Phew

My coffee sat and got cold this afternoon. I was starving by the time I got home.

It was a great, great day. and I"m being entirely serious.

How can these two things be indicative of a good day? When you put them in the context of this: I was caught up in writing and editing (other work. I'm not cheating on the challenge. I have a second project going hehe) and processing and thinking about Beyond the Seven Seas. I have direction.

I blame Tim. :D Thank you. (c:

I got fourth!

I just got the news on the first National juried art show I entered-it was entitled "Footlong" and took place in Portales, New Mexico-and it turns out I got fourth...almost third. hehe. I'm happy. My work is featured in the magazine they printed for the show and there's a little blurb about me and my thoughts and work and yeah...I can handle Honorable Mention for a first attempt. :D

Yay.

Now I just have to get my butt in gear and get some more notes and reference photos...oh how I love thee...done so when I hit the states at some point again or the next artist residence, or both, I can figure out what I am going to do. I have some cool ideas but we'll see what pans out to be any good.

It is amazing to me how creating visual art and written work are so tightly linked. I know, I know, before I get blasted for making it sound like I don't consider writing art, I do. Of course I do. But they are different mediums and yet so completely alike. Reference photos are the notes, spots of color, interesting shadows, shapes, textures are the characters that we exploit, drag out of their shells, push until they no longer resemble what we thought they were about. Simplify and tweak until they start to talk about something that really matters to us....etc. etc. I could digress.

It's all a matter of perspective...which sounds like the perfect intro into a blog that I've been meaning to get down since I read Lisa's blog a bit ago about her perspective on Russia, Russians, the Cold War and the such.

So-here's my perspective on this and what it feels like for me to be a 20 something caught in this centuries angsty gray area.

I have been traveling since October 30th, 2007. I packed my bags, sold my car, dumped my things at friend's houses, my dad's, drove my car to Colorado for a final time to leave things with my mom....came back to a townhouse that I really liked, a relationship, my favorite jazz club, my friends, my martial arts class that I am addicted to...and then I got on a plane and flew to Adana, Turkey. I started in Turkey because I wanted to spend some time living with my dad's side of the family. I also wanted to improve my Turkish-which has a long ways to go-I got what I wanted. I had a great two months. I had some time to gain some interesting perspective.

I am an animated talker. I am a big talker. I have lots of opinions on everything that occasionally should just be kept to myself...knowing this, I threw myself into a culture and situation where I wouldn't be able to say much of anything. I got a taste of what it's like to learn to listen. I got a taste of what it's like to really have to actually THINK before I say something. Not that I really changed all that much truth be told...but it did change my perspective on things and myself how I perceive things and how we communicate. I also got a hard dose of perspective on American culture.

I am not, in general, an advocate of the way we handle most things in America. But, I can now say that after being in other countries, experiencing their medical systems, their economical systems, getting to know business owners and families and artists, I get what the draw to America is all about. I also feel a sense of gratitude I didn't have before for where I was born. Not that I'm going to go patriotic, agree with the ridiculous mess we've created in Iraq, vote Republican and march around singing the praises of my country. I still think there's a load of bullshit. I just have a better appreciation for what else is there.

Ok, this being said...my travels took me from Turkey to Budapest to Germany. I have had the wonderful experience living with a German family for some time. The man of family is a very intelligent former home designer and construction company owner who happens to know a lot...and I mean a LOT about history. I love history. This leads to some great conversations. He gives me a hard time because I really make him work through any language barrier that may exist because I ask hard questions.

For example...I asked him why he thought, as my link to Germany, Germany's response to something like 9/11 would have been, why it happened and what he thinks America should have done about it.

There was a pause. We got up and started more hot water for coffee. I put my hair in a pony tail and readjusted myself in my chair and we both settled in for a long talk. Luckily for me, he seems to enjoy talking and arguing about this stuff and I love to learn about it so...yeah....

Lisa's post-to jump back to the wavering thread that is tenuously this post together-was discussing the Gulf War a bit, the Berlin wall...things that happened when I was at the youngest 7 and the oldest...well...present day- if you consider the Iraq War is just a big, nasty extension of the Gulf War (in some perspectives at least)...

This is a really weird realization for me. I remember hearing about the Berlin wall in November of 1989. I remember hearing about Sadaam Hussein Thwackers from Ed Sardella on 9 news in Colorado during the Gulf War. Names like Schwarzkopf, Powell, etc. all ring bells in my head. I can tell you what they did...I remember the colors of the camouflage jackets I would see on TV as a kid when they would interview soldiers.

Through all of this, however, I don't ever remember feeling anything. Not that I was or am emotionally insensitive, I just didn't care at the time. I was a kid. I had no real grasp on what the impact or the history was behind what was going on in front of me. I didn't really get a sense for that until recently, to be honest. Part of it is because America has a really bad habit of not teaching its kids about what it's done wrong in the past. I've never once been offered a class that discusses the finer points of the Gulf War and the socio, economic and cultural impact it had or would lead to in regards to America and the Muslim and Middle Eastern faith.

I'd heard the name Ayatollah Comini...spelling...but I couldn't have told you who he was until last week when my resident Germany born, history buff friend sat down and explained all of it to me. Who he was, what he had to do with Sadaam Hussein, etc. etc.

Please, Mr. Germany-teach me about the bits of my countries history that are less palatable. And it wasn't America bashing-what he told me about had very little emotional overtone. He is a rather stoic and pragmatic/practical person...and he wasn't trying to prove anything. He was trying to factually answer my questions. He did so quite well I think.

It's not like I couldn't have Wikipedia'd...yes I made that a verb...some of this stuff prior to arriving in Germany or gone to the library and read books about it...it's just that while there is always plenty of media there is very little content and, by fault of my own lack of mental prowess occasionally, things get muddled unless I have someone there to whom I can ask questions.

I asked a lot of questions to Alex. He gave me a lot of answers. I gained a new perspective on some of the things that I already knew about America's past by hearing from the mouth and mind of someone who didn't grow up engorged and swollen on my media and my concepts of reality and I also gained a new perspective on my childhood. Of my place in my country's young history.

In today's world people everywhere are being told and taught and coerced into disliking anyone who covers their head, looks like, talks like or blinks like they might be part of the Muslim faith. This is exactly like, from what I could glean out of Lisa's post, what happened between America and Russia during the Cold War and all that yucky stuff. People were told to hate an entire race and culture of people because of the actions of a few. And...here's the real bitch about all of this....when I sat down with Alex and had him tell me the story and the backstory of the times leading up to the Gulf War I realized that we really are on a loop. History repeats itself. It's a cliche but I've never heard one truer. It is disgusting how many times people can manage to reinvent the wheels of hate and prejudice and fear.

This is not a plea for everyone to be nicer to each other. This is also not a statement on how unfair or unjust the world behaves.

It is just an observation about the realization that we are on a perpetual hamster wheel. That we will continue to do the same things over and over again. If it isn't Russia it's Persia. If it's not there, then who knows, maybe it'll be China or India only the tables will be turned and my culture may get a sense of what it has done.

America is the perfect example of Newton's Law of Inertia. I am waiting to see what will be the first thing to step in and disrupt our inertia. People can argue that 9/11 was our stop. It was a speedbump. And I'm not suggesting that we have some Big Bad Wolf waiting for us around the corner and that we should all run for cover or start saying our Hail Mary's to avoid the apocalyptic fall of the American Empire...I'm just saying that a force bigger than 9/11 is going to have to happen eventually to slow America down. This could be a positive force as easily as it could be a negative force. We'll see which cards get played first.

All of this knowledge, insight, research, realization and processing makes for a heavy handbag to carry around on a daily basis. That's the best way I can think to express what it's like to be in this middle age of things where some of the really big stuff i.e. WWI, WWII and all those other wars that don't need their full titles to be recognized is well out of my range of existence but where some of the other big stuff, or stuff that is still having it's growth spurt did happen in my lifetime. And they will all have lasting impressions on the planet. And, I'm part of an age that has easy access to knowledge, resources, data...the Internet may be a vast ocean only about an inch deep but it is a dense inch. While it's impossible for most of Americans to experience the same degree of separation that previous generations had from their "enemy" or different cultures, or whatever in this day and age it is increasingly easy for us to pull the wool over our heads. Surround ourselves with things that assuage our fear. Remind ourselves that none of what is currently going on over there has anything to do with our Raison D'etra and simply move on.

Along with this handbag comes the responsibility or sense of responsibility to do something. Anything to improve or contribute in a well-intended manner to the situations at hand. Some choose to enlist in the military. Some join Green Peace. Some think out loud on Blogger. Some go and blow up buildings or people or cars or convoys because they think that it will actually accomplish something. Misguided and motivated have become the mantras and warning signs for my culture and the unfolding time line.

I want to find my response. My reaction to all of this. I want to stop feeling guilty when I tell people I am from America because of the looks I get from others. It's not hate or fear or anger. It's the look you give a small baby when they've gone and smeared the third jar of bright orange baby food all over themselves and the wall and the dog. And then in the process of cleaning up the mess they go and smash the crystal vase over their brother's head and then sit crying in the middle of the broken glass because they know they've done something wrong.

Not that there isn't something to be said for having a rough childhood....which is how I feel about the decision making that has gone on in my governmental system recently in America. We are young in comparison to the rest of the world. There are lots of things we haven't learned and we are acting the part of the cocky teenager by thinking that we know everything. Then again, at this point, we have wedged ourselves between more rocks and hard places than I can think of lame metaphors to describe. The resounding question in my head as I listen to the news and read the papers-foreign and American alike-is "What are we supposed to do now?" Not cynically or sarcastically...but a calm desperation that makes my insides hurt when I think about the state that things are in or are working towards.

America is not very good at admitting or teaching it's people about what it doesn't know how to do. It can't admit that there are problems to begin with in a lot of ways I don't think.

That makes me angry. Ignorance is not an excuse, no matter how many different costumes you make it try on.

There are more things I could say about this...things that I would like to say but am currently not in the right mind-set to phrase coherently.

I am going to bed. To anyone I have offended or upset, please-leave me a mature comment expressing yourself. I care what your thoughts are though I can't promise I will make any amendments to the post.

Communication is all we have left. Use it.

Chapter Three-Beyond The Seven Seas

Only because I promised. Excuse the mess while we are renovating. Thank you. The management.

CHAPTER THREE

To speak of what lies beyond the seven seas is to speak about losing. It is a space reserved for those who have been removed. It is a womb for all that is yet to be born. It is the land of Myth. Within its boundaries live the shadows of Story, of Present, of Then. It is within these remnants of space that our lives as we know them are defined and redefined. Every day we are invented anew between the lines and faced with the prospect of the fleeting devil Tomorrow. To speak of the land beyond the seven seas is to speak about loss. There are tenants who continue to rent their time in Myth. Mischief and Grief and Memory and Eros and the fateful pig that approached Piccadilly Circus in an attempt to expand the borders. In an attempt to regain. To speak of the land beyond the seven seas is to speak about a culture dying. We are dying. It is the mantra that seeps into the bones of this intangible land, it is the borders in which they live, the terms in which they approach life. It is within these terms that we shall speak of what lies beyond the seven seas for this is the only voice that has not been over sung.

4:30pm

The pig darted through the streets and the sewers of London. It was heading West. There was such amusement in watching people, in escaping. He had quite enjoyed his morning. He angled to the right and reduced his size again so he could slip through the grates sealing the underground waterways of London. He hated being underground. It was much too damp. Not that he wasn’t used to a bit of dampness. Ireland is no desert. At least in Ireland one can be wet and not smell like a soaked dog he thought to himself. Ah well, he didn’t have to smell himself. The sewers were the best means of travel he could think of. Less chance of being stepped on or causing further commotion. Being small compromises your concept of safety. He skidded around a corner and banged into the wall. Sludge. It was always slippery. But yes, the sewers were the best choice he’d had. He’d been given orders. He remembered what happened the last time he had disobeyed orders . He would try playing it the straight way for once. Was he not an icon of legend and daring and charm? Yes, he could play by the rules just this once. For the sake of something greater than himself. Or something.

He wrinkled his already wrinkled nose. He was filthy. He imagined that even the sewer rats were looking at him in disgust. Ha! To think of that! Oh the ends that he would go to for some things. He would have a much more pleasant time regaling the group of his derring-do after a proper bath and a return to his normal state. Being small compromises your sense of self.

He took the third right and slid through another set of grates. He could see the wicked shadows being cast back and forth as the good albeit confused people of London walked around above him. What little they knew. Such was the plight of most humans, however. He had learned that from the eons spent doing things the hard way. Their heavy footsteps above him became his soundtrack as he raced along the curved walls of the true London underground. The chatter of voices were muffled through the depths and the sun shone meekly into the grime.

The girl had been a curiosity to him. She had looked at him, directly at him. He could see her mind working. That was a particular gift. She was a different breed. She had looked at him not with fear, or awe or panic or any of those other unsightly mental characteristics but with curiosity. Pure curiosity like a child in a house of mirrors. She was pretty too. That was always a nice surprise. He hated ugly humans. Then again, he knew her father so he supposed he should not have been all that surprised.

He was cold. “You know, you’ve not been very good company lately.” He said as he continued through the damp muck. The sun went behind a cloud and the sewer went black. “That’s what I’m talking about!” She’s certainly in a mood today he thought sourly as he charged through the blackness. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m just saying...” He let out a yelp as he crashed against a low hanging grate. Just ahead of him rays began poking their long fingers into the muck. She always was rather hot under the collar but lately she had been in a foul mood. Not very good company at all. He was glad, for a change, that he had not been put in her charge for this task.

To think! A Muse! Missing! This most important task and they had chosen him. It had been most natural in his mind but the others had not been so enthusiastic. Memories amongst some have a substantial shelf life and he had not exactly been the most subtle in his deception. But what was life without a little rule bending. So what. He reflexively twitched his shoulder muscles and would have shrugged if he had been physically substantial enough to do so.

He leapt over a deep pool of water and scooted along closer to the edge. He had never been much of a swimmer and the last thing he needed was to be delayed. But yes, this most desperate of missions and they had chosen him. To be sent after the care and charge of one of the muses, that was not something a humble Pig like him encountered every day. And the world hadn’t even batted an eye. He had no idea how the girl played into everything but considering her history he could only imagine.

He continued to run. He was a pig of his word after all. At least for today. He could not imagine where she would have gone. The muse, not the girl. Though that had been a rather big shock as well. Not a single person had chased after him! And after her athletics chasing that pathetic distraction he would have thought the least she could do was give a half hearted attempt.

For all her clarity she obviously did not know who she was dealing with. Poor thing, she hadn’t grown up with her father around to educate her properly. He didn’t really have time to waste thinking about that though, she was not his main concern. This missing muse was. “Do you have any ideas where she could have gone to?” he asked the sun. The sewer rats looked at him and the sun said nothing. She was so irrational sometimes.

“You know, it’s not like I asked for this job. I had been minding my own business, wallowing around, doing nothing more than fulfilling my duties not bothering anyone when Boreas shows up on my front door. Figuratively speaking at least. I don’t really have a front door seeing as I live in a field.” He chuckled at his own wit. The sun said nothing. “Not that you don’t already know that, dearest. What with your lofty position and all. Really does give you an advantage to things. Regardless, here comes Boreas one day and says that he needs me and I am to meet him at once and await my instructions. Imagine how I felt! Being bossed around by such a transparent fool! Well! I dare say I was a bit taken aback. But I showed up. My curiosity has always been my downfall. So yes, are you listening?” Nothing. “Good. So yes, here comes Boreas and I agree, naturally, to help. I mean, I’m a good natured sort and when a fellow needs help, what can I do but bow down and offer my services?” He ran through a patch of gray sunlight and felt a distinctive burning on his muck covered tail.

“Ah, so you are paying attention! I knew it! So, where was I? Ah yes, Boreas. So I meet with him and he says that Erato has gone and gotten herself missing. How exactly this is possible I don’t know so don’t ask me. That’s up to Apollo. Such a responsible bloke. Don’t know what could have gone wrong. Perhaps she finally got the better of him. He always did have a thing for her. Course, not a single one of us could get near her without feeling something. Even me-and you know how I don’t usually go for the two legged type. Poor thing, out there all alone. Though I can imagine she knows how to handle herself. The question is, where would she have gone? She had everything she needed right where she was. Doesn’t make a bit of sense to me, but then again, I’m not one to meddle in affairs of Them.”

Tonight.

“Black coffee, please.” The table creaked as she leaned forward on her elbows. Her brown tunic sleeves were pushed up past her elbows and the yellow light hanging above the table gave her a jaundiced pallor.

“Well, where is the little fucker.” She left the question mark on the street corner.

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll have gone back and we will be hearing from him shortly” He gave his most placid face and wrapped his hands around the gray cup. He picked at the porcelain paint with a dirty finger nail. He considered the consequence of actually putting the cup to his lips. It seemed too much of an unnecessary risk for such a pitiful payoff. Instead he let the humid warmth seep into his palms.

“That’s assuming a lot on his part.” She squinted her already narrow almond shaped eyes at him over the rim of her mug and bit her bottom lip. “I mean, he’s not the most trustworthy. I still don’t know what you were thinking”.

“What I was thinking is nothing that you, in fact, have to think about at all. You seem to have enough troubles of your own.”

“Clever. Really.” She changed her mind and set the cup down. She fingered the rim and swirled the battery acid around. The silence was getting them nowhere.

“Uhm, can I say something?” Four eyes swiveled in their sockets.

“You just did.”

Green eyes wilted in frustration and the third member of their party straightened a bit in her sagging seat.

“Look, well, it’s just that she’s still out there and we don’t know anything and I don’t want to cause more problems but shouldn’t we be…well…doing something?”

“Ah, enter our sweet voiced tagalong and her astounding ability to state the obvious. Save your vocal chords sweetheart. Right now, we wait.”

Last week.

She came in a set the bags of groceries down on the counter. She hated always having last minute shopping but there are some habits that never die. The grocery store had been full with others suffering a similar fate and she had been caught up in the mess that happens when lots of people all try and do the same thing at the same time.

Her graying hair was in her eyes and her contacts were beginning to burn. She had spent too many hours pouring over student papers last night and the subtle reminders that all-nighters were for twenty-somethings and college students were mixing with the not so subtle reminders that she was definitely not twenty anything anymore.

But, work was work and the students were feeling particularly effusive if not intelligent this year. She had a few bright ones but nothing like some from her past. She was tired of reading how “one must always remember…” and “throughout the ages…” “one” doesn’t have to do anything if “one” doesn’t feel like doing it. What ever happened to a little pizzazz? And editing. And spellcheck. Forget Aude sapere-she would settle for dare to proofread-before-submitting though she doubted there was a latin equivalent for common sense.

She sighed and sorted through her dilapidated bags. Her cat jumped on the counter to help and was shooed away with the butt end of the French loaf she brandished. The sun came to investigate through her yellow curtains and she smiled. Mid-afternoon sunshine may not be quite as good as moonshine but it is still intoxicating in its own right. The cat gave up on his lazy attempts at investigation and curled up in the corner.

The dinner guests would be over shortly, she had a lot of work left to do. She took the fish out of the bag, discarded the newspaper and took it to the sink. What with the student papers behind her she was beginning to look forward to this evening. She had her own research of course that always seemed to be leagues behind where it should be for the number of hours she gave in a week but her sanity had begun to whine about equal employment opportunities. There was nothing wrong with taking a night off now and again she reminded herself. The stress of having loose ends sat in the base of her brain but she pushed it aside. Not tonight.

The water was just beginning to boil when her cell phone rang. She wiped her hands half-heartedly on a tee towel and routed her phone out of her purse. “Unknown name, unknown caller” flashed across the screen as she flipped it open with her chin and jammed it between her ear and shoulder. She turned the stove down to medium.

The cat jumped as the phone hit the floor. She pivoted sharply on her heel with a speed belying one of her age and grabbed her jacket. She was out the door and gone within moments. Her brain was full of white noise as she jumped in her car and slammed it into gear. Around London eight phones simultaneously rang and their answerers left in a state of shock. Eight women jumped into eight of their respective cars and raced away.

She was missing.

Whose afraid of

Their own shadow? That'd be me.

I live in a state of gray. Which I've said before. But it makes it hard to do what I know I can/want/really wish I was clever enough to do...which is write a decent anything. Hehe. I'm kevetching (is there a correct spelling for that, cause I don't know it if there is).

To be honest, I spend more time thinking about my story than writing it. I do this with most things. I need to be a better War General and just throw my troops into the attack head on. Problem is, I sit down and it's like I turn into a Arty from Geek Love. No arms, no fingers to speak of, horribly critical attitude. Though he was much better written than I am. At least he had a sense of purpose.

And I keep getting caught up in research, which is something I really, really like to do. More so than any sane human I would venture. And I'm addicted to links. If I can click it and have it take me somewhere more interesting, I'm on it.

Tim, from the DC, likened writing this stuff to giving birth to glass. I agree. I might as well pull out my synapses one by one, bang them together, call in the dendrites and throw them all in the blender and hit go. Maybe I'd come up with something.

Alrighty...in typical fashion I'm writing about not being able to write. I am such a verbal thinker. I don't even like therapists and I'm always finding myself needing to just "talk it out". Which sucks because no one cares about this as much as I do. This is a given and something that I will have to get used to. Knight in shining armor aside, I don't think I'd want someone to be as obsessive about my stuff as I am. I would run away from them. Hm..

What is that about the things we don't like in ourselves are the things we criticize in others?

Right.

So-I'm going to go resign myself to working on the family portrait sketch that I am doing at the moment for my side project, finish taking my notes and write down anything that comes to me. I have some mediocre dialogue at the moment, though I think everyone sounds the same. I bought a new book, albeit it was Paulo Cohelo, so I'm not going to learn anything about writing diverse characters (All of his books have the exact same person as their protagonist I think. He's a bit too in love with love.) but it was the only book in English that wasn't some stupid romance novel or trash thriller.


And, I promise, by the time all the rest of the world is awake, I'll have something posted for chapter three. I even promise to keep my self loathing and internal criticisms to myself. (c:

Happy writing to all of you with fingers.

Chapter Three

Will be here tomorrow I think. I tried....really tried for tonight. and it sucks. It's not finished and it's lacking a certain flair that comes when I am not trying to write things at 1 in the morning after getting up at 6am with kids and all those other lovely excuses that i have for not having anything. I have something...it's just...I dunno.

So yeah...it will be here tomorrow. I am close to at least having a completed thought on paper-regardless of whether or not it's relevant is another issue all together.

So-until tomorrow.

Posting an article I like (c:

On the eco-friendly soapbox this evening..this article. Thanks. (c: Just to be clear, this article is not written by me...just making sure I give this guy some credit here hehe. :D




It was bound to happen. Sooner or later, I was due to go Andy Rooney on you poor readers and vent about the tech habits that drive me crazy. My goal here is not just to wax cantankerous, but to tell you straight out: Don't do any of these things.

Buzz up!on Yahoo!

Print everything under the sun. You want to print out a recipe or article and automatically hit the Print button. Then you go to the printer and discover that you needed only 1 page of the 4 that printed. Restrain yourself from automatically printing stuff from the Web. What typically happens is that you print it out and put it in a folder to languish until you do your spring file cleaning and just throw it out anyway. Most of the time you didn't need a printed copy to begin with. And if you do need to print, preview it first and print only the pages you need.

Throw out your iPod or cell phone the minute a new one comes out. People are most wasteful with these two categories of device. Unless your phone or MP3 player is completely broken, don't throw it out. You will not be shunned by society if your device is a generation or two behind. If your identity is that tied to your gadgets, you need to go sit down on a park bench and take serious inventory of yourself.

For more eco-friendly technology coverage, go to PCMag.com's Green Tech page!

Buy your kids cheap electronic crap. Think twice before getting your kids everything that blips, beeps, zips around the living room via remote control, or plays games. Imagine yourself taking it home from the store, unpackaging it, putting it on the floor, and stomping it to pieces--because that's how it will end up very soon. You are teaching your small kids to be ignorant overconsumers who pay no attention to quality. Buy cheap and buy often is the lesson you are imparting. Not to mention the plastic, packaging, and batteries that end up in landfill.

Leave your computer on day and night. I've heard the arguments. People hate the lag time every morning waiting for their PCs to start up. Don't just sit there and watch the Windows status bar go back and forth, go make some coffee or do some sit-ups or something. Yes, time is precious. But how much TV do you watch per day? If you're the average American, about 4 hours. Are you really telling me you can't shave 2 minutes off your TV watching or pointless Web surfing regimen to save a few kilowatt hours?

Throw away or recycle perfectly usable devices. Recycling is good, but if the device still works, donate it. Do you throw away good food? Furniture in good condition? There may not be starving kids in China that will die if you don't eat your peas, but there are plenty of kids in underfunded schools who could use your Pentium II system, and women in domestic abuse shelters who depend on donated cell phones.

Okay, sermon over. I'm done channeling Andy Rooney. Hey, how did my eyebrows get so bushy?

...What the hell

First off. Chapter three is coming. It will be here by next week. I promise. No more running away to play elsewhere.

That aside,

I am reading the news at the moment and I keep noticing that "they" (the mighty powers that be...and or the Associated Press) keep posting news articles with headlines like "Global Warming blamed for..." blah blah blah.

I am a firm believer and advocate in Global Warming. A tree hugger through and through.

But please...oh please...do *not* make it sound like Global Warming is a person being convicted of a crime.

First Name: Global
Last Name: Warming
Crime: Breaking the Ice Shelf

Seriously. Global warming is a direct result of carelessness. It is not something that can shoulder responsibility. We, however, can (I know...who'd've thunk it!). So perhaps a more accurate headline would read:

Humans Excessive Use of Energy Blamed for Broken Ice Shelf....

I'm not saying that every human in the world is to blame or that we all need to live in the dark and revert back to the times of prehistory but we really need to start putting the responsibility where it belongs...not handing it off in typical fashion to a concept or cause.

All hail the wisdom of George Carlin all that time ago for kevetching about a War on Drugs. This is our war on a concept.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.