Seven Words

We've actually gotten to "that" point.  "What do you mean, Rueuhy?" you may ask.  While reading my local newspaper I cam across a story from New York state.  Apparently an appeals court was asked to rule on the legality of the New York City Board of Health declaring an end to soft drinks being sold to the public larger than 16 oz.  Yes, we've gotten to "that" point.  "That" point is the point of very little return.  The problem with such a ruling by a government run health board, or any agency, to put limits on the size of a soft drink, or as the health board determined as high-calorie soft drinks, is a basic issue called freedom.  Now freedom can come in many forms.  But ultimately freedom is the ability to make a choice for oneself.  In regards to those under the legal age of maturity, the ability for guardians to make a choice for those under their care is just as important.  When a ruling such as limiting the size of a soft drink is made, the door opens for many more rulings to follow.  When an argument is made that this ruling or this law or this mandate is only for one thing, it rarely stops there.  Once the argument has been made for one simple rule or law than the same argument can be made based upon that ruling for more rules and laws to follow based upon the same reasoning.  It's called the "power of invariability".  I just made up that term but I think it's pretty straight forward in its meaning.  Once a governing body is able to curtail people's actions, which only affect the health or well being of an individual and no one else, than that body is able to further its management of people's affairs in the best interest as seen by that governing body.  The individual has lost his/her ability to make their own choice because someone else knows better.  There are seven words in the English language that have become commonplace but should be held to a higher standard.  The seven words are these - There Should Be A Law Against That.  Every time those words are uttered there is the probability of people losing another right to make their own choice about something.  Now, let me be clear on this, I'm not advocating the free reign of people to hurt or act in any manner they choose.  We are a collection of individuals and each individual should be able to live freely and act and choose responsibly.   But in the United States, at this point in time, we are constantly second guessing ourselves in everything we do.  Because of the bounty of laws being created every year by bureaucracy in legislative bodies that can't possibly enforce all the old laws but feel it's in their own interests (that next election is just around the corner) or as an extension of their power (the people have given me control and I will control).  Every new law that is passed is just another nail in the coffin where old school freedom lays at rest.  For some reason people feel more comfortable in allowing someone else to make all their decisions for them.  Can I enter a restaurant and order a small soda?  Yes, I've done it many times.  Should the government stand at the counter, via the law as an extension of power, and tap my shoulder and say, "NO!"?  The answer is no.  We need rules to live as civilized people but the problem we run into is the authoritative state becoming such a monster that no one controls it anymore.  A few feel like they control it but they're just fooling themselves.  Think of AI (artificial intelligence) on a government level.  Once the government stopped listening to The people, and started telling The people how to live, it became an unsustainable monster.  And The People sat back watching their tv's and listening to their personal music devices and just thought "it's much easier this way."  If only they could read the history books and find out what happens to empires that become that powerful.  The problem is there are many who are waiting to hear from the government when to be scared.  Or at least wait until CNN or MSNBC tells them. But, the media is just waiting for the government to tell them when to let The People know.   My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog. 

On Hold

In my lifetime I have waited "on hold", on average, at least twice a week, every week, for a length of 5 minutes or longer.  That's actually a conservative estimate because I have been on hold longer than that many times and in the past 17 years, in the field of work I'm in, I've been on hold many times in a single day if I'm ordering parts or waiting on technical support.  (One of a technician's most valuable tools can be the phone and consulting with those who know more than they do.)  So, twice a week, at five minutes a shot, is very conservative.  If we go back 25 years, twice a week, at five minutes per episode, the math looks like this:  25 x 52 x 2 x 5 gives us a total of 13,000 minutes. Now, to get an idea of how many hours we simply do this:  13,000/60 = 216.6 hours.  Now, to see how many days I've actually waited on hold we simply take 216.6/24 = 9.025 DAYS!  A little over nine days.  Of waiting.  With a phone to my ear.  Over a lifetime that's not too bad I guess.  But I do always seem to be waiting for something or someone.  As is the case with so many other people.  Like you.  How many times have you been on hold?  Or just waited for a phone call?  Or how many times have you been told a service representative/installer would be at your house between the hours of blah, blah, on a certain date?  We wait.  In fact, if we were really honest with ourselves we actually wait most of our lives for our death.  We watch the clock tick away and by the end of the day we subconsciously think, "well, that's one more day I can cross off on my limited amount of living days."  (I actually do it consciously on certain days.)  As I've said on many occasions, even in a previous blog post, time is very important to all of us.  And it just continues to tick away.  Every moment is valuable to us.  When we're waiting at a restaurant for a friend to show up - time is ticking.  When we watch the clock at the end of the week and there's two hours left before we can go home - time is ticking.  When we're pregnant and that human being that's been growing inside of us, and causes back pain and cramps and all the other physical and mental anguish (I'm just guessing cause I'll never be able to have children of my own.  The doctor told me that as a man it just wasn't going to happen.) hasn't shown any signs of trying to get out yet - time continues to tick away.  And it is in these moments that time slows down.  A minute/sixty seconds becomes something so long that we actually become emotional about it.  There are moments that we can actually hear the second hand make clicking noises letting us know that we are merely slaves and it is our master.  Tick, tick, tick, tick....  So, we try to control it.  We've seen so many different examples of this - even within our own household.  "Kids, you've got ten minutes and then we're leaving." said the mother who has been trying to get her kids in the van so she can drop them off at school.  Or the boss "The report is due by the end of the week.  This will really tell me how serious you are about that promotion."  Even in my own world, which I've painstakingly created using artificial lighting and the occasional walk-on performance of truly great performers, I am held and bound by time limits set by others.  "When do you think you could stop by and fix my furnace?" or "Can you call me when you're ready to start?" or "I will only be at the office in the next two minutes for maybe ten minutes and I'll have that check ready for you.  The one you've been waiting on for the past two weeks.  But if you don't make it within that time frame you'll have to wait another week or I can just mail it to you.  Which would you prefer?"  Yes, life is a waiting game.  In fact, one of the things I will enjoy most after death is the non-existence of time.  Of all the things that constrain me, time is, I feel, my worst friend.  And speaking of time, I have to wrap this up because I have to get ready.  For work.  Because it's that time.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

What Is Hollywood's Next Move?

In my lifetime I've seen a few movies.  If you asked me how many movies I've seen I would probably say something witty like - "That's what your Mama said."  But that's not really that witty or original.  Which reminds me of a question that lingers in my mind like a cyst inside my colon.  Actually it's not really a cyst but it is similar to what Hollywood puts out a lot of lately.  The question, in written form, for your benefit, cause you're really not listening to me when I call out in the dead of the silence of the middle of the movie, is what is Hollywood's next move?  We've seen animation, CGI, 3D, 48 frame rate (Hobbit), remakes of remakes, imax, imax domes, vhs, dvd, and now blue-ray.  SO???   What's Hollywood's next move?  What could they possibly do as the next great big thing?  Yesterday an answer came to me.  It was startling at first but then it made sense in  the same way jelly goes with peanut butter when you make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  Combo movies.  Yes, the combination of great films synchronized into one even better film.  Why you may ask?  The answer is simple - because we really don't crave originality anymore.  How many times can the story of Batman be retold?  Seven?  Eight?  Or Superman?  Or the Wolverine?   Or Miracle on 32nd street?   I'm really kinda waiting for a new remake of It's a Wonderful Life.  In 3D.  Wouldn't it be awesome to see Clarence's face as he hits the water saving George Baily IN 3D!!!!  Because 3D makes it better.  Let's look at some other films which could be remade - like Eraserhead.  IN 3D!!!  If you've never seen the movie Eraserhead it's available in the Criterion Collection available on Hulu plus.  Okay, I veered into a tangent that could go on and on.  So, my idea for the next evolutionary step in cinema would require combining two story lines, similar in nature, into one.  The first one I offer for your entertainment evaluation is the The Matrix King - the story of The Lion King and The Matrix combined.  We find our young hero Neo/Simba in search of who he is and Morpheous/Mufasa who guides them on their quest to be king/the one.  We also have Trinity/Nala as the love interest.

 And of course every movie needs an enemy.  Ours would be the combination of Agent Smith and Scar.  Agent Smith - "You hear that Mr. Anderson, ... that is the sound of inevitability, ...it is the sound of your death.  Goodbye Mr. Anderson."   Neo - "My name is  ... Simba!!"   Perhaps the cost to produce these new films would be in the editing and obtaining the rights to produce them but aren't we worth it?  There would be hurdles to overcome but Hollywood would find a way.  Because that's what winners do.  And Hollywood's a winner.  They're so fundamentally in the win column their clout can buy a chair situated behind a desk in an office not square but oval.  So that's the challenge.  Take a great movie, and take another great movie, and make it supercaligragilistic with a side of expialidocious.  Which gives me another idea - what if you took the winning combination of a nanny who has a carpetbag that anything can be pulled out of, and let's say she can fly, and she suddenly finds herself in mortal combat with a vampire/human hybrid child who is married to a werewolf?  That's entertainment.  We could call it Mary Twilight Poppins.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Do Not Feed The Cat video review by Rueuhy

First of all, let me say, I was blown away by this documentary.  If you have not seen this one there's a good chance you might never see it.  The film stars Gizmo, who is basically just a mix-breed cat, and the film documents how fame and overzealous owners can bring about total destruction of privacy for any animal or owners.  When we first meet Gizmo, she hasn't yet tasted the limelight and she is just like any other ordinary feline.  The problems begin when a local news reporter "discovers" Gizmo and runs a story that becomes one of the most successful stories ever ran by a large daily metropolitan newspaper.  The reporter, Lance Myboilhurts, upon interview for the documentary, reflected on the success "Life with Gizmo" had found and the fame that came to a once, obscure, kitty.  "She was just like any other cat.  I don't really know why her story caught on so quickly or the actual attraction to her.  She was just another black cat adopted by a typical Asian family.  There really was nothing extraordinary about her.  She was just a cat."  His boss, Michael Furball, had the opposite to say about the passion and frustration the readers of the Chicago Desperate found after reading the article.  "We live in a such a dynamic and volatile world.  The amazing trials and tribulations of this extraordinary cat were bound to resonate with the average reader.  From a dark alley to the warmth of a loving family is no trivial matter.  If there ever was a generic example of what is good in this world, the readers obviously agreed that the plight of this unwanted cat summarized what they felt in their hearts."   It was after the success of the article that the true pilgrimage from obscurity to notoriety was forged for this loner.  The owner, Tik Tak Toi, a small restaurant owner from Vietnam who immigrated to the states in 1982,  was in constant turmoil over how much media coverage had taken place since the story ran.  "He's just cat but really now family.  Please leave.  Can I deposit check?  Check good?" The film places a very poor light on Mr. Toi.  The original name of the film was going to be Toi Story but after a lengthy legal battle with Tom Hanks and Tim Allen, the film's director went in a different direction.   Much of the credit for production and hype for the movie can be credited to the first dual endeavor of Michael Moore and Al Gore.  The new production company, Moore Gore Unlimited, was excited and thrilled for the chance to tell one kittens tale (tail) of terror and betrayal at the hands of the media.  Michael had this to say - "Who doesn't like cats?  Especially if their plump and juicy.  Give me some soy sauce and fava beans with a nice chianti ... (indistinct slurping noise can be heard)"

 Mr. Gore was also excited about the prospects of telling the Gizmo story.  In an excerpt from the movie he hinted at the pitfalls stardom held for anyone - man or kitty.  "The seductiveness of fame and glory is distinct in all men and kittens alike. We are merely vessels in the wake of a broiling storm ready to devour our children and reek havoc on the lives of all men.  If we can't turn off a light when we leave a room who will our children blame?  Who can afford not to?"

On a sad note, Mr. Gore is now under supervision at an undisclosed location.  His publicist, Jane X., reports "At this time we request the best wishes and moral support for our dear friend, Al.  His rest and recuperation are of the utmost importance and vital to the efforts of environmentalists everywhere.  Peace out."  So, with that being said, I found this film to be of the highest caliber and in no way leading towards any side of the argument of the glamorous life of capitalist swine versus the ninety nine percent who are sacrificed to the alter of greed and non-fairness.  It is simply good "stuff".  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Destiny Is Always Late

The smell always drove Edward crazy.  Even a minuscule amount drifting in the breeze would set his internal nicotine alarm blaring.  With that being said, Edward was slowly going mad.  The madness was not the problem.  In many ways, it was a comfort to him.  The simple idea that a man could go mad, yet welcome the change with impunity, was a relief to him.  At least it added some variety to his life.  Retirement was not something a man, such as Edward, could allow without some resistance.  So, Edward, in his new job, was always waiting now for that familiar yet agonizing painful smell.  His son, a permanent resident of 50 years, was the source of his agony.  His clothes reeked of the pungent smell.  He was not allowed to smoke within the house but there was no refuge from the smell of the nicotine and smoke which had embedded itself deep within his clothes and belongings.  The war had raged on for decades now with father and son held captive within the confines of their relationship and commitment to their beliefs.  Edward held to his valor in defeating the addiction so many years ago.  Why couldn't the son commit to ending his own addiction?  This was perhaps the most maddening of the dilemma - a father wouldn't ask anything from his son he had not already accomplished.  Why wouldn't his son even try he would ask himself.  Perhaps, within the complexity of the war, this was the hardest part to accept.  Now, as is common in war, there are always two sides.  For Edward, as father and husband, the battlegrounds were within his realm.  He had worked hard to pay for his home and many of the belongings within the walls of his domain.  The son, who had attempted a few times to seek refuge outside the "castle", had always come back to reside in the life fate had ordained.  The complexity of their relationship was even more dynamic due to the queen who loved her son and fought vigorously on the behalf of her ill capable son.  All of her other children had abandoned her but her most adored remained - the prince who was vulnerable to the evils of the world and had to be protected at all costs.  The other heirs would never understand what power the son held over his mother and all arguments would fall on deaf ears.  The father felt he wielded the power but it was the mother who was the dominant one.  The prince understood with an intelligence beyond what was recognizable.  He didn't even contribute to the battles anymore.  It was the queen who would wage war in defense of her vulnerable son.  So, as is common with many families, lines had been drawn for so many years and the war would continue until death declared a victor.  A king will sit in silence today watching reality shows on television and resting from a life of servitude to an idea.  Somewhere, in a foggy haze, reality will soon slip away for Edward.  The battle will be won and a mother and son will be the casualties of a war that should never have escalated to claim the sanity of Edward.  And, as is common in the aftermath of such events, the victors will survey the wreckage and will delve deep within their soul and ask the question, "At what cost?  At what cost?"  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

One Night Rental

Peggy could feel every inch of the back of her blouse as the downpour drenched her.  "This isn't gonna let up, is it?"  she told the clerk as she entered the video store.  The teenager smiled back without a reply as Peggy made her way to recent releases.  All she could think of was a warm mug of hot chocolate and some dry clothes and a couple of movies tonight.  Curt was gone for the weekend playing another concert.  "The glamorous life of a drummer's girlfriend." she thought to herself.  They had met in this same video store two years ago and she could still remember how shy he was.  She had seen him in the $1 aisle and he was trying to be sly but she knew he was checking her out.  She loved his long hair and tattoos but she had found so much more after getting to know him.  There was a sensitivity to him that few others would ever see.  He confessed to her on that first date that it was all for show.  "If I don't have the look I don't get paid."  It seemed a little sad to her but as a woman she understood it.  How many hours had she spent in front of the mirror due to her PR job?  It was all about the image.  "Hey miss, those just came in today so you got first shot at 'em."  As if waking from a dream the clerk had startled her.  "Thanks."  She had almost forgotten she wasn't alone.  As she settled back into her little dream world her thoughts returned to Curt.  "I'm gonna miss you this weekend." She needed to get home and change clothes.  "Time to focus." she reported to the usual suspects lined in front of her.  There was always the horror route but it wouldn't be the same without Curt on the couch.  Plus, she didn't like to admit how scared she actually got.  She wasn't exactly a 'chick flick' kind of gal either.  "Romance is nice but I'd rather be the star." she told the row in front of her.  "The new Tom Cruise just came out." the clerk yelled from his counter.  "Thanks."  A bit of humor came to the surface. "It's about time isn't it?"  The clerk didn't understand what she meant so she returned to her search. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the rock documentary.  "He really looks a lot like Curt." she told no one in particular.  The picture on the front of the dvd looked just like a scene from one of Curt's numerous performances.  As she made her way to the checkout she couldn't stop wondering how her boyfriend had let this one slip his mind.  "They made a documentary about your life and you didn't tell me?"  she mumbled to herself.  As she handed the dvd cover to the clerk he stopped and stared as he placed the dvd inside. "Oh yeah.  I heard about them.  Really tragic."   Peggy was taken aback a little by this strangers weird analysis.  "What do you mean?" she asked.  The clerk, who knew most things about rock bands, looked her over for a moment and then explained.  "Well, they were on the top of their game when their bus crashed.  Don't you remember?"  Peggy stared at the picture on the cover for a moment and decided against looking nuts in front of a complete stranger.  As she studied the cover she noticed the name of the band was not the same as Curt's.  "How long ago did the crash happen?" she asked the clerk.  "About two years ago.  The whole band died."  Peggy didn't understand why this clerk was screwing with her.  "Whatever type of game your playing it isn't very funny."  Peggy stared at him and waited for a response.  "Hey, lady, I'm not trying to be funny.  I'm just telling you what happened.   You okay?"  The boy had seen all types walk in but he never understood how the pretty ones were always so wacko.   Peggy composed herself and paid and walked out. She just wanted to get home.

 As she got into her car she started thinking about the life she had with Curt.  "I really wish you were here babe."  The past two years had been so good.  Since she met him everything had seemed so much better.  Even when she had lost her job Curt was the one who had told her about trying for the new position with the ad agency.  He was always helping her that way.  She had just figured he was one of those good luck charms in living form.  She couldn't even remember ever having a fight with him.  Life just seemed too good with him and was totally different then before they met.  The night they had met she had just returned from St. Paul after her mother's funeral.  She was gonna head home and had decided that a comedy or anything on tape would be better than just sitting in that empty apartment thinking about her mother.  If Curt hadn't been at the video store that night ...  It was in that moment, playing back through the memories of those two years, that the truth surfaced through.  Curt had just been too good.  She had been so close to her mom. They had talked every day on the phone and then she was just gone so suddenly.  And Curt had shown up right after the funeral.  "I guess it's time to watch this movie and really meet you, isn't it?"  Curt had been so great but now she would have to move on with the life she had.  But she would always love him for what he had given her - kindness only someone like Curt could have understood.   My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

The Choir Boy

Alois Schicklgruber was born in Graz Austria.  He was the illegitimate son of Maria Ana Schicklgruber.  She would later marry Johan Georg Heidler.  Tragically, both would die before his twentieth birthday.  Even though Alois grieved for his parents he embarked on his own journey into life and would marry his sweethart, Klara.  Alois and Klara found solitude in their new life but were unsuccessful in their endeavors in farming and bee keeping.  Alois would move on and find employment in Lambach where he would find a new successful career in the custom's bureau.  He found peace and solitude in the bureaucracy but still dreamed of a life in farming.  Like many Austrians, family life was important to both Alois and Klara.  They would have six children together but as was common in those early days of medicine, their first three children would die in infancy.  Their fourth child would grow into his position of eldest of the three children that followed the deaths of the first three.   The child would grow and by the age of eight he would find solace in the church, attending singing lessons and joining the church choir.  He even envisioned a life of service to the church as a priest. He would find the acceptance there that was soon becoming the only peace in his life.  He was a strong-willed child and was defiant towards his father.  The church provided the acceptance he desired from his father and as is typical, a barrier stood between the child's artistic nature and the father's view off success for his offspring.  His father envisioned a life of public service for his son and introduced him to what life could hold for his son with a visit to a custom's office.  His son possessed different dreams and told his father of his desire for a classical high school and of being an artist.  Also, creating further divide between father and son, was the death of his younger brother Edmund from measles.  Previously, the young boy showed confidence and excelled in his school work but after his brother's death, there was a marked detachment of the boy towards his father and his once approving teachers.  His school work suffered and affected his grades until he barely passed high school.  The boy, now a young man, would be enlisted in high school in Linz Germany known as Realschule.  His father passed away unexpectedly while he was enrolled and his grades, and behavior, took a turn for the worse.  He would barely graduate and he would enter adult life without any intentions of further education or direction.  It is surprising to note the accomplishments that would follow the young man into his adult life.  He would be known for his leadership in an anti-smoking campaign and would be credited for showing links between the habit and cancer.  As a leader of his country he would also be known for his wishes for every family to have a car and saw that dream envisioned in the car affectionately known as "the bug".  He would also be credited for turning his country around and improving the employment statistics of his countrymen and improving the economy drastically.  During his lifetime he had a fondness for animals and was one of the first leaders of a country to place laws into effect protecting animals and declaring rights for them.  He became a charismatic leader and his followers would follow him to the point of committing suicide in the moments before declaring defeat at the hands of their enemies.  He was a strong-willed man.  He was an Austrian-German but held only to allegiance to Germany and would sing "Deutschlandlied" rather than the Austrian Imperial Anthem.  He loved his country even to his death by his own hand.  The boy, who would grow up to lead a revolution in his country, was born to a son of illegitimacy who had been legitimized by the brother of his mother's husband - Johan Nepomuk Heidler.  In legitimacy Alois Schicklgruber would be renamed Alois Hitler.  And his fourth child would be known to the world as Adolf.  The child who once dreamed of becoming a priest would become one of the most infamous men in history.  Sometimes the truth is the greatest story.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

The Key

"It must be in the kitchen drawer." Benjamin muttered to no one in particular.  He was by himself after all.  He was always misplacing things and now, already late for work, he couldn't find the roll of stamps so he could mail the payment to the power company.  If the check didn't go out today he'd probably get one more notice but he was sick of those pink letters.  His search took him into a familiar world full of remnants of the past he would hold onto for no particular reason.  And there were the old familiar friends like the scissors he would use to cut out the coupons from the Sunday ads.  "Show thyself!" he yelled at the drawer but that didn't seem to help him in any way at all.  That's when he saw it.  In the back of the drawer was a lone key made of bronze and he didn't recognize it.  "There's a door waiting for you but that's for another day."  He laid the key on the counter and pressed on.  Then, out of the corner of his eye he saw the 'forever' stamps he purchased a month ago.  "Forever stamps. Better than money."  Sometimes he really cracked himself up but he was already late and Mr. Feigler was always watching the clock when it came to his employees.  "I'll see you when I get home." he yelled through the door.  "Why do I do that?  Maybe I need a dog or a cat or something."  His neighbor looked at him and shook his head as Benjamin got into his car.  Mr. Johnson was always watching the neighborhood and would make little mental notes about who was wearing what and how fast someone would pull into their drives.  "He's an odd little man." Benjamin complained to the empty car.  But that wasn't important.  He needed to get to work.  After another long day and several verbal warnings by Mr. Feigler, Benjamin pulled back into his drive and went in to his house.  "Did you miss me?" he asked the empty residence.  "Me too."   The silence was still unfamiliar to him.  His mother had left several weeks ago and he was still not used to the vacancy.  He turned the lights on and proceeded to pull a beer out of the refrigerator.  Out of the corner of his eye, on the counter, he saw the key.  He had almost forgotten about it.  He could remember the constant nagging by his mother on leaving things laying around and never remembering where he had left them.  He missed her but not the constant nagging. "One of these days you're gonna forget something really important and you're really gonna be in trouble.  It's just gonna kill me watching you do this all the time."  His mother never held back on her tirades.  Even at the age of 32 she felt the need to constantly harass him about his socks next to the sofa or his shoes left unorganized by the back door.  But he still loved her even with her constant nagging.  "I bet she would be hounding me now about which door this key goes to." he said to his beer.  There was something about the key that seemed so important but he just couldn't remember.  "It must go to the house."  he thought to himself.  But it didn't look like any of the keys on his key ring.  Now it was starting to bug him.  What door or cabinet did this go to?  His mind made a mental search of all the possibilities.  He could almost taste the answer forming on the tip of his tongue.  "It's not a bedroom key 'cause they don't take keys.  And it couldn't be for the bathroom..."  The pressure was mounting in his head as he fathomed the possibilities.  "There's the shed out back but..."  Suddenly, like a truck barreling into him, the memories came flooding back.  His mother had been riding him hard about the new job he was starting.  "Remember to smile and don't forget which office is yours." she had told him.  Just the constant needling and prodding was what tore him up inside.  She was always reminding him about his flaws.  Yes, he would forget things and he had dealt with it his whole life.  He could still remember how unexpected and original his plan came to him that morning.  A simple request for her to investigate was the only prodding he had needed to lead her outside.  She was always snooping where she didn't belong.  Any semblance of disorder and she was there like a blood hound to figure it out.  It had happened so quickly and without reserve.  And now, weeks later, the memory of shock on her face bubbled up from deep inside.  She had screamed for a bit but then she had gone silent.  It was more out of disbelief than anything.  Her son, her devoted and loving son, had tricked her and she would just have to stay in the shed for a little bit until he came to his senses.  But now, as held the key, he remembered how he returned with the knife and had slit her throat.  The neighbor, Mr. Johnson, had been at a doctor's appointment that morning and so no one had witnessed any of it.  And then, as simply as it had begun, he shut the door and locked it.  That morning he put the key in the drawer and had forgotten it.  In some ways his mother was right.  He was gonna forget something really important one day.  But for now he would wait until the darkness to finish what he had started all those weeks ago.  She was right.  His forgettin' was gonna kill her someday.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Sisyphus And The Box

His father watched him as he got on the school bus that morning.  For the past few years he tried to imagine a brighter future for his son but lately his hopes for him were few.  After so many tears and shut doors, the bitterness and futility were taking its toll on both of them.  The kids were cruel these days.  Even more so than the memories he played back of his own youth.  There were a few occasions when Si had enjoyed some level of victory but those moments were few and far between.  And now John had discovered disturbing notes in Si's journal.  How could a father see such ramblings from such a young mind and not fear for the safety and well being of his only offspring.  The morning was cold and bitter and John noticed Si had left without his coat.  "I'll have to drop it off to him at school.  That young 'un has a one-track mind."  He could remember when Si first approached him about this wonderful new food he had discovered.  It had "everything".  All the tastes his son adored.  And Si would do anything to try to get another box of the delicacy.  He would entertain the entire neighborhood with his antics.  And on so many levels it was the harshness of the other children that bothered him so.  He would be so close to another sampling of the "cornucopia of fruity delights" and yet it would seem so far away.  And it was almost on a daily basis.  If someone would document his antics it would show a level of sadness for one such as Si.  And his father knew that on this day, somewhere in the neighborhood, the children would be waiting just to torment Si again.  "How could they find so much enjoyment from such cruelty?" John asked himself.  When it first started, it was only a few children that would be in on the torturing. Now, with advent of cellular texting, every child in the neighborhood would watch and wait for Si to find the "box" and then watch him like he was some kind of sideshow attraction as the bullies would take away the box and shout obscenities at him.  And John and Si had already tried to escape the torment one time before.  John had taken a new job half way across the country but within months Si was the center of bull's eye for the neighborhood.  John had spent night after night trying to convince Si just to forget about his addiction but it was of no avail.  Si was addicted to "the treat" as he would like to call it.  And it was everywhere it would seem.  Available in every grocery store, John would try to buy it for Si but there was something about the hunt that one such as Si could not resist.  And Si was different than the other children.  It always boiled down to being different in this world.  Si had tried to fit in but the other children never accepted him.  John could only remember one time he had witnessed any level of kindness on the part of the children.  And John hated what he felt towards them.  Every afternoon he would watch as Si would come home, with his head hung low, and tell his father how they took the box again.  The children would leave the box out in the open and then wait for him to show up.  Even on the occasions when one of them would break into giggles, Si never caught on.  And every time, as Si was about to open the box, one of them would jump out and point at him and yell, "Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids." John knew today would be no different for Si.  He was a stupid rabbit with an addiction.  And someday the addiction was gonna kill him.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Jeb

The room was quiet and he was thankful for that.  It was a small efficiency apartment and he was paid up for the month.  No one would even recognize him, he thought to himself.  "I guess that's the point." he muttered to no one.  Jeb Thaddeus sat alone at the small circular table by the bedside.  He had never married nor did he ever think he would desire such a thing.  If his mother had taught him anything it was the misfortune of such an endeavor.  As he surveyed his new accommodations he noticed a single roach on the wall.  Jeb had always had a fondness for the creatures.  Their ability to reproduce and occupy their surroundings was something to be respected in his opinion.  "You guys are gonna rule the world someday" he told his new friend.  His feelings for roaches never hindered his motivation to kill them.  But he was fascinated by their resilience.  Jeb quietly took off his shoe and with a keen eye hurled it at his guest.  "You guys are fast but you're not that fast." he said as he surveyed the carnage.  The body of the roach lay flat against the wall with fluid spattered around it.  "I guess I'll have to notify the maid when she comes in tomorrow." he chuckled to himself.  As the last remnants of the day's sunshine poured in through the single window his thoughts turned to the job.  His last job was a week ago and normally he wanted a month in between to survey the next target. This one was gonna be his last but he felt a little rushed into it.  "I'm gonna miss the money." he mentioned to his dead friend on the wall.  It seemed so simple when he first started out.  He could be defined as a loner with no real friends or family.  Originally born and raised in a small town in Kentucky he had escaped to New York with the hopes of forgetting his past and never being recognized in his future.  His childhood had been nothing short of traumatic.  His father had retreated into the bottle so far that he couldn't even remember the last conversation he had had with him before pulling the trigger.  His mother had cried "Don't Jeb" before he fired the gun but all he could see was the blood on the wall from the beating she had taken.  She died with the vision of her abuser on his knees with Jeb standing over him.  All that hate had bottled up inside and he carried it as a reminder of what men were truly capable of doing.  If Jeb was sure of anything it was the fact that men were no better than his uninvited guest splattered against the wall.  He thought of himself as an exterminator rather than a hit man.  He was doing humanity a favor rather than committing some crime.  "If anything I should be getting a medal." he thought to himself.  He was tired from the trip and the bed was calling to him like a long lost friend he hadn't seen for awhile.  Sleep never came very easy for Jeb but tonight he was gonna sleep good.  It always came easy on the night before a kill.  As Jeb brushed his teeth he thought of that night so long ago when he said goodbye to Trinityville.  His disappearance was investigated by the police and was declared as an unsolved mystery.  If he remained in that category the rest of his life he would be okay with that.  He missed his mother but he also hated her at the same time.  He never understood how a woman could be so weak to not be able to protect her her own child.  But he did miss her and always thought of those moments when his father was gone on another binge and they would just talk at the table.  In some ways he would never be able to let go.  In others she had never been there.  But that was history and tomorrow was all about the kill.  Yes, he would sleep good tonight. He always did before a kill.   My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Saving Pirate Ryan

And now another addition of Rueuhy's Reviews.  Where entertainment meets it's match.

"How many old ideas have to be recycled before Hollywood figures it out?  Well, the money's good so it may take them awhile.  Hopefully they learn a little bit of a lesson with The Loan Ranger.   The idea of a high interest money loan service using a Texas state marshall to recoup lost payments from the borrowers is just cheezy.  And I don't really understand why an Indian gets involved.  It was just a strange concept for a movie. I was holding out a little hope for the newest production from Jerome Bruckheimer called Saving Pirate Ryan.  I'm glad they got Hanks and Matt Damon to reprise their roles but I didn't understand the premise of him returning home and then deciding to become a pirate and attacking US naval tug boats.  It was just a little bit too far fetched.  Or another Disney classic turned bad - Driving Miss Daisy.  The whole idea of Donald Duck becoming the chauffeur for Daisy Duck and then marrying her?  This has just gotten ridiculous.  Also in the animated column we see the return of Stu and the gang in Pixar's sequel to their real money maker - Mobster's University.  But how far does a monster have to fall?  Drugs, crime, money laundering?  I guess with names like Mikey the rat Wazowski and Jimmy the woolly Sullivan we should have expected it.  Sequels are the way to go.  This is really evident with the upcoming, soon to be classic, Cloudy with a Chance of Mothballs.  We find Flint at it again but this time he wants to save the local retirement home.  The monkey really does steal the show with his antics and poo throwing.  "Those aren't mothballs or meatballs!! Clear the dining hall!!"  It's just really good family entertainment.  And coming in October we have the third original remake of the classic Carrie. This time she gets blood dumped on her at her senior prom.  And then, just to make it a little different then the other two Carrie movies, she unleashes a telekinetic wrath on her small town but she hires a crew of illegal aliens to clean up afterwards and there is a probe conducted by Homeland Security into the hiring practices by a girl in high school.  Kudo's to the team from Sony who was not afraid to politicize a horror movie and basically spit in the face of Stephen King in the process.  Also in the horror genre we will see Paranormal Activity V also in October.  The brain child of Paramount Pictures to finally ask the hypothetical question - can four sequels really explain the interest in the first one?  If you were lucky enough to have found the first one interesting it is the hope of the studio to take that initial interest, contort it, mutilate it, bury it for several cycles of the moon, dig it up, tear out a small piece of your brain and fry it and give it back to you.  It's their way of keepin' it real.  Well, that's it for Rueuhy's Reviews and stay tuned because next week we're gonna take a look at Red 2 and let you know if it's possible to extract the embalming fluid and make Bruce Willis really come alive on screen again."

Thus ends another edition of Rueuhy's Reviews and my name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Aim High If You Only Have One Bullet Left

Death is a mystery.  Simple and to the point.  We look around and don't ask the question but it lingers in our mind like the syrup trail down the neck of your bottle of Aunt Jemima.  What does happen?  If we knew the answer it would be over for most of us.  And murder wouldn't be so ... bad.  But we don't.  There are just some things we don't want the answer to such as what is inside an Oscar Meyer wiener.  We want to know but not enough to actually find out.  If a man was given the freedom to make any choice and allowed to reverse it and retain the memory of it, death would be at the top of the list for most of us.  What happened to Grandpa or my sister Suzie?  Is the old butcher down the street really at rest?  We really do want to know but it's not something that we're willing to experiment finding the answer to.  Of all the possibilities existing for us, the one certainty we face is death.  We try to ignore or we center our lives around it.  The first thought we don't have upon waking up each day is how many hours we lost on our voyage of mortality.  We simply think about what lies ahead and our best (or worst) path to travel that day.  Normally, we don't wake up and think "One day closer to not breathing anymore.  I hope I can utilize every minute of this day in a way the benefits humanity so I'm not perceived as someone who wasted his/her life."  Nope, for most of us it's the thought that we'd rather sleep a little longer or I slept too much.  "And no one else put any coffee on?  Crap!" That's life for most of us.  There are a few, in a moment of reality with a close loved one facing a disease or imprisonment, that hear life knocking at the door yelling at them "Hey!  It's one more day closer to the end." or "This is the day your mom's gonna die."  But then after the crisis ends life is resumed and they head back to normalcy.  So the question is, ultimately, should normalcy be the norm?  We don't stop and think about our loved ones enough, do we?  We see the clothes on the floor and it irritates us and our fondness for them is just a little, well,  ...  less.  Or we hear our spouse snoring and find them a little, well,  ...  repulsive.  And how many times have we put them on hold on the phone or thought - I'll call 'em back in an hour or tomorrow because something like work or your television show was on?  Yes, we don't think that the "impossible" will happen today.  We just live a normal life and try our best to live "normal".  Because death and goodbyes are painful.  But not only is death a possibility, it is an eventuality.  There is no hiding place or trickery to help us allude the reality.  And that hinders our spirit a little, doesn't it?  To look at the co-worker and try to imagine no more time with them.  Or see the clerk at the store and wondering why we're so scared to get a little closer to them.  And ultimately it comes around to this - emotional gambling.  If I invest my feelings or show myself (the real me) to this person are they worth the "Goodbye"?  And I think that's what every relationship is based upon.  It's not the initial introduction or the messy intertwining of humanity that stops us from getting to know strangers better.  No, it's the finality of the goodbye that stops us.  I think of this when I wonder how someone could be so involved in the tragedy involving a stranger such as a celebrity or media star thrust in the limelight.  We seem to care more about a Trayvon murdered in Florida rather than a elder living two houses down from us.  It's all about the emotional commitment and the final goodbye.  And it's just a little sad.  Our neighbor deserves better.  We all do.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Pruitt-Igoe

The title sounds like a luxurious sedan coming out of Italy, doesn't it?  In fact, it was the name of a famous housing complex constructed in the late 1940's/early 1950's by city engineers in St. Louis, MO.  The first residents to occupy the first building was in 1954.  There were a total of 33 buildings constructed and the last building was demolished in 1976.  It is considered the best example of why federal housing is not a good idea.  The intention was to provide adequate housing for masses and the purpose was to revitalize the city of St. Louis.  Overrun with slum dwellings infested with poor and inadequate plumbing and disease and rats and roaches, the city planners wanted to remove the old buildings and construct affordable housing within the city.  The proposal to the city was titled "Slum surgery in St. Louis".  The complex consisted of 33, 11-story buildings built on a 57 acre site.  The initial cost of Pruitt-Igoe was $36 million dollars which, at that time, was 60% higher than the national average and the cost overruns were blamed on inflated unionized wages and the installation of an unnecessary expensive heating system pushed on the city by the steamfitter's union.  Due to the expense of the heating system there where costs in cuts to other parts of the buildings.  In 1957, one year after the state's ruling on desegregation in public housing, maximum occupancy was seen at it's highest at 91%.  Due to the dynamics of desegregation and the movement of workers and work beyond the inner city, there was a decline in occupancy and vacancy rose to one-third capacity in 1965.  By 1971, the reported occupancy for Pruitt-Igoe was reported to be only 600 people in 17 buildings.  The other 16 were boarded up.  Maintenance was never adequate on the occupied buildings due to the inadequate finances of the city in revenue from rent.  Already at a cost of $57 million, the government began to re-organize Pruitt-Igoe and began demolition of buildings to bring down maintenance costs and reduce the building density.  The vacant buildings, not demolished, became dwellings for non-inhabitants and crime and drugs flourished.  It became increasingly difficult to differentiate between legal tenants and illegal tenants.  There were many reports of elevators not working and people trapped in these urine soaked entrapment's.  Murder and violence were commonplace.  City services such as police and fire departments were unwelcome intruders and residents suffered after unanswered calls for help.  It was the worst nightmare a government could have devised.  It started out as newly constructed homes for those who had lived in the slums.  Fresh paint and modern conveniences soon gave way to disease and violence.  Pruitt-Igoe was deemed the worst fiasco of the twentieth century in modern architecture.  It started of with winning "the building of the year" award and was demolished into rubble 22 years later (half a generation).  Due to desegregation, white families moving out of the city, work moving outside the city, raised rents on fixed income tenants, poor upkeep due to lack of revenue internally from the project, initial building cost cuts influenced by union camps, and a deep resentment of racial inequality, vandalism, drugs, crime, and the disorder of the family unit brought on by regulations put in place that father's were not allowed to live within the projects,  the Pruitt-Igoe was doomed to failure and mis-management.  There is an underlying element to the purpose of building such a project.  Yes, revitalization of blighted areas can be a word used but more importantly it cut into the bottom line for business and property values surrounding these slum properties that were replaced by Pruitt-Igoe.  And the government bankrolling the endeavor and shaping the regulations which allowed implementation of such an endeavor was also to blame.  If the human toll can be summarized it could be put this way - when government comes up with a solution it rarely ends well.  And what seems like a good idea now will end in heartache and empty city coffers trying to maintain it.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Coming Out

I enjoy going to the movies.  More often than not I enjoy the going in part a lot more than the coming out part.  I've mentioned before how beneficial a good story and good characters are to the overall quality of a movie.  Unless you're a composer very few come out of a movie and say something like "What a soundtrack!! You wanna see it again tomorrow?"  No, the soundtrack is important but really it's on the same level as the paint job on the car you just purchased.  Sure, the engine is only firing on seven of the eight cylinders but it really shines when the light hits it just right.  So, just like the Chevy Volt you just bought, the inside is what really matters.  Are you comfortable for that eight hour trip?  No?  But you got great gas mileage didn't you?  Now, gas mileage is very important.  Just ask the guy who topped off his tank at the convenience store.  Remember when $20 or even $10 filled it up and you pulled in on empty?  So mileage is important.  But if the engine doesn't accelerate correctly or the brakes don't slow you down as you pass the patrol car sitting in the median on the interstate, you might find your car is not the most desirable thing in your life.  For someone like me I'm always looking at the sum of things.  The big picture.  The whole enchilada.  I see the crack in the bottom of that new piece of pottery.  I notice when there's a hiss when there should have been a swoosh.   I can sit in a restaurant and listen to an ice machine go into harvest mode and I will try to hear the ice drop in a steady fall or one big complete drop.  I tend to smell bad things.  I feel the texture of something and notice a ripple where it should be totally smooth.  For some this would seem awesome.  For me, it's a blessing and a curse.  Sometimes I really hate it.  Someone will ask me "What'd you think of the movie and the critical part has to override the 80% that was good because I noticed the 20% that was bad.  For several decades now I've used this ability to help me with my job.  It's in my nature to look for a defect or inconsistency.  I try to add up the dots and watch for the missing dots.  Using all the evidence at hand to try to come up with the problem.  It's part of trouble shooting but it makes for a very negative existence.  It's a real downer.  That's when I have to look outside.  Up in the sky. Or watch a bird take flight.  Just try to listen to the sounds of a bird or the stealth of a cat approaching the bird.  The perfection of creation.  Or at least the parts that we don't create inconsistencies in.  I guess I see so many imperfections in our created world of technology and human superiority because it misses the mark so far.  What we do and what we actually do are two totally different things most of the time.  We marvel at the human achievements because somehow we want to achieve perfection.  But then we watch our children being born and we just know we've missed the mark on our technological prowess.  Every convenience we can perceive pails in the simple accomplishment achieved by the creation of dexterity in the human hand.  I guess I wonder why we do what we do when the mark is so far away.  The ability of humans to "do" does not mean success.  If we compare what we've created through our intelligence we cannot even compare to the brilliance in the intelligent design in full evidence around us. We take ourselves too seriously.  But at least it keeps us busy.  Too busy to watch the most entertaining achievement the world has ever known.  An achievement we had nothing to do with but was at the center of the motivation to complete it.  A created world for us. Now that's entertainment.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

My Jaeger Can Beat Up Your Kaiju

So the latest ad pops up for the latest summer block buster to come hit us in the face with a force of a 1000 cans of soda.  The narrator explains it to us - "In a world gone mad only one man can stop an alien invasion.  He drives The Gipsy and he's not gonna take it anymore."  The latest offering from director Guillermo del Torro is called Pacific Rim and has been described as a fun throw back to happier times when Godzilla was scary and people could watch the screen, know that it was fake, and not care.  I can only describe it as a movie that has "everything".  And what I mean by that is a winning combination of everything a guy like me could ask for in a movie.  Great special effects. Check.  A hero who can rise above his past and show us what being human is all about. Check.  Possible romance but not so much that it complicates the story.  Check.  Great warriors who follow a consistent diet and uphold to honorable living.  Check.  A big, playful puppy dog in the form of a Brittish Bull dog.  Check.  Funny one liners that make you shart.  Well, almost but I'm gonna say "check" anyway.  Check.  The ability to tell a story from beginning to ending and actually introduce us to the story and tell us the beginning and ending.  Check.  Great script.  Check.  Great actors/actresses.  Check.  Great CGI that convinces us but also helps us to remember it's still CGI.  Check.  Only a couple of speeches but concise and to the point.  Check.  In fact (Spoiler alert! Attention!! Spoiler alert!!)  when the commanding officer gives the final speech before the final battle we hear words that motivate the characters in the movie and also remind us that we can be great too.  It reminded me a lot of the speech by the president in the movie Independence Day as he is going into battle alongside the other pilots and everyone is against him going but he's such a good man that he knows he must do his part also.  (End of spoiler alert. You may resume reading now.)  Perhaps what makes the movie so great is the characters themselves and how well they are played.  You really dislike the pompous hero who gives our main character a hard time but respect his abilities for what he's done.  Think of the Ice Man in TopGun.  You understand and feel bad for the main character who suffered such a tragic loss but finds something way down deep inside to continue on and return to where he belongs.  The trilogy effect of a commanding officer, a young and very capable warrior (who he happens to have a deep connection with, and of course the old warrior who has to be dragged back but ultimately totally becomes one with the plan.  You also have the experienced old warrior who still loves his country and continues on until he just can't anymore.  And he happens to be the father of the jerk who gives our hero a rough time.  There is the comic relief brought to us by two intellectuals who are brilliant but allow for some fun stupidity.  I rarely walk out of a movie theater thinking "this had everything I want in a movie".  But it happened last night.  The only thing that got in the way of the fun was the 3D.  But that's just my preference.  I don't think I'll ever like the glasses but I know there will eventually be 3D contacts that your obstetrician will be able to subscribe within a few years.  Pacific Rim gets a 5 out of 5 stars from me.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.   

The ABC's Of Fingernail Removal

The following is an excerpt from the notes of Dr. Allen Fowlurgen, noted psychiatrist specializing in cases of extreme disorders of habitual self-abuse.  The patient is a 45 year old white male suffering from extreme nail biting and hair pulling.  His name is Patrick Quincy and resides in Chicago.  Session 33:  Patrick seems calmer than normal today.  The patient has worn the same ball cap to the past six sessions but is not wearing the jacket he has worn since his first session.  Also, visibly notable, are the bandages he now uses on every finger on his left hand.  Patient has not shown a tendency for biting his right hand fingernails.  Also noted are the burn marks on patient's neck located below cheek line on right side.  One mark is approximately two inches in length and smaller marks follow in a downward pattern up to top of shirt collar.  Patient does not seem to be in any physical distress from new marks and seems to be making attempts at hiding his distress by rubbing left side of neck to distract from marks on right side.  Patient also seems calmer and in control beyond what can be considered the norm for him. The following is the dialogue between myself and patient as recorded from the audio recording for session 33:

Dr. Fowlurgen -  "And how are you today Patrick?"
Patrick  -  "I am in control."
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "Control?"
Patrick  -  "Yes, of everything."
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "I didn't think that would be possible Patrick."
Patrick  -  "Of course you wouldn't.  You're not in control."
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "That would be true.  I don't see the possibility of such a thing.  What's your secret?"
Patrick  -  "That's a dangerous question doctor."
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "I noticed you're not wearing the Cub's jacket this morning."
Patrick  -  "We really don't know where we end and the ice age begins, do we doctor?"
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "Patrick, do you want to get better?  It's important to really think about my questions."
Patrick  -  "I'm here.  I know when time stops and time starts."
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "Do you have another appointment today Patrick?"
Patrick  -  "Yeah, an appointment with your wife."
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "Patrick, why do you want to insult me.  Do you blame me for what happened to your jacket?"
Patrick  -  "Your wife thinks so."
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "I really want to help you but you're being very offensive."
Patrick  -  "That's funny.  Your wife said the same thing about your b.o.  (laughter) Ha ha b.o."
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "Patrick, my wife passed away two years ago.  You know this."
Patrick  -  "Probably from you b.o."  (more laughter)
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "Do you blame me for what's happened with your jacket?"
Patrick  -  "We are just vessels doctor.  I know when time starts and time stops."
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "Were you running late this morning Patrick?  Is that why you forgot your jacket."
Patrick  -  "No.  Your momma is so fat she wore it."
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "Patrick, you have to take this seriously.  I want to ask you about the marks on your neck.  Did someone burn you Patrick?"
Patrick  -  "No!!!!  Time is the enemy and you're no Hitler."
Dr. Fowlurgen  -  "Was it someone close to you?"
Patrick  -  "Where do we go from here now that all of the children have gone?"
Dr. Fowlurgen   -  "Patrick, did you cause those marks on your neck?  Are you afraid of your right hand?"
Patrick  -  "When will you shut up?!!  I don't like this place anymore!! "

Patient began to cry and eventually calmed down.  I am afraid he has triggered something deeply from his memories of a childhood trauma. The referrals to my wife and mother may indicate patient was a witness to a severe traumatic event involving his mother or sister or some other female important to him in early childhood.  I felt it was best to end the session and transfer him to West Side clinic for closer observation.  The missing jacket seems very relevant to another event in his life that was based upon a meeting that ended something.  His referrals to time during this session are similar to session 32 and 31.  Something seems to be approaching as in an anniversary or other significant date.  If I can locate the specifics it may determine an actual triggering point for nail biting and hair pulling.  Patrick may be realizing this himself but is afraid to go in a different direction or even fear being cured.  It may be the only bond he has to the tragic loss he suffered.  End of session 33.

First World Problems

Some of you are watching us.  Yes, we know you exist.  Other countries with your internet and cable news sources.  You're watching us and laughing.  To us the problems seem to be real but to others, who live without electricity and fresh water, our problems seem to be the fuel for humor at tribal get togethers with the "all you can eat" cannibal buffets.  Because in the United States we tend to stereotype other citizens of other countries.  If you live in Africa we tend to see a lot of dancing around fires.  In Asia we see large reptiles destroying small people.  In Russia we just see cloudy and cold conditions and a lot of people in fur hats.  In Germany we watch in fascination as no one works but drink and eat all the time.  That's not how I see the world but I do sometimes think that's a few of the stereotypes that others have.  In other countries, from my perspective, I believe there is a stereotype for the typical "american" - at least two cars for every person, buffet style eating every day, many pets, a wife and a mistress for every man (or woman nowadays), many single mothers with a minimum of four kids on welfare, everyone is obese and carrying food stamps to the store everyday, every teenager owning a smartphone and gameboy, every senior citizen playing golf everyday and knitting, and fast food restaurants on every block of every city.  Well, how offensive is that?  I must tell you there are many blocks and many streets in America that do not have any kind of McDonald's or a Kentucky Fried Chicken.  (We have to put the convenience stores someplace, don't we?)  Also, there are many households that only have one running car (gas guzzling 4x4's mostly) and a few broken down BMW's sitting up on jacks in our driveways.  No, the biggest difference is in our appliances.  Well just the other night I had an emergency call about a broken ice maker in a refrigerator at a customer's house.  Now for the benefit of you guys in India, in the United States and a few other countries we have running water which allows modern homes to have the capability to introduce water into devices that freeze that water and convert the frozen hydrogen/oxygen structure into cubes/squares that can be transferred to a cup or glass to cool our Pepsi.  Pepsi is a concoction consisting of sugar and fizzy water.  If you ever make it off the island you will be intoxicated by it's tingle in your nose.  The problem with a broken ice maker in a refrigerator is one that may seem a little foreign to those who have no electricity or are suffering from malaria.  But let me assure you that for the people of my country it's mandatory with our fizzy sugar drinks.  I honestly can't see how our problems could be the butt of any joke in any other country and would cause any less sympathy from you for us.  We do have problems here.  We have roaches and other pests.  Just the other day I had trouble standing in one spot in a kitchen at a house because the trash can was too full of discarded, half-eaten doughnuts and Big Macs. The thing is, even our pests are fed too well.  And I don't even want to scare you with stories of such magnitude involving cruise control features being broken in cars.  For those of you in countries that share antique Volkswagen Beetles, that might have an A.M. radio, and is the only running vehicle in the neighborhood, there are vehicles that have a feature that allows for automatic speed control you can set while on the highway (in our country we have roads made of re-enforced concrete or other materials that allow for long expanses of travel) and your vehicle (a lot of the times we are the only ones in our vehicles) can maintain a set speed of travel.  In fact, the interstate allows for such long, uninterrupted distances we actually fall asleep at the wheel and crash our $50,000+ vehicles and we have a program called auto insurance that allows us a replacement so we can do it again.  Sometimes, in our $50,000+ vehicles we travel through things called drive-thrus in fast food restaurants that save us all that time so we don't have to walk to be fed.  And we suffer at times because we don't receive a packet of ketchup.  Ketchup is a condiment that allows for an alternate flavor other than rice or fish like some are only accustomed to.  We do have our problems in this country.  I just wanted you to know that.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

That Was Thin This Is Now

From the title one might suspect a post about the dangers of fudge.  Or the calamity of eating bacon.  The life of an overweight man.  But no.  I just liked the play on words from a title of an old book.  For some reason when I picture that book, and the characters I remember from it, I envision James Franco.  I used to be a fan of his but I digress... Anyway, the other day (it was actually yesterday but that seems so cliche') I was sitting in a waiting room (I suddenly remembered some old lyrics from an old album "Sitting in a bunker, Here behind my wall, Waiting for the worms to come." - and once again, I digress ...) when I noticed the television was on and a program was on about slavery.  There's been a lot said about slavery lately.  It doesn't exist in the old form here in the United States as we have read about but it seems like only yesterday.  Which is weird because slavery was abolished more like ten years ago or even longer than that.  I think Abraham Lincoln said it best - "Four scores and seven bars ago, Steven Spielberg brought forth on this production a new soundtrack recorded by the Chicago Sympathy Orchestra."  But that was just Daniel-Day Lewis doing a promo on youtube.  The documentary, which I'm referring to, was about the post America since the days of slavery and how far this country has come since that liberation.  I only watched ten minutes of the special but I could understand where they were going with it.  Slavery was bad.  People were buying and selling other human beings.  I don't think there is a child or adult who has not heard about it.  It was in all the papers.  Now I realize that some of you (I have a list of your names on a sheet of paper and I will be giving it to the NSA later) think I might be making light of a terrible and sober subject.  I am.  Not.  In fact, I personally am a descendant of someone who used to witness the daily trading of slaves.  His name was Jerry and he felt it was wrong. A lot of people did.  Well, I can't really speak for anyone's feelings or attitudes but I'm sure there were many.  And it was terrible.  No one could, or should, deny it.  But we still have the same attitudes today about individuals in our lives. Not all of us but some.  There will always be a possessiveness felt by some towards others.  Employers will, to some degree, feel ownership over some employees.  And politicians will, to some degree, feel ownership over some voters.  And vice-versa.  How many decisions have been made by politicians ("leaders") who have felt the invisible chains held by unions, lobbyists, minorities, genders, corporations, and other groups who hold the power of re-election over them?  How many times has a common "joe" made a decision which goes against his moral fiber and conscience because of the invisible chains that bind him?  We want to pat ourselves on our backs and say look how far we've come but really we've just changed the color a little bit, haven't we?  As I was watching the documentary I turned to the family member sitting with me and asked him if he has ever studied "propaganda" in school or even heard the word?  He wasn't sure what I was asking.  Which was okay because I was really just trying to make a point.  I live in a world where certain races and certain genders are being looked at in a way that screams of an old idea.  In Germany, not as long ago as Lincoln's time but a few decades ago, a man came to power that sought the use of an idea and the propaganda to push the idea.  I remember studying about him and wondered how could someone pull the wool over so many others' eyes?  And now, in my forties and a little wiser, I can watch my television or other forms of media, and understand how a nation could find contempt and hate for a different color of person.  In our country it seems we have come a long way since the mid 1800's.  We have become a nation that has forgotten the formula used by a few to control so many.  In some ways I fear for my own sake because of who and how I came to be.  We are destroying ourselves and certain core beliefs because we want to believe that going the opposite direction in a circle will bring us to a different point.  Slavery is slavery no matter who holds the chains.  It just seems the new boss is the same as the old boss.  Another reference to an old song.  But I fear we will be fooled again.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Hey! Yo Silver. Away!

Usually trilogies are tough to do.  Imagine finding enough source material or a story grand enough to make three consecutive movies from.  Star Wars took us to how many planets and solar systems?  Twilight took us through how many relationships?  And how many trolls and dragons will we go through for the Hobbit? But three is a good figure for most movie franchises.  What would have happened if we would have seen Tony in the nursing home in Godfather, The Retirement?  Or Lord of The Rings, Deagles revenge?  There are just some stories that don't require a fourth or fifth or even a sixth movie unless your first name happens to be Disney. (A seventh Star Wars?)  So I was mildly amused to see the fifth installment of Pirates of the Carribean, A Horse named Silver.  There will be a few spoilers included in this review but don't be alarmed - I won't mention how Jack Sparrow dies or the Island of Tortuga is actually controlled by a black smoke monster who used to be a man who was killed by his brother and has spent centuries devising a way to kill him so that he can leave the island and the people who crash land are actually all dead but you don't find out until the final episode - I just won't spoil it for you.  In this newest thriller we do see some replacements and foreign locations for Jack and the crew of the Black Pearl.  Actually the Black Pearl isn't even mentioned in this one.  We find Jack (I forgot - Captain Jack, sorry) in disguise as some weird psychopathic Comanche indian wondering around in the desert.  But before that, for some reason, he's been chained and padlocked in a train car with a blood thirsty cannibal named Butch Cavendish who is convincingly played by William Fichtner who played a bank manager in another trilogy with a guy named Bruce Wayne and some Joker.  Anyway, we find Johnny Depp without his trademark Rolling Stones outfit in a rail car. At some point further along in the movie we see the character of Will Turner has been replace by a guy named Arm N. Hammer.  He is best known as the baking soda king and played one of the Winklevoss twins in that Facebook movie.  Will Turner has been renamed John Reid and becomes deputized as a ranger who is lonely.  His brother takes off after Captain Barbossa who has been renamed Butch Cavendish.  Another spoiler - Keira Knightlly has been replaced by Ruth Wilson and her character's name is now Rebecca Reid who is married to John Reid's brother.  (I guess Disney wasn't charging enough for soda's at Disney World and just couldn't keep paying the high salaries the past actors were asking for.  So, John Reid dies.  And Jack Sparrow is gonna bury him until the real star of the movie, a horse, tells him not to because he is a spirit walker.  (The horse never actually says a word so it's mostly creative poo poo.  So, Will Turner, a.k.a. John Reid, puts a mask on and rides the silent talkative horse and the movie ends with all the bad guys dead and all the good guys alive.  And so ends a franchise.  If they would have only used Helena Bonham Carter opposite Johnny Depp it could have been a Tim Burton film. Oh.  Wait a minute.  She is in this one.  But, Johnny Depp is not a barber or a crazy hat fanatic.  I don't even think he's a real captain.  And there is no Tim Burton in the credits either.  So, if you really want to be confused go see this movie.  Another spoiler alert - everyone's favorite monkey is now a crow.  But, the scene where the horse is in the tree makes it worth it.  But sadly there are very few pirates.  And no wooden eye pranks.  But as far as a fifth installment of Pirates of the Carribean, this was more than could have been asked for.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

Who's Parenting The Adults?

So ... I'm watching The Truman Show (for the tenth time I believe) when I hear the loudest of the illegal fireworks exploding close to my house.  Apparently, some neighborhood people (I only say people because I'm trying to keep this blog family friendly) decided that their yard was just not big enough so they decided the elementary school yard was the perfect place to light off their cannons.  I live right across the street from this school so it was like being next door to a huge fireworks display (because I was next door to a huge fireworks display).  Apparently they loaded up with fireworks from across the state lines (they're illegal here in our state) and decided to start lighting them off.  Now, a couple of small crackers I can understand.  But when the booming is going off for ten minutes straight I decided enough was enough.  Quickly grabbing my Nitecore P25 Smilodon flashlight with the power of 860 lumens I decided to shine a little light on the subject. Approaching the fence line of the school I turned on my flashlight onto the suspects as they were having their fun.  Now, a brief lesson on the power of 860 lumens.  One lumen is like one burning candle.  Now imagine taking 860 candles, focusing them into a tightly formed beam (my flashlight actually has built in heat sinks to absorb the heat).  The specifications on my flashlight list it as 20,000 cd or candela rating.  In other words, think bright headlights on a car.  The obvious reaction from the two adults, one child, and their dog was similar to an animal caught in your headlights on a lone country road.  I didn't just flash the light on for a second or two.  Nope. I just held it on them for a couple of minutes.  It was kind of intriguing watching them slowly stop (Oh, no, is it the police?) and then quickly picking up their evidence.  Then I shut the flashlight off and proceeded back to my yard.  Then the yelling began.  Apparently it was rude of me to shine the light in their eyes.  I was supposed to just let them have their fun.  I inquired about what would happen if their child was burnt from the fireworks and who would pay for it?  Well, that wasn't my concern because she had health coverage from public aid.  And, the line I always love to hear - "Don't you know it's only one night a year and everybody's doing it?"  This was from the caring mother who didn't mind her child's ears being burst from the fireworks or the potential for fire.  And the caring father who was gonna kick my @@55 if I took one step closer to his wife.  This was with the boy and his dog a couple of feet away.  And then the classic line from the mother - "Don't you know it's for the children?"  The celebration of the anniversary of declaration of independence by the United States has spread into two days of fireworks displays put on by the cities and countless fireworks displays being put on by the most careful of parents in the elementary school yards.  And I should remember that all holidays are about the children now.  And public aid will handle all blown off digit repair for the children.  And I was the bad guy for shining a light on the subject.  Fortunately for me, the Clintons didn't kick my butt or vandalize my vehicles.  I guess it is a time for celebration.  Oh, and did I mention the police never even showed up after I called them ten minutes before I shined my light on the Clintons?  I almost forgot the best part.  The reason they were so upset with me is I didn't have the courtesy to come ask them to quit exploding the loud illegal fireworks.  Instead of being "man enough" to ask them politely to stop (He said he would have if I would have just asked him to stop.) I cowardly shined my flashlight on them. And then I would have been responsible if he would have lit a firework incorrectly once he was blinded by the light.  I guess the intensity of standing a foot away from an exploding firework is a lot better than having a light being shined in your eyes from a  hundred foot away.  I guess since I decided to stay awake past 8 o'clock last night (She told me I should just go to bed since I was ruining the fun for everybody else) holds me in contempt in the public aid court of law.   God bless the United States of America and what she's become.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.

The History Books

In the year 2563 students in high schools, if such a thing exists then, will be studying the history of civilizations and will read in fascination about an empire known as the United States Of America.  They will read in awe how a once great power was done in by it's own undoing.  A country which started out in such an honorable and brave way and fell to its own weaknesses and cravings in the delusion of self-empowerment and enlightenment.  There were many who kept quiet and watched the country they loved implode upon its inability to overcome political correctness.  They watched in awe the level of corruptness that infiltrated the local, state, and federal governments and shook their heads and said, "That's just how it is."  The talented were lifted into levels of idol worship in sports, music, writing, entertainment, and other fields that decried foul but the people forgot their first true love and delved into the evilness that crept into their lives and anchored itself.  They were too busy with their technology and self-awareness to ponder how much control it really had over them.  They held hope in their own limited abilities and mistook their loudness as a voice of reason and sobriety.  They mistook their own sense of reason and conscience as a guide when it had been compromised by the voices of celebrity.  Too busy with the rat race to recognize they were chasing the rats and the rats were chasing them.  Yes, the children of tomorrow will shake their heads and ponder how stupid we had become with such an accelerated potential for understanding.  With the greatest leaps in technological advances in every field but we allowed the destruction of our greatest country/power due to our inability to just say no.  And with the downfall of the United States the world watched in fascination as one world power collapsing created a vacuum so huge that many other world powers imploded upon themselves.  It was a time of upheaval but also a time of celebration.  For out of the greatest collapse, in the recorded history of man, came the greatest chance to rebuild our future.  So the people took power over themselves and learned to lead themselves without governance.  The ability of a single man or woman to control the life of another was found to be the greatest danger the world had.  In the following years the world would learn to govern itself on founded merits rather than the dictation of one over many.  Rural areas became a gravitational force.  Urban dwellings were disbanded and simplicity became the norm. The people understood, perhaps had forgotten but finally remembered, that the greatest power we could achieve as a people was a better understanding of unions between people rather than hierarchy.  What was once sought after such as a name or money or wealth became the unpopular.  The human race had finally figured out that greed for that which was obtainable also meant the destruction of the singular and the many.  The students of the future will look back upon us and shake their heads for it will seem so foreign to them in simple terms. The "we" is our most valuable asset we have.  No property, coin, or resource is more valuable than two hearts combined.  But the world was a different place back then.  It only took the collapse of one empire to save the many.  And a world was reborn.  My name is Rueuhy and I approve this blog.