Dear Superman...

Dear Superman,
You probably aren't used to getting letters from adults. Usually, by the time someone has reached my age you are no longer as mystifying as you were when we were children, and you are instead something as dependable as the sunrise; an accepted part of the American landscape which can never change as you are so firmly integrated into it.

American. More on that in a minute.

Anyway, I am not someone who sees trouble and immediately looks up to see if there is a streak of red coming faster than the eye can follow to save the day. I have a job where I am responsible to taking care of trouble, and for making the world a better place. It's something I am proud to do because it is inherent in my role as a protector, and a privilege conducted in service to the nation of my birth. Ostensibly, I work as a protector of that country, but in said role I often protect others in different nations. My role as protector is often misunderstood or misinterpreted. That is all right, because I do not protect people for recognition, but rather because it is the right thing to do. I do it in the name of my country, because I love this country and feel ideals like truth and justice are inherent to what we are supposed to be. As a super power, America will have to act in situations where no one else can, and I think we have a moral obligation as a nation to do so. Any superpower has an obligation to improve the condition of the world.

I am not an "America: right or wrong" kind of guy. I am an "America: let's do it right" sort. I know my nation both as a collective of individuals and as a state makes mistakes, and sometimes as a result of those mistakes, innocents die. I don't believe you stop trying to help though, I believe you just have to do a better job when you do offer help.

America, and the protection thereof, means a lot of different things to people, evoking both blind patriotism unwilling to see the nation's mistakes, and blind fury unwilling to see the nation's good. Both such extremes are wrong. America is made up of all of us, our victories, our foibles; our loves and our hates. Above all, this nation founded on principle-not on ethnicity or faith-is about opportunity for all. Again, we have made mistakes in the past, and will do so in the future, but for the most part we are a nation of immigrants; founded by immigrants, built by immigrants, fought for by immigrants, and all one needs to be part of it really is a profound belief in Truth, Justice, and the American Way. Some differ on the definition of "American Way," but most will agree it is that anyone in America can become the best of America. With ability, drive, and passion, America should give us the opportunity to become anything. That may apply to the poor, the lost, the downtrodden. It may apply to a child cast into the night who by the grace of God or fate ends up not in death or ocean or tyranny, but in America.

I don't know where you were raised, Superman. You seem to make your home in one of our greatest cities, yet when I see you in interviews your manner is almost like people I know who grew up on a farm. I don't know if you had powers as a baby or not. There's rumors you exhibited strange feats early on, and others that say the radiation of our sun almost killed you before it empowered you. Your greatest asset though did not come from the yellow sun or the ground or the sky. Your greatest asset, came from America; your ethics.

You've been around since 1938. Imagine if you had landed in Hitler's Germany or, like a story I once read in Stalin's USSR. Would you have become arrogant as one worshiped if you had landed with an aboriginal tribe with no understanding of science, labeling you a god? Had your ship landed anywhere else in the world, would you have become Superman, or instead The Superman ruling us as might makes right? It doesn't matter, because you DID land here, and you DID learn American core values, and you DO have a moral code which makes you a protector and not a dictator. You are the epitome of the cold, hungry immigrant washed ashore in America who rises to exceed their origin. As I say, you are a constant to me; a part of America as much as the flag, or a fair deal, or Teddy Roosevelt riding a Bull Moose across a river.

Now, as I understand you are afraid you will be confused with America. God, I hope you are right. I hope children the world over see you stop a volcano, or rescue innocents from the path of war, or change the course of mighty rivers and say, "look at America at its best." In that way you provide not only a sign to them that our nation can be great, but a sign to us that it should be great. We make mistakes, but to get better we need hope, we need inspiration. We need to know that as horrible as the things we have done are, we can still be good, and still make the world a better place. More powerful than anything is the need to believe what we can be, to have a symbol, we can look to and aspire to be.

I spend a lot of my life looking at the flag for that, and wear it on my own uniform while I am out trying to make the world a better place. I know at times that flag is all someone across from me sees, and that is why it is so important I wear it well. When I am out to make the world a better place, I recognize I am a citizen of the world as well as a citizen of the most just nation in history; being a citizen of the world and a citizen of the United States are not mutually exclusive. Don't give up one for the other; be both. The world does need you, and so do we. When I think of the tragedy that could have been had you landed somewhere else, I think there is still a level upon which you need us too.

Don't walk away from America out of fear, because you think the world will confuse you with us. Instead, wear that flag in the best possible way, and show them, and America, all it can mean; all it should mean.

You were quoted as saying, "I'm an alien...born on another world. I can't help but see the bigger picture." See it then, and tell your fellow Americans what you see. Help us see it too. We will help you see what Truth, Justice, and the American Way can do on the small scale; the Red Cross worker in Haiti, the American soldier keeping peace in Bosnia. I don't defend the misguided imperialism some would want to see this country practice, but I vehemently stand up for us as a light to the world...as millions of immigrants before you have done by making this nation great. Let those who would fight against freedom and opportunity for all confuse you with America; then, help America be a country which can be easily confused with you.

Thank you for your time, Superman. I hope to see you out there as a comrade,

An American Soldier

My hooch, Baghdad 2004.

Memorial Day

So, for Memorial Day I am going to talk about Christopher. Infantry guy from Roswell, New Mexico. Married, had a little girl. Loved rock music, particularly Black Label Society. He had a big BLS flag which hung over his rack in the barracks. Had a sweet little electric guitar he used to play along to their albums to, along with an amp which would occasionally piss off the people in the bay with him. He loved old rock too- Tom Petty, Skynard of course. Had a fair amount of Johnny Cash.

He wasn't politically stupid either. Read a lot of Right side stuff; some O'Reilly etc., but also had a well dog-eared copy of Howard Zinn's “A People's History of the United States.” He liked video games, usually ones where he did what he did in real life- war games where you go out and shoot the bad guy and keep going until someone gets you. He had his games crammed in with his movies- mostly stuff he'd bought there in Iraq, playing the games and the movies on a little TV he'd crammed into his little space with his guitar and music and books.

When I met him, all that were left were these mementos. I went through it, item by item, meeting the man with whom I would never speak. Filing the pictures of his wife and daughter. Counting the CDs (nearly 300!) and movies and placing all of it into footlockers, carefully inventoried and then locked away.

Christopher and his squad walked into a building north of Baqubah, Iraq that morning, and the entire thing blew up on them, killing him and his entire squad. I was the officer who inventoried and packed his things to make the trip home he never would. I was sorely tempted to put a note, some little piece of comfort or condolence for his wife and daughter, but luckily I was wise enough to forego this; I didn't really know him. I only knew what was left. I only had an evidentiary connection to who he had been, and somehow in my mind that created a relationship of some kind, a bond with a man with whom I had a lot in common, but whose name I only learned when I was handed the info sheet with his name, last, first, middle initial across the top. I had no right to him though, and what could I say to his wife or child except, “he seemed like a good guy.”

It's been more than a year and a half since I put together Christopher's personal effects. He still comes to mind when I see a Black Label Society t-shirt, or hear Tom Petty's “Full Moon Fever.” I hope his family has learned to cope, and I hope they remember him fondly. Even though I have no right to...

...I miss him. Weird huh? For Memorial Day, I ask you all to remember someone who shouldn't be gone, but since they are, should be missed.

The End of the Second Babylonian Exile

Well ladies, gentlemen, and all others who might possibly tune back into this fallow blog, I have returned to the Homeland, and left the dust, grime, carnage, and blood of Babylon once more behind me. Yet another bit of service to my firm is done, and I can look forward now to…

Well, the third Babylonian Exile. Not immediate of course, but I have no illusions that my service to the South Canadian Empire will not lead me to again breathe the acrid stench of burning garbage, fecal matter, and high explosive that is Babylon. It is only my hope that I cannot in a few years coyly write a blog entry called “Babylon 5.” That will suck.

So why have I been so quiet? Well, my firm has decided to keep an eye on those who would blogify their experiences in Babylon. Ostensibly, this is to prevent Faux News style gaps in operational security (while here I watched a Faux News reporter describe on national television the inner workings of a system so secret I don’t even want to mention it here because I am sure it is a keyword search for the No Such Agency). However, I am somehow loathe to want to register my free thoughts with the modern equivalent of a political officer. So, I have bottled up all kinds of stuff, mentally relieving myself once on leave (last entry) and now with my triumphant return to the Homeland. Oh what a difference months can make.

If you will look below, you will see I made comment that my firm can be taught. I now know that my firm can also forget everything it learned. Somehow, as if a switch was flipped, or I slid through a strange gap in the Space/Time Continuum, my return form leave to Babylon brought me to a unit operating as if it were the halcyon days of 2004. Precise targeting for apprehension gave way to hearsay, and we again put a huge wall between the left hand and the right hand. My hope has been pretty well beaten out of me as I watch us not understand who our enemy is, not understand how to keep friends, and not understand why people want to blow us up. Oy. At least the explosions keeping me up all night this time were outgoing, and I can say it rained metal on me and my comrades much less than before.

Why the hell aren’t we running out of Babylonians to blow up? Because, when you blow one up, it ticks off his fellow tribe members. “Tribe? Well that’s a silly reason to want to kill someone! Why aren’t they acting like South Canadians and just sucking it up?” Because, Einstein, they are BABYLONIANS AND THEY THINK AND ACT LIKE BABYLONIANS!!!! In this culture, if you kill a tribe or family member, regardless of how friendly your two tribes are, there’s a debt of honor that must be paid. Usually with something explosive.

Another little factor is what I call the “I want your goat” factor. Joe the Babylonian wants Frank the Babylonian’s goat. It is a very simple matter to find a member of my firm and say, “Frank is a terrorist!” Early in this tour, we would wait for a few guys to say Frank was a terrorist. By the end, Joe didn’t even have to write it down and we would storm into Joe’s house in the middle of the night and whisk him away to talk to Imperial Inquisitors. Time passes, Joe comes home to find his goat gone, along with most of his worldly possessions, and possibly his daughters or wife, Joe gets angry. Poof! Instant terrorist. It is also amusing to watch the tribal leaders swear the rival tribes’ males are all terrorists, and likely harboring Usamah bin Laden himself. After all, they are the same sect, and everyone knows you can’t trust a (insert opposite sect here).

So, what progress has five years in Babylon made? Well… I really didn’t see any. There are pockets of normalcy, but the simple fact is these people are killing each other in droves and we are basically a single finger in a very large, very creaky dike. I hope, I hope, I hope. I wish, I wish, I wish. But I don’t see it getting better anytime soon, and for every step forward we sponsor, we then take a couple in reverse.

“WHY DAN? WHY IS BABYLON SO FRACKED UP?” as Starbuck would ask. I have a very short succinct answer that will get me in trouble with a lot of people for whom I care deeply:

Religion.

Oh wait, allow me to elucidate. It’s not Islam I have an issue with, though primarily it is not my bag. The issue is fundamentalism. A belief system of any sort so close-minded, so intractable, so self-righteous it cannot allow for even the possibility that it might have some things wrong and someone else might have some things right. See, if I can’t be wrong, you can’t be right unless you believe exactly what I do. If that’s my base assumption, I start going from there. I can never allow anyone to change what I think, and anyone who offers a counter-opinion is not only wrong, but a problem. And even if I am firm in my faith, what if some infidel decides to talk to my children when I am not around? Then, someone who believes differently is not just wrong, they become…

A threat. The very existence of a different way of thinking is a threat to my family, my tribe, my culture. I have to stop them, I must keep my faith pure. Besides, if they don’t believe like I do, they aren’t in God’s favor anyway, He won’t mind if I discriminate to keep them away for my kids. Or shun. Or banish. Or murder. Heck, I bet God WANTS me to kill people who don’t believe like I do! That means more opportunity for people on the right path to succeed, so long as there are less infidels.

Another aspect of fundamentalism is the idea that you hold no responsibility because anything that happens is God’s will. In Arabic, this is “Insha’ Allah-” as God wills it. This answer is handed out whenever you ask someone why they don’t make things better, why they don’t actually stop the bad guys? Insha’ Allah. C’est La Vie. Que Sara Sara. Predestination. Fate. There is nothing I can do, because it is all up to God, He has removed all responsibility and culpability from me. I have actually seen Babylonian soldiers puzzled that we want them to practice marksmanship- if God wants them to hit the target, they will. Practice is futile. Making a decision is futile. Taking hold of your future is futile.

Sound familiar? Willing to kill those who don’t think like me, and denying all responsibility for your actions? That’s what leads to people crashing airplanes into sky scrapers. That’s what leads honest citizens to feed other citizens into ovens. That’s what leads to people burning down Black churches or Synagogues. That’s what leads to Jihads/Crusades, which are the same thing in a different language; killing in the name of God. I am sorry. It’s wrong to kill I the name of God, and that is what I am intractable about. If God wanted us killing each other, the Israelites wouldn’t have a commandment saying “You will not Murder.” Jesus would not have gotten nailed to a tree for telling people to love each other. Muhammad wouldn’t have tried to pull warring Arab tribes together under the banner of a religion whose very name means “of Peace.” I could go into Karma, and Nirvana, and a myriad of other religions that all agree on one thing- God wants us working together not whacking one another. When does it go wrong? How does “Love one another as I have loved you” become the Spanish Inquisition?

Intractability. Intolerance. Fundamentalism. Nearly every conflict on Earth right now can somehow be traced to Fundamentalist belief in something- Wahabbist Islam, Fanatical Zionism, (insert ethnicity here) Supremacy, dogmatic Christian intolerance, the Almighty Dollar.

And several of those fundamentalist beliefs come together in Babylon. And that my dear Starbuck, is why Babylon is so fracked up. And no one believes we can really do anything about it, because Insha’ Allah.

Don’t misunderstand me -- I am all about protecting MY way of life. I am all about defending MY family, and nation, and people. Unlike most people who like to bitch about such things*, I actually took an oath and put my life on the line to “support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic, and to bear true faith and allegiance to the same.” When I see though how my Firm is being crushed by the intractable fundamentalism of the Babylonians as it slams up against the intractable fundamentalism of my nation’s decision makers, I can’t help but think this sick, tired, over spent, frustrated, angry force is going to have a hell of a time defending MY way of life, MY family, MY nation, and MY people when a serious threat crops up.

So, as my Second Babylonian Exile ends, I look forward to the third one, whenever that may be. It is my earnest hope that Babylon is the worst fight my Firm ever has to deal with again.

History tells me it won’t be. So make your choice my South Canadian Empire, my beloved fellow citizens of my United States of America. Do we keep fumbling around in Babylon, rubbing our fundamentalism on theirs? Or do we regroup, reassess, and redirect toward where a real threat may actually be? Where Al-Qa’ida has regrouped in the mountains between Pakistan and Afghanistan? Where China waits for us to blink with the ability to raise an Army equal to our entire population? Where fundamentalists in the former Soviet Bloc are passing nuclear materials like they are cards in a bridge tournament? Where the actual source of most of our oil is under an arrogant twit like Hugo Chavez? To be fair, you should know what happens to Babylon when we leave.

Blood. Blood on a scale that makes what we spill now look like something we can slap a band-aid on. But it is a decision too important to leave to fate, too important to not let out nation’s decision makers (who I will remind you WORK FOR YOU) know what you think. Don’t give me any Insha’ Allah crap, get up, make a decision, make your voice heard, whichever track you follow. Choose America, choose what you want. But for Gods’ sake, actually make a choice, don’t just sit there waiting for someone to make the decision for you, for someone else to take responsibility.

Your protectors are tired. And we’d really like to do something right.


*as I read over the above, I would like to add a small caveat. As you choose, as you research, check facts, and make an informed decision I ask one more thing. If you choose war, and that’s fine if you honestly believe it, if you choose war put your ass behind your decision. Five million people make up your complete armed forces. All of it. There are 300 million Americans. Yeah, I know that includes children and the elderly, and those who have already served and paid their way as citizens. However, if one percent- just three million more Americans, put their lives on hold for five years and served in the military the burden would be immeasurably lessened on those here now. And I say, particularly if you think the occupation of Babylon is a good idea (and I am not arguing either way right now) it seems to me you have an obligation.

However, it is very possible right now I am just tired and disgruntled, and after all misery loves company.

Bloggy Mountain Breakdown

Oh, so long overdue, but it is time for an update! Seven months in Babylon, and currently on leave, I have the time to ponder a bit before heading back to do another seven or so (thanks for the 15 month rotations! They REALLY increase morale!). So, here now are seven things I have learned in seven months in Babylon.

1) The Mandolin. The lovely Jennifer denied me something for the first time ever—a banjo. I am sure some of you are “yes, we understand,” while a small, small minority says “but the banjo is so cool!” Not to be discouraged, I went looking for other ways to appease my jangly bluegrass fixations, and a mandolin was approved. Now, I will tell you that I am no Bill Monroe, and certainly not a Flatt or Scruggs (pardon my sacrilege, and my age I can never remember which one was the mandolin player, and which was the banjoist. I am however listening to the Flatt and Scruggs “Bonnie and Clyde” album as I write this and it is beyond phenomenal if you have never heard it). The Mandolin is however a lot of fun to play, and has provided me some fine distractions.

2) My current firm can be taught. Despite all the missteps I have previously related in this blog, the Army of the South Canadian Empire is really actually doing a better job this time around. The proper application of carrot and stick works with the Babylonians, and not to say I told them so, but, I told them so.

3) Anything less than 10 years will not help Babylon. Don’t know that my firm can sustain that.

4) Morale is directly connected to boot comfort.

5) Morale is directly connected to the ability to Skype with the lovely Jennifer.

6) I have given up on Marvel Comics, and really hope DC pulls its head out of its arse. The whole Marvel Civil War/World War Hulk/Dead Captain America/Dead Aunt May thing just blows really. The Marvel universe is just not a fun place to visit anymore. DC did some neat things with the Infinite Crisis and 52, but having events for the sake of events is getting tiresome. Countdown blows, and here’s a novel concept for you; how about focusing on giving me 22 pages of good story. We’ve had the big events, you’ve re-written the universe. Now, go play in the big new sandbox. To completely shoot down my own argument though, let me say I am really enjoying the Sinestro War in the Green Lantern titles. The shadow of Alan Moore falls heavily there though, and I will never forgive them if the kill Mogo-- just so we are clear DiDio.

7) My favorite human is the lovely Jennifer. Still and always. The separations never get easier, and my goal in life is to get to the end of my career so I never have to leave her side again. She is my heart and soul, my night and day, and the love of any life I might have lived or yet live. Even if she won’t let me have a banjo.

Alas, Babylon...

Well, I'm going where the weather suits my clothes. Be safe all, and expect irony laden posts about Babylon soon...

Ding Dong...

The New Rulers of Babylon hanged the Old Ruler of Babylon. There are two things that disturb me about this. Before I get into that though, let me state that if anyone does deserve capital punishment, it would be this Dick...tator. His crimes were horrendous, and a far better excuse for the South Canadian Empire to invade than weapons of mass delusion. Few are higher on my list (except Celine Dion of course).

But what disturbs me? First, that the official state executioners, according to the single fastest intelligence service on the planet (See En En), decided to invoke the name of (name not changed to protect the guilty) Muqtada Al Sadr. That takes this firmly out of the range of state execution and into sectarian assassination. This will do nothing but make the Former Dick...tator a martyr to the Sunnis, both in Babylon and without. That will not bring stability to the region in any way.

Secondly, how See En En has decided to become Snuff News. See En En is showing execution video. I would expect that low level pseudo-journalism from Faux News (and got it by the way, since they proudly announced they were seeking such videos- the website featured one of the worst pics of Saddam ever with bright red capital letters proclaiming "HANGED!" Way to be fair and balanced assholes). I expect more from See En En though. This cheap sensationalism sickens me and shows the same disregard for human life that those who are dancing in celebration show- the same lack of regard for human life that made the Dick...tator the monster he was. Ending human life is sometimes necessary. Celebrating death is an affront to God and Man.

Updates, updates, updates, shouted to an empty room.

Well, it doesn’t take long for several months to go by without updating your blog, now does it? Well, I guess it actually takes several months. Time flies when you are hellaciously busy. Lots going on in my firm as my little corner of it prepares for a return to Babylon. Oh yes, true believers, I am on the train back. The glimmer of hope that I got this last week though is that it seems various bits of leadership within my firm are beginning to realize the types of mistakes that have led to the current situation there. Little things like cultural knowledge and respect are beginning to matter! It only took four years… Now if only we could get that message across to the highest levels of Imperial management.

The British apparently have found a map made by Lawrence of Arabia in regard to how he proposed to establish boundaries and borders in that region; get this, it was based on religious and tribal locations. Hmm… I wonder if we can get a copy of that to our Imperial leadership?

In far less Earth-shattering, but much more entertaining matters, I just watched the digital re-mastering of the original Star Trek. The cleanliness of the picture was delightful, but I had actually expected more to be done with the special effects. I suppose they were a little gun-shy from Lucas and his molesting of his own intellectual property, but the problems I have there are more with changing story and character moments, and not making the original available. I think classic Trek would be well served by bringing some of its visuals in line with the newer series’. Seeing the 1701 do the stretchy warp and flash would make me drool. Of course, I am a big geek.

Speaking of being a big geek, I recently met Greg Rucka, book and comic author, and guy who got me reading comics again after a long absence with his work on the Batman character. As an aspiring (read that wanna be) comic book writer myself, it was very interesting to get his insights into writing and the industry in general, and get some scoopy gossip on other comic writers. His admiration for Grant Morrison is apparent, but then so is mine, and some of the comments made about “All Star Batman and Robin the Boy Wonder” seemed to be along my thoughts on that incredibly lame book. Overall, Mr. Rucka was a very pleasant guy with a good sense of humor and a sharp wit. Glad he’s out there writing my comics for me.

And beyond that we approach ever closer to the best of all holidays- Halloween! I am likely to Batman again, as I have just purchased a rather pricey cape to fill out my outfit. My son, last year my World’s Finest companion of Superman, has instead purchased a man-sized chicken outfit. Yes indeed- a 6’2” chicken. Odd boy, that one. My daughter has moved beyond that Darth Vader fetish, and now will dress as herself as a Sith. Turning to the dark side, and likely never coming back. And the lovely lady Jennifer? As always, the lovely Lady Jennifer will be the lovely Lady Jennifer, and I wouldn’t have her any other way.

Well maybe with some pointed ears or a plaid skirt… Maybe.

Oh yeah, that guy...

Holy guacamole, where have I been? Well, frankly right this minute I am in one of the six most beautiful places in the world, Garmisch, Germany. Being here in paradise for a month or so you can certainly understand how I could blow off my blogging duties and instead stroll along the Bavarian Alps and drink coffee in a sidewalk cafe with the rest of the Eurotrash. Alas, I must soon return home, but I have the advantage of the beloved Jennifer, and the Dan-spawn to entertain and keep me there, and that is the number one paradise for me anyway (it's also where my guitars and GI Joes are).

I'm finding some peace again, having lost much more than I thought during my time in Babylon. Of course the first step is admitting you have a problem, and the second is finding out how to express it (other than moping and anger). Much better now, though no happier with the crapstorm we are leaving in our wake there.

Speaking of storms, my thoughts and prayers go to those in New Orleans. May we all learn humility from the fact that the old aphorism that civilized society collapses after three days without a proper meal is actually a bit optimistic. Among people just trying to survive in a situation exacerbated by bureaucratic masturbation, some decided to revert lower than savage and do things like shoot at rescue workers and helicopters, and mutilate corpses in relief points. I am waiting for the stories of heroism- I know they are there. We are an amazing species to be so capable of full spectrum reactions to catastrophe. Everything from subhuman tribalism to selfless life-risking; what a race we human are.

Still grieving my Dad of course, but not fixating. I miss him, mostly when I want to tell him what movie I saw or what book I just read. He passed before he got to see a good Batman movie- may the angels and ministers of grace buy him a balcony ticket.

I was using the bathroom the other day when a woman walked in thinking that I was in the wrong room- I was in fact correct, but was struck by the fact that it was really a trivial matter, and started thinking about the male/female segregation we practice as Americans- there's no way around it, it's segregation based on old fashioned social mores passed to us by our puritanical ancestors. I wonder if there will ever be true gender equality in America so long as we don't share bathrooms?

I will do my best to get here more often, I beg forgiveness- meanwhile, give some cash to the Red Cross and groups like Doctors Without Borders. They're good folk.


ps- sorry to have turned on word verification for comments; please forgive me the extra step, but someone spammed me. Don't I see enough commercials without them coming to my blog? Aren't I the one doing the advertising here?

Oh wait, there I am...

Yes, true believers, I have been away from my blogging duties, and for this I can only apologize. Been in quite the funk lately in regard to the news about Babylon, and the current Powers That Be response to these issues. The simple fact is we screwed up, mishandled it from day one, and now there is a civil war. You know, when one of the powers says "the insurgency will last a decade" and another says "the insurgency is on its knees" ALL IN THE SAME WEEK, there is an obvious lack of coordination at work.

But, I'm trying not to let them get me down (after all, they haven't told me to go back...yet) and focus on some lighter things. I have finished the first four scripts to a comic book that I hope to get published- fun stuff. Also very pleased with Batman Begins; now if they can get Superman that correct it'll be fanboy heaven.

Thinking of going to see Italy soon, drink some wine, get some sun. Lovely country that. Polite even as they pickpocket you (but that's reserved for the big cities).

Looking at a possible political position in the future, or at least a job around political people. Could yours truly possibly be a voice of reason in the Casa Blanca? Time will tell...

North by Northwest

Our Moral Compass. We all have one, for better or worse. Gives us our directions of Right Action. Mine usually shows up as that little voice in the back of the head that tells you when things aren’t quite right. Is it the voice of guilt? Sometimes, but like those cliché angel and demon that pop up on your shoulders, every little good voice in the back of your head has a little bad counterpart that thinks it would be a good idea to take the last cookie, throw a party while Mom and Dad are away, or institute a plan of ethnic cleansing across southern Europe.

I will admit that I have been under a fair amount of stress lately. Though admittedly the “things that blow up really good and throw fast moving sharp pieces of metal” quotient has diminished, the inverse of that is more of the ones that would send those things our way are waiting for my inquisitional skills. They’re off the streets and I spend much of my time sitting in a small room with people who would just as soon see me bleed, asking if they can tell me where their bad guy friends are. As a result of my stress, I have found my mind wondering to places I freely admit I am not comfortable with it going. Nothing to do with torture and such, I’m just not the guy to do that, and I really don’t entertain thoughts of it. Times though, I just want to kill folks.

Easy now, I’m not sharpening my knives and making victim lists, but as abhorrent as I find killing I just sometimes run into people that in a cold dispassionate way I think would make the world a better place by leaving it. Then, the guilt sets in for thinking that way. I don’t really want to kill people says saintly figure on right shoulder, and let them taste their own blood says horned figure on left shoulder. Yes I belong to an organization that kills people and breaks things, but in my career I have yet to confront the first one of those. I’m hoping I don’t have to, I really hope I don’t have to.

So, dealing with the death dealing, I go looking for solace elsewhere. And what goes with violence? See, my life mate is well chosen. Pretty much perfect for me. And she is my solace: in heart, in soul, and certainly in body. There is nothing that cleanses my demons better than kind words, acceptance, and physical contact. It can be as simple as a hand on mine, or hours of sweat-drenched, breath-taking… well I’m sure you get the idea.

But what do I do when she’s not here? I can’t tell you how happy I am the darling of my life is not in Babylon. Yet I yearn for her touch and her love. Without her here, the yearning doesn’t stop. The need for that acceptance and touch is just as strong, perhaps stronger because there is no release. And there comes the guilt again, the warning signs that keep us all members of society or families. But as with the other issue the thought is there. The little red guy with the horns telling me what to do and how to hide it. The guy with the halo though, sets him straight. But…

What if my moral compass pointed South? What if I could slaughter my way across Babylon and fuck whoever was left? What if for a single day I cast aside every compunction, every ethic, every little shred of moral decency that keeps me on the majority of people-I-like’s good sides? If I actually held down that Babylonian and used my ballpoint pen to do major cerebral adjustment through an eye socket? If the glance young girl-soldier gave me was pursued to the creative use of an empty tank? What happens then, when I become one of the bad guys? Do you come back from that, can you?

I really need to go home. I am tired of being this way, tired of contemplating how much I would be satisfied doing the wrong thing. The Negative surrounds me, and I feel it pulling my compass needle away from north, away from the Right, away from Her. Without her, I am another one of the masses that make the world worse instead of better.

I don’t know what takes one charismatic leader and allows him to become Jesus, and makes another Adolf Hitler. What makes a brilliant leader Gandhi, or another Napoleon? The things around us? Jesus got Mary Magdelene, Adolf got mustard gas. God gave me Her. I have Her. Except right now I don’t. I have mortars and rockets. I have…

…to hold on. Just a little while longer, I hope. Before everything goes South.

Babylon

So I would like to tell you all about a magical place that doesn’t quite seem real; one that I like to call Babylon. Babylon used to be a great Empire, and spent some time as a monarchy, and a colony of those effete, tea-drinking flag planters (who in their own right, spent a good amount of time ruling the world). Then Babylon spent quite a bit of time as the mud under the boot of a vile dictator that we the North Mexicans (or Southern Canadians if you prefer) took from power when we landed our big half-assed Imperial Forces in his place as the Rightful Authority.

Babylon is full of Babylonians. The Babylonians cannot be summed up on the whole, any more than any other people can be labeled and tagged with 100% correctness or efficiency. There are of course certain social mores and customs, societal norms that are shared by the majority of the people.

In the last few months, I have had opportunity to chat with large numbers of Babylonians; some have been quite friendly, some have been quite the opposite, but all have had some certain traits that I can speak of. My job, you see, is that of Inquisitor for the Empire, and in our little fiction we are writing here, we will keep in mind that unlike some other Inquisitorial Places, my chamber is free of stacked nude Babylonians, and no chubby faced little miscreants are playing Vanna White with the genitals of bound and blindfolded men. I will not tell you that every Babylonian enjoys their little sessions with me, and sometimes there are those who go to bed with a little sneer and a wish for my discomfort or worse. However, a good Inquisitor can effectively bring out the fears or terrors necessary for certain sessions of Inquisition (and let me please add that such sessions are the vast minority) with a gentle whisper or a furious bellow, and not once do the Inquisitor’s hands and the Babylonian meet.

But it is not of Inquisition that I wish to speak today, but rather as I said of the Babylonians. I have always considered myself to be of open-mind about others. I do not like to consign people to stereotypes or groups. There are however many traits that the leaders of the North Mexican Empire have not taken into consideration in our occupation of Babylon. We, and I do certainly include myself, are generally individualists. There is a concept here normal to Babylon that we do not get, and it is so damn integral to the Babylonian psyche—tribalism. The tribes here are so important. Some tribes have as few as a couple of hundred, and some number up to seven million. They are led by the Sheikh, usually a title bestowed by birth, or sometimes they get the office simply by being the eldest. He makes decisions for the lives of his people. He arranges marriages, treaties, and declares war. Tribal war. Millions will agree to kill because someone’s tribal cousin was wronged.

Which leads us to the next Babylonian norm- Vengeance. The stuff of a thousand hackneyed television plots, the entire reason they made Klingons on Star Trek, revenge. Let’s imagine a convoy of Imperial Humvees riding down a moonlit Babylonian highway. A genuine bad guy with the bad guy weapon of choice (the Kalashnikov AK-47 and its many variants) tries to rid the world of the 19 year-old soldier of the Empire sitting in the turret of the lead truck. Lucky for the 19 year-old, he scavenged from the right trash heap, and has enough armor to stop the lead coming from the Kalashnikov at 600 rounds per minute. Also lucky for him, the South Canadian Empire has given him a .50 caliber machine gun. He returns lead, and his bullets are about three times the mass, and about ten times the destructive power. These go through our genuine bad guy, the wall behind him, the house behind that, and the young Babylonian asleep in that house. This means his brother in the bed next to him has legal and moral right to kill an Imperial soldier. That’s right, the moral right. It is expected to strike back at the tribe that did this thing, and the Forces of the Empire are currently the most powerful tribe. So, next moonlit night it all begins again, but rather than an honest Bad Guy, it is the victim’s brother or cousin with the Kalashnikov. Right now in Babylon, these people are extracting vengeance on the Imperial Forces, on their neighbors, on the members of the former dictators brutal regime, on tribal debts accrued a century ago—the entire nation is a festering pool of vengeance. No one is willing to be the one to put the gun down first. And no soldier, man or woman, is safe.

And speaking of women, don’t we North Mexicans do a great job of trying to equalize gender roles in society? In our businesses and homes, we generally accept women to be humans, probably even equals. There are officers in our Imperial Forces that are women! The Babylonians don’t understand that, and inversely we don’t understand the status of women in this culture. I have spoken to Babylonians who personally killed their daughters for engaging in pre-marital sex. Brothers who have beaten their sisters for talking to a man on the street. Husbands here who have taken two or three wives, and actively cultivated hatred between his two families that he can control. Women are stoned, women are beheaded, women are shot. Rape is a common occurrence. Indeed, I had to share oxygen with a man who had been married for about a week, and by all reports to a very attractive young woman. Then, a whole week into his marriage he and a friend went out to find a prostitute and rape her. Then, he was likely going to kill her, but he got caught and came to me.

Life in Babylon is cheap. Very cheap. Dime a freaking dozen. People are killed for money. People are killed for vengeance. People are killed for gasoline. One of the oil richest nations on Earth, and people are shooting each other for long gas lines. Our new Babylonian Guard we’ve created and some gas station security guards that we hired got in a gunfight with automatic weapons over whether or not the Babylonian Guard had to pay for the gas. And these are the people we want to set up to run this show and make it better than Ousted Brutal Dictator. The Babylonians don’t hate death. They embrace it and define themselves by it. That’s the thing isn’t it?

The right to rule is the right to bestow death. Be it by declaring war, carrying out executions, or deciding who gets the flu vaccine, the Powers That Be have to decide who lives and who dies. There is only one type of person that can be allowed to wield that power— someone who hates death. Only someone who hates death, who hates the gun can have the bullets. And we, the South Canadian Empire, have given the death-loving Babylonians the bullets, and now can’t figure out why it isn’t working. Can’t figure out why things are still blowing up, and mortars are still falling, and rockets are still flying. We expected them to be us, to love freedom and not to want to kill or die senselessly.

Oh God help us, we were wrong.

Holiday in Babylon

Recently, there was a traditional American holiday celebrated by my fellow inmates; Thanksgiving. You may ask what people of my persuasion do to celebrate such a day in Babylon, and for that matter, what exactly there is to be thankful for. I may answer...

I received a box of Christmas decorations from my Ultra-Conservative Aunt (UCA from here on out). UCA means well, and did send some fun decorations so we decided we were going to take the common area, and for Thanksgiving put up the Christmas decorations. Now, we are a diverse bunch here holding down the fort in Babylon: we've got Christians, Muslims, a former Druid, some I don't knows, a Mystic Humanist, and me, the ChristoJewiTaoBuddIslamic who'll celebrate pretty much anything. Realize also, that we hadn't taken down the Halloween decorations that the Lady Jennifer had sent our way- and we decided not too. The Christmas decorations went right over them. Colored lights now run along a row of paper bats, our hanging ghost is wearing reindeer antlers, and our over-the-door pumpkins are now holding the mistletoe (appropriately enough I kissed our former Druid under said religion's contribution to Christmas- he's a nice man though and did not try to slip me the tongue, quite a gentleman).

Once the decorating and frolicking was done, we made our way to what our Father's called a "mess hall," but my firm now haughtily refers to it as a "Dining Facility." We grabbed food, and I must say the spread was none too bad. Had all the traditionals, and the guy in charge with all the silver on his hat went around shaking hands. We brought our food back to the common area we had decorated. Candles were lit, we said a prayer, and enjoyed each other's company for a while before going back to work.

So what were we thankful for? Being alive was a good start. Having all of us there and not mourning a friend was good. Hopefully we'll be going home soon. Hopefully our Nation will exercise some more common sense (as opposed to exorcising it) and not create another fiasco like this one. That would be something to be thankful for.

Am I bitter? A bit, but I do my duty. "All enemies foreign and domestic" and all- which am I fighting in Babylon?