God Bless the Heroes

God love our men and women in uniform. And God bless our injured men and women in uniform. Whether you agree with these bullshit wars or not is irrelevant. These fallen heroes deserve much more than they are allotted after they return home from duty. These injured, shell-shocked, sometimes limbless patriots need far more than a couple hundred dollars a month and minimal health care.

These patriots need empathy and genuine concern. They need a helping hand to assimilate back into civilian life, where the fear of IEDs and snipers are no longer necessary. They need the special understanding that only those who have smelled and survived war zones can offer.

I didn't see any action when I was in the Army. I was honorably discharged in October of 2002, literally a week before my unit's departure for the Middle East. As a soldier who never faced a firefight and who never watched a bullet shred the face of a close friend, I cannot relate to the experiences of true war veterans.

However, I CAN donate to foundations who CAN relate to the misery and bravery of our casualty-riddled troops. The Veterans' Coalition is one of the best in that regard. These volunteers take on the issues facing our veterans and try to provide an increased quality of life for our wounded warriors.

As with all charities, discernment needs to be utilized before donating. Sometimes non-profits like these can change overnight from a genuinely helpful institution to a corrupted den of thieves. The Veterans' Coalition fits the first description so far, but do your own research. There are many wonderful organizations that cater to the needs of our uniformed forces, so if this one doesn't interest you, I promise that there are others that will.

Most importantly, however, NEVER FORGET the wounded. They have internally taken the bullets and shrapnel that were meant for all of us, as a nation, without ever demanding thanks. The least we could do is provide them with some compassion and a helping hand. 25 years from now, I do not want to ever see any legless, homeless Iraq/Afghanistan veterans downtown, begging for someone to help push their wheelchairs. I have witnessed how Vietnam Vets have been neglected over the years and hopefully we will never let that same neglect befall these younger heroes.

Baldwin Center

I went to the Baldwin Center in Pontiac for my blogging class. The experience was really refreshing. I haven't immersed myself in public service for quite some time and I realized how much I missed volunteering when I shed my jacket and began hauling items to the basement of the food pantry.

Honestly, the experience invoked feelings of personal shame. Shame that it took a college class to remind me to "Love thy Neighbor." Shame that I didn't even know the Baldwin Center existed before the venture. Shame that I haven't been back yet.

Luckily, the experience rekindled the flickering passion inside of me that yearns to see a struggling people unite for common good and justice. Granted, this is the type of thinking that Glenn Beck would label Communistic and Naziesque,
but I've never cared what incoherent, simple-minded, hate and fear mongers think of me, so why start now?

Before I go into a long-winded tangent into Glenn Beck's hateful and dangerous comments, allow me to regroup and focus on the positivity of the Baldwin Center.

I was extremely touched by the food pantry and the clothes closet. The thought that people down on their luck could have a place to pick up soup and vegetables for their families makes me smile. The fact that the Baldwin Center actually does this on a daily basis forces a small tear to join the smile already on my face. What's more touching than knowing a hungry, innocent child will be bedding down with a nourished body?

The clothes closet is also essential. The "Glenn Becks" of the world like to berate poor folks for not having jobs, but who is going to hire someone arriving to a job interview wearing ripped jeans and a stained sweatshirt? After all, many hiring managers employ the same compassion as Beck does when it comes to the poor. The clothes closet allows folks to acquire proper clothing that can win them a job, and just as importantly, these men and women can acquire clothing that will shield them from the notoriously harsh Michigan winters.

Overall, visiting the Baldwin Center is an overlooked opportunity to extend love to people who have been given cold stares of indifference. I strongly recommend everyone shoot it a visit. The only disappointment your trip will bring is the sad realization that a soup kitchen/clothing closet like this is necessary in this land of milk and honey.

"Where ever you see a cop beatin' a guy
where ever a hungry, newborn baby cries
where ever there's a fight against the blood and hatred in the air
look for me Ma, I'll be there"
-Rage Against the Machine

Beef

We discussed sexist rap lyrics in my Women and Gender class tonight. I get irritated when people label all hip hop as misogynistic, violent, and lacking in substance. Old KRS-1 and BDP, Nas, and Mos Def are extrememly intelligent poets who do not deserve to be lumped in with idiots like T-Pain, Lil Wayne, and whoever is responsible for that shitty "stanky leg" song. The first time I heard "What's Beef", I immediately fell in love with it so I'm passing it along even though it's a few years old.


What's Beef?

Beef is not what Jay said to Nas
Beef is when the working folks can't find jobs
Steady trying to find niggas to rob
Tryin to find bigger guns so they can finish the job
Beef is when crack babies can't find moms
cause they in a pine box or locked behind bars
Beef aint the summer jam for HOT 9-7
Beef is the cocaine and AIDS epidemic
Beef don't come with a radio edit
Beef is when a judge is callin you "defendant"
Beef, it come with a long jail sentence
handed down to you in a few short minutes
Beef is when your girl comes through for a visit
talkin bout "I'm pregnant, by some other nigga"
Beef is high blood pressure and bad credit
need a loan for your home but you're too broke to get it
And all your little kids are doin is gettin bigger
and your tryin not to raise em around these wild niggas
Beef is when a golddigger got your seed in her
A manicured hand out like "Pay me nigga!
Or I'm tellin your wife
Or I'm startin up some foul rumor that'll ruin your life"
Beef is when a gangsta ain't doin it right
and another gangsta decidin what to do with his life
Beef is not what these famous niggas do on a mic
Beef is what George Bush would do in a fight
Beef ain't what Ja said to 50
But beef is Weldon Irv not bein here with me
When a soldier ends his life with his own gun
Beef is tryin to figure out what to tell his son
Beef is oil prices and geopolitics
Beef is Iraq, the West Bank, and Gaza Strip
Some beef is big and some beef is small
but what ya'll call beef, it's not beef at all
Beef is real life, happenin everyday
And it's realer than them songs that you get at Kay Slay
This has been a real nigga PSA
from Mos Def, Pretty Flaco, and Black Dante
The black star embassy, B to the K

-Mos Def

2 Stories, 1 Lie

I had a major decision to make before I shipped off to basic training. My '85 Buick Riviera needed a home. It wasn't going with me to El Paso. I knew that much. I flirted with donating it to the Purple Heart or the Vietnam Veterans of America; but instead, I decided to sell it to my coworker, Buster, who was down on his luck. He needed a car and it wasn't like anyone else was beating my door down to buy the bucket. The next day at work, I gave him the keys and he gave me a few hundred dollars. I told him to leave the plate on until he got it home so he wouldn't get harassed for driving without plates. I wanted to save the guy some hassle.

About a week later I got a notice from the Garden City Police Department. Apparently, my license plate was linked to a robbery at a Garden City gas station. Perfect. My recruiter will love to hear that I have a felony warrant against me with only two days before my ship out date.

I decided to take a proactive approach so I called the detective assigned to my case. I told him I sold the car to someone in a Farmer Jack parking lot and played it off like I was a dumb kid who didn't know that he was supposed to take the plate off. I'll never forget what the cop said to me over the phone. "Well sir, you sound Caucasian and the videotape shows the suspect to be Black."
Before I could decide whether that statement was racist or not, the detective told me that he would take care of the warrant and to call him if I could remember who I sold the car to.

I immediately called Buster after I hung up with the detective. He told me that he lent the car to one of his buddies over the weekend. I told him that I was cancelling the registration so he needed to figure something out. Buster quit a few days after we talked and a friend of mine from the job told me he saw my Riviera a few weeks later, burned out somewhere in a Brightmoor alley. That car lived a full life!

I started dating again about 2 or 3 months after my divorce. In retrospect, I didn't give myself enough recovery time. If I HAD taken some extra time to get myself together before getting involved with someone else, I could have avoided some major heart and headache. I met Mimi in a Spanish class at O.C.C. Instantly we noticed an intense chemistry since we were both aspiring writers, the same age, and had attended the same concert the previous weekend.

We immediately started dating and the more I got to know her, the more I realized she was the "perfect woman."
We called each other at work multiple times a day and I couldn't think about her without smiling. We became the nausiating, new couple who couldn't avoid public affection. I was so happy that I had found love again so soon after a devestating divorce.

We went out pubhopping on St. Patty's Day a couple months after we finished our Espanol class. I was at the bar ordering us some more green beer as I watched Mimi skip off to the bathroom. After about 20 minutes of her being gone, I began to wonder what was going on. I headed towards the bathrooms and waited by the doors wondering if I should go in and check on her. A lady came by and I asked her to pop inside and check on my girlfriend. I was scared Mimi was sick.

"No one was in there," the girl reported as she walked out. I was confused. I KNOW I saw Mimi head this way. Since the bathrooms were close to the pub enterance, I decided to see if she had went outside. As I walked through the parking lot, I couldn't believe what I saw. She was in the passenger seat of some guy's car, reclining with her eyes closed. Fury built inside of me as I started pounding on the passenger side window. The automatic window started lowering and I began yelling.

It really sucks when you realize that the person you thought you knew so well turns out to be a complete stranger. Before I had the chance to find out what was going on and who this guy was, I saw a spoon and a syringe on the floorboard, a small trickle of blood on Mimi's inner arm, and a small, dimebag of powder in the cupholder. Oh my God, she just shot up. I couldn't believe it. Before everything registered, the guy in the drivers seat told me he would take her home. Immediately, it all clicked. I had never been to her house because she lived in Flint but worked and went to school in Farmington. I never saw her before dusk on Saturday or Sunday. She always took certain cell phone conversations to my patio when she was over. I always assumed the calls were work related. I was so blind.

I turned on my heels and headed back into the bar to get as drunk as I could. The car containing Mimi peeled out of the parking lot as I called my brother to come pick me up from the pub. What a day of revelations. Mimi was married AND a heroin user. Excellent. To this day, I can't believe I was so blindfolded by love that I couldn't put 2 and 2 together. I really wish I hadn't started dating so soon after my divorce.

Why is This Dick Still Talking?

Hey traitor, why are you still showing your face, much less publically criticizing the current administration? We all understand that you disagree with Biden and Obama's views. After all, that's why they were elected. No one was really interested in watching America suffer even more under your destructive policies.

Granted, you did the previously unthinkable. You and your administration were able to combine the Vietnam War with the Great Depression AND the attack on Pearl Harbor. You successfully merged the worst periods in American history into a single 8 year span. Congratulations. The economy is in the toilet, we are involved in two unwinable wars, and 9/11 occurred because of your administration's incompetence. As much as I don't agree with Obama's policies, you have absolutely no right to open your stupid mouth. In fact, I feel bad for Obama. He took on the task of trying to clean up the mess you and your puppet--EEEERRRRR--boss created. Even though Obama should handle things differently, your policies of greed and imperialism are hardly what this country needs.

However, this should make you humble, not outspoken. Why can't you just roll over and die already old man? You have destroyed this country's image around the world with your illegal wiretapping and lust for torture. You have sunk the economy with your outrageous spending and the irresponsible handling of Katrina is fresh on everyones minds because of the Saints. (I bet the homeless residents of New Orleans REALLY haven't forgotten.) Thanks for your suggestions, but you have done quite enough. I am not interested in your silly critique of the man responsible for trying to fix the mess you left behind.

Just be thankful the current administation hasn't brought you and Bush up on charges of treason and war crimes. Believe me, there is more than a little evidence to convict both of you scumbags. But, since legal justice will never find you, all we freedom loving Americans can do is wait for your evil heart to stop ticking. When that glorious day happens, I hope Congress declares it a holiday. Who couldn't use another three day weekend?

Late Night Philosophy

If you're looking for the "Steven King" post, it's one entry down. This post is merely for soul purification. It's 4am and once again, I cannot fall asleep...even after utilizing all of my "konk out kwick" techniques. Lately, if my mind reaches hibernation before 7am, it's a triumph.

I have no idea what's got me all wound up. I'm stressed, but no more so than usual. I don't know what's up but I'm hoping that beating this insomnia is the last stage I must complete to gain re-entry into the realm of people who truly participate in life.

I was laid off last May and my dismissal felt more like release from prison than a lay off. I worked second shift at a steel factory. 2pm-12am M-F, and 10am-8pm Saturday. Enjoying life became a pipe dream. Simply basking in sunlight became a fantasy. Besides my ride to work, I rarely saw the world naturally lit. If I did get an opportunity to venture into the daylight, my surroundings were limited to a caged-in, barbed-wire protected yard full of steel ingots. Here are some nice, "Ansel Adams style" photographs of it. Doesn't really put you into a "nature" mood even though, technically, it's outdoors. Such a depressing atmosphere.

At the end of the day though, work is work. Very few of us will ever LOVE our jobs but I felt like inmate #74823 in that plant. Most of my off time was spent sleeping and recovering from the battering I took throughout the week. It wasn't even the physical aspect of the work, the awkward hours, the intense heat, or even the gloomy vibe wafting through the walls. It was the mental anguish that accompanied all of it. Every time I punched in for work, I wondered if I would be able to leave without having to clean out my locker and turn in my uniforms. The anxiety and insanity would ricochet through my head as I tried to plan for the worst case scenario of losing my job. Sometimes, my entire ride into work would be spent figuring out how I could make ends meet if I did, in fact, get laid off. Budgetary math was the only thing I could lock in on, even with "The Jim Rome Show" blaring tnrough my truck speakers.

It's been about 9 months now and everything is going well. Believe it or not, my finances are actually the best they have been in recent memory and I'm really enjoying being back within an academic atmosphere as opposed to an industrial one. My worst day at school is paradise compared to my best day in the factory.

Now I just need to learn how to fall asleep without having to resort to 3 hours of rituals. Then I will be completely back. Better than ever. The reality of my prison release is finally sinking in and I'm finally adjusting to it. I have almost acclimated back into society and it feels good. Only a few more prison tattoos left to laser off and no one would even know I had done a stint in the mental penitentiary. Damn I hope this Nyquil kicks in soon.

A Passive King We Need Not!

Steven King is a genius and his memoir, "On Writing," is as captivating as his fiction. This book should become the cornerstone of any aspiring writer's library if it isn't already. King successfully mixes his memoir and writing advise in a manner that is informative, riveting, and educational. It lacks the pretentious bullshit that many "How to Write" books (especially the ones written by established authors) use as their foundation.

"WRITING IS SEDUCTION."

No woman will ever agree to a second date if you are timid on the first. I never plant flutters inside of a woman's heart when a date ends with an awkward, steakhouse parking lot kiss on the cheek. Every so often, a date concludes this way, and believe me, no one has ever called the next day gushing over how hot my confidence-lacking smooch made them. In fact, if someone actually DOES call me after I pull a stunt like that, it is usually to tell me to grow some balls. And they are right. I should.

The same holds true with writing. As an author, you must passionately court your reader. You cannot be shy about using an active voice. Make your sentences bold. Put yourself out there. Go in confidently with a sensuous, "you will never forget tonight" style of kiss. Sweep the reader off their feet.

Correct: I extremely enjoyed your company tonight. I'll call ya tomorrow so we can set up another time to do this. (Place a lingering kiss on the woman's mouth until her eye's slightly flutter.) Have a great night.


Incorrect: Your company tonight was extremely enjoyed by me. In my opinion, i feel that we should maybe do this again...maybe...if you want to. Soooooo, I guess I will call you on your phone sometime soon. (Plant your dry, motionless lips on her cheek.) See ya later, I hope.

Be assertive. Maintain a genuine voice, but write aggressively. Omit unnecessary, disempowering words. Force readers to deal with the situation that you have thrust upon them. Exude confidence at all times and your quality of work will flourish.