A Really Baaa…d Decision

         The Bill Press Show…

         …an interview with Supreme Court Justice Stephen Breyer.

        Asked about the 2000 Gore v. Bush decision, Breyer admitted it was a “bad” decision, but “one good thing” was that there was “no revolution” and Americans generally “accepted the decision.”

        He’s kidding, right?

        Is it really Judge Breyer’s view it’s a “good sign” that we seemed more sheep-like as a “free” nation after a highly controversial decision? I believe it a very bad sign. The protests against Nam, abortion, and other highly controversial decisions and issues, are actually healthy signs, in my opinion. Now how some behave during those protests is another matter. But whenever you have controversy: especially one where judges who are appointed by Democrats and Republicans make a decision that hands a lot of power to their benefactor: damn straight there should have been at least some modicum of revolt. Think of the historical nature of the decision alone, then add in how there was no way to make it anything but a highly partisan decision: no matter who won.

        Note that I phrased that so it doesn’t matter which party, or candidate, benefited. If the Supremes had stepped in and decide for Gore I would still feel the same way. I think they should have stayed the hell out. For those Cons raising their middle digital fingers out there and preparing to blast me, hold your electoral hearses while I continue to beat this never quite dead horse. The next step in that election should, and would, have been to bounce it back to the State: the legislature and the Gov. You know what would have happened there: the same result. Anyone who thinks how this was handled was a “good thing” apparently also believes “good” is only defined as getting what one wants no matter what the wider perspective: the overview, says about how we handle such issues as a society. That’s a selfish, narrow minded, dare I type unpatriotic way, to view what’s defined as a “good sign.” I can understand the likes of Coulter, Bush, Limbaugh, Hannity, Scarborough and their ilk claiming they view it this way. They have long tempered their speech according to party demands and political correctness: hence Limbaugh’s switch to a somewhat less anti-McCain style of rhetoric as of late; content-wise. These are highly paid partisans after all, who have counterparts on the Left who spin whatever into the party’s position: kind of like how Barack’s change of mind is being spun by some more Left oriented pundits. Please remember I’m neither saying “good” or “bad,” here. I am simply saying “this is what they are paid (far too damn well, in many cases) to do.”

        But, Breyer? He should know better. It’s his goddamn job to know better.

        Nations with controversies that create a crisis should have to suffer some revolt: even if just a little. It’s healthy. Nations who don’t remind one of 1984, the Soviets, the Nazis, those who lived under the Rouge, Bradbury’s 451, Gattaca, or even the highly compliant; puppet-like, citizens of Dark City. I’m even more concerned over the health of those who opposed this decision over the past eight years: no matter what their party affiliation. Their, basically, non-reaction is a damn good indication that there is a inherent sickness residing in their minds and their hearts. One doesn’t have to look long to see where this has led us: think of how hard they tried to find anything to impeach Clinton and the flimsy lie of a premise they used to impeach him: that answering a question phrased in the present tense makes it perjury by pretending it was asked in the past tense. Then think of all the opportunities eagerly thrown away to at least look into the possibility of investigating and prosecuting high crimes and misdemeanors… trashed quietly by the likes of poor public servants like Pelosi.

        Please remember, I’m not saying impeaching was, or is, “the answer.” I am saying there should have been a serious attempt to investigate the possibility of whether it was necessary given the circumstances. If it had happened the same way but the results had been the opposite, damn straight impeachment would have “been on the table,” and beyond. Something is seriously wrong with that extremely dysfunctional dynamic.

         Apparently a good portion of American public left of the Radical Right consists of docile sheep willing to grumble at best while they are led to slaughter. I include myself in that category. After all, I didn’t use my fictional arsenal of bazookas, crossbows, ICBMs and Z-bombs (think of “A” as the least powerful) to take my country back.

       Is it too late now?

       Damn, I think it is.

       Shame on me.

              Worse Than a Frail Premise

         When you go to camp there should be nothing to do. Lackadaisical, lazy, days should pass quickly… one after another in a blur of serenity. Being one who always has to be doing something: tour life seems to have infected me with that odd ADD-like virus that I don’t remember having before I started touring, I’m amazed and happy this is a mere fallacy when at camp… for me. Days are black holes: sucking in “busy” from what seems to be mostly empty space.

         Like this last visit when I spent some of my time watching two videos provided by Jim and Pattie: fellow Beaver River-ites. You don’t understand: a TV at camp, to me, is like owning the Book of Satan in a church. Only when I become a permanent resident will I give in to this temptation… I hope. No promises. Things change, thank God. Life’s diaper would be rather stinky if they didn’t.

         I was grateful for the entertainment, so multiple thanks to Jim and Pattie no matter what my opinion is of either movie.

         The first VHS was Saving Grace: a light romp through an elderly widow’s pot growing venture. Her husband had left her holding nothing but bills and loans when he decided to jump from a plane sans chute. Followed closely by “splat,” I would assume. I used “chute,” because that’s what one might say on the way down…

“Oh, chuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuteeeeeeeeeeee…”

         (Or worse.)

         The second movie, called Frailty, I really didn’t care for. No, that’s too weak. It bothered me. That’s still weak. I would never ban most movies but, if I was so inclined, this might be at the top of my list. No, not because of “sex,” and certainly not the mostly shower stall-like, Hitchcock-ian, nature of this movie’s violence.

         Matthew McConaughey plays Fenton Meiks, well… sort of, but mentioning anything more than that would ruin a movie; and I really hate to ruin even a bad movie for anyone. I like McConaughey, he does both “the good man every gal wants to date,” and spooky, well: meaning he’s somewhat more than just a character actor. That means he can “be” the role more than someone like, oh, say Arnold Schwarzenegger, Danny DeVito, or Bruce Willis; who mostly play the same character over and over. In the acting skills department sometimes it’s like climbing into the same poorly working Pinto every day for the rest of your life… or having a car that can be the perfect station wagon one day, a winning race car the next, and an ambidextrous amphibian car too. They can do damn near anything, the best ones, and it will take a while before you figure out who it is. Mathew’s isn’t that good… but better than most character actors, in this regard.

        All the other actors did a fine job. The lighting, the editing, the shot values were fine.

        Premise?

        Well, if you wish to encourage religious fanatics to follow their impulse to hack apart supposed “demons,” then it’s a heavenly, delightful premise. Personally? I think 180 degrees: the opposite, way. The last thing I would ever do is play this DVD at a Fundamentalist or Pentecostal church where I’m guessing there’s a higher percentage of “God speaking to me and telling me to do crazy things” folks.

        This is a dangerous flick that feeds even more sickness into minds already caught up in a sick form of religious fever. Jimmy Jones and Charles Manson would might point to this film and say, “See, see, that’s what I was talking about!” This is Bin Laden type reasoning, from a more Christian angle, though I suspect even he doesn’t believe Allah is clouding the minds of others to keep him from being caught. I suspect he may think George Bush was when he handed the job of catching him over to some of his warlord friends, though.

        Mr. Meiks visits an FBI agent and tells him he knows who the God’s Hand Killer is. The first God’s Hand Killer was Fenton’s father who had visions from angels giving him lists of demons walking here on Earth, and offering a means to “dispatch” such demons: an ax. The problem with this movie is that he really does see these visions and he has God’s approval. God even blurs the vision of others and their equipment (like security cameras) to prevent stopping the murders. Yes, they are murders, no matter what the premise of the movie. The father brings up the sons to follow in his footsteps but is stopped by one from continuing his “holy mission:” where he sees all the evil the demon has done just by touching it.

       Now one of the Meiks boys is carrying on the work of his Dad, after Pa was dispatched mid-slaughter.

       Once again, if you want to see it anyway, I’ll be a gentleman and not tell you more: though I had most of it figured out mid-movie. The only thing I hadn’t figured out was that apparently whomever approved this script likes to encourage the religiously insane to really think God tells them how to destroy demons; and will cover up their tracks when they do. Oh, maybe I’m being too harsh here. As we all know this is biblically correct since Jesus hacked apart demons in his day, so sayeth the bible.

         No, it isn’t. No, it doesn’t. And, yes, that was sarcasm. Duh!

        Are there demons walking amongst us? Maybe. Maybe not. I tend to believe “not,” but I have few absolutes, personally, just some things that seem more likely than others. Some may seem to be very much like demons: our Hitlers, our Stalins, our Dahmers, crazy Texans who nail gays to fences, our Mansons, our Harris and Klebolds, Barney… haven’t you seen all those bumpy green grave sites; one with the blood stained purse on top, in what used to be known as “Teletubbyland?” Yes, that’s right, God ordered Barney to oft the quirky creatures known as Teletubbies. Baby Bop was his weapon of choice. (Hence, “bop,” kind of like in the song, Bunny Foo Foo.)

        But it was their belief in their divine “missions:” and that some deity approved and helped them in some cases, that made them them into the terrors they became in many cases: not God, Allah, or the biggest, most powerful deity of all: the Easter Bunny. (How does that mammal-God lay those colorful eggs, anyway? It’s magic!)

         Oh, and I almost forgot, people who come to believe they really are “God’s Hand.” This movie provides even more madness for those who believe the Holy Spirit gives them power, provides them “gifts,” to judge others.

        This is a very personal issue for me. In the early 80’s a good friend of mine was murdered by her husband who claimed God was telling him his wife was a demon. She had offered me a job at the store she ran and I came very close to starting that day… and perhaps too close to having some of those bullets in me too.

        If you want a far better treatment on the theme of those who can see demons, try Dean Koontz’s Twilight Eyes, where those who reveal demons risk arrest and death: often by these very demons who have worked themselves into positions of power… or goblins as the main character calls them. The neat addition is: these demons are our own creation. Kind of like George Bush or Dick Cheney?

        Sorry. Couldn’t resist, though I swear I can see the demon inside every time they speak. Looks a little bit like Sam: the Fruit Loops toucan. He’s speaking to me right now. “Yogi Bear is a ‘demon?’” I’d better check that out. Hmmm… let me get back to you on that. No need in making a… Boo Boo.

        The premise of Frailty: a justification for this type of madness, has potential for creating little good: and far too much evil. Those who would say, “it’s just a movie, Ken,” are missing the point. For us, it is. For them it provides approval of the kind of wickedness that has plagued humankind since we first started worshiping deities.

       Frailty provides WMD-like manna for feeding the “crazy” in the minds of those who are quite theologically insane.

                                   -30-

      Inspection is a column that has been written by Ken Carman for over thirty years. Inspection is dedicated to looking at odd angles, under all the rocks and into the unseen cracks and crevasses that constitute the issues and philosophical constructs of our day: places few think, or even dare, to venture.

     You know that everyone one has it worse when you're thousands of feet above sea level: in the cool, refreshing Adirondack air... and it's still hot as Hell. Leaving the war being waged on net over politics, two weeks ago my 98 Nissan rode the barge being aptly piloted by local legend Scott Thompson: son to another local legend, Stan, across the mighty water of Stillwater reservoir; also known as Beaver River Flow, or "The Flow." Then I towed my small trailer; with a new table and my Honda Big Ruckus strapped to the flat bed... up and down, up and down, a one lane, dirt road for six miles... strangely named "Six Mile Road." I waved at our neighbors: bear, deer, trees, porcupines, otter, the Beaver River Loch Ness Monster... who was napping to the tune of loons... while motoring past nothing else. No houses, no other roads: no people. Then down the mile road into Beaver River Station.

     Did I mention I was "leaving the war behind?"

     No, I just drove into a different kind of war.

     Beautiful crystal blue skies, loons sigh in the distance, plenty of bass and a pristine Adirondack lake... but how is one to enjoy such splendor when the majority of the black flies seem to have hatched upon arrival? Black flies, for the unaware, come in clouds worthy of some science fiction movie. They move in swarms and singular drones. When it comes to eyes and ears they are the kamikazes of the bug world.

     It's as if they're Luke Skywalker. Each and every orifice qualifies as that nonsensical channel carved into the Death Star because the Empire's engineers, apparently, were looking for some deus ex machina plot device to add to their menace.

     Release newly hatched flies underneath Vader's suit and Darth would be bugged to death.

     Yes, you were just set up for a poor attempt at a pun. What are you going to do about it?

     Two days later the mosquitoes woke up, yawned with that annoying buzz, and then headed for my head. Try to kill them they just waltz away and "disappear," only to come right back when they know you're not looking. They're more than merely sentient, and quite sadistic, I swear.

     Escape I tried: in my 50s Duratech, but the lake billowed and bumped my 14 foot super light aluminum around and back to the Beaver River docks at the not so grassy "Grassy Point:" a name from another time when "grassy" was a more accurate moniker. I swear I saw a "welcome back" sign being held up in the air by the bugs while they sharpened their knives... or whatever these little, nasty, vampires use to quench their seemingly endless thirst.

     Then, the next day, the deer flies hatched, Hey, who invited you to the party? Oh, I did, by coming here to this late Spring Adirondack war zone.

     I was having the time of my life.

     No, really: I was.

     Meanwhile, back at ranch Carman in this Adirondack nirvana, I had been busy cleaning up the mess made when I attempted to pull down the huge, broken, dangling limb that was threatening the already pre-crushed generator shed that got creamed when last year's pine plummeted. Once my mighty four cylinder Nissan succeeded in breaking the offender free; two trees decided to commit suicide and fall too. I dubbed them "Chlo" and "Ro," because I guess they decided that they had had their "clo-ro-fill" of life when they joined their limb brethren on the ground.

     OK, if misspelling chlorophyll for the sake of committing a pun is a crime, I admit: guilty as charged.

     Towards the end of my last week a storm front blew through and you could feel it drop twenty degrees in about a second. Al and Debbie Sawitz, who were out on the Flow during this big blow through, did make it to shore despite what some may refer to as an example of "God's wrath." While they sailed the high and frothing fresh water sea to safety, another tree decided to fall and block the tracks in this pretty much last surviving; Adirondack, railroad-only town.

     Why does the tree cross the tracks? Maybe because God wants to annoy the Adirondack Scenic Railroad?

     And why do I love being here even when the bug war is on? Well, family history, a quiet: friendly town I loved the first day I saw it, bass, isolation with company: if you wish, loons, the unpredictable, beatific lake, endless wilderness...

     OK, I'll stop. That list is also endless.

     The Adirondacks are home: always have been no matter where life has taken me.

     Plus, the night stars filled with more stars than any deity could pack into one space: no offense intended, God. Or maybe the Almighty has already taken offense with the trees and the storms: his aim is just really, really bad. Does the NRA sponsor some course to help divine beings learn how to shoot straight when they toss trees and storms at us? I hope not. Shh! If there is, please don't mention it in your prayers.

     By the time this edition of Inspection appears I will have returned to what some dare to refer to as "civilization." I hear the Clinton/O'Bama war is over and listening to talk radio I get the sense that many on both sides of that front are attempting to be nice to each other; except the caller to The Stephanie Miller Show who wasn't happy that Hillary had decided to "suspend her campaign." Apparently he had missed the fact that that's what pretty much every candidate has said this year when they conceded. No, I'm guessing from the context of her rant Clinton had to open up with a bow, a whimper, grovel as much as possible while singing, "You're the top..."

     Even a mosquito stops when it gets enough blood.

     It was then I was reminded: the sideshow has ended. Here comes the main event. In a year of sexism and racism charges flowing like vodka into a alcoholic with an endless budget for booze, McCain opened up the next salvo with an accusation of "ageism."

     Oh, boy, the main attraction has begun! I'm so excited! I think maybe I'd rather go back to the bugs and the wrath of the falling trees.

     Then again, scratch that. Forget "maybe." I know I would.

                               -30-

      Inspection is a column that has been written by Ken Carman for over thirty years. Inspection is dedicated to looking at odd angles, under all the rocks and into the unseen cracks and crevasses that constitute the issues and philosophical constructs of our day: places few think, or even dare, to venture.