent of all crashes in 2008. Keep in mind however, that ‘distracted driving” can encompass more than just texting or changing the radio station. It can also include reading a bumper sticker, changing clothes, or eating a cheeseburger. Unfortunately, people will continue to find new ways to entertain themselves on a busy highway, en route to grandma’s house with or without this new technology. Still, preparations must be made for e-readers to catch some of the blame for a driver’s negligence. As strange as it sounds, a student causing an accident while doing homework behind the wheel may become a part of this terrible statistic. While this may support, in a way, how physical harm can come to a person using the e-reader by proxy, can the Kindle or a Nook injury a person directly?

    With the introduction of Amazon’s Kindle and other e-readers came the birth of Electronic Ink (E-Ink). Reed College, among other institutions, was one of the first to try these new devices in an academic setting. In their report they noted that the device’s mimicry of an actual page was not only “extremely legible,” but also brought less visual fatigue than paper after many hours of reading (Marmarelli 2). This study shows that not only is an e-reader safe on the eyes, but is also even better than a standard textbook. Perhaps the ability to instantly jump from one place in the book to another plays some small part to stress relief, or maybe it is the ability to go from project to research sources in almost an instant. Could this immediate access to the internet and source material develop into a problem as well?

One of the greatest dangers would have to be that to academia—not in a veritable “book-burning,” but more specifically, to the use of credible source material. It is the hope of every college professor and school teacher that students would know better than to trust the word of “SmackBot” and his definition of “spectral bands” on Wikipedia, but it happens time and time again. With the ability to seek out source material and write a research paper all on one device, it is important to instruct students on gathering credible sources that may go beyond the standard one hour block of instruction that most institutions host, to which students may or may not attend. More effort is needed to ensure this issue is addressed within the class at the instructor’s level. It is not enough to tell students “Don’t use Wikipedia.” Students need to be shown how to use the institution’s database, as well as the advanced features that can be found on many of the search engines like Google. Sadly, this is a current problem not unique to e-readers.

    Reading further into the editorial, Hollander claims that while he can see the benefits of such a lightweight device, there really is no need for it with the advent of the rolling backpack. Sure, the rolling backpack has been monumental in making that heavy load of textbooks and notes lighter to move around, but what about the overall clutter when sitting in the classroom? For that matter, why bother carrying all of that stuff at all?

In many cases, classes are already filled to the max, and it can be a nightmare to find room for even the lightest backpacks, much less that airport luggage. E-readers allow students to scan those notes and enter them into the tiny device alongside what would physically be more than twenty pounds of books. Even more incredibly, with the aid of a stylus, notes can even be taken in real time, handwritten. Considering this, the rolling backpack is more of a burden than anything else. As far as security goes, losing papers and even entire notebooks is a sad fact of life that most people have experienced, no matter what kind of bag they use for storage. E-readers and applications provide the option of saving locally to a hard disk, saving to a flash drive, and saving to virtual storage on the web. Forgetting a backpack at home came be pretty frightening when there is a deadline, but with an electronic device there is no longer a need to freak out and rush back home. Today, it is as simple as finding a local school computer, downloading the homework or speech from a cloud server, and printing it off.

    According to “Long Live Paper,” American society is quick to toss out the old ways in exchange for the new. Hollander even compares the rail system that once dominated the United States and its dismantling of it to make way for automobiles to America’s impending conversion to electronic devices. Is that so bad? The fact that many people wake up of their own accord when they are supposed to in lieu of being jolted awake by the rumbling of tons of steel and passenger cars could be considered a benefit to technological advancement. The same could be said with paper and electronic devices. The decrease in desktop and backpack clutter is done away with, leaving a workspace that is neat and tidy, and eliminating the noise of students that tend to pack up early and interrupt an instructor’s lecture. This only lends credence to Hollander’s traditionalistic stance, and his reluctance to let go of an outdated system.

    Is this a “technology-inspired extinction” as Hollander claims? Hardly—it is more of a revamping or a transformation of something that was good into something that is better. Hard copies will still be printed, cataloged, and stored for safekeeping so that traditionalist may still have access, or in case of a catastrophe, it can be easily retrieved. If the e-reader revolution takes off in-full, think of all of the paper waste that could be negated. How many trees could be saved with this technology?

    The dependence these items have on a power source can be seen as a drawback, but with continued advances in technology, solar powered systems are just around the corner. Until then, keep in mind that the charge on the basic Kindle e-reader can last for up to a month or more. Nothing comes without some maintenance. After all, pencils need to be sharpened, papers have to be stapled, and books wear out and must be reprinted. All things considered, charging the device seems a rather small price to pay in comparison to the benefits.

    A study in 2002 on twelve eighth-grade students was conducted to determine if using e-readers or traditional books would be more beneficial in the areas of comprehension, engagement, and reading strategies. Before the experiment, all of the students scored at least two grade levels below what they should have on the Standardized Testing and Reporting (STAR) Comprehension Test. After four weeks, the students were retested, and those that had used the e-readers, showed significant gains in engagement and comprehension strategies, thanks in part to the easily accessible functions for defining unknown words (Poage VII).

    While using traditional books has become a comfortable norm for some, the positive results to using electronic devices cannot be ignored. To do so would be blatantly irresponsible to a generation that has been proven to excel with it. For most people, change is a terribly frightening thing in and of itself. This fact is only compounded with knowing that this change will reshape a system that has been in place for millennia. What must remembered however, is that this will be a change made in the best interest of all, just as thousands of years ago, the first oral communication was transcribed onto a delicate piece of papyrus. Things must move forward. These devices offer education on a global scale. Via a virtual Alexandrian Library, humanity will have access to vast amounts of cultures, sciences, and mathematics. To halt this advance because of unnecessary worries that have absolutely no merit besides a stubborn sense of traditionalism is madness. By knowing what e-readers and applications can bring to the world and the new discoveries that will certainly be made using them as a tool, is this really something that should be halted?

Works Cited

Hollander, Justin. "Long Live Paper." Editorial. The New York Times. 9 Oct. 2012. Web. 14 Oct. 2012.

Marmarelli, Trina. The Reed College Kindle Study. Diss. Reed College, 2002. Portland: Reed, 2010. PDF file.

Poage, Cheryl Lynn. What are the Effects of eReaders Vs. Print Text on Struggling Eighth Grade Readers in the Language Arts Classroom? Diss. Wichita State University, 2002. Wichita: Wichita, 2011. PDF file.

Strayer, David, Jason Watson and Frank Drews. "Cognitive Distraction While Multitasking in the Automobile." Brian Ross. The Psychology of Learning and Motivation. Burlington: Academic Press, 2011. 29-58. PDF file.

American Gods by Neil Gaiman: An Analysis

Neil Gaiman doesn’t give a lot of hearty backgrounds to the gods he utilizes within his work. It’s left to the reader to interpret them via some prior experience of researching the myths or through the use of a nearby dictionary or trusty search engine. Someone with no prior knowledge may not understand why The Three Sisters choose to alternate their sleep patterns. In fact, I never knew of The Three Sisters, Czernobog, or many others he used as characters prior to beginning this novel.

Remarkably, after doing some research into the many different gods used in American Gods, Gaiman’s interpretation is extremely close to the original myths… So long as you see the clues he leaves. Take The Three Sisters for example: These are Slavic goddesses, often referred to as “The Fates” or “The Weekday Goddesses.” They protect the world from Simgarl, a Doomday Hound that, left unchecked, will devour and destroy the universe. In the novel, The Three Sister’s vigilance shows by way of the alternating sleep patterns they use, always on guard to protect us from death and destruction.

Furthermore, Gaiman adheres to the relationships of the pantheons and the peoples by whom they were worshiped by simply having them live together under the same roof. The Three Sisters share a small apartment with “The Black God” Czernobog who’s also rooted in Slavic myth. He’s the god of death, destruction, and chaos, but he isn’t really portrayed by Gaiman as “evil.” He comes off more as unhinged, mostly due to not killing in such a long time. In fact, this is how the main character, Shadow, persuades him to join the cause: by promising to let Czernobog kill him after. American Gods goes to great lengths, not only to remain true to the gods it represents, but also to show the relationships between them all. They are all affected by the infiltration of the new gods, and therefore serve a common purpose. They refuse to just die off and fade away further.

Gaiman didn’t really retell a myth per say, more like he took from existing characters and told a completely different story while maintaining a respect for the backgrounds of each. He takes Loki, Anansi, and several others and uses the myths provided by their respective cultures and intricately weaves a story using their special gifts. While this saves him from concocting some long and drawn-out back story for each person, many readers will be at a loss with trying to figure out just who is who. But that’s okay. As the story progresses, a background into each god would just become tedious anyway, and they aren’t really necessary for you to grow to love or hate that particular person or for the story to progress. Researching further into one of the characters would only be a personal point of interest at this point – a curiosity to be cured by Google. However, it's hard after reading the novel to not become enthralled by certain gods and their mythos.

Anansi is a trickster that originated in Africa and was brought to the United States via the slave trade during America’s youth. His name literally translates as “spider” from Akan, and is said to be his true form, even though he often takes the appearance of a man. Still, he remains affixed to nature in his stories. Through Anansi, Gaiman exhibits the character’s innate demeanor when he details the story of how he tricked the Tiger into giving him his balls.

American Gods was more than a mystery. It was a mystery within a mystery – specifically in the main character Shadow. Through most of the novel the reader is at an utter loss as to which god in history he was meant to represent. The character never even really knows himself. However, there are clues littered here and there that hint to his forgotten persona, but would go unnoticed by many with little knowledge of Norse mythology. When speaking to Shadow’s wife, Loki mentions ending it all right then and there by sharpening a stick of mistletoe, going down to the ash tree and sticking it between his eyes. The god Baldr could only be killed with mistletoe. This specific reference wasn’t a coincidence. Gaiman was identifying the god straightaway. The problem with most people is in the to details and having prior knowledge. Still, other characters weren't as difficult to identify.

Mr. Ibis and Mr. Jacquel are fairly straight forward as far as many of the other gods Gaiman used goes. That they operated a mortuary in Little Egypt in Southern Illinois, makes it fairly easy to determine just who they were meant to represent. Mr. Ibis (Thoth) worked as an undertaker, coinciding with what could be seen as an almost lateral move from his work as Judge of the Dead, and his godly aspect even had the head of an ibis. Gaiman goes deeper into the character. “The important thing to understand about American history, wrote Ibis, in his leather-bound journal, is that it is fictional, a charcoal-sketched simplicity for the children, or the easily bored” (Gaiman, pg 85). Via this quote, Gaiman shows another of Thoth’s attributes as a divine record keeper.

While we’ve come to accept death as inevitable, we strive to take advantage of what time we have and define ourselves by our possessions and the people around us. We try in vain to project a façade that says, “I don’t need those things,” or “I don’t need anyone’s help,” but without watching a movie or reading a book, how would we know whether to be noble or villainous? Where would we be without the sociality we garner from the people that have become integral parts in our lives? Through their standards of judging our actions, who could say what is actually right or wrong? Ultimately, they are what make us who we are. We need them. In a way, we look to them for our strength. Without them, would we really have a sense of self-awareness; an in-depth perspective into who we are?

The idea of the deities of American Gods feeding off of us isn’t as farfetched as some might think. People also feed on the others around them. Studies have shown that social isolation is extremely hazardous to humans. “Social isolation has been shown repeatedly to prospectively predict mortality and serious morbidity both in general population samples and in individuals with established morbidity, especially coronary heart disease” (House, par 1). People will continue to insist that they really don’t need anyone, but when it boils down to it, if we didn’t have each other, we would simply die off as well. Gaiman played into this in his novel.

Interestingly, American Gods was able to bring together several myths, unchanged, into a uniquely original amalgam of mystery, horror, adventure, and drama. It remained true to the historical cultures from which the deities were borrowed and encouraged the reader to root for a lone hero that would have impressed Joseph Campbell. Gaiman manages to follow the Campbell model as a perfect timeline, but one of the most memorable points is when Shadow crosses the threshold. When he is hanged in the tree and actually dies it’s a major turning point for the character and sets his resolve.

American Gods is a masterpiece and instant classic made so because of vivid storytelling and detailed research. To have so many dynamic characters and be able to weave them all together harmoniously as Gaiman has done takes great skill. His use of mythology sets a new precedent for other writers. While it can be a bit of a culture shock going into this novel with very little background on early myths, after brushing up on a few notable ones here and there, the book becomes spectacular. In the end, like any other cognitive being, these gods don’t want to be simply pushed aside to make way for the new gods. The novel puts the reader in their shoes, and even makes us reflect upon our own humanity. Ask yourself: Could we really exist without the companionship or comradery of another individual – someone with whom we could express our innermost fears and desires? Would we want to?




Works Cited
BIBLIOGRAPHY Gaiman, Neil. American Gods. New York, 13 Oct 2009. Kindle .MOBI.
House, James S. Social Isolation Kills, But How and Why? Ann Arbor, 12 Mar 2001. PDF.
Knight, Shawn C. Ancient Egyptian Religion II: The Hermopolitan and Other Pantheons. 24 Mar 2009. PDF. 5 May 2012.

Cute from a Distance

I find it profoundly interesting how when we are children we can hold another individual, whether it be a brother or sister, mother or father, or even a television icon such as the Lone Ranger on such a lofty pedestal built of all of the things we hope to be when we’re older. We see them as the perfect specimen of humanity and dress like them or act like them, reveling in the attention that they perpetually pour over us. Still, more interesting is on that fateful day when we witness some profound event that mars the perspective of our heroes forcing us into the reality that they are only human after all, and one of your last childhood traits becomes changed forever. You can almost feel it as it happens. For me, the change happened when I was eleven-years-old in 1987.

We lived far out into the country and friends were slim and hard to find. Imaginations run amok when there are few others to fan the flame of ingenuity. The only other playmates I seldom saw were my nephews and it was with their help that I had converted an old hog pen into Fort Awesome: Base of operations for one of the greatest special operations strike teams the rabbits and frogs of Dublin, Georgia had ever seen. We even had matching capes, courtesy of my mother’s towels hanging on the clothesline. Our major weakness, however, was bees. Nothing was sure to scatter our ranks quite like stumbling into a hidden hive in a tree or under the roof of the shed. On those occasions it was every man for himself.

On this particularly hot July day, I happened to be sitting in Fort Awesome alone, playing with several G.I. Joe toys when I saw my father approach from the house. He strolled, as he often did, in no real hurry. His hands were in the front pockets at his hips of his overalls that, together with the old red T-shirt and abnormally thick glasses, seemed to be his uniform. His favorite cigars, as cheap as any ever made which I believe must have been comprised of a fifty-fifty ratio of extremely bad tobacco and Canadian thistle, were just visible at the top of his chest pocket. Whenever he lit up it was like someone had set fire to a sugar cane plantation and was attempting to dowse the flames with cow manure.

“Hey, bubba,” he paused to puff that vile Swisher Sweet before taking it from his lips, “what’re you up to over here?” He surveyed the area of Fort Awesome, taking in the carnage that was the many broken action-figures scattered over the ground around me. I felt that the addition of the element of scorched earth with the aid of cherry bombs and other fireworks was imperative in simulating realistic battlefield conditions. Where Cobra and G.I. Joe clashed on that morning it was Antietam, and many of the brave that survived were left double-amputees. I hoped with all hope that he wouldn’t notice the tiny burn marks in the hip and shoulder joints of the toys. If he discovered I had the firecrackers he would surely take them and leave me with a heated backside.

I found that I wanted to keep the forward momentum of the conversation in motion, leaving him little time to deduce how the genocide had taken place, “Nothing Daddy. I was just playin’ army. When are Chris and Brad and David comin’ over?” I was referring to my nephews, the other members of the special task force. Their mother, my sister Mary, had taken them shopping for school clothes and I knew they wouldn’t be coming, but I had to say something.

“Their momma’s got ‘em at J.C. Penny, gettin’ ‘em clothes for school. They ain’t comin’ today.” He tussled my hair as if to cheer me up, no doubt due to the pitiful lip I thrust outward in an attempt to garner some sympathy, as he told me this. My face looked like it had half of a life raft protruding from it, but the ploy worked magnificently. He had clearly moved on from his inspection of the battlefield, granting me some respite from being annihilated at the hands of an enraged and worried father. The mission had been a success! I had obtained a victory that would allow me to risk blowing my fingers from my hands one more day.

The left corner of his mouth lifted and the cigar dipped low in his right, as the subtle hint of a smile touched his face. “I’m gonna go take a walk. Wanna tag along?”

Walks with my dad were nothing new but I loved every second of them. As we would walk he would point out a plant that had some healing properties or could be used as a food source or a snake that was harmless and a spider that was deadly. He seemed to know everything and I always had questions aplenty that desperately needed answering – doozies like, “Who would win in a fight between a werewolf and a vampire,” or “What’s the fastest thing ever,” never being more specific than that. Sometimes he would laugh outright at the silliness in the question but he always seemed to have an answer that made sense to me.

I jumped to my feet. “Okay,” I said giving away my excitement as I hurriedly dusted off my breeches. He threw his arm over my shoulders and we walked, making way for a path we had trampled down over many of our previous hikes. We walked through the old peanut field lined by the dense forest that shrouded our trail to the North and West but seemed to go on eastward indefinitely. Our conversation was the usual. He asked me how I was doing in school, and of course, I would lie, deciding it best not to wander down that road at least until we received our report cards. My poor performance didn’t stem from any lack of intelligence, nor was that I simply wasn’t being challenged enough. No, I felt it far more important to prod my classmates into hysterical and uncontrollable laughter by any means necessary. With all the hard work of being the clown, there was little time left for trivial things such as writing down my assignments or taking notes. It wasn’t like I would ever need that stuff again anyway.

Once we entered the woods across the field it was as if we stepped onto another planet. The air was at once cooler and the trees were alive with the tweet of the thrashers and the whoot-whoot of the dove, the chattering of squirrels busily jumping from this tree to that one in some great hurry. The smells of the pine and honeysuckle assaulted me suddenly making my head swim a little with the wonderful fragrance of the world around me, and I could even detect the faintest odor of the swamp that lay a mile or so further to the west. By way of our walks, I had developed quite a love for the woods and nature in general. Sometimes, I walked by myself through that shaded sea of green, feeling utterly alone, yet in the company of several beings at the same time. The place was alive and it had both the power to save you or utterly destroy you. I found that feeling as exhilarating then as I do now.

After a half hour of walking and talking, a strange chattering stole our attention to a gnarled old pine. Upon first glance I had no idea what made the sound. I had never heard anything like it before and I would be dishonest if I didn’t tell you I was a little scared.

“Looky there, boy,” my father whispered anxiously.

I looked to the hollow in the base of the tree indicated by the pocket-knife-manicured finger my dad had stabbed into the air before him. What I saw there made me gasp with gleeful surprise, making my mouth contort into a weird half-open and half-smile kind of expression that would have looked much more at home on a Wodaabe tribesman. This was the first time I had ever seen a real raccoon up close and I was completely taken in by the furry little guy. He was curled into a ball as if he had just been sleeping and the eyes within that black mask looked at us as if asking, “What the hell are you two supposed to be?” It was completely calm looking and I could have sworn I could have walked right up to it and started petting it.

Dead commanded, “Stay still,” as he crept slowly to his left to retrieve a large piece of oaken deadfall. I was shaking my head the whole time, screaming in my mind NO, hoping that the animal might somehow pick up on my mental objections to my father’s forthcoming actions and run for its life. My father was moving in closer trying to remain as stealthy as an assassin. However, his sneaking was more on par with a three-legged bear with a clogged Eustachian tube, but for some unknown reason, the raccoon never moved an inch. It seemed like there was some deep-seeded trust for people that it had. I wondered if this animal had been raised in captivity and simply gotten loose. My father was within an arm’s length of the critter when he raised that wooden cudgel like an executioner raising a headsman’s axe. The animal gave no sign of fear for the malice about to rain down upon it. “Run, damn you, run,” I screamed in my head. Didn’t he know he was about to die? Where was the instinct animals were supposed to have for these things?

As that club fell with a tremendous crack, my heart fell with it, and then all went silent in the woods of Dublin, Georgia. There wasn’t even the whistle of the birds anymore, as I stood mortified at what I had just witnessed. A tear freely ran down my cheek to crash rather loudly into the fallen leaves on the forest floor. My father, a man of impeccable integrity, the bravest soul I had ever known, and a noble, kind, and wise man that I hope to emulate in every way as I grew older, turned his head back to me with a smile that bordered on insanity.

“I got him,” he victoriously announced, looking back down at the broken corpse of the murdered animal. Coldly, he snatched it up by a leg, and holding his trophy proudly aloft, brought it closer to me. “That’s twenty-five bucks for the pelt and some damn good eatin’ son! What a haul!”

His boasts fell on deaf ears. The animal I saw dangling lifeless from the iron grip of my father’s fist had a bead of blood drip from its nose to the earth beneath. I was horrified. “Stupid animal,” I yelled out in head. “If you would have just kept quiet, we would have walked right on by!” Neither my father nor the dead innocent knew my pain and inner torment at that time. I clenched my teeth and stared at the killer with hatred I never fathomed I could feel toward him and I think he could sense it. He tussled my hair once more, trying to disarm my ire.

He stepped past me and said, “Come on, bubba. Let’s get home.” He began whistling as we made our way back to the house. I never spoke a word to him. I could only replay that traumatic event over and over again in my mind, wishing each time that I had done something to stop him; tackled my father or something. I hoped that the occasional sniff that slipped from my tough façade of masculinity I tried to maintain would go unnoticed. I had to remain tough and composed in the presences of the old man, regardless of how nightmarish I found the affair, but it didn’t take an expert eye to tell I was quietly bawling.

We had just reached the center of the old peanut field not two hundred yards from home when there was an explosion of teeth, claws, and a scream that chilled me to the bone. After everything, it seemed that my father had only been successful in knocking the creature unconscious. Now, I don’t know if the thing had a powerful headache or if the thing was running solely on a survival instinct, but I would swear that the animal was livid and it was pure piss and vinegar that guided its actions from there on. It was payback time and a single sentence escape my lips that I’m sure my father would have heard had it not been for that piercing shrill emanating from that once helpless creature. “Oh shit!”

The two of them were locked in a primal struggle rolling this way and that kicking dust into the air that choked out much of the evening’s twilight. There was no method or strategy, only shear chaos and howls from both the raccoon and my father. My father yelled words that would have made a sailor blush and ask for forgiveness and I guarantee that if that animal could speak English it would have been throwing curses just a vulgar right back. All I could do was stand there, shock freezing me to immobility. That raccoon was like a blur as it dashed from my father’s arm to his hip, then back to the other arm, and then to a leg. The speed and ferocity of the attack was ridiculous. Had an adult lion stumbled upon the seen and witness the brutality set loose in that little bundle of tooth and claw, I’m positive to my core that it would have coward and turned the other way. Just like that, my pity for creature was transferred in an instant to the man being ruthlessly and unremorsefully punished in that dusty field.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity and as quickly as the whole thing started, the animal retreated to the tree line in a flash that made it’s form almost impossible to follow. My father lay very still on the ground before me and I could feel my heart in my throat as I trembled. Sure, I was mad at the guy, but did he really deserve to die at the paws of a scorned raccoon? Of course not! And what would I tell momma? “Hurry momma, call an ambulance! I think a crazy raccoon just killed daddy!” I shook my head vigorously, trying to dislodge the morbidly negative thoughts.

After another several heartbeats and worst case scenarios playing out in my head, the quiet was broken by a wild fit of coughing and the most forlorn moan I had ever heard. Thank God! Daddy was alive! I managed to regain control and rushed to kneel beside him, then slowly helped the old man to his feet. The destruction left in the wake of that vicious animal attack was completed by an overall strap torn asunder and hanging limply beneath his left breast that had somehow became exposed through a rather large rip in that T-shirt. His breathing came rapid and heavy; his hair a mess and he was caked in a mixture of blood and dirt. With a shaking chin and his teeth chattering a little he asked me to help him home.

I put his arm over my shoulders, acting as his crutch, I replied, “Yes, sir,” and we set off slowly. Nothing more was said as we walked, for we had both been rendered speechless by the calamity that had just unfolded. Later that evening my mother took my dad to the emergency room for a three hour wait in a crowded room and some terrible rerun playing out on the television. For all the wounds he accumulated that day, I believe the wound to his pride to be the worst by far. Until his death four years ago, this story was a forbidden topic for discussion, but for me, it was the day my hero became forever changed in my own perspective, however, as they lowered his body into the earth I knew without a doubt that the love I felt for that man never did.

A Letter to Burger King

I would like to start with my apologies. I was a terrible customer when I last visited your restaraunt in Oakland, Maryland. When we arrived my hunger had made me far too impatient with our cashier as she paced back and forth along the counter, occasionally glancing in my direction for about ten minutes. She was obviously trying to focus, to find her tantric center. We inexperienced people tend to jump too quickly into customer service. I envy her control.

When she was ready she walked to the register and simply looked at me. I knew this was my cue to order. What a pro! Not a "hello" or "how are you?" No time to waste on that trivial banter! I spoke my order as quickly as possible and she quoted a price while twisting her fingers through her beautiful bleach-blonde locks. My eyes were drawn to the deep-red hicky there on her neck. What a lovely contrast of the crimson on her milky-white skin! I handed her my money and watched her put it in the till.

Next, she expertly moved to the kitchen, avoiding the sink and soap. Washing those hands would just slow her down, now. What are germs, anyway? I say they're just a clever scheme by the government and pharmaceutical companies to sell their so-called "wonder tonics". Well, I don't buy it Mr. FDA! Skipping these useless and mundane steps, that cashier had my food out to me in just over ten minutes. Now that I look back, I was seriously impressed!

Here's where I crossed the line. I asked for ketchup! I don't know what I was thinking, asking for more when she had already gone above and beyond. I was so selfish. She said, "it's in the pump in the dining room."

"But, my wife really wants them in the packet."

"There's some out in the pump," she repeated. I deserved the harsh tone she was taking at this point. After all, look at how ungrateful I'd been by asking for ketchup packets.

"She really prefers the packets," I unwisely pressed. She could have pulled the butterfly knife I saw in her back pocket and plunged it deep into my jugular, screaming, "here's your fucking ketchup!" She showed me mercy this day, however and let me off with a loud sigh and an eye roll. She was so patient with me. I felt truly blessed.

In closing, I would like to thank you for giving me the chance to give you my money and serving me in return. Where else can I get service like that. I promise to strive to be a better customer in the future if you will only let me come back often and spend my hard-earned money on your expert service. May God bless you and keep you and may others learn from your expertise. Thank you for your time.

Richard Ward

Movie Night

So, last night was dinner and a movie with Kerrie (my wife) and Grace (my daughter) and our choice was The Hunger Games. In my opinion, this was one of the best film adaptations of a novel I've ever seen. Did they leave some things out? Of course they did, but we can't all sit through a four hour movie. Most of us have what some have come to refer to as a "life." Before venturing from your parent's basement, remember that, while Frodo's encounter with Tom Bombadill was fairly interesting to read, daylong movies just haven't caught on yet. If you think you're going to see your favorite novel on the big screen in all of its glorious entirety, better just stay home and inventory your action figure collection. The minor details they left out detracted from the story hardly at all. Instead of focusing on the mundane, as the Twilight adaptations were want to do, they centered more on the important things like the hardships of those living in poor districts, making it all seem so real. At the start of the actual Hunger Games the plot began to move much more rapidly, but overall, it was well done. Recommend!

Let It Begin

Past time I started a Blog. If you come here for enlightenment, you should probably click the "Back" button on your browser, because in here shit gets weird. As for who I am, in the words of one cinematic genius, "I've worn lots of shoes." Mostly I just while away my days taking in the world, observing its people, and making fun of it all. That's just who I am. If your overly sensitive I will most likely offend you. You should probably leave this blog now and go fuck yourself. There is your warning!

As for the rest of you, prepare yourselves for the raucous debauchery that I often refer to as "my thoughts."