The Labyrinth

In my economics class I recieved an assignment to put together my future; I needed find a job, an apartment, and figure out my bills. Looking through the classifieds I found a few ads labeled “Extras Wanted.” A few movies were being shot in Arizona that year including “Three Kings.” It was all for an assignment but those interested me so I held on to them. I’ve always thought it would be cool to be in a movie though the only experience I had was the few videos I made either for class projects or for fun. I’m not a terribly good actor but extras don’t need to act. Just sitting in the theater and seeing myself on the big screen doing anything would be great. I have an aunt who’s been in many TV shows and movies as an extra. I also have a cousin who’s a model. I think I can walk but it’s the looks I’m not too sure about. Back in high school it wasn’t happening. When I told a friend I wanted to try out to be an extra he told me I’d make a good crowd person. At least he was honest. That was before I made a few changes, however.

About a year after high school my girlfriend told me there was a model call at Scottsdale Fashion Square that was being hosted by the magazine “Seventeen” which she wanted me to take her to. For the whole week before the tryout I kept telling her, “I could be a model.” She’d play along but took me about as seriously as I took myself. She thought very highly of herself and she was all ready to go. The day came and I drove my LeBaron convertible up to the mall. There were hundreds of beautiful girls lined through Dillard’s and out the mall. While we were standing in line a person dressed professionally came around and was talking to some of the girls behind us. They were all talkative until they asked if he was one of the judges.

“No, I just work here.” he replied.
“Oh…” We joked about that for at least a half hour.
Then the photograph lady came around. I’m sure there’s a technical term for what she does, but if there is, I don’t know it. Eventually she made it up to my little group consisting of my girlfriend, her friend and me. She took both of their pictures and then asked me if I was going to tryout.

“No. I’ve got braces,” I replied just laughing it off.
“Well,” she said, “we actually do have some professionals that wear braces. We like the more natural look.”
“Well…okay then.” I know I had the cheesiest grin because I saw the picture. I was still laughing as she moved on to the others in line.

I looked around and there were pretty much no guys there. We were only about ten minutes from the test walk, to show off to the judges and I decided to pull out. I was not model material. Sure the lady with the Polaroid camera was a professional, but I knew me. I knew the people who knew me and they should know. A minute or so later I saw some guy take a walk on the runway. Since I wasn’t the only one I decided “what the heck.” This was a once in a lifetime opportunity and frankly, making a fool of myself wasn’t something foreign to me. “I can do this.” I’d been in marching band so performing wasn’t an issue.

When I got up there *N-Sync mercifully went quiet, no one was there but me. My loose denim shirt flowed as I moved around the runway. I turned and smiled at the judges thinking only how ridiculous such things are. To my surprise, they smiled back and I smiled just a little more. *N-Sync came back on and I walked off and went around to watch my girlfriend up there. I never realized just how stuck up she could be until that moment. The way she walked. The expression on her face. I smiled at her and watched the judges’ expressions. They had the most unimpressed look I’d ever seen.

As we walked out to the car I joked, “I could be a model.” She just laughed.
The drive home was long and we just talked about how much of a chance we all had of being picked. I went to bed just proud I had taken the opportunity to do something I’d always wanted to do. It was about seven in the morning when my brother came in to tell me I had a phone call. I thought it was just my girlfriend though she’d never called this early.
I picked up the phone, “Hello?”
“I’m with the judges of the model call and I just wanted to let you know you were chosen,” she said cheerfully.
“What?” I said sleepily.
“You’ve been chosen to be in the fashion show,” she replied. I asked if my girlfriend had also been picked and she responded that she wasn’t. I got all the information twice just to make sure both that I didn’t screw up and that I wasn’t dreaming. I was going to be a model.

I called up my girlfriend to tell her the good news. She wasn’t happy at all. By the second time I mentioned it, she was openly tired of hearing about it. At work I told everybody what happened. I was quickly known as the pretty boy. I wasn’t expecting to be picked, so I hadn’t bothered with my work schedule, which was now in direct conflict with my debut. I pleaded with my manager to let me come in late so I could make the show. The ever-dedicated, employee the thought of getting the whole day off didn’t even cross my mind. The night before the show I had to replace the brakes on my car. “I’m too pretty for this,” I said, as grease began covering my hands.

The next morning I woke up and quickly began preparing. I picked up my girlfriend and her friend and began the drive to Scottsdale. It was about this time that it finally sank in. I walked into Dillard’s and put on the clothes I was going to model for their show. There were about seven girls chosen and three guys. One was already a professional and had been called in to do the show. The other guy had also been dragged in by his girlfriend. *N-Sync once again blared as we all walked across the runway. Up, down to the center, up, down and off. While I walked, the world stopped. Soon it was all over and I was off to work. All I received was a “Seventeen” T-shirt. The three outfits I wore cost a few hundred each so I passed on the opportunity to wear what the models wore. Khaki’s are nice, but I’d rather not pay $70 a pair. I’ll stick to my middle class lifestyle of Miller’s Outpost and Mervyns’s.

A while later I got a letter in the mail announcing an open casting call, which I took advantage of but wasn’t picked. I suppose it’s all for the better. I’d proved to myself I was better than an extra in a crowd and that’s all that really mattered to me. I’m still the same person

Robert Frost wrote a poem once. Something about decisions and the road not taken. He’s dead now. As he didn’t have a choice about dying I see most decisions in my life have been made in advance based on uncontrollable factors. It was the end of my senior year and prom was coming up quickly. Pressure from friends to find a date was building. Days flew by and soon there were only two weeks to go. Friday night I was at work as usual and as usual I was talking about prom and my search for a date. My friend’s girlfriend was there that night and mentioned she knew someone I might like. I asked her to describe her friend. It was like a giant switch kicked in and a thousand watt bulb lit up in my head. Anyone who was there will attest to the fact that my eyes lit up. Within five minutes of hearing about her there was no option but to ask her to prom. Something told me this wasn’t going to be a one night thing. Then I was told she was Mormon. I decided to ignore that fact for the time being. I didn’t know at the time, though I had a really good idea, that what would happen in the near future would change who I was forever. I arranged to meet with her on Monday. “I took the one less traveled by and that has made all the difference.”

An hour before I was to meet her my friend gave me a picture of her. It was already a done deal. That picture just put a second seal on it. I excitedly went to the meeting place and waited for her to come. When she showed up my brain shut down. After a couple minutes of babbling and a queue from my friends, I asked her to prom. Of course she said yes. If she had said no I may have found another date, maybe not. With all the pressure building, sitting this prom out like the first two would probably not have happened. On Wednesday we had our first date and, fortunately, by that time my senses were fully functioning. My prom gift to her was an angel necklace. “An Angel for an Angel.” I said as I handed it to her. She started hyperventilating.

After prom we were back in school. Lunch came around and we were all sitting together. My friend asked if we were going to stay a couple. “…knowing that way leads to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.” She pulled out a gift and I opened it up. For over a year I never took off that watch. Since we were going to be together for awhile I decided I should take the religion issue head on. My manager had been dating an LDS person for a couple years never dealing with it. She told me that if it weren’t for the religion issue they would be married. Because of their agreement never to talk about it, she knew it wasn’t going to last forever. Not wanting to be in that position myself was the major reason for my decision. If I hadn’t taken up the religion issue I would have ended the relationship there. I didn’t feel there was a point to becoming attached to someone if I couldn’t see myself married to that person. Those are actually the reasons I offer after the fact. I never thought twice about taking on religion. I called my pastor to ask what I should do. It had only been a month so he was quite confused as to why I was asking. He finally just said to study both sides. Within a few months we were seriously talking about marriage like it could happen “if I turned Mormon.”

“Long I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth.” I was studying hard using as many resources as a could find. In the fall, at her parents’ request, I signed up for a full load of classes at the LDS Institute. I had also been attending her ward regularly. By the time second semester came around, there was no doubt I would never be Mormon. I finished off the year at the Institute with a four year degree. The first non-member to do such a thing. On the last day I girl I had never spoken to was crying and gave me a hug. “Everything you say is so sweet.” “Then the other, as just as fair, and having a better claim,” I slowly walked calmly away from Mormonism and finished off the relationship. I ended all ties with the religion issue on my nineteenth birthday. It was quite a surprise for some people. It took another year to end all ties with her. That is the only sigh I offer for this story. I should have left her at the bus stop long ago.

What I learned I could have learned by another means. She was just the motivation to do something I think I was supposed to do anyway. I was seventeen when I started and by the time I was eighteen I could debate with the best of them. I was convinced that this was my calling and I think that’s the reason I stuck with it for so long. When that was suddenly falling apart I finally realized there were other things I needed to do. If programming doesn’t work out or it works out really well and I get rich I’ll definitely attend a Bible college. For now I just keep up on debates where they come up and write whenever I feel inspired. Whenever I think back and sigh a sigh of remorse for what I went through I remember the people I know I touched and those I may have touched. Sometimes the road we took we think is the road we shouldn’t have taken but after walking the path and being changed by it you can’t imagine there was ever another way.

I once wrote in a short story about growing up that “parents, peers, and the casual person all have the potential to change a child’s life. How you use that potential can destroy or build up a person.” Matt is someone I’ve known since I was a junior and he was a sophomore at High School. Until recently I haven’t really looked into his past and he’s never really offered to talk about it anyway. We all have things that we’ve done or things that have been done to us that we’d rather forget but we eventually realize that those things are what make us who we are. When I was in High School I was a social chameleon. Anybody who was anybody knew who I was. But that wasn’t getting me to any parties. Matt on the other hand hasn’t really changed much. He’s someone who is who he is and won’t conform to what others want him to be. One Sunday when he was about seven he went to church to see if God would accept him for who he was.

Throughout his childhood which is technically his whole life still, he always noticed that things generally accepted by society, didn’t always sit well with him. When he was about seven he made the conscious realization that every Sunday people would dress up in really nice clothes and go to church. To him it made absolutely no sense. One day a week for an hour or two we go to a building to worship the one who created us. The same creator who knows our every dirty thought, word and action and every idiosyncrasy. He knows what we thing before we think it, absolutely every minute detail about every facet of our lives and we feel we must impress him once a week with our pretty clothes. So he tried something.

He was getting more and more suspicious that the only entity that cares about how we look is other people. So one week he went to church wearing a dirty, wrinkled, white T-shirt, blue jeans with frayed hems, and his favorite boots with dried mud on top of them. The church was across the street and just down the road from his house so he looked like any kid out for a walk enjoying the day, that is until he walked up to the church. It was apparent right away that people were treating him differently. People looked at him as if he didn’t belong. The pastor, who should have known better, didn’t even greet him at the door as he’d done every other week. Instead he just looked at Matt and his unconventional church wear. Finding a seat was no small challenge that day but not because of a sudden surge of members but rather because of the failure of people to make room for him to sit. Eventually he went to the back where the older people sit. The rest of the service was the normal ritual of standing, sitting and singing. Then he went to Sunday school.

He acted as normal as ever being attentive and eager to answer questions for the pastor who was teaching that day but he never picked his hand out of the other’s raised. Other than that it appeared to be a normal day of passages, questions and feigned answers. Then the pastor got to the final lecture. Instead of the standard lecture on the commandments explaining right from wrong he stood in from of all twelve children present and began, “Why you should appear worthy before the Lord…” then asked Matt to stand. All the trust he had for the preacher quickly was lost as he continued the lecture. He began talking about how Matt wasn’t worthy to stand before the light of the Lord and that Matt would bring shame to himself if he presented himself to God in such a way. He was no different on the inside yet the pastor condemned him to hell because of what he wore. Matt has since been far happier having never set foot in a church again.

Some people have a hard time seeing past an exterior appearance. Fortunately the God the minister professes to believe in isn’t so vain. Others feel they can judge people after just a short interview. It was later when Matt really began to really start making his own decisions about what he wanted, what was important for him and what he thought would benefit him more in life. As a result he started sleeping more and taking the time to enjoy life. All at the expense of school work. He ended up failing two classes that semester. It was the first time he had failed anything in someone else’s eyes. But he didn’t care because he was happy. His mom didn’t and still doesn’t understand how her baby could “give up on life.” His mom scheduled an appointment with a professional counselor as she didn’t feel a school counselor would suffice. She took him out of school early one day and drove him down.

She took him into the office and sat him down in the waiting room while she went and talked to someone. He still wasn’t quite sure what was going on. When she came back she had a man with her, a nice man, and she introduced him as Doctor Taylor and said he would be talking with me about some troubles that he’d been having. His mom sat down and he shook Doctor Taylor’s hand and went back into his office. They talked for a while about school. Matt told him that the school system wasn’t run properly, that it didn’t suit how he learned and that it was more counterproductive for him than anything else. After he said that the Doctor uttered his first mistake, “From what you’ve told me, it appears you fall into a group of people we call…” At which point Matt became angry and stopped him. He asked how someone could classify someone whom he had just met 10 minutes ago. He asked how it was possible to accurately judge someone based on that person’s feelings about a particular situation. At that point the doctor opened his mouth and then closed it. He looked at him for a second and then got up and left the room. He waited about 10 minutes assuming that he should and then his mom came in and got him. She didn’t say anything to him for a while and he figured she was angry. Since then she’s never taken someone else’s word over how he feels or what he thinks.

Over the years I’ve tried everything from changing looks to mimicking people to fit in. The way they act, the way they talk. I see myself as a mosaic of personalities with one buried somewhere inside that is actually me. I’m not sure which one exactly is. Two years after investigating the LDS church I wrote a paper titled “Sincerity” explaining what I really had set out to do and how I used their judgmental ways to make them think what I wanted them to. My friend’s church story is something I’m familiar with. I wore the white shirt, black pants and tie to Sacrament just to play the role of a good Mormon boy. I did everything they wanted me to do just to keep them ignorant of what was really going on in my head. I admire my friend for having the guts to be himself despite what others will think and for not letting others tell him who he is.

Psychological profile of child murderers

Thomas Solomon Jr. 15: Aimed low and wounded six
Said he had no reason to live
Treated for Depression
Teased by popular sports player whom he believed his girlfriend was interested in

Victor Cordova 12: Killed one
Said he would make history by shooting up his school
Lost his mother to cancer
Suicidal

Seth Trickey 7th grader: Shot into a group of studens wounding four
Religious, straight A student
Influenced by Columbine
Obsessed with war
Receiving psychological counseling

Unidentified 6: Killed one
Had to stay after school nearly every day for violent behavior
Father in prison, mother a crack addict

Nathaniel Brazill 13: Killed one teacher
Talked about hit lists
Wrote “I think I might commit suicide”

Sean Botkin: Held 32 hostage
Was picked on
Hated school
Troubled family life
Never truly happy
Thought a gun would get more attention than just asking for help

Richard Lopez 17: Took one hostage
History of mental illness
Made up his mind to be killed by a police officer
In and out of Juvenile facilities
Attempted suicide three times

Charles Williams 15: Killed 2, wounded 13
Bullied
Pot smoker

Elizabeth Bush 14: wounded one
Teased mercilessly
Depressed

Watching the news, reading the papers and looking up articles on-line it seems as no one has a clue what makes kids kill others. The witch hunt has already begun as a result and the most recent to be facing the stake is the 2nd amendment. “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” The government has tried hard to convince people these words can be interpreted to mean something other than what they say very clearly. Those members of Salem who would rather destroy the constitution than work to educate the public to obtain the level of maturity necessary to uphold it, believe it. Fortunately those who wrote the constitution had the foresight to ensure it could not easily be undone.

http://www.jpfo.org/school.htm has an interview with Dr. David Th. Schiller. During Passover week in 1974 the PLO attacked a large number of civilian targets including schools, children houses, kindergartens, buses and the like knowing the politics aren’t going to negotiate and risk the lives of children. Terrorists usually got their demands. In one incident they held nearly one hundred students and teachers hostage in a school. When the army’s special unit moved in, the PLO set off explosives and fired their machine guns at the children killing 25 and wounding 66. Later a law was passed allowing all good standing citizens to carry concealed weapons. Now all teachers and nurses carry guns. Citizens are all involved in a civil military and even 15-16 years olds are trained. When the PLO got word of all of this, they stopped going after civilian targets after two failed attempts against the now armed citizens.

http://www.tsra.com/Jnsbrsch.htm mentions a barely known fact about the October 1997 shooting spree at a high school in Pearl, Mississippi. The assistant principal got his gun from his car and shot the attacker, immobilizing him for 4 and a half minutes while the cops arrived. Many more students could have been killed in that time if the assistant principal hadn’t taken action. These stories illustrate clearly the purpose of the 2nd Amendment. If the residents of Salem get their way and burn this amendment, more students will die by the hands of those who continue to acquire illegal weapons. No student who brought a gun to school acquired it legally.

The second witch awaiting execution is the media. Mainly that media which is violent. It’s generally assumed that violence on TV and in video games leads to violence in real life. The one difference between fantasy violence and real violence is that real violence is generally punished and fantasy violence is rewarded. A person on gamedev.net (the discussion was recently deleted off the message boards) stated that to him a person is no different than a computer. Basically stating that he sees people as equal to pixels on a computer screen. Do violent games teach children this? Or do parents or the lack thereof teach such ignorant doctrines? When most children play games they understand that what goes on in the game is not necessarily proper behavior in real life. Apparently, a lot of parents just like their children can’t understand why fantasy violence is okay and real violence isn’t. Quite simply, because fantasy violence isn’t real and real violence is. Until the parents figure it out and punish their children for acting out fantasy violence in real life, nothing will change.

The real witches in all of this are ignorant parents. Parents who don’t know right from wrong and can’t teach their children. Parents who can’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality and can’t teach their children. Parents who don’t punish their children for being violent towards others. All the students above were picked on in school. That doesn’t justify their actions but it certainly points right in the face of the problem. Many students can write about how they didn’t like school because they were picked on or felt isolated. Most of those students didn’t shoot someone. They found a non violent way out. They were taught early on that if they had a problem with someone, they didn’t take it out on that person, they went to their parents or who ever was in charge. If that’s all it takes, someone just being there, then how can you blame media or guns? Blame those who should always be there; the parents. Media and guns merely give children a false solution to get out of a bad situation and they believe it’s a good one. Parents have the power to give them the right solution.

Even if parents do raise their children right it really comes down to the child to determine if they will accept what they’ve been taught or rebel and go their own way. School shootings and fears have been brought up on gamedev.net a couple times and it’s interesting to see how young minds work. One kid in particular with the username “FeelEvil” has been talking about his theory of humanity. “This world is evil, you are just a temporary object allocated at the heap - and ’soon’, you will be deleted and be nothing forever. You live only to die. Everyone is worthless.” He later explains further “If someone murdered my worthless family, for example, I wouldn’t care. And it doesn’t matter when someone die because you can always find another human who can replace the dead one. Because, admit it, you are using people for your on purposes. I don’t believe that people get sad when someone they know very well dies (they are just pretending to fit in). Personally, if someone I knew died, I would consider that to be a normal event and then change my life to fit the changed surrounding. Think about it, nothing is important anyway. All humans are very similar, so it doesn’t matter if someone is alive or dead. It’s not like there will be a short supply of humans.”

To most people it’s hard to imagine killing someone but FeelEvil sheds some light on the mind of a someone who is capable of such an act. When I play Carmageddon, it’s fun to run over the pedestrians and see them splat. They try to run away but they’re not quite fast enough. To me they’re just pixels on a screen. Killing them is nothing more than deleting a variable so I have no reason to feel guilty. When someone equates actual people to pixels on a screen it’s easy to see why killing people isn’t an emotional issue for them. Another member, “blckglass,” said something that made it a little easier to see how some kids go so far as to think it’s not possible to care for someone. “Personally I don’t have many feelings towards people that are close to me (family, “friends”, etc). I have had a few people that are close to me die and I did not grieve, for some reason it never affected me. Just the other day I lost a “friend” because she got pissed when I said I don’t care about her. So far I haven’t thought twice about her. I have the view that I can just find another friend with no problem. Guess what happened after she stopped talking to me, another girl started to talk to me and now we are “friends”. To me “friends” are not a big deal neither
is my family.”

It seemed to me that blckglass’ lack of emotion towards people stemmed from being hurt in the past. Instead of dealing with it, he decided that if he chose not to care, he couldn’t be hurt. In Columbine there were six friends that were members of the group responsible for the killing. To most people that’s a lot of friends. From what I’ve read on Gamedev I would assume that how they were treated by the popular kids lead them to stop caring. They took it so far as to stop caring about each other. It was reported that one of the killers was turned down by a girl to be his prom date shortly before the shooting. To them the fact that no one, not even their closest friends, cared about them justified in their mind the death of anyone who happened to be hit by their spray of bullets. No one in the cafeteria was more than a bunch of pixels on the screen. That’s what happens when reality and fantasy merge in the minds of those who stop caring. They’re quite aware of how other feel about those they kill. That’s they’re revenge. Everything the bullies did only hurt those they picked on. Bullies are very aware of what they’re doing and rationalize to make it okay for them to do it. All the kids listed above who shot fellow classmates only hurt others. Somehow they had managed to rationalize in their mind to make it okay for them to do it. They don’t care. And punishing them won’t make them care. At this point it’s too late for that.

If parents don’t raise they children to respect and care for others, nothing will ever change. Parents need to raise they’re children to respect and care for others. They need to punish them for violent behavior as soon as their children exhibit it no matter the age. They need to teach them right from wrong and they need to separate fantasy from reality. Until the parents take responsibility nothing will ever change. You can blame the media, you can blame the 2nd amendment and nothing will change.

Journal #6 The Butterfly (311)

A green field warm during day
That’s where I’d go to play
I had my net and I’d surly try
To catch a beautiful butterfly

One day I caught that butterfly
I swore my love for it would never die
I’d admire it day and night
I wished that I could squeez it tight

It was so soft and nice to touch
But it didn’t seem to respond so much
After a time it seemed to say
I want to fly away

I wanted that day to never come
My feelings almost came undone
I knew it couldn’t last and was alright
To let the butterfly at last set flight

The butterfly flew quite awkwardly
I feared it again I would never see
The butterfly flew oh so high
It soared almost to the top of the sky

I was happy to see the butterfly go
I knew it is what it wanted, I knew that was so
So again I went to the field to catch another one
As the last flew towards the sun

As I was about to catch another butterfly
The first it seemed was about to die
It came back as quickly as it could fly
I was confused, I had no idea why

It had said I want to fly
I had said the sorrowful good-bye
You silly thing
use your wings

It had complained of me in part
That it seemed I had torn it’s wings apart
It said I caged it so
It feared I’d never let it go

I let it go, I obeyed it’s wish
Maybe I should have got a fish
Well if you’d like to stay with me
Please let it be for all eternity

If you would like to go
Don’t let the parting be so slow
And don’t get that jealous eye
When I find another butterfly

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Journal #7 The room (388)

The door opens inward and walking in, to the right is a pile of clothes. To the left is a medium sized bookshelf full of books concerning religion and programming. There are also video tapes and DVD’s. There’s a small shelf above the bookshelf with some stackable trays filled with papers that I never use and a cup full of pens and pencils. I don’t use those much either. On the floor in front of it is a computer and a monitor with wires leading to outlets, a network hub, the keyboard and mouse. The monitor says “trash” on the top but that’s only because it can no longer display the color red. It still technically works.

Continuing on there’s a computer next to a makeshift desk made of four crates and a four foot board. My own design and it works rather nicely. On top is the monitor, power strip, keyboard and mouse. On the right side in the top crate is a pair of speakers which I don’t use. The left top crate contains a VCR connected to another my other computers. Below is a set of speakers to give me somewhat of theater sound. The back wall has another makeshift desk with the entertainment PC. The DVD player and video card allow me to watch TV or movies whenever I want. The crates are filled with books and folders of papers from previous years of my college experience.

Continuing to the left wall we find a small fridge to hold my snacks as well as a toaster oven on top in case I need to cook anything. Next to that is the bed. Maroon covers and blue flannel sheets cover it. It’s rarely ever made. On the left side of the wall is a small wooden cabinet which contains my receipts and tax information. There’s also a small wooden TV cart that holds my stereo on top and various computer parts underneath. It blocks the right door of my closet but it doesn’t matter because I don’t use it much. The closet is storage on that side. All my shirts are hung on the right side and my T-shirts and pants are stacked underneath on top of a laundry basket that I rarely use. It’s easier to just throw my dirty clothes on the floor.

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Journal #8 Conspiracy Theory (420)

Personally, I think pot should be legalized. My friend was kicked out his house when his parents found his stash. I can understand that as the general view of pot is that it’s evil. The amount of hypocrisy covering the facts about marijuana is astounding. Nothing gets onto the market without the Food and Drug Administration’s approval. One has to wonder how cigarettes made it on to the market and why they remain there despite proof they have no nutritional value. In fact you’re guaranteed to suffer from their use in one way or another. The only so called proof that marijuana is bad for you comes from a case where a monkey died from smoking pot. Well, he didn’t actually smoke it. They shoved a gas mask over his mouth and nose and fed pure marijuana smoke into it till the monkey passed out and died. They could just have well placed a plastic bad over their own heads to test the effects of carbon dioxide. After a few hours we would have all been better off since that bogus study is the root of marijuana’s bad reputation. There are others on birth defects in children that were done just as horribly. Marijuana doesn’t contain the level of those chemicals that is needed to cause problems. And since those chemicals don’t remain in the body you won’t get a cumulative effect over years of use. Compare that to tobacco.

Few people mention how the government profits off of tobacco. 50% or more of a pack of cigarettes is tax that goes to the government. That means the government makes just as much off them as big tobacco. Or more. On one hand the government is raising taxes on cigarettes to keep kids from smoking them and on the other they make more money. A few cents won’t keep someone from buying a pack. But a few cents adds up when you multiply it by the millions sold. Compare that to marijuana which can’t be taxed because anyone with a single seed can grow it in their backyard with minimal effort.

So here we have tobacco that will kill you okayed to be on the market by the FDA and marijuana which doesn’t kill anyone made illegal. The only reason is money. And that’s not a very good reason. They need to both be illegal or both be legal. Otherwise it’s just another example of government making money by feeding the population bogus studies pretending they’re fighting the drug war.

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Journal #9 “Favorite Childhood Friend” (314)

I don’t really have a favorite friend but the kid I most admired from back in the day was Jon Cluever. He was just an all around fun guy to hang out with. He was the third of eight children at last count. His parents were Christians and he felt they were too strict so he rebelled whenever he could. I remember one birthday party he had where he had to invite some girls as well. He was so not happy about it. They weren’t the popular girls. That night we rented a movie titled “No Escape.” One of his common methods of rebellion was watching ‘R’ rated movies late at night while his parents were sleeping. This particular movie had about two lines of dialog so keeping the volume down wasn’t an issue.

He was one of the shortest kids in school but he had a voice that made up for it. Naturally he was a trumpet player. Him, Aaron Jungwirth, and I were pretty inseparable the last year I was in Minnesota. We were in band, marching band, and jazz band together. Both of them were in acting and I think also in choir. If I could do either I would have joined as well. When I found out I was moving I said I’d come back to see them graduate in 98. “See ya in ‘98″ was our thing for about a year. Then I pretty much lost contact. The last time I talked to Jon he was a little hard to get a hold of. His mom told me that him and some friends were in Willmar. He told me that he was smoking pot I was a little taken back. I knew then why he was in Willmar. But it wasn’t anything I didn’t expect. I have no idea where he’s at now but hopefully he’s making some good decisions.

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Journal #10 “I Bet You’re Expecting More on Pot” (273)

Slashdot.org is the source of all that is truly newsworthy. One of today’s headlines was “Napster Helps RIAA Again; RIAA Still Ungrateful.” According to the RIAA, the recording industry lost 39% of their profits because of Naptser. What they don’t mention till later is that they’re talking about CD Singles. The least profitable aspect of the business accounting for not even one percent of their total profits. So what the RIAA apparently meant to say was that they lost 39% of 1% of their profits due to Napster.

When’s the last time you bought a single? The biggest loss was in Cassette Singles. They lost 90% of their profits from Cassette Singles since last year. Slashdot wisely points out that it’s probably because no one wants them. Gee, could be. You also have to define loss. The RIAA considers loss the difference between one year and another years sales. That makes as much sense as saying there’s a recession because fewer people are buying home computers. Fewer people are buying because fewer people need them. Everyone in Alabama has a computer. I talked to most of them while working Tech Support. No one is losing sales. They’re just running out of customers in that particular market. Who buys cassette singles?

The RIAA sold 3.6 million more CD’s this year than last despite raising prices to make up for “loses” due to Napster. But no credit goes to Napster. When people finally realize that cassettes are as worthless as 8 tracks and they “lose” sales then they blame Napster. It makes no sense but that’s how it goes in the world of big business.

Journal #17 “Last Light” (340)

It was at band camp where a friend of mine showed off his “smoking horn” trick with a cigar which was basically sucking in a large amount of smoke and then blowing it through the horn. I thought it was pretty cool and decided to give it a try the first chance I got. Later I was out with those same friends and decided to try a cigarette. I found it very relaxing and later I used cigarettes as a stress reliever for a time.

I was always determined not to be addicted so I’d purchase a pack and smoke one or two and then give the rest away. It was usually after a hard day of work that I would hang out with one of my friends and play pool. I’d light up one each time. We only played pool a couple nights a week. He would always say he wanted to quit but never could do it. “It’s just a mind thing.” I’d say. Later I was transfered to a new store and I’d smoke out with some of the employees on occassion after it died down. I knew that the only reason I smoked was because of stress and after awhile I decided I didn’t want to smoke anymore so I focused on other ways to relax. I quickly proved to myself I didn’t need them.

One night I realized I had most of a pack left that had been sitting in the office for a week or so. I decided to get rid of them but just tossing them out wouldn’t work. I decided I needed to make myself not like cigarettes. I took five out of the pack and a lighter and went outside with a friend of mine. I put all of them in my mouth and lit up. I took one deep puff and quickly took them out of my mouth and threw then into the ash tray. I was spitting for about five minutes and laughing. I havn’t smoked a cigarette since.

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Journal #18 Setting (214)

The Cinderella stories give a good example of story and setting. Although the underlying theme is the same in both how each of the acts is played out depends on the belief system of those telling the story. The African story involves an abused girl who is cared for by frogs who see the beauty in her and eventually marries a prince while the Native American version has an equally abused girl who shows that she can see the beauty in others and ends up marrying some sort of god.

Movies come out by the dozen with the geek to cool theme. Usually involving bets with friends to date the geekiest student who they find is actually a good person and then they mold that person into their version of outer beauty. It almost seems like the story nulls out the moral. Or maybe the moral is that you have to be beautiful on the outside for most people to notice the inner beauty and by that time you’re too good for them to forgive them for how they treated you. The only movie that I’ve seen that doesn’t fit that pattern is “Loser.” But the script was horribly written so I doubt many saw it much less cared to analyze it that much.

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Journal #19 “Mumbo Jumbo” (296)

Not long ago a bunch of Nike wearing, castrated cult members and their leader committed suicide. Some time earlier the US government took it upon themselves to burn down the compound of a cult leader, killing all inside fearing they would somehow disrupt national security. There are many UFO cults around with happily ignorant people participating in the mumbo jumbo. I even read a prophecy by some prophet who posts all his things online reading “what comes up, must come down.” If people are so gullible as to think that thoughts are directly from God, I think it would be fun to start my own cult. I doubt I should have any trouble establishing a following.

The best place to start would be the most religious place nearest to home; the casinos. Those people are always praying to the gods of luck to bring them fortune. I bet there’s a market for a prophet to help them out in their little quest. “A nickel on the quarter will bring your much deserved fortune closer.” I’d wear a fancy suit and walk the isles blessing the slots. First I would have to come up with some fancy mumbo jumbo to chant as the one armed bandit was pulled. “Show me the money!” That would work. I could whip out some tarot cards to prove my divine guidence should any doubt me.

“A nickle for a quarter will bring your much deserved fortune closer.” I can see it now. Hundreds of the faithful being led through the desert by my Buick Skylark. I’d stand by the door of Harrah’s and then they would drop their 20% in my coffer as they walked in. When they were all in I’d give them my blessing, “What? Are you all stupid?!”

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Journal #20 “Better Could Be It” (250)

I actually liked the class. I took Critical Thinking, thinking I would get a chance to write more thought provoking papers like I did in philosophy. I was wrong. However I knew that in english I’d be writing papers about myself and that’s one of the reasons I decided to take it. I’d never done that before. I tend to write symbolically about myself because it’s easier. What I learned in this class was that I’m as photogenic on Kodak paper as I am on notebook paper. I definitly prefer the filter on my reality when it comes to putting it on paper. It was a good execise to try though. All of my papers are on-line at
my web-site or will be shortly.

I think we should have used the book a bit more. I agree that one gets better at writing the more they write. I noticed that the first papers I wrote long ago had many spelling mistakes while the final paper of equal length “Justification for It’s Existance” had only one or two even when I wasn’t taking an English class at the time. In this series of papers I didn’t notice such a dramatic change because I was always more focused on trying to come up with something interesting to write about. I think for the most part I was digging too deep and burying myself. I’m not one to sell back books so I’ll hold onto mine. Maybe it’ll get some use later on.

Journal 14 “Damaged Goods” (554)

I work as a game tech for Peter Piper Pizza. If you’ve ever seen “American Beauty” you’ll have an idea why. I had previously worked my way up to a shift supervisor and avoided any further promotion because I was already working too many hours for too little money. Now I get paid almost what I was as a shift supervisor and have little or nothing to do during the few hours I work a week. Well, one day I decided to fix one of the games that had been up and down for a couple weeks. On that day it was on and causing children to ask me for another token because it didn’t work at all. What was wrong wasn’t in my job description to fix.

Which brings me to the controversy; should I fix it? We’re renting the games from another company and they are supposed to have a guy that fixes any major problems. They have the proper tools, I have a key and various office supplies. They have manuals for the games, I only know what I can see and what little documentation is stashed inside the game. They have many hours of experience, I have a few.

Having been around the games for a couple weeks I’d learned first hand how poorly they keep up on the games. Things that would take five minutes with the proper tools to fix, take weeks or months. Office supplies may not seem useful but with a little creative thought a paperclip goes a long way. From looking inside the game I had a pretty good idea what made it tick. I decided to go ahead and operate.

First thing I noticed was that the ticket feeder wouldn’t feed even when I pressed the manual button on the side. The game was on so it was getting power. I looked at the motherboard and saw a large number of fuses. I assumed one of them had blown so I unplugged all the wires and pulled it out. Sure enough, a fuse was blown. I asked my manager if we had any new ones and he said no. I had previously replaced a fuse on an old ticket eater with a paperclip and it worked no problem while we waited to get a new one. I wrapped the paperclip around the connectors and plugged it all back in. I played it once and everything worked great.

A few minutes later a customer asked if I smelled anything. I said I didn’t think it was anything and then looked at the game I just “fixed.” The lights where the tokens go were flashing so I opened it up quickly and saw the paperclip glowing red. Smoke was comming out of the opening. I shut off the power, disconnected all the wires and took off the motherboard. I let my managers know what happened almost trying not to laugh. When the real technicion came in and saw it he started swearing so much the general manager had to take him into the office. I’m not allowed to fix the games my way anymore. I think I should be able to since many games that weren’t working prior to me starting now are. One mistake shouldn’t force me to hand in my paperclips and duct tape.

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Journal 15 “Favorite Reading” (241)

I’d have to say “Fall of the House of Usher” was my favorite reading. I like anything that’s at least somewhat psychological and a bit twisted. The main character in Usher is falling apart with his house and is so far removed from himself that he buries his sister who turns out not to be dead. I suppose it’s not so odd as back in the day things like that happened often enough that there was a market for coffins with bells. I wonder what goes through people’s minds when it would ring. “I suppose we should answer the coffin.” Fortunatly science has progressed so far as to be able to tell there is a pulse. But, just in case we drain all body fluids and embalm you just to make sure.

“Fight Club” is a bit like that story. In the movie the main character and another are in a constant battle against each other. Then at the end you and the main character find out his antagonist is actually his alter ego and he’s been beating himself up for quite awhile. Doing a fight scene with someone else is one thing but pretend punching yourself in the head is a whole other. You have to wonder what kind of person would come up with these kinds of stories. Maybe someone who’s really creepy in real life like Poe or someone who just knows how to mess with peoples’ heads.

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Journal 16 “I Declare” (255)

The major premis of the Declaration of Independance is “That whenever any form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute a new government, laying it’s foundation of such principals and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their saftey and happiness.” The minor premis continues citing the king as guilty of the above natural laws stating “The History of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over these states.”

After a lengthy list of grievences against the King the writer of the Declaration of Independance concludes “We therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by the authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do.”

Journal #11 Attendance Policy (260)

In High School we had 10 minutes to make it from one class to the next. Failure to do so resulted in being sent to the lunch area to sit out the class period doing nothing. Even doing homework wasn’t permitted. The one and only time I ended up there, I spent the hour spinning the wheel underneath the table to pass the time. Most people shared my enthuthiasm for being there and as a result all students were in the class the majority of the time.

One would hope that by the time students reach college they’ve become capable of making it to class on time without such a punishment. The times someone has fallen victim to your rule shows that maybe students havn’t quite been conditioned to be in class when class is scheduled. I show up about 15 minutes early everyday because it’s the only class I have and I’ve been conditioned to leave at a certain time regardless of the fact that traffic isn’t as bad as it was at the beginning of the year. I’m surprised how many are there even earlier.

I don’t think the rule is entirely necessary since most students realize that since they’ve paid to take the class, they should show up and get their money’s worth. But since the class is a 101 and students tend to not take it seriously, it’s good to have at least one class help the transition from being ruled by the bell to being responsible enough to get to class on time without it.

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Journal 12 Prewritting Comparison Contrast Paper

You’ll have to wait for the finished paper.

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Journal 13 “The missing link” (395)

Time magazine recently published an article about various killings by children and gave a brief psychological summary of them. Just a couple weeks ago one of the newsmagazine, Dateline or Nightline, had a report on guns. The hid a real gun inside a toy box and then were shocked when a small child took it out and started playing with it. Even after he had been given a lecture on guns. Is it so shocking that a child would assume something in a toybox would be a toy? The did the same with older kids. One of whom was the son of an officer. He took the gun and shoved it down his pants and walked out of the room. One of the reporters made the comment that people seem to become stupid at the sight of a gun. So why are they? No one had a clue.

It might possibly be the parents fault. You can tell a child “no” how many times before they don’t do it? “No” is not a punishment. To a small child or arrogent teenager it’s a suggestion. “Go to your room,” “Let me get my belt” “That’s a 15 minute time out!” are punishments that children understand. If they’re enforced. Why do kids play with guns when told not to? Because they don’t understand the consequences of doing so. If a child plays with a gun and a parent beats the daylights out of them, as was customary back in the day, that child would associate pain with gun play before their little friend dies to prove the lesson. But we can’t do that, that’s abuse. How dare we “abuse” our children and call it disipline.

Playing with guns and shooting people are two different things. How does cops and robbers turn into the real thing on school grounds? Time magazine laid it out pretty nicely. Every student who’s ever killed another student has had serious psycological issues. Usually as a result of being constantly picked on. Sometimes just as a result of parents not being there. Sometimes a combination of both. Guns and media are merely the blueprint used to plan the attack. They are not the cause of it. It’s very easy to see that the solution is simply cracking down on bullies and neglegant parents. The latter more important as it would cure the former.

Journal Entry #1 (643) “Me”

Hi. I’m Ben. I’m the type of person that is content just being quiet pretending no one notices I’m there. I’ve found over and over again since I’ve graduated from High School that my attempts to remain anonymous have failed. I grew up in Benson, Minnesota. Population 3300. The typical small town with nothing to do. I wasn’t the coolest kid in school. Nor the biggest geek. I knew everyone but I assumed that pretty much came with the package. 95 students total in my class. I knew every one of their names. First and last. I’m sure I’m not the only one. Then, my sophomore year my parents decided to move to Arizona. I got put into Dobson High. A school with more students than people in my home town. I figured the best way to survive it would be to just go and see what happens. And definitely not make much noise.

But of course on the first day of class I meet one of the popular kids. We got along well. No real friendship. Just classroom acquaintances. She gave me the nickname “Doogie” because she thought I was pretty smart. The end of the year we just went our ways. The next year I go to my English class and the first thing I hear is “Doogie!” Except it wasn’t the girl from the previous year. It was another one of the popular kids. Over the course of my High School career I ended up meeting every single of them. I never attempted to get in their group. I made a lot of friends in other cliques and was quite content.

It wasn’t until after I graduated that I realized how badly I failed at being anonymous. I’ve had on a few occasions people I’ve never even spoken to come up to me and say they remember me from Dobson. I remember one in particular that was just really odd. I was working my job at Peter Piper Pizza and two kids came in. One of them told me that her friend had a crush on me in High School but thought I was a prude so didn’t come over and talk to me. I would just like to know what exactly a prude is. One girl from my French class just happened to be working a few stores down from me at Starbucks and remembered who I was. I just like to thank her for all the free coffee.

I’ve since decided that I can’t be an anonymous student with just a handful of friends and no further recognition. I figure I might as well take advantage of it. In my classes I’ll take charge given the opportunity but I’m just as content following along. I know that eventually I will get another message on AOL Instant Messenger from someone I never knew. It was flattering. I’d like to thank that girl in my Calculus class for letting me know I’m noticed. But hunting down my username and doing it three months after class is over. That’s kind of creepy.

I’ve pretty much cleared the word count for something you should know about me. Maybe you didn’t need to know that but that was the only interesting thing I could think of off the top of my head. As for my reading habits, I don’t read much anymore. The last book I started to read was one on getting a new identity. If students keep stalking me I may have to consider it. The last book I actually finished was Dante’s Inferno. I’ll read anything that has a good, unpredictable and thoughtful plot. In Junior High I read everything I could get my hands on; Jules Verne, Michael Cricton, Douglas Adams, ect. Now that I’m down to one job and just a couple classes I may pick up my old habit.

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Journal Entry #2 (283) “Why I’m Here”

The reason I’m taking English 101 after attending MCC for two years is because I can’t take Creative Writing without it. I was about ready to argue that I don’t need to take 101. I’ve compiled hundreds of pages of studies and writings. I know how to write. Then I decided to check them with Microsoft Word to see what kind of writing level I have. It turned out to be 5.7. The simplistic style of writing I use is hard to overlook. And it’s something I’d like to correct.

One of my favorite papers is “Justification for It’s Existence” which tells why I wrote my so called book. It’s one of the most thought provoking and offensive papers I’ve written. Actually it is the most offensive paper I’ve ever written. One that requires the reader finish the story or never understand the real point I’m trying to make. The level at which I wrote that is about the third grade. “One Question” is best inoffensive paper I’ve written. I hit the fourth grade on that one. I feel like I’m stuck in a snow drift of knowledge and scream at the top of my lungs trying to get people to hear me but nothing comes out but whispers.

I’ve debated with people about religion for years now and know the importance of good writing. It usually overshadows any point one is trying to present. There are people who can’t stop writing and yet never really make a point and those who have good points but they’re lost in the translation from thought to paper. I’d like to be the one that has good points and good writing. And knows when to shut up.

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Journal Entry #3 “The Boy Who Read Wolff” (250)

My general reaction to the story was that the parent were incredibly careless about weapons. It’s interesting that in the beginning that he mentions his mom didn’t think she could trust him with weapons. Never does he address his thoughts on letting her down even though she never knew. He does however address his own self control on never tempting himself again.

The way the story is written is a little twisted. One moment he’s talking about aiming at an old couple and then shooting. The next you find out he actually shot a squirrel. The fact that he aims at everything that walks by feeding off the sense of power is a little daunting. At least he had the sense to keep the ammunition in the closet. At least for awhile.

The detail on his thoughts and desires to be in the army were quite vivid. The typical childhood fantasy retold from a wiser standpoint. Recalling how every urge lead to another. Soon all willpower ceased and sense went out the window. How his mom didn’t notice the squirrel was shot we’ll never know. His routine in the bed seems to indicate a great ability of justifying his actions. Giving a mock prayer possibly for the squirrel. Receiving mock revelation to make himself feel better. He finally just forces himself to feel good. He concludes the story by blaming the image of power and control that no one could remove from his mind. I know of a few methods.

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Journal Entry #4 “Brief Autobiography”

Who I’ve become today and who I shape myself to be tomorrow is an ongoing process. I don’t tend to write about myself. I’m much better and more comfortable putting on a show. But since I must I’ll start from as far back as I can remember. I tend to start my life in kindergarten. I was friends with the prettiest girl in my class. Even then I never really made friendships that lasted. When school was out that was it. We went our separate ways without ever looking back. I did she her senior picture a year ago but we’ve never talked. The next year I attended a small two room Lutheran school. 30 students from first to sixth grade. I never forget the first girl I made out with on a field trip. Everyone but my teacher knew what was going on. Two years later however my parents moved to another town and I got shifted to yet another school. I’ve never looked back to those I knew before.

I don’t think I ever adjusted to the change. It was a small town and I grew up with the kids that attended the schools. I wasn’t the coolest kid there and definitely the smallest. I got teased quite a bit. That’s pretty much when I just started going through the motions. By sixth grade I’d pretty much hit my low. I failed my first class. When my parents would make me do homework I’d do worse just to prove them wrong. I’ve successfully continued that tradition throughout the years until they gave up. Then junior high came and I was in band.

It was the first time I’d found something I was good at. Real good at. People started taking notice and I got more respect. My grades still were low because I was more interested in finding myself. That still hasn’t changed. By the time my parents moved again at the end of 9th grade I had a lot of people that missed me. But because of such a negative overall view of that small town and what I went through I’ve never really kept in touch with any of them. The girl I’d had a crush on since 6th grade gave me her number when I left and I may have used it once. By then I’d been to so many schools I wondered what the point of it all was. I pretty much got the impression “now you care.”

I haven’t talked to any of them in a couple of years now. We’ve gone our separate ways. We used to send e-mails with the signature “See ya in ‘98″ thinking I’d be back to see them graduate. I never did. I would have liked to have kept it my school. But by own graduation my new school was were I felt most welcome. I had nothing to prove to those back in my old town. I’ve just kept moving forward. Holding tightly to the few good friends I have and easily letting go of everyone else without a second thought.

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Journal Entry #5 “Favorite Experience in High School” (388)

Band camp had the be the start of the events of my high school career which shaped my confidence. The first day I got ditched by a good friend of mine because his new group didn’t think I was cool enough. But the next night two other people from band introduced themselves to me. People who knew who I was from sources they never divulged. It didn’t matter. I’ll never forget that summer and the school year that followed.

Halloween gave me the opportunity to try something new. I had the typical geek look with glasses and braces. But this was the year I decided to change all of that. I decided to go as a pimp. Just as an excuse to try something. Normally the outfit I wore would be a bad choice. I didn’t really have a tux so I wore my band suit. But it was what I didn’t wear that made people notice. I showed up in the band room since we had a football game that night and there was actually a kid who dressed up like me. It was the one of the kids from the group my friend went to at band camp. When he saw what I came as he didn’t even crack a smile.

If I had done anything else it would have been bad but everyone was just in shock. I actually had a couple girls come check me out and say “wow, he’s really cute.” Looks are so superficial that you gain a high respect for those who see past it. And you realize the importance of being able to do such a thing yourself. But you also appreciate the fact that when you do change, others take notice.

The next semester I had the money to make it a permanent style. Not the bad tux. Contacts and a new wardrobe. I can’t feel sorry for people who wallow in self pity from being picked on. There are things you can and cannot change. Change the things you can and hang out with those who respect the things you can’t. The kid who originally ditched me at band camp wrote in my year book that he was glad to have known me. It was a rough start but the ending was everything I wanted it to be.

It was a somewhat chilly spring day in London. I was walking with my cane down the cobblestone road when I noticed a small gathering at a local pub. It was a small establishment. The walls were brick. Slightly worn over the years. Shrubbery was growing up the sides, clinging to the wood framing. Hanging above the door was a painting of the shop owner. From the looks of him I assumed he was quite the liquor expert. A feathered hat covered his probably bald head and a large beard making up for the loss. His wealth showed in his extravagant coat. Or perhaps just an indication of a bribed artist.

As I got closer I saw the manager handing out glasses with a liquid of a color I had never seen before. The manager was a friendly fellow. A round face with warm eyes made him popular with the regulars. They would tell him their cares till their bellies were full of strong liquor and they passed out. He saw me and waved me over. The air smelled of new alcohol. Wheat and barley dust could seen floating in the back area. Two other gentlemen were examining the strange concoction. The one wearing a brown over coat and a rose colored vest seemed to have taken his hat off to it. He had quite an astonished look.

The other, wearing a black cloak and a black hat, reached cautiously for the yellow drink. I took my tall, clear, beer clean glass and stepped away to examine it. It was the perfect shade. A yellow tint. Not too dark. Not too light. I thanked God I had not been tricked into tasting a light beer. The head was a perfect half inch. Tiny bubbles made their way to the top of the liquid. I took a swig. I quickly placed my right foot forward to support myself.