It’s no secret that I both hate and fear technology but, like most of you, I find myself forced (okay, that might be a little strong – maybe begrudgingly caving in) to use it. As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, I recently had to upgrade to one of those smartphones.
It was not an easy transition. It still isn’t. Still, I suppose there are some benefits to it. It’s kinda handy to have when we’re watching tv, and there’s an actor/actress that I know I’ve seen before, but can’t remember where, I can IMDB ’em and stop aggravating myself about it. And yes, I know a simpler, low-tech solution is to just stop being so obsessive-compulsive about trivial things. Like that’s gonna happen.
Another thing I do like about it is being able to have different ringtones for some people. I’ve got Mick Ronson’s “Solo on 10th Avenue (Live)” set as my default ringtone. I can’t help it, I think it’s a great instrumental, and it really freaks out the kids in the writing center when my phone rings.
Photo from thisdayinmusic.com You probably know him from his work with David Bowie, Mick Ronson, and Mott the Hoople. Great stuff.
It only took me about a week to figure out how to get it from my computer onto my phone, but I did it. I was pretty proud of myself (much like when a toddler actually learns to get a spoon into his mouth with food still on it).
I like to have a different ringtone for some people, especially the lovely and talented Jess. I thought that since she’s the source of most of the joy in my life (and yes, I AM that romantic. Sorry ladies, I’m taken), Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9* would be the most appropriate (you may be familiar with it as “Ode To Joy”).
Photo from Classicfm.com. I’m also pretty sure that Beethoven looks less grumpy here than I did trying to turn him into a ringtone.
First, I thought, there’s probably an app for that. Apparently there are about 1,000,000,000 apps for that, but after about two hours fumbling around on my phone downloading and deleting and cursing and quitting and trying again, I thought, “Screw it, I’ll just make my own. It can’t be that difficult, right?” Hahahahahahahahahahaha
The first thing (obviously) was to get the Symphony. I’ve got it on cd, but those are all in a box in the attic, and if I recall correctly, my disc got ruined, probably from a combination of beer spilled on it and being dropped on gravel too many times (it’s a long story, but I ruined a lot of cds that way back in the day).
Fortunately, I had mastered downloading music from Itunes years ago. The problem there was finding the right version (there are about 1,000 different versions on Itunes, from different orchestras, composers, etc., and did I mention I might be a little OCD?)
Finally, I settled on the 1968 London Philharmonic version (honestly, I don’t even really know why). I got it downloaded, and thought I had it in the bag.
However, since it’s about an hour-and-a-half long, I thought that might be excessive. Surely, I thought, there’s a way to get just an excerpt (of course it has to be the right excerpt).
I decided I needed an audio editor (I may have one on the computer already, but damned if I could figure it out). Fortunately, I have also mastered the Googling. I googled “free audio editor”, and got waaaaaay too many links.
After another couple hours of self-torture, I finally decided on one and successfully downloaded it. I figured out how to copy the right track into the program, and I really thought I had it whupped. I was wrong.
At roughly the same time that I realized I had no idea how to work the program, I also discovered that neither the program nor the website had any kind of instructions, FAQ’s, or anything helpful (and I picked this one because all the reviews from computer wonks said it was sooooooo easy to use. Freakin’ computer wonks).
By the way, don’t you love it when writers think that EVERY aspect of their activities are so fascinating that that they must be documented in excruciating detail? I don’t know if every writer has an inner narcissist fighting to get out, but I’m pretty sure this one does. My apologies.
Anyhoo, the remaining details are (fortunately for you) pretty fuzzy, even to me. I ended up fumbling around and ended up with about a dozen versions of the same edit, in various formats. I just couldn’t manage to move any of them onto my phone.
I finally managed to get one onto it, and my phone promptly told me it was an “unsupported” something-or-other. So, it was back to the drawing board. I continued to try and re-try every one of them, but my computer would just make a dinging noise and nothing would happen.
Eventually, I noticed that I was accessing them through something Windows File Explorer calls “quick access”. Now I don’t know what that is (and I’ll bet you don’t either!), but it turns out you can’t copy things from whatever it is, even though it shows up as an option.
I tried it again, after finding the actual folder they were in and, after roughly three days of struggle, it finally worked. So now, I’ll know which calls I actually need to answer. Also, you don’t want to know what your ringtone is – you know who you are.
*by the way, this link is to the 1989 Berlin Freedom Concert, performed on Christmas day, and conducted by the great Leonard Bernstein. It was performed to celebrate the fall of the Berlin Wall, and Bernstein changed the word “joy” in the singing part to “freedom”. It’s performed beautifully, and worth the time just to watch Bernstein. He conducted it completely from memory, without any sheet music. The look on his face is a thing of beauty. It was the last time he would ever conduct this symphony.
Since I’ve already posted the Kirkus review of my novel, Thumperica! A Novel of the Ghost of America Future, I feel that, in the interest of presenting a fair and balanced view, I have a responsibility to post the following review from Shelley Gorin, a woman of undeniable taste and depth. Enjoy!
Thumperica!: A review by Shelley Gorin.
The definitive evidence for me of a book being worth reading, or at least being something I’m connecting with on some level, is that overly-cliche’d “inability to put it down.” No matter how “quiet” I try to get in order to have time to read, my life ends up full of nearly-nonstop interruptions. If I’m not really into a book, those interruptions will have me justifying putting it down constantly, and then having an excusably-hard time getting back into it. If I’m really drawn in, however, I’m shushing the interruptions and sacrificing sleep to get it finished.
Thumperica was both of those for me, at different times. That’s just the normal consequence, I think, of a major hurdle that naturally has to be overcome when setting the stage for the events of a story that’s just enough outside our humdrum daily life and circle of awareness to require some deeper explanation. America TM’s state at the opening of the book seems almost completely unbelievable without such further explanation… almost.
Due to the nature of having to lay a LOT of groundwork and presenting a rather fantastic world (that most of us would not like to admit openly – or even privately – could actually come true), there was a lot of detail and explanation that came along with the core story, especially at the outset. At the start, copious amounts of footnotes seemed almost distracting. They ended up, however, being one of the book’s strengths, and something I clung onto to help me navigate the difficult groundwork.
The first handful of chapters were admittedly hard for me to stick with – they hit me like Tolkien’s Silmarillion, that was so detailed and so outside my brain’s normal ability to retain an overload of information outside its little bubble, that I had to keep re-reading pages and chapters it to try to get it to stick. There was a LOT of detail in Thumperica’s first chapters that left me going, “Wait, what? I can’t remember what that was. Who was that again?”… and a LOT acronyms. I couldn’t read it, originally, any time my anxiety was flared up, because my brain just got overloaded with info and stopped taking it in.
However, instead of leaving it and not coming back, I kept going back to pick it up and push through. Part of that was a promise – I said I was gonna read it! Most of what initially hooked me, though, was the hidden humor and the play on names… I’d be reading along, trying to keep up, and suddenly do a spit-take. There were also a few times I thought, “Oh man, Lloyd’s not right in the head,” and smiled. But mostly I stuck it out because there was just enough “could be true” woven in, that I wanted to see just how this whole mess of a nation might turn out.
In all frankness, Thumperica is a WEIRD book. It is clearly written by someone who has little interest in following status-quo success recipes for best sellers. It’s probably not going to make the New York Times best seller list (though who knows?), but it’s a worthwhile read. I want to say it was about a quarter of the way through that I found I was staying up late to finish chapters, or I was shushing interruptions. It happened subtly. But sticking it out through the initial info overload was worth it, once the chess pieces started to move.
There were many moments where I felt the plot was over the top – a country couldn’t POSSIBLY become THAT effed up. And yet, if Scripture tells us that things like adultery actually occur in the heart, or that a man is as he thinks in his heart, Thumperica is a frightening exposure of just how dark, depraved, and gluttonous mankind can be, if we are brutally honest with ourselves. And if that fantastic and depraved world is unrealistic, the fantastic and depraved thoughts in our own minds are not. As such, Thumperica is a book that might make you a wee bit uncomfortable, if you’re prone to self-examination. And if our basest human instincts (not simply sexual, as some might assume, but greed, power, control, all-who-aren’t-like-me-are-bad, or mine-is-bigger kind of thinking) are left to run amok; if we become, personally or as a country, increasingly desensitized over generations to things like basic human conscience and dignity, and we re-write the rules or re-spin the sacred to support such things, is it truly that far-fetched?
Is that not exactly what we’ve already done as a nation? We can’t be naive enough to think that we as a people have not been guilty of genocide, degradation, or humiliation of races and peoples on the scale of Hitler, in our past. The kind of world presented in Thumperica is certainly extreme, but it is already in existence; it already HAS been in existence. And it may be in a bit of existence in each of us.
Further back in mankind’s history, “civilized” humans once killed other humans for entertainment; they certainly have killed for lust or power or greed in our generation as much as in the first. If someone held a magnifying glass to our basest thoughts or perhaps gave them free reign, it’s frighteningly possible that things could decline to the state in which Thumperica begins. They seem too far-fetched and yet too near to what we wish not to see in reality; they could have easily been predicted by Irving’s Owen Meany, and it feels as though they were. There are elements of this book that seem to be a nod that one. And though my first instinct was to laugh and how absurd it all sounded, there is enough in my life experience to say that the comedy of it all reveals a real tragedy underneath.
I am left wondering what my own part might be in the macabre play, if I keep my eyes closed. I truly did not know where this book was going, or could possibly go; it certainly didn’t go where I thought it would. It didn’t wrap up with a neat little bow, and it didn’t follow predictable patterns of overused plot devices. But that’s the reality of the world in which we live – rarely does anything go as expected, and even knowing that mankind repeats itself endlessly (“nothing new under the sun,”) that knowledge doesn’t help us prevent those twists and turns, or even stop the unfairness of it all.
But sometimes…. sometimes, evil will overreach and be its own undoing. And that is the hope for those seemingly doomed under it all in this book and in life – if we question those things our conscience can’t abide, and we’re willing to risk fighting for it, even when the odds are stacked, maybe evil things will stumble.The book certainly leans strongly left, but even those leaning strongly right can find good substance here, if they’re willing to set aside party and politics enough to let it simply be a magnifying glass on mankind left to its own devices. It wouldn’t matter what party or what political leaning a person claimed, the potential is there for anyone willing to question what blind allegiance to blind national ambition can lead to.
Thumperica is NOT a book I’d recommend my mother read, or a Sunday School class, or anyone easily offended – unless being offended is the very thing they need. There are elements to the book that won’t be fitting for the book club, but they just might be the food for thought we need in the days and years ahead.
Enough with dwelling on politics and all the bad stuff in the world. Also, I don’t want you guys thinking I’ve just turned into an Andy Rooney-type grouchy old dude who just hates everything. I’ve recently read, or watched, or listened to some really good stuff that has actually made me feel better.
Books:
I’ve got to admit, a lot of the books I’ve read lately have not been what you’d call “feel-good” reads – a lot of history books, particularly about the Indian wars. After reading a lot (a LOT) of that stuff (research for a new novel), I needed some lighter fair, so I read The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window And Disappeared, by Jonas Jonasson.
It is a really funny novel that’s sort of a mix between a caper novel and Forrest Gump (if Gump were Swedish, 100 years old, and a demolitions expert). It’s just a really fun novel to read, and surprisingly reassuring.
It’s also a very nice novel: little to no cursing, no sex, virtually no violence (lots of explosions, however), honestly, I can’t think of really anything objectionable about it. It is literally suitable for everyone. Seems a little weird to be recommending something like that. Anyway, it gets my highest recommendation. If you need a good laugh and some relief from the daily horrorshow of social media and 24-hour news, this is the book for you.
Next up, The Android’s Dream, by John Scalzi. I’m no huge fan of science fiction, but Scalzi is a really funny writer. I loved his novel RedShirts, which not only made me laugh, but made me think.
The Android’s Dream is about a guy who has to save humanity from interstellar war by saving a woman who – as a result of genetic experimentation and mad-sciencetry- has no idea that her DNA contains a specific kind of sheep DNA.
It’s pretty weird, and very funny, with lots of bad guys, some violence and bad language (nothing really gratuitous or extreme), a little romance, some interstellar political intrigue, and at least one extremely unusual and funny way of assassination. Highly recommended, especially for sci-fi fans.
Movies
We Have Always Lived In the Castle. Based on a novel by Shirley Jackson (The Haunting of Hill House, “The Lottery”). A really creepy story about two wealthy sisters living in the house where their parents were poisoned. Although the older sister was tried and acquitted of the murders, the girls are hated in the village. Things go from bad to worse when a cousin comes to visit.
Little to no sex, nudity, bad language. Some mob violence (old-fashioned pitchforks and torches type, not Godfather). Not particularly scary, but very unsettling, in a good way. Available on Netflix.
The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared. Okay, yes, it’s just the film version of the book, but for those who don’t have time to read, it’s a really faithful version, and maintains the spirit of the book. In Swedish with English subtitles.
Ready or Not. A poor girl marries into a wealthy board game family. Whenever someone marries into the family, they must draw a card from a magic box and play the game indicated. There’s only one bad card, and this poor girl draws it. A really funny horror-comedy, and lots of fun to watch. One of the few movies I’ve seen in the theater that I didn’t regret going to see.
Lots of gratuitous almost everything: violence, bad language, bad behaviour, violence, bloodshed, violence, and a huge splatter factor. Oddly enough, no nudity, but plenty of everything else.
Should be coming out on video and streaming soon.
TV
Marianne. French tv show about a horror novel writer who is being tormented by a 16th century witch who wants her to keep writing. Not a great show – it’s French, dubbed into English, so the dialogue doesn’t always carry the emotional impact the scenes deserve – but it is very creepy, with some decent surprises.
Quite a bit of nudity, bad language, bloodshed, and violence. Available on Netflix.
Good Omens. Based on the novel by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, it’s all about the endtimes. Really funny stuff, with a great cast, and a lot of heart. It shares quite a few plot points with The Omen and Rosemary’s Baby, but it’s much funnier than either of those.
I don’t really remember much in the way of violence, profanity, or nudity/sex, but then again, I’m probably pretty jaded. The whole thing is probably pretty objectionable for the more fundamentalists out there, but I think it asks a lot of questions that we ought to be asking.
Norsemen. Sort of a cross between Vikings and The Office. Really funny. Can’t really remember anything too objectionable, but then again, I’m pretty jaded.
Music
YYNOT. Kind of a strange band, at least for an old-timer like me. They started out as a kind of internet-based Rush cover band, but have coalesced into an actual band. They do awesome covers of Rush songs, and have now released two albums of original (heavily Rush-influenced) material. Both albums are really good. If you’re a fan of Rush, chances are you’ll like YYNOT. If you’re not a fan of Rush, you should give them a try anyway.
Bob Mould. If you like hard-edged, punk-tinged, pounding-but-melodic music, then check out Bob Mould. Whether as a solo act or part of the bands Husker Du and Sugar, he won’t let you down. Husker Du has been cited as very influential on the alt-rock scene of the 90’s. I highly recommend the Husker Du album Warehouse: Songs and Stories, the Sugar album Copper Blue, and his solo albums Patch the Sky and Silver Age.
The Wood Brothers. A great jazz/blues/folk band, similar to the Avett Brothers, but honestly, their songs are (to me anyway) much more memorable. Some really great stuff. I recommend the albums The Muse and Ways Not To Lose. If you like those, then go crazy.
Finally, the strangest of the bunch, Cynthia Hopkins. I think she’s really more of a performance artist than just a musician, but she makes some really great, weird, challenging music. I don’t really think she’s an acquired taste, I think she’s one of those that you either like or don’t like, at the first listen. At any rate, I really like her, and recommend the album The Truth: A Tragedy.
Anyway, I guess that oughta be enough for now. Remember, no matter how much bad crap gets flung at us, there’s a lot of good stuff out there too. Enjoy!
Okay, let me first say that I have virtually no idea what I’m talking about (of course, you probably already knew that).
That said, it has recently occurred to me that in order to be an artist, whether a writer, painter, musician, dancer, sculptor, or whatever, you’ve got to have some seriously thick Rhino skin.
A little while back, discouraged by the lack of sales of my novel Thumperica! A Novel of the Ghost of America Future, as well as my inability to get anyone to read it even if I gave it to them, I realized that basically, nobody wants to read my shit. I even thought about writing a post with that theme (more on that later).
The cover of the ebook edition, designed by yours truly.
I was really having a hard time getting any feedback on it, and many of those who had read it didn’t really seem to know what to say about it. When asked about it, they’d say things like “Wellllll, it was certainly interesting” or “Ya know, I’m still processing it” and they had the sort of look you get when a new parent is showing off their brand-new baby that looks like a cross between E.T. and an orangutan. You know what I mean – when you grit your teeth and say “Oh isn’t it – I mean she- precious!?” or, the non-committal, “You must be so proud.”
You know what I’m talking about. We all have babies like that in our families. Some of us were those babies. And we turned out alright – well I’m sure most of the others did.
Even those who seemed to genuinely like the book seemed at a loss as to why exactly. It was a little disconcerting. I also realized that my book would not be to everyone’s taste, and especially to most of the people who read this blog – after all, who am I kidding – most of you only found this blog because you were googling “Rich Mullins”, and those of you who stuck around probably only do so out of pure morbid curiosity. It’s okay, I’m not proud – I’ll take what I can get.
Finally, I decided to bite the bullet and send my baby off to a professional reviewer, Kirkus Reviews, to get an unbiased opinion on it. After all, your friends are probably too polite to mention that your bouncing baby boy looks like a scrofulous blobfish, but a doctor’s gonna say “Holy smokes, that thing ain’t right! We need to do something about that”
Conversely, your friends might simply be too jealous to give your pride and joy the effusive praise it deserves. Anything’s possible right?
Well, as it turns out, according to Kirkus Reviews, one of the biggest names in the book-reviewing game, my baby is . . .
. . . A scrofulous blobfish!
And this is an unscrofulous blobfish!
Photo from Smithsonianmag.com
Not only that, but a pedestrian scrofulous blobfish! Note that in this case, “pedestrian” is defined as “lacking inspiration or excitement; dull”, and synonymous with “dull, plodding, boring, tedious, monotonous, uneventful, unremarkable, tiresome, wearisome, uninspired, uncreative, unimaginative, unexciting, un-interesting, lifeless, dry; unvarying, unvaried, repetitive, repetitious, routine, commonplace, average, workaday; ordinary, everyday, unoriginal, derivative, mediocre, run-of-the-mill, flat, prosaic, matter-of-fact, turgid, stodgy, mundane, humdrum . . .” (Lexico.com)
Ironically (not to mention adding insult to injury), when I looked “pedestrian” up, an add for Kirkus Reviews popped up on the Lexico.com page.
Honestly, I thought it started out promising: ” A futuristic farce explores the dystopian nightmare that results from one man’s ascendancy to the Oval Office,” but that first line turned out to just be a little decorative paint on the edge of the cliff.
I suppose it could be considered a compliment to have both Kurt Vonnegut and Jonathan Swift mentioned in the review, even if only to point out how far short I fell of my ambitions. At least that’s what I tell myself.
To be honest, I was a little hurt. But that’s where the rhino skin comes in. After reading (and compulsively re-reading – I’m pretty sure I gave the review much more attention than the reviewer gave my book), I realized that it doesn’t really matter what this clown thinks of my book. In fact, I’m pretty sure that he/she didn’t even read the whole thing (every every instance cited in the review occurs in the first 124 pages of a 295-page book).
In all fairness, the Kirkus folks were very upfront about not guaranteeing a good review (if they did, their reviews would be worthless), but I have to say I still feel a little bit cheated: if I’m going to pay way too much money to have my work insulted, I at least expect it to be insulted in its entirety. Not only that, but, in order to use excerpts from the review, I have to give them permission to publish it (not sure if that counts as adding insult to injury, or injury to insult).
But enough about that. If you want to read the review in its entirety, here’s a link: Thumperica! Kirkus Review. Enjoy!
But that’s what I mean about rhino skin. To do this sort of thing, you’ve gotta be tough. You’ve gotta be able to take the hits. Of course, you could be reasonable, and just not read reviews, much less pay for them, but let’s face it, “reasonable” is not really in my toolbox.
I do take comfort in the knowledge that many classic, influential novels have gotten lousy reviews, including Moby Dick, The Handmaid’s Tale, Catch-22, The Great Gatsby, For Whom the Bell Tolls, etc. (and don’t get me wrong, Thumperica! is NOT in their league, but “pedestrian”? Man that hurts).Many of the world’s greatest artists labored in obscurity, only becoming rich and famous after they were dead (at which point it didn’t do them much good).
No, I think the most important thing is that an artist of whatever variety needs to have something to say, confidence that it’s worth saying, and the courage to say it, and damn the torpedoes.
But it’s not easy. Like I said earlier, in a fit of depression (self-pity), I was tempted to write a post entitled, “Nobody Wants to Read My Shit”.
Then a friend pointed out to me that somebody (actually, best-selling novelist Steven Pressfield) has already written that book: Nobody Wants to Read Your Sh*t: Why That Is, and What You Can Do About It.
I have to admit that, when I looked it up, I was a little hurt. Not only had he stolen my idea preemptively, but how did he know nobody wanted to read my shit? I mean, I was flattered that he’d heard of me, but did he have to be so hurtful? After all, I’m pretty sure he’s never read my book.
Anyway, after reading the subtitle, I thought, well, maybe he’s just trying to help. So I bought it. I’ll let you know if it does.
Okay, first and most importantly, if you’re old like me, you’ve probably already read the title to the tune of the old Dr. Pepper jingle. If you’re not that old, here’s a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvCTaccEkMI (and yes, that is David Naughton, of American Werewolf in London fame). Also, now you’re probably gonna have that stupid song stuck in your head. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! You’re welcome.
Secondly and probably much less important is this: A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post on the advantages of acceptance over tolerance, and one of the comments I got was from a very nice woman who is very tired of all the bashing people by accusing them of being racists, bigots, etc.
She was making a very good point that it is entirely possible to dislike someone based entirely on their personality, and that doesn’t necessarily make them a bigot. It is a point on which she and I agree.
However. I also don’t want anyone thinking that I believe we should accept bigotry, in any of its forms: racism, sexism, homophobia, etc. I want to be clear that I believe that that stuff is not okay.
The problem is that we’re all bigots, in one way or another.
In all fairness, if you’re like me, you live in an area where it’s easy to believe you’re not bigoted. I mean, in my personal circle, everyone is pretty much just like me. We’re all white, middle- to lower-middle class, moderately educated, Christian (at least nominally), rural, straight, patriotic, and reasonably conservative (even me, although I’m more of an Eisenhower era conservative).
It’s easy to fool myself into thinking that, yeah, I’m one of the good guys. I don’t hate/dislike/distrust black folks, Asians, Muslims, Hindus, Catholics, LGBTQ folks, women, immigrants, asylum seekers (by the way, those two are not the same thing) hard-core rednecks, dazzling urbanites, rap music artists, owners of small dogs, or even Baptists.
The thing is, I can’t really say that if I don’t have to live it fairly regularly. Just because I like Aretha Franklin, have gone to a Black barber, and drive through the north side of Richmond with my windows down and my doors unlocked doesn’t actually make me not a racist. It just means I’m not unreasonably afraid of them.
Lemme tell you a little story: A few years ago, in one of my college literature classes, the discussion turned to why do we have to read all this weird stuff like international literature, stuff we would never normally read.
In my standard, bull-in-a-china-shop way, I mentioned that I have never liked reading books by women. I had forgotten that I was sitting in a class full of very feminist women, four of whom sat right behind me, and all of whom were in much better physical condition than me. If it hadn’t been for the diplomatic skill of the Professor (shoutout to Dr. Steven Petersheim!), I’d never gotten out of that room alive.
Eventually they calmed down enough that I could get to the point that I was trying to make (getting to the point is sometimes a problem for me, in case you hadn’t noticed), which was that, with the accidental exception of Andre Norton (who I didn’t realize was a woman until recently) when I was a kid, I’d always avoided reading books by women BUT, thanks to being forced to read novels by Doris Lessing, Jean Rhys, Willa Cather, Zora Neale Hurston, Elizabeth Gaskell, Buchi Emecheta, Ama Ata Aidoo, and others, I’ve learned to really appreciate female writers. That appreciation has led me to voluntarily read books by Margaret Atwood, Shirley Jackson, and others.
I would never have discovered what I was missing had I not been “forced” to read those books. The same goes for international writers: I’ve always been a very American/Eurocentric reader. If it wasn’t written by an American or a European writer, I wasn’t going to ever read it.
But college also opened up the world of international literature for me, and I’ve really enjoyed reading works by Salman Rushdie, Chinua Achebe, Aravind Adiga, and others.
Even so, before you start patting me on the back about what an unbigoted reader I am, I have to confess that I’m much more likely to give a neew male, American/European author a chance than I am to try a new male/female international author, or even a female American/European one.
Now I know that I have a lot of bigotries and biases about things other than literature, it’s just that, being a word guy, that was a bigotry that became pretty obvious to me, and even that came as a surprise. It’s the ones you don’t notice because they’re never really put to the test that are hard to find.
Getting rid of bigotries requires a constant effort, and (I think) that those bigotries we’re least aware of prevent us from enjoying and understanding much of the world around us.
I think that the trick of getting rid of bigotry is not to point it out in others (after all, the most bigoted are pretty obvious about it, even proud of it, and therefore easy to avoid), but to look for it in ourselves and work diligently and perpetually to root it out of ourselves.
One of the things that I try to do is whenever I see something that I don’t understand, or that bothers me, I ask myself why it bothers me, and whether it is really something worth being bothered about. That goes for the excessively tattooed, the really low-hanging jeans crowd, the abundantly pierced, the ear-gauged, the all-of-the-above group, along with the carrying a gun everywhere including church crowd, the clearly-not-thinking-about-what-their-latest-Facebook-post-says-about-them corps, etc.
Usually, it turns out that I just need to get over myself. I think we could all stand to do a lot more of that. Maybe the verse should go “Judge yourself before you judge others,” although I’m pretty sure that there are several other verses that cover that territory (something about a log in your eye rings a bell).
Anyway, I guess I’ve beaten that dead horse enough. Also, good luck getting that stupid Dr. Pepper song out of your head. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!! Some things never stop being funny.
Okay, I’ve got to admit that I’m no expert on “multiculturalism”. In fact, I looked it up just a few minutes ago to make sure I was writing about it. I’m still not completely sure but, since not knowing what I’m talking about is one of my trademarks, I’m going to press on ahead.
I would also like to point out that I am talking about myself in this post. Whether I’m talking about you is something you’ll have to decide for yourself.
It seems to me that one of the major things that is dividing us is a lack of empathy. We all think that we are the norm. That everybody should think the way we do, act the way we do, believe the way we do, etc. I know that’s unfortunately the case with me anyway (your mileage may vary). I can’t help it – I was raised to think this way, act this way, believe this way, and my parents, grandparents, Sunday School teachers, etc. couldn’t be wrong, right?
(Disclaimer: the thoughts, actions, and beliefs of the author are his own responsibility. His parents, grandparents, Sunday School teachers, etc. bear no responsibility for any stupid thing he may mistakenly attribute to them. They all acted in loving good faith, with malice toward none, and the author can really just be a bit of a jackass sometimes.)
At any rate, we could all do with a bit more empathy. I’ve found that many of the things I was brought up to think, feel, and believe (see disclaimer above) are just flat-out wrong. I’ve learned that to see the world for what it is, and why it is the way it is, I’ve got to be able to see the world through the eyes of people, groups, and cultures other than my own.
I’ve found that it helps to get out of my comfort zone – to read and watch things that are from outside my own experience – like watching foreign movies and reading novels by authors outside my own culture, like Africans, Indians (Asian and American), females, etc. To meet and make friends with people outside my own group – people from other cultures, other beliefs, other alignments (LGBT folks, women, Baptists, etc.)
My search for empathy has taught me some very weird, and some deeply unsettling things over the years. For example, did you know that in Scandinavian movies, anything that is not soul-crushingly depressing is considered slapstick comedy, and in India, even war movies based on historical fact can still stand to be jazzed up with a few musical interludes and dance numbers (At this point, I’d like to admit that my understanding of foreign cultures is very much a work in progress, and probably quite shallow at the time of this writing).
Something else I’ve learned through studying history and getting to know folks from other groups: Not all the good guys are white men, and not all the bad guys have darker complexions and weird, scary accents. In fact, in real life, the exact opposite has been true, as often as not. If you don’t believe me, study a little history.
The most important thing I’ve learned though, is that no matter how different those “others” may seem, we’ve all got way more in common than we have differences. No matter where we’re from or who we are, pretty much universally, people want to live in peace, we all want to raise our children in safety, we all want to make a decent living, and be able to live with some dignity and self-respect, without fear. That goes for me, for Africans, Asians, Russians, LGBT folks, men, women, Christians, Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, Atheists, liberals, conservatives, whites, blacks, even Baptists* and the French, and, in all likelihood, you too.
We’ve just got to learn to give each other the benefit of the doubt, at least try to see things from the others’ point of view, and stop listening to those who, in their search for power, try so hard to divide us.
Now I know that at this point you’re saying, “Hey Moon, how can I get me some of that empathy?” Well, it’s really not all that hard – just try seeing the world through the eyes of others. It doesn’t have to be anything important, in fact, entertainment is a good way to start. Just seeing how other cultures see, and portray common things, including themselves is a good start. Here are some links you might (or might not) enjoy.
Movies:
A really cool and entertaining historical war movie. Based on a true story. Lots of action, and just as historically inaccurate as Braveheart, Ragamuffin, or any other American film “based on a true story”. One warning: the subtitles are really hard to read – they’re yellow, and so is pretty much everything else in the movie. I recommend briefly reading up on the Battle of Saragarhi (it really is an amazing story of courage), and then just sit back and enjoy the show! It’s available on Netflix
https://www.hbo.com/video/the-no-1-ladies-detective-agency/seasons/season-01/videos/s1-trailer The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency is a great show about a female detective in Botswana. I’m not sure if it really counts as multicultural, since the novels it’s based on are written by a Scottish white guy, but I’m pretty sure he spends a lot of time in Africa. Anyway, it’s a really good show, very simple, very sweet, very charming. Great characters, lots of humor, virtually no bloodshed, violence, sex, bad language (at least not in the first novel or episode). Listen, if it has none of those things and I’m still highly recommending it, you know it’s gotta be good. Available on HBO. I also highly recommend the book
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbfkuN_MpvQIn Order of Disappearance is a Norwegian revenge thriller/comedy. There is an American remake with Liam Neeson, Cold Pursuit, but the original is better (lets face it, Liam Neeson going on a revenge rampage is nothing we haven’t seen 1000 times already). You probably know Stellan Skarsgard from the movie Mamma Mia! Revenge is definitely funnier with him. Available on Netflix.
Train to Busan. From Korea, and the best zombie movie since 28 Days Later. Really intense, but with real heart too. If you like horror, this is it done right. Available on Netflix.
Books:
Excellent book. Bent was half white, half Cheyenne, and lived most of his life with the Cheyenne. He survived the Sand Creek Massacre, and his perspective on the history of Colorado is pretty interesting. Also, a pretty easy read, very non-academic.
Written by a white guy, but a very good, brief, even-handed account of the Wounded Knee Massacre, and the events that led up to it.
A great black comedy about a man who grew up poor in India, but was determined not to stay that way.
Amazing and eye-opening.
Well, I guess that’s probably enough to start with. Enjoy!
*I really don’t have anything against Baptists. I just think it’s funny. I’m sure many Baptists are fine people. No, really, some of my best friends are Baptists.
I’ve been reading and watching some pretty exciting stuff (to me anyway), and thought to myself, “Ya know, you should really tell someone about this.” So I am.
I picked this up a couple years ago at the Crazy Horse monument in the Black Hills of S. Dakota, and it has sat on my shelf since then. Last week, I forgot the book I was reading at work, and found myself in the lamentable position of going to bed with nothing to read. Well that just wasn’t going to happen, and since this was on the top of the stack by my bed, I decided to give it a try.
I had my doubts as I plowed through the two introductions; they (especially the most recent) were a little on the self-congratulatory side, and left me thinking “Oh crap, is this gonna be another one of those “Let me explain Indians to you,” kind of books, written by a white guy, and loaded with self-aggrandizement and presenting Indians as a bunch of holy men and earth mothers? (I tend toward the skeptical side, and my own experience with Indians has pretty much wrecked that romanticized, Hollywoodized, 70’s liberal view).
Boy, was I in for a (pleasant) surprise. Nerburn has written a book that I very much wished I could write. There’s nothing romanticized here. Nerburn isn’t afraid to show his white preconceptions and biases, nor is he afraid to show those preconceptions and biases getting slapped down for the (well-meaning) bullshit that they are. Dan, the Indian elder Nerburn goes on the road with, isn’t some Black Elk wannabe, full of Native mysticism. Rather, he’s an old man from an exploited, impoverished, and conquered people who has spent his life thinking and trying to make sense of his world, and the white world that surrounds his.
In a lot of ways, Dan reminds me of Jim Charging Crow, a Lakota elder that I, and others in our group, were fortunate enough to become friends with. Full of good humor, but deeply suspicious of whites and their agendas.
Nerburn’s book has opened my eyes, clarified my vision, and at least partially answered questions that I’ve had on my mind for years.
A great book, and an invaluable one for anyone who seeks to help the Sioux, or who seeks a greater understanding of America the problems that face all of us.
Pick #2: The White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga. Five stars, two thumbs up. Fiction.
A very different book, about a very different kind of Indian. The White Tiger is the story of Balram Halwai, who grows up impoverished in rural backwater of India, and how he rose from a peasant destined for a short, nasty, brutal life to become a successful entrepreneur. It’s a fascinating book: both horrifying and very funny, as it exposes the corruption rampant in India, and what happens when a man born with no options decides to make his own.
I found that, although it’s a very Indian story, that it’s also a universal story about corruption and what happens when a society rewards exploitation of the poor and the marginalized, instead of caring for them, and helping them.
A fantastic book; an easy read with some very important things to say.
Pick #3: Hostiles, a film by Scott Cooper. Fiction. Four stars, two thumbs up.
Hostiles, starring Christian Bale, Rosamund Pike, and Wes Studi, is a great movie, albeit one that plays fast and loose with actual history. While it is a western, it is, like all great westerns, about much, much more than just cowboys and Indians, and gunfights. It is a movie that attempts to show the cost that everyone paid (the Indians, the settlers, and the soldiers) to make America what it is today. It is also about the racism that has afflicted this nation since the day Columbus landed in the Caribbean. More importantly, it is about overcoming that racism, putting aside the biases and hatreds that separate us, and bringing people together through mutual, earned respect.
It doesn’t attempt to stick to the facts of history, something that really bothered me the first time I saw it (as a history buff, I kept getting side-tracked by the numerous historical inaccuracies), but once I got past that narrow view, I was able to see it for what it is: a parable of America, and, as that, it succeeds admirably. It’s one of those movies that sticks with you long after the end credits roll. It makes you think: about our country’s history, and about its present, as well as about our own, individual biases and prejudices, and where they come from.
All that philosophical wonkery aside, it is also a damned fine western, with great performances from everybody in it, lots of action, and gunfights. It is also pretty bloody and brutal in it’s depiction of the violence of the old west: definitely not one for the kiddies, or the faint of heart.
It is currently available on Netflix, and on DVD, and Blu-Ray.
Woman Walks Ahead, starring Jessica Chastain, Sam Rockwell, and Michael Greyeyes, is pretty much the exact opposite of Hostiles: It’s based on a true story, and plays fast and loose with actual history, and fails miserably in both telling its story, and in telling a larger truth.
It is the story of Caroline Weldon, a painter and activist for Indian rights, who went to Standing Rock Indian Reservation to paint a portrait of the great Sioux chief, Sitting Bull. So far, so good. Those things actually happened. What is inexplicable to me is why they felt it necessary to airbrush Weldon’s backstory, turning the somewhat Bohemian, divorced activist with a child born out of wedlock, into a widowed, society lady. The actual Weldon’s story is much more interesting.
Less mysterious is the film maker’s rearranging of historical events, to make things center around Weldon (after all the movie’s about her). However, despite what importance Weldon may have had, making this story about her is like making Mrs. Schindler the primary focus of Schindler’s List. I’m sure Frau Schindler made some important contributions, but the most important thing was saving Jews from the death camps.
The film goes so far as to turn Weldon into the stereotypical Great White Saviour, the Feminist Icon who inspires Sitting Bull to lead his people to vote against the “Allotment Treaty”. In reality, it was the Dawes Act, and, as an act of Congress, the Sioux never got a vote in it. The movie downplays the importance of the Ghost Dance, completely screws the pooch about the death of Sitting Bull, and turns Wounded Knee – a direct result of white hysteria about the Ghost Dance, and Sitting Bull’s death – into a footnote. There is a huge, important story here to be told. Instead, they made this movie.
Maybe the biggest mystery is this: weren’t there any actual Feminist Icons to make a movie about? Surely Hollywood hasn’t told the stories of all the women who’ve made huge sacrifices for not only women’t rights, but for civil rights in general. Why take a story about a pivotal moment in U.S. history, and dump all of the truly important stuff, stuff that still affects thousands, if not millions, of Americans every day, in order to manufacture a Feminist Icon? Women deserve better than that, Indians deserve better than that, Americans deserve better than that.
It’s currently on Amazon Prime Video and DVD, Blu-ray.
Anyway, that’s it. If you’re going to read three books this year, I strongly suggest that you start with Thumperica! A Novel of the Ghost of America Future. However, if you’re only going to read one or two books this year, give Thumperica a pass, and read Neither Wolf Nor Dog, and The White Tiger.
If you want to see a historical movie that ignores facts to state a larger truth, watch Hostiles.
If you want to see a historical movie that skews facts in order to get everything wrong, watch Woman Walks Ahead.
As some of you know, yesterday was my birthday (and for those of you who didn’t, what the hell, man? It’s like I’m not even one of the most important people in your life anymore. That’s just hurtful). I turned 53, and it was one of the best birthdays ever. First, I did a little birthday shopping for Jess (she is lovely and talented, but not always great at buying gifts, so I thought I’d do her a solid and do the birthday shopping for her ((also, as you can see, I haven’t lost my love of parenthesis))).
She got me some new albums by the Wood Brothers and by the Hard Working Americans, both great bands I’ve just found. Then, on my actual birthday, I had a pretty doggone good day. We got up and went to church, survived another board meeting, and went to lunch with friends. My friend Garth got me wound up talking about Trump, and sat back to watch (I mean, who doesn’t enjoy dinner and a show?). We got through lunch without me making too much of an ass of myself, and then came the only low point of the day: going to Walmart.
I really, really hate going to Walmart. However, since the object of this distasteful task was ice cream cake, I didn’t pout too much. Then we got home, and I got what every man on earth wants for their birthday — to sleep with the most beautiful woman on earth. The gorgeous and equally somnolent Jess and I got stuck into one seriously intense Sunday afternoon nap. It was awesome, and just what I needed. Jess enjoyed it too. Sadly, I can’t nap like I used to, so it only lasted about 3 hours (it’s sad when your stamina starts to go), but sometimes you’ve just gotta be thankful for what you get.
After the nap (and in case you’re thinking I’m using the word “nap” as a metaphor for something else, I’m not. Get your mind out of the gutter!), we had some leftovers, watched a couple movies, and went back to bed, and I read a couple more chapters of A. Lee Martinez‘ new book, Constance Verity Saves the World, an excellently funny book with a lot of heart, by one of my favorite living authors.
Then I went to sleep. It was a great birthday.
See, I like the unimportant birthdays (well, less-important ones anyway. They’re all important. If you don’t think so, try not having anymore). The big ones, the milestones like turning 40, 50, 60, etc., are a pain in the ass (often literally, because there’s always some jackass who thinks it’d be funny to whack you the appropriate number of times ((while I appreciate the thought, and under normal circumstances, you have to pay extra for that, I’ve reached the age where by the end, it’s just boring and painful))). Everyone also feels obligated to point out to you repeatedly and loudly that you’re one step closer to impending infirmity and death. Granted they still do that on regular birthdays, but they’re much less insistent about it, and easier to ignore.
It’s also nice, because there’s no company involved, which means I’m free to indulge my newly expanded, no-pants policy (basically it’s No-Pants Friday applied to all the other days of the week).
If you do ’em right, the less milestoney birthdays are just like regular days, only most people try to be a little nicer to you, and you get cake. There are no colorful banners announcing to the world that you’re becoming increasingly irrelevant, no boisterous well-wishers gleefully reminding you that you’re a lot closer to death than you used to be, no mess to clean up, no muss, no fuss. The biggest downside is having to respond to a large number of “Happy Birthday” posts on the Facebook, but you can even put that off a day or two.
Of course, I suppose having birthdays that are pretty much just like regular days is only good if your regular days are pretty doggone good themselves. I’m one of the lucky ones. Sometimes I forget it, but then I look at the life I have vs the life I probably deserve, and realize that pretty much everyday is a birthday, and I’d be a fool not to be grateful. As the great Ray Wylie Hubbard said, in his song “Mother Blues” (a song that I really relate to), “The days when I keep my gratitude higher than my expectations . . . well, I have really good days.”
Also, while there’s no need for you to get me anything, but you might want to get yourself a little something in honor of this auspicious day: I recommend my novel, Thumperica! A novel of the Ghost of America Future (you didn’t really think you were going to get through this without a plug for that did you?). It’s available on Amazon. Heck, if you’ve got Kindle Unlimited, you can read it for free!
Also, also, do yourself a favor and check out the links to the Wood Brothers, Hard Working Americans, Ray Wylie Hubbard, and A. Lee Martinez.
As you may or may not know, I have actually written (and published) a full-length novel entitled: Thumperica! A Novel of the Ghost of America Future. I’m pretty proud of it, I think it’s pretty darned good (of course, all parents think their baby is beautiful, even the parents of ugly ones), and I think it’s got some important food for thought on the direction this country is headed. It’s available in print, and as an ebook on both Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.com
It’s been on sale for about a month and, although there have actually been some sales, I’ve got a long way to go before I get on the best seller’s lists (8 down and 4,992 to go! Stephen King is probably not losing sleep yet.).
At any rate, I’ve decided that maybe a free first taste might be just the thing to generate some interest (yes, I do mean sales. You see right through me, don’t you?), after all, it seems to work for heroin (not that my book is bad for you in any way, unless you think that being caused to think is a bad thing, in which case, I think you need to rethink your thinking).
Anyway, all this self-promotion (and yes, I do mean shameless begging) is getting a little embarrassing, so without further ado, please enjoy the foreword and 1st chapter of Thumperica!
The cover of the ebook edition, designed by yours truly.
Glossary of Acronyms
AARP—American™s Actively Resisting Persecution
ACRONIM—Agency for Contraction of Rightful, Officially eNdorsed Idioms and Meanings.
ANGEL—Angelic Nymph of God’s Exquisite Love
BIEF—Better Ingredients in Every Food
CA or C of A—Church of America™
CEOPIPOTUSGAME—Chief Executive Officer of the President-in-Perpetuity of the United States and God’s Annointed Messenger on Earth
CIO—Chief Information Officer
CMO—Chief Military Officer
COO—Chief Operations Officer
CPO—Chief Pastoral Officer
CSO—Chief Security Officer
GOON—Guardians Of Our Nation
HARLOT—Hospitality And Recreational Leisure Operations Trainee
Excerpt from Silas Joiner’s book, What Happened? How We Got Here, and Who’s to Blame, published by Liberty Island Underground Press, in 2183:
In the early part of the 21st century, mankind collectively went completely off the deep end. Decades of war, terrorism, fear, economic collapses, a resurgence of nationalist movements, creeping paranoia, distrust of establishment politics, and willful ignorance, fueled by organized campaigns of misinformation caused the United States to elect the bizarrely coiffured, financially and morally bankrupt businessman, and reality television falling star, Ronald Thump, president[1] in 2016.
These events were followed closely by an explosion of corporate imperialism, accompanied by a corresponding increase in world-wide poverty. National governments, apparently feeling left out, or perhaps just not recognizing their own growing irrelevance, responded with an increase in totalitarianism and nationalism.
Roughly half-way through his first term, President Thump resigned, citing health issues and pointing out that it had absolutely nothing at all to do with the blizzard of indictments against members of his staff, cabinet, and administration, as well as himself. In his farewell address, he stated: “I’m tired. I’ve been working so hard, and, I must say, doing such a great job—wouldn’t you agree?—I thought so. I’m going to take a little break, just a little break—I know, I know, I’ll miss you too—but I’m leaving you in good hands. Great hands—the best hands—C’mere Mike, show ‘em your hands—look at how big his hands are—he’s a chip off the old block, trust me, you’re in good hands. And don’t worry, I’ll be keeping an eye on things. If things start to go bad—and how could they with this guy in charge, am I right? Of course I am. You know it, I know it, everybody knows it—but I promise you—I will be back, and we’ll keep working together to make America the greatest and most powerful country the world has ever seen.” This, of course, is only an excerpt from the rambling 45 minute speech. Following the speech, Thump disappeared from public life completely, leading to speculation among his enemies that he had died. His political base however, continued to insist, for hundreds of years, that he was still alive, and just hasn’t resumed power because everything is going just fine. Vice President Michael Shilling was sworn in as President.
Before his resignation, President Thump had begun building his Mexican Border Wall, but the collapse of the U.S. economy left it unfinished. Mexico, completely disgusted, and unable to support the number of illegal immigrants flooding across its borders from the U.S., completed the wall in 2019. Numerous wars broke out world-wide, increasingly fought by corporate-owned mercenary armies.
Public confidence in conventional institutions continued to disintegrate: in 2019, the satirical news website The Onion was designated “America’s most trusted news source.” One popular comment was, “Well, at least with the Onion, I know it’s bullshit. With the rest, who knows?” The entire staff of The Onion resigned in disgust.
Shilling took credit for “forcing” Mexico to pay for the wall, and, campaigning on a platform of “Still Making America Even Greater Again” won a second term, aided by the disenfranchisement of minorities, immigrants (anyone less than 3rd-generation American on both sides), homosexuals, and the implementation of a complex illiteracy requirement (people with a high school diploma or less, got two votes, as did collegiate business majors. Humanities and Liberal Arts majors got ½ vote each. In Shilling’s words, “We’re giving power back to the good and godly Christian people who made this country great.”).
Early in his second term, Canada began erecting its own wall. The European Union collapsed, and took Great Britain with it, possibly out of spite. Industry stalled, as did much scientific research and advancement[2]. Poverty, disease, starvation, drought, and warfare began to wipe out huge portions of the world population (ultimately by as much as 60%, over the next 100 years, thanks to the reportedly “inadvertent” release of several man-made viruses). President Shilling was impeached and 92% of the nation’s Senators, Representatives, and governmental officials were indicted for high crimes and misdemeanors.
A special election was held, and ThumpCorp, former President Thump’s corporation, ran for the office of President, citing the historic “Citizens United” ruling by the Supreme Court as precedent[3]. It won in a landslide. Thump’s fifteen-year-old son and CEO of ThumpCorp, Viscount Thump, was sworn in as CEO of the President of the United States of America.
In 2022, President ThumpCorp, citing increasing civil unrest, suspended habeas corpus, established privately-run industrial “patriotism retraining” camps, and began implementing huge cuts to the national military, increasing reliance on defense contractors like the Koch Rangers, the Cheney Freedom Fighters Inc., the Republican Guard, and its own personal military and security force, the Thumpers. Texas seceded[4] again, setting a precedent that would gain popularity in the coming years.
In 2024, President ThumpCorp won a second term, campaigning on “Still Making America the Greatest Ever Again,” after disbanding Congress and the Supreme Court, completing privatization of the U.S. military, and revoking presidential term limits. The nation splintered.
Eventually, a total of six new nations would emerge from the wreckage of the former Superpower: Texas, the New Confederate States of America[5], the Indian Nations[6], Cascadia[7], the Nation of Zion[8], and the United States of America[9], leaving the original United States of America™ (trademarked in 2025), a mere fragment of its former self. Most of Southern California broke off and sank, and the ocean flooded the remainder, from roughly San Francisco to Mexico.
All of these nations built walls wherever no natural boundaries, such as mountain ranges or major rivers existed. Alaska, apparently feeling the need for an even stronger, more authoritarian leader, seceded and was voluntarily annexed by Russia. ThumpCorp’s government responded by suing Russia for a refund. Everyone apparently just forgot about Hawaii, Puerto Rico, and the American Virgin Islands, which were happy to win their independence by default.
The splintering of nations was not limited to the U.S.A. The United Kingdom also split into its component parts. Around the globe, nationalism continued its slide into tribalism, resulting in countless civil wars, and such a constant redrawing of national boundaries that soon Cartography had the highest suicide rate of any profession.
In 2025, ThumpCorp declared itself “President-in-Perpetuity of the United States of America™,” at the same time that a coalition of the three largest and most powerful evangelical organizations, the Diehards In Christ, the Knights of Heaven, and the Evangelicals Against the Destruction of Society[10], proclaimed CEOPIPOTUS Viscount Thump “God’s Anointed Messenger on Earth.” Shortly thereafter, the three organizations combined to form the Church of America. CEOPIPOTUSGAME Thump quickly announced Christianity as the official religion, and the Church of America as the official church of the United States of America™
Over the next one hundred years or so, chaos reigned worldwide, with national borders shifting constantly. More walls went up. Eventually, everyone either died, ran out of ammunition, or just decided they’ve had enough. National borders stabilized. The more totalitarian regimes were too busy trying to control the undesirable portions of their own populations, and stopping the flood of refugees from their lands to devote time or resources to conquest. Gradually things settled down, and people began rebuilding.
Inside the dark and dusty ACRONIM office[12], Hubert Dillerschlinger was not a happy man. A very literate and, he liked to think, literary man, he spent all day, every day, all alone[13] in this room, his desk flanked on one side by a table supporting a gigantic, ancient dictionary, and another table with a matching thesaurus on the other. These were the tools he used to mutilate language to please morons, twisting meanings and mutilating beautiful words to give tacitly legal justification for the powerful to mock the powerless.
A short, baby-faced, bespectacled, balding, slightly overweight black man of forty-two years, he had started out as a messenger, and slowly worked his way up through the clerical ranks despite his race. Of course, his bookish demeanor and natural timidity had certainly helped, as had his Germanic surname; Hubert suspected that many of his superiors, having never deigned to meet him, were probably unaware of his race[14].
Hubert had dreams beyond this office however; he dreamed of writing a book – a book that would change the world, that would expose the rot in America™ to the light of day, and change the corrupted hearts and minds of the people, causing them to turn away from their xenophobia, from their fear of each other, from their prostituted, state-sponsored religion, and spur them to take their freedom back[15], but for now, he had to turn HONESTY into an acronym for the “revamped”[16] Office of TRUTH, and Y’s were always a bitch to work with.
The office acronyms were bad enough, but what really stuck in Hubert’s craw were the job titles. He felt that while most people, if they thought about it, could see through the office acronyms, it was the titles and terms by which they were referenced, that did the most damage. If girls were taught from an early age to want to grow up to be a HARLOT or a WENCH, if boys were raised to think that being a THUG, or a GOON was the highest aspiration a boy could have, if working class children grew up thinking of their parents (and themselves) as MORONS and SAPS, then they would always think of themselves as harlots, wenches, thugs, goons, morons, saps, etc., even though, deep down, they would know what those words really meant. As a NIGGERR who had risen to the ranks of middle-management, he knew that much.
Hubert looked at the clock; quitting time, thank God. “Are we ready to call it a day, Mr. Johnson?” he asked his GOON, Charlie Johnson, who was dozing in the corner[17].
“Hmh? Oh.” Charlie looked at the clock on the wall, “Yeah, yeah. I was about to say that.” Charlie wiped at the line of drool dripping from his chin. “I was just resting my eyes for a minute,” he said, for the benefit of the ThumpCom CompleteSecure camera mounted in the corner.
Hubert assumed the traditional position while Charlie patted him down to make sure he hadn’t pocketed anything, Like there’s anything here to steal, they both thought, and then Charlie escorted Hubert through security, and out to the street.
“See you tomorrow Hubie.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Johnson. Seven o’clock sharp, just like always.”
The two parted; Charlie headed to the bar, and Hubert for home. As he walked the potholed streets and broken sidewalks, past the murals and statues of the various Thumps and other national heroes, he saw some GOONs beating a handcuffed kid for spray painting “Fuck ThumpCorp!” across the bottom of a mural showing Genghis Thump[18] riding a bald eagle as he slaughtered some generic enemies of the nation. Everywhere he looked were flags, banners, and stickers displaying the golden Thumpsticka, the Revolving T of Thumpian Progress (building a better next week, tomorrow!) The few people on the street made a point of not noticing each other, as they scurried from one door to another, like roaches hiding from the light. It made him sick. This is no way for people to live.
It was only a thirty minute walk from the office to his apartment (twenty if he was feeling particularly brave or extra late, and took the old subway tunnels that crisscrossed the city, but like most of the not-that-desperate, he preferred the streets), and he didn’t see one smiling face or even anyone making eye contact. It all made him that much more glad to be home. At least in his apartment, he had his books, and there were no people to remind him of how alone he was.
While unlocking the door to his basement apartment, Hubert surreptitiously checked the door for signs that it had been opened. The toothpick was still wedged into the doorframe, but the short length of monofilament line glued to the inside top of the doorframe was protruding on the outside of the door. Someone had been inside, someone who didn’t want him to know. That meant government men, probably GOONs. Thieves wouldn’t have cared, and wouldn’t have bothered closing the door, much less replace the toothpick, and TIA agents would have been smart enough to realize the toothpick trick was too well known. Either that, or they thought he was stupid enough to rely on it anyway.
Either way, it made him happy. There was nothing the least bit incriminating in his apartment, and, knowing that they had been here made finding both the listening device and the drugs they’d hidden much easier. He left them both alone. He had nothing to hide from the bug, and, if they (whoever “they” were, this time) really wanted to get him, then getting rid of the drugs would just tip them off that he was onto them[19].
He changed his clothes, and then heated up a Wealthy Choice meal[20]. He hated the very idea of them, but as exploitative and condescending as they were, he had some faint hope that at one point, the food may have had more than a passing acquaintance with a farm, as opposed to a laboratory. He knew he should just be happy that, as a government employee, he could afford to eat at least that well. He felt vaguely guilty as he thought of the vast majority of Americans™ who couldn’t, and had to make do with BIEFburger[21] and VEGGIES[22] or worse, for every meal. As always, he didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when it turned out to be almost completely tasteless. After dinner, he cracked a can of Thumpweiser, selected a book – The Collected Works of John Stuart Mill, cleverly printed with a cover from Mein Kampf[23] – from his meager collection, and sat down to read[24].
When the alarm on his Trumplex wristwatch beeped, he laid the book aside, removed the watch, leaving it on the arm of the chair[25], and used a remote control to start random playback of the sound effects he had recorded of himself coughing, going to the bathroom, fixing a drink, and making various other “no need to worry, I’m right here at home” noises.
He slipped quietly out the door, setting his little traps, softly closing it as the recording played a particularly harsh coughing fit. He made his way out the back of the building into the dark streets, winding his way through the street markets, past the buildings with their giant murals of the various Thumps and other national heroes. When he reached the Only The Best Chinese Takeout, he stepped inside.
A counter ran the full width of the room, trapping the customers in a short but extremely wide waiting area, and the air reeked of rancid oil and burnt meat and noodles. There was only one other customer. “Use your bathroom?” Hubert asked the surly old woman seated on a stool behind the payment console, reading Atlas Shrugged as smoke from the cigar[26] clamped between her teeth rose into her rheumy, unblinking eyes. She stared at him for a moment, and jerked her nicotine-stained thumb toward a door marked “Private.”
He stepped into the tiny, reeking bathroom, stood there for a moment, then turned, opened the door, and rushed back out, dragging a wave of stale stench behind him. As the foulness washed over him, the other customer blanched and pulled his shirt collar up over his nose, and Hubert told the old woman, “There’s no toilet paper. Also, I’d like a number 24.”
She scowled even more deeply, and handed him a fistful of napkins. He returned to the bathroom, where he closed and locked the door, laid the napkins on top of the toilet tank, and quietly knocked “shave and a haircut” on the back wall. From the other side, came the “two” knock, and he finished with the “bits.” Half of the wall panel behind the toilet folded back, revealing a man with a gun.
Hubert stepped through, and shook the man’s hand, “Phil, good to see you.”
“And you,” the man smiled, “you’re the last to arrive. I was starting to worry.”
“I just took a longer route this time.” Hubert went down a flight of steps, into a room with several people who all looked up at his entrance. An extremely large, young, black man in an Only The Best Chinese Takeout t-shirt stepped forward, nodded in welcome, took Hubert’s hooded jacket, squeezed into it, and started up the steps. “Don’t forget to flush,” Hubert called after him, then shook his head as he thought, It’s a good thing we all look alike to them.
The young man – Kwantrell – was a decoy. He would pose as Hubert for the camera upstairs and leave, then return with Hubert’s coat in a backpack. When Hubert left, he would wear Kwantrell’s OTBCT jacket, and his own coat in a delivery bag, leaving Kwantrell’s in a designated place.
A tall, fiercely handsome man with a movie-star smile shook Hubert’s hand. “Good to see you Hubie.” Tough, strong, picturesquely scarred and meaningfully tattooed, Ajax Steele was an honest-to-God hero, a man of action and the most-wanted resistance leader in America, and surrounded, as always by a crowd of starry-eyed young female admirers hanging on his every word. Hubert respected the man for his reputation, loathed him for his personality, and sometimes seriously questioned his mental capacity. Still, Hubert had to admit he’d been good for recruiting, bringing in as many male admirers as female to the cause. He was one of those guys that women wanted, and men wanted to be.
“Good to see you too, Ajax.”
“Let’s get down to business,” Ajax said to the crowd, and they all surrounded the table. “I hereby call this meeting of the AARP to order.” He pounded the table with the ancient six-shooter (reputed to have belonged to either Wild Bill Hickok, John Wayne, or General George Patton, depending on how much alcohol Ajax had imbibed before telling the story) that he used as a gavel, and grinned at Hubert. “Sorry Hubie, I know you hate it when I do that.”
“I just don’t think it’s safe.”
“Ah, you worry too much. Anyway, let’s get this show on the road. Hit it, Mr. Secretary.”
Hubert gritted his teeth as he returned Ajax’ smile. Just call me Hubert, you moron. “Okay, Clari, you’re up first.”
Clari, a stocky, middle-aged woman cleared her throat, and reported that her crews had tunneled into four of the six known GOON munitions storage facilities and were close to breaching the others. In the four already accessed, they were making slow, but sure, progress in sabotaging the ammunition. “If we can get more equipment, it’ll go a lot faster though.”
Ajax instructed Luis, their head of supply to get with Clari, find out what she needed, and do everything in his power to get it for her. “Alf?” he asked, turning to another man, “how’s it going on bypassing the internet filter servers[27]?”
That’s okay, you just run the meeting then.
Alf, a heavy-set, older man with food in his beard cleared his throat, stood up, and proceeded to give a lengthy report, very little of which was even remotely understood by anyone else present. As far as Hubert could tell, Alf and his techies were busy backward learning a CCIT blahblahblah, blah, blah blah choke packet and attempting to install a blah, blah, blahblahblah, blahblah, blah, black hole cluster controller in the resource blahblahblahblah in order to tweak and upload a blah, blah, and blahblah, blah blahblahblah, blah in the blahblah blah blahblahblah in order to subinterface an X1200 blahblahblahblah blahblahblah encoding into the blah of the blah and blah blah, or something to that effect.
When he sat down Ajax, Hubert, and the rest did their best to appear to consider his report. “Uhhhh,” Ajax said, “. . . and that’ll do it, you think?”
“Oh yeah, no doubt,” Alf said, “as long as the . . .,” and he was off and running again while Hubert’s and everyone else’s eyes glazed over. Eventually, Alf wound down.
“Okay then . . . that’s great . . . really great work Alf,” said Ajax. “Thanks for clearing that up for us.” Before Alf could erupt into another burst of tech-speak, Ajax asked, “Does anyone else have anything to report?”
Alf’s hand shot up.
No, no, no, don’t do it, keep moving, keep it moving.
“Pete, Michelle, how are the new recruits working out?” asked Ajax, clearly not noticing Alf’s hand, which waved like a fifth-grade teacher’s pet practicing semaphore.
Perhaps I’ve misjudged you, Ajax.
The meeting continued until all past and current business had been covered, and plans had been laid for their next steps. Like all staff meetings, it was long, boring, and not really worth recording, and long. Very long.
“Okay then, I think we’d better call it a night.” Ajax slammed his six-shooter down. There was a pop and a puff of smoke, one of Ajax’ groupies grunted, and everyone else ducked. “What the—“ Ajax said, looking at the gun, “—I could’ve sworn I unloaded . . .”
Hubert took the gun from him, while others examined the groupie who’d been hit. She was lucky—the powder was old, and the bullet didn’t have enough velocity to even break the skin.
“Are you happy now?” Hubert asked Ajax.
“Hell no, I’m not happy,” Ajax said, “that bullet was an antique too, part of the set. Do you know how much money I just lost?”
Hubert looked at him disbelievingly, or at least mostly disbelievingly.
“I mean, yeah, I’m happy that Julie—Jenny?—Ginny?—dammit, her—that she’s not hurt or whatever too, of course.”
Hubert was speechless.
Ajax wasn’t. “That’s why gun safety is so important people!” he announced to the room. “Think about what could have happened, and let that be a lesson to you all. These things are nothing to fool around with.”
After that, the assembly broke up, everyone leaving individually by various exits. Ajax waved Hubert over; “Hubie, I’ve been thinking. I still think we need a better name, one with some . . . uh . . . some oomph to it.”
“Oomph?”
“Yeah. I was thinking something like The Avengers, or The Guardians; it’s not fair—all these security groups have such cool names and our name sounds like somebody throwing up, you know what I mean? I mean, dammit Hubie, even our competition all have better names than us[28]”
This again? “Ajax, it’s just a name. It doesn’t matter what we’re called, it’s what we do that’s important.”
“Yeah, but still . . . I was hoping you’d be able to help out, you know, because of your job, you know?”
“I think we’ve got more important things to worry about, don’t you?” Hubert put on Kwantrell’s jacket, and handed the gun back to Ajax. “Listen, you think about it and we’ll talk about it next week, okay?” He started up the stairs.
“But that’s what you said last week!” Ajax called after him.
Hubert waved without turning around. It’s what I’m gonna say next week too, you jackass. Good God, it’s going to be a long revolution
[1] As previously noted, establishment politics were viewed very, very unfavorably at this point in time. In fact, Thump’s bloviating style, abrasive attitude, and monumental disregard for anything that didn’t have his name on it, worked in his favor. Voters seemed to think that he must be a political outsider, as he was simply too big an asshole to get anywhere within the system.
[2] Except, perhaps ironically, cosmetic surgery, certain recreational transplant procedures, erectile dysfunction medication, penis enlargement procedures, and cryogenics, all of which became prohibitively expensive for virtually all but the richest and most powerful.
[3] One campaign ad stated, “The Supreme Court said I’m a person: If I can buy a politician, why can’t I just be one?” The campaign was hailed as a return to truth and transparency in politics.
[4] The first successful national campaign for peace occurred at this point, when the remaining states unanimously refused to go to war to force Texas to rejoin the Union. The day the secession was announced, The New York Times headline was, “Finally Some Good News!”
[5] Same as the old CSA, with the addition of Kentucky and W. Virginia.
[6] Essentially everything from Texas to Canada, and from the Rockies to the Mississisippi River
[7] The northwest, from what was left of California, to the Rocky Mountains.
[10] Somehow, the irony-challenged leaders of these organizations never considered the inevitable acronymization of their collective names, until it was enshrined in the national consciousness.
[11] Formerly New York City. Now the capitol of the United States of America™
[12] “ACRONIM” had been formed not long after the accidental acronym DICKHEADs became part of the public consciousness, largely to prevent similar embarrassments in the future.
[13] Except, of course, for his GOON, who made sure he didn’t slack off on his work, and made sure he got through security every day.
[14] Although it is possible, maybe even likely that they knew: It is entirely possible that Hubert’s advancement was the result of a little known government program known as Affirmative Action, a program aimed at proving that equal opportunities were available to all, by ensuring that a token number of (mostly lower-level) government positions were filled by minorities, as a way of “proving” that racism in America™ was a thing of the past. It is also possible that they were simply unable to find a white candidate willing to spend all his time with his nose in books, thinking about words.
[16] Frequently changing the names of agencies and offices, under the guise of rooting out corruption, along with “appointing special investigative task forces” and other false flag operations generally removed the need for any further changes.
[17] Give the guy a break. The only thing more boring than making acronyms all day, is watching someone make acronyms all day.
[18][18] CEOPIPOTUSGAME #23 (They started the count over with Viscount Thump).
[19] Being a black, low-level executive in America™ was a dangerous and complex life.
[20] Wealthy Choice: made from only the freshest meals left over by the very best people. You may not be rich and famous, but now you can eat like them at affordable prices. Now beggars CAN be choosers—eat like a winner, not like a loser; eat Wealthy Choice. From Thump Foods.
[21] a line of affordable meat-adjacent food products from Thump Laboratories’ Digestibles Division. BIEF was one acronym Hubert tried very hard not to think too much about.
[23]Mein Kampf ranks high on the list of Approved Reading Material, right between the collected works of Ronald Thump, and Ayn Rand’s works,
[24] While clearly, the disguised books would have been considered incriminating, there was no safer place in Thumperica to hide something than a book, which were largely just considered knickknacks for those with delusions of intellect.
[25] It is widely (correctly) suspected that all TrumpTronix products have GPS tracking devices installed.
[26] One of the major accomplishments of President ThumpCorp’s first term was the repeal of virtually all health and food safety regulations.
[27] While the internet was still operational, all internet lines coming from outside America™ ran through filter servers that screened out all undesirable information, and all American servers were strictly partitioned; the average citizen could still access social media, pornography, games, and entertainment, but most educational and defense-related information was blocked.
[28] From the “Some things never change” file: Liberals have historically always had trouble working together. Consequently, there are, at last count, 263 recognized resistance movements in the U.S.A.™, all of whom hate each other only slightly less passionately than they hate the current regime. Even the fact that many, possibly even most, individuals of the resistance are members of multiple resistance groups, and the fact that the biggest difference between most of the groups is the wording of their charters. Ajax is right about one thing, however: almost all the other groups have much cooler names than the AARP.
“Words can be like X-rays, if you use them properly–they’ll go through anything.” Aldous Huxley, Brave New World.
I’m a writer (or at least I flatter myself that I am), so words are kind of my thing. Every once in a while, I’ll run across something that seriously changes my outlook, or how I think, or even my world. A few days ago, I was reading Huxley’s Brave New World, and I came across the line that starts this post. I read that, and my brain just kind of melted.
Over the years, I’ve had thoughts similar to that, but Huxley actually articulated what I’ve always thought, far better than I ever did, and actually put my ambition into words: I want to write X-rays. I want to write words in a way that cuts through to the heart of the matter, whatever the matter happens to be. Words that illuminate the hidden problems and that help to solve them. Words that make people think. Words that make people think, “That’s what I’ve been thinking!” Words that make people think, “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Ever since I was a kid, certain phrases or sayings have stuck with me that either changed my life or formed the way I thought. Phrases like “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it,” which I always thought was said by Patrick Henry, but was apparently originally written by Evelyn Beatrice Hall in her book The Friends of Voltaire, published in 1906. That saying, to my young mind, represented the entire idea of Free Speech, and much of what it meant to be an American. I remember a time when Americans were proud to quote that phrase.
Patrick Henry’s famous “Give me liberty, or give me death!” is another phrase that formed the way I saw the world. To this day, I resent anything I see as an intrusion of my liberty. Of course, I’ve come to understand that there is no such thing as absolute liberty. In any society, there are necessarily going to be limits to what members of that society are at liberty to do. I think the closest we can get to absolute liberty is a society where every member is actually treated equally, regardless of sex, race, religion, or financial status.
It’s funny how so much of my identity as a person is tied to my identity as an American. I really believe the words “All men are created equal” but it troubles me that, as a country, we still have trouble accepting it. I don’t think that any objective observer looking at our country would really believe that it is, or ever has been, a central tenet of our national consciousness. That bothers me, both as a person, and as an American. In our defense, I will say that we are closer than we were at the beginning, and I do think that we’re continually making progress in that direction, but clearly, we’ve got a long way to go.
Perhaps all the kerfuffle over Columbus Day has brought another phrase that has haunted me, and informed how I see the world, to the forefront of my mind. I first read The Lord of the Rings when I was 10 or 11 years old. In his forward to The Lord of the Rings, Peter S. Beagle wrote, “We are raised to honor all the wrong explorers and discoverers–thieves planting flags, murderers carrying crosses.”
Even though I was too young to understand what he meant, I knew that what he was saying was important, and more importantly, right. As I got older and began to study history, and especially as I began to study history outside of history class, I came to see how right he was. Columbus’ “discovery” of America began centuries of genocide and exploitation so vile that it makes the Nazis look like pikers. Much of it was carried out under the guise of Christian Evangelism and Manifest Destiny, and, in a thousand little ways, in a thousand little places out of the way enough that we don’t notice, it continues to this day, but under the guise of economic pragmatism.
Don’t believe me? Just go to Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in S. Dakota, or the Navajo or Apache reservations in Arizona, or the inner city of, well, pretty much any city in America, or the coal country of Appalachia, or the factory towns of the rust belt. The machine doesn’t care about your race, or your color; it just cares about being fed and moving on.
Another saying that really puzzled me as a kid was “Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.” Samuel Johnson said that back in 1775. As a kid in love with the America I learned about in school and by watching John Wayne defeat not only the Indians, but the Japanese, and thrilling to the hyper-patriotic fervor of the Bicentennial, it just didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense, but it just wouldn’t let me go, either. Once again, as I grew, and studied, I came to see what he meant, and to realize that he was right. Or almost right. Patriotism isn’t the “last refuge” any more (if it ever was).
It isn’t the scoundrel’s Alamo, where they make their last stand; these days it’s their launching pad, from which the flag-pin wearing bastards use the flag-draped caskets of dead soldiers to justify stripping away our rights, to brand those who protest injustice as unAmerican, to present themselves as the only ones who can save us from all of the “evils” that they have worked so hard to make us afraid of.
I want to write words like that. Words and phrases that cut through the constant 24-7 barrage of bullshit that we’re all dealing with. Of course, if you’ve read to this point, you’re probably thinking, “Well, you’re not there yet,” and you’re right, my writing (and my thinking) is still a work in progress. Hopefully though, I’m getting there. Hopefully, at this point, I’m at least making you think.
