A Man Named Vengence

CURTAINS OPEN

SCENE [STAGE RIGHT]: The living room is dark and smokey.  There is not much of a decor to speak of; just a ram-shackled hodgepodge of old dusty photographs, out-dated furniture, discontinued knick-knacks, and a layer of grime from decades of tobacco smoke.  In fact, the smoke carries through the room just barely concealing the small kitchen beyond.  All the lights are out save for the television flickers bouncing off the walls and back-lighting the smoke clouds emanating from the other side of the room in regular intervals.  The couch is tattered and stained.  At one time it was plush and comfortable, but close to a half-century of use had eroded the fabric and flattened the stuffing.  An aluminum TV stand supports a half empty beer, a metal ashtray with a handful of butts, and an empty plastic plate where a frozen dinner had been recently consumed.

The television is tuned to the local news station where an anchor is reporting on a story of no particular importance.  The volume is barely audible anyhow.

BACKLIGHT ILLUMINATES A SILHOUETTE OF A MAN SITTING ON THE COUCH: A cherry glows brighter then fades.  Soon after the exhale of deeply inhaled final drag pours out of the same mouth.  The cigarette is then snubbed in the aforementioned ashtray.  The last half of the beer is quickly guzzled and the empty bottle placed back with a hard knock on the TV tray.  A satisfied belch and a grunt are let out as the old black man; complete with his meal, lays back in his seat on the dirty couch.  Shortly after he breathes deep, garners his last strength of the day and stands up.

EXIT STAGE RIGHT

SCENE [STAGE LEFT]

MAN IN CAP AND GOWN SITTING IN CHAIR FUMBLING WITH HIS HAND IN HIS POCKET.  PULLS OUT TINY BOX, INSPECTS IT AND PUTS IT BACK.  REPEATING THE PROCESS SOON AFTER.

MAN TURNS TO THE AUDIENCE AND APPROACHES:

SOLILOQUY:  “Some might say I have been blessed with many small miracles, others would simply refer to it as good luck.  What I did not realize was that all my miracles, my good fortune, and ultimately my journey had been orchestrated by that kindly old black man.

“Actually, as I reflect on my incredible journey and the blessings I have received, he really was not all that kindly.  The school janitor was reclusive and rarely interacted with the students.  When he did it was most often in short grunts or impatient hand gestures.  The old black janitor simply did his job and thus was the target of ridicule by some of the students.  They made up stories, called him names, and even played pranks on him.  Most of the students just ignored him, some were mean.

“Even though my group of friends were in the mean crowd, I treated most of those uncomfortable situations with apathy.  It was not that I had a sense of injustice or empathized with the man, I just did not care.”

CHECKS POCKET, PULLS OUT INSPECTS AND RETURNS THE BOX:

RETURNING TO AUDIENCE:  “I had often noticed slight glances from the man or felt his glare from across the hallways and classrooms, but I never really thought much about it.”

LONG PAUSE IN REFLECTION:

TOM:  “When I was younger, I was often bullied.  The other kids would beat me up and take my sneakers, rob me of my backpack, or relieve me of my lunch money.  I would return to my locker later to find my returned sneakers, backpack, or a few dollar bills.  The only other person with access to the lockers was the janitor.  I knew this but never really cared to put two-and-two together.

“Eventually I would come to find answer keys or small gifts.  For example I had taken a liking to a certain girl.  After confessing to a friend in the hallway that I liked her but did not have the confidence to ask her on a date, I returned to my locker to find a note signed by her and with her phone number on it.  Score.

“I was doing well in school.  I excelled in basketball thanks to the playbooks from the competition inexplicably placed in my locker.  I was the most popular kid in school and a rousing success.  Over the years I had gotten used to the gifts.  I never questioned where they came from.  In fact, I had come to expect them.  I never demanded them and if I never received another, I would be content.  But they sustained me and I had grown atrophic to my dependence on them: on the old black janitor.”

SCENE [STAGE RIGHT]

SEVERAL PEOPLE ARE SITTING IN A ROW OF CHAIRS.  CLOSEST ARE AN OLDER COUPLE, (TOM’S PARENTS), AND A YOUNG WOMAN, (TOM’S GIRLFRIEND).  THEY ARE PAYING ATTENTION TO THE GRADUATION CEREMONY BEHIND TOM.

TOM ACKNOWLEDGES HIS FAMILY, CHECKS POCKET, PULLS OUT INSPECTS AND RETURNS THE BOX, CONTINUES SOLILOQUY:  “The old black janitor had taken on my cause from a young age.  He assumed an obsession with making me successful.  An outsider might look at the situation and argue that the janitor had “adopted” me and wanted to propagate my achievements to amend his own failures.  His motives notwithstanding, I was living a life served to me on a platter.  

“Near high school graduation, the old black janitor had somehow procured my acceptance at a top university that happened to be only a few cities over.  I had not even considered applying to such a prestigious school, but the application had already been filled out; along with cash for the application fee and a stamped envelope, and was sitting in my locker awaiting my signature.  My top grades and perfect SAT score, courtesy of the old black janitor, helped land me in the college I dared not dream about only months prior.

“The old black janitor followed.

“I recognized him about the school and on into medical school; but like the mole on your face I simply accepted and overlooked it.  My fortune has continued until this very day; graduation day.”

CHECKS POCKET, PULLS OUT INSPECTS AND RETURNS THE BOX.  

GRADUATION SPEAKER:  “Doctor Thomas Jacobs.” 

AUDIENCE APPLAUDS.

TOM WALKS STAGE LEFT TO SPEAKER AND TAKES THE DIPLOMA.  AUDIENCE CONTINUES APPLAUSE.  TOM RAISES FISTS IN VICTORY POSE, THEN WALKS OVER HIS GIRLFRIEND.  HE KNEELS ON ONE KNEE AND PRESENTS TO BOX WITH THE RING.  EXCITED SHE SHOUTS ‘YES!’ AND EVERYONE STANDS TO GUSH OVER THE  COUPLE.

TOM’S FATHER WALKS STAGE LEFT.  CURTAIN DRAWS ON STAGE RIGHT.

TOM’S FATHER: “I could not be any prouder.  My son is living a story-book life.  After all these years I will get to see my only son become the embodiment of my life’s ambitions.”

REFLECTING PAUSE

CONTINUES:  “In what seems like a lifetime ago, I was a privileged youth.  My father was wealthy, but I deeply envied those who seemed to have all the luck.  Those that did not seem to have to study hard to make good grades, those who got the girls, scored the touchdowns, and had lots of friends.  My envy manifested in rage.  I would molest and malign the weaker kids.  I later turned that aggression into a successful career as an attorney.  I preyed on the weak and continued to molest and malign the opposition through the legal system.”

GUILTY PAUSE

CONTINUES:  “My aggression turned to guilt and when Tom was born.  I prayed that my son’s life would be more peaceful and beneficial to the world.  And today, that prayer was answered.  My son is the consummation of my dreams.  Through apathy, Tom had not negatively affected anyone or made any enemies as I had.  Later tonight; unbeknownst to Tom, I plan on giving him an all-expenses paid trip to Fiji for him and his betrothed as an engagement gift.  The plan is to meet Tom in the study and hand him the plane tickets in some sort of passing the torch / coming of age ceremonial.”

TOM’S FATHERS MOTIONS TO STAGE RIGHT.  HE WALKS ACROSS THE STAGE AS THE CURTAIN IS PULLED BACK HALFWAY.  TOM’S MOTHER AND FIANCÉE ARE LAYING ON THE FLOOR IN A BLOODY POOL. TOM’S FATHER RUSHES OVER TO THEM AND DROPS TO HIS KNEES.  

A LONG DRAMATIC PAUSE AS HE STRUGGLES FOR HIS BREATH AND DRY HEAVES.

HIS HEAD BECOMES TOO HEAVY TO LIFT AS THE DEPRESSION SWEEPS OVER HIM.  SPINNING HIS HEAD AROUND HE LOOKS RIGHT AS THE CURTAIN IS PULLED BACK THE REST OF THE WAY.  TOM IS UNCONSCIOUS AND HANGING FROM A RAFTER.  THE OLD BLACK JANITOR IS ON A LADDER STRINGING HIM UP.

TOM’S FATHER BLINKS TRYING TO ADJUST HIS VISION, STUNNED AT WHAT HE IS WATCHING.  AT THAT MOMENT, THE OLD BLACK JANITOR RELEASES THE ROPE AND TOMS FALLS TWO FEET TO THE END.  A BRUTAL JERK SNAPS HIS NECK AND WITH A TWITCH, TOM DIES.

THE OLD BLACK JANITOR CLIMBS DOWN THE LADDER, SLOWLY PUTS THE LADDER OFF STAGE AND RETURNS TO INSPECT HIS WORK.

AFTER A PAUSE, HE ACKNOWLEDGES TOM’S FATHER:  “Why?”  PAUSE:  “Why?  You want to know why?  I’ll tell you why.  You don’t remember me.  That’s why.”

TOM’S FATHER CAN NOT PROCESS IT ALL.  HE IS TOO WEAK TO RESPOND OR EVEN MOVE.  HIS EYES DART BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN HIS LOVED ONES.  HE IS OVERCOME.

THE OLD BLACK JANITOR:  “You don’t remember me because you are a selfish, evil, and racist jerk who walks all over people and uses them for your own sordid ends.”

TOM’S FATHER LOOKS UPON THE OLD BLACK JANITOR WITH CONFUSION AND DESPAIR.

THE OLD BLACK JANITOR:  “You don’t remember me because back in grade school you beat up a little black kid and kicked me while I was down.  You told me that I would never amount to anything and I was doomed to a future of cleaning the defilement of the successful.”

THE OLD BLACK JANITOR STARTS PACING.  WITH INCREASING VOLUME:  You don’t remember me because you never bothered to know who I was.  You never made eye contact, and you robbed me of my future.  You don’t know me because you took my hopes and dreams and it meant nothing to you.”

THE OLD BLACK JANITOR WALKS OVER TO TOM’S FATHER AND RAISES A GUN TO HIS HEAD.

THE OLD BLACK JANITOR:  “You don’t know me because I was just ant to you.  And you gathered me up and crushed me in an insignificant moment of entertainment for you.”

THE INEVITABLE ARRIVES.

THE OLD BLACK JANITOR:  “What you took from me that day I multiplied in you and will now take back.  I made everything Tom has become.  I softened your heart and I made you vulnerable so that you can know and feel the pain ten fold over that which you made in me.

“My name is Vengeance and you will NEVER know me!”

BANG

END

A Cool Glass of Water

With the death of Osama bin Laden the world and especially America has taken a step back and appropriately began to ask some important and introspective questions.  "Is the war on terror over?"  "Should we leave Afghanistan?"  "Are we prompting more attacks?"  "What are Truthers, Birthers, or Deathers?"  Or, "Should our phones be tracking our movements?"  To say the least it has been an interesting few weeks as the nation struggles to come to grips with these questions.  And with some long overdue harmony over the bin Laden raid the issues have not been as divisive or malicious lately.  Right now the two sides have taken a respite from the rhetoric and there is a calm like that cool glass of water after working outside in the heat.  You take a drink, plop down in a chair, congratulate yourself on a job well done and relax before you have to get up again and start the clean up process.  Right now America is finishing up their water and convincing themselves it is time to get back to the madness before it gets too late; after all, the election is only eighteen months away.

So before we get back to work let us reflect on the respite and properly address an issue that came up last week.

The morning after the bin Laden raid a pre-coffee debate ensued over the appropriateness of the celebration over the man's death.  One person compared it to the televised celebrations from Afghanistan when the American journalist was killed.  Another took the moral stance that one should not celebrate the death of another human.  And yet another held that it was not the death that was being celebrated in the streets of D.C. and Times Square but an outpouring of pent-up emotion stored up over the past decade.  Be it fear, terror, anger, sadness, anxiety, frustration, or feelings of injustice; in the moment we found out the Osama was dead we could all finally release our baggage.  In that moment our burdens were lifted and we could relax and let down our guard, plop down on the couch and congratulate ourselves.  And you could probably tell which side of the argument we were on.  But the question remained; was it appropriate to celebrate as a direct result of a man's death regardless of motivation?  Well, let us ask the opposite.  Is it appropriate to mourn when a person dies?  Certainly it is a societal expectation, but it is not required or mandated.

Mourning is a deeply personal coping mechanism that cannot be taught or influenced that provides an individual a way to deal with the feelings and emotions stirred up in the loss of someone or something special.  In the past month we at II have experienced some personal tragedies and have had a first hand look at mourning.  One of our writer's friends lost his father a few weeks ago.  That man's wife lost her closest grandmother.  Their mutual friend lost his caretaker grandmother just days ago.  And the writer's aunt is being lost to dementia from a few recent strokes and taking the health of her loving husband with her.  And we have noted how each of the survivors have made their own grieving style.  The writer's friend wore all black clothing for two weeks and needed to socialize with other people while his wife needed solitude.  When our writer lost his father as a nine year old boy friends and family became afraid because his grieving was private.  It is not normal for a child to not cry when he loses his father and hero.  And therein is the keyword: normal.  We all recognize that people grieve in different ways, but there are certain characteristics that have come to be expected during the process like sadness, depression, quietude, or solemness.  But is celebration far fetched?

Our writer had a good friend in college named Robertson McQuilkin.  The man was in his eighties when they met and his wife had been suffering from decades of degenerative Alzheimer's.  McQuilkin's house was a small and humble home on the corner of a well traveled street.  On the days when his wife would recognize him he would fly a flag out on the front of the house to signify that he was having a good day.  When visited, he would leave his wife in the bedroom and close the door in order to give his full attention to his guests.  When talking with him you would never tell if his mind was wondering because he dedicated himself to the situation or conversation at hand.  He was a rare breed of man that would make you feel special and loved even if he did not know you.  So it was easy to empathize with him and his situation with his wife.  He dedicated the last decades of her life tending to her every need and loving her wholeheartedly.  Even now it is difficult to hold back the emotions of sadness and grief at his Sisyphian struggle.  And as you can imagine in the latter days, the flag flew less and less.  However when she finally died there was little grief and almost non-existent sadness.  In truth there was a collective release of emotion as this both man and woman were freed from their crushing and overwhelming afflictions.  There was the deliverance of a woman whose millstone had been lifted and of a man whose albatross had been cut away.  The celebration that followed her death was altogether cleansing, healing, mourning, and very appropriate.  It was the same sort of rejoicing the world experienced when Mandela was released and the very same when bin Laden was killed.

Two weeks ago we wrote a hurried essay as the southern storms that brought several tornadoes bore down on II headquarters.  We compared the news coverage of the severe weather to the royal wedding of William and Catherine.  The piece was not good enough to publish but the point was that just as we could set aside the non-essentials and inwardly reflect while being engrossed in the storm coverage, so should we let ourselves be caught up in the fantasy of the marriage between the Prince and the pauper girl.  Not everything in life demands critical analysis or commentary.  Just relax and enjoy.

And from this relaxation period the world has been able to refocus and begin to ask some genuine questions.  So it is only befitting that we close with with some words from an eloquent, pro-revolution, black panther associated, Muslim from Chicago, and honorary Impudent Iconoclast; Wasalu Muhammad Jaco.

The official song of The Impudent Iconoclast:


"It’s so loud Inside my head
With words that I should have said!
As I drown in my regrets
I can’t take back the words I never said
I can’t take back the words I never said

"I really think the war on terror is a bunch of bullshit
Just a poor excuse for you to use up all your bullets
How much money does it take to really make a full clip
9/11 building 7 did they really pull it
And a bunch of other cover ups
Your childs future was the first to go with budget cuts
If you think that hurts then, wait here comes the uppercut
The school was garbage in the first place, that's on the up and up
Keep you at the bottom but tease you with the uppercrust
You get it then they move you so you never keeping up enough
If you turn on TV all you see’s a bunch of “what the fucks”
Dude is dating so and so blabbering bout such and such
And that ain't Jersey Shore, homie that's the news
And these the same people that supposed to be telling us the truth
Limbaugh is a racist, Glenn Beck is a racist
Gaza strip was getting bombed, Obama didn’t say shit
That's why I ain't vote for him, next one either
I’ma part of the problem, my problem is I’m peaceful
And I believe in the people.

"It’s so loud inside my head
With words that I should have said!
As I drown in my regrets
I can’t take back the words I never said

"Now you can say it ain't our fault if we never heard it
But if we know better than we probably deserve it
Jihad is not a holy war, wheres that in the worship?
Murdering is not Islam!
And you are not observant
And you are not a muslim
Israel don’t take my side cause look how far you’ve pushed them
Walk with me into the ghetto, this where all the Kush went
Complain about the liquor store but what you drinking liquor for?
Complain about the gloom but when’d you pick a broom up?
Just listening to Pac ain't gone make it stop
A rebel in your thoughts, ain't gon make it halt
If you don’t become an actor you’ll never be a factor
Pills with million side effects
Take em when the pains felt
Wash them down with Diet soda!
Killin off your brain cells
Crooked banks around the World
Would gladly give a loan today
So if you ever miss payment
They can take your home away!

"It’s so loud inside my head
With words that I should have said!
As I drown in my regrets
I can’t take back the words I never said, never said
I can’t take back the words I never said

"I think that all the silence is worse than all the violence
Fear is such a weak emotion that's why I despise it
We scared of almost everything, afraid to even tell the truth
So scared of what you think of me, I’m scared of even telling you
Sometimes I’m like the only person I feel safe to tell it to
I’m locked inside a cell in me, I know that there’s a jail in you
Consider this your bailing out, so take a breath, inhale a few
My screams is finally getting free, my thoughts is finally yelling through

"It’s so loud Inside my head
With words that I should have said!
As I drown in my regrets
I can’t take back the words I never said."

9:04am

9:04am.

I rolled into the office bypassing all the drones hoping to wish me a good morning and compliment me on my recent haircut. Their intent; however, was not to laud my personal hygiene, but to make me aware of the fact that they had noticed something different about my appearance hoping to boost their own personal satisfaction that they have reached out and made a foreign soul feel somewhat significant. God I hate them. I quickly clock in taking delight in having exploited my employer’s five minute grace period at the beginning of the work day once more. Another cycle at this draconian dystopia has begun. I log into my various work platforms taking notice of the images of the company’s apotheostic founder and CEO encouraging us to conform to various corporate sentiments; the most contemptible of which is to “Think outside the box” when my workspace is confined to a box, (or “cubical” as they call it).

I do not want to give the impression that I am in anyway dissatisfied with my current situation in life, I rather enjoy my job. I get paid for a full day’s work when in actuality my assignments only take a fraction of that time. I have mastered my duties and can do in thirty minutes what would take a thousand monkeys on a thousand laptops a thousand years; with which, by the way, I am surrounded. Not wanting to seem unoccupied and thereby unnecessary, I divide my three main tasks to be completed at different times of the day. As a database administrator I am responsible for inessential database merging, superfluous code parsing, and altruistic data mining. Despite my efforts to prolong my efforts, I find myself occupied with surfing the internet; searching for various bits of information to keep my mind from atrophying. From looking for travel deals on aa.com to being redirected to the Nissan website at z.com, I tirelessly quest for that which I have not seen or experienced.

10:33am.

I have reached the end of the internet. Staring down the precipice of the edge of the info-space, I half-chuckle to myself as I reflect upon the billions of websites I have viewed and how similar the situation is to cable TV where there are two-hundred and fifty channels but nothing interesting to watch. Reluctantly, I take notice of the time longing for it to be lunch when times seems to move faster, albeit my attention somewhat preoccupied. But I cannot concern myself with that now as it will only make me hungry and exacerbate my impatience. I long for something sweet. So as not to spoil my appetite, perhaps some type of confection that will serve to distract my thoughts and to assuage my hunger for one more hour. The anxiety of the moment forces me to begin my second assignment ahead of schedule with a vain hope that some variant job might present itself later in the day to occupy my time.

11:15am.

Still a bit too early to mention lunch to my fellow worker bees; I do not want them to think I cannot control my hunger and therefore consider my corpulence. I scour the various internet news providers hoping for some tragedy somewhere or another professional athlete’s arrest. Being a slow news day, I regrettably read updates on the latest reality shows and the current libidinous affairs in Hollywood. Sacrificing my well-being and flirting with self-effectuated mental retardation, I scour the gossip for topics that might spur a conversation within the hive. Hearing the chair of a nearby neighbor’s cube roll out and followed by footsteps, I quickly switch screens back to my work terminal to perpetuate my continual working exhibition. I have been able to secure for myself a higher position than those in my immediate vicinity and as the inter-office hierarchy dictates, those who are “below” me do more work for less pay; therefore, although they understand this concept, it still would not be beneficial to allow my subordinates to see behind the curtain. Therefore, maintaining the illusion is necessary to the proper functioning of the colony. Two pair of footsteps cease behind me and recognizing the voices, I pretend to be preoccupied with work and fain random keystrokes to uphold my charade. The nuisance comes from two of the most droll and annoying wet-blankets on the entire floor and although I am initially perturbed by their proximal conversation, I acknowledge that their intercourse is no more harmful to my mental stability than searching the tabloids. Sigh. I turn my chair and engage.

1:32pm.

Finished with lunch, I clean off my desk and continue my ritual internet perusing secretly longing for some news making event to have taken place during my hour absence such as a political scandal or a natural disaster. To my delight, I find an engaging story on a local newspaper website outlining the details of certain police activities over the weekend near my home. Outraged by this egregious attempt by the local authorities to circumvent several amendments and recent Supreme Court decisions, I immediately write a reply explaining my viewpoint. Thoroughly distracted, I take satisfaction knowing that I have meticulously debunked the writer's story while writing in such a tone to encourage others to argue my seemingly intransigent viewpoints; thus occupying my time for the next few hours. As I wait for the responses, I realize that I have managed to stave off the conclusion of my assigned responsibilities until the afternoon, and so I begin task number three faute de mieux.

3:33pm.

The insulin rush that followed my carb-heavy lunch has subsided and my awareness has slowly returned. To flush the fluid from my knees and get in some exercise, I decide a walk outside the building would be quite salubrious, if not for my mental health as well. I make my way through the corporate maze and extend salutations to the disparate hoard as if my artificial cheerfulness is anything more than a bagatelle to them. Stepping outside and squinting my eyes, I longed for my sunglasses and consign to bring them next time if ever I decide to take a walk again. I walk past the handful of smokers and try to hold my breath until I have escaped the haze all that much more grateful to breath deep the fresh city air. I cannot help but smile at the realization that I have just considered the city’s air to be fresh.

4:54pm.

As for the local website, I have taken on all those who opposed me with their naive notions and overpowered their foolishness with logic, resourcefulness, and le mot juste. Victorious, I end the debate and return to the hive to check the clock. I yearn for the conclusion of the day. I yearn to go home and relax in front of my TV. I yearn for an early bedtime. This is my life; and yet, I am happy?

Cricket: A Sonnet

A Friend's dog died recently
















How Cricket lived is quite unique
Born through adversity and through stress
From whence a life altogether bleak
To a home replete with love in excess.

Her affection was not easily given or gained
And to most her pathetic story was without hope
Yet her will could not be constrained
As she'd sprint o'er the fields at only a lope.

But doth the brightest flame burn out the most abrupt?
And the distressed grape bear the greatest wine?
So her significance on our lives did erupt
Who knew she'd be the quickest to the finish line?

Cricket: the dog who we'll never forget,
The canine pilgrim; the living vignette.

The Heretofor Uncovered Collection Part 1

By my Father

SONNET: TO A FALL

When God his first progenitor did make
To sally forth a seed to live of grace;
No thought could be enough of Woman's sake,
And Man to fall from sense, emotions base.

To tempt a weaker sex by appetite,
Seems now more moot if asked how she could stand;
And by her essence, wanton lovely sight!
Tis no wonder Satan tempted not the Man.

Ah, but Man fell not in ignorance,
Deceived and shorn with others there to blame.
Man fell by love in human Bacchantic dance,
By reason lost his liberty in shame.

And so the grace that Man doth find in love,
In Woman comes, beneath, from not above.





IF WE WERE OVERRUN BY CAMELS

There would be camel dung in the streets
Depriving the cities of their famous clean and neat
The would eat entire lawns for their eats
Everyone knows camels don't eat meat.

Traffic could stop anytime for a crossing
And they have this thing about spitting
What really gets us is their chewing
And they never ever say a damn thing.

So to stop this hullabaloo
We locked them all in a zoo
And now we don't even "phew!"
What would happen if we were overrun with you?





THE BEAUTIFUL MORNING

The mothers licked the sleep from her fawn's eyes,
And smiled to reassure through winter's guise.
The snowy bed whereon they lay was nature's velvet;
Much more beautiful in light than at sunset:
Sun twinkling off iced branches and glittering drops,
Snow was earth's virgin blanket and evergreen's tops.
But this wet and cold dropping served to hide the food
And left peculiar designs on their winter's suit.
Beautiful as it was, this cold white could be bad.
Driving away birds and adding to the air a sad.
To their feet mother and son arose to forage and search
Their morning repast neath umbrellas of fir and birch.
The cross hairs zeroed in and the face smiled
The report boomed into the cold air and echoed for miles.
The mother went to her knees and screamed,
The fawn jumped and stared.
On her side now she gazed up at her son.
The blood gushed from her neck,
Flowed onto the stark white with brilliant crimson.
Terror was in the morning air!
Understanding though not knowing the son fled,
Fled and escaped where his mother bled.
And heard in the distance two more smaller reports.





LEONIDAS' ADDRESS TO HIS SPARTANS AT THERMOPYLAE

"Spartans!
Three days ere we vowed never to cross yon wall;
That we shall not.
Three days ere we vowed to fight here in the pass;
That we shall not.
Xerxes' Immortals are round behind us,
The will soon trap us in this pass;
I have dismissed all Greeks,
But not Spartans.
Spartans will never retreat.
Spartans will be victorious or die.
On you shields you hold the Spartan legacy:
'Victory or Death,'
And in your hearts is the spirit to uphold it.
We stand alone,
One three hundred to one million Persian;
We stand alone, for Sparta and for Greece.
We have no chance to hold the pass;
Therefore
We advance.
We advance onto the plain and into the Persian ranks,
We advance to kill Xerxes.
Advance, Spartans!
On your spears is the fate of Greece
and the honor of Sparta;
When your spears break -- use your swords;
When your swords break -- use your fists;
When you hands break -- use your hearts!
Here is our glory and our victory in death!
Here obedient to Spartan laws, we fall.
Advance!"





UNTITLED

This is a man of questionable and infamous repute,
This is the proverbial story of the Absurd Fool.
A man who believed in right and love incompute,
A man who was used as a disposable tool.
He trusted in men, their nature and their love
For him, he never harbored a thought of deceit,
As if all men were he, to be governed from above
By night - his peers said this of him - conceit.
He took for granted a love and built thereof upon,
He took for granted friendship and borrowed from
It.  Until friendship met love, and behold! Anon
The granted was ungranted - they told him not come.
But come he did and suffer more because
The love and friendship had tricked him again
Into a parley, and laughed while digging their claws
Into his heart, his soul - nevermore to begin.
Cry all you deem, you fool, you imbecile of man!
Cray and bemoan yourself for it was only you
That hurt you and relied upon the whim that love can
Carry all.  Learn your lesson?  I doubt it, you fool.
The world slaps you in the face with blatant pessimism,
And shows you that you yourself are the key;
But you look for more to eat of this cataclysm.
O gods hark this!  The fool is me.

Dear Five Guys

Dear Vice President Matt Murrell,

I would like to start by thanking you for all the hard work you and your family have put in to building a business around such a delicious and wonderful burger.  I can honestly say that Five Guys is top of my list for best burgers and when the mood for a good meal strikes me I seek out the nearest franchise.  And while your burger may not be the best I have ever had, I definitely rank it high on my list and it is most assuredly the best chain burger.  I will go out on a limb and say that I enjoy your burger more than the iconic In-N-Out Burger restaurant; both for its taste and for the fact that unlike In-N-Out, your stores accept American Express credit cards.

Another one of the reasons I really appreciate the Five Guys' burger is that I can get it with fresh jalapeños.  Not the pickled ones, but fresh.  I even go so far as to ask you to grill my jalapeños which brings a nice smoky char to them and perks up the burger without the vinegar taste.  My meal of choice from you is the cheeseburger with grilled jalapeños and barbecue sauce only with a side of peanuts and a cherry Coke.  In fact, I just had that meal only a few hours ago.

Consequently the reason I am writing to you is that I had some interesting thoughts while I was chowing down on my dinner tonight.  I happened to get to the restaurant at a time when I was the only customer there.  As always I ordered my meal, paid, got my peanuts and drink and sat down to crack into as many shells as I could before the burger was delivered.  While eating several more people came in to have the same experience and I starting making some associations to the type of customer that you serve.  I remember remarking in a few cities that I have traveled to in the past that some of the patrons are unpleasant to look at due to their physical compositions.  (I want to be careful here and note that I am not mocking, degrading, or being rude; I simply want to point out an observation that I think may hold some value to you and your company.)  I personally do not find it pleasant to watch obese people eat, especially such high calorie foods.  As a person who shades to the quite corpulent side myself, I can relate to the unattractive and unappealing scenes that someone like me sets when waddling through a restaurant and scarfing down large quantities of food.

While eating I starting feeling really bad about myself.  I starting to feel guilty for coming in to your restaurant and ordering the big instead of the small burger.  I doubted whether I should have went with the high calorie soda instead of the diet.  Watching the other customers elicited feelings of shame and guilt which I doubt are the feelings you want your customers to have.  The worst part is that while examining my feelings I began to remember I have felt that same way before when eating at your restaurant and that it has affected my decision to patronize your establishment in the past.  I remember thinking how disgusting some of the guests had been and that I did not want to enter that particular establishment again, (or at least not as often).

And that got me thinking, I cannot be the only person to have these feelings and maybe there is an opportunity here.

Recently I read a study about mayonnaise bottles.  Some company had tested two new squeeze bottles on supermarket shelves.  One squeeze bottle had convex sides and the other concave.  They both held the same amount of mayonnaise and the only difference was the shapes.  The company found that the concave bottles were selling better and upon further testing discovered that subconsciously people associated the bottles with body shape and they felt better about themselves buying an unhealthy product if the bottle appeared slimmer; concave, instead of the plumper convex ones.  It may be the case that I am alone on this one but I think I would feel better about dining with Five Guys if I was not reminded of my bad choices when looking at the other guests.  As the vice president in charge of store development I think you are in a unique position to address this issue.  If people feel better about their decisions to eat with you they will be more likely to come back more often and spend more money.

People need a distraction.  I think this is best achieved through physical alteration of the premises.  Currently, the only action in the Five Guys restaurant is the patrons.  If people had something else to look at; for example a television, they could forget about their weight or the calories and simply enjoy their meal.  However that might not be the atmosphere your company is trying to establish.  Last year I went to visit the much hyped Heart Attack Grill in Arizona were they celebrate obesity.  However people there do not have time to dwell on themselves as they offer sexy female servers dressed as naughty nurses, tilted mirrors behind the counter so you can peek up their skirts, mandatory scrubs for the guests that serve to equalize everybody's appearance, TVs with music videos, constant attention, and interesting artistic pieces almost to the point of sensory overload.  It was quite the experience.  But even though I probably ate worse there than I ever would at Five Guys, I never once felt self-conscious.  Alternatively your layout is simple, clean, and certainly less stimulating.  There is something to be said for a churn and burn atmosphere.  Playing up-tempo music such as you do gets people to conduct their activities faster; and without distractions like TVs people will complete their visit faster clearing room for more guests, increasing throughput and ultimately revenue.  As a former restaurant manager I can appreciate increased turnover.

So if visual stimulus is not the right suggestion I would like to suggest concealment.  I recently visited a Smash Burger and noted that their store layout is different in that they have booths, large plants, and physical barriers to divide people.  Even the registers where somewhat segregated from the customers.  Retrospectively this might be a brilliant move that as a customer I would feel less guilty ordering a large meal because I would not feel as through the sitting guests were watching and judging me.  Think about other franchises: McDonald's, Wendy's, or Johnny Rockets; they all use dividers.  And I do not think that is by accident.  The only chain I can think of with an open floor-plan is Subway, but their stores are quite small and they have successfully marketed their product as healthy and a good decision so patrons can feel better about eating there; subconsciously or not.

Therefore I feel that making alterations to the physical layout of a typical Five Guys establishment will help increase sales by making your customers feel more comfortable patronizing your business.  By either adding visual distractions or obscuring sight-lines I believe people will enjoy their experience more and would be more inclined to return and spend more money.  I understand that as a franchise company this idea will be difficult to implement or even test but I encourage you to at least consider it.  Remember we come to Five Guys for the burgers, not the atmosphere.

Thank you for your consideration,

The Impudent Iconoclast

Why Are You Driving So Angry?

A few weeks ago we wrote about ignorance.  At II we feel it is important to address popular arguments and strip them of their fallacies in order to educate and help tone down the rhetoric.  It seems that anymore American political discourse has devolved into insult laden, ignorant filled shouting matches that are as helpful to solving the issues as they are enjoyable to listen to.  People remark, "It's nastier than ever," and "I don't even listen anymore."  Corporate human resource department managers struggle to write policies banning political discussions at work.  Social etiquette now dictates that political alignment is private information and disclosing one's views is the equivalent of telling a racist joke in public: a political anathema.  Those brave enough to openly share their opinions risk long lasting social stigma and judgment.  The fact that sharing one's views shows the very real effects and damage that fallacies elicit.  The consequence of ignorance is tangible and is called injustice.  As we wrote in Don't Drive Angry, "there is a mechanism in the human psyche that immediately recognizes and disdains injustice."
Injustice triggers that fight or flight response in our brains.  The Supreme Court today ruled that the family of slain soldiers who were protested against and maliciously maligned could not sue the church organizing and leading the protests.  When one reads the placards or hears the chants of that church calling the soldiers gay and declaring pleasure in their deaths it is difficult, nigh impossible to not feel a sense of injustice.  When one hears of the Libyan leader hiring mercenaries to slaughter his own countrymen it is hard to not feel the injustice.  When one sees a man let a door close on a woman, when one sees a child ignoring their parent's instructions, when one gets cut off in traffic, or when  gets a Coke when they clearly ordered a Diet Coke it is a struggle to fight off the sense of injustice.  Which begs the question: Are people becoming too sensitive?
We touched on this a few weeks ago, "The human mind was not built for nor can handle the massive amount of information we receive."  People are so interconnected now within their own lives, their community, work, and the prevalence of news from around the world it is sometimes overwhelming and potentially maddening.  The first ten minutes of a local newscast presents us with a staggering amount of bad news which feeds one's sense of injustice.  "An apartment building burned down."  "A local official is corrupt."  "A family was murdered."  The human brain is amazingly adaptable but it is hard to imagine that it has developed the physical coping mechanisms needed to keep pace with the exponentially rapid evolution of information flow in today's society.  Not being experts on the subject we at II cannot conclude that the mind potentially struggles from injustice overload but it can help us understand the motivations of people who are either ultra-sensitive or non-empathetic.
And understanding is the key to fighting the ignorance which leads to the feeling of injustice.
Are people becoming too sensitive to injustice?  Working under the assumption that injustice is a natural response in the human psyche we can examine other natural responses.  Does increased frequency to pain make one more or less sensitive?  Certainly people can become calloused to pain and rewire their brains to ignore, divert, or misinterpret those signals.  Conversely those who have known joy find it easier to make their experiences in life more joyous than those perpetually miserable.  It seems that we can hardwire our brains to produce favorable responses more efficiently as we age.  So thereby the ease at which one can produce an emotion speaks to one's motivation.  A simple and perhaps obvious statement, but in the context of injustice one can begin to understand and answer the question on the table.  As we stated earlier the feeling of injustice triggers that fight or flight response in our heads.  Fear and anger are a result of that feeling of injustice.
Here we would like to make a contextual distinction between feelings and emotions here for the purposes of this essay: feelings are natural and brief responses in the human body that lead to emotions which help us frame and determine a situation in order to make decisions.  Fear and anger are emotions with a similar cause much like hunger, lust, or loneliness are emotions caused by feelings in the body.
Understanding that feelings are involuntary and it is the emotions that develop from those feelings that can be managed is the key to wisdom.  It becomes simple cause and effect.  If we hardwire our brains to always react a certain way given a certain input we dehumanize the spirit and puts on exhibit the ignorance that motivated that decision process.  Everyone hates that certain friend whose first reaction to every proposal is "no."  We call singularly emotional people robots.  We euthanize animals whose response to injustice is to always fight.  Being able to manage one's emotions is not only distinctive to humans, but mastery is sagacious.
So, are people becoming too sensitive to their feelings of injustice?  Certainly we are overloaded with information and these feelings are instigated more often now that in human past, however while the frequency by which those feelings are instigated has increased it is the mechanisms by which we develop our emotions that have evolved and all too often over simplified.  If we are to properly address the ignorance in our lives we must learn to properly balance our fear and anger.  Our humanity is exemplified in our ability to do so.
Rarely is the sense of injustice more powerful than when one is confronted with a child molester.  And a shift has occurred in society's reaction to these people from fear to anger.  We have developed lists for post-detained sexual offenders.  We ban them from our society.  We rejoice when they are rounded up and forced to live in inhumane conditions.  We take solace in our imbalanced schadenfreude.  By dehumanizing them we justify ourselves.  Throughout human history people have endeavored to elevate themselves by casting out or relegating the undesirables.  The problem occurs when, in the process of working out our emotions, we create a new injustice.  It is enough in today's society that just an accusation is enough to ruin a life.  It is remarkably dehumanizing for both the victim and those passing judgement.  We should recognize that the method used to form these emotions are likely based on ignorance.  People make poor decisions everyday.  Fortunately the vast majority come with little ramifications.  But we all possess the ability to make that one mistake with profound and overwhelming consequences; and to forget that is disturbingly foolish.
Remember that our fear and anger are the result of our natural response to injustice and that which makes us wise is our ability to manage those emotions.  We are so quick to seek retribution from those who have offended us.  It has led America to become a litigious society.  The politically correct reside in the fear that their emotions will reveal their ignorance.  And the internet has enabled the angry to virulently lash out at those who have offended them either directly or indirectly.  These emotions often signal the ignorance that led to the injustice in the first place.  And the quicker one is able to deduce that the more efficient one becomes in their ability to prevent further injustice.

Hubris, Heist, or Harmartia

"Well I suppose if I'm supposed to tell you the truth I ought to start from the beginning.  But the beginning is a tricky thing to pinpoint because the beginning of the beginning is just as important as the ending of the beginning.  If I had to pick the beginning beginning, the beginning, and the ending beginning I reckon I would call them phases.  And I would name these phases the hubris, the heist, and the hamartia.  You see the hamartia is directly tied to the hubris which is a result of the former, but being as important as the first it led to the heist which is the last but not necessarily in that order.  Because if it weren't for the hubris the heist would not have occurred.  But since the heist is why you think I am here I'm sure that is what you want to hear about.  But I don't necessarily agree that the heist is the reason I am sitting in this chair in this damp room.  I think it was the harmartia which ultimately led to my downfall having been ultimately manifested post-heist but really initiating the cyclical logic vortex in which we currently find ourselves.

"You seem confused.  Let me light this butt while you contemplate.

"Ah yes, that's better.

"You see, I'm the first born.  I carry the banner of my family's name and honor.  I'm the son of the first born son to my grandparents.  And just as I carry the flame so did my father, albeit much more successfully; obviously.  As the first born you get treated with with kid's gloves quite literally and figuratively.  All of the successive brothers, sisters, and cousins had to meet the standards that were set by me.  I was the high water mark of the new generation.  I learned to talk earlier than the rest.  I learned to walk earliest.  I had the best grades, was more successful in sports, and was the first to graduate college.  And I wore the badge of my family's honor well.  I never developed a superiority complex.  I didn't lord my successes over the others.

"We once went on a family vacation to Miami.  One night we were driving back to the hotel from dinner and got lost in the bad section of town.  My parents and siblings were frightened.  However I was able to rise up and successfully navigate ourselves as my dad drove quickly and safely back to our destination; all while only eight years old and having never been there before.

"Within my family my name became synonymous with awesome or omniscient.  I was by any measurement the family prodigy.  The archetypal son.  I often imagined that the National Institute of Standards and Technology had been looking for me in order to properly measure the perfect child.

"Eventually these standards made their way into my adult life and goals and dreams were fashioned in such a way that my edge would not be lost.  I would have to score the big job first, get the advanced degree first, and make a million dollars first.  And as I met the goals and exceeded my standards the pride that as a child I had been able to suppress began to develop.  All of a sudden without the close ties to the family to keep me grounded in humility I became conceited and haughty.  Those feelings manifested themselves in my relationships.  I often tell people that I've dumped hotter women than they'll ever talk to.  I am a consummate male chauvinist.  I broke the century mark with women by the time I was 25.  It was a special occasion too because I had been keeping track.  And counting down from 90 on was quite exciting.  In those days I developed a certain set of predatory skills that to this day help in other area of my life.  Now when I see something I can more quickly decide the set of circumstances that will lead to the accomplishment of the objective.  In fact the speed at which I am able to formulate the plan gives me a sense of pride.  I am constantly computing the odds at which I can achieve a certain set of outcomes.  This conversation in fact is all going according to a plan I devised months ago.

"Sorry.  Excuse me.  I digress.

"You see the confidence that I was instilled with in childhood led to hubris in adulthood.  This became the tragic flaw that was constantly destroying my relationships with others, (not just women) and motivated me to seek more perfection which led back to pride.  As you can imagine this labyrinthine paradigm is difficult from which to escape.  You need relationships to remind you of your flaws but your flaws sabotage your relationships until all you're left with are your flaws.  It's like trying to cure a virus by injecting yourself with said virus.  It takes a delicate balance of experience and preemption that I have yet to hone.

"So as is so often the case of those with superiority complexes I figured myself to be a problem solver.  I had begun operating under the notion that I alone processed the necessary skills to improve other people's lives just as I had done for myself.  I began inventing things and processes.  I consulted people and companies.  And I tried to fashion the world around me according to the standards and guidelines I had determined for myself.  And once again the hamartia reared its ugly head and I soon began to punish those who violated the principals of which I had mandated upon them.

"For example I would sneak meat into my vegan girlfriend's diet.  I would also become obscene in front of my Christian colleagues.  At this one coworker's wedding I became massively drunk and in rebellion to the union I spread a rumor that I had slept with the bride and her two sisters previously.  Needless to say I am not generally invited to weddings much anymore.

"But this rebellion soon affected my perception of the laws of the land.  Speed limits became obtrusive.  Gun laws were communistic. Police, Congress, and the courts were irrational.  It was only a matter of time before my sentiment towards people's money was that it was better off taken from the government and held by me.  Eventually I thought that I could do a better job managing the money than the allocation process of corrupt politicians.  And those problem solving and predatory skills I had developed earlier one day exploded into a state of spiritual disquietude.

"You see federal agencies use a program that checks bids and proposals for legitimacy and legality before awarding contracts to bidding companies.  I wanted to be able to alter the criteria for which these bids were vetted in order to steer the awards towards reputable companies and mutually beneficial contracts.  The problem I ran into; however, is that it is almost impossible to determine those criteria; much less manipulate.  Ironically it is much easier to edit the program to award the contracts to disreputable companies and it wasn't long before I had devised a scheme to open shell companies and award myself the contracts.  And being that I am such an obviously better steward of the money it is in everyone's best interests that I manage the money instead of the connected and corrupted companies that normally the country normally conducted its business with.  The real genius of the plan came when I figured that the shell companies I formed could award the bad companies the contract they were entitled to under the previous program, but with a higher set of standards and a slight haircut in price.  The program had to be discrete and discriminatory.  Only those egregious violators of my morals were targeted.

"Simply, the plan worked.  The money was flowing, the work was getting done.  Less people were being harmed.  The software and business plan were able to avoid any internal audits.  And I transitioned in thought and motivation from retribution to philanthropy.  My justification for the profit was that I was benefiting the citizens of this country through my actions.  I was making the world a better place.  And I deserved compensation for my effort.

"Had I not readjusted my motivation I would have been able to determine the impending consequences.  I eventually believed that when called to task I could defend my decisions and convince people that I was right and my processes were superior to the government's.  In fact reminiscing now I think I might have anticipated and welcomed the opportunity to give my operation a voice.  You could say that I wanted to get caught in order to expose the corruption in the system and show people what a hero I am for not only whistle-blowing but actually taking steps to correct it.  That's right, I'm the hero here.  And you should all be thanking me what I've done.

"Sorry.  Excuse me.  I digress.

"You see in the end the hamartia led to the hubris which led to the heist which led to the hubris and finally the hamartia which is why I am sitting in this chair in this damp room.  I hope you understand the steps I've undertaken to get the change underway to expose this underworld and help the underprivileged.  Which is not to say with which your witch-hunt is concluded.  By which I mean I fully and freely confess to the crimes with which I am being charged and do hereby submit my statement forthwith."

El Fondo de Ofelia se Levantó

Wrote the following while tripping on Ambien 36,000 feet over the Atlantic Ocean.  Found it in a journal a few days later; no memory of writing it.

Think of a town,

A small Medieval town,

Where the villagers are depressed,

And dressed

Mainly in brown.

Now outside this town

In a vast unkempt field

Lies a young lady;

A mistress,

A princess;

Some soft dirt on which she's kneeled.

She cries out her heart,

For her lover is dead,

And she will never wear a crown;

Her frown

Channels the tears from her head.

Her king had dies,

Who promised her it all,

Now the villagers' scorns

While she mourns;

How quickly death doth fall.

But oh how she loved that king,

Their love was without bound,

And soon together they'd be,

If she,

Could eat the hemlock she'd found.

If she did not end it now,

The villagers will tear her asunder;

So the poison she eats,

And soon the beats

Of her heart cease their fragile wonder.

As she's laying in the field,

Waiting for her demise,

A blue flower she'd suppose,

A rose,

Blossoms before her eyes.

Others say it's just a story,

The fact is,

And it's true,

A blue

Rose grows there in all its glory.

Many decades have passed,

And the town is now a city,

But now it is known,

And overgrown

By a rose bush so large and prickly.

And over in the field,

Where the young maiden lay,

A mountain has come;

For some,

Insurmountable they say.

The scale of the mountain,

1 mile wide and 1 mile high,

By many to climb have tried,

And died,

And the rest just lie.

You see when the princess dies,

She vowed to return

With her love in hand;

And,

Live forever more.

Hundreds of years have passed,

And all can see the rose on top,

But no one will seek it,

They think it,

Quite the inconvenience and stop.

You see if anyone did manage

To pick the flower on high,

They would find their mate,

And wait,

With them until eternity's nigh.

Still no one will risk the venture,

To climb that mountain of strife,

Even though,

They know,

It would lead to everlasting life.

Kurt's Stomach

Kurt's stomach was in knots as he sipped his coffee; his excitement ready to explode. It is 3:00 am and Linda is upstairs finishing up with the preparations. The children still sleeping after a long night of anticipation and family activities. Kurt's plan to keep them awake and busy long past their bedtimes so that they would sleep through the morning had apparently worked. Warming his hands on the coffee mug he reflected on all the planning that had went into this day: six months to be exact. The hours of internet research, the copious interviews, and the many phone calls and e-mails had all finally come to fruition and his carefully planned scheme was about to be executed.

The plan was actually hatched more than four years ago when the kids were still toddlers. It was a Saturday morning and Kurt and Linda had finally gotten the boys to settle down with the babysitter: the TV. As well intentioned as they were at the onset of their parenthood, the television had been a God-send and served to give them rest at various times throughout the day. Watching their boys react to the kids on screen dancing with purple dinosaurs and unfortunate men in tacky green sweaters, they devised an arrangement to where they could get the kids off their back for a whole week and relax with some time to themselves. Having the first child less than a year after their wedding, the couple did not get much time to spend together unburdened. Their jobs had taken them to the other side of the country, thousands of miles from their relatives. Pursing their careers, the last time they were able to vacation together was on their honeymoon to the ice hotel in Sweden. This time, they longed for a warmer climate; perhaps tropical.

Kurt had to pee. He had been up for over an hour now as his anticipation had kept him from sleeping. On his third cup of coffee, he soon realized that drinking so much before a long road trip was perhaps not the best decision. He resigned to hold it in until just before they left to make sure he was completely empty. Knowing Linda hates leaving behind messes, he finished off his drink and rinsed the mug in the sink. He grabbed the luggage near the garage that he had placed there the night before and loaded them into the van. He could still smell the cleaning solution from when he had shampooed the carpet just hours prior and remarked at how the van had not been this clean since the day they bought it: kids are filthy animals. Like a pilot exercising a pre-flight check, Kurt examined the vehicle once more for leaks, tire pressure, fluid levels, and anything else that might catch his eye. Finding nothing, he grabbed the cooler out of the garage and went back into the kitchen to load it with snacks for the long journey ahead.

The designated departure time at four o'clock was rapidly approaching, and Linda, finished with her packing and last minute dramas kissed Kurt on the back of the neck as he entered the bathroom. Without saying a word, she continued down the hall to the boys' room and proceeded to wake them and gather the things they had not packed the night before such as their clothes for the day and a few toys. Linda carried the younger of the two and Kurt; with his recently washed hands, picked up the oldest and the day bag. They piled into the van and opened the garage door. 4:00 am. – perfect.

"Are we there yet?" The kids are awake.

"No, we still have a long time to go. You have to be quiet so you don't wake Mommy." Kurt glanced over and saw Linda's face still stuck to the window. "You guys want to watch a movie?" Already cued up, he flipped down the monitor and pressed play on the DVD player. Satisfied, he resumed his position in the captain's chair as commander of his ship. The morning had been perfect. Everyone asleep, soft music in the background, the gentle drone of the tires on the asphalt: everything was going according to plan. He took great pride in commanding and expertly executing such a profusion of independent variables. He expertly weaved around the various potholes, chunks of rubber, and the catseyes in the road making sure to maintain a certain speed and stability to keep his family resting comfortably. Over to the left, he had the best view in the van for the sunrise. It was spectacular, probably one of the top five he had ever seen. He could not get enough, he had to keep looking; even snapped a couple pictures for later. If only he could paint it. His thoughts wandered ahead to tomorrow morning; where upon the balcony of the cruise ship, he ought to see an even more beautiful sunrise coming up over the ocean horizon. The imagery washed over his mind and was as refreshing as a cold drink of water on a hot day. He marveled at how astounded he could be with a simple yet glorious sunrise and how virtually identical it is to the mundane and commonplace sunset.

Kurt took notice of the homes alongside the highway. Miles of farmland dotted with single family ranch homes were all southern Alabama could offer to view. As the rose colored sky faded to blue, Kurt noticed a rather odd looking house. Painted in a faded lima-been green with a rusted tin-roof, junk strewed about the lawn and a sagging porch laden with old lawn furniture and an antique refrigerator with the cooler on top. The house struck him with an old southern charm hinting back to the depression. He could imagined a man sitting in a rocking chair, whittling on a stick with the wife inside baking a pie and the kids out front climbing on the tree. He wished to take a picture, but it was soon gone from view and in the past. The kids still quietly watching their movie and Linda still sleeping, Kurt reached into the cooler for a soda to help stave off his drowsiness and maintain his languor. Sipping the drink, he notices a familiar sight out of the corner of his left eye. Turning, he sees the old house again. The chipped green paint, the refrigerator, and this time red and white checkered draperies in the windows. He thought to himself how odd it was that two people living a few miles apart would have the exact same house. He shrugged it off as it was only a passing glance.

A few minutes later and finished with the cola, he turns to place it in a rear cup holder. When his eyes look back to the road, he spots the house again. Weird; same paint, same fridge, same curtains. He spots the mile marker: 192. Intent, he concentrates on scanning the area to see if there is another. Sure enough, a few minutes later; the same house. Mile 187. In fact, every five miles the house would appear. Not trusting himself, but not wanting to disturb the peace either, Kurt resigned not to wake his wife for something that was probably his imagination. Nor did he want the kids to think it was okay to start making noise. The car-ride so far has been tranquil, albeit a little more interesting now.

At mile 147 a scrofulous boy stepped out onto the porch. He looked as if he had been pushed but Kurt just figured he had tripped on the jam. He looked closer and passively noticed that the boy's eyes were encumbered with anguish. Kurt got excited and adjusted his position in the chair. If the boy is not at the next house, then he is not crazy. The next five miles seemed to stretch out for thirty. Eventually, Kurt rounded the bend and standing amongst the browned grass was the old house. As it came into closer view, so did the boy; now crying. At this time, a more aware man with full control of his faculties would have taken a picture, or at the very least roused his wife and called attention to this apparent phenomena. Such is not Kurt at this time, seemingly in a transcendental state watching the events unfold as mindlessly as his children watched their movie.

This time, the front door opened and a woman in a white dress appeared. Not a nice dress, but the kind with pockets in the front for a woman to place her sewing needles and recipe cards in while she cleaned the house. Nor was it clean. He noticed her eyes were burdened too.

Another five miles and again on the porch, door still open, the two embraced and held each other.

Another five miles and a man steps out. Boots, red trucker hat, and overalls without a shirt: deliciously white-trash. His eyes are red with hate. A chill ran down Kurt's spine as he sensed something fearful. He did not make eye contact, but the seething hatred emanating from the man's spirit was enough to beget trepidation into Kurt. It was like the feeling you get when you see your kid running out to a busy road or when you suddenly wake from a dream in which you are falling. He increases his speed.

The scene appears again with the woman and child on their knees and the man stepping into position behind them. He raises a shotgun. Impossible. The house disappeared from view again behind him and he shakes his head. In disbelief, he increases his speed again now writhe with anticipation.

He could not get to mile 117 fast enough. Engine racing, everything else was lost: the wife, the kids, their movie, the vacation. His own movie was developing before him. The porch in view again, the woman lay face down in a pool of blood. The boy trembling, looks up and makes eye contact with Kurt. His heart stops. The van, the road; time itself stops as he peers into the child's eyes and experiences ultimate fear. Fear so deep it causes his hands to atrophy and his stomach to turn out. He sees himself as a boy. He remembers the time at the lake with his family and touches something with his foot. Grasping it, he raises it to the surface only to discover a human hand. The terror experienced in that moment had suddenly emerged and began to terrorize his heart. Blood rushes to his head as his body silently screams to end this torture. Fire – blood – smoke. Snuffed out. A life ended as Kurt struggles to remember to breath. The van swerved and he is violently awaken to reality and a startled wife.

"You okay?" asked Linda with sleep still in her voice. "You're driving like a maniac, slow down!" The speedometer read 86. She tilted her seat back further and turned to face away from her husband and catch a few more minutes of sleep. A long day awaited her. If she had only seen the lifeless, pale, and sweaty countenance of her mate, she may have been able to comfort him. He checked the mirror to inspect the kids and they had fallen asleep again. Thank God, they had not seen the carnage. He glances at himself; what a wreck. Pasty and wet, he had forgotten to close his mouth still open in shock and disbelief. Closing it, he feels his heart begin to slow and feeling return to his extremities. A biting cold swept across his skin. He slowed back down to the speed limit and a new worriment filled his heart. He did not want to see that porch again; but slipping back into his insensibility, he felt he had no choice but to watch. Again, a reasonable man would have called 911 or at least woke up his wife; but Kurt just sat there and continued to drive toward a vacation that once seemed like a good idea.

Mile 113; dread. Soon that horrid house will appear and the atrocities on that porch will be realized again. And as they did, Kurt beheld the man again; standing solely amongst the bodies, shotgun draping from his right arm. His expression as lifeless as the two at his feet. No more anger, no remorse; nothing. And as quickly as it came into view, it was gone again not to be seen for another five miles.

This time, the distance was traversed in only a few seconds. Time was flying by like the time between dream and wake. Again, the same display, frozen now: three lifeless bodies; two on the floor and one standing in the middle. The scene repeated itself for the next hour until mile 42. The man had disappeared.

The boys were awake and occupied with their video games, Linda was up and making sandwiches, and Kurt was driving with a heavy heart and welling with sorrow. He knew that the occupied passengers would never notice the recurring house and the bloodshed that took place upon it.

Mile 37: Still gone.

Mile 32: He was on the porch again, this time on a short ladder and affixing something to the roof. Kurt squinted his eyes hoping to clarify just what the man was holding.

Mile 27: The man and ladder missing, a hangman's noose draped from the support beam. Kurt knew what was coming. He had already seen two deaths, another would antagonize his soul. He looked to make sure the family had not noticed.

Mile 22: The pain was overwhelming. Sorrow had turned into grief. His throat had constricted and his mouth had gone dry. The anticipation was building. No one else knew.

Mile 17: The man, again on the porch, stood atop a old dining room chair. The noose wrapped around his neck, the same blank expression on his face.

Mile 12: Still standing there. Kurt could not think straight. His body continued to drive, but his mind was a thousand yards away on that damned porch. He did not know who was in more agony; himself or the man. Their eyes met and instantly Kurt was transported into a swirling vortex of misery and torment. The tortured spirits had somehow connected and their affliction laid bare. Without seeing a physical manifestation, Kurt still acknowledged the presence of demons. Grasping at his soul, they struggled to pull him and the man down into the fiery darkness. His lungs vanquished of air, his muscles locked, and his eyes open and trained onto the man's. Kurt was lost for what seemed like hours. Hopelessness drenched his being. However, it soon passed as the house disappeared behind the van and Kurt once again regained consciousness and breathed heavy. Now, he hoped that the man would end their shared misery before the next time so as not to reconnect with that horrible man. He can not bear to stare into that bleakness once more.

The next time the house came up over the horizon, Kurt checked to make sure everyone was busy. The porch came into focus. The man had kicked the chair away and was apparently dead. Three lifeless bodies: two on the floor, one hanging from above. Kurt had never wished anyone to die before, but he knew that man could not continue to exist under the weight of the desolation they had shared and the only way to vanquish the pain was to kill himself. Knowing that his suffering was over, Kurt took in a deep, wholesome breath and exhaled all his stress. He was not ready to re-enter into reality just yet; he needed to make sure the man was dead.

The house appeared around the corner again and contentment poured into him as the man was still dead and now gone forever.

"Look honey, only two more miles to go until we reach Florida. Are you excited yet?" Lucky Linda. Lucky, naïve Linda. She could never begin to understand the complex emotions or the tragedy that had befallen that family just yards from her beautiful head Kurt would not consider telling her and risk corrupting that untarnished soul with the evil he had just experienced. His soul will forever be damaged and his heart blackened, but hers will remain pure.

He never saw that house again, or spoke of the horrors of that day. After their vacation, he took the interstate; his family none the wiser.

Don't Drive Angry

I was chatting with a person recently about the Bill Murray movie and asked if they could guess how long Phil Conners was stuck in Punxsutawney; to which they replied "What's Groundhog Day?"

Ignorance: let's talk about.

At The Impudent Iconoclast we strive to maintain political and religious neutrality.  Our goal is to address popular arguments and draw attention to the ignorance and fallacies that overwhelm post-modern rhetoric.  By abstaining from affiliation we hopefully avoid interjecting commentary to allow the reader to unemotionally receive and understand the argument quickly and without internal distractions.  Unfortunately ignorance is prevalent and rampant and there are many challenges to be addressed.  

All too often ignorance surfaces and it is almost impossible to identify, much less control.  It is by its own definition unrecognizable.  One must proactively take difficult and challenging steps to determine and correct their own ignorance.  Compounding the problem there are several kinds of ignorance.

Some types of ignorance include external ignorance, empathy ignorance, and self ignorance.  External ignorance is one of the easiest to identify and correct.  For example current events: today one of the biggest and most destructive cyclones ever recorded made landfall in Australia and yet in America the news of it was confined to a few seconds long blurb.  Hundreds of thousands of people across the globe are protesting government leadership in various countries, most notably Egypt, and yet politicians, pundits, and average people all seem to have clear and defined opinions as to wrong and right in each of these situations when it is likely they themselves have never been to these countries, met a citizen of these countries, could identify these countries on a map, or could name a single person from these countries.  And while we at II cannot claim superiority on these matters nor claim that it is improper or unhealthy to form opinions on world events, we beg that you recognize and remember that your knowledge on these matters is ignorant and simplifying or closing your mind on the matters is unacceptable.  

In the Egyptian debate we would like to think that the protests stem from a purely pro-democracy movement when in reality there are also pro-theocratic, anti-establishment, and others with large reach, influence and power that confuse the situation.  In which case it makes blanket solidarity unwise because it reflects one's ignorance.  We sometimes frown upon ignorance because it can; in some instances, stem from judgement.  And there is a mechanism in the human psyche that immediately recognizes and disdains injustice.

Injustice is often the result of or connected to empathy ignorance.  I once had a friend that was kidnapped and raped at gunpoint.  Due to my own external ignorance I did not know that for many years after.  While I considered them a friend I often passed judgement in the course of our interactions that unfairly distorted my perspective.  I once passed along to them an invitation to an unconventional Christian church.  In my mind I had judged that person to be as open-minded as they had previously professed and knowing they had a history of attending church I thought it would be great opportunity for the both of us to experience something new and address some ignorance of our own.  When the invitation was refused I judged it and the manner of the refusal harshly.  When my external ignorance of my friend's background was corrected I started to understand some of their decision making processes.  But it was not until I was able to address my empathy ignorance that i was able to understand my own judgments and then work to correct them.  I had sometimes attributed chemical imbalances or hypocrisy to some of their decisions or the opinions they had.  And this injustice of opinion to my friend has led to feelings of guilt and shame; the same feelings one gets when they recognize their own external ignorance; and slightly less traumatic than recognizing one's self ignorance.

Self ignorance is the most difficult to recognize and exponentially difficult ignorance to correct.  The longer one views the world from a single perspective the thicker the lens grows on their rose-tinted spectacles.  It is sometimes referred to as a comfort zone.  We hardwire into our brains a flow chart for which our decisions are made.  

Eat Fish? -> Do I like fish? -> No -> Don't eat fish.  

Is Obama right about healthcare? -> Do I like Democrats? -> No -> Obama is wrong.  

The trouble is our objective framework attempts to categorize and classify things that lead to wrong decisions.  Why?  Ignorance.  

Will I like sushi? -> I don't like fish -> I hate sushi.

For decades I denounced sushi and vehemently passed judgement on those who ate it and enjoyed it before I had ever tried it.  However I identified the ignorance and have tried it on several occasions.  It has proven hard and seemingly impossible for me to come to accept it which shows that battling one's self ignorance is not simple or quick.  

Self ignorance often manifests itself in fear.  A common tautological adage is the "fear of the unknown."  Fear leads to hate; and hate leads to injustice.  Examples include racism and misogyny.  And yet we are all guilty.

Therefore:

If there is one thing that II would like to communicate via this post or throughout the whole blog is that ignorance is curable.  It is altogether necessary and important to develop internal and objective frameworks in our minds to assess situations, form opinions, and judge people.  This allows us to make timely and critical decisions. 

There is a truck speeding towards me. -> Do I like living? -> Yes. -> Run.

However we must recognize that while our objective structures help us at times, our subsequent judgments are not necessarily objective.  The challenge is to not be lazy about it.  Once we realize that we base many of our decisions or beliefs in ignorance then can we truly begin to learn and understand; which begets wisdom.  And wisdom is the noble goal all should strive for and the impetus for The Impudent Iconoclast.  

When considering the cure for ignorance remember there is a significant difference between knowledge and wisdom.  Someone once said "Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit.  Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad."  One might be able to cure external ignorance with knowledge, but only the wise can use it to cure self ignorance.  So here are some steps that we at II agree one can undertake that will help cure some ignorance and that will lead to happy and sagacious readers:

1) Gather Knowledge:  We live in a tremendous era where information is free and easily accessible.  We have the internet, 24 hour news stations, cheap flights overseas, melting pot cultures, international cuisines, and social networks were one's exposure is only limited to one's imagination.  Incongruously there is too much information available which sometimes encourages ignorance.  As stated earlier cured ignorance precipitates guilt.  The human mind was not built for nor can handle the massive amount of information we receive.  Those that are tuned in know of the cyclone in Australia, the holocaust in Sudan, or the Taliban in Afghanistan.  What bothers some is the apathy one feels when the tragic news is received.  People are often quick to judge celebrities for picking single causes to campaign for because their mother or child were affected by something.  We accuse leaders who focus on one issue for neglecting other important issues.  As much as we would like we simply cannot address or emotionally invest ourselves into every issue we are confronted with.  It is not healthy nor does it help solve the issues we are passionate about.

2) Pick an Ignorance To Solve:  There are thousands of homeless on the streets in the city and one cannot help them all.  A person can donate money or time to a charity and while that may gratify the most superficial of desires and stave of some of the guilt, it will not satiate the hunger for justice: namely it will not cure the ignorance.  However if one were to pour their life into a single homeless person to get them a job and a home and their health then one can rest easy in the knowledge it brings and the wisdom one gains.  For myself I tried sushi even though when I have eaten cooked fish in the past I have reacted violently.  I also became a vegan for a week because I am always quick to judge them negatively.

3) Get Out of Your Comfort Zone:  I tried veganism in an empathetic attempt to break the objective decision making structures I had built in my head.  The more a person can destroy these little structures the easier it becomes to break the paradigms one operates from that was built in ignorance.  It is called broadening your horizons because if one is only staring down the road to get to the destination then one is neglecting the other routes along the horizon that lead to the same goal: in other words, ignorance.  Up until last year I had an ignorant and negative position on Korea and Koreans.  I do not think that five years ago before I started traveling that I would have been able to spend some time in Korea and alter my perception.  But because I have been able to get out of my comfort zone in graduated steps by traveling to different places around the world I assuaged the inevitable culture shock of visiting the country and was able to experience it with an open mind and correct my ignorance.  My new corrected judgement of Korea comes with great fondness and admiration.  However wisdom tells me those feelings are too probably based some other ignorance; an unknown unknown if you will.  Which leads to the last step for helping one identify and correct their ignorance.

4) Foster Honest and Open Relationships:  Gathering knowledge, picking an ignorance, and breaking your comfort zone are all shotgun based approaches for curing one's ignorance.  For a more surgical strike a wise person needs honest communication with family and friends that challenge and confront their ignorance.  For some reason I have always sought out those with unique perspectives: the redneck that loves rap, the Christian that has read Anton LeVey, or the hippie with an MBA.  Coincidentally, two of my best friends are a hardcore liberal and a hardcore conservative.  They both challenge me in different ways to view situations from different perspectives and confront different ignorances.  A person is not designed to self identify ignorance.  Only through human interaction is this achieved.  And once we are able to identify our own ignorances can wisdom be gained.

It is fundamentally necessary to develop opinions, argue them, and pass judgments.  Although it is crucial that a person understand that the method used to form these opinions may have been based on ignorance.  The only way to justify oneself is through humility and constant abrasion with one's own ignorance by gathering knowledge, focusing your energy, challenging your perspective, and fostering friendships.

The BFD With The USD And The CNY

Since opening foreign trading with China those in the US have sought to decry the Chinese market manipulation and the artificial pegging of their currency: the Renminbi or Yuan as malicious and antagonizing.  The result has been a constant assault of rhetoric between pseudo-economists and those seeking to bend the debate into a political mire of ignorance, demagoguery, and ultra-hyperbole.  

Hyperbole you say?  No, ultra-hyperbole.  And this is where The Impudent Iconoclast will step in.  While none of the staff here at II are particular experts on the subject, what we can do is help break down those assumptions and challenge the so-called facts.

The first response a well-read cynic should have to the argument ought to be to question the assumption that Chinese currency manipulation is necessarily bad; for the US, themselves, or the world.  To begin with, China is not the only nation that manipulates its currency.  Most of the world's money value is determined by its own governments.  America abandoned the gold standard decades ago for the fiat standard which basically states that the dollar cannot be redeemed for anything tangible.  It is therefore easy to take one's naïveté to extremes and develop outrageous scenarios.  Read this excerpt from Wikipedia and just try to not let your imagination project history into today's situation:

"During the Great Depression, every major currency abandoned the gold standard. Among the earliest, the Bank of England abandoned the gold standard in 1931 as speculators demanded gold in exchange for currency, threatening the solvency of the British monetary system. This pattern repeated throughout Europe and North America. In the United States, the Federal Reserve was forced to raise interest rates in order to protect the gold standard for the US dollar, worsening already severe domestic economic pressures. After bank runs became more pronounced in early 1933, people began to hoard gold coins as distrust for banks led to distrust for paper money, worsening deflation and depleting gold reserves.

"The Gold Reserve Act

"In early 1933, in order to fight severe deflation Congress and President Roosevelt implemented a series of Acts of Congress and Executive Orders which suspended the gold standard except for foreign exchange, revoked gold as universal legal tender for debts, and banned private ownership of significant amounts of gold coin. These acts included Executive Order 6073, the Emergency Banking Act, Executive Order 6102, Executive Order 6111, the Agricultural Adjustment Act, 1933 Banking Act, House Joint Resolution 192, and later the Gold Reserve Act. These actions were upheld by the US Supreme Court in the "Gold Clause Cases" in 1935.

"For foreign exchange purposes, the set $20.67 per ounce value of the dollar was lifted, allowing the dollar to float freely in foreign exchange markets with no set value in gold. This was terminated after one year. Roosevelt attempted first to restabilize falling prices with the Agricultural Adjustment Act, however, this did not prove popular, so instead the next politically popular option was to devalue the dollar on foreign exchange markets. Under the Gold Reserve Act the value of the dollar was fixed at $35 per ounce, making the dollar more attractive for foreign buyers (and making foreign currencies more expensive to those holding US dollars). The higher price increased the conversion of gold into dollars, allowing the U.S. to effectively corner the world gold market.

"The suspension of the gold standard was considered temporary by many in markets and in the government at the time, but restoring the standard was considered a low priority to dealing with other issues.

"Under the post-World War II Bretton Woods system, all other currencies were valued in terms of U.S. dollars and were thus indirectly linked to the gold standard. The need for the U.S. government to maintain both a $35 per troy ounce (112.53 ¢/g) market price of gold and also the conversion to foreign currencies caused economic and trade pressures. By the early 1960s, compensation for these pressures started to become too complicated to manage.

"In March 1968, the effort to control the private market price of gold was abandoned. A two-tier system began. In this system all central-bank transactions in gold were insulated from the free market price. Central banks would trade gold among themselves at $35 per troy ounce (112.53 ¢/g) but would not trade with the private market. The private market could trade at the equilibrium market price and there would be no official intervention. The price immediately jumped to $43 per troy ounce (138.25 ¢/g). The price of gold touched briefly back at $35 (112.53 ¢/g) near the end of 1969 before beginning a steady price increase. This gold price increase turned steep through 1972 and hit a high that year of over $70 (2.25 $/g). By that time floating exchange rates had also begun to emerge, which indicated the de facto dissolution of the Bretton Woods system. The two-tier system was abandoned in November 1973. By then the price of gold had reached $100 per troy ounce (3.22 $/g).

"In the early 1970s, inflation caused by rising prices for imported commodities, especially oil, and spending on the Vietnam War, which was not counteracted by cuts in other government expenditures, combined with a trade deficit to create a situation in which the dollar was worth less than the gold used to back it.

"In 1971, President Richard Nixon unilaterally ordered the cancellation of the direct convertibility of the United States dollar to gold. This act was known as the Nixon Shock."

[Skip down some...]

"Fiat standard

"Today, like the currency of most nations, the dollar is fiat money, unbacked by any physical asset. A holder of a federal reserve note has no right to demand an asset such as gold or silver from the government in exchange for a note. Consequently, proponents of the intrinsic theory of value believe that the dollar has little intrinsic value (i.e., none except for the value of the paper) and is only valuable as a medium of exchange and for their ability to buy government debt.

"In 1963, the words "PAYABLE TO THE BEARER ON DEMAND" were removed from all newly issued Federal Reserve notes. Then, in 1968, redemption of pre-1963 Federal Reserve notes for gold or silver officially ended. The Coinage Act of 1965 removed all silver from quarters and dimes, which were 90% silver prior to the act. However, there was a provision in the act allowing some coins to contain a 40% silver consistency, such as the Kennedy Half Dollar. Later, even this provision was removed, and all coins minted for general circulation are now mostly clad. The content of the nickel has not changed since 1946.

"All circulating notes, issued from 1861 to present, will be honored by the government at face value as legal tender. This means only that the government will give the holder of the notes new federal reserve notes in exchange for the note (or will accept the old notes as payments for debts owed to the federal government). The government is not obligated to redeem the notes for gold or silver, even if the note itself states that it is so redeemable. Some bills may have a premium to collectors."

The situation demands an over-simplified analogy.  Say; for instance, there is a kid named Butters who owns a business where he has girls that will sell boys kisses for money.  Butters' employees sell kisses for $5 and in exchange for their productivity are compensated in sunshine stickers which can be redeemed to Butters for tangible assets like clothing and shelter.  Now the rate of sticker redemption is set by Butters and has absolutely no value to the boys who use dollars.  The analogy continues but the important idea is that the boys are not allowed to have sunshine stickers; so why should they care how many it takes in order to redeem a fur coat?  

Up until just very recently the Yuan has been closed to foreign investors.  So if outsiders are not allowed to buy Chinese currency, why does the exchange rate matter?  Further, if the US as a net importer gives dollars to China for their exports then is there not an intrinsic value for the Yuan due to commodity exchange?  Continue.

Now Butters has a glut of dollars.  He has rigged the system so that his girls cannot sell their stickers or fur coats to the boys.  And the boys could not afford them anyway because they have used all their money to buy the kisses.  Now Butters has an obligation to keep his girls working so he lends the boys back their money so they can keep buying the kisses.  The boys have now realized inflation.  And because they have to borrow the money to buy the kiss, they have just now paid over $5 for something that is only worth $5.  

This is where the argument breaks down into the typical talking points of debt loads, calling in the loans, weak dollars, inflation, deflation, stagflation, and so on.  People develop scenarios in which China calls their debts and war breaks out or the value of gold will skyrocket as a result of global deflation or that a New World Order will emerge with a global currency to rule the world.

According to the analogy; however, Butters is happy because he is still in business and making money.  The girls are happy because they are working and earning sunshine stickers, and the boys are still getting kissed.  Now Butters has a glut of dollars, IOUs for more dollars, and sunshine stickers.  The girls are no longer craving the stickers because they have a glut of tangible assets and hence productivity is suffering.  They boys are complaining about the price of kisses but cannot live life without them.

So what does the exchange rate for the sunshine stickers have to do with all this and more importantly is the rate manipulation necessarily bad for the boys?  So far, nothing and not yet.

Currently the boys are grumbling because they are starting to realize that at the rate they are going they will not be able to afford more kisses in the future.  The girls are worried about Butters' ability to keep them fed and sheltered if their kisses dry up.  And Butters is concerned that his stash of cash will become worthless and his girls will stop spending their sunshine stickers.

Unfortunately for the boys and girls it seems that the future will be dictated by Butters.  As Matthew Goode's character Gary in 2007's "The Lookout" once said "Whoever has the money has the power."  And if one is inclined to think that a loss of power is bad, or if the boys do not trust Butters to look out for their best interest; then it seems the debtors are in a bad situation.  But not because of the manipulation of the foreign currency.  It would seem as though focusing on that single issue would either be an incredibly insightful (but would only work in a handful of the possible scenarios, (like trade protectionism)) hedge to the future or a fallacy.  Call it a fallacy of the single cause or post hoc, but our II money is on the fallacy.  Even today as leaders of the two nations met in Washington D.C. to discuss this very issue the Chinese have directly addressed the issue.  From the Wall Street Journal:

"The trade imbalance between the U.S. and China has many causes, and isn't due to the yuan exchange rate, Chinese Commerce Minister Chen Deming said Wednesday in the U.S., according to the state-run Xinhua News Agency.

"The trade surpluses of other Asian nations, including Japan and Korea, have been transferred to China because of the migration of some export manufacturing to the country, Chen was cited by Xinhua as saying. Asia's total trade surplus with the U.S. hasn't changed very much, he added.

"China is willing to work with the U.S. to improve the trade balance and to promote trade liberalization, Chen said.

"He repeated China's longstanding call that the U.S. lift restrictions on the export of some high-tech goods to China, saying the restrictions "discriminate" against China."

Obviously the debate is complex and emotional.  Good and bad, winners and losers, and prophets and fools will not be determined for a long time.  But being able to identify and confront the fallacies invoked during these arguments will be of mutual benefit and should help to temper the emotional toll it wreaks on the participants.

Sources:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fiat_money

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_United_States_dollar

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_fallacies

http://adask.wordpress.com/2010/10/11/1803/

http://www.fatwallet.com/forums/finance/897279/

http://online.wsj.com/article/BT-CO-20110119-718628.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSL4zC3u5GM