...dogs begin to smell her...

At times, my mind combines a memory with something happening in the present and I get a mini-eureka moment.

A few nights ago, out with my paramour singing karaoke (yep, guilty pleasure #43) someone with too much of the king of Belgian beers in him, begins a male pop-standard krooner (a song any low-voice can belt out at zero-dark-thirty after driving is no longer an option). He sang as I read the screen over his head:

When the dogs do find her
Got time, time, to wait for tomorrow
To find it - to find it - to find it
When the dogs do find her
Got time, time, to wait for tomorrow
To find it... to find it... to find it

Where ya going for tomorrow?
Where ya going with that mask I found?
And I feel, and I feel
When the dogs begin to smell her
Will she smell alone?

And I recall assisting on a death investigation decades ago, in Georgia, where a husband murdered his wife, drug her body out into a copse of trees behind their housing complex, camouflaged it with a small quantity of leaves and twigs, and then continued his daily routines. He called in-laws (this is pre-cellphones) asked to speak with her, informed them she'd left after an argument and would turn up there soon, '...tell her I apologized and she should come home...'.

Kids found the body after a few days. He confessed. Part of the end of his statement is paraphrased here:

I couldn't leave her in the house anymore...the smell was gettin too bad...the dog was always sniffin at the door to the room. ...figure I'd be able to buy me some time if I put her outside.

What were your plans in regard to the time you were buying by putting her outside? (An effective interrogation technique when a pause gets too long: frame a question using previously stated words.)

I wasn't. ...didn't think bout nothin. I need some time to find a plan.

Did you find a plan?

No, you guys showed up before I had a chance to.

[Name] it's been more than a week since then, (another technique: always avoid saying 'since the murder' or 'killing' or even 'death') you went to work, talked with people, all kinds of things; in all that time you didn't come up with any idea of what you were going to do?

Well. I knew I needed to do somethin soon. But I thought I'd have more time.

I learn from wiki, today, that Scott Wieland of Stone Temple Pilots allegedly wrote the lyrics to Plush after reading a San Diego newspaper article about a woman's body in the woods. The song was recorded in 1992. The crime I reference above occurred in 1990.

Is this just another example of nothing new under the sun, or, every idea that can be thought has already been thought? Or, in this case, acted out and said?

The artist's job is to be a witness to his time in history. — Robert Rauschenberg (1925-2008)

Plush, interrogation technique, Murder, Stone Temple Pilots, investigation

NIGHTMARE

This was a first for me. Although I've had a few memorable nightmares as a child and a couple scary dreams as an adult; never something like this:

I wake up (I'm on my back) and look to my right. There is a short boy, maybe seven years old, standing next to the bed; less than three feet away from me. In the darkness, I can clearly see his outline, darker than the white section of wall which separates the darker closet door and the darkest open bathroom doorway. Someone has entered my house, my room, my sleeping personal space without me hearing them...I scream a no-word holler. He freezes (he may have been walking toward the bathroom). I roar again. Trying for maximum volume, maybe I'll scare him away. He winces a little. I shout, "who are you!?" (I'm beginning to sit up). He moves away maybe an inch or two. Louder, again, "who are you!!?" and lunge with both hands for his throat.

I wake up. My pointing fingers have just hit the wall. My eyes feel like they were already open and I sit back on the bed as the thought: 'I just bellowed awfully loud, everyone must be awake,' is buried by the knowledge my voice feels un-strained, in fact, it feels un-used at all. My heart is racing. Not a creature is stirring, not even the cat. My focus centers on the bathroom, where the familiar dim glow of a nightlight incongruously bumps my now-obvious dream memory of 'the darkest doorway'.

That little ghost almost scared the piss out of me—I'll bet my going for his throat gave him a bit of a pause, though.

Portland OR — Reasons (#5)

Get-around-ability

A dozen rational reasons to enjoy living in Portland, Oregon: Number five.

Many cities have some of these effective, "green", and positive transportation qualities, and some have many of them, but only Portland has all:

• Fully integrated metropolitan-suburban bus system.
• Major light-rail system connecting many eastern, western, and northern suburbs (growing to the south).
• Trolley-cars covering the downtown area.
• Extensive bicycle paths, lanes, and secure parking areas (some covered). A very "bicycle/alternative transportation (alt-trans) friendly" environment.
  
• Bicycle racks on the front of most buses and inside all train cars.
• Laws permitting/promoting alt-trans on most public streets and sidewalks (skateboards, roller-blades, Segways, scooters, etc.).
• A convenient international airport connected to every transportation system.
• A huge fair-less downtown zone where all public transportation is free.
• No sedan chairs and footmen, which is a shame, but there are always bicycle carts downtown (at all hours).
  

Ideas of...relaxed symmetry have been something—for years—that I've been concerned with because I think that symmetry is a neutral shape as opposed to a form of design. — Robert Rauschenberg (1925-2008)

Altruistic Evil

Altruism is defined as a selfless act of kindness. While saying altruistic kindness is rhetorically redundant (like free gift or rhetorical redundancy), the term altruistic evil is an oxymoron, used in an overt attempt to draw attention to the paradox (e.g. cold fire).

The first step is to determine when an act can be labeled as altruistic. When doing so, there is but one hurdle: identifying the elusive absence of self-benefit.

When searching for a perfect example, invariably, Mother Theresa’s name arises. I posit that although her actions were without material gain, she was motivated by a self-imposed duty to her deity and–like any religious zealot’s–her sights were always on receiving an “ultimate reward,” (which the faithful believe is received after death). Altruism was, consequently, not present.

Ten years ago, when Ted Turner made a magnanimous gift of one billion dollars, the term altruism was used. This wasn't altruism. Besides obvious tax benefits, anyone who blares their own horn (at the time, CNN–his own international media company–touted his largess incessantly) clearly intended to profit socially, politically, and historically.

The best example of altruism is a hypothetical one: A non-suicidal atheist, with no life insurance, dives on a grenade to save the lives of the men in his foxhole. Although the atheist’s death is not a requirement, his belief that the grenade is going to detonate is.

Selfishness, commonly used to define the opposite of altruism, is a bland and ineffective term. The best label for committing selfless acts of unkindness is: Altruistic Evil. At first glance, one may think most acts of unkindness are selfless acts. That's untrue. I suspect almost every act of evil is committed with self-gratification as the primary raison d'être.

Suicide bombers, kamikaze pilots (the 11 Sep 01 pilots have joined their ranks), Nazi concentration-camp soldiers, the reverend Jim Jones, Hitler, Pol Pot, The Son of Sam, Jeffery Dahmer, the dude who tossed the aforementioned hand-grenade; whomever one envisions as the embodiment of the antithesis of the insurance-less atheist in the foxhole–their motivations can almost always be labeled: duty, loyalty, greed, self-aggrandizement, or martyrdom.

I qualify this with the addendum that many evil people (possibly, many of those listed above) were irrational or insane and although it may be argued that killing because ‘your neighbor’s German Shepard told you to’ qualifies as selfless–I contend that any action taken to please one’s inner voices qualifies as the ultimate in selfishness...even if one is too much of a snapperhead to recognize the voices are internal.

The best examples of evil altruism are hypothetical: An apolitical atheist adds a lethal poison to the machinery near the beginning of a food supply; without knowing the destination of the food, with no specifically identified targets, and with no chance of being caught. Then, the poisoner never tells anyone. Or... A wallet is found on the ground (no matter if it's empty or contains someone's life savings) and the person who found it, drops it in a dumpster without opening it.

It could be argued that the ‘thrill factor’ is sufficient personal benefit to disqualify these as selfless acts of unkindness. (Possibly a similar thrill of accomplishment which motivates computer-virus designers and their older hacker-cousins.) But, couldn't the grenade-diver's training or conditioning have influenced his decision to "take the biggest-possible-one for the team" be loyalty? And if the three seconds–between diving and boom–was filled with self-pride, then, was it altruistic? Also, is death a viable measuring stick?

To measure altruistic evil you also have to determine intent. Just like loyalty, duty, honor, and martyrdom disqualify ones actions from being altruistic; carelessness, negligence, apathy, and accidental acts lack sufficient malice to qualify as evil.

I realize there is, really, no conclusion to be made here. In fact, as I typed these paragraphs, I came to the conclusion that I have no real point to make. Except this: a word exists that defines an act that, arguably, can not exist. And its opposite, also, seems impossible.
evil, Mother Theresa, altruism, Ted Turner, altruistic

Harvest Festival

My paramour Pam
a native of this great land
whom I think is grand

I don't give any thanks today.

For non-North American readers: today is a national holiday called Thanksgiving, which many Red-White-and-Blue (read: Republican-Caucasian-and-Bluecollar) citizens celebrate by giving thanks to an invisible creator-deity for bestowing them with the wonderful land on which they have formed a country. When they give thanks, they blithely fail to recognize the uncounted millions of murders and deaths their ancestors committed and orchestrated to "clear the land" of the indigenous people that previously occupied it. When I attempted to discuss this with my mother, she replied, tersely, "I don't choose to think of it in that manner." Way to go mom; way to stick to your ancestors guns. (There's a joke in there.)

The woman I love is of the Tohono O'Odham nation (pronounced: Toe-OH-no OhOh-dAHme). Although I've never been comfortable celebrating many, or most, holidays—especially those usurped by religious nutters (who I call 'prazy folk')—I find the thought of celebrating North American Thanksgiving (or Columbus Day)...both lovingly referred-to in our house as: indigenous death days...like a Brit celebrating US Independence Day, the French celebrating Cinco de Mayo, or an Aboriginal native celebrating Australia Day.

Bottom line: It isn't always a party when the bully wins.

Teachers of children in the United States of America wrote this date on blackboards again and again, and asked the children to memorize it with pride and joy: 1492. The teachers told the children that this was when their continent was discovered by human beings. Actually, millions of human beings were already living full and imaginative lives on the continent in 1492. That was simply the year in which sea pirates began to cheat and rob and kill them. — Kurt Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions (1973)
thanksgiving, harvest festival, don't celebrate, indigenous death day, 1492

fortunate fortnight

digital rendering by veach st glines — 2008

Portland OR — Reasons (#6)

Bookstores

A dozen rational reasons to enjoy living in Portland, Oregon: Number six.

A conducive climate exists here, literally and figuratively, for a proliferation of bookstores. The desire to escape the dreary autumn-thru-winter weather—inside a book—has given rise to a plethora of new and used bookstores. The best and favorite are the Powell's stores, of which there are at least five (the largest of which covers a city block x 4 stories tall). Also, there are dozens of specialty stores (used paperbacks, comics, etc.), a few national chains (Borders, B. Dalton), and a wonderful library system.

Are we foolish to be so elated by books in an age of movies and television? Not in the least, for our ability to read, when combined with libraries...makes us the freest of women and men - and children. — Kurt Vonnegut, Palm Sunday (1999)

Jobs

Following in the footsteps of Mr Allen—of Wampeters, Foma and Granfalloons—who enjoys Vonnegut and (accordingly) has, maybe, the best esoteric name for a personal-blog (with Shouting to hear the echoes, still, the best in the non-esoterica category *wink*), I provide my list of jobs:

• St Johns Elementary - brooms, buffers, mops, toilet brushes, and incinerator duty.
• Peru Country Club - cart/club rental and cleaning, pro shop sales, spying on the lifeguard in the red one-piece, listening to the radio, stealing orange soda all day and playing in the evening for free.
• Peru Animal Hospital - assist with surgeries, clean runs and cages, clean everything, learn not to use abrasive cleaner on metal, gain insight into: I may not want to become a veterinarian.
  
• Essex Wire (weekend midnight shift) - injection mold presses (hot and boring), cardboard box construction; learn to despise: solely-for-a-paycheck jobs and the zombies who've done them for so-long they hate any spark of intelligence (brains!).
• Mississinewa Lake State Park - lawn mowers, tractors (learn to drive a stick), garbage truck detail, public-park latrine duty, paint brushes, chain saw, back hoe, weed-eaters, poison ivy; "Lefty" Graf's obsession with road-side cleanup.
• The Chocolate Factory - sandwich preparation, ice cream cones, robbed by a con artist; learn to despise: retail food service jobs, juvenile employees (all of them) and customers (all of them).
• Milwaukee Metal Products - brake-press operator (bending metal); erase any doubt about how to become a zombie.
• McKinley Marina - fee collection boat ramp, gas-jockey on a pier, security guard.
• infantryman - clean (everything is always dirty), type, drive, run (a lot), exercise, set up/tear down equipment, practice to use large killing machines (some of the machines themselves are large; some are small but the killing is large), practice to use equipment to protect from getting killed (large and small); learn to unequivocally despise every aspect of being a soldier (bar none).
• militarypoliceman - clean, type, drive (sometimes, really fast), run (less), exercise, give traffic citations, supervise some fucknuts, break-up fights, investigate petty dumbass-soldier crimes, practice using killing machines (one-on-one sized), practice using equipment to protect from getting killed (also small), help a small handful of people who needed it; learn there's too much soldier-stuff in MP-stuff.
• bodyguard - type, drive (rarely, really fast), run (again, little less), help babysit a couple of over-privileged grown adults and reinforce their pampered lifestyle; learn to despise snobs and elitists—even while protecting them from harm.
• criminal investigator - type, drive (mostly slow), run (much less), supervise some good people (and, still, some fucknuts), investigate serious felonies/deaths/thefts, incarcerate hundreds of bad to very-bad people, help thousands of people who needed it; learn "this bed's just right".
• artist - pens, inks, paper, canvas, brushes, computer screen & mouse, paint, giclee prints; learn peace of mind is blissful and the flow of creating gives me peace of mind.
• (updated Jun 2012)  newspaper carrier - insert, load, drive (very slow), bag, throw; groundhog day never ends; realize the depths I will go to pay bills/stay with the one I love.  
• (updated Oct 2014)  rental car driver / cleaner - drive, clean, vacuum, wash, rinse, repeat. Bills caught up = quit.
• (updated Oct 2022)  census-bureau clerk - call-center recruiter, data input, remind myself how miserably-bad government work is, and how miserably-terrible at least half the people in the world are; after catching C-19 = quit.
  

Synecdoche, New York = must see

Charlie Kaufman has just become one of my favorite directors.

The writer of such wonderfully bizarre films as Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (which he also produced) and Confessions of a Dangerous Mind has now accomplished a filmic-feat with very few peers: Synecdoche, New York — a work of existentialist art which transcends all accurate description.

You could read any two-dozen of these articles on MQRE about it and still be unprepared for the complex, phenomenal, accomplishments of Philip Seymour Hoffman (whom I suspect will win an Oscar), Samantha Morton, and Emily Watson.

If you are not highly entertained by films which challenge your thought processes, this film is not for you. Since Kaufman wrote, directed, and produced (his first in the director's chair) it is more complex, more convoluted and more cram-filled with metaphor and allegory than his previous films. Think Adaptation (one of his) meets American Spendor, with the intimacy of Requiem for a Dream and the humor of Being John Malkovich (also, one of his).
Synecdoche, NY, Charlie Kaufman, film, Philip Seymour Hoffman, movies

Portland OR — Reasons (#7)

Voting Simplicity

A dozen rational reasons to enjoy living in Portland, Oregon: Number seven

Step one: register to vote (like in every state).
Step two: receive ballot in the mail along with booklets detailing all propositions (including pro/con arguments)...about two weeks before election day.
Step three: fill ballot out.
Step four: seal ballot in your preprinted security envelope, sign outside of envelope, and place it inside another envelope.
Step three: mail ballot; or drive to polling station and drop it off at a drive-thru (and save the cost of a stamp); or if you have questions or need assistance you can take it inside and vote in a booth. I mailed mine. This is the easiest, most comfortable way to vote. I can't understand why every state doesn't have this capability.

True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country. — Kurt Vonnegut (1922-2007)