The Treatment

"You have ten minutes until we begin Mr. Stevens.  Would you like a beverage? Coffee?"  The nurse was as pleasant as could be expected.  But, there was a hefty price tag so Harrison expected nothing but the best.  His friends were jealous of this latest extravagance but none of them could afford the treatment.  It had taken months for Harrison to cash in every policy, trust, portfolio, and I.R.A. to come up with the price tag but he knew it would be worth it.  "If only to leave this crap for one day" he mentioned to no one in particular.  "What was that?"  Jennifer was new to the clinic but wasn't new to these types.  She needed this job but didn't really understand what would motivate a man or woman to leave it all behind and undergo such a thing.       She waited a second for a response but the patient kept looking past her, as if waiting for someone.  "I'm sorry miss.  I guess I'm nervous."  "Oh, that's quite alright Mr. Stevens.  Can I get you anything?"  Harrison considered her request but didn't feel the energy to answer.  He felt weak from the concoction he took earlier and felt nauseous from the drink.  Plus, his nerves were in a frantic state.  He politely shook his head no and waited for her exit and solitude.  "What am I doing here?  This is nuts."   he thought to himself.  It was a new fad.  Or at least that was the label the press was applying to it.  Only one doctor was qualified to administer the treatment in the world.   And he had assured Harrison that the process was painless and without memory.  "Once a man begins there is no turning back.  Nor will he want to."  Those were the words Dr. Eisenburg had told him.  It was called Nu U by the clinic.  The professional term was Neuro-Transcendent Hyperbolarity.  "Basically, the upper levels of brain activity that rationalizes and develops experiences and form them into the conscience as we understand them are reverted back to a state of immaturity and never allowed to develop again.  A virtual state of innocence.  Childlike naivety.  Basically you'll forget the worries of the past and never have to put any more thought into mature problems again.  You will find your youth that you have forgotten.  And you will die a young boy."   Harrison could still remember those words from his first consultation with the doctor.  It was a choice that would take months to decide.  But now, within moments of undergoing the procedure he had paid so dearly for, he was having second thoughts.  The doctor had warned him this was possible but the payment was non-refundable.  It was written up in the contract for the safety of the patient as well as the requirements of the insurance company.  This was to prevent any lawsuits by the family of the patient due to the damage that could not be undone from the solution required to be digested prior to the procedure.  The potion was a mixture of hallucinogens and stimulants required for neural pathways in the brain to be severed.  Once administered it could not be stopped.  The treatment was developed by a team of scientists with a different intent.  Originally, in an attempt to rejuvenate the pathways damaged by neurological diseases, it was believed that the correction could be attained if the pathways were bypassed while administering a pulse of electrons in the dead areas of the brain.  What the team found was the beginning of what would later be developed into Nu U.   The last thing Harrison Stevens would remember was the nurse escorting him through the door to Dr. Eisenburg's office.  For a moment Harrison screamed but the doctor remained calmed.  They always screamed.  It was the last effort by the brain before the final disconnects occured.  It was the final cry of their humanity.  As Mr. Stevens final round of treatment was administered, Jennifer wheeled him into the playroom.  She would have to hurry.  The next appointment would arrive soon.  They were always on time.   My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.   

Ode To Coffee

Oh, what curseth wretch am thy, To ponder the flavor of one such as thee, Filleth my cup from the bean of my ancestors Coffee, Coffee, Coffee What sweet fragrance The majesty of angels Poureth me another From the potteth from which thee brews My life, my riches, my name What are they if not secondary To that which sustainith me Coffee, Coffee, Coffee If your out I guess I'll have tea. But I really prefer coffee. Coffee. Coffee Coffee.

A Goodbye To Innocence

Sometimes you forget how good a movie or tv show really was until your discussing it with a friend or watching an old review where two intellects are sitting around discussing how good the movie or tv show was in their eyes. Such was the case while watching a review of Toy Story 3. It's been a few years now since my eyes were witness to the ending of a trilogy done strictly in the animation process. Woody and Buzz were an awesome team and Andy really was clueless, wasn't he? If we simplify it like that then life is pretty boring isn't it? Nope, the movie was so much more than the adventures of some toys set aside in an attic. There was the message at the end, or rather the explanation of life, that we come to understand. Those first few years, right up to the goodbyes to our parents or guardians, are filled with the hopes and pursuits of childhood dreams and the memories on which we find a foundation to life. They come flooding back to us at the weirdest moments in our lives. There have been many examples in my own life to choose from. Recently, at a family gathering on a holiday, we delved into the past and our memories of a beloved pet, Blondie, came once again to the surface. She was a faithful and loving pet who cared so much for us that even her goodbye was a solitary jaunt into the woods so we would bare no sorrow for her. I was in the military when she died. A faithful companion waiting back home for me. A goodbye that would never come. We have these moments that, as children, we would never really understand until we reach an age where innocence has left. When we do understand it's really too late to go back. The innocence is gone and we are left, sometimes alone, to view the carnage left by the past, to the innocence whose value we did not comprehend. We put away the childish things in our pursuit of ourselves only to understand later how much we wish we would have never left them in the first place. For they are the anchor of our knowledge of the past. One of the most valuable possessions we own is our memories. I've spoken about time being a valuable possession in a past post but I do believe these two go hand in hand. For as one escalates its pursuit of existence so travels the other. Our memories are the key to who we really are. We can put a suit on or other costume. We can buy a fancy car and drive down the highway of life. We can buy nice things and cover up the stench we think others can smell from the rotting carcass of a life we once lived. But the memories will always be with us unless we receive the gift or curse of amnesia. But no matter how far we bury them or hide them they come surfacing back in waves of desperation or exhilaration. It is this ebb and flow of memories that allow us to build on our strengths and allay our weaknesses. We are governed by our past as a map of hurts and triumphs which guide us through the hairpin turns that we come upon in our quest to find ourselves. So the story goes. In Toy Story 3, Andy is growing up and decides to give away his toys to the little girl and he spends a few moments playing with his best friends before saying goodbye. It is the end of the movie that is so heart wrenching to most of us. That sad goodbye to innocence that we all have to say in our pursuit of life. But we hold on to the memories. And sometimes, in an attic in our parent's homes, we find ourselves rummaging for that lost friend we put away so long ago. We miss them. And we miss the innocence. In another tale, in a hundred acre wood, we find the same dilemma with a pre-schooler who has to say goodbye to a best friend. For it's time to do something. Afternoons of nothing must end and so must the relationship between a boy named Christopher and a bear named Pooh. Here's the end of their story - "I like that too," said Christopher Robin, "but what I like doing best is Nothing." "How do you do Nothing?" asked Pooh, after he had wondered for a long time. "Well, it's when people call out at you just as you're going of to do it, What are you going to do, Christopher Robin, and you say, Oh nothing, and then you go and do it." "Oh, I see," said Pooh. "This is the sort of thing that we're doing right now."... Then, suddenly again, Christopher Robin, who was still looking at the world, with his chin in his hands, called out, "Pooh!" "Yes?" said Pooh. "When I'm --- when --- Pooh!" "Yes, Christopher Robin?" "I'm not going to do Nothing any more." "Never again?" "Well, not much. They won't let you." Pooh waited for him to go on, but he was silent again. "Yes, Christopher Robin?" said Pooh helpfully. "Pooh, when I'm --- you know --- when I'm not doing Nothing, will you be here sometimes? "Just me?" "Yes, Pooh." "Will you be here too?" "Yes, Pooh, I will be, really. I promise I will be, Pooh." "That's good," said Pooh. "Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred." Pooh thought for a little. "How old shall I be then?" "Ninety-nine." Pooh nodded. "I promise," he said. Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh's paw. "Pooh," said Christopher Robin earnestly, "if I --- if I'm not quite ---" he stopped and tried again --- "Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won't you?" And so ends this post. A look back at innocence and a sad goodbye. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Tips On Breaking Your Equipment Down

It's a/c season again here in the midwest United States and I thought I would give homeowners and business owners alike some helpful hints to hurry up that needed replacement of your existing air conditioning equipment. 1. Never change your filter - One of the most annoying customer habits I run into is the consistent air filter replacement guru. This is the customer who is a fanatic about having their filter replaced once a month. They will usually have a half empty case of filters close to the furnace or air handler and they will have some kind of calender reminder to replace the filters. All this does is make their system work efficiently and filter out contaminants from the air. I will do my best to inform them that the air filter companies are just trying to up sell their product and fresh air is really over rated. 2. Pets are our friends - What could be nicer than our furry friends who provide warmth and love on those cold winter days and love to shed hair in the summer? If I notice one extremely shaggy dog I'll ask if they plan on getting their lonely little puppy a friend to play with anytime soon. I will also tell them that the matted dog hair that comes from Fido actually helps to benefit filtering on the inside evaporator coil for their air conditioning. Matted pet hair blocks air flow but this just helps to make the air colder. Yes, the coil will freeze up every other day but all you have to do is thaw it out and it will work (kind of) again in 24 hours. The best scenario is several dogs and several cats living in the same 800 square foot house. Love is better than central air. Also, once the coil is blocking the air flow, the added benefit in the winter time is the primary limit tripping in your furnace due to the heat building up from inadequate air flow around the heat exchanger. It's a win-win situation for the heating and air conditioning technician. 3. Quit trying to remove all the paint from your outside unit by washing it every year - Outside condenser units for your split system air conditioning will only remain nice looking if the paint isn't stripped off by unnecessarily washing off the condenser coil. Many myths are out their about the increased performance of a clean coil which allows better temperature/pressure drop of the refrigerant if adequate air flow is seen through the condenser coil. What really happens is repeated washing takes off a microscopic coating of paint and will eventually lead to the requirement of a fresh coat of pain within 40 years. What's the purpose of having nice things if you'll just have to repaint them in a few decades? 4. Weeds and bushes are nature's defense system - Many homeowners and renters will spend hours tediously pulling and cutting growth that occurs naturally by nature. For centuries, especially here in the United States, there has been a silent war against Mother Nature herself. Some people are under the delusion that grass and weeds distract from the natural beauty of their homes and will cut and mow these "distractions" until they're only several inches in length. It is the homes and dwellings which are the intrusions upon the natural beauty of the landscape. Why would we want to keep manicuring what God intended? My advise is to become the voice of reason in your neighborhood. How many emissions from carbon burning lawnmowers and trimmers does it take to deplete the ozone? I don't know but it surely isn't helping the global warming problem, now is it? Also, the electricity used by these same devices in their electrical counterparts still requires someone, somewhere, to burn coal so the electricity keeps flowing doesn't it? Send a message to your friends and family this summer and allow that grass to grow and those weeds to surround that outside a/c unit. It's a win-win for mother nature and for our children's future. Yes, the decreased air flow through the coil might require that air conditioner to run a few extra hours every month but isn't the environment worth it? 5. Fixing that leak in the refrigeration system will save me money? - Think again. That costly repair job of finding the leak in a system and not allowing the annual re-charging of your system will require at least one hour, if not two, in labor charges to you. Yes, R-22 has tripled in price but what about the cost to your personal relationship to that friendly qualified service technician who quickly puts his gauges on the outside unit and only adds a few pounds of refrigerant. Yes, economically it makes sense to pay a one-time fee of fixing the leak but what about the cost of friendship. Is money really that important to you? My advise to you, the homeowner or business owner, is to quit being so uptight about budgets and such. Without these special relationships the world becomes a really dreary place. And what about the poor guy in the R-22 factory? Should he go hungry because he's been laid off because you were so tight with those pennies? If the need isn't there to produce it then where will he work? I know the government has effectively shut down the productions of R-22 (or at least trying to) but if we end the demand for the product then who really wins? The ozone? The service technician? The homeowner or business owner? I think we all know the answer. In the end we really have to get along don't we? So, I hope these helpful hints will help you, my devoted fans, in making some key decisions this summer. Remember - when your money is more important to you in saving energy and replacement costs the only one who wins is you. The economy doesn't work unless you're spending money now does it? And you don't think the government can afford to do all the great things it does without a little tax revenue do you? So the answer is simple isn't it. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

They Run In Packs

As I was pulling away from a customer's house, on a quiet street, I saw one. Our eyes met momentarily. I could see the hunger and desperation in those eyes. As I rolled up my window I could sense movement from the other direction. The first one had been on the west side of the street. This one was on the east side. The speed limit was only 30 mph but would that be fast enough? As I continued I noticed the two were meeting in the middle of the street. Such audacity in the middle of the morning. It had sprinkled earlier which usually causes them to seek shelter but the rain had stopped. Now there were two off to the side of the road. The relief was satisfying as I crept past them with their little eyes focusing on me. Should I honk my horn to scatter them, I wondered. As my vehicle proceeded down the road I caught a glimpse of more of them. This one was a female. She was leaving the doorway of a house several houses north of the house I had just left. It seemed she was almost waving at me and then I noticed she was trying to get the attention of another female directly across the street from her. "Great" I thought to myself. Should I call the city to notify them there was a pack of them on Chilton Street? I wasn't really sure if there was anything anyone could really do. "As long as they stay in their homes they should be alright." I tried to reassure myself. The females just watched as I drove on by. It would seem that the females were meeting up with the males on the side of the street as I watched from the rear view mirror of my service van. Normally I see two together but four was probably more of a synchronized hunt. "They must communicate with each other through some specialized evolved trait or something." I said to no one in particular. I felt a sense of relief as I turned onto Greenwood and proceeded to Hardin Ave. Through the years I had experienced other close calls with them. Sometimes in front of my own house. But on this particular morning I was able to get a small taste of watching a whole pack of them roaming around on a street. Normally you see something like that on some tv documentary but this was real life. Right in front of me. So I was pretty excited but still shook up from the experience. "I didn't get any pictures or videos of them." I yelled as the thought occurred to me. Oh well. People are always accusing other people of photoshopping pictures like that so who was gonna believe me anyway. But I knew the truth and no one, no matter how much doubt they could try to cast on my story, was gonna convince me other wise. And even to this day, when I close my eyes, the scene comes alive in my memory. The pretty little floral print dresses and fashionable hats. The perfectly pressed shirts and ties. Even the pamphlets they held in their hands with the title of Watchtower printed boldly. I had witnessed a pack of Jehovah's Witnesses and had observed them in their natural state. I survived this time but I'm not so sure about the friendly people on the street of Chilton. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Assimilation (or The Box continued)

The gasket on the refrigerator door was beginning to separate from the frame. She had opened that door countless times and now the corner of the gasket was sticking to the door. "I really need a job", she thought. She had been employed with local school district for 2 years when the superintendent had decided to make drastic cutbacks in mid-year. She could still hear his sympathetic voice on the other line explaining how important it was for everyone to understand the district had no other choice. "Tell my refrigerator that." she mumbled to herself and no one else in particular. Her husband had recently been promoted at the same time so moving to another city was definitely out. And Carl's adjustment to his new school had taken so long this time. The family had no choice if they wanted any semblance of normality. Dr. Wilhelm had taken his interest in Carl a little too seriously and John felt the necessity to move. Cathy's position as an aid at the old school wasn't her dream job but at least she would have still been employed. So, she was now unemployed and John had flourished at the new branch. "We can just buy a new refrigerator." That was John's answer. But the medical bills and student loans weren't gonna pay themselves off either. And the most important thing was Carl. "I guess I could try superglue." Perhaps the challenges weren't as glamorous at home as they were at school but still ... Cathy almost didn't hear her cellphone ring in the dining room. "Hello?" Carl's school seemed to be the only ones who would call late in the afternoon. "It sure as heck wouldn't be John." she quietly said to herself. "Mrs. Winston, this is the secretary at Adam's. We hadn't heard from you but we need to know if Carl had a reason for not being here today?" A momentary disconnect occurred in Cathy's thinking process as this slowly translated into possibility. "Carl should have been there. Are you sure he isn't? I watched him get on the bus myself." She could feel her heart pounding as the possibilities came pouring in. "We've checked with all his teachers. He didn't report in his first class and there hasn't been any sign of him all day. Carl's not here Mrs. Winston." Cathy stood in the dining room trying to fathom where Carl could be. "Mrs. Winston? Mrs. Winston?" The years of doctor's visits and the analysis by Dr. Wilhelm came flooding back. "I'm sorry. I'll call you back." Cathy hung up and immediately called John's office. "What do you mean 'in a meeting'? He's always in a freaking meeting. Can you please inform him his one and only son is missing?!!!" Cathy stood quietly trying to recompose herself as the phone rang again in her hand. It was John. "What's going on with Carl? He didn't go to school?" Cathy was tired of this game with John. After 19 years with this man he felt like a stranger most of the time. "I personally watched him get on the bus John. I don't just sleep in!!" Cathy was angry and scared. "I know you don't Cathy. Please calm down. He didn't show up at school?" "Why am I the only one that seems to have a handle on Carl's life?" she thought to herself. "No John. He didn't show up at school. The secretary just called wanting to know an excuse to write down. He's been missing all day and they just now called." Slowly, the sobbing started. "It's happening again John. I just know it." "Calm down Cathy. I'm coming home. I'll call the police on my way. We'll find him." As he hung up a sense of frustration and hopelessness washed over her. It had been three years since the last disappearance. The last time he had shown up at the mini-mart a few blocks from the house. The police had informed DCFS and there had been an investigation into his history. She really couldn't go through this again. As she was trying to fathom the reality of Carl's situation she heard a muffled cry from upstairs. "Mom? Are you here?" It wasn't possible, was it? She ran up the stairs and opened the door to Carl's room. When she saw Carl sitting on the floor her relief was instantaneous. It took a moment for her mind to register to the rest of the scene. Carl was looking at her with a lost expression of confusion and disbelief. His clothes were stained with dry blood and his hair was matted thick with it. In his left hand he held a book. It was as clean as any other item in Carl's room. In his right hand he was holding an old carving knife. Cathy's father was an avid antique collector who specialized in old weapons and metals. She recognized the design but couldn't remember where she had seen it before. But her son was sitting on the floor holding it. "Carl!" she shouted as she ran to him. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" His eyes told her the truth as he remained silent. "Carl?" He remained silent for a moment and then the realization of what was going on sunk in on him. "I don't remember mom. I don't remember anything. How'd I get here?" As she held him she could smell a toxic mixture on his clothes. She could smell the fresh blood but there was an underlying aroma of something indiscernible. She knew she had smelled it once before but the memory alluded her. Carl had disappeared before but this time was different. And there was a sense that he was not alone. She could feel something else with her son. But for now her son was here. In her arms. But he definitely was not alone. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

When To Say No

If Nancy Reagan taught us anything, it was how to say "no". To just say "no". Simple but effective. She never lingered near "maybe" or "just this once". For Nancy, no meant no. This is a hard concept for many. We see it everyday. People will repeat "No way!!" over and over again. A mother will yell "NO!" at her child in Walmart over and over again. Does she mean "No!" or is she merely creating a possibility for the child to contemplate. (Mommy, I know you said no but I'm going to chance it because last time there wasn't really any consequences that would imply your negative position on running through the store meant much and was just an opinion and not really backed up by punishment.) As children we learned who was really in charge of us and who we were in charge of. The tired parent who wakes up and dreads the constant battle with Timmy. Timmy is rambunctious but would listen if he knew and understood the boundaries with mommy. We've all experienced "that" child who never knew why his mummy was always yelling but didn't let it stop him from throwing stuff at the supermarket. We will hear "I'm going to count to three" and then the break down into fractions between 2 and 3. And then the child looks up and the mother's finished counting. Somewhere, off in the distance, we hear an announcer talking to the crowd. "Let's give Mrs. Marple a round of applause for finishing the count for the millionth time. For her next trick we're gonna hear her threaten the child with some form of bodily harm which will not come to fruition due to the fact the child never got the memo about who was in charge." I don't mean to make it sound like mother's are the usual culprits because we've all seen the father's who are guilty of these things as well. The biggest problem with these type of extreme cases is the adulthood these children will face. The punishment will come. Although it arrives in the form of a pink slip at work because the boss just didn't understand the dynamics of his relationship with the employee. "Mother always let me sleep in" the employee thinks. "Why won't that mean boss let me do the same?" Or the traffic stop by the officer who just doesn't understand that the 'rules' of the road are merely suggestions by which to drive by and don't apply to the child who never really understood the meaning of guidelines. Because the parent never really enforced them. How many times have we seen the same name repeated in the police report in the local paper and couldn't fathom how a person reaches adulthood and continues to break the law. And I'm not implying that repeat offenders are always the children of weak parents. On the contrary, there are many model parents who have seen their children grow up to find themselves in and out of prison for the rest of their lives. That's a different problem altogether. But the parents of the children who just can't seem to find it in their hearts to break the hearts of their children will find that it is much easier to discipline the child for the first 18 years rather than bail them out of the endless stream of jams for the next 40 years. The father that never had the heart to tell his little darling "no" on a purchase will discover just how deep his pockets really are when the child keeps coming for the really expensive "gifts" that require titles and deeds. At some point the parent will open their eyes and say to themselves "What have I done?". "I should have been firm when they were asking for lollipops instead of vehicles." The hardest part for me, as a parent, is sticking with the truth. And the truth is, money and finances don't increase just because it seems like a neat idea or my child might not have the same as his friends and he might get mad at me. The sadness in their eyes is bad but bearable. It's the sadness in their hearts when life tells them "no" when they're grown and you REALLY can't afford to make it all better for them that is unbearable. Because the child doesn't even understand that "no" is there for their own safety or well-being. And how will they ever understand the difference between a gift given through love and reward and a "gift" given through manipulation and threats. Children need our love through understanding and patience. Even if the patience is more on our part then on theirs. There is an old song with a lyric that tells us "One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do." And that may be true. But "No" is the loneliest word when your defiant child can't even fathom the implications of what it's supposed to mean. I know many good parents out there doing it well. But every once in awhile, while I'm standing in line at Walmart, and the child in front of me is standing in the cart and wailing about the need for a candy bar, I think back to that lyric and think "One is the loneliest number but it saves us from reproducing at times." Then I watch as the child hurts themselves and the parent doesn't understand how that could have been avoided in the first place. By a single word - "No." - and the child understanding the terms in which his safety and well-being depend upon. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Africa Is Not The Land Of The Free Or Home Of The Brave

It can be very frustrating not having a caps lock key on the keyboard that capitalizes the first letter of each word for a title. Personally, I would be in favor of such a key. Titles, and the writing of such things, is cause for a repetitive use of the backspace key. Hit the shift key and type a letter. Then don't hit the shift key while I finish the word. Then hit the shift key again while starting the next word. Perhaps the most frequently used key on my own keyboard would be the backspace key. I make a lot of mistakes while typing. I'm fast but the mistakes prevail. Missed letters as I'm typing. Misspelled words. These are a few of my most hated things. But it goes with the typing/writing. Mistakes will be made. I guess this can be said for any hobby. Or profession. Even leaders make mistakes while governing. And that brings us to the real issue for the day. If I ran a company (and I do) then I would need to supervise such company. If I had a family (and I do) then I would need to make my presence known and supervise such family. If I was president of, let's say, a country, then I would feel a need to remain in said country if there were a crisis on hand. Or if there were problems within my own administration I would feel a need to supervise and stay close by. And I guess that's what separates me from the big dogs. I read the headlines and follow political and technical news. Also, I follow entertainment but not really the television side. I love movies and like to know what's coming out. With this being said, I mistakenly followed several news stories that told of a week long visit by our very own president to Africa. I really thought it was a trailer for some eventual release coming out in the fall. Que the trailer music.... "This summer, the world is ending. And only one man can save us. Alone, with only a secret service attachment, a political entourage, a press corp, and his wife and daughters, only one man can save us from a continent known as Africa. Not only will he fight the foes of tyranny, he will also visit other world leaders in their very own homes. He is Obama. And he's not campaigning anymore." And fade music. So, the question that comes to mind, in this little American's head, is the "Why?". Why would our president feel the need to travel to Africa at this point in time. If I was the captain of the largest and most powerful ship on the seas would I take the lifeboat for a cruise? We are in crisis mode here. If my fellow world citizens who reside in other countries are following this blog I ask a simple question? Does it look like we know what we're doing over here? While unemployment still wavers near 8% what action is our leader taking? Well, I'm glad you didn't ask because we've apparently stopped asking and why prod a rabid dog with a stick once it has made its way into a dark corner? It will only cause the dog to come back out, right? And then we'll have to do something about the dog, won't we? And unemployment is just the beginning. The Benghazi crisis? That's not as important as keepin' up appearances in hot beds of crisis such as African-United States relations. Well, just the other month on CNN a reporter did a story on the unfolding diplomatic fubar that continues to go unattended between the United States and Africa. If you asked the ordinary, every day citizen of the United States, what is the most dire situation facing this country, obviously the first words out of their mouths wouldn't be the NSA surveillance problem, or the IRS auditing situation, or the bombing/riots of an embassy and the cover-up - NOPE!!!!!, it's the terrible public relations between the continent of Africa and the North American country the world calls the United States. And that's the message this president is sending out to the citizens under the current management. "I love ya but my heart yearns for another place." But it won't be Kenya. At least not on the radar. No safari's are on the itinerary either. At least to the best of my knowledge. The following is a quote from Chika Oduah from http://www.bellanaija.blogspot.com/ And I quote: "The truth is: Africans thought Obama would fly to their continent on his less busy weekends and shove dollars down their pockets and provide jobs for their sons and daughters. They thought Obama would halt the expansion of the Sahara Desert (or at least intercede to God on their behalf) and ensure their crops would yield a surplus. They had hoped Obama would throw their presidents and politicians in jail for money laundering. They prayed for him to help them crawl out of poverty and dreamed of Sasha or Malia marrying one of their grandsons. They told one another that he would fix their dilapidated schools and provide clean water. He was supposed to jar up every mosquito — including their larvae — and kiss malaria goodbye. After that, he would do the same to the tsetse flies. They had deluded themselves into believing that Barack Obama would quicken Africa’s entry into the First World. He was expected to bless their babies and cure their diseases. He would replace their failed governments or become a sort of proxy president. But, he didn’t." Posted on Monday, November 5th, 2012 So, in that way we are similar to Africans. Because we kinda hoped Obama would stay here, on his less busy week days, and shove dollars down our pockets and provide jobs for our sons and daughters. We don't have an expanding desert known as the Sahara but we do have an ever expanding debt ceiling. In some ways, we had hoped Obama would throw some of our governors and senators and representatives in jail for their crimes. And we prayed for him to marry off his daughters to some distant african boys. But these things did not happen. And that is why we are disillusioned. Actually, that's why some are disillusioned. I didn't expect him to fix anything or pray to a higher power then himself. I figured he would make things worse. And so far I figured right. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Picking My Brain Has Left A Huge Scab

Everyday I get the phone call. Or sometimes once a week. It seems to happen a lot during the hot days of summer or the cold days of winter. Someone will call wanting to "pick my brain". I didn't use to mind. At all. But I have noticed a trend which is happening more and more. People tend to forget who I am. A number will appear or a name will show up on my caller i.d. that I haven't seen for awhile. The conversation will go something like this: "Hey, how's it going? Pretty good. It's been a long time since we talked. Yeah, it sure has. Hey, I was wondering if you knew anything about ..." Now, to be honest, it used to feel pretty good to hear the voice of a friend I hadn't heard from for a long time. The friend would have likely received a text or two from me in between the phone calls. Just my way of reaching out. But I won't receive any answers due to the fact they are living their lives and they're probably pretty busy. Or, they realize that a conversation with me, via text or phone, will result in tangents that take us beyond the realm of the normal and they probably feel exhausted. I understand that. So, they won't answer. I understand. This has been going on for a decade or so. I guess I've given up trying to reach out to people because I really do get tired of the disappointment. But the phone call will come. Eventually. My abilities in the mechanical areas of expertise allow for some communications. They, my friends, will call when something has happened which interferes with their normal daily lives and I'm the one that they think of to call. The heating and air conditioning field usually calls for knowledge of some plumbing or electrical. Also, I have been known to dabble in motors, appliances, and other household necessities. I will admit I've lost the craving to tinker with things because I get my fill in my daily job. So, for a couple of decades I have torn things apart, put them back together, repaired, maintained, refurbished countless items. My mind has acquired a certain skill which many other folks unfortunately do not have. And I understand that. If they did I would probably go hungry. But, there are times when I remember having conversations with people. Such as "Are you doing okay?" and "Do you think the elections in Tanzania are rigged?" Deep, dark, philosophical conversations. Now my days are filled (and it seems at night as well) with questions of "How?" and "Why would my furnace be ...?" Am I complaining about people calling me for assistance? Not really. Well, maybe. But I do miss the days when my friends would just seek out a friendly hello. And I don't think I'm alone in this. I believe, in the throw away cell phone society we live in today, that there are many that long for meaningful phone calls rather than just seeing a checkmark next to their newest photo on facebook with a "like" besides it. Or how many parents wish their kids would start out a conversation differently than "Hey, mom (or dad), could I have ...?" or "My friends were wondering ...?" We all want to be known for more than what our work is or our current important role in life is. We want the phone calls or conversations that really request a long response to the question "Is everything going well in your life?" We want to know that we are not just defined as our jobs or as parents or as the employee. Mothers and fathers need to remember they are human. I need to know I'm more than just a brain to be picked when something breaks down or acts differently in someone's home or business. I find the ability to even give an answer a source of pride but it also becomes an anchor in the sea of human interaction. I want to know that I am still relevant in the one on one rather than the man against machine. I truly do like to torment people with the tangents I throw them. It's how my mind releases the beast inside. I need that. I have struggled through the years with a multiple congnitive disfunction which seems to be in hyperdrive most of the time. It's misdiagnosed by physicians and therapists too often. And these minds which can't deal with singular ideas are drugged and not allowed to seek out their full capability. Because their handlers can't, I'll be blunt, handle them. I was never drugged and had to learn to deal with my ability on my own terms. Often, my own parents would run when they saw a full-fledged episode coming on. Others just try to blackout until it's over. But for those who understand I'm just me they smile and drift off to a peaceful land filled with single dimensional thought and little ideals. Because sanity is comfortable. Sanity is what they are used to. Personally, I think sanity is overrated. But I digress... What I want is a phone call just to say "Hi". "I was thinking of you and I care." Simple but effective. But the texts just don't seem to cut it. There is something impersonable about a text. Sure, there's a name attached and it's convenient. But the physical sound of the human voice is a connection which will never be fully replaced by emails and texting. It is in our nature to want that connection. To hear someone on the other line or face to face. We need to know we are human as well. So, today, if you have that name swirling around in your head try not to let it be silenced. Call them. Have a real conversation. Feel them rather than text them. The human voice is a gift to be heard. And don't ask for anything other than an answer to your inquiry on their condition. Because we are lost in a sea of despair and hurt. And the only lifeboats that really exist are each other. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Beethoven's 5 Secrets - OneRepublic (Cello/Orchestral Cover) - ThePianoGuys

My new website

For years I have written for my own entertainment and, as I have found out recently, for the therapeutic value it holds for me. Now, my dear friends and fans, I have decided the world is ready for the next step. I have developed, under the most dangerous conditions known from my recliner, a new website found at rueuhy.com. I will continue to write under the name Rueuhy (I will legally change my name in the following months) but I will start to publish under the new website. Yes, Rueuhy's Way can be found at rueuhy.com. So let me repeat that. Rueuhy's Way can now be found at rueuhy.com. I also own rueuhy.net but I didn't really want to brag. I see, within a few years, the name Rueuhy will be on par to be at the top of google searches and wikipedia alike. But I will remain humble as ever. So, if you want to read my humbled ramblings just go to rueuhy.com That's rueuhy.com It's spelled r-u-e-u-h-y-.-c-o-m Or simply keep reading here. Or you can search for rueuhy.com and it should take you to rueuhy.com. Where my new website is. I hope this clears up any confusion. From all of us at Rueuhy's Way we would just like to extend our thanks to Rueuhy and ... well, basically Rueuhy is really it. But, Rueuhy would like to thank all of his many fans and the friends and family that allow for so many post ideas. In fact, post # 3 is actually based upon three days I was locked in the closet when I was six. Thank you, Mom. Without you I would have been just another kid without the lead paint chips to take me on a journey of imagination. And then, when I was ten, my father introduced me to those special mushrooms. To this day, Mom will never know how far of a journey we went on that day. And to Mrs. Smith, my highschool Algebra teacher, my heart still belongs to you. Anyway, I digress and I digress. Sometimes it's the digressing that keeps me the sanest. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog and rueuhy.com website.

The Silent Scream

Justin always hated the annual doctor's checkup his sister underwent at St. Elias Memorial. The smell of bleach and other assorted cleaning agents gave the hospital that disinfectant smell he hated so much. But his mother always insisted the whole family would accompany his sister for moral support. "She doesn't even know we're here Mom.", Justin would argue. His mother, a third generation immigrant from the land or Ireland would hold firm with her convictions. "She knows Justin." She would look directly into his eyes and always repeat that simple phrase. "She knows." Justin hated the trips and the visits to St. Elias. The staff would always play the 'understanding and caring' people they were paid so well to imitate. Justin was pessimistic by nature. Perhaps it was living with the constant threat of death he had grown up with. His father, a lay preacher and construction foreman, would always remind Justin "It's just a matter of time. Try to be a little bit more understanding. God gives us the answers when we least expect them." His father was always saying stupid stuff like that. "God" ,Justin thought, "is the strong but silent type." For his entire life his father had quoted the bible to him and to whoever else would listen. "He will reveal Himself in the little things Justin. It's just our job to look for it." His father was rather quiet this day. Justin had just returned from the cafeteria to find his mother and father sitting down as sad as he had ever seen them. Doctor Allen was speaking to them but there didn't seem to be much reaction from either of them as the doctor was continuing on in the silent movie on display. Justin had grown up watching the doctor who used his hands as much as words to express himself. Today was different. His head hung lower than usual and his hands were stuffed into his coat in a manner of retreat. His mother was holding her head with both hands and shaking her head. And his father's eyes had such sadness. This was not going to end well. Justin held back for a moment and waited for the doctor to finish. As he stepped away Justin approached his parents. "What's going on?" he asked. His mother slumped over and turned to his father. In a reflexive nature, his father grabbed her and held her close. He could see his mother shaking. Then the tears came. "Dad?" The silence was deafening as his father looked up at him. Taylor Smith had always found just the right words for those he ministered to but this was different. His son remained for answers but they wouldn't come. Finally, when his son would not turn away, the silence was broken. "She dying Justin. And there's nothing we can do to stop it. It's time to say goodbye." His father had always spoken with an air of hope and gratitude but there was only emptiness and betrayal in his voice now. Justin could see that his father had no peace about the news. "Dad?" Justin continued to plead with his eyes for his father to say more but his father remained a barrier between his wife and the coldness of the world. Perhaps he would find out from Doctor Allen what was going on with Jenna. "I'll be right back. Okay Dad?" His father silently shook his head in agreement. Justin chased after the doctor and caught up with him in at the nurse's station. "What's going on with Jenna?" Justin asked. The doctor was used to dealing with just the parents and felt uncomfortable with this teen asking him these type of questions. "Perhaps your mother and father ..." Justin cut him off before he could complete his thought. "I want to hear it from you. She's dying soon, isn't she?" The doctor lowered his gaze and slowly nodded. "How long Doc? A month? Weeks?" Justin couldn't understand how quickly this day was turning into a nightmare. "It might be weeks or it could be as early as tonight. The disease has progressed beyond treatment. It's accelerated so quickly in the past month. The only thing we can do is just make her comfortable now." As the doctor finished speaking he placed his hand on Justin's shoulder and tried to reassure him. "Your parents are going to need you now more than ever. You have to learn to be strong Justin." He had heard the words but they weren't making sense at the moment. His parents were the strong ones. He was their child. Who was going to be strong for him? As the questions surfaced he made his way to the room his sister was waiting in. As he stepped inside he saw her with her chair facing the window looking at the grounds below. She had a solemn look of one who had made a tough decision. As he sat down beside her he decided she was the one that needed someone to be strong for more than his parents. "Jenna. It's me, Justin. You okay?" She remained silent as she had for her entire life. But he could see something stirring in her eyes. It had always been her eyes that spoke to him. And this day was no different. "Are you scared, Jenna?" Her head turned ever so slightly towards him and her eyes opened up to their fullest. It was the closest to communication she had. "Jenna, mom and dad are outside but they'll be in in a little bit. You know I love you, right?" A tear slowly formed in the corner of Jenna's eye and with the strength he had never seen before, Jenna slowly raised her head and lowered it. "I know you're probably scared but if everything dad says about the bible and all is true, you're gonna meet God soon." Jenna and Justin slowly looked at each other for a moment and it was in that moment that Justin finally felt at peace for the first time in in a long time. Since the family first found out about the debilitating disease that Jenna was diagnosed with, their lives had changed. Everyday was a constant battle. Just a simple trip to the store with Jenna had become difficult. Everyday his parents would tell him the same thing. "One day she won't be with us anymore. You need to be more understanding." It had become such a repeated phrase that he literally felt a scream form deep within him. He always referred to it as the "silent scream" when he spoke to his friends. They tried to understand but couldn't. And now, today, that scream was silenced. As he looked at her he realized he had wasted so much time in his own suffering that he didn't see her for who she truly was. "I'm sorry Jenna, for not being a better brother. I'm sorry for not seeing your pain before my own. It just hurt so much inside. I wanted to be your friend but I held you being sick against you. I'm so sorry. I love you." The tears started and wouldn't stop. He reached out to her and stood up to hug her. As he held her as tight as he had ever remembered hugging her, he heard the slightest noise coming from her. Although the doctors had said it would be impossible for her to speak, to his last day he would always remember her mumble, in the lowest whisper, "I love you". And tears fell from her eyes as well. He felt his father's hand on his shoulder as his parents came up behind them. It would be the last time they would all be together. But it was the beginning for Justin. The world seemed so much brighter as the darkness lifted. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

2122122212

It was a cold and stormy night when Arthur Higgens approached his house to find two children sitting in his tree with his wife Patty. But this story isn't about Arthur Higgens, his wife, or the two children. In fact forget about Arthur Higgens. The truth is sometimes more interesting then children in trees. The following is based on a true story filled with death, violence, espionage, and treason. I don't really have time to get into all of those things but I will pass on the truth about unknown callers listed at the telephone number I have used as a title. The phone number showed up when I missed a couple of calls a couple of days ago. I was sitting in a tree with Arthur Higgens, his wife, and two children when my phone rang and the same number I had missed twice during my time out of the tree previously that day popped up. (212) 212-2212 ? I thought to myself. I am self-employed and get unfamiliar phone numbers all the time but that seemed a little strange. But curiosity got the best of me. "Excuse me Arthur and Patty, I got to take this." I said as I jumped out of the tree. "Hello?" I asked. "Yes, Good day to you sir. I was calling about the virus' that have made their way into your computer. I can take care of that for you." The man had a distinctive Indian accent and I was intrigued by the scammer's angle in this ruse. I decided to play along. Now, for those of you who have never met me I need to let you in on a little secret. I do have a gift in changing my voice. I can do impersonations (amateur level) and I love distinctive sounding voices. There is a 'Goats sounding like humans' video which has gone viral on youtube. My son and I love to imitate the very last goat and he has a distinctive word he says. So, it was the first voice that popped in my head to use and I answered with a "Yeah?" (The goat at the end only says the one word so I was gonna have to switch on the next answer I gave in this intriguing phone call.) "Yes, sir, I am here to help you. Are you at your computer?" My mind quickly raced to my next voice which I pulled up from que'd list. I decided to go with the talking dog (compliments of Klaatu 42 youtube sensation. It's the one (if you watch youtube) where a man is talking to his dog about bacon and other foods and the dog is being filmed answering in an almost human voice. "No." I answered. "Well" said the very concerned Indian man, "If you'll go to your computer I can help you with this problem" Still using my dog voice I said, "You can? Really?" He said, "Oh yes, kind sir, it is not a problem. Are you at the computer now?" I was still sitting in my recliner so I lied, "Yeah." "Very good sir. Now, if you will enter this code in your search bar I can help you." He really did seem to be concerned about helping me. It was acting, of course, but I figured we both were and why not enjoy the moment. He gave me a long list of letters and numbers (which I really can't remember but I was really having a tough time making out what he was saying so I would have never been able to figure it out anyway) and I pretended to type. "Could you please repeat those last two letters?" I asked. "Oh yes, kind sir, they were _ _" I repeated back what he said but messed up the order so he'd have to repeat himself again. "Let me give you that code again. It is _ _ , etc." I know he was trying to scam me but in a small humane way I felt sorry for him for the hard time I was making it on him. "Can you repeat that?" I asked. I was still using the dog voice but not betraying my character at all. He gave me the letters and numbers again and I slowly repeated everything he was saying. Then he asked if I saw a pop-up window. "Yeah" I answered. "Very good sir. Now, please check the small box in the corner, if you would be so kind." I waited for a second or two and then said, "Okay." Then he asked, "Now tell me what you see." I waited for a couple of seconds and said, "Another box." "Are you sure it's just a box, sir? Let's try going back and putting that code in again." At this point I was actually delaying plans for the evening with my wife so I decided to end the prank. Shifting into my FBI or NSA voice I held the phone away from my head a little bit and yelled, "Hey, did you get a trace on this yet?" I must have really rattled the man on the other end of the call because he quickly apologized and hung up. The scam involves a man or woman pretending to help naive "customers" with a computer virus or some other problem with their computer. They'll give you an access code which will give them remote access to your computer to allow retrieval of passwords or other good information you would normally not give to some guy in India that you don't know. Once they have remote access they'll bleed off your finances or whatever else they can get from you. I knew from the very beginning of the conversation what was going on and just decided to have some fun with him. Why let a little problem like a computer hacker ruin your day? At the end of the dog video, the owner tells the dog he's made something really special for the dog but he's given it to the cat. At the end the dog wails "No!!!" I would have given anything to have seen the commotion going on at the other end of the line when the man thought the call had been traced. I guess I'll just have to leave that to my warped imagination. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

The Old Lady In The Cellar

Yesterday, the day before today, I had the honor of meeting the distinguished author of the best-selling book series, The Old Lady In the Cellar. Sir William Pickalotee was dining at our local McDonald's. Surrounded by a throng of devoted hipsters enjoying their cafe mocha chocolattes and Big Macs, William was discussing his latest book series, The Old Man In The Shorts and Black Socks. Not only was the author adept in the art of writing but apparently he was also attuned to the latest in fashions, tight-fitting jeans and old school sneakers. As I approached his table the air was thick with the smell of urban outfitters and liberal arts degrees. "Mr. Pickalotee?" I asked with the enthusiasm of a little boy stuck in a cage of Algerian Bratwurst. "Sir William Pickalotee! How can you people forget my name?" he sneered back at me. It would seem knighthood has its privileges and expectations. "I am so sorry. If you would do me the honor of just a moment of your time I would like a chance to ask you a few questions on your last ..." A single hand was raised by the author and I knew I had blown my chance. A smile rose from his haggard face and he slowly shook his head. "But please sir. Just one or two questions?" The silence from the hipsters and the ceasing of sipping from the cafe mocha chocolattes was evidence of the power this man held. "I apologize and I won't bother you again." I made my way back to my usual table located three tables from the trash cans located three feet from the east entrance. I could not look back at his table out of pure embarrassment but the hipsters could be heard with their muffled giggles. "Why do I do this?" I thought to myself. "I would do anything for just a moment of that man's time." As I looked down at my tray I noticed my Quarter Pounder with Cheese had been stolen. Also my fries were cold. "It's a cruel world we live in" I mentioned to no one in particular. As I watched the lunch hour crowd make their way in to order their favorite combos I tried to forget this latest catastrophe in brushes with famous people. The last time something like this happened I had dropped my large sweet tea in the lap of Harrison Ford. "Maybe it's time to try Wendy's" I said to the hostess wiping up tables. She just smiled and asked if I needed a refill. The silence was answer enough for her but the damage will remain with me forever. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

The Art of Confucion

In 497 B.C. the philosopher, teacher, and politician Confucius left his homeland in self-exile. He would not return until the age of 68. This was due to the fact his social security benefits could only be paid out if he lived in his country of origin. During his time of exile many sightings were reported of his whereabouts. "He is here" or "Now he's over there" were heard but never verified. Confucius was credited for many teachings. One such example was the "silver rule". It simply states: Do not do to others what you do not want done to yourself. This explains briefly the reasons Confucius never got into the tattoo business. He couldn't stand them and refused to apply this art form to the bodies of friend or foe. He was simple in his beliefs but yet very complex in his writings. It is said that Confucius had an extensive collection of small silver spoons and would refuse to leave any truck stop without purchasing one from their gift shop. At the reading of his will, his third and youngest son Albert was heard complaining about the collection of spoons being awarded to him. "They're so small." he said. "You can't eat cereal with them. And forget about enjoying soup." Albert was also angry that his cousin Stewart was given the book collection. "The wisdom of the ages were contained in those books but I get the spoons?" Albert never really got along with his father but that was mainly due to the lectures his father was always on the road for. Albert was raised primarily by his mother Gloria. Gloria met Confucius while he was giving a lecture in Istanbul. It would be many years after his death that his own children would learn of their mother's contempt towards their father. In an interview with The New Yorker, Gloria was asked about her thoughts on her husband's wisdom. In a quote from that interview Gloria states: "He was never really around that much. Just long enough for me to get pregnant. Basically, I think he was full of crap." The closest friends of Confucius never really understood the attraction he felt towards Gloria. In a Rolling Stones interview with his best friend, Andrew Alveraz, a well-known publisher responsible for the original printing of Confucius' book Five Classics, Andrew was asked to comment on his take of the relationship between Confucius and his wife. "She was always, and I mean always, at the mall. Here was my best friend teaching inner peace and the steps to self-restraint and Gloria was out there maxing out his credit card. What kind of woman does that?" When asked about the prior marriage between Gloria and himself, Mr. Alveraz had this to say: "Yeah, when she was younger she was definitely hot. But, she would give me headaches just listening to her endless whining. I guess Confucius saw past all that. But he was a man just like the rest of us. He never really got into his own private feelings but she had a control over him like I never saw with anyone else. She'd bat her pretty little eyes and he'd be jello. She was his Kryptonite." At the end of his life, in a final interview with Oprah, Confucius confused many of his critics with a final confession. "When I was little I tore the wings off of any butterfly or moth I could find. It was in the struggle for these creatures to continue their lives in their flightless form that many of my future inspirations I wrote about were formed. A butterfly without wings is much like a man without his mind. A creature who is intended to fly without wings is a creature that defies his own definition. Such is the case with man. For the mind allows man to fly. Unless he's going first class on United." The audience really laughed at that one. But Confucius mind was strong up til the end. And it can be said that he knew no boundaries when it came to his own inner flight. But Confucius was known for enjoying his opium. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Horse Heads And Other Collectibles

This is a true story. I've never lied to you during this post so far, have I? A decade or two ago I had just gotten home from an extremely hot and tiring day spent working on air conditioners when I got this funny cartoon inside my head. At that time I was a huge fan of the ever popular Far Side comic strip. I was religious about it. Services were held every Thursday evening at 7 pm. So this cartoon had a picture of the devil tormenting prisoners in hell and two guys were just sitting on a booth outside his office. In this single frame of a cartoon we see two rather haggard characters dripping with sweat from the heat and the flames and we see one man looking at the other and simply saying, "It's not the heat that gets to you. It's the humidity." I almost choked on my macaroni and cheese I was laughing so loud. My wife just looked at me in that odd and peculiar way and was probably glad she didn't know what I was laughing about. Growing up in our little oasis known as west central Illinois, the humidity can become unbearable on summer days. Sweat will just soak your shirt and it's not uncommon to see someone take their vehicle and drive over a fire hydrant just to feel the cool stream of water gush forth from it. It gets hot. Growing up I remember my father on more than one occasion saying that line. "It's not the heat that gets to you. It's the humidity." So, after a long day full of sweat from the humidity I got this funny visual of a Far Side cartoon with the two guys stuck in hell and the nonchalant way of expressing the uncomfortable condition created by humidity. Sure, there was flames dancing around and 1000+ degree heat but it's the humidity. No one could have blamed me for the Pepsi spraying out of my nose. I never actually submitted this idea to Gary Larson but he retired a few years later so I never really got the chance. It only made sense in the Hell setting. I tried it with two cows standing in a pasture leaning against a fence but it just didn't seem as funny. But I digress.... So today I'm reading my Blinkfeed on my phone (if you don't know what that is it's okay - I'm still not sure and I look at it every morning in the bathroom) and I'm reading a heading to an article about a hit man who is going to testify about the murders he committed in the trial against a mob boss. So, the question arose in my subconscious and eventually made it to the permanent part of my conscious. Who is worse? The man who pulls the trigger or the man who orders the man to pull the trigger? The man who pulls the trigger is just following orders but is doing it for purely financial gain. He really has no emotional attachment to the victim so it would seem a purely heartless thing to do. There is no motive other than payment. Now the mob boss who orders the hit has a lot invested in killing the victim. Whatever the reasons there is probably some emotional ones involved as well as revenge. Or perhaps it's just business and the mob boss has no real emotional attachment involved with the killing of the victim. So why is one man getting leniency while the other gets tried for ordering the hit? Isn't the man who pulls the trigger guilty of the worse action? Or is the mob boss more guilty because he's paying for the deed to be done? The answer is a complex one filled with cloudiness and haziness and craziness. Who is worse? My own opinion is they should both apologize profusely and expect the same punishment. One man should not hold the fate of a worse conviction over the other because of a willingness to testify. Does the testimony, which is used as evidence, perhaps the only evidence which ties the second man to the murder, invalidate the full punishment of the first man? In the big scheme of things should one man's words bring about a shorter term of punishment? Is a plea deal a justifiable reason to shorten or absolve in any way the punishment of the man who made the final choice to murder another human being? Isn't that in the territory of God's final judgement on each one who is guilty? What if the mob boss orders a final hit on the hit man and the hit man, because he testified, dies as a punishment? Is this enough of a punishment for the hit man? In the end, the hit man and the mob boss will face a final punishment. At least that's what I believe. There is a final authority more astute in rendering such a judgement. But in their lifetimes, while still alive, under the laws of man, is either man any less guilty or deserving of a lesser punishment because one was lured into testifying with the promise of less punishment and without a sincerity of regret or remorse? Is that the lesson for those seeking justice for the loss of their loved one? In the end both men will probably suffer in eternity from the heat and humidity. But they also may have the company of a couple of lawyers who brokered a deal and the company of a judge who allowed a travesty of justice. We are mere mortals qualified to only wonder. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Mathematically Speaking You Don't Add Up

I've always enjoyed a good title. I guess that's why on average I spend between one to two hours thinking about what the title will be for my next article. Then, once I have a title I spend another hour figuring out the first line. The rest of the post usually takes ten to twenty minutes to finish. I like my posts like I like my politicians - good titles and a good opening but the rest of it doesn't matter much. But it really does matter - doesn't it? The substance of the post is the most important part. And I guess that's what makes me different than many of the other fine citizens in the United States. As I've written numerous times (when I'm not writing about kittens and eating utensils) the average citizen in this great land of ours is half-awake. That can only be the real answer. In the movie The Matrix, we are introduced to the main character as he's asleep in front of his computer monitor. This was way before people were falling asleep with their phones falling out of their hands in bed and hitting themselves in their forehead. Mr. Anderson woke up to find someone typing a message to him on the screen. Then there's a knock on the door. Neo, a.k.a. Mr. Anderson, is a computer hacker with software to sell and a customer wants to make a purchase. In the opening conversation Neo asks his customer "... You ever have that feeling where you're not sure if you're awake or still dreaming?" It would seem our country is under the same delusion. A lot of people seem to be in that dream world. Possibly even the matrix. It would seem even more probable that that is a very possible reality. Because this just doesn't add up, does it? What brought this little thought into my head was the latest approval ratings for a politician in our country that I will not name by name but you've probably heard of him. I don't want to list a name because the machines (in The Matrix it was the machines doing the monitoring but in this world it's the NSA) might key in on that name and voila - wire tap. Or someone will get a court order to review my Googliness. Or my cell phone will be tapped. But I guess what's really bothering me is, after 5(?) years of leadership under this un-named man, our present economic situation, our unemployment numbers, and the various foreign and domestic catastrophe's that lay at the feet of this un-named commander-in-chief of the United States, what really bothers people is the fact that their facebook accounts are being monitored. You can do a lot to people in the United States but don't dare hack into their online profiles they've spent hours putting together and then feel someone has disrespected their privacy. I understand it goes much deeper than that. Google accounts and emails. Cell phone monitoring. It really is pretty disgusting the lengths at which our freedoms (and rights) are being sacrificed. But this is what most "experts" give credit for the reasoning for an 8 point percentage drop in approval ratings for our un-named head of the executive branch of our government. Eight points since this scandal broke and it's actually being reported. I guess the press will only give a free ride for so long. America - wake up. That includes you Pennsylvania. And you Massachusetts. And Rhode Island, I know the other bigger states kick dirt in your face but you matter too. All of you need to wake up. This dream has gone on way too long. I know it's comfortable and the pillow's cozy but a new day is dawning. Another scene from this movie - The Matrix - has an agent questioning Morpheus (actually it's more of a lecture) who is the crew leader who found Neo and woke him up. Agent Smith tells Morpheus that " It's the smell. If there is such a thing. I feel.. saturated by it. I can taste your stink. And every time I do I feel I have somehow been infected by it, it's repulsive. I must get out of here. I must get free". And I guess it's sort of like that. There's a stench to this. I can smell it. It's been rotting away for so long and so few seem to be able to smell it. Or there are actually many who smell it but they've adapted. They're in the thick of it and their senses have adjusted to it. But I just can't seem to adjust. The smell is so thick with injustice and criminality - the absolute failure of our present leaders. I sometimes think it would be simple to just let it go and pretend it isn't there as so many others have done and continue to do. But I can't. It's repugnant. I see it on the national level as well as within our own county courthouse. It seems to be everywhere. I know, I should just let it go, right? But I just can't. Logically, it just doesn't add up. And at some point the math won't work at all. 45% approval rating seems like it's way too high. And I guess it's because I tend to surround myself with others who also don't think it adds up. Because of the smell. There seems to be a lot of people I know who can't stand it either. But I know there's a lot who seem to be attracted to it. There's a phenomenon I used to witness across the road from where I used to live. A pig farmer owned a small hog confinement building and would visit a few times a day to feed and tend to his pigs. Now, living across from such a place gave us, my family, a strong dose of pig stench which would drift across the road and was especially aromatic on hot summer days. They really stunk. I never knew how Mr. Weiss could stand that smell. It was only later, after entering the job force and finding myself so dependent upon earning a wage that the answer started to come. And, after running my own business for awhile, it's something I understand a lot better. Although that stench was at times unbearable for my neighbor he found a way to adapt to it. Those pigs, and the smell that came with them, fed his family and put a roof over his head. And so, as a country, we've grown to adapt to the smell. But I can only take so much. And the stench has truly become unbearable. Many years later, after making a visit to the old home, I discovered the smell was gone. I guess at some point Mr. Weiss decided to give up the pigs. And, at some point, we, as a country, will have to make the same choice. But for now, whether it be on the state level or federal, every once in awhile the pigs are fed and on really hot days when they're all gathered together on a hot summer day, guys like me really can't stand the smell anymore. 45% approval rating? The math definitely stinks. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Cereal Killer

I was never one for labeling people. My friends enjoyed it though. We would get together on Friday nights, and using our Dymo embossing label makers, we would hit the stores and pick out victims at random. "Let's put 'DUMB' on him" a friend would giggle. Back then it would take a little bit to make out the label. You had to align the wheel, press the trigger, and then align the wheel for the next letter. But we enjoyed our time together. I remember last year, during our 45th high school reunion, pulling out the new digital label maker and Tommy Glassmen giggling that same giggle and typing out whatever we told him. I never personally stuck the sticker on people because it always seemed people were more than that but I never wanted to say anything - then or now. It was a time for bonding between friends. And now it was a drive down memory lane. But no matter how much I opposed the actual labels I always understood that people had to have their labels. Some wanted and needed those titles. My uncle, the one who graduated from medical school and interned at Chicago Memorial Center, felt the need for people to call him Doctor. And my cousin Vinny who transports commuters using a large vehicle with advertising on the side. He always felt the need to be called a bus driver. My mother, who flies a transport vehicle with passengers in it always wanted us to call her a pilot. She was always so proud of her label until the FAA told her she couldn't fly anymore. Even though she had the training and was paid well, Mother never quite got over her fear of heights. We would argue about her drinking and she would just yell back, "You want those brand name shoes don't you?" Mother may have been an alcoholic but the label we would never be able to attach to her was "quitter". She never gave up trying to get her license to fly back nor could she give up the bottle. The idea for labels began many years ago outside a small village in France. Viggo was a small lad of seven who would take the coins his mother would give him and make the journey into town. Once there he would frantically search for the supplies he was sent in for. It was on one of his daily trips that a large man who never wore a shirt approached him. "What be you look for?" the stranger asked. Viggo, with the innocence of a child, looked up at the man and yelled, "Who the x$#& do you think you are?" The stranger was so stunned by the bluntness of the boy that all he could think of to say was "I am he who smiths black." The villagers, who were always a little put off by the man without a shirt began to giggle that day and point at the man and yell "Smiths Black". It became the biggest joke in the village. "Smiths Black this, and Smiths Black that" was in constant conversation. The boy, Viggo, went home that day with out the supplies his family desperately needed. His mother, in need of her chewing tobacco, was upset with him. "Why have you not brought back the supplies we so desperately need my young Viggo?" The boy, who had always been afraid of his mother, cried out in defiance "Smiths Black!! Smiths!!! Black!!" His mother, who had little patience without her tobacco, left the house that day in search of the answers to her questions. As she approached the village she came across a beggar sitting in front of the post office. "Excuse me, kind sir, can you direct me to a man they call Smiths Black?" The beggar looked her square in the eye and said, "What?" The woman was really feeling the jitters now and in her need of a tobacco fix mixed the two words. "Black Smiths??" The old beggar, who was extremely hard of hearing, looked her in the eye and yelled back, "What??!!" The mother, who had never gone this long without a chew began yelling "Black! Smith! - Black! Smith! - Black! Smith!!" By then half the village had come out their doors to hear the exchange. It was this day that the burly stranger who used to torment all the visitors to the little village became known as the Black Smith. It just happened that he forged hot metals into working items such as horse shoes and such. The boy, still angry at his mother and Smiths Black (now known as Black Smith) decided to poison his mother by adding lye to her box of Mini Wheats. When the news went out that the young boy had killed his mother by poisoning her breakfast meal he received his own label. Thus, Viggo, the son of Tonya, became known as the first Cereal Killer. Labels will always be with us but sometimes the tale of how we get them is more important than the label themselves. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

The Procedure

Emily was surprised to find the waiting room so quiet. It was tranquil with the paintings and arrangement of furniture. If there was something Emily could use more of it was some tranquility in her life. Her friends joked about how she would describe her life to strangers. Noisy was her favorite adjective. When her best friend Serena first met her she was quietly sitting in her dorm room sobbing in a corner. Serena never rejected her or made light of Emily's condition. And perhaps that was the secret to a friendship that had lasted so long. Although her friend didn't understand what Emily went through, her compassion was the needed medicine. And it had been a blessing all these years. Through her miscarriages and divorce, Emily had held on to Serena as a drowning man would cling to a floating piece of wreckage in a violent storm. She had been an answer to a prayer never prayed. And now even that was being pulled into the violent ocean of emotions and anquish Emily felt. Serena had asked her to wait for her as she met with the doctor to discuss the latest results from the last round of chemo she had received. Emily was still in shock that her friend, her best friend, was fighting a losing battle for her own life. "What kind of God plays such a cruel joke on his own creation?" Emily muttered to an empty room. She had been brought up as a Roman Catholic but had never felt a real connection to God. She believed but she definitely would not describe it as some kind of deep relationship. And this was the final straw as far as she was concerned. "First mom, then Jenny, and now Serena? What kind of a sick ..." Her Catechism classes from so long ago had instilled enough respect within her to stop her from continuing with her statement. "Why God? What's the point?" Her questions went unanswered as she sat there. "Hey. 'Ja miss me?" Serena asked. Emily had not even noticed her friend come out of the doctor's office. "Never.", Emily joked back at her. The best part of her relationship with Serena was the complete trust she felt with her. Even now, with her life ending, Serena was more worried about Emily then she was about herself. "Did it work?", Emily asked. The silence was answer enough. Emily began sobbing but Serena just grabbed her and quietly consoled her. Emily couldn't hold back. "It's just not fair. You've never hurt anyone or did anything worth dying for. How? How can you just ..." The tears and pain overwhelmed her as they sat in silence. Even now, with the worse news she had ever been given, Serena was the pillar of strength Emily had never been. But now she was lost beyond words. "Hey, I'm the one that should be balling." Serena smiled at her best friend and suddenly Emily, out of nervousness and pain, was able to force a smile back. "I just don't know what I'm gonna do without you." Serena smiled and said, "Well, I'm not dead yet." The two walked out and drove back to the flat they had lived in the past two years. The next few weeks were a blur as Serena's body gave into the cancer. After the funeral, without feeling much of anything, Emily received an envelope addressed to her from Serena. "What's this?" she thought to herself. She hadn't worked in weeks and now the bills were pretty much it for mail so the personal envelope was not expected. She slowly opened the letter and smiled for the first time in what felt like an eternity. "Dear Emily, I know you probably haven't been doing too good but I wanted to give you this after I was gone because I know how stubborn you are and you would never agree to see a doctor about your problem if I was still here. I know this is probably the last thing you want to try but I felt that if I was still alive you wouldn't take a chance on someone else. I hope you'll listen to me now in death what I wanted for you to have while I was still there for you. His name is Doctor William Anderson and I think he can give you the answers that will help you. Here's his card and he is expecting your call. Love, Serena." Emily sat quietly and laid the letter down. "She'll never give up. Even when she's dead. I love you Serena." A wave of tears came and flooded her senses. But she would call. She would do it for Serena if she couldn't do it for herself. Doctor Anderson's office was downstate and Emily arrived early as she had always done most of her life. As she sat in the waiting room a familiar sense of tranquility she had felt only weeks before while waiting for Serena returned. "It is quite lovely" she said out loud. "Yes, the room?" the elderly lady sitting across from her asked. "Yes" Emily responded. The old woman nodded her head and returned to the quilt in her lap. It was a beautiful pattern Emily thought. It reminded her of her grandmother who had died when Emily was 16. Nana would have loved that, she thought to herself. "Miss Roberts?" the receptionist called out. "Yes" Emily answered. "Doctor Anderson will see you now. It's the first door on your left." Emily quietly stood and smiled at the lady that reminded her so much of her Nana. "Good luck Miss." she said and gave Emily a lovely little smile. As Emily knocked on the door she could hear a single "Come!" and she opened the door. Dr. Anderson looked at her in that clinical way and asked, "You're Serena's friend? I was really sorry to hear about her passing." "Yes, thank you." Emily struggled not to let the tears surface as he motioned her to the chair. "I understand you've suffered most of your life with the headaches and anxiety. You're not on any medication at the moment?" "No sir. Not for a long time." "Well, hopefully we can do something about what you're going through. Can you tell me a little bit about it?" Emily was surprised to hear how common her condition sounded to him. But she had to trust someone. "Ever since I was little I've always thought about things too much. It gets so noisy up there. My mom, before she died, used to always tell me to try not to over think everything but I just can't Doctor. I've never been able to really enjoy life because, well, it's too noisy up here." She pointed to her head and Doctor Anderson nodded his. "Well, Emily, I've studied your test results and your past medical history and what you're suffering from is a condition many others suffer from but few ever receive the proper treatment for it. It's usually misdiagnosed as depression. Basically people just get tired from thinking so much and this causes a deficiency in a hormone the body, specifically the brain, produces. It's very similar to the hormone meth users replace with continued use. After so many years the body adapts the best that it can but there is an increased percentage of suicides that result from the condition. It is treatable but the procedure is quite invasive into the brain. Effectively, we remove the area that effects the production of the hormone and that allows increased production to occur. Close to natural levels that most others experience. But we'll have to perform a lot more testing and verify this is really what is going on with you." For the first time in her life, even with the help she had always received from Serena, she felt there was an answer to her condition. Even if it meant removing part of her brain. But she knew she could not continue on like this forever. Something would have to be done. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Super Zod

Have you ever suddenly had the taste of Smores pop into your memory? Even more the really burnt Smore? Smores, of course, were invented by the Smurfs in the late '80's when Papa Smurf callously threw Smurfette's purse in a fire while high on mushrooms. He yelled, "Smurf you, Smurfette. I just wanted a family. I can't just be blue forever. And don't you think it would make sense for me to actually have children since everyone calls me Papa?" But sometimes we never really see the big picture do we? Like the one that hangs in our local Chinese restaurant. That thing is huge. It's like 10 feet wide and six feet tall. It may be one of the biggest pictures I've seen but I really don't look at it anymore. But I digress... Smores, when burnt, have that carmel scent to them. Very similar to carmel when it burns but without the pan. And this is why The Man of Steel may have been the most disappointing movie for me this summer. **Caution** Spoiler alert!! Superman is actually Clark Kent. He wears glasses and they're really black with big frames. For some reason, after fighting the other aliens for a full three hours (it may have been longer but it was at the midnight premier so it may have just been the lack of sleep) in full view of Metropolis (very similar to New York City but without the politicians or world leaders involved) no one, absolutely no one except Louis Lane, recognizes him. Even though the world was watching as the aliens showed up, turned off the power to everything except the tv screens, and demanded this single resident of the planet earth to be turned over to them. And the world watched as Clark surrendered to the bad aliens and then knocked down the buildings that had not already been knocked down by the alien's ship which was as big as the ship when they showed up but was half of the original ship after it split up into two. So, at the end of the movie he shows up to his new job and somehow Metropolis had fully rebuilt itself within a matter of hours. Or maybe it was actually days. But at the end of the final epic battle between Superman and Super Zod, the city is literally so damaged that every (yes every) building has every window blown out and the skyscraper which collapsed next to the daily planet was all cleaned up. So it must have been more like months, or years, or decades to clean up that mess. But then they show the gang at the Daily Planet (totally unharmed afterwards) without any aging taken place and back at their jobs. Clark shows up, in glasses (disguise complete), and he's introduced to all these eye witnesses (who had a front row seat to the epic battle between Superman and Super Zod) and they do not recognize the super guy who is an ALIEN!!!! I can only disconnect from reality for so long but this movie required someone to actually externally throw my switch. As I walked out of the theater and threw my soda at the guy mopping other people's thrown sodas I was disappointed. Kind of like when I asked for a football uniform for Christmas one year and I got a toy typewriter instead. It just hurts. They promised a super movie with a super guy and super zod and Amy Adams and we pretty much got a super mess with the same performance by Amy Adams that we saw in the Muppets and Curveballs with Clint Eastwood. She doesn't exactly stray away from the formula. So, Amy Adams was Amy Adams. Now, this was the same director who brought us 300 so I was expecting more skulls. And he did not disappoint. Ka-el or Clark or Superdude is shown in a dream sequence taken directly out of 300 where the skulls are everywhere. And suddenly he starts sinking into the skulls. It's a skull quicksand scene. I was not expecting skull quicksand. But that's not really at the top of my list of cinematic achievements. So how does Superman defeat Super Zod? Is it a secret energy field deep within Clark that surfaces from all the souls of Krypton placed their by his dad? Does the human race devise some super weapon that can only be made from alien technology? How do you kill an alien just as strong or powerful as Superman? Well, I'll tell you. **Caution** Super Spoiler Alert!!!!!!! You snap his neck. Yeah, after an hour of throwing each other through buildings and burning each other with super death rays from the eyes, you just simply snap a neck. And then scream with all the souls of Krypton inside of you because you "Broke your one rule Batman". Oh wait, that was Bruce Waynes' one rule. And then Amy Adams looks at you and says "There, there, Superman. You need a hug?" And of course she's within a 5 second walk from Superman after the climatic Super Epic final fist fight with Super Zod. Like I said before, sometimes you suddenly smell burnt Smores and you just can't seem to get that fragrance out of your nose. And sometimes you would just rather hear someone scream "This is Sparta!!" and watch him kick a tall Ethiopian down a deep well. But sometimes you have a classic and sometimes you just go for a really big CGI movie. And do some super snapping. My name is Super Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

The Box

The first thing little Carl noticed was the blood. Actually, the shiny wrapping paper was what drew his attention but the blood was the thing he really noticed at first. It wasn't the first time Carl had received a box like this. Last Christmas, Christmas morning in fact, little Carl had raced down the stairs to find the largest present just sitting on the living room floor. Just waiting for him. So, as any little boy on Christmas morning would do, Carl tore open the paper and saw the big picture of the bicycle on the box he had shown his mom the day after Thanksgiving when they bundled up and made the traditional holiday trek for the 'after holiday' shopping event his mother loved so well. And on that morning, as he was ripping into the paper, he remembered how excited he was and how pretty the paper was. Shiny with a huge bow on top. And so this morning, with no one yelling wake up, Carl was a little surprised to see the same paper but a much smaller box sitting on his floor. He quickly did a mental check of the season and what day it was. "No, it's not my birthday", he thought. It wasn't even close to his birthday. And it definitely wasn't Christmas. He would have remembered that. No, this was just a regular school day and nothing, absolutely nothing was remarkable about this date. "What could it be?" he muttered to himself. "Carl! Are you getting up?" echoed through the house as his mother prepared breakfast for him and his father. She had lost her job shortly after Christmas last year and now she kept busy with the house and job hunting. "Yes Mom. What's in the box?" he yelled back at her. "What box? What are you talking about?" Now he was really curious about it. He knew if he showed her and she saw the blood she would really freak. "Never mind, Mom. I was just kidding. I'll be down in a little bit. I just need to get dressed." Carl had been too quick to alert his mom. In fact, he wasn't sure mom or dad should see this. Dad would get mad at him and it wasn't even his fault. "Blood? Why is there a pretty box sitting in a pool of blood?" Carl knew if his mom saw it after she left she would flip out and then she would show up at school and he'd have to talk to the counselor again. He really didn't mind going into her office 'cause she really was cute but she would ask the stupid questions again. And Carl would feel small again just like back at the old school. When they left a couple of years ago all he could remember was the yelling and mom moving out for awhile but then she came back. Dad never really said it was Carl's fault but he knew he never looked at him the same after the move. And all he could remember the first week was his mom telling him things would be different at this school. And it was a pretty scary time. First the police asked him questions and then he was made to talk to that old bald guy that smelled like chlorine all the time. "Why is this happening again?" echoed in the back of his mind but he tried his best to ignore it. "Mom will really freak out and then dad's gonna hate me again." was all he could think about. When he was very young, just a toddler, the doctor's had taken a big interest in Carl. Close to death, twice, Carl was somewhat of a marvel to the local hospital. Specialists had flown in from around the country just to see the "miracle" boy. Ans his mother would call him that from time to time. He was never really sure why they were so curious. But there were long stretches of time that Carl really couldn't account for. And it was only after the last examination that his mother had put a stop to any more testing. Carl was special but he didn't really understand the "why". Why was he different? And if these really smart doctors couldn't figure it out then he knew he would probably never really understand. So, one day Carl was tired of all the tests and broke down in tears. And his mother had told the funny smelling bald man "no more tests". The bald man had shown up at the house one time after that but his mother had called the police. With a verbal warning the bald man drove away. But Carl could still remember the haunted look in the man's eyes as he looked up at Carl's window before he drove up. There were still so many questions and very little answers. And now there was another box. And also a mess on the floor. Carl walked to the bathroom down the hall and said, "I better get started..." "Hey, what you doing little man?" Carl's dad always referred to him that way and he sort of liked the phrase. "Just getting ready for school." His dad looked him over as only a father could and rustled his hair. With a smile he said, "Well you better brush your hair or your mom with have a kanipchin." Carl really never understood what a kanipchin was but his father liked saying it. Especially in reference to his mother. "Sure Dad. Are you gonna be late again tonight?" Carl had noticed all the suppers his father had missed and the worried look on his mom's face. "No. Should be home around 6. Who are you, the Gestapo?" That was another term Carl really didn't understand but it never occurred to him to ask his father what that meant. With a smile Carl rushed on past his dad and headed to the restroom. As reality sunk back in Carl still couldn't kick the uneasy feeling about the box or what it would mean if his mother found it. But for now he'd just have to clean it up and hide it. Maybe the answers would come after school. Mom always went shopping on Wednesdays and Carl knew he would have the house to himself for an hour or so. And then he would open it. And then he would find out if it was happening again. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Predictions for 2015

A.P. News outlet Friday April 13, 2015 "What is possible? That's what the guys over at that technology place two blocks over from that McDonalds where Terry Jo got sick that one time are asking themselves. And boy are they not disappointing their fans. From the same guys that brought you the usb connector and the @ symbol for emails, the creativity and innovation is flowing faster than Don Johnson in pursuit of gangsters on the high seas off the coast of Miami. (R.I.P. bad gangsters. You were useful in the 80's but now drug smuggling is too cliche' for the western world.) From the halls of The Tech Palace comes the biggest announcements for the summer of 2015. If you've been waiting for the latest breakthroughs in biochemical interface with your smart hardware interaction technology you will not be disappointed. The unveiling of the spinal input terminal was expected but advocates for several human rights groups are calling for the federal government to step in, once again, and place a hold on the research. The public response for such a connection has been remarkably positive for the latest advancements in connectivity with their technology but Johan Williamson, the PR director for PETH (People for the Ethical Treatment of Humans), quickly denounced this new technology as the next step in the de-evolution and safety of the human race. Mr. Williamson was quoted as saying, "When we make this permanent connection with our devices we have gone too far. Without the government's intervention, there will be no boundaries in the takeover of mankind by the engineers of scientific research. Already powerful, who will stop them in their ability to achieve invincibility even the government cannot stop? This is beyond science fiction. This is the beginning of the end for humanity." The North American Allegiance Prime Minister, Michelle LaVaugn Robinson, the former wife of the former United States last President Barack Obama, said that "We cannot stop the progress technology has strived for all these years. It is in our short-sightedness that we can become stagnated in our development of science and take steps backwards rather than achieve greatness. Science will verify the ability of man to achieve even greater heights of creativity and diversity within our universe. Only a fool would want to go back to the days of just talking and texting on devices which can do so much more for our species." The Secretary General of the United Nations, Inc. was quick to downplay the political fallout. Hillary Clinton, speaking at Tuesday's morning session, wasted no time in sharply disputing the latest announcements. "When the world falls victim to organizations such as Peth, and their fear-mongering voice known as Mr. Williamson, we are held hostage to our own fears and our true capability will never be known. If such technology is achievable then advancement in that field of research can only culminate in the benefit of humanity as a whole. Fear should not dominate our ability to reason through this." The ex-husbands of Clinton and Robinson were not available for comment during their latest peace-keeping mission in Sydney but are expected to speak in favor of the technology. It was the latest medical device to come out of The Tech Palace that was given credit for saving William Clinton's life for the fourth time and he has pledged 30 million North American Marks towards future research. It has been largely credited to the Clinton/Obama political think tank that brought together the former North American countries into the present coalition known as The North American Allegiance. In other announcements by The Tech Palace a new energy source is being developed very similar to photo-synthesis we see in the plant world. Tony Jobs, the head of research and development, reports that the previously unknown element jextonite has been found to be successful in generating power within humans and can power external devices. "What we are seeing is the possible end of batteries and external charging units for our electronics. If our research holds true, it may be possible within ten years to see the culmination of human/technology interface beyond what was even dreamed of within the past five years. Human touch itself will power devices and their will be unlimited potential possibilities for this new bio-chemical technology. Dare I say, it is a new field within science itself." Also, The Tech Palace is seeing possible advancements in the nana-technology areas of development. Tony Jobs had this to say on possible developments. "In the area of nano-technology we are seeing great advancements in the genetic reconstruction field. When a man lost an eye a century ago, a wooden or glass replacement was made or an eye patch was worn. What we see possible, through the latest breakthroughs, nano-bots will effectively be introduced into a victim's body and with a DNA map, rebuild the effected areas of damage. An eye can be rebuilt from within utilizing a person's cell growth process. With input from the nano's within a person, the brain will correlate information with the dna instructions from the nano-bots and begin the healing. We are seeing the possibility of the end of transplants and surgeries by the year 2050." Johan Williamson was quick to point out the dangers of this technology and demanded further intervention from the government. Michelle LaVaughn Robinson was quick to make this statement. "After the loss of her ability to walk due to spinal cord injuries endured during the December 2013 terrorist attack on the old White House, Natasha has found new hope in this news and I would be less than a mother and leader to defame such news." And that's it for this Friday morning in our A.P. Tech report. Sally Johnson will return next week and discuss the recent order to exhume the body of Steve Jobs. Good day. My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.