Haggling with the FreeCreditReportDotCom Lady

Mr. AY-dumms, Are You There?


I was on the phone attempting to switch off a monthly automatic withdrawal from my bank account a few days ago, FreeCreditReportDotCom. I obviously got a foreign speaker of English on the phone, not "Peggy" but "Stephanie," umm, yeah, right, "Stephanie." Steph was all, like, "Why do you want to discontinue using FreeCreditReportDotCom, Mr. AY-dumms?"

That's what she called me, "Mr. AY-dumms." I responded, "Because I want to."

"I'm willing, Mr. AY-dumms, to offer you...."

"No, just cut it off, I don't want it any more, I don't use it, and I don't want any offers." She made about seven or twelve more offers.

"Mr. AY-dumms,...."

"Stop, STOP, will you STOP and just please discontinue the charges. Thank you."


She was quiet for a moment, two,...."Mr. AY-dumms, would you like to view the multiverse....


"Mr. AY-dumms, are you there....?"


Before I go on, I must explain that the offer calmed me, quietened me, and intrigued me because I knew what the multiverse was--it's the container for all of the alternate universes wherein our own selves, our conterparts, made decisions we did not or were just slightly changed since birth, one genetic marker off, or sometimes even greatly different because of where/when/how we grew up. Can you see it? Me with a full head of straight jet-black hair. Or, a universe where I grew up watching Laddy the dog always rescuing little Tammy from that damn well. Another where Lennon's "Imagine" became the basis for a world religion, the Earth there one nation, one people, at peace, me in robes writing about balancing chakras and the relationship between rainbows and, like, energy vortexes, man.


Steph chimed again, "Mr. AY-dumms, are you there....?"

I remained stunned but grunted in a positive way. The offer came spilling out: 12 online views at FreeMultiverseViewDotCom, 1 per month, 12 of my counterparts in 12 different universes together with 12 more long, expensive months of monthly charges by an unused FreeCreditReportDotCom.

I haggled her down. I only needed 4 views. 4 views, but she could charge me double, but no more dingdang FreeCreditReportDotCom.

If I'd pay for 10 multiverse views but only get 4 and use them right away, then Steph would turn off the FreeCreditReportDotCom monthly charge right away. We had a deal. The deadline to finish viewing was yesterday.


***


I finished my views of the multiverse, 4 counterparts of me, Mike Adams, in 4 other universes. I wasn't going to share with you what I saw because it's quite personal, but, well, you know me, here you go:


My first view: Of course, I had to see my kids. My first view was of a universe where I had children, 2, in fact. Mike's daughter's name there is Eleanor Rhiannon Adams; she's so brilliant and beautiful that I could hardly see how any part of me could be her dad. Mike Adams there though looks exactly like I do now, same age, same weight, even the same scar I have on my neck, even a similar job; only major differences I could spot was that he had kids when he was 18 and 24. He's such a good dad, too. There were tough times, Mike was strict but loving. The kids are mostly grown now and love their dad so. Rhia's 27. Her younger brother, Mike's son, is 21 and is named Jonathan Miguel Adams, Nate for short; those who really love him call him Natey. So many people call him Natey. I'd tell you more, but words aren't beautiful enough, not even if I could summon Keatsian levels of some kind of paternal poetry would words ever be beautiful enough. You had to be there. Moving on....


My second view: Of course, that first view wiped me out emotionally, so I went for something fun. I typed, "Show me a universe where I become a well-known writer" into the SEARCH field at FreeMultiverseViewDotCom. Oh, dear Lord, help me, it was so super-serious. I never imagined I could be any less interesting and any more boring than I am now. Fame has its cost, I guess. Really? GUY DE MAUPASSANT & THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR? In fluent French, no less. GUY DE MAUPASSANT ET LA GUERRE FRANCO-PRUSSIENNE. Merde stupide! Silly shit!


My third view: Hey, it's Christmas--I searched for "Show me a universe where I understand the nature of the universe, my place in it, and how God figures into it all." The chaotic images went by so fast; surely it must've been a universe where I was like light or something and God was this all-encompassing super-dark comfy blanket all around me. When I tried to reach out to the edge of the darkness, to test the limits, I then understood God there to be a part of the light, too. That was only a tiny portion of what I saw, but it's all I understood. I was dizzy for hours after.


My fourth and final view: "Show me a universe where I get to see my good friends every day." I clicked SEARCH. An hourglass icon popped onto the monitor screen. I became almost hypnotized, the hourglass remained. Finally, a click, the hourglass faded and the screen silvered and became a mirror. I saw Mike Adams smiling back at me, enjoying all his good friends being around in this universe every day on Facebook.


Happy Holidays, good friends. Have a great 2011. Hope it's the best year yet for us all. We all have ambitions, regrets, loves, questions, and we all soldier on, it's all part of the millions of things we all overall have in common. Let's choose to be happy together here and now and enjoy our time in this universe....! Here and there, each of us bless us, every one!


I'm here....

Frosty the Zombie Snowman

A Crooked Carol


Frosty the snowman was a zombie, curs'ed soul
With a cadaver arm and a partial nose
And two eyes from a child he stole.

"Frosty the Snowman" is just a scary tale, they say,
He is made of snow (and some undead growths),
But the children know (after that short heat spike in Nov)
That he came back to life one day.

There must have been black magic in that
Old silk hat they found,
For when they placed it on his head
He began to drag around.

O, Frosty the snowman
Was as undead as he could be,
And the children say he could chew,
Nay, fillet his way right through both you and me.

Chompitty chomp chomp,
Chompitty chomp chomp,
Look at Frosty stop....
Chompitty chomp chomp,
Chompitty chomp chomp,
....All of the helpless cops.

Frosty the snowman knew
The sun was hot that day,
So he screeched, "You best run;
I'm gonna' have some fun
Now before I melt away!"

Down to the village
With a chainsaw in his hand,
Running here and there,
All around the square, saying,
"Catch me if you can!"
He led them down the streets of town,
Right to the one called Main,
And he only paused a moment when
We heard him holler, "Brains!!!"

For Frosty the snowman
Had to scurry on his way,
But he waved goodbye saying,
"You better cry;
I'll be back again some day."

Chompitty chomp chomp,
Chompitty chomp chomp,
Look at Frosty go....
Chompitty chomp chomp,
Chompitty chomp chomp,
Over the melting snow....


("Frosty the Snowman" was written by Steve "Jack" Rollins & Steve Nelson)
(The zombified bits above are courtesy of Michael "Cracked" Adams)

My Shout-Out Christmas List

My Top-Ten Favorite December-Holiday Songs


It's December again, the most song-i-full time of the year! Some holiday songs make me want to sing along; others make me want to find the songwriters and wring their necks with a yule-themed thong.

Here are my Top 10 Favorites...


1. O, Holy Night (O, this will always be my number one. Michael Crawford's version still gives me chills.)

2. Silent Night (The Stevie Nicks version is well done, but there are many.)

3. Mary's Boy Child (The Little River Band (I know!) does a nice version, but this song needs more Caribbean instrumentation to be really done right.)

4. The Little Drummer Boy (I'm not sure why this one moves me, but it does. Maybe it all gets mixed up with the whole marching-to-the-beat-of-your-own-drummer thing I like...rum pa pum PUM)

5. Angels We Have Heard on High (This is the only song where melisma is really necessary and is beautiful, of course.)

6. Hark the Herald Angels Sing (I have a thing for angels.)

7. Do You Hear What I Hear? (Do you? I like the sequence of the different verses.)

8. Away in a Manger (Lovely--I always imagined Bethlehem as the ancient equivalent of a 3 red-light town but colder and crisper than my own little cow-town.)

9. Go Tell It on the Mountain (Go! Tell it!)

10. Rudolph, the Red-Nose Reindeer (What a nice story & lesson for children of all ages...)


As you can tell, I like my Christmas Carols mostly traditional and more about the famous baby and less about magic hats on bulbous creatures fashioned from snow just lying about. I will admit to turning up the radio during some newer non-traditional holiday songs though. For example,...


Grown-Up Christmas List (Los and I heard Natalie sing this live at a concert in Phoenix last holiday season. That lady can belt out the tunes, mix with the crowd, really put on a show. What a lovely message in the song; well done, Ms Cole.)

Celebrate Me Home--Kenny Loggins (nice)

Same Old Lang Syne--Dan Fogelberg (What a storyteller!)

Happy New Year--ABBA (Since we're on the new-year portion of our list, here's another one I like!)


A few more traditional Christmas Carols that almost made my list:


Coventry Carol (especially as done by Alison Moyet but any good choir can also make this moving)

What Child is This

It Came Upon a Midnight Clear


Carlos just chimed in that his favorite holiday song is Carol of the Bells. Yeah, nice choice, Los--so many good versions out there.

My Grinchy Least Favorite Winter-Holiday Out-of-"Tunes"


1. The Twelve Days of Christmas (Really, does anybody even vaguely like this energy-sapping song?)

2. O, Christmas Tree (Oh, give me a break! Christmas trees are alright but so not song worthy. I think that I shall never hear a song more dreary than this one, dear.)

3. Frosty the Snowman (dreadful)

4. Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer (This and all Christmas parody songs are HORRIBLY unfunny!)

5. Here Comes Santa Claus (The repetition is cringe-inducing, Kris Kringe-ful!)

6. It's Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas (I immediately switch the radio station when this comes on to avoid bloody ears.)

7. Jingle Bell Rock (The rock beat and Christmas time are 2 tempos that rarely mix well.)

8. Rockin' around the Christmas Tree (see above)

9. Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow! (just typing the name of the song made me want to hurl)

10. It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year (Yeah, it is! But, NOT when this song is playing!)


Other holiday classics that move me on down the dial...


We Wish You a Merry Christmas

Nuttin' for Christmas

All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth (the sssong as well as the grammar make me all SSSScrooge-y)


Ssssso, there you have it, a quick rundown of holiday songs.

What are your faves? Least faves?


--Michael Adams
(All writing contained in this web log is COPYRIGHT 2010 Michael S. Adams.)

Sticky and Sweet

15 Sweet Authors That Have Stuck With Me Through the Years


1 William Shakespeare (MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, HENRY V, MACBETH, HAMLET)

2 Marion Zimmer Bradley (the Darkover novels, FIREBRAND, THE MISTS OF AVALON)

3 Stevie Nicks ("Sara," "Rhiannon," "Gypsy, "Has Anyone Ever Written Anything for You")

4 David Sedaris (ME TALK PRETTY ONE DAY, NAKED)

5 Gene Roddenberry (creator of STAR TREK)

6 Neil Gaiman (the Sandman graphic novels, AMERICAN GODS)

7 Dave Barry (DAVE BARRY DOES JAPAN, DAVE BARRY TURNS 40)

8 Alan Moore (the Superman story "For the Man Who Has Everything," WATCHMEN, SWAMP THING)

9 Paddy Chayefsky (the films NETWORK, THE HOSPITAL)

10 George Carlin ("The 7 words"..., etc.)

11 Robert Heinlein (STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND, FRIDAY)

12 Edgar Allan Poe ("Eldorado," "The Cask of Amontillado," "The Tell-Tale Heart")

13 Douglas Adams (THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY, SO LONG AND THANKS FOR ALL THE FISH)

14 Frank Herbert (DUNE)

15 Paul Levitz ("The Great Darkness Saga" and the "Who is Sensor Girl" runs in THE LEGION OF SUPER-HEROES

(As a Level-16 bonus, I include a little children's book I haven't read since I was maybe 10 or so. It was called ARTY THE SMARTY and was written by Faith McNulty (of THE BURNING BED fame) and was illustrated by Albert Aquino and was about a fish who swam differently from the other fish in his school. I discovered it in the Patrician Academy school library in Butler, Alabama, U.S.A., as a child and would often reread it my first few years of elementary school. It has stuck with me vividly, VIVIDLY! into middle age.)

Secret Identities--Issue #1

"Hello Kitty! & Cocktails," An Alternate-History Reunion of Those Who Were We 'til 1998


Hello Kitty! One of us in this tent is a murderer.

The tent covers an entire izakaya, or pub, called Salas near Japan Railway’s Tsudanuma Station in Funabashi City in Chiba Prefecture in Japan. It’s the fall of 2010, and it’s just started raining on a chilly Tuesday night so seventeen of us, who had been spread out also using the tables outside, had ended up all huddled near the floor heaters eating our raindrop-speckled edamame and yakitori and imbibing thirstily from glasses of momohai, water, warm sake, and cold draft beer now only around the bar and seated at a few of the nine tables inside the tent. It’s eight p.m., I’m perched drying at the bar near the tent’s entrance, and I’ve narrowed down the murderer to one of seven suspects, all having their reunion in Japan across the tent from me. I only need one more piece of evidence to catch my prey. Hello Kitty!

I’ve been keeping tabs on these people for over twelve years now. I know all about them, stuff their mamas don’t even know. I’ve almost been caught by each of them almost a dozen times, but I’m good at what I do. Now don’t start thinking that I’m the murderer or that I’m going to be the victim right at the end. This is not that kinda’ story.

We’re down to twelve in the tent as five I’ve kept an eye on for the last few months pay their tab at the register two stools down from me and then run out into the rain trying to make the 8:10 train to Inage, three so-called Assistant Language Teachers, or ALTs, English-speaking foreigners brought into Japan to guest-star in middle- and high-school English classrooms, and two of their supposed Japanese hangers-on. My own assistant will have to keep watch on those five tonight; I’m sticking here. Down to twelve. Twelve, my lucky number. One of the twelve–a cold, hard killer. Hello Kitty!

Taking care of the pub tonight is Ka-chan the hostess, Jun the bartender, Yo-kun the barback or runner, and Keiko the waitress. All four of them think they know the secret of Salas, long-rumored to be run by the Japanese mafia, the Yakuza; but only one of us knows the secret behind the secret. It’s not the Yakuza, who only think they run the place, two or three nights a week sending their tattooed and black-garbed- and sunglass-wearing goons near to frighten easily-rattled troublemakers. Not many of us left in the tent tonight are easily rattled. Yeah, the Yakuza may run the street outside and the Pachinko parlor nearby, but they definitely do not run this place. I can’t tell you who does right now though. If I think about it hard enough to tell you, they’ll hear me thinking about them. You heard me right. Shhhhh... Hello Kitty!

Besides the four workers, that leaves eight, myself and the seven suspects, including the one at the top of my list. They’re all gathered around a coupla’ tables pushed together in the back right corner, the first time all of them have been back in Japan at the same time in years. Hello Kitty! I’ve come up with nicknames for them so that I can think about them without any danger of being overheard telepathically.

Tonight, I’ve taken to calling them the 7 & 7 Gang–alphabetically, there’s–


Alabama Slammer (guess where he’s from; always stressing himself out working really hard to be happy),

Chocolate Soldier (I almost called her Bloody Mary, but she calms down when she gets her chocolate),

Fuzzy Navel (cause this dude is hairy; uses any excuse to show off his massive hairy pecs and fuzzy iron-hard abs; always cracking jokes, but he’s only ever made me laugh quietly to myself three times; three times in twelve years–you do the math),

Irish Coffee (her impenetrable mind protected, fulla’ math and complex designs),

Rob Roy (she’s the quick one, also has discernment on mega-genius levels, sees the truth of things; the only one to ever actually notice me for more than a moment and even speak to me since this all started; she almost caught me on a quiet late-winter day in Dunblane in 2004), Hello Kitty!

Screwdriver (I am still considering calling her Flirtini for the night, but her curly dark hair back in the 90s always reminded me of corkscrews, and she’s the driven one in this hyper-driven bunch),

and, finally, Sex on the Beach (well, it's only my fantasy, but... shhhhh... my Queen Elizabeth... oh, your majesty, shhhhh...)


Shhhhhit, gotta’ be more careful, can’t think hero names. Hello Kitty! Hello Kitty! Hello Kitty!

They’re all in their thirties or forties and used to be just mild-mannered ALTs themselves in and around this area back in the late nineties. All seven of them, along with ten others, including myself and the best friend and only love I ever had in the whole world, now murdered by one of these 7 & 7 Gangsters, all of us were here that night in 1998. The 7 & 7 were here; Hell, a couple of them were even responsible for The Decanting. Oh, if only Japanese politeness and English-speaking-foreigner rudeness were just a myth. One of these seven is an asshole killer...

Dammit, lalalalalalalalala, grandma’s nipples, juiceberry hippos, lalalalalalalalalalala, hell, kit, kitt, hell, kitty... Hello Kitty!

Whew. Almost got caught in a mind-glance. “Hello Kitty!” works every time to protect my mind though. They, well, everyone hates Hello Kitty! But, to them, it’s like kryptonite to Superman or, better yet, garlic to a vampire. Damn telepathic intrusions. Gotta’ be more careful... Can’t think hero names; can’t think about how everyone got their powers that night... shhhhh... Hello Kitty! Hello Kitty! Keep this in mind though–Thinking “Hello Kitty!” will drive even the best telepath among them right out of your mind. That’s a freebie for ya’.

As I glance back up, Chocolate Soldier and Screwdriver call up the latest pictures of their young sons on their cell phones and pass them around. Everyone oohs and ahs. The kids are really fantastic kids, normal too. I was within a mile for each of their births, just in case any of The Decanting powers were inherited by the 7 & 7's progeny. Hello Kitty! All’s OK, so far, no powers handed down to the next generation. Hello Kitty!

Alabama Slammer hugs Screwdriver closer to him with his thunderously powerful right arm while holding her cell in his left, “You haven’t posted this one on Facebook yet, have you.” He’s a real Facebook freak. He goes on, “So precious. He’s really starting to look like your cute li’l news-reporter hubbie, don’t you think?” He hands the phone back to her. “So proud of you having a family and a life away from all this.”

The 7 & 7 Gang smile. They’re so beautiful when they’re like this, in their street clothes, but still almost glowing. Not many know their secrets. I’ve got to be careful here. Tonight I bring a secret killer to justice. Hello Kitty!

As the empty momohai glasses add up on their tables, Sex on the Beach and Fuzzy Navel have been trying to one-up each other with Shakespearean put-downs. They were both actual English teachers before coming to Japan and before, you know, the thing happened but have since gone on to other pursuits. Best Bard-like zinger I’ve heard tonight is Sex’s, “Thou creeping ill-nurtured foul deformity.” The insult certainly fits the murderer sitting at the table twelve feet from me. Just twelve feet away; twelve, my lucky number. Hello Kitty!

Rob Roy pulls her hair back and plays at pulling it into a ponytail and turns to Irish Coffee, two seats away, and she whispers secretly, “Oh, I can’t decide which is more impressive. You’ve built so many nice buildings recently since we last were all together. For spot-on inspired and inspiring inspiration, it’s got to be the Vestibule of Victory in Canberra, but I like the whimsy you put into the facade of the Dormitory of Due-Process in Cape Town, too. Oh, which one?”

“Hon, you don’t have to decide,” Coffee replies proudly. After pausing, her face almost explodes with a mile-wide grin, “The thing I’m most proud of producing lately though is helping Liath Macha finally give birth to a filly!” She’s been busting to tell the news, and I hadn’t even noticed.

No one at their table has heard yet that the renowned Warhorse Liath Macha had successfully brought forth a foal. I hadn’t either. Hello Kitty! This is news indeed. Irish Coffee’s animals are always world class. I hope Liath Macha is not anywhere near the Tokyo metropolitan area at the moment. If she is, I'm going to be in a world of shit. Hello Kitty!

Chocolate Soldier stabs into the conversation with, “Oh, do you think you could build a fortified nursery for our kids and pasture the Warhorses outside? With two grown Warhorses of Eire grazing the grounds around one of your buildings, luv, we’d never haveta’ concern ourselves with our children’s safety. What d’ya reckon, mates? A Fortress of Familitude?” She frowns then seriously offers another, “A Sanctuary of Safeguardiness or some such thing?” Well, she’s obviously not the one coming up with the world-capital crimefighting-headquarters’ names, is she?

She suddenly glances around at the pub’s workers and even toward me. As the reddened eyes of the Soldier glance over me, I’m telepathically shielded, safely in the middle of a discussion in Japanese with Jun the bartender, also in his late thirties, about Hello Kitty! and about the recent J-pop comeback, after their marriages and giving birth to their kids, of the two women of the band Kiroro. I’d set that conversation up over the last few minutes since all the kid picture-sharing was going on just in case a telepathic glance came my way so that the concepts of birth and kids would be all over my mind’s surface but not necessarily be about the 7 & 7 Gang’s loved ones. Just in case. Good call. The Soldier turns back to her teammates and friends and continues talking quietly with them, each of them wanting to name Coffee's Warhorse's new filly, unaware that even though I’m still partially invested in carrying on this inane J-pop conversation with the friendly but kinda’ bumbling bartender that I’m still fully invested in capturing a killer tonight. Hello Kitty!

Suddenly, in the sound of a voice, the turn of a certain phrase, the way a gesture flows, it’s so obvious which one is the killer now. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to figure it all out. Hello Kitty! I relax over another glass of water and await an opening, a weakness to exploit.

After a few more rounds and some other customers, mostly unknown to me, new ALTs from nearby Narashino City, I believe, come in for a quick draft beer and a couple of midoris and then scurry right back out, the rain still steadily falling outside, the radio music in the tent stops, and an announcer’s voice reminds the station’s listeners that tomorrow, all across Japan, is Suupaa Hiiroo no Matsuri, The Festival of Super-Heroes, where all fourteen members of the Earth’s super-hero group, The Equality Coalition, will gather at Shibuya Crossing, which will be closed to motor traffic, near the Hachikou statue, to celebrate the seven living Japanese members of the super-hero group’s recent beat-down in Osaka of the Prejudice Pack and their Behemoths of Hatred. He goes on to say that everyone will also want to continue commemorating the world-saving bravery of deceased founding Equality Coalition member, Japan’s own Denkiman, or Mister Electricity, who short-circuited and died after being tossed into Tokyo Bay by the non-conductive, ultra-steel-armor-wearing evil genius, Yakuza Kosuke Kobayashi, almost eleven years ago, on the night, the horrible night known to all worldwide as “The Arrival of Y2K.” Yakuza Kosuke Kobayashi, Y2K, get it, another asshole like the murderer I’m keeping an eye on right now. Hello Kitty!

Y2K, he would’ve destroyed the world that night, if not for the bravery and sacrifice of Denkiman. Denkiman was a good man, I’ll give you that. Smoked like a never-ending belching smokestack though, lighting the next cig with the tip of one of his electric fingers while the remnants of the old cig still smoldered, freshly stubbed in the ashtray. If there was ever one man in the world though totally not suited for tights, mask, and a cape; I gotta’ go with Denkiman on this one, the lack of height, the protuberance of paunch and the thin moustache just not meshing with the toned-body hugging, domino-mask wearing, and billowing-cape flouting costumes preferred by the super-hero set. Oh, if only he’d gone in for the self-regenerating body armor. All that electric potential...

The radio announcer asks for a moment of silence for the fallen hero, Denkiman. Screwdriver, Rob Roy, Irish Coffee, and Alabama Slammer stifle sobs. I do so myself. Chocolate Soldier vowed years ago never to shed another tear, after the Tasmanian Incident of '05, the whole southern part of her country, Australia, ripped from the Earth--for which she feels solely responsible--and she doesn’t cry here; however, her dry reddened eyes impossibly grow even more saddened for a moment. Hello Kitty! Fuzzy Navel and Sex on the Beach haven’t even been listening–I don’t even think they ever learned Japanese–cracking wise again about Shakespeare–it’s always Shakespeare with those two–until the others shush them to mournful silence.

Looking at them now, sad for their teammate, you’d never believe me if I told you one was a murderer even more vile than Y2K. Hello Kitty!

The announcer continues by reminding all that everyone will be so happy to welcome back every single one of the seven foreign-born super-heroes of the Equality Coalition at the Festival:


Rolling Tide (“the Bombshell of Birmingham,” in his flaming crimson tights, there’s gotta’ be a name for the winners in the world),

Daisy Chain (“the Go-Go-Getter of the Gold Coast,” everyone’s sad, sentimental favorite since '05–everyone loves her, no one not),

Miracle Worker (“the Fireball of Phoenix” with all his magic, starring his exposed maximum powerful massive chest and flat iron-hard stomach),

Weiran of the Green (“the Dublin Dynamo,” brilliant in her kabuki makeup, honoring the country where she gained her powers),

Cut Lass (“the Loveliness of the Loch District” with blades flashing in her ultra-feminine Kilt of Kindness),

Solidarity (“the Juggernaut of Joburg” and her Mega-Vuvuzela, extra power gifted to her by her country’s Quintessence of Madiba),

and, oh, my Queen Elizabeth (“the Hag,” meant in an ironic way, “of Harrods,” hereditary holder of the right to kick criminal ass in Cambridge).


Well, as much as I know the whole world needs six of these heroes and their seven Japanese teammates and as much as I love Japan–I owe it so much for all my own powers–Hello Kitty!–all twelve of my secret powers... Hello Kitty! Hello Kitty!–as much as I love Japan, this country will not celebrate tomorrow. The people will only stand stunned when I reveal the treachery of a founding member of the Equali..., umm, Hello Kitty! the 7 & 7 Gang, the one that only I know as an insane murderer. Tonight, the murderer lurking in the ranks of the 7 & 7 Gang--smiling in this warm tent filled with the aroma of chicken and alcohol--actually the very hero celebrated worldwide a few years ago for finally finding the missing weapons of mass-destruction, will at last face twelve-fingered justice. Yeah, I never did know squat about weapons of mass-destruction. Hello Kitty! But, I do know I’ve got these two weapons of ass-destruction, my two fists–twelve fingers total–Bam! and Kapow! The murderer’s gonna’ get Bam! and Kapow! right in the kisser, and then I’m gonna’ give that mumblin’ faker a serious ass-whuppin’, total ass-destruction– Tonight--Your ass is Ground Zero, killer! Hello Kitty...!


To Be Continued in Secret Identities–Issue #2 in “I Point My Thumb at You; Five Fingers Point Back at Me” starring at least 13 members of the Equality Coalition, where Solidarity again blows her Mega-Vuvuzela and says, witheringly, "What. Were. You. Thinking. Dumbass?" and with a backup short-short story about the Secret Wimbledon Origin of Queen Elizabeth called “Love-Thirty” with a super-secret, very gay (pleasantly surprising) guest star.


(All characters, situations, personalities, traits, portrayals, events, etc. all fictionalized. No actual basis in any sort of reality intended. It's all just in jolly rocking-the-comics fun. Thanks.)



All above Copyright 2010 Michael S. Adams

The Adamses and the O'Sheas Meet

An Alternate History: A Reimagined 1981

Of all the places in all the world in the U.K. summer of 1981 they could’ve met, the four members of the O’Shea family walked onto the Paddington train-station platform and seated themselves beside the four members of the Adams family awaiting the arrival of the train going northwest to Oxford. Picking out the stranger nearest her age, on the last weeks of ten, Jo O’Shea seated herself next to a young girl and burst out with, “We’re going to High Wycombe.” Jo offered a big smile as a greeting to Baba Adams, also just two months shy of eleven, who looked up from THE TIMES newspaper and raised her right eyebrow, a peculiar trait the two Adams children, Baba and her 16-year-old brother Stacy, shared. It meant potential amusement could be had here yet enthusiasm will be held in check for now.

“Oh, that’s nice. Not too far, is it. I’ve been studying the train timetables,” Baba said quietly and genuinely but matter-of-factly and went back to reading the article about labor strikes and how they’d potentially alter the results of the upcoming elections.

The Adams parents, Ellen and Jimmy, bought the paper for Baba to appease her constant requests for more and more reading material. They hadn’t quite yet noticed that their younger child understood the news stories far more deeply than they or their son did. They simply thought the newspaper would keep her quiet for a little while while they again discussed the day’s planned-down-to-the-minute itinerary, to be mostly spent seeing the hot spots quickly in Oxford and then to Scotland for a fast tour of Edinburgh Castle.

Nine-year-old Maz O’Shea hung on every word and gesture of her older sister Jo but remained seated in her widely-collared white shirt and green plaid vest, her parents Paddy and Shirley O’Shea between her and her sister, on the south end of the bench. On the far north end of the same long bench, Stacy, wearing a tight collarless, sleeveless mustard-yellow half-shirt which long ago had been a long-sleeved mustard-yellow mock turtleneck, sat clenching and relaxing his ab muscles, his eyebrows level, and fleetingly wondered what his sister was on about but then tuned her out and welcomed visions of himself, braver and stronger than all, winning medieval battles, dragons to be slain by his longsword and damsels and knights in distress to be saved by him far in the past at Edinburgh Castle, which he’d finally get to see in person after the endless study of London. This for him, after the disappointment of their British stay so far, was going to be the highlight of his family’s European vacation, far across the Atlantic from their home in Alabama, U.S.A., where he loved to run back and forth with much attempting of derring-do across various fields of athletic play and even solo forays across pastures and through patches of pine woods scattered with evergreen hardwood trees, always running and fighting to win and to be the best.

Jo said to Baba, “Where are you going? Are you American?”

“Oxford, then Edinburgh, in Scotland. Yes. How’d you know we’re American?”

“Oh, I plan to travel the world,” Jo impossibly widened her already huge smile, “I want to save all the children everywhere. I can already speak French and Spanish. American English sounds like music to me.” She pulled her fingers through her thick dark hair.

Baba’s right eyebrow remained at attention and a hint of a smile ran across her face. “I can only speak English, American English, I guess, which doesn't really carry a tune, in my opinion. Your British accent though sounds so...” Baba squinted, “...sing-songy. Much better than American voices.”

“Oh, no,...” Jo looked up to her parents for support that American English sounded better than British, but both were caught up in a quick conversation about how wonderful American country music was, which had sparked when they'd heard Baba begin talking in her Southern American accent. Paddy O’Shea loved being surrounded by the English voices of his three O’Shea girls more than anything else in his north-of-London world. There though during quiet moments American voices and music, especially Loretta Lynn’s, Patsy Cline’s, Tammy Wynette’s, Jim Reeves’ and Eddy Arnold’s, had always enchanted him with visions of visiting the Grand Ol' Opry. Somehow, this young girl's voice in person suddenly made it real to him that someday he could set out on a pilgrimage to magical Nashville. Jo turned back to Baba and said, “You're here on vacation?”

“Believe it or not, we’re here because my brother won a regional extemporaneous speech contest. The prize was to come here with the other American winners to be in a contest with the best British teen speakers. Families got to come, too.”

“Extemporaneous? What’s that?”

“Oh, it means something like 'I look charming and sound smart after coming up with a speech on a secret current-events topic after being given only an hour to prepare, but I don’t really understand anything I’m gibbering about, but I get by on my instinct to open my baby-blue eyes widely in a dramatic way at just the right time.'” Baba frowned using only her eyes, exactly the same color as Stacy’s. Stacy meanwhile had finished his hourly ab crunches and had stood up in his short short blue gym shorts, walked behind the bench, and was now using the back of the bench to stretch out his legs, which were dubiously short for someone already almost six feet tall.

Jo didn’t quite follow Baba’s brand of American irony nor many of her word choices but looked Stacy up and down. She liked his curly blond hair but preferred darker hair, like her own, which also nearly matched the color of Baba’s long straight hair. While on a school trip to London's West End the previous year, Jo had been accosted by a strange prim woman, who seemed as if she'd just flown down into the street straight out of a 1960s movie musical, who told Jo to be on the lookout for a dark-haired man known only as D_, her true love when she grew up would begin with “D_.” Since “Stacy” didn't even have a “d” anywhere in it, she let him continue his exercises without the continued weight of her glance.

Baba continued, “My brother came in second place behind some British guy called John, who said he plans to be a novelist. God bless Stacy, that’s my brother, and his lack of awareness of any kind, but I did think he spoke more clearly and, of course, much more engagingly than that John person, who seemed scatterbrained and rather self-loathing too. Stacy always seems to come in second place a lot though, even all the sports teams he's on, too.”

Maz didn’t really understand much the other girls were talking about, but her heart was huge and understood much more mightily than her brain that this winner John person needed help and that Stacy probably needed something, too; but her young mind didn’t know what. Maz’s heart understood though that all of Stacy’s stretching and eye-widening and tummy exercising was a defeated sort of plea to get some kind of attention since he didn’t seem capable of winning some attention outright through victory. Something was stopping him.

Maz looked up at her parents and over to her sister still talking with the American girl. She got up and walked behind the bench. Stacy met her gaze, Maz all dark eyes and freckles, and wondered what the little girl was up to. While their two sets of parents and their two siblings were locked in three impenetrable conversations, Maz reached out to the older American stranger with her small right hand. Stacy could tell she wanted to say something.

Continually confused anyway and even more befuddled now, he slowly stretched down, his left leg still stretched up onto the back on the bench, and let the little girl hold his left hand. Maz whispered up into Stacy’s ear from her heart, “Love yourself.”

She backed away and reseated herself on the bench where her parents were thrilled listening to the musical Southern voices of the Alabama parents going on and on about train timetables and their itinerary, which just couldn’t be changed, wide-collared country boys and rhinestone-bedecked country gals in green singing in the O'Sheas imaginations. They looked into each others eyes and smiled as the knowing Southern tones of the shockingly brilliant little American girl continued entertaining their self-assured child Jo, to whom they could also listen for hours and hours. They knew Jo was going to rule the world; they immediately picked up on the hyper-intelligence of the American girl; they glanced over and made sure their little Maz was next to them. They hadn’t quite yet noticed that their younger child had the biggest heart in all the world.

All seven joined Stacy standing as the train arrived. His right eyebrow had twitched slightly upward, and he seemed a bit less confused and was as relaxed as was possible for him in 1981. Jo and Baba continued talking as they boarded the train but had to separate as the only two sets of seats on the train car big enough for young families of four were far apart.


* * *


None of them would see each other again for over sixteen years when one of them walked into, of all the places in all the world where one could re-meet someone, a small pub called Salas in a small tent off a small side-street, just outside huge Tokyo, Japan, in a busy smog-choked suburb called Funabashi.


(...not the end...)



All writing contained in this web log is COPYRIGHT 2010 Michael S Adams (inspired by an amazing woman and by a picture of her as a young freckled girl in a widely-collared white shirt and green plaid vest... Traits and personalities and dialogue of all characters are fictionalized as are all events. No actual similarities or intentions, etc etc etc...legal-eze, blah, blah, blah...)

4 THINGS

Got 4 THINGS on my mind recently,...


(Thinking about the small town where I grew up a student, especially after an ol' hometown pal, who's now a teacher there, took me to task for calling the town "backwoodsy,"...)

THE "CITY" WHERE I GREW UP

Butler, Alabama, a tiny town proclaimed the "City" of "Progress" by the billboards at the "city" limits, is a refuge from big-city chaos-go-go-go-90-all-the-time that I've lived in since the 90s; Butler is my Fortress of Solitude, if I may be so Super Bold and Brave. As much as I want to deride it and find fault with it, I find I can't too much. It's my old home.

I never say anything too bad about it. It would be so easy to scream, "Butler, Butler, Butler did it!" every time some suspicious character weakness from my past arises to shadow me; however, I tend to stay kinda' quiet, just like I did growing up in Butler. If I ever do come down on anything about Butler or anyone who was ever there, I do minimize the comment's negative nature by admitting my own fault for the way things were and are. I try not to play the blame game about where and when I was raised. I do feel I escaped, but not from Butler, more from the past and more from chains I allowed all towns and cities to place on me back there and back then.

That said, Butler is mega-backwoodsy compared to where I live now in Phoenix, Arizona; "backwoodsy" shouldn't have any power as a negative word though. I have taken my partner, San Diego city-boy Carlos, to Butler, but it was miserably hot and 100% humid in July of 2005, so he probably doesn't love Butler so much. Los didn't like the climate but was enchanted by the various graveyards (at least one off of a dirt road through the "backwoods") wherein are generations (several) of my ancestors and was entranced by the echo point out at the landing on the Tombigbee River. While he and I walked the riverbank over the rushing Tombigbee, while the echoes rang across it still, the cricket, frog, and cicada sounds kinda' cast a freaky spell on him.

Even while he was freaked, we didn't really give any Butler humans a chance to see our love in the form of any PDAs. My mom & dad had just met Los in person for the first time then; I wasn't going to push too many buttons too quickly. So, my long point is that I hope I didn't come across as not liking Butler and its verdant countryside; I do love it. Glad I'm away but happy for anyone who stayed. I LOVE to visit.

Butler means a lot to me--I grew much stronger from the bad I experienced there and continue to find joy in the good. I learned much there. Backwoods are places of quiet, rest, relaxation, getting back in touch with Mama's home cookin' and with Mother Nature.

Is Butler womb-y? Maybe it wasn't always back "then," but it is now, a place to gain some strength and then spring fully-formed back out into the world, all Athena-like. Wow, that makes Butler more Zeussy than womb-y. How do I paint myself into these wordy corners?


(After growing up in Butler and teaching for many years in Alabama, Japan, California, and Arizona, I turned a corner in life and moved on to another career. Recently, a teacher friend asked me if I missed teaching. My response about...)

AN OLD PROFESSION

In this great time of marriage debate, I must say to your question of "Do you miss teaching just a teeny little bit?" My answer is, "I DO... not! In good times and bad, in sickness and in (MENTAL) health, I DO not miss teaching."

Just 3 nights ago, I had yet ANOTHER nightmare wherein I was a teacher and all my students were all the unruly talkative, uncooperative, off-task people I've ever met in my life (most of whom weren't even my students in real life). The lesson got to the point where the students had to get quiet, some sort of test, but I just couldn't get them quiet.

The scene dream-shifted to a gigantic church. My dream-self then even said something like, "This is a test, and we're in the house of the Lord, you've got to get quiet." Still, loudness! LOUDNESS!!! What finally woke me up was realizing I was "teaching" former fellow students, grown-up acquaintances, etc., mixed in with some actual former students. My really-observant dream-self was, like, "Whoa, why are you all in my classroom...?"

RING--woke up from riding that nightmare across the fields of Phoenix. Now, I realize nightmares have more to do with what you ate for dinner and what you are processing in your own current life, but really I DO not miss teaching,...

...except for when I DO.


(I do; I don't. How about a new fictional character of mine--is she; isn't she? Introducing Nicola Pound,...)

A NEW CHARACTER

Iron Nick; she bruises easily. Peg her as a villain, then she does something heroic that is villainous in the end but is really heroic. Will she have difficulty with her nemesis Mister Magno--at first, you'd think so--but, nah, it's mostly easy for her with him, BUT, at the same time, it's really hard for her because of her secret-identity job as an Earth-core scientist alongside his and mainly due to her part-time job as a "criminal" attorney. "Isn't it Iron Nick? Don't you think."

Growing up in a town that forged her, into a profession that sharpened her, and through numerous loves and lost loves that both brightened and darkened her, a new superheroine slash supervillain slash superheroine slash supervillain steps forth.

She has too many unfortunate things happening in her life; but, interspersed with all the misfortune, there are also moments of mindbending twistiness that she furiously tries to unravel.

Her least favorite element is, you guessed it, iron. Her skin can be metallic one moment, bullets bouncing off her, but deep inside, you guessed it (OR DID YOU), severe iron deficiency. You'd think a planetary-core scientist would understand the mechanics of deep-dark caves and know which ones are safe from magma intrusions. Was it really just unfortunate that she lost her foster-daughter to death by unexpected magma intrusion there in the Iron Cave, or was it more? She is a paid vulcanologist, after all! Isn't it just Iron Nick? Don't you think...


(Amidst all our work and forging a future around all the corners of the farback past arises...)

A CONTINUING LOVE (or September 27, 2010)

What is that thing that is constant like the sequoia, standing tall deeply-rooted unchanged through it all, but yet is constantly transforming like caterpillars-into-butterflies, crawling small earth-bound and then falling in trumpeting-call flights through the heavens with transcendent beauty?

1 day, 8 years ago, a dreamer from Alabama fell in with a dreamer from California.

Since then, many generations of caterpillars have transformed into butterflies. All the while the great sequoia has stood unchanged above it all.

It’s difficult when 2 dreamers fall in together, but it can last and it can grow.

What is that thing that’s constant like the sequoia and yet ever-changing like caterpillars into butterflies?

It’s the love these 2 dreamers share.

A dreamer from California fell in with a dreamer from Alabama, 8 years ago, today.

They fell in.

They fell in...

Love. I love you, Carlos from California.

–Mike from Alabama

Keep dreaming, Los Mariposa; keep dreaming, Love. We’ll get there 1 day. 1 day...


What do you think of my short list of 4 things? I know I need a fifth...


(All writing contained in this web log is COPYRIGHT 2010 Michael S. Adams.)

Two Men Kissing

ATOMIC FLASHBACK--1979--ABBA, Fleetwood Mac & the Eagles ruled the airwaves; the A-bomb siren sounded testily at 12 noon every day in my lil Southern town so close to those Cuban missiles & I was deep in love with bionic Jaime Sommers & Angelic Kelly Garrett. Then, two Cold Warriors went where no man had gone before...Do you recall the 1st time you saw 2 men kiss? I was 13 or 14 when the Soviet and East German leaders locked lips & recall the lessons about communism & even how the teacher tried to teach about kisses as simple greetings in other cultures; however, after, during break & lunch at school, I recall that all the talk was rampant homophobia mixed in with the usual Cold War fears. Dear Lord, how could we help it with that damn siren going off every day? Fear, fear, fear...!!! I even recall that we all "forgave" French guys for kissing each other, since we were allies with that country & that it really was just a greeting with them--we'd never do it & it was kinda' weird--but it was OK for French guys to do it. BUT, East Germans & damn Russkies, no way--Evil is what they were--their men kissing just proved it! Oh, the innocence; the betrayal. It was coincidentally around this time though that leather-jacketed Arthur Fonzarelli became a postered addition to my teenager's wall. All that fear didn't quite jump the shark with our Fonzie but got gobbled up instead...--1979-- good times... "Good times! Scratchin’ and surviving--Good Times! Hangin' in & jivin'--Good Times! Ain’t we lucky we got ‘em--Good Times!"

Snot Taking Over, or Is It

CRUNCHING THE LAST 24 HOURS' NUMBERS:

* # of hours slept: 3
* # of these hours that were Friday night and not Saturday night: 3
* # of times awakened from only sleep in the last 24 hours by husband yelling about tornadoes in Alabama: 1
* # of seconds that elapsed after said awakening before a facial tissue was required to wipe away dripping snot: 17
* # of facial tissues used up to capacity of tissue to hold human snot: 67
* # of facial tissues used beyond capacity to hold human snot: 21
* Are you including the one right now: No, 22, dammit.
* # of times had to rely on toilet tissue as facial tissue as roll was the closest approximation of facial tissue nearby as snot was leaking in mass quantities from nose QUITE SUDDENLY: 77
* # of shirts used to wipe SUDDEN snot away from leaky nose when no sort of tissue of any kind was nearby: 1
* # of shirts washed: zero
* # of socks, underwear, and dress-up pants washed: zero
* Isn't Saturday laundry day? Just get on with it, smartass.
* # of times locked self away in 1 of various bedrooms in house to try and sleep: 2
* # of hours elapsed behind closed doors: about 4, once for 1 hr and once for 3 hours
* # of times had to finally relent and get up to let "concerned" dogs into bedroom because sleep would not come anyway: 2
* # of resultant dogs lying on chest sniffing at cough-drop breath and whimpering about your ailment but probably whimpering moreso because Saturday is usually the day dad and dogs can play fetch all day and we haven't done so because of aforementioned vast quantities of snot: 2? Was the question how many dogs? Yes! OK, 2.
* # of chew toys collecting at feet brought by by dogs wanting to play fetch: 14
* Have you actually tried playing fetch? Yes.
* Can you describe what went wrong? Yes, snot went wrong. Snot went everywhere.
* # of times have tasted own snot: Oh, God, don't make me count. Infinity. Is infinity OK as an answer?
* # of times after tasting own snot that resulted in a quite dramatic Vivian-Leigh-esque "As God as my witness, I'll never taste my own snot again!": 1
* # of seconds that elapsed before tasting own snot once again: 133, only because couldn't curl lip quite elliptically enough to cause snot to drip to floor rather than into mouth and was shirtless because previous shirt had reached its snot capacity
* After the shirt dried off, you put it back on, didn't you? Umm, yes.
* # of weeds pulled: What? Are you effin' kidding me!
* # of weeds laughing at you: At least 4 or 5 thousand million
* Expectations for Sunday: Oh, please, a day of rest
* Are you checking your temperature and drinking lots of water? Yes, no temp; drinking vats of water, but water tastes unfortunately like snot. So did the rice and leftover pizza.
* Did you get a chance to exercise? Only if blowing nose counts as exercise. There was that 1 time I tried playing fetch with the dogs too.
* # of times eyes bugged out quite cartoon-like? Exactly the same # of times as have blown nose. Would someone please do the math for me. Or "do the maths," if you're British or Aussie or South African or whoever the hell says "maths." Why do you guys say "maths"? It causes perturbation and just seems too... plural.
* # of times used the phrase "causes perturbation" after deleting "is annoying" so as not to offend any "maths" users: 1
* Let's get back on topic... # of times you felt that if you didn't close your eyes while blowing nose that head would explode and life would end whimperingly on a Saturday or Sunday surrounded by weeds: see previous answer, the one about eyes bugging out, not the one about "perturbation." God, my head hurts.
* # of juicy blogs gained from snotty experience over last 24 hours: 1
* Are you embarrassed by having to use snot as a blog topic? Look, who are you? Why are you asking me all these questions? How did you get in here? It's like 4 effing o'clock in the morning. Go away. I'd kick your number-crunching ass if I didn't think all that movement would loosen even more scary amounts of snot.
* Should I stop then? ...

War Damn Eagle! & Roll Tide Roll!

FINDING POSITIVITY IN SPORTS RIVALRIES


Do you ever read sports articles online at ESPN or on Yahoo! and then try to read the reader comments on the various boards afterward, thinking you’ll find a fan who thinks as you do or a comment that may help elucidate a point only vaguely referenced in the article itself? So many of the articles play on the readers’ feelings about rivalries, whether it be Alabama vs. Auburn, Roger Federer vs. Rafael Nadal, the Celtics vs. the Lakers, the Boston Red Sox vs. the New York Yankees, the Russian Federation Olympic team vs. Team U.S.A. or just pick your own favorite sports rivalry. The writers do take advantage of the readers’ feelings about their favorites to get lots and lots of comments. The more comments, the more likely ESPN or Yahoo! will let the writer write another article. Most intelligent readers see through this and still behave positively. Others let their fanatic support of one over the other get the best of them and they start spouting the most vile negative comments.

Playful stuff like “Jeez, the Heat, more like the Cold, bwahahaha….” and “Pac-10, haha, more like too-much-talking-smack-10 bites you in the ass 10…” turns into weird outta’ insane left field stuff like, “Bunch a’ damn Commies making those little girls do that just for a Gold medal…” Too much patriotism gets fired up, too much sexism, racism, homophobia, and all kinds of hatred just runs rampant on the comment pages. The moderators seem to be ineffective at best. “FANS,” as I call them, fanatics that only enjoy the sport when their team or player is playing and ONLY if their team wins and ONLY if the battle doesn’t have any “damn referees blind as bats” judging the action, “FANS” will throw out the most egregious stats, stats they pulled outta’ their asses just to defend their patriotic racism and/or geocentric fanaticism against their perceived enemies.

Oh, the enemies that a tennis ranking system can cause or a football bowl invitation can make. I grew up in Alabama, a University of Alabama fan through and through, so I certainly know about sports rivalries. I hate Auburn; the hatred of Auburn was passed on to me by my parents, the community I grew up in, and by my peers. I barely even know why I hate Auburn; I just do. It’s not even something I think about; it’s just something that is.

(Wow, I guess all hatred is like that.)

Why? Why am I so negative about Auburn? Where does this hatred come from? Where does that negativity get me? I’ve been getting to know my sister-in-law’s sister, Stacey, these last many months—she’s as much an Auburn supporter as I am a Bama one; however, we just agreed to disagree at the beginning about our specific teams, and we just don’t talk for a few weeks out of the year around Iron Bowl time. We bonded further by simply looking at the bigger picture—we both fervently agreed that the SEC, the SouthEastern Conference, is the ONLY conference of college teams worth supporting, which is a courageous feat indeed as we both are SEC’ers stranded in the middle of the Pac-10 portion of the U.S. now. “Pac-10,” ouch, even typing it out makes my fingers hurt and feel drained of any power at all.

Stepping back from our two specific teams and looking at the bigger picture, the bigger conference that they both play in, in this case has helped us both become more positive.


Let me try to demonstrate the Power of Positivity by using women’s tennis as an example since some of you may not be into the latest rivalries or issues since the Golden Age days of the Women’s Tennis's Chrissie/Martina rivalry with all its negative aspects—commies vs. capitalists, East vs. West, straight vs. gay that ultimately all morphed into a big positive aspect—two friends who were supremely trained and talented driving each other to extreme athletic perfection to fight the great fight. I only do this because I’m into it but realize that most friends I talk sports with are not and not out of any sexism, racism, or patriotism or any other –isms I’m aware of on my part. That way, presumably, most readers of this blog will not have great feelings one way or the other, so maybe they will then be able to make the big step at the end, stepping out away from the negative commentary to see the big positive picture.

Let’s focus on a burgeoning tennis rivalry, the two most recent number-one-ranked players, Serena Williams and Dinara Safina. The two tennis stars have both been out for the last few months with injuries, but both will return to the tennis tour over the next several days and will perhaps get a chance to renew their new rivalry and perhaps renew all the commentary about who really is the true number one player.

When Dinara was # 1, many complained because Serena was arguably the more talented player with bigger career wins and accomplishments. When Serena was # 1, some complained because she only played the big tournaments and didn’t show up to fight for the smaller titles like Dinara did.

The stories and comments grew though from stories about two talented athletes fighting for positive wins into negative stories about Russians vs. Americans, black vs. white, and East vs. West and the silly like. Negative, negative, negative…

You know, to be the current number-one, Serena Williams obviously ignores as much negativity as she can, her own and outside negativity, and uses positivity to win; so does current number-three-ranked Dinara Safina. Both could probably use even more positivity (view Serena's 2009 semifinal U.S. Open footfault-gate and a veritable smorgasbord of smashed-racquet videos starring Dinara on Youtube for examples of their negativity). But, you know, we could all use a bit more positivity. Certainly, the commenters on the sports boards at Yahoo! and ESPN could certainly stand a bit more positivity; there are too many folks there that need to step back and look at the big picture. Who can help them do that to help rid all of us of their vitriolic, insane negative comments and relieve us of their made-up statistics and protect us from their “FAN”atic attacks? I'll answer that call... (Get ready for a heapin’ helpin’ of positivity and probably just a tad too much self-involved nostalgia…!)

You can’t get two comments in after a story about Serena’s comeback, a positive thing, she’s been out since January with leg/knee issues, without some “FAN” of Dinara’s or other players’ spouting about how “typically American” Serena is with her “sense of entitlement” or spouting about race. You can’t get two comments in after a story about Dinara’s comeback, she’s been out since January with back issues, without reading a “FAN” of Serena’s or another players’ comment about Dinara’s “feeble Russian mentality” (apparently, she fights to the final strongly then crumbles, having been in 3 Grand Slam finals with no wins, much the way that Communism fought the fight until the Wall crumbled) or about how if anyone supports Dinara over Serena he or she must be racist or anti-American. The negativity is so so so frustrating and unnecessary. What does it matter what country a great player comes from or what color the skin surrounding her athletic body is?

These two players typically do well in just about every tournament they enter. When any tennis player reaches the quarterfinals in a tournament, she's done better than 75% of the field. For any pro player to win ANY tourney at the pro level is a remarkable achievement, from the biggest and best tournaments, the Grand Slams (the Australian Open, the French Open, Wimbledon, and the U.S. Open), to even the smallest tournaments, now called the International level. Serena has won 36 tourneys since she became a pro, and Dinara 12 so far. Dinara and Serena, as players, do deserve a great deal of praise, consideration, and respect. BOTH do.

For any college team to just have a winning season. Think about it... You have to admire what went into all those players and coaches and all they had to do to just show up to the game. To have a winning season--greatly deserving of respect. Hey, maybe the team doesn't end up # 1 for the season, but respect the wins. And, oh, the win over the rival is just the tastiest morsel on the planet at times. Iron Bowl '85, anyone! Oh, when Van Tiffin elder kicked a winner for Ray, Bama once again defeating Auburn, dee-licious!

Let me tell you, I myself have, off and on through the years, led a tennis life and have sometimes been negative. I've played tennis since I was 9, took lessons for years as a youngster (I learned early the negative “value” of throwing more than a few racquets over fences) and starred on my high-school tennis team as the # 2 seed (so I know something about fighting for # 1 as well). I played intramural tennis in college and made proud points there but also continued tossing my racquet over the fences; again, once or thrice. I've coached middle-school tennis and have even gotten around to entering a tourney or two as an adult here and there, with the negative over-the-fence-tossing-of-the-racquets finally a thing of the past at this point. You could say I had an early peak at 18; I was better then than I ever was at 9-17 or 19-25, but I got very lucky and had a "comeback" at 26/27 as I began coaching and was never better than then in my mid- to late-20s, serving hard and slapping the back- and forehands forcefully from the baseline mixed in with a fair bit of slick volleying too, which used to be THE way to play. Luckily for me, as the boys on the team I coached became better, so did I. After a few more years, well, the knees began to creak, and the shins began to ache. Again though, luckily for me, as the pain got worse, the negativity lifted more and more. I became more appreciative of the skills and time I’d been given and the overall history of the game. I hope Dinara, who’s lost the # 2 ranking while she’s been out injured, and Serena, who’s managed to hold on to # 1 since her injuries, can both come back positively from their recent pains as well.

All along through my own years of playing and coaching, I followed pro tennis pretty closely, since about 1976.

I say all this so I can freely admit and perhaps you'll believe me that I've followed some greats' careers and really over-defended them against their rivals, putting the rivals down, way down, just as some “FANS” have done in comments on ESPN and Yahoo! (and, yeah, just as I do with wonderful Alabama over horrible Auburn). I was all about Tracy Austin way back then and couldn't stand Martina Navratilova for a few years. I would only hear and think good of John McEnroe and wanted to vomit when Ivan Lendl came up in conversation. I came around. Martina and Ivan are 2 of the greats, and I admire them both now. I admire Martina greatly, as a matter of fact.

You know, some # 1 players do fade from memory, but so do some Grand Slam winners as well; regular life just gets in the way of your tennis fandom sometimes. I honestly cannot picture Yevgeny Kafelnikov clearly in my head, and he's won 2 Grand Slams and been # 1. Sergi Bruguera, already gone out of my head, another 2-time Grand Slammer. Did I ever know Brian Teacher, another Grand-Slammer? I remember that Russian year when Sveta Kuznetsova and Maria Sharapova rose up and each won a Grand Slam, but I honestly don't remember Anastasia Myskina winning the French Open that same year, and she made it to the # 2 ranking then, too.

Many commenters on the various tennis boards say that only the Grand Slam winners are ever remembered or are the only ones that deserve respect. Fewer numbers say that most # 1 players are remembered, but even the feat of reaching # 1 is less deserving of respect, for some reason, than a big-time Grand Slam win. You know what though, I can clearly see and remember plays and shots and tourneys starring pros, some even in non-Grand-Slam tourneys, pros who never made it to # 1 or who never won a Grand Slam, pros like Wendy Turnbull, a # 3 ranking and a 3-time Grand Slam finalist; Kathy Jordan, a # 5 and a 1-time Grand Slam finalist. Don't even get me started on Andrea Jaeger, oh, I remember the young belle of the early 80s, working that Tracy vibe and making it her own and then scoring # 2 in the rankings and French Open and Wimbledon singles finals, too. (She’s a nun now; how’s that for an epilogue to a great sports career and a true testament to positivity! Go, Andrea! Go, Sister!) 1986 French Open finalist Mikael Pernfors, he's still clear in my mind as is the cat, Miloslav Mecir, a late 80s 2-time Grand-Slam finalist.

I want to be able to peruse and enjoy intelligent, positive reader comments after reading a sports article online, but sometimes it’s difficult to read through them. It's even disturbing reading some of the vitriolic comments there, comments against perfectly adequate pros like Serena and Dinara and fine teams from fine sporting institutions, like the SEC. Remember, someone out there will remember each of these fine players and remember them fondly, no matter how their careers flow from here, and they’ll gain positivity from the remembering.

So, how can we get the “FANS,” the ne-gators, to crawl up out of the dark swamp and see the big, positive countryside that a well-trained, gifted athlete can race through and dominate in a positive way to the positive betterment of all of us true fans? How can we get them to turn the negativity down about 85,000,000 notches and then focus on the sport they've chosen to care about in a positive way?


Verily, I say unto the ne-gators, the so-called too-negative “FANS”…

“FANS,” support your favorites BUT, yes, admire their opponents, too. Pro Tennis can't be an easy thing, even for a gifted athlete, like Martina, or even for a trust-fund youngster who had all the "breaks" early, like McEnroe. The pursuit of excellence in pro tennis is a difficult, demanding thing. Seeing that difficulty and the dedication it takes to win is how fans are born. Yes, even just being a fan of such an endeavor can be as much a positive, wonderful, life-affirming, victorious thing as actually playing the matches yourself--IF YOU LET IT. Be positive! The positivity you gain from supporting your favorite is not negated by the positivity someone else gets supporting his or her favorite. I’d rather think positively of all the hours of training of their talents that Serena and Dinara worked through to get them to the final or semifinal or quarterfinal and marvel at the intense play each forges against the other than think in a negative way about who’s American and who’s not or what it means to be ethnic-Tatar Russian or African-American or who’s in better shape at the moment. I really don’t care about “Serena’s big ass” or “Dinara’s little mound of belly fat.” If they can smoke the skinny-ass girls with abs of steel off the court, that’s fine with me; more power to the big girls. I may pause and wonder how great they’d be in better shape, but rather than let that get negative about now, why not let it be positive about the future.

Furthermore, “FANS”, now, if you really, really honestly still think something's terribly wrong with the ranking system, then do something much more proactive and positive than calling names (like “She’s # 2, and I mean ‘# 2,’ if you know what I mean, and we all know who the true # 1 is”), MAKING UP STATS, or, wasting one more second vomiting your filthy negativity out into the universe on a Yahoo! or ESPN tennis sports page comments section and get your concerns more directly to those that can do something about it.

”FANS,” perhaps you see the comments boards as the only such forum available to you. I'll tell you honestly though, as a tennis player and a REAL FAN of tennis first and as a person who HAS BEEN PAID TO ANALYZE and has professionally graded thousands and thousands and, yes, thousands of pieces of writing next, you will NOT make a positive change to the Women’s Tennis Association Rankings system by being SO crassly and dehumanizingly negative like a few of you on the sports boards are being. How does the old saying go, you can catch a lot more flies with honey than you can with vinegar. “Honey,” positive; “vinegar,” negative. If you need a sports analogy--you can catch a lot more pop flies with a positively well-built glove than you can with a negatively-balanced golf club. Take the fire of your negativity and let it light up some research about to whom to truly address your concerns and ideas about a better ranking system.

”FANS,” restart here and now; you can do it. Start positive here. Grow from there. Maybe one day, you'll be a pro player, a sports agent, an ad-agency copywriter specializing in tennis ad copy, or even the Women’s Tennis Association CEO. Maybe, just maybe, you'll finally, finally just be A TRUE FAN of tennis overall and not just a “FAN”atic about 1 or 2 players, insanely making crap up online. Go for it. Step back, away from so many specifics and personalities and colors and trophies and this and that. Step back away from all that little stuff and see the big picture, two stupefyingly awesome athletes trained to fight it out to the best of her own limits, two athletes at the top of the game that a couple thousand currently attempt at the pro level. Two out of two thousand. That’s an inspiring accomplishment for any two athletes to attain, even if, say, they were just from some little almost unknown European country, say, Belgium, and not huge Russia and not gigantic America. See what I did there. Think Big Picture. Think Global. And,…Think Positive!


By the way, just so you “FANS” know, the ranking system in place now that takes a player’s results over the past twelve months and awards points as to how far she got in the various levels of tournaments works just fine. Serena's been # 1 in the past; she's been ranked out of the Top 50 and then been # 1 again. She's won a Grand Slam here and there; she's lost one here and there. Dinara's also been # 1, and she's also been ranked much lower. She's won a low-level tourney here and a higher-level one there. She’s lost a few matches here and there and then come back to win more tournaments here and there. So have Martina, John, Andrea, Miloslav, Chrissie, Mary Joe, Tracy, Dinara’s older brother Marat Safin, Virginia, Jim, Rafael, Serena’s older sister Venus Williams, Jimmy, Steffi and the list goes on and on... My list of favorites will be different from yours, and our list of greats may also differ, but let it all be positive love of the game rather than negative name-calling and fear-mongering and phobias. It’s a game. Enjoy it! Furthermore, let me enjoy it, too.

All the names and stats and lists, it all ends up history stored pretty accurately as names on the trophies and in the rankings through the years. Fans do care and notice who wins Grand Slams; they ALSO DO CARE AND NOTICE Grand-Slam finalists too. They certainly notice # 1s; they notice # 10s too. The ranking system works just fine. It positively does!

It POSITIVELY does!

Positivity is better than negativity. Not just in your favorite sports rivalry either, but in all walks and runs and fights and discussions in life. Positivity is better than negativity. It positively is!


My Auburn-fan sister-in-law’s sister, Stacey, and I, Bama graduate and fan, share a niece, Elizabeth. It just occurred to me while writing this that I need to get some white and crimson Bama clothes to that beautiful little girl before she’s burdened under all that yucky Auburn orange and blue. Hold on, Elizabeth, hold on. (Oh, that poor girl, growing up in the middle of all those Pac-10 schools, too. Eek! Just don’t look at them, Elizabeth. They’re used to that and will soon calm down.) Do your best, girl. Treat your Aunt Stacey with respect and positivity when she’s on about Auburn this and that, but it is O.K. to just say, “Roll Tide!” when she’s done and then to just say no to her orange and blue stuff. It positively is.

Isn’t it…? It still is, right? Even after all I said…


War Damn Eagle!

Roll Tide Roll!


(Ths blog entry is COPYRIGHT 2009/2010 Michael S. Adams)

Holy Choosing Sides, Batman!

WHO'S IN YOUR FIGHTING-FIVE CIRCLE?


OK, it's the Ultimate Showdown!

It's just you and five of your FICTIONAL friends (human, super-powered, robotic, alien, androidal, past, present, future, etc.) left to fight the final battle against whatever fantastic version of evil is about to end it all.

Whom do you choose to fight alongside? I choose:

1. Jaime Sommers (the original BIONIC WOMAN), a knockout in all senses of the word. Plus, if it's only the 6 of us left, she'll at least have some tech that maybe we could use inside of her.
2. Kelly Garrett (of the original CHARLIE'S ANGELS), for her glam judo skills and her kickass looks and, of course, her ability to quickly disguise herself as a chain-gang prisoner, a prostitute, a model, a photographer, or really any 1970s TV character staple. Plus, there was that episode where she kicked drugs, admirable.
3. Wonder Woman, stronger the Hercules, more beautiful than Aphrodite, wiser than Athena, umm, detecting a pattern here. Plus, she's a freakin' princess. There's always gotta' be a princess.
4. Yu Shu Lien (from CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON), the ultimate mistress of almost every kind of weapon. She would kick some major ultimate-evil ass. Plus, she's lost love, so you know that would add more depth to our little group of survivors.
5. Aquaman, just in case the ultimate evil tries to attack us using our oceans and waters against us. It is hoped that the Ultimate Showdown will not happen anywhere near here in Phoenix, Arizona, U.S.A., then.


So, who's in your fighting-five circle?

Going for the Oscar

QUOTATIONS FROM 30 OF MY FAVORITE FLICKS

(Not all of these are the best-made, best-written and/or best-acted films; these are just some of my favorite flicks...)

1. The Lion in Winter (1968) Eleanor: "In a world where carpenters get resurrected, everything is possible."

2. Network (1976) Louise Schumacher: "Get out, go anywhere you want, go to a hotel, go live with her, and don't come back. Because, after 25 years of building a home and raising a family and all the senseless pain that we have inflicted on each other, I'm damned if I'm going to stand here and have you tell me you're in love with somebody else. Because this isn't a convention weekend with your secretary, is it? Or - or some broad that you picked up after three belts of booze. This is your great winter romance, isn't it? Your last roar of passion before you settle into your emeritus years. Is that what's left for me? Is that my share? She gets the winter passion, and I get the dotage? What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to sit at home knitting and purling while you slink back like some penitent drunk? I'm your wife, damn it. And, if you can't work up a winter passion for me, the least I require is respect and allegiance. I hurt. Don't you understand that? I hurt badly."

3. Blade Runner (1982) Batty: "I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I've watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain. Time to die."

4. Howards End (1991) Aunt Juley: "All the Schlegels are exceptional. They are British to the backbone, of course, but their father was German, which is why they care for literature and art."

5. Groundhog Day (1993) Rita: "Do you every have déjà vu?" Phil: "Didn't you just ask me that?"

6. All About Eve (1950) Bill Sampson: "The Theatuh, the Theatuh - what book of rules says the Theater exists only within some ugly buildings crowded into one square mile of New York City? Or London, Paris or Vienna? Listen, junior. And learn. Want to know what the Theater is? A flea circus. Also opera. Also rodeos, carnivals, ballets, Indian tribal dances, Punch and Judy, a one-man band - all Theater. Wherever there's magic and make-believe and an audience - there's Theater. Donald Duck, Ibsen, and The Lone Ranger, Sarah Bernhardt, Poodles Hanneford, Lunt and Fontanne, Betty Grable, Rex and Wild, and Eleanora Duse. You don't understand them all, you don't like them all, why should you? The Theater's for everybody - you included, but not exclusively - so don't approve or disapprove. It may not be your Theater, but it's Theater of somebody, somewhere."

7. Chinatown (1974) Jake Gittes: "But, Mrs. Mulwray, I goddamn near lost my nose. And I like it. I like breathing through it. And I still think you're hiding something."

8. North by Northwest (1959) [Thornhill is wearing sunglasses to hide his identity] Ticket Seller: "Something wrong with your eyes?" Roger Thornhill: "Yes, they're sensitive to questions."

9. Much Ado About Nothing (1993) Beatrice: "O God, that I were a man. I would eat his heart in the market-place."

10. Steel Magnolias (1989) Clairee Belcher: "The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize."

11. Rear Window (1954) Lisa: "What's he doing? Cleaning house?" Jeff: "He's washing and scrubbing down the bathroom walls." Stella: "Must've splattered a lot." [both Jeff and Lisa look at Stella with disgust] Stella: "Come on, that's what we're all thinkin'. He killed her in there, now he has to clean up those stains before he leaves." Lisa: "Stella... your choice of words!" Stella: "Nobody ever invented a polite word for a killin' yet."

12. The Silence of the Lambs (1991) Hannibal Lecter: "People will say we're in love."

13. Casablanca (1942) Ilsa: "I wasn't sure you were the same. Let's see, the last time we met..." Rick: "Was La Belle Aurore." Ilsa: "How nice, you remembered. But of course, that was the day the Germans marched into Paris." Rick: "Not an easy day to forget." Ilsa: "No." Rick: "I remember every detail. The Germans wore gray, you wore blue."

14. Two for the Road (1967) [last lines] Mark Wallace: "Bitch." Joanna Wallace: "Bastard."

15. Ordinary People (1980) Conrad "Con" Jarrett: "You can't break the ball. Can't break the floor. Can't break anything in a bowling alley. And that's what I like about bowling alleys. Can't even break the record."

16. Dune (1984) [first lines] Princess Irulan: "A beginning is a very delicate time. Know then, that is is the year 10191. The known universe is ruled by the Padishah Emperor Shaddam the Fourth, my father. In this time, the most precious substance in the universe is the spice Melange. The spice extends life. The spice expands consciousness. The spice is vital to space travel. The Spacing Guild and its navigators, who the spice has mutated over 4000 years, use the orange spice gas, which gives them the ability to fold space. That is, travel to any part of the universe without moving. Oh, yes. I forgot to tell you. The spice exists on only one planet in the entire universe. A desolate, dry planet with vast deserts. Hidden away within the rocks of these deserts are a people known as the Fremen, who have long held a prophecy that a man would come, a messiah, who would lead them to true freedom. The planet is Arrakis, also known as Dune."

17. Star Trek IV - The Voyage Home (1986) Spock: "Your use of language has altered since our arrival. It is currently laced with, shall we say, more colorful metaphors, 'double dumb-ass on you' and so forth." Kirk: "Oh, you mean the profanity? That's simply the way they talk here. Nobody pays attention to you unless you swear every other word. You'll find it in all the literature of the period." Spock: "For example?" Kirk: "Oh the collected works of Jacqueline Susann. The novels of Harold Robbins..." Spock: "Ah. The Giants."

18. Aliens (1986) Newt: "We gotta get inside. It's gonna be dark soon, and they mostly hunt at night. Mostly."

19. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (Wo hu cang long) (2000) Li Mu Bai: "I've already wasted my whole life. I want to tell you with my last breath that I have always loved you. I would rather be a ghost, drifting by your side as a condemned soul, than enter heaven without you. Because of your love, I will never be a lonely spirit."

20. Contact (1997) [Witnessing a celestial light show up close] Ellie Arroway: "...Some celestial event. No - no words. No words to describe it. Poetry! They should've sent a poet. So beautiful. So beautiful... I had no idea."

21. A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) Blanche DuBois: "I don't want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic. I try to give that to people. I do misrepresent things. I don't tell truths. I tell what ought to be truth."

22. The Color Purple (1985) Shug: "I think it pisses God off when you walk by the color purple in a field and don't notice it."

23. Fargo (1996) Marge Gunderson: "So that was Mrs. Lundegaard on the floor in there. And I guess that was your accomplice in the wood chipper. And those three people in Brainerd. And for what? For a little bit of money. There's more to life than a little money, you know. Don'tcha know that? And here ya are, and it's a beautiful day. Well. I just don't understand it."

24. Maverick (1994) Maverick: "I've only got one gun, that's 6 bullets. They're six, that's 36 bullets. Maybe they've got two guns, that's 72 bullets, maybe they've got rifles..." Annabelle: "You're babbling." Maverick: "No I wasn't."

25. To Kill A Mockingbird (1962) Atticus Finch: "Good Afternoon Miss Dubose... My, you look like a picture this afternoon." Scout: [hiding behind Atticus whispering to Jem and Dill] "He don't say a picture of what."

26. Henry V (1989) [Addressing the troops] King Henry V: "And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by from this day until the ending of the world but we in it shall be remembered. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, For he today who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother, Be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition, and gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves acursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whilst any speaks, that fought with us upon St. Crispin's day!"

27. Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope (1977) Luke: [interrupting] "Will you shut up and listen to me! Shut down all the garbage smashers on the detention level, will ya? Do you copy? Shut down all the garbage smashers on the detention level! Shut down all the garbage mashers on the detention level!"

28. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958) Gooper Pollitt: [to Maggie] "Why don't you go up there and drink with Brick if the conquerin' hero hasn't passed out already? He may have to pass up the Sugar Bowl this year or was it the Rose Bowl he made his famous run in?" Mae Pollitt: "It was the punch bowl, Honey, the cut-glass punch bowl."

29. Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) Ronnie Neary: "All right, everybody to bed!" Toby Neary: "No, wait! Dad said we could watch The Ten Commandments!" Ronnie Neary: "Roy, that movie is four hours long." Roy Neary: "I said they could watch the five commandments."

30. Forbidden Planet (1956) Dr. Edward Morbius: "Guilty! Guilty! My evil self is at that door, and I have no power to stop it!"

A Poem About HamNet

THE JOURNEY OF THE LAKELAND HORSE


I dreamed the pterodactyl
Screamed out of wet eggshells
Tore into bloody flesh with my hardened beak
And took flight over hellish lands

I woke, a lone baby quail,
And fell in line for a while
In the covey’s quaint nest
But grew up too large to fit in

I was the white-tail deer
Vaulting out of season
Amid the baying dogs
My antlers hunted hounded

I hissed as a snake
Tasted forbidden fruit
Coiled crushed beneath
Souls of prejudice and hate

I flew as a hummingbird
To an island of cherry blossoms
And fed my invisible wings
On the sweet nectar of others and self

I joined a tower of giraffe there
Whose queen taught me to stand tall
Shepherding my height
Til all the fences fall

I ran as the free cheetah then
Joining my pride, one of many,
Belonging but ever running and running
All the same all the same all the same

I stalled as a pack mule
Herding my burden in the ocean breeze
Strong and prepared for the long trip
From shoreline to sleepy desert

There I remain, a quiet lakeland horse
In the waterless lands
Dreaming of being Pegasus
Flying the heavens over the new-blown sands

(April 18, 2010)


COPYRIGHT 2010 Michael S. Adams

Brain Food: The Movie

ZOMBIE MESSIAH


HELLalujah!

There were lots of "Happy Easter"s wished a few weeks ago and also a couple of nice MLK, Jr. mentions as well at the beginning of this month, April, 2010. For Easter, some celebrate the anniversary of the rising from the dead by Jesus Christ, a great spiritual leader, to put a capper on his mortal life and prove that He's God. In more recent times, another great spiritual leader, Martin Luther King, Jr., had his mortality stolen from him on April 4, over 40 years ago, when he was murdered "in the name of 'love.'" Wouldn't it be nice if all great spiritual leaders could arise from the dead and continue leading us? I guess the great ones live on in some form anyway.

Yet another friend suggested that if one arises from the dead, isn't one technically a zombie. Hmmmm, brain-food for thought....

Now, with the recent success of all the zombie movies and even the literarily-praised PRIDE AND PREJUDICE AND ZOMBIES, I'm thinking yet another inspirational story could take advantage of this ZOMBIE craze--try this on for size--ZOMBIE MESSIAH!

In it, our story begins with with Mary Mags (desperately, in and for love) and a still-Doubting Thomas (not quite trusting that Jesus could and would do what He said) and Repenting Judas (seeing what a great leader he stole from the world) as neo-mad-scientist/zombie-spell-seeker types and all frantically trying anything to raise the messianic dead, and it finally.... working.

However, after that, our story turns from inspiration and the using of the Word for good into something else. Whole societies arise around the great teachings but then skew the teachings to their own ends, for the exclusive betterment of only their own societies and the extreme detriment of OTHER societies and peoples and individuals different from their own accepted limitations of what a society and a people and a person should be, and then all Hell breaks loose. Every time the teachings are used "in the name of 'love'" to commit yet another atrocity, society pays for it with another zombie walking the mortal plane. Crazed societies rise up planetwide, societies that kill and are prejudiced to the point of murderous arrogance against anyone being different.

Scary story, huh...

Coming soon to a theatre near you (Copyright 2010)... ZOMBIE MESSIAH!



Or,... are you living the movie right now, living the word, right now, right here, right now in 2010...


Yes, He's in the house, using the phone upstairs. And, He sees dead people, blinded by arrogance and Jesus-complexes, zombies twisting His teachings not for love but for a blinding prejudice and murderous hate.

Oh, He's mad as all Heaven, and, you know, He's not going to take it any more.


ZOMBIE MESSIAH!

Maybe, one day, our story will end with Love, true LOVE and FREEDOM for all from the oppression of zombies.


Here are some brainy snacks to nibble on... some great words from two great MEN... it's brain-food for thought...


"From every mountainside, let freedom ring. When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children... will be able to join hands and sing..., "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!" --MLK, Jr.


"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven..." --JC

"Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free... A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another." --JC

"You know my friends, there comes a time when people get tired of being trampled by the iron feet of oppression ... If we are wrong, the Supreme Court of this nation is wrong. If we are wrong, the Constitution of the United States is wrong. And if we are wrong, God Almighty is wrong. If we are wrong, Jesus of Nazareth was merely a utopian dreamer that never came down to Earth. If we are wrong, justice is a lie, love has no meaning. And we are determined here... to work and fight until justice runs down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream." --MLK, Jr.


ZOMBIE MESSIAH!... Brain-Food for Thought. May justice and love and righteousness and freedom rain down upon us all. Zombies melt when justice and love and righteousness and freedom rains down upon them. Then, the spirit lives... the Spirit lives... THE SPIRIT LIVES!



(The essay above and all ideas contained therein are Copyright 2010 Michael S. Adams)

Medical Insurance for All

THE KNEEJERK DANCE

(or, A Narrative Addressed to the Stranger Overheard Today Discussing THE Topic of the Last Few Weeks)


Just for a second or two, please put yourself in the place of a person you've heard of or perhaps even known, a person who's MOST worse off in this life.

Feel that life.

Think about it.

(By the way, that person isn't you either. If you have even one other electronic device besides that flippety floppity keyboardy glow-y screen "phone" on your table on which you are accessing and spending time on the internet, or Facebook, as you mentioned, for example, my friend, it sure isn't you. Yeah, times ARE tough, but, really, it ain't you.)

Are you in the place of that poor person yet? Spent a second or two as her or him...?





AS THAT PERSON, now how do you feel about the issue of medical coverage and government mandates and rules and such concerning medical coverage?

Hmmm...?

What's your kneejerk reaction when you're downtrodden? What're your self and selfish thoughts on the matters? Helpful? To be taken advantage of? Bad? Good?

Hmm... indeed.

Cool, come back to yourself.

Thanks for your time. Maybe just for a second, we were able to dance to the beat beat beat beating down of a different socio-economic friend, friend. EMPATHY rocks!



Now, opening a separate but similar vein, a vein where sentences end in prepositions, if we were to make a list of all the stupid-a$$ crapapple the government spends our tax dollars on...

Looking at that list, AND WRITING ONLY OF MYSELF HERE, I will complain here and there about various stupidities, but I am CERTAINLY not going to moan about my money paying for somebody's medicine, SOMEBODY'S MEDICINE!, not when that's ten-thousandth on the list of stupid-a$$ crapapple and there are nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine others things more stupid-a$$ crapapple-y for which my tax dollars are used. Really, it ain't the worst thing!

Hey, look, I'm far more angry about some government spending I studied in history class in high school years ago, and that was not just years ago, that was YEARS AGO. We learned about how each toilet-seat cover in the thousands of military-industrial war machines that were roaming the Cold-War-plagued planet at the time each cost the government anywhere from $500 to $3000. And, look, I'm not bagging on the military--I, for one, am the son of many proud military generations dating back to the American Revolution (yeah, that one, the one in the 1700s)--I happen to love the military. Years ago,... I read about the government mixing with the military-industrial complex, getting together and balancing my parents' and grandparents' tax dollars with $400 hammers and $3,000 toilet-seat covers and the like! This is years in the past, and I'm still perturbed by that particular instance of tax (over)spending, years in the past...

--Toilet-seat covers vs. Any citizen's health--

...BUT, EVEN IF THE GOV'T SPENDING MONEY ON MEDICAL COVERAGE in the future MAKES IT EVEN HARDER FOR ME TO PAY MY MORTGAGE AND GET ANOTHER CAR, I - AM - STILL - NOT - GOING - TO - SIT - AROUND - AND -MOAN - KNEEJERKEDLY - ABOUT - SOME - OF - MY - TAX - DOLLARS - BEING - SPENT - ON - SOMEBODY'S - MEDICINE.

Someone else is sick.

Of course, the debate requires more thought and study, but...

...if it's a little girl who's poor and sick, that'll be awesome if my money helps her.

Y'know, if it's the rude drug-addled hater you mentioned, well, that has to be OK, too, doesn't it.

After the hater gets better, perhaps we'll debate him on the issues. I admit it is alarming to think that perhaps after my money is spent on making him better,... what if he does go out and kill someone? Well, that makes it difficult, huh... but are you the ultimate judge of humanity and the future of us all? Am I?

I know I'm not. You're not either.

Maybe that sick little girl who was not well off and was also helped to medicine by our government grows up. She grows up healthy and strong. She grows up healthy and strong and becomes a great president, a great president in YOUR favorite political party, a great president greater than all who came before; and just maybe she teaches us a better way by using the drug-addled fool hater's story as a teaching tool.

Who knows?

Good health to all.


By the way, don't take this narrative to mean I don't debate and even moan about things the government does with my tax money. I do believe I mentioned, using two dollar marks with double meanings, a list of stupid-a$$ crapapple-y items above. Some of them certainly rate my ire and every once in a while rate my two cents, especially when it's my two cents about my two dollars being spent on something stupid. Even this particular issue of medical coverage is not perfect (i.e., contains some stupidity) and is well worth more and more and more debate.

DEBATE. DEBATE AWAY, my friend.

DEBATE... DEBATE but don't kneejerkedly selfishly moan about your money and your taxes and you, you, you, you, you when somebody else is sick and needs health care.

You may someday come face to Face with the fact that it's not all about you. Certainly, debate about yours and somebody else's medicine, but don't selfishly kneejerkedly moan about somebody else's medicine.

This moaning is just you jibber-jabbering away just waiting for your turn to talk and not even listening to anyone else at your table. Debating perhaps implies at least a little bit of listening--certainly, listening at least enough to enable a stronger argument against your opponent. But, debate, when the planets align, perhaps perfect debate is like empathy rocking out; healthy, "healthy" debate is like the marketplace of ideas, where mixed metaphors and the cream rise to the top to the good of all.

The cream, the empathy, the top....

Good health to all!


I mean you when I say, "Good health to all," but I don't mean just you.

Good Health to ALL!


Peace, my friend. The floor is yours. I'd love you to rock out on the floor, too. Rock out to the Safety-for-All Dance, The Healthy-Debate Dance, the one with the Empathic Slide. Line up here. This is a line-dance for us all. Really, it IS you.

Dance however you like but please... not that kneejerking move you've been showing us. There's just a bit too much ass in that move, my friend. Doesn't that hurt?


(The web-log entry is COPYRIGHT 2010 Michael S. Adams.)