All rants will now feature a photo taken at time of rant.

February, and it's cold and windy. Cannae complain; December was frigid but Janwar was warm warm WARM! Lots of days running in shorts this winter, so the return of the chill isnae too horrible.

I seem to have been booted from the POTO forum. It is an old site, so maybe it's just gone haywire. I didn't think it was still monitored. But even so, the error message I get when I try to log in says something about "* Lockout when IP=" and then my IP addy, so I get the idea that I must've said something controversial on the site to get myself blacklisted. Cannae imagine what it might have been.... maybe the Anti-Dubya topic I insisted on posting to every time I checked in. Well, if I'm booted, I'm booted. Nae big loss. There were only maybe four or five other people who still posted there regularly, all fine folks. None of them were part of the old crew I used to hang with there years ago, but, so I don't have any way of contacting any of them to find out if the site is still up, or if it's kaput for all. Ah weil. I'll jist assume it wis only me wha' got thi heave-ho; it's flatterin' tae my ego tae think I could be worthy ay bannin'!

I've been thinking of starting up a blog. I've been ranting fir years, since lang befir anybody had ever heard of a web-log, and originally it was on a near-weekly basis. At that time, I might have done short ones daily if I had a simple program for writing and posting; something pre-set so I didn't have to do all the html and edit the entire page at once to scribble a few thoughts (I'm STILL, even right now, ranting through the old geocities file manager html editor). But blogs seem a bit self-indulgent, even for a Me-ist such as mysel', and I have absolutely no audience anyway. Besides which, I dinnae ken if I'd be able to find the time each day to post my scribblin's. The closest I ever came to keeping a daily journal was when I went to Scotland in 2001, which is still a great recollection of the trip that I still haven't typed up. I kept one last year in Scotland, but it felt sae much more forced; it became more of a "Today I did this, went here, ate that...", with little to none of the insight of '01.

If I DID start a blog, I wouldnae sign up with any ay thi mainstream blog sites, though. And I don't think I'd do it here at geocities, either. I'm thinking of registering a domain name, and maybe doing a blog as part of that. Maybe even as the front page, and then putting in all the other crap I have here as background stuff. No audience, sure, but at least I could stake my claim to a wee bit ay cyberspace tha' wis all my ain. "Jakie Was Here" sortay deal.

I dream about Edinburgh nearly every night. So much so that it is almost physically painful. Yeah, yeah, cliched. Fuck you. I guess it wouldnae be sae bad if I didnae see America on such a fucked up track. Every day I feel less and less like I belong here. Like the people around me, there is so much distance. In interests and ideas. Can you name more congressmen or American Idol contestants? If you answered the former, maybe you know what I'm talking about.

Not that the Scots are any more politically oriented than the average American. It's just that the overall social consciousness of Europeans is far greater. Ken what it all comes down to? I love the principles of what America is supposed to be; a land of freedom of thought, equality of individuals, triumph of justice, vigilant citizens and responsive government. Instead it has become a land of political correctness and group think, invidious discrimination and social stratification, justice for sale, apathetic citizens and corrupt, unchecked, intrusive government. The two party system offers no remedy; one is corrupt and evil, the other spineless and in want of power for power's sake. Maybe worst of all, the one check which the people should have, the media, the flow of information, has been widely taken over and consolidated by those with a vested interest in keeping their benefactors in power. In the interest of appearing impartial, they toss objectivity out the window and report everything as a "He said, she said", regardless of which side the actual facts support.

Is it worth staying and fighting for? I dinnae ken.

And how aboot those crazy Muslims, rioting and burning buildings and threatening murder, over a fucking cartoon??!? Blasphemy has to be the stupidest and most destructive thing human beings ever thought up. And that's saying something.

Blasphemy and indecency. The children of religious dogma. What is so horrible about seeing women's breasts or men's penises? Is a bare butt really so devastatingly harmful? If a child hears the words "fuck" or "shit" or "goddamn", will he or she grow up to be a rapist or a murderer? If someone pokes fun at what you believe, how do you benefit by taking offense? Is your belief really so shakey, so uncertain, that it cannae stand up to criticism or humor? America has used napalm and other chemical agents in Iraq, which we invaded on the pretense that THEY had wmds. And you're angry about a SuperBowl commercial???

I can't stand American football. I should have an anti-SuperBowl party. Everybody could come over and have wine and cheese and watch dvds of Broadway musicals and talk philosopy and politics. And in keeping with the anti-SuperBowl theme, where pruddishness has become the order of the day, EVERYBODY at my party would be required to have a wardrobe malfunction. All the guest would have to be completely naked. And only women would be invited..... >; ) ...........

All rants will now feature a photo taken at time of rant.

Winter rants alwis seem tae feature "Bearded Ian"... I'm just a beard in the winter kinda guy, I guess...

For some time, thi weather wis cold. It wis a cold November, and I dinnae think December hardly made it ootay thi thirties. As a result, I didn't get an early winter cold like I usually do. But after xmas it warmed up a bit, forties, warm and wet, and like clockwork BAM! a cold hits me. Disnae seem tha' bad, though. I've had worse. I'm snottin' it up now, but gie it a day oor sae an I oughtae be clearer.

Xmas was fun while we were just us four (Mum an brithers), but when we got tae thi relatives hoose it wis shite. Lopez bit Mum's Aunt Betty, one ay thi nicest relatives, and I wis mortified. If he werenae sae small, he'd probably huv tae be pit doon. He's gotten bad wi' thi bitin' business, but I dinnae ken how tae break him ay it. Granny, as usual, pretty much treated thi four ay us like we dinnae exist, but she's eighty an I dinnae think she's even aware tha' it hurts Mum's feelin's. It's like I alwis tell Mum: "It isnae tha' Granny disnae love ye, Mum; it's jist tha' she loves ye less".

I got a DVD burner fae Mum, which has been great fir backin' up files on my computer, and I made a video slideshow ay thi Scotlin' pics. I alsae got a very tasty boatil ay Bunnahabhain, an thi new Darkness cd One Way Ticket To Hell And Back, which is every bit as guid as thi first yin. If ye've nivir heard them, thi Darkness are a British band tha' are a cross between a throw-back tae an eighties metal band, and a weird English joke. They have hints ay Thi Scorpions and Queen, mixed wi' a unique sound unlike anythin' else yiv ever heard, due in large part tae Justin Hawkins' falsetto singin' style. Absolutely brilliant!

Alsae got thi new Shakira cd, but I huvnae listened tae it yet. I'm a wee bit afraid tha' aftir thi first one tha' came oot last year, all in Spanish, tha' I may no like this yin, which is in english. Jist huv tae plug it in a gie it a go. And I got a dvd ay Nosferatu. Dinnae even try tae tell me tha' isnae a scary movie. Tha' fuckin' vampire is unearthly!!

Aulder brither gave me twa' new knives, which are actually nine new blades. Yin is a five-blade liner-lock folder; thi other a four-blader. When yiv got the blades all oot, they look sortay like wicked throwin' stars. Quite evil lookin', I must say. Nice one, Mason! Now it's all a matter ay findin' someone tha's in need ay a slicin' and a dicin'... oor maybe I'll jist hang 'em oan my wall wi' my lovely collection ay other entirely functional but as yet unbloodied weapons. I'm such a nerd!

Wee brither gave me Rob Roy oan DVD: if I had tae pick, I'd say it's one ay my all-tyme favourite flics. If ye huvnae seen it, and want tae see what a great movie should be, check it oot. He alsae gave me a killer illustrated map ay Edinburgh, and jist aboot thi weirdest book I've ever read: The Shroud of the Thwacker by Chris Elliot, ay Get A Life fame. If ye ken whae Chris Elliot is, an ye ken thi sortay characters he plays, try tae imagine thi sortay book he'd write. Tha's thi book he wrote. Simultaneously one ay thi funniest and one ay thi stupidest books I've ever read. Would make a great movie tha' absolutely naebody would go see.

It never fails tae amaze me jist how stupid Americans are. Thi president blatently breaks thi law and they couldnae gie a shite. Thi problem wi' this domestic spyin' program is tha', wi'oot oversight, ye have nae idea who they're spyin' oan (political enemies? anti-war protesters? citizens whae simply disagree wi' them on any particular issue?). Their argument is tha' we can jist trust them no tae abuse thi power, which is specifically denied them wi'oot regulation tae prevent thi abuse, but everythin' we have seen fae them fir thi past five years shows tha' they are liars and tha' we CANNAE trust them. But thi retarded American people dinnae care. Even thi fuckin' hillbilly rednecks whae bitch and moan aboot gun rights and complain aboot gun registration an backgroond checks cause they say it's a violation ay thi 2nd Amendment and an invasion ay privacy dinnae care if their phone lines are bein' tapped??!?! WHOT THI FUCK??!!

I've read tha' they're in thi early stages ay pittin' thigether a Jekyll & Hyde movie. I'll tell ye this fir nowt; if they pill thi shite tha' they did wi' thi POTO movie, castin' some fuckin' dink whae cannae sing oor act, I'm nae even guannae bother seein' it, and ye couldnae PAY me tae. Wildhorn's "stunt" castin', whot wi' Melrose Boy Jack Wagner and then fuckin' Knight Rider Baywatch Fallin' Doon Drunk In A Fuckin' Hotel Room Hasselhoff pit him oan my shite list once; Mr. W has himsel' yin mair chance tae get this fucker right. If he disnae, I'm done wi' thi cunt.

Thi other month I wis flippin' by 60 Minutes, and tha' auld bastard Andy Rooney wis daein' a comentary oan his desk. OAN HIS FOOKIN' DESK!!! I'm no sayin' he wis standin' oan his desk daein' thi commentary: thi pruney wee wanker wis daein' thi commentary ABOOT thi DESK!! If thi only thing ye can find tae fuckin' wax poetic aboot is inane shite like a fuckin' desk, I think it's high tyme tae hang up thi auld rantin' pen. Christ oan Toast!

Speakin' ay which, thi South Park episode tha' wis oan a wee while agae, aboot thi statue ay thi "virgin" Mary bleedin' oot it's arse, wis yanked by Comedy Central at thi request ay some pussy Catholic group tha' wis all offended. They worship a guy whae got nailed tae a board, and they're guannae get all humpty aboot a cartoon statue pissin' cartoon blood oan a cartoon pope? Ken whot ought tae be offensive tae they Catholic Cunts? Fuckin' priests butt-bunglin' wee bairns in thi back ay thi chapel! But nae... THAT they cover up!

Fucked up world we're livin' in, I'm fookin' tellin' yis...........

All rants will now feature a photo taken at time of rant.

Right. Sae... a bit ay a random rant thi'night.

Firstly and maist importantly, pictured above wi' yer nae sae 'umble, quite egotistical, fat, ugly, and baldy 'ost are my bairns. My wee children Lopez an Moxie. Thi story ay both will be posted shortly oan thi main part ay my web-page. I 'avenae updated it fir quite awhile, an since I'm leavin' ane a week I'd better bring everythin' up tae date, jist ane case I dinnae return...

Sae where am I oof tae? Why, back tae Scotland ay course!! Aftir four years, we've decided spur ay thi moment tae fly o'er fir two weeks; a week at thi Strone Chalet oan thi banks ay Loch Ness o'erlookin' Urquhart Bay, an then a week at a sel'-caterin' flat ane thi West Port ane Edinburgh! Fookin' A!! An since I wis last o'er, I've become quite a whisky-drinker, sae I'll be damned sure tae enjoy Scotland's number one export! Thi only sad bit is tha' I'll miss my babies dearly, but I'll see 'em again soon enough (provided thi plane disnae crash or tha' I dinnae get eaten by Nessie!)

Ahhh, thi joys ay thi random rant. Next oan thi agenda? Films!

Aftir thi repugnant POTO movie (see thi archives fir thi full story), it wis a bit ay a dry spell wi' films. "Thi Life Aquatic", thi maist recent Wes Anderson movie, wis thi next thing I saw, and after the previous three Wes Anderson movies my expectations were very high. Thi movie fairly sucked arse; not Schumacher's POTO arse-sucking, but in its own, smelly, slurpy way. Then came thi sequel tae "The Ring"; "Thi Ring II". Oh my Jebus. Just a terrible, terrible movie (and thi first one wis sae good!); so another disapointment. And not only was it bad, but I had a free ticket from buying the dvd of thi first movie, but they would only take the coupon at thi shity local theatre where the seats suck and they alwis fuck up thi projection. And, even worse, there were these arseholes sittin' right behind us whae widnae shut thi fuck up, until finally I turned tae them an said "If you want to talk, go outside. Otherwise, shut the FUCK UP!" Those exact words. Then aftir thi movie wis over, we stood up tae leave (aulder brither, John Magee an Me) and it turns out that they were jist two kids, a lad an his girlfriend, maybe aboot highschool aged. And they were there wi' a friend whae works at Sears wi' Aulder Brither! Thi two kids whae I telt tae shut it were all nervous an scared lookin'; 'e wis jist a specky wee cunt an wis shitin' it. 'E's sayin' tae me "Hi mate, sorry aboot disturbin' yis but", but all American like, ye ken 'ow they cunts talk an tha' (thanks Irvine). An I telt thi cunt no tae worry like, nae bother, nae 'arm done; sorry fir gettin' sae snippy an tha', it's jist tha' it wisnae bad enough tha' thi movie wis shite but tae no be able tae hear it wi' all thi chirpin' behind me made it worse. But I felt a wee bit bad, tha' I'd scared thi poor cunts; they wis only bairns, fir fooks sake.

Sae that was a few months back, bad luck with movies earlier on this year. But recently I saw two that exceeded expectations. Previews of the new Batman flick had lowered my expectations, but then I read a few reviews, and thought, ehh, it may no be sae bad, sae I gave it a shot, and phoa! ye cunt! it wis damned good! Thi first half especially wis excellent; I thought the second half with the villian conflicts were a bit tacked on, and could have been done much better, but overall a solid flick. And I read the script online for the new Romero zombie flick "Land of the Dead" a few months ago, and it wis pretty terrible, and the early reviews I read of it were not so great, so I went to see it with very low expectations. Damn! Actually far better than I expected, I actually enjoyed it! The acting was loads better than "Day of the Dead" (could it be worse??), and I ended up really liking how Georgie R. executed the whole thing. I guess he's kinda crap at writing scripts, but knows in his head what he wants, and when he gets it, it's pretty damned good. So hey; two pretty decent, enjoyable films (If yer askin' fir a recommendation, I'd definately recommend Batman).

A short rant tonight. Like I said, I'll try to update the main page before I leave (a week fae thursday!!!), and when I do I'll see if I can squeeze in another rant. Not that anyone reads them...or DO you....;)

All rants will now feature a photo taken at time of rant.

Although it�s only a day before the new year, this rant ain�t about that. Today I went to see the Phantom of the Opera movie, and I�ll be damned if it didn�t move me so much I was actually motivated to get off my fat arse and do a rant. This is gonna be a long one, but if you want me to save you a bunch of time and eye-strain, let me sum up my film review with one word: abysmal.

Okay. So, for those of you still here, let�s start with some background. Like most phans (for those of you out of the loop, think �Phantom Trekkies� [or Jekkies, eh Mum?!]) I have awaited this movie for the past several years with varying bouts of trepidation and anticipation. When the rumor mill had it that Travolta was a contender for the lead, I moaned and cursed. When Antonio�s name came up, I laughed and then cringed to hear him sing at Lord Andy�s birthday bash. All the while I told the rampant Crapford fans to piss off, gleefully knowing that he was too old to play it again and would never get the part anyway, and I dared to dream of what might be (Warlow, Gaines, or any well-trained vocal talent, or, if a big-name star was unavoidable, Hugh Jackman). When I found out that Schumacher was re-attached to the project, I wore out my throat that day on the hard K sound, spending the next 24 hours muttering �fucking cunt� under my breath. But then I heard that they had cast an actual Broadway singer for Raoul, a cute (but young) girl with some (kinda) opera background for Christine, and a virtually unknown Scotsman for the Phantom. Even knowing what that arse-bandit Schumacher had done to Tim Burton�s Batman franchise, I dared again to hope that the movie might be good, and of course continued to tell Crapford fans to piss off (that will NEVER change).

Jump ahead to the summer of 2004, when the first few pictures began to emerge. �Dear Evil Jesus!� screams I (thanks Penn), �That looks pretty good!!! I mean, the Phantom is a bit more of the sexy studly type that homo directors like Schumacher would probably cast, but he looks dark and brooding. And Christine!! She�s young and sweet and innocent and beautiful, and just exactly what I�d expect to see in the character! Can it be that they actually didn�t royally fuck up the movie version of one of my favourite plays?!?!?� Then I saw a picture of Raoul�s hair, and I went �Eeeehhhhhhhhhhhhh......... but at least he�s a Broadway singer.�

Bam. It�s fall of 2004, and I�ve just downloaded a sound clip of �All I Ask of You� from the movie, and damngodit I�m smiling! I really like Christine�s voice. It�s not the overblown operatic crap style of Sarah Brightman. It�s young, fresh, sweet, innocent, not overly deep but not high and whistly and whiney or screechy. And damn but isn�t Emmy cute?! (she�s only sixteen! don�t think such thoughts! sixteen!)

Okay, so from what I�ve seen and heard so far, I�m getting excited (not that kind of excited, you perverts!! Get your minds out the gutter!! She�s only SIXTEEN!!!). Then I see the trailers for the movie, and visually, it�s looking dammmned good! A bit flashy, sure, but the critics always criticize the play for being too flashy, and this is a movie, which has to be somewhat gilded by comparison, so okay. And Emmy is very cute, what with those big eyes and that soft skin, and she looks just perfect for the role!! And I already know she�s a good singer.... but what about the Phantom?

Bam. Mid-December. 11pm. I�m flipping around on the telly, and there�s a commercial for the Phantom of the Opera Movie Soundtrack, which has just been released TODAY!!! How did I miss this bit of news?!?!? I definitely need to increase my net-time; I�m missing out on impo- ... ... wha... hold on... ... Did I just hear a clip from Music of the Night? That couldn�t be a sound clip of.... no... It isn�t possible.... Was... Was THAT the PHANTOM!?!?! Oh no...no no no no... oh god no... Oh god you fucking evil non-existent fucking cunt......

Amazon.com. Phantom movie soundtrack. Soundclips in Windows Media Player format. Oh you fucking cunts. You stupid fucking cunts. You just lost my twenty bucks. Plus my eight bucks for the movie ticket. Plus twenty more when the DVD comes out. Fuck youse cunts.

Christmas comes and goes. Aulder Brither gives me an early present; a nasty-arsed cold that keeps me bed-ridden for several days. On Monday, Mum, who knows the phantom sucks but wants to see the movie anyway, goes and sees it, and loves the movie. �His singing was the only bad part of the movie.� A glowing review she gives it, and so she goes back on Tuesday with Aulder Brither, who is NOT a Broadway fan, but who has seen the show (many years ago), and HE loves it! He�s walking around singing it, and he didn�t even notice that the Phantom was a crappy singer. So I agree that I�ll go see it (provided Mum pays; I refuse to give that cunt Lord Andy or that fudge-packing kraut director my money). She does, we go (with Aulder Brither, who�s up for it again), and my review now follows:

Let me begin with the good, and what they truly got right. Patrick Wilson was a superb Raoul. Vocally and acting-wise, he was to me the perfect embodiment of what Raoul should be. Quite often the stage version gets it wrong; many actors play him arrogant and pompous, rich and spoiled, condescending to Christine and oblivious to anything other than his own desires. The Raoul of the novel is a much more dynamic and realistic character. He is young and passionate, idealistic and deeply in love with Christine. He is willing to give up his title and his fortune all for a girl with whom he fell in love back when they were both children. He cares for nothing but Christine and her well-being, and when he screws up and ends up at the mercy of the Phantom it is through no lack off effort. Patrick Wilson is all of these things, and he conveys it through both his acting and his vocal handling of the songs. He is a sweet and caring Raoul, reckless and brave not for honor but for Christine, and has an excellent voice in general and for the role. From the back and sides his hair is a bit goofy, but not anywhere nearly enough to take anything from his performance. He really was the shining star of the movie.

Following close behind was Emmy Rossum. She handled a huge role for someone so young, and in most ways was the perfect Christine, and probably my favourite of all I have seen. To say she is beautiful falls a bit short. Her eyes are large, innocent, sweet and expressive. Her skin is smooth, delicate, flawless. Her lips were full and attractive, and her petite figure and overall youthfulness embodies all visual aspects of the character Christine as I imagined her. I have read reviews that say her voice is flat, or inexperienced, or unable to handle the role, but these idjits must be using Brightman for a basis of comparison, whose voice, stoner-eyes and fishmouth faces I loathe. Emmy�s voice is exactly what I want from Christine; fresh and vital and not overly operatic, but able to hit the notes easily. It is brimming with potential, and with a master teacher, you could imagine it developing into a breath-taking talent. And did I mention how cute she is?!

Her acting, in solo scenes, was just right. She wasn�t overly dazed, but nor was she by any means in control. This is a character who is in her late teens or early twenties, but at the beginning of the story is mentally still the little girl she was when her father died. She is easily manipulated, has a streak of independence without being a feminazi, is brimming with love and a need to be loved, and who goes through a horrible ordeal but never loses her compassion for human-kind, even those humans who mistreat her. In many scenes, you can see the potential for all of this in her face and hear it in her voice, and it comes out in waves when she is center stage or playing opposite Raoul, with whom she has wonderful chemistry. I am convinced that with better direction her performance could have been Oscar-worthy, and I have no doubt that she has a fantastic career ahead of her.

The only problem I had with her is really not with her. Seasoned actresses have the ability to cover for bad co-stars; to take up the slack when the guy playing opposite is awful, or if there is no chemistry. Being only sixteen, I think she carried the movie very well, but could not save her scenes with the Phantom. Her beautiful face and cemetery-scene cleavage shots may haunt my dreams, but those scenes she had with the title character, those scenes which are some of my favourites of the musical, will plague my nightmares. Even the lovely, sweet-voiced, big-eyed, delicate-skinned, rosy-lipped Emmy Rossum couldn�t make that turd Butler smell good.

Which brings me to by far the largest part of my review: the bad part. For those of you who liked the movie, you may as well leave now. Reading on is only gonna get your panties in a bunch. So go on. The rest of us will wait for you to leave. I�ll grab another diet vanilla pepsi in the meantime.

Okay. So here we go. There are two main problems with this film, and they intertwine variously throughout, so the easiest way to do this is to name the two problems, and then start at the beginning of the movie and move through, telling you everything I hate about it in minute, nit-picky, anal-retentive detail. Problem Number 1 I�ll call Joel Schumacher, and Problem Number 2 I�ll call Gerard Butler . Joel Schumacher will include aspects of casting, directing, cinematography, set design, editing, story changes, continuity problems, lighting, and anything else having to do with the movie that I can remotely blame on that homo-kraut-cunt. Gerard Butler will include aspects of bad casting in general, bad acting, and especially bad singing. I could probably just go ahead and say �Gerard Butler FUCKING SUCKED!!!�, and save a lot of time, but what fun would that be? It takes a hell of a lot to make ME want to walk out on a movie, and this movie holds the record for most moments of making me want to either kick something, puke in my hat, or walk the fuck out, so the fact that I made it all the way through without doing any of that I think earns me the right to rant as long and as specifically as I want. Hey... you don�t have to read it if you don�t want.

So the movie started out on the right note (let it be known, for the rest of the rant, no fucking puns intended) with Old Raoul, the dilapidated opera house, and the black and white filming. I liked the auction scene. �This might be good� I thought, watching it play out, smiling when Raoul sang his few lines (and frowning only slightly when they cut out one of them: �She often spoke of you my friend; Your velvet lining and your figurine of lead�). I liked the transformation of the opera house back to its former glory as the overture played and the chandelier rose. I loved the gold moldings, with the frolicking wood nymphs and sprites and so forth in their lusty entwinings, an obvious �shout-out� to theatre fans who have enjoyed the same sets in every venue they�ve ever seen the show.

So Hannibal began, and so far so good. I had read many reviews that bashed the movie but proclaimed Minnie Driver as the shining star of the pic, and Mum had raved about her as well, but right from the start I didn�t like her. Why that blitzkrieging arse-bandit cast her is beyond me; she added nothing to the role other than over-acting and cheese, and she didn�t even sing for fuck sakes. But I let it go; there was plenty else to like, like the very Broadway-esque set and even the elephant with the two drunk stagehand inside. I thought it was a bit dumb to bring Raoul out that quickly, but I understood they needed to introduce him and have Christine and Meg chit-chat a bit to establish some background. I didn�t mind, and besides, there were plenty of cut-aways to Emmy! And did anyone else notice those massive mammaries, those jubilant jugs, those luscious lung-warts, those big fucking titties Meg Giry had? I was kind of wondering if, her being a ballet dancer and all, they would throw off her balance when she was hopping around on pointe or pirouetting or whatever the fuck it is those ballet cunts call that dancy stuff. But hey, she was a fine little singer, and a good enough actress for the small part (if not small parts).

Madame Giry, though? All wrong. Too young; too friendly and happy-looking. With all we come to find out later she has on her shoulders, she did not at all seem like a woman with much on her mind. They even had a scene with her vainly coiffing herself in front of a mirror! I�m not gonna call this one bad casting; Miranda Richardson is a fine actress. This was a poor character re-write, and bad direction by the goose-stepping buttboy Lord Andy asked to direct.

So I�m watching, I�m watching, and its nothing too bad yet. The managers are adequate, which is a little disappointing. In every production I�ve seen, they are always at least adequate, but sometimes you get one, like the Andre I saw in Edinburgh, who are especially good either vocally or acting-wise, and throw in something fresh, or unique, that just makes the show better. You�d think they�d go for that in a version that was gonna be filmed, printed, seen by millions and recorded as a definitive version forever, but hey, adequate isn�t bad. So blah blah here�s more overacting by Minnie Driver, and YESS!! she�s finally gone. So bring out Emmy, who starts singing �Think of Me�, and I�m watching, and for the first time I�m smiling. I�m really enjoying it, and that was a great transition from rehearsal to performance-night, and wow her voice is exactly what I want to hear from Christine, and she is soooo cute you just want to give her a.. A HUG, you fucking pervert! She�s only sixteen!!! And hey, there�s Raoul, looking a bit goofy when he turns around to leave the box, but at least singing good and acting good, and yep, this might not be too bad a movie after all!

Wow...that was good. Okay, now I�m liking this movie. Ooops.. Here�s bouncy bouncy Meg to sing �Angel of Music�, and visually this scene looks pretty good, what with the lovely Emmy and British Britney. Not sure why she has to go to the basement to pray, Christine, but artistic license is okay. And here�s Raoul and Christine, and boy do they have GREAT chemistry, and... but wait... Okay, I understand that not all the lines which are sung in the play are gonna be sung in the movie, but how are we deciding which will be sung and which spoken? It�s seeming a bit arbitrary; kinda like some Gay Cherman went through a script with a pen, writing �Sthing that, sthpeak that, sthpeak that, sthing thisth one.... Oooo, thisth isth gonna have to wait.... Queer Eye isth on!!!�

Right, so up to this point I�m liking the movie. Not loving it, but liking it, and there is stuff to love (sweet Emmy... : ). And then it all goes to hell.

Enter the voice of Gerard Butler; non-musical, unemotional, off-key, out of character. Ever hear the bootleg of Paul Stanley singing Phantom in Toronto? That�s bad; this is worse. This is awful. I mean, this is REALLY fucking awful. I�m shaking my head in disgust, and he�s honking out the notes (can I even call them notes??), and poor sweet Emmy is trying her best to look hypnotized by the blasting, over-amplified fart noises coming from the other side of her mirror. But she�s only sixteen, and she isn�t fooling anybody. This is crap. This fucking sucks. And what is this shit?!? Suddenly the mirror is a fucking sliding-glass patio door?!?! THIS IS A FUCKING MOVIE!!!!! WHERE IS THE MOVIE MAGIC!!!! SOMEBODY CALL FUCKING TOM SAVINI IN HERE QUICK!!!

And we may as well address this now, because it happens throughout the movie. Lighting-wise, this is fucking garbage. The Phantom is constantly over-exposed. The light on him is bright, and clear, and you can see every detail. �See why in shadow I hide� to fuck. Schumacher wanted a big sexy handsome Phantom, and he shows him off in every scene he can, with close-ups of the good part of his face (80% of his face is the good part). No fedora for this Phantom; no hiding in the mist or the darkness, or turning the mask side to the camera. Thi Scots ken how tae breed an �andsome fookin� chunk ay man-meat, an ye cannae hide Gerry�s high cheek-baines be�ind nae fookin� darkness or hats. This isnae a fuckin� Tim Burton film here; gie us some fuckin� overstatement!!!

The Phantom of the novel is ugly. I�m not talking about a bit of a rash around his right eye; I�m talking about yellow skin, bad teeth, black sunken eyes, no nose. He�s nearly bald; he stinks like death. He is so repulsive that even masked you�d want to pull away from him; except his voice, angelic, is so hauntingly beautiful it is hypnotic. Not this Phantom. The stage version Phantom was far better; under the bigger mask and wig, he was a bald, deformed freak, and you get that even if you�re sitting in the back row. The Gerry Phantom is all stud and sex appeal. Why this guy is living underground is beyond me. How this guy had a life of rejection would be a stretch to explain even for a German homo hack director.

When I first saw the play, it was between my last year of middle-school and into my first year of high-school. I read the novel in highschool, and really got into the story and the show. This was during my ugliest years, and I don�t think you can ever really understand the character of the Phantom unless you have gone through childhood as a really ugly kid. I don�t mean awkward; I mean ugly ugly. As in fat, horrible acne, bad hair, bad clothes, overly smelly, ugly ugly. I mean as in when you walk down the hall girls push their friends at you the way they push each other at a big ugly spider, or a pile of dogshit, and they scream out in repulsion at the very idea of coming in contact with such a disgusting creature ugly. I mean as in getting so sick of daily harassment you start skipping lunch and hiding out in the library during your lunch hour just to escape the torment ugly. I mean as in mistreated to the point where you develop an intense hatred of all human beings and would be happy to see them all die of arse-cancer ugly. If you have never experienced this, you can enjoy the story, but you will never truly understand the character. To turn him into this pure sex symbol destroys the character, and it destroys the story.

And what about the angelic voice?! Butler sounds like a bleating sheep getting butt-bungled by a Campbell with a chunk of splintery firewood. He groans, he strains, he moans, and they even change some of the notes for him, but it�s no use; it is just awful singing. Awful. And if his acting made up for the bad singing that might be something, but his range seems to be Set Jaw In Angry But Sexy Stare all the way up to Set Jaw In Sexy But Sad Stare. He goes through the motions in a pitiful display that wouldn�t do justice to even a B movie. Basically, for the lead role, for this deep, dynamic, pathetic, terrifying, desperate, passionate, psychotic genius of a character, they cast a runway model who grunts. Fuck you.

The descent into the underground had hokey, crappy looking sets, trying to be dramatic but achieving mere melodrama. Everything is overexposed; nothing is hidden, mysterious, scary, interesting, or REAL LOOKING. Poor Emmy, trudging along and then splashing along in the boat, trying to look hypnotized and fearful and longing as this sexy moaning turd leads her through several sound stages to his little sand dune. At which point he proceeds to thoroughly butcher �Music of the Night�; the first scene at which I nearly walked out. Words can�t describe how awful it was, and poor Emmy did her worst acting here. I don�t know what she was going for, but the look on her face said �dumb amazement� to me; surely she was wondering what genius had cast this awful guy pretending to sing.

On to the first unmasking, where Butler throws what amounts to an acting hissy-fit. No animalistic rage, no raving psychotic response; and Emmy, no doubt under bad direction by Gaykraut, looks ... what is that... Fear? Curiosity? Looks more like she�s got a gas bubble somewhere in that cute little tummy.

In all fairness, I should say that at this point I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that the rest of this movie was going to suck balls. Don�t give me that �open mind� shit; I tried that. I know the whole musical line for line, so I knew there were still some good Christine/Raoul scenes left, and I looked forward to those as I sat through a mediocre rendition of �Prima Donna� (thanks for more of that overacting, Minnie). The managers and company were absolutely bursting with adaquateulance (thanks Billy M.), but at least they separated Raoul off to do his own thing and pumped up the volume on his lines in the song. On to the performance of �Il Muto�, where again the ever obtuse Gaykraut decided to eliminate another of the literary Phantom�s talents; ventriloquism. What makes Carlotta croak (other than her voice double)? Not the Phantom throwing his voice (he has enough trouble with his voice without THAT added task)... Nope, some goofy bottle of throat spray. Never one to put too much stock in the intelligence of his audience, Gaykraut decides that poisoned throat-spray is much easier to understand than vocal talent coming out of the deid-sexy Phantom. Whatever. Time to kill Buquet? Make sure you show the Phantom nice and clear, jumping around and swirling his cloak like Val Kilmer or George Clooney first. Then do a nice hanging job; one of the few decent parts of the movie without intense coverage of Raoul or Christine. And speaking of which...

We follow them to the roof, or what we think is the roof. Nicely done, and I�m all ready for a really good scene which I already know is well sung, except FUCKING HELL GAYKRAUT YOU FUCKING STUPID PRICK!! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU SHOWING THE PHANTOM NOW!!!

In the stage version, when Raoul and Christine sing �All I Ask of You�, you suddenly understand that it isn�t just a childhood crush. They really do love each other deeply, and watching that scene you sympathize with them. It is only at the end of the scene when you realize �Oh fuck... The Phantom was there THE WHOLE TIME!!! He saw and heard EVERYTHING!!!� And that�s what makes �I Gave You My Music� so powerful, so heart-wrenching, and so scary when he ends with his curse and his vow. I have never seen the show live when the audience didn�t utter a collective gasp of surprise when the Phantom rises up out of the angel, and you realize he overheard. But not in the Gaykraut movie version. No, in this version we have to keep cutting away to Buttles, apparently now with his own set of gas pains and accompanying grimaces, the entire time Emmy and Pat are professing their love. Don�t want to give the real talent too much screen time, do we. No, that would only fucking make sense. Once again, Gaykraut is the master of overstatement, with no sense of subtlety, and he ruins what was an otherwise beautiful scene. And then we get a money shot of the Phantom badly singing the reprise and then bellowing his curse into the night sky, as the camera pulls back to reveal that they weren�t actually on the top of the Opera House, but instead on what looks like a sort of patio on an upper level! What a visually stupid thing to do which I flat out don�t understand at all.

I�m not some inflexible, rigid purist. I like that they moved the chandelier scene to the end of the movie. I felt it didn�t mess up the plot at all, and may have even enhanced it (were it not for the entire building bursting into flames). But you know, �Masquerade� is kind of a crappy song, and in the stage show the best thing about it are all the dynamic colors and all the different costumes. But guess what style the movie goes with?? Yup; one bland, off-yellow sepia color, and about three different costumes repeated over and over and over with all the guests. But Gaykraut makes up for it with lots of dizzying spinning shots, so you�re too busy trying to keep your lunch down to notice how boring it is. Then enter the Phantom, in of course another deid-sexy outfit, hatless again and barely even reddish, what with the lense-tinting. He�s wearing a sword. So guess what Gaykraut decides would be a good thing for Raoul�s character to do? A sexy red Phantom who Christine has already said is deformed and crazy appears in front of her at a party, brandishing a sword, and Raoul runs away, out of the scene, only coming back later strapping on his own sword. Out of character to desert his beloved Christine for five minutes while he fetches his pig-sticker? You bet. But plot consistency is not one of Gaykraut�s strong suits.

Then comes one quick added bit I like; the Phantom falls down through a hole in the floor, Raoul jumps in after him, and finds himself briefly (as in maybe ten seconds) in the Phantom�s torture chamber from the novel (the one with the mirrors, the punjab lasso, and the tree, if you remember). Unfortunately, Madame Giry suddenly appears to snatch him back out, then takes him off to tell the stupidly depicted story of her rescuing the Phantom from a cage at the freak show when he was a child, and hiding him below the opera house. Never mind the lines in the play that hint at the rich history the novel offers. Gaykraut wanted his young, sexy Phantom.... a simple back story will suffice.

So now dear Emmy goes off to the cemetery for �Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again�, but first Our Master of Overstatement has to let you know, once again at the BEGINNING of the scene, that the Phantom is there by having him club the driver and drive her there himself. No mystery or magic with this Phantom; no subtlety from Gaykraut.

In this scene, Emmy�s voice is beautiful and full of emotion, and I�m really feeling for her, but I can�t stop staring at that piece of fake snow that has settled on her lovely lower lip. Moreover, I think the whole fucking set looks painfully fake. You can almost see the fog machines just off camera, and if she�s out in a cold snowy graveyard, why is her heaving bosom so prettily exposed? Why aren�t her cheeks red with the chill frost; why isn�t her breath fogging the air as her lovely notes pierce the supposedly bitter cold? The good directors are the ones who pay attention to details, create a full visual experience, and convince me that what I�m seeing is actually happening. I forget it�s a movie and get caught up in the magic. That�s what good directors do. Fucking hacks stick a cute girl in a push-up bra on a sound stage packed with styrofoam angels, blow plastic snow on everything, cast it in white light and call it artistic. Fucking Gay Kraut.

Fakeness of the set aside, it was one of the better scenes. When Christine lay at her father�s grave, she did seem a wandering child, lost, helpless. Whether you�re a rich Viscount or an ugly, deformed genius, you can really fall in love with this girl. But if you�re a big, sexy, no-talent Scotsman, all you have to do is walk out and start butchering another classic Phantom song, and after a movie full of bad singing from this guy, he sung this part even worse, and once again I almost walked out. But just then Raoul rode up on his white horse, and the much talked about sword fight took place. The sword fight was actually another part of the movie that conceptually I liked; I liked where it was added, I like what happened as it unfolded, and I liked that Raoul won it. Considering his place in society, fencing lessons would certainly have been part of his upbringing, and the idea that he might spare the Phantom�s life at Christine�s behest could be interesting later on when he is at the Phantom�s mercy. But again, Gaykraut ruins the sword fight with too many fast and frantic spin-cuts and dizzying angles. I swear this fucking guy just flat out can not direct.

The best part of this movie is �Twisted Every Way�. The scene is actually shot in a nice spot, with good lighting, and Gaykraut waits to stick the Phantom in until a later scene, where he has him playing with his dolls again (yes...that�s right...Playing WITH FUCKING DOLLS!!!). Christine and Raoul both seem to have a deep bond in this scene, and aside from the fact that the vocal tracks don�t sync up well with the lip movements (another chronic problem throughout this movie), the singing is rich with emotion. What is salvageable about this movie is saved by these two.

But good scenes are few and far between, so get ready for more crap. �Point of No Return� brings Buttles back out, this time singing the intro to the song so badly I actually rose a few inches out of my seat in preparation for the walkout, before deciding that at the very least I could keep watching sweet Emmy, who�s voice they thankfully turned up louder than the Phantom�s when they sang together (and I liked that part where she slipped the straps of her dress down off her shoulders...ooohhh...ahem...uh... even though I am fully aware that it was merely tossed in there by Gaykraut in an attempt to keep the the typical bored male stuck in the audience with his girlfriend interested in a movie that could only be described as a chic-flic. Yup; I�m fully aware it was a gimmick. Crappy film......). And I�ll be damned if Gerard Butler didn�t startle me by actually singing two lines out of the whole fucking musical well: �Say you�ll share with me one love, one lifetime; Lead me, save me from my solitude.... Say you want me with you, here, beside you� and then he blew it all to fucking hell with the �Anywhere you go......� and on through the rest of the show, where his acting was almost as good as your average highschool drama geek.

I don�t mind the idea that the chandelier set fire to the stage and seats, but why would fire suddenly burst out the sides of the building and all through the roof? And how could a fire like that ever be put out before the entire building was consumed? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

In the final lair scene, Patrick Wilson displayed some more excellent acting and singing, looking perfect as the idealistic guy who gave everything he possibly had for Christine�s sake, but knew everything was all fucked in spite of it. Christine�s face was finally showing the horror of what she�d been through, and Gerry just completely fucked up every line he grunted out. And of course, at this point we have gotten a good look at what�s under the mask, but it isn�t much more than a mild rash!!! This is in no way a guy who is hideously deformed. This is in no way a guy who�s mother would have rejected him; who would have been condemned to a life of rejection and hatred. There was no basis for the development of the deep psychological problems the character supposedly has, but this was pretty well covered up by the fact that Gerry�s acting didn�t convey much beyond a sexy guy with a rash who was angry and wanted to do unspeakably dirty things to poor, sweet, innocent Emmy.

And how about that ending? He fucks up and wimps out the last notes, then he smashes some mirrors? This handsome devil smashing mirrors....ohh, how passionate and artistic... if you�re a Gay fucking Kraut, maybe. Then after Meg jiggles in and picks up the mask, they go back to yet another problem I haven�t mentioned yet. After the original beginning scene with Raoul as an old man, we have several times throughout the movie scenes added, with the black and white style of the beginning, where it cuts back again to Raoul the old man, just in case we forget that this whole fucking travesty of a movie is just a memory in an old guy�s head. Aside from disturbing the plot continuity throughout, these cutbacks are completely unnecessary. The final one shows Raoul putting the monkey music box on Christine�s grave, next to a rose, obviously left by the Phantom. This adds nothing to the movie except a �Saving Private Ryan� cheesiness, and it takes away from the power of ending on the final musical notes of the show. Stupid fucking decision once again.

When the credits rolled, one or two people in the theatre clapped. I actually audibly booed. I ranted...I raved. I hated it more than I thought would be possible for me to hate it. The word I kept coming back to again and again was abysmal, and I guess it�s the word that best describes it. Abysmal. Why would you choose a director with no talent? Why would you cast an actor to play the Phantom who can�t act or sing? It isn�t supposed to be a story about a sexy guy in a cape; that�s a different story. If you want to make that story into a movie, fine, but why fuck up a perfectly good story that ain�t about that?

This movie is a study in missed opportunities. Take the concept of the rose; throughout the movie, at various times, the Phantom gives Christine a rose, usually tied in a black ribbon. I liked this concept; the play logo was always a mask and a rose, which was never explained, and this was a potentially nice addition. The problem comes in a total lack of artistic vision. Throughout the play, the Phantom always wears black leather gloves. Maybe it�s because his hands are stubby, maybe it�s cause Gaykraut had them left over from Batman. After �All I Ask of You�, Christine drops one of the roses the Phantom has given her, and when he comes out from behind the statue Gerry picks it up in his leather gloved hand. As he listens to Raoul and Christine singing in the distance, he crushes the rose and the petals drop to the rooftop. What�s wrong with this? Nothing, except that it could have been so much better. Picture this: While the two lovers go back inside, into the warmth, the Phantom stands on the roof, in the cold, his BARE hands white with cold and rage. He crushes the thorny rose in his bare hand; a far better symbol of his pain and anguish. It�s the little details in movies that make them great; the smallest thing can convey the biggest message. Schumacher misses the little stuff and the big stuff. He offers a shallow film, a shallow version of the characters, bad sets, bad lighting, and in the title role displays abysmal casting talents. This movie was abysmal.

It was poorly thought-out. It was badly re-structured. The most important cast member was the worst. The direction was cliched, lazy, and shallow. And worst of all, there was no reason for any of this to be the case. A great movie could have been made, without spending a single extra penny. That�s what�s sad about it.

At this point, it may be well for me to mention that the bulk of this was written on the 30th of December, 2004, but that various re-writes, edits, and this bit were done on the day of posting; today, January 2, 2005. It also might be a good idea to mention that I have nothing against gay people; I just don�t think they should take a good story and ruin it just because they like getting blown by a handsome thirty-something Scottish actor.

So that�s my review; my last rant of �04, first of �05. More to come? Time will tell...

And on that note....Happy New Year!!!

All rants will now feature a photo taken at time of rant.

I meant to do a rant on Howard Dean last year at around this time. Then, I meant to do one on him in June. Then in July. Then in August. Then in every fucking month right up through to when he lost the Iowa caucuses. And then when he pulled out of the race, and then when he started up his new "Democracy for America" organisation. But you know, I just can't bring myself to do it. I still haven't gotten over everything that happened. I'm still bitter and disgusted with the media, the democratic party, american voters, and a bunch of other people. Dean was the best thing to ever happen to American politics: an actual honest politician. But I can't get into all of the Dean stuff now. Maybe when I get around to taking the Dean For America sign down from the front yard, maybe then I'll do a rant on it. It's still too painful at this point.

At this point, it should be clear to anyone and everyone that George W. Bush, and most if not all of the people in his administration, are liars. I don't know why they can't bring themselves to ever admit when they are wrong or when they've made a mistake. Somebody needs to take responsibility for the claim that Saddam had weapons that were a threat to America and thus necessitated our attack and ongoing occupation of Iraq. Somebody needs to take responsibility for the fact that the claim was false. Making jokes about it doesn't cut it. Americans are dead and dying because of the claim. Iraqis are dead and dying. The world is on the brink of writing off all of America, not just our fucked up president, as being a fucked up group of arrogant morons, and considering that polls show half the country supports the douchebag in chief, I can't say that the world is wrong.

This isn't a liberal or conservative, Republican or Democrat thing. Clinton was a whore, but Bush is a threat to every living human on the planet. Bush is a religious wacko, and has the pre-requisite low IQ needed to believe the religious bullshit he bases our foreign policy on. Bin Laden killed thousands of innocent Americans; Bush has killed thousands of innocent Iraqis. Fucking fundies are fucking fundies, whether they're dirty Muslims in caves or scrubbed and perfumed Christians in Washington.

Here's something I wanted to address. An atheist in California has challenged the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance because of the inclusion of the words "Under God". Long story short, I agree with his case, but I want to speak specifically to an argument I saw made against him when he was on C-SPAN a few days ago. The other guy argued that our rights come from God, while Newdow claimed that rather it was the people and the Constitution from whence the our rights came. The Christian guy argued that if our rights came from the people, or from the government, they could be taken away, and were far less stable than if they came from God. Newdow did not answer especially well; I'm gonna for him.

A popular Christian argument against Atheism is that without a god we have only moral relativism. God, they argue, is a stable and necessary source for laws and morality. What they fail to see, and what is never properly addressed when the topic comes up in the mass media, is that for such to be true we must have solid and undeniable proof of the existence of God, proof of its nature, and proof that the laws and morals that we adhere to in society are actually the ones that God wants us to have.

Consider firstly the many different interpretations of God even within Christianity. The various sects, and even members of any one given sect of Christianity can't seem to agree on which biblical laws we should and should not follow. This is, quite simply, because the bible is often self contradictory. There are instructions that we should not kill, yet there are also instructions to stone to death adulterers. How, without moral relativism (using our own personal notions of what is morally right) are we supposed to decide which comand to follow? Further, some of the laws in the bible are completely out of sync with justice at least as seen in America. Do a poll of Americans over 18, asking them if a man rapes a woman what the punishment should be. My guess is that you will see quite a few votes for the death penalty, or for castration (chemical or physical), or serious jail time, but I doubt you will find even a single person who will say "The man should be forced to pay the woman's father, and then he should be forced to marry the woman." But that is precisely what the biblical God sets forth as law and justice for the crime of rape.

So we can't use the bible as our measure of what God wants our laws to be, if our laws come from God. The question becomes "How do we know which laws God has set down for us?" That's a toughie, combined with the still unanswered question "Which God are we talking about here?" Do our laws come from Allah, or Zeus, or the Catholic God, or the Hebrew God, or the Southern Baptist God? Don't tell me that these Gods all agree on our laws, because the sources from which we get descriptions of theses gods clearly show no concensus of thought on justice and morality.

If our rights come from God, we humans must decide which God, and which rights. This very argument has been going on for thousands of years, and those who continue to take it most seriously (read: Middle East) are the most lawless on the planet. Those who claim divine guidance and justice are responsible for the greatest amount of bloodshed.

Option B is that our rights come from us, as a people, getting together and writing a Constitution based on protecting certain rights for all people. We recognize our own faliability (something that most monotheistic religions' gods aren't), and so we leave open the process and possibility to update and add to those rights as they become apparent (something we can't do if our rights come from God, cause only he gets to set them and he never makes mistakes). When America realized that black people were people too, America was able to re-write its laws and extend to them the same rights as white people. When America realized that women were people too, rights were extended. When America finally realized that gay people are people too, we'll finally be able to extend to them the same rights. The greatest proof that our rights, our laws, our morality and our sense of justice come from the people, from us, and not from God, is that if you look back at our opinions of these things in the 200+ years since the Constitution was originally written, you will see many different views on what constitutes justice and morality, freedom and liberty. The more we come to realize that we're all in this together, the more our laws come to reflect it.

Of course, with the Bushies in power, we seem to be moving steadily backwards....

All rants will now feature a photo taken at time of rant.

I have a rather evil little doggy curled up in a blanket, asleep next to me. Oh, sure, he seems to be a sweet little thing right now. His eyes are shut, his fat, warm little body slowly rises up and down with his breath, and his funny little ears are folded back. But if I were to try to move him, to lift him up to put him down in the play-pen so he can have one last evacuation before I go to sleep, he would growl, then snarl, and then, if I didn't scoop him up quick enough, he would savagely and violently bite and attack me for waking him up. And then, when he realized what he had done, he would give me a sheepish little look, and maybe a conciliatory lick. But I have no-one to blame but myself. He is spoiled rotten, and I taught him how to growl (though I don't know where he learned the viscious biting).

So shi-ite. It's been another quarter-year since I last ranted, and I guess that's better than a full year between blethers. Or it would be if it weren't nearly 2am and I actually had something to say. Prepare thyself: a ramblin' rantin' awaits!

Last time I was in Scotland, I was big into everything Scottish, really, except the one Scottish thing you'd really expect a philosophy major to be into; SCOTCH!!! But over the past two years, really beginning with a prezzie (not Pezzie) Mum brought me back from her and Mason's trip to London in 2002, I've developed quite a taste for it. I'm still not well versed enough to talk about the difference between Speyside malts and so forth, but I can talk a bit about flavours of labels I've tried. It started with the bottle of Glenmorangie Mum picked out, and it was a fine choice to begin with. Scotch, all single malt scotch whisky, is strong strong stuff, but they have different degrees of peatiness, burniness, and so forth. Glenmorangie isn't peaty, and it isn't very burny; it kinda has a honey-ish taste. Next I got a bottle of Macallan, and I gotta say of all the brands I've tried it is my least favourite. It is aged in sherry casks instead of oak, which is probably why I'm not as crazy about it; it kinda tastes flowery. Then I got a bottle of Oban, and damn, I like that stuff. I heard someone describe it as something like varnish, or turpentine, or some other equally harsh and nasty chemical, and I will admit it has a bit of burn, but it is oaky and has a hint of peat. Next I got a sampler pack which had six of the "Classic Malts"; a label that is more commercial than necessarily indicative of their classicness. The sampler was great cause I could compare brands with different degrees of the traits, and it helped me realize that I go for the peatier ones. So my next big bottle was the brand from the Isle of Skye; Talisker, which is yummy yummy peaty and warming, and I think would have to be my favourite of all, although Lagavulin, which I got a bottle of as a gift for installing Mum's new dishwasher, is the peatiest of all and finishes a close second to Talisker.

Which means, ultimately, that as I continue to compile the list of traits my perfect woman would have, I need to include something along the lines of alcoholic tendencies. She now has to dance like Shakira (and hell, LOOK like her too, cause this IS a "perfect woman" list), and write songs like Norah Jones (and like Shakira, and looking kinda like Norah Jones would be okay too), and sing like Linda Eder (or Shakira or Norah) or really just have a good singing voice, and be either latin or scottish or mediterranian (like spanish or italian) or a healthy mix of all of the above, and have a super high IQ (Shakira has one over 140 ; ) , and like philosophy and dislike dogmatic or fundamentalist religion, and be a liberal or a democrat and if a democrat support Howard Dean, and like chihuahuas, AND on top of that enjoy a dram of fine single-malt Scotch whisky, enough to be able to chat up the finer points but not so much that it damages her Eder-Shakira-Jones-esque voice, or impares her ability to dance like Shakira (with all the shakin' that entails...heh heh heh... enTAILs...).

I do appologize for that. It was my evil dog causing me to go off on that little bit of a rant. But a guy can dream, can't he?

For x-mas I got a new pool cue from Mason, AND a cd (have you heard The Darkness, a british band with a sort-of eighties hair-metal band sound??! They're really funny, and the tunes are very catchy..."Ibelieveinathingcalledlove....JUSTLISTENTOTHERYTHAMOFMYHEART...!"), and from Ben I got a big kick-ass knife book, the new REM greatest hits video DVD (I forget why they're my favourite all time band until I listen to them again), and two Proclaimers cds (yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm stuck in the eighties and obsessed with Scotland, but FOOK OOF! they're good muscians), and my big giftie from Mum this year was a 3.2mb Cannon Powershot A70 digital camera!! Fookin' right!!!! Very awesome!!! Oh yeah....and I also got the new 2004 Shakira calendar.... >; )

The worst part of x-mas was always trying to figure out what to give to the extended family relatives. They always give us cash for gifties, and they have everything they need, and getting them junk like a candle or a picture frame gets really old. So a few years ago I thought I'd do something creative. I sculpted their houses; three of 'em: Grandma's, Uncle Frankie's (and Aunt Vanessa's), and Aunt Sandy's (and Uncle Dale's....yes, I actually have an uncle named "Dale"). Little clay houses about 10"x6"x4", and they really loved them. The following year, I was up shit creek without an idea, when Mason comes up with t-shirts; t-shirts with all the extended family members' faces on them like mug-shots, arranged like a Mafia crime family pyramid, with gangster nick-names for each member under their picture, with Grandma at the top as the boss, the don, the godmother, the capa de tutti capi. The family went ape-shit; we pulled an all-nighter, ironing them on and even including Vanessa's and Dale's parents' pictures in the thing, and they were the hit gift of the year. Vanessa's mother loved it so much that when she sadly passed away earlier this year, they put her t-shirt in the casket with her, along with some other cherished posessions. I was really touched by that.

Last year, hard up for an idea, I threw out the notion of doing a x-mas songs cd with us singing and playing the music. Well time ran out and I ended up buying a few karaoke discs of x-mas songs, and my brother's and I (with some help from Mum on "Auld Lang Syne") cut a decent album of 15 or 16 songs (available upon request; just send me an email at [email protected]). It was funny, but as it was just us singing (badly) it didn't quite bring in the whole family response we wanted, so this year we decided to write a movie starring our cousins Vince and Clayton (10 and 6 respectively, Frankie and Vanessa's kids). Mason, Ben and I fleshed out the ideas at a bar two fridays before x-mas, went home that night, and wrote the script in five hours. We prepped the props, camera, and shooting sequence the next week, and the sunday before x-mas we filmed the whole fucking thing in one day (which is tough, working with little kids who get tired). Brithers and I each had roles in the movie too, and we gave Frankie a bit part. Then Mason took it to where he works and edited it all together with music and everything; he and Ben worked on it all night x-mas eve and didn't show up at the house until 6am x-mas morning, at which time they flopped into bed and slept until we had to get up to go to Grandma's house for x-mas dinner.

The movie was a great success; everyone loved it, and it really brought us closer together with our cousins. The only problem is (and the whole fricken POINT of this big long ramble about gifts) is that next year we have to come up with an idea to top it, so unless we're out in Hollywood making multi-millon dollar flicks, we better start thinking now. So if you have any ideas, send them to the jekyll addy above as well, and rest assured you will never get any of the credit for them should we use them. And since no-one but Mason and Ben ever read my rants anyway, I'm talking to YOUSE TWO!! BRITHERS!!! COME OAN!! I MEAN, COME OAN!!

This has been fun. Was it as good for you as it was for me? If you answered in the negative, unless your name is Shakira I really don't give a fook. If your name IS Shakira, I GIVE A FUCK!! I GIVE A FUCK!!!

If your name is Shakira, just so you know; that wasn't an assertion...it was an offer...or is that called begging?..........

For those of you who bother to check the archives (out of those of you who bother to read my newest rant [out of those of you who ever visit my web-page {out of those of you who even know I exist}]), you will notice it has been over a year since my last rant. In fact, my last rant was on the third of September, 2002. One year and ten days later, here I am type type typing away, and it's funny (or sad) how little has changed.

But you know, now that I think about it, maybe a lot has changed. I am STILL at the same job, in the same place I was a year ago, the same place I was when I graduated in the spring of 2001. That really isn't fair or (balanced) accurate, though. In the spring of 2001 I hadn't been on my amazing Scotland '01 trip yet, and that was one of the most important events of my life so far. The September 11th attacks hadn't happened at that point yet either, and that changed everybody, even if some more than others. So to be fair, I can't say I'm the same (or at the same place) I was when I graduated. Job-wise, yeah. Residence, aye. Mentally, nope.

Maybe I'm the same place I was last year at this time. That's pretty fair to say. Although, I did decide at the start of 2003 that this would be my final year working out at the farm, so that has given me a different perspective all year long. Sure, in past years I always sort of assumed each year would be my last, but I never managed to kick my ass into gear and make it so. After 16 years of schooling I took a vacation from mental labor, and got too comfortable. I knew if I didn't decide at the start that this would really be my last year, it might not be. And then I think I would have to kill myself.

So I'm facing the prospect of unemployment come December, which, in Dubya's America, could be a very scary thing. But the Dubya thing... That's something else where much has changed. Last year at this time the war in Iraq was just a plan, and re-reading my predictions, it seems I was close on several points, but missed some very big bits. Who would have thought it would turn out that Saddam didn't actually have ANY weapons of mass destruction at all?? (apparently the French, the Germans, the Russians, the Canadians, and most of the rest of the U.N. member nations thought it). And who would have guessed that the Iraqis would not be pouring gratitude on us for "liberating" them (by dropping lots of bombs on them, their friends and families, and then policing them with a group of soldiers younger than me who have been away from home for half a year and are developing mutual animosity towards and from the people they are supposed to be "liberating")? And remember how I thought they were going to get all that oil out of this? Funny thing... Turns out that Saddam wasn't linked with terrorists, but now that he's gone and we're there, the terrorists are gathering from all over the mid-east to attack our troops, and doing everything they can to sabatoge the oil bidness over there. So we aren't even getting any cheap gas out of this. But paying? Oh, we're paying. Total cost so far? $79 billion. Dubya's new request last Sunday? $87 billion more. That's a grand total of $166 billion, and friends, that's just for THIS YEAR. Where does that money come from, you ask? Well, we don't really need extra police and fire workers; job cuts there. And those greedy public school teachers...We can always cut funding to education. Why not repeal the tax cuts you ask?? Shit, we can't do that. Dick Cheney needs that extra $100,000. Tell you what... We can just borrow the rest, pushing the national debt to over $500 trillion, the largest in American history. What happened to that budget surplus which Al Gore and Dubya spent the entire 2000 election debating about how to use? HA! Three years of Dubya.

Which brings us to another important difference from a year ago. Dubya's poll numbers have dropped to their pre-9/11 levels. See, Americans may be dumb, but we aren't stupid. Oh sure, Americans loved Dubya during the build-up to the war in Iraq, and when that made-for-tv Saddam statue-toppling moment happened, WOW!! Dub in '04!!! But where are the weapons of mass destruction? Despite the administration's new spin, the fact that there aren't any IS a big issue, since it was the justification for "pre-emptive war" (the idea that we can attack anybody, anytime, if we even think they might be a threat to us at any point in the future). And an average of one American soldier dying every day may be "statistically low", but the death of even one soldier without justification is bad news politically and morally. And speaking of morale, the soldiers over there were just informed that, even though they thought their six months were finished and they were comming home, lucky them, their tours of duty were just upped to a year. And the huge budged crisis. And the lack of funding for social programs. And the loss of credibility and respect in the world community. And the creation of chaos and terrorism for the people of Iraq. And I'll be damned if Dubya isn't finally being revealed for what I always knew he was; the worst president the U.S. never elected.

And back in February, Mum said "Hey look at this guy Howard Dean, who's running for President. He's really smart and well-spoken." And I checked him out, and said "Yeah, but he's running in the polls behind even Al Sharpton, and he's too smart to ever win the nomination, and besides, he'll never have the big money backing that the other democrats have, and even though I agree with his opposition to the war in Iraq, it's insanely popular right now, and any candidate who opposes it will get shouted down." But then we went to war in April, and then by June we still hadn't found any weapons of mass destruction, or links between Saddam and Al Qaeda, and Howard Dean was out there sounding pretty damned good. And his website was creating a means of networking and support-base creation that shocked everyone when they announced that they would, at the end of June and the second quarter, raise more money than any other Democratic candidate, not by tapping into the richies, but by getting lots of average people to give on average $80 or less. And I logged on and for the first time in my life I gave money to a politician ($25). I joined in the campaign, and the thought of a candidate who shared my views at least getting his ideas out there was exciting enough. But by July Dean had begun to pull ahead in the polls, and by August was emerging as the front-runner! And I followed my June donation with equal amounts in July and August, and I pledged to myself that I would give $25 every month to his campaign until he dropped out, lost, or went all the way to the White House!

When I get a chance, I'm gonna put up a page devoted specifically to the topic of Howard Dean, but suffice it to say that this September is different from September '02 in that MY candidate is winning, I'm enthusiastic as hell about it, and every day it looks more and more likely that he'll be able to kick Dubya's ass all the way back to the ranch in Crawford, Texas!!

So yeah, I guess a lot has changed in the past 375 days. I am approaching the end of my 13 years working out at the farm, and I'm excited at the prospect of finding a new way to bring in the dosh (excited...maybe a little apprehensive... but mostly exicted). I'm pumped up about the up-comming campaign season and elections (primaries start in February, general election in November 2004), and I'm especially jazzed about doing what I can for Dean's campaign, including donating, volunteering on the local level, and who knows what may follow. I've also saved a fair chunk of change, so I have some flexibility in the months ahead. And even though, as my last post worried, I AM losing my hair, I've always been horribly ugly anyway, and my Howard Dean cap covers the thinning really well!!!

I'll tell you a secret: I've been doing some writing. And the more I write, the more I want to write.

I don't know where I'll be a year from now, but I have a feeling it's going to be somewhere very exciting, and I promise I'll try to rant a few (or maybe even a lot of) times between now and then...........

Perhaps in future rants (however many or few that may be), I'll try not to curse quite as much. If I haven't anything to say, I probably shouldn't try to fill as many lines with as many "fucks", "shits", "cunts", and "Dubyas" as I had in that last rant. Blame it on the Irvine Welsh I was reading last May (well, re-reading).

And what have I been up to in the past four months? It is so monotonous and repetitive and same as I've always been that it's really too depressing to even list here. I'm afraid I'm starting to go bald (it runs in the family, so I always knew it would come sooner or later...I just didn't think it would be as soon as twenty-three), I have produced very little in the way of creative or analytical writing, and I don't as yet see an end in sight to the unchanging day to day same as always existence I'm stuck in. Oh, and I've gotten fat again (although at least that smacked me back into my diet and exercise regimes I was in before, so I'm on the right track there, even if it's an uphill Nordic track).

But enough of that. I want to talk about this whole Iraq thing. It seems our illustrious president and his gang of petrol-hooligans have hit upon a great scheme; topple the current Iraqi regime, put in a figure-head puppet controled by the American government (like we did in Afghanistan), and reap the benefits of the largest producer of Middle Eastern oil after Saudi Arabia. What a great plan. The only problem is how to pull it off without letting anyone know that's the plan.

The easy part is convincing the American population at large, who's idiocy is only surpassed by their boundless patriotism. Saddam is a madman; everyone knows that! Why, we've been hearing it for over a decade (in fact, ever since we stopped backing his regime in their conflicts with Iran back in the mid to late eighties). Everyone says it, so it must be true. Right, so that's a given. And since the one year anniversary of the terrorist attacks of September 11th is only a week away, the justified hatred of terrorism and its supporters is fresh on America's mind. If the Pres can show a link between Saddam and Osama, he's got his ready-made justification for giving Iraq a major ass-whuppin. Well, the links are sketchy and tedious at best, but hell, they're all A-rabs to the red-blooded Christian American population at large, so even if Saddam hasn't backed Al Queda you just know he will at the drop of a hat, so that's good enough! Plus, Saddam is trying to develop WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION, and nobody is allowed to have them except America, because there is no doubt that Saddam would use them on any civilian population in the world if he had them, even without provocation, because he's a madman, remember? (Please try to forget that the only nation to ever use a nuclear weapon on a civilian population [twice] was not Iraq, Russia, Pakistan, Great Britain, Germany, Saudi Arabia, India, China, Japan, Australia, Canada, France, Italy, Norway, Brazil, Mexico, Israel, Iran, Egypt, or Afghanistan. We Americans are much more careful and very much opposed to the use of nuclear weapons today, as evidenced by our dissolution of disarmament treaties with Russia and our new build-up of nuclear war-heads, all of which has happened in the past year and a half). So hey, look: Saddam is crazy, Saddam supports Al Queda, Saddam is trying to build nuclear weapons so he can immediately give them to terrorists to use on the U.S. without provocation, and those terrorists could easily get those newly Iraqi minted A-bombs into the U.S., and there is nothing we can do to keep them from getting those bombs right into our country, so our only alternative is to hit Saddam first. If you buy that, you're gullible enough to be an American.

There is one catch; the rest of the world, not just the other Arab nations but all of Europe, Asia, and even our buddies up north aren't buying it. Well what the hell... nobody expected all those A-rabs to support us anyway; they know they're next on the stompin' list. And every smart, well-informed American (even those who have never traveled overseas, like our illustrious Prezzy before he was elected) knows that Europeans are just a bunch of wimpy, whiney, cheese-eating losers without any backbone, so FUCK THEM! And don't get me started on the hockey-playin', Molsen-drinkin', igloo-livin'-in Canadians, or as Homer calls them "America Junior". Hey... We don't need anyone! We're gun-carryin', God-fearin', McDonalds-eatin', SUV-drivin', ozone-killin', energy-wastin' AMERICANS! We're the greatest nation in the world, because we SAY SO! And Dubya just gave us all a big tax cut (most school teachers got as much as THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS!!!!), so even though a war would put us ever deeper in national debt (and that's a war with allied support to help foot the bill...never mind paying for it alone, and the added costs of not being able to use other Middle Eastern nations' military bases as launching points), what have we got to lose??? Just think of all that oil Dick Cheney and his fellow petrol-pals will glean! And the price of filling up our SUV's will go down so much, we'll be able to afford five extra minutes a month on our cell phone plans!!! Fuckin'-A!! God Bless America!!!

Under the first Bush regime, I was between the ages of eight and twelve, so I can't really say if it was good or bad. But I'll tell you something... the reign of Bush the Second is causing immeasurable damage to America's already shaky reputation in the world community. When it comes to summits on world hunger, environmental concerns, or issues that are of importance to other nations of the world, Dubya will have nothing to do with it. But now when he wants to launch his oil-grab war, he expects other nations to support it? He spent the first eight months in office telling the world (to the raucus applause of chest-thumping "patriotic Americans") that he was going to do what was best for American business interests at the cost of any issues other nations cared about, and anyone who didn't like it could stick it. Then on September 11th we were attacked, and I was shocked at how the nations he had given the finger to for nearly a year came forward in support of America, a heart-felt support which we didn't deserve and therefore should have humbled us and instilled in us an overwhelming appreciation for our world friends. Instead, it is one year later, and the Bush administration is right back to giving the finger.

As much as I hope this war will not happen, I'm almost sure it will go down, and I can only hope that the nations of the world will not fall into step like pawns. They must stand firm against the arrogance of the Big Oily, and show America that world interests will not be negotiated in the decidedly one-sided way the Bush regime has tried to make it. When America attacks, Saddam will be removed from power, and America will hail it as a great victory for freedom and democracy in the world, even as they place their own figurehead on the empty throne of Iraq, and fill their pockets with the black money of Iraqi oil. Meanwhile, the hatred and rage of Middle Easterners towards America will rise to new levels, and where a thousand terrorists now stand, millions of new ones will rise up. This new angle of Bush's "War on Terror" will be the greatest cause of terrorism since the advent of Christianity.

One cannot help but wonder who the real madman is here......

Know what I'm gettin' sick ay? I'm gettin' sick ay hearin' people on the Fox News Channel talking about "homicide bombers", a term coined by Dummy Dubya in a typical case of creating vagueness and confusion. These fuckers are suicide bombers, and there are important aspects of their nature that are better summed up by that term. EVERY bomber is a "homicide bomber"; that's the fuckin' point of bombing: to commit homicide. But the suicide bombers have a different psychological make-up than your McVeighs or your Kazinskis or however the fuck you spell that Unibomber cunt's name. The suicide bombers are actually committed to trading their lives for the lives of their perceived enemies. The value of their own lives are measured in the number of lives they hope to take. The threat of death for them is not a deterrent. They have to be fought with different tactics, based on their different psychological drives. Calling them "homicide bombers" negates this very important aspect of their nature, and thus makes it tougher to do anything about them. So if any of you Fox News cunts (like O'Reilly or that fat Hannity fuck) happen to stumble across my humble web-page, stop lickin' Dubya's arse and quit with the "homicide bombers" shite!

Harry fuckin' Potter! Harry-balls fuckin' limey-boy Potter! It's all you fuckin'-well heard about when the movie was commin' out, and with another commin' out in November, and another book on the way, expect to hear a lot more of it. But guess what? All the hype? All the crass commercialization? All the stupid wee dippit bairns linin' up in bookstores, and adults knockin' them out of the way to get the latest addition in the series? It's actually justified. I hate popular things, for no other reason than that people rave about 'em. I swore I'd never read those fuckin' Harry Potter books, until last year when I saw a show on the Crazy Christian network, talkin' about how it was full of witchcraft and satanism and evil, and corrupting children, and all that stupid Christian shite. Well fuck me; if there's one thing I hate more than popular stuff, it's Stupid Christian Cunts, so it became a matter of principle. I had to read the Harry Potter books. Luckily, Mum the school teacher had all four sitting (unread) on the bookshelf. So I took down number one, and within minutes I was sucked into the world of Number Four, Privet Drive. Within an hour I was deeply emersed in Hogwarts and all its glory, and by the following day I was a devoted fan, cracking book two. When I finished book four, I picked up book one and began re-reading them all over again. When the movie came out, I went to see it opening weekend, and when it was released on DVD we got a copy that day. And don't think it's just because I love anything that Stupid Crazy Christian Cunts hate; these are incredible books, with incredible characters, fascinating stories and events, and philosophical concepts. These books are worthy of all the praise and hype they get, and I'll be damned if I'm not stomping on third-graders in Walden Books to get my copy of book five, whenever it finally comes out.

Speaking of good books, I hope Irvine Welsh puts out a new one soon. He's a Scottish writer (did Trainspotting, Filth, The Acid House, Maribou Stork Nightmares, Ecstasy, and Glue) who writes about sleezy, slimey, scumbag characters, doing drugs and fucking and beating each other up and all sorts of bizarre, fucked up shite. Fascinating books, really, though they have a negative effect on my language (everybody is a "cunt"; it's "cunt" this and "cunt" that...."Tha' fuckin' cunt, ay..." "Aw, he's a smart cunt, right enough..." "Blind Cunt" "Specky Cunt" "Pished Cunt" and so forth). But it is a fun word to use, I gotta admit it. It's one of the last taboo "really bad words", and where, after South Park, things like "fucker" or even "Uncle Fucker", "cock-sucker", and "donkey-raping shit-eater" don't have much punch left, you can't fail to get a rise out of people when you call them a cunt. Even if you mean it in a good way ("Aye, tha' boy's a swell cunt, a stand-up cunt, tae fuckin' right an aw").

You know, I'm really gonna miss Politically Incorrect...I'll be getting an hour more sleep every night, but damn...I'm really gonna miss that show.......

Last Thursday night (or early Friday morning, between the hours ay 1 and 5am tae be precise) I had a nightmare. It was one ay my typical anxiety dreams. My typical anxiety dream has been, since I was about six years old, a nightmare aboot zombies.

There are two basic forms. When I was younger, the most frequent form wis the one where I was laying on my bed in the middle of a huge, dark, wide open space. I couldn't see walls in any directions; just blackness. Then, from out of the blackness came the zombies...shambling figures in rotting clothes...the walking dead. I'm talking the George A. Romero Dawn of the Dead type zombies. I lay there on my bed, watching them come from all directions, closer and closer...At twenty feet away I can hear the sounds they make, their shuffling feet, their gurgling groaning, the click of their blackened teeth. At ten feet their faces are clearer; various stages of horrible, twisted, blue decay, and they're reaching out their arms as they move closer, closer, until they're right next to the bed...

And that's when I would always wake up. Now the other dream I have was the one I had last Thursday (oor Friday if ye want tae be nitpicky). I'm in a room (sometimes there are other people there, sometimes not), and I'm trying to find ways to barricade the doors to keep the zombies out. But no matter how well I've blocked things up, a few zombies always manage to sneak past. Luckily, in this dream, I always have a few guns with me, but whenever I try to shoot the zombies in the head I suddenly realize that they are only pellet guns, and the pellets bounce right off the zombies. So in the end, I�m defenseless again, and pretty soon there are too many zombies and not enough places to run to.

Now it was funny, cause this time I woke up at about 5, and I heard Lopez downstairs barking, and still being half asleep I thought �Aw shit... What is he barking at? Are there zombies outside the house?�

You know, I�ve always been scared of those zombie movies. Well, six fuckin� years old was too young to see Dawn of the Dead. Mum and my uncle were trying to trick me into watching it, and they told me it was a movie I�d really like called �House on Pooh Corner�. I got as far as the part where the guy says �They get up and kill! The people they kill get up and kill!!� and then I said �Fuck this!� (or the six year old equivalent) and left the room. But I could still hear the rest of the movie from my bedroom, and I saw a few scenes from the flic later on, and it�s pretty scary for a little kid.

Now I�m older, and I still have zombie nightmares, because they still represent for me the essence of anxiety. From an analytical viewpoint, the concept is scary because zombies are basically humans with a combination of traits that are seemingly universally scary. First of all, they are former living people (in zombie movies, often former main characters or their friends), but now they are dead, and we don�t need to go into all the archetypal symbolism and philosophical connotations of death. Then, there�s the fact that they are completely unreasonable. This is a trait I find especially terrifying in the living; unreasonable people are the perpetrators of some of the worst acts in human history. Unreasonable, illogical creatures....like religious fanatics...AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

But perhaps it is the basest, most primal fear that makes zombies so scary: the fear of being eaten. It is more than just dying, and more than dying painfully. Imagine watching yourself be consumed as you die. Imagine what it feels like to be eaten alive, the horror of the realization of what is happening to you and the awareness that it will only end when you finally die. In the wild animals are sometimes eaten alive; it seems so primitive and barbaric, but that�s how it goes. It is not something us modern day humans prepare ourselves for in any way, shape, or form, but what if it happened to us anyway? That�s pretty scary.

Of course, in wakefulness it isn�t that scary. It�s nearly 1am, I�m the only one in the house still awake, and when I leave my room to go pee before I go to sleep I�ll have to walk through the dark hall, near the darkness of the steps leading downstairs, where there could certainly be zombies shuffling around right now as I type, but I�m not the least bit scared, because I know they don�t exist. But once I�m asleep, in the realm of dreams EVERYTHING exists, and ANYTHING is possible. So maybe I just won�t go to sleep tonight...

Son of a bitch. I wish I hadn�t drank that last glass of water.................

Try as I might, I just don't think I can put it off any longer. Wee Brither read the last rant, and said that it wasn't horrible but it "lacked the usual depth and thought" of some of my other rants. Fair enough. It was my first posted rant since August of 2001. August of 2001 of course being before September of 2001.

I don't have any special insights, really, or any special rights to talk about it all. I don't know that I really have anything new to say in regards to what happened. In the nearly 7 months since it happened, all the cliches have been used and re-used, and I'm sure we're all sick of them. No shit it changed us. No shit everything is different. How different? Well that all depends on where you're looking from.

There is one particular difference I want to talk about, though. And if you've ever read any ay my other rants, you ken how I have a tendency to stray from the intended topic and ramble and bitch along the way. So bear with me.

I wonder just how many people in this country have actually read the U.S. Constitution. Dinnae get me wrong; I'm no constitutional scholar. But I have studied it, and some Supreme Court cases, and I've read a bit about the mindset of the framers. When I hear people talking about what it means to be American, and the American ideals of freedom and democracy, I think first and foremost of the U.S. Constitution. It isn't just a bunch of words. It's the embodiment of those ideals, and a promise of rights not only to American citizens, but to all human beings. Though the Constitution as law legally only governs Americans, the principles of human rights of dignity are meant to apply to everyone, the world over. But it seems like most Americans don't even believe that those rights exist for Americans.

"America: Love it or leave it!". A catchy phrase that embodies the exact opposite of what our country is supposed to stand for. When the U.S. Constitution was written, the framers took great care with their wording of the Bill of Rights, or the first ten Amendments. If there were to be one part of the document that I think best captures the spirit of nobel ideals, it would be the First Amendment:

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

In one short passage, we are guaranteed the most basic human freedoms; free thought, free expression, and freedom from dictatorship. This cornerstone of diversity paves the way for the realization of the greatest in human potential. Without fear of punishment or reprisal we may create new ideas, challenge out-dated paradigms, disagree with the majority yet still be heard and considered equal to those who's strength in numbers will not be used to crush the voices of dissent. What a powerful, beautiful message; how lucky we are it is the law of the land. But some would not have it be so.

The presidential election of 2000 saw a very apathetic American public trying to decide between two unimpressive contenders, neither of whom seemed to possess the entire package of intellect, empathy, honesty, and charisma an idealistic nation such as this should expect from a leader. The vote was incredibly close, but in the end the promise of tax cuts won over the slight majority, and a man with poor speaking skills, a history of substance abuse and frat-boy lifestyles, and a record of pro-big corporation/anti-environmental policy became president. He wasted no time in overturning laws which protected native woodlands from logging companies, loosining environmental emissions standards, giving tax cuts weighted incredibly heavily in favour of the largest and richest corporations and millionaires, and basically thumbing his nose at the world when it came to issues of the U.N., the Kyoto Treaty (world-wide environmental policy concerning greenhouse gases), and anything else where the interests of American big business might be concerned.

In late August and early September of 2001, President Bush's numbers were falling in the polls, and so was the economy. The world outside the U.S. borders (yes, my fellow Americans, there IS INDEED a world beyond our greedy shortsighted shores) saw him as a reckless, idiotic cowboy with no global perspective, and even Americans were beginning to see past the paltry tax refunds. Then 19 religious fanatics boarded four U.S. airliners, smashed them into the World Trade Towers in lower Manhattan and the Pentagon in Washington D.C., threw the country into chaos, and guaranteed George Dubya a second term.

You see, our country has always considered itself invunerable, and we were not. Our crappy, faulty election process, and our lax attitude towards world concerns, and our election of a mental fur-ball told the crazies out there that we were an easy target. And when they smashed us, and we suddenly realized what an easy target we had made ourselves, we paniced. Everyone desperatly sought a means of stability; a force to unite behind to regain some semblance of peace of mind. After several hours of being in hiding, our elected leader emerged looking as shell-shocked as the rest of us, and realized that he had bitten off a hell of a lot more than he could easily chomp on. As on the proverbial pretzel, he choked, and for the first few days he did his best to look in control and presidential. Luckily his speech writers penned some good, reassuring lines, and as he began to tour the sites of devastation, and as he continued to see bi-partisan support, his confidence grew. The American people quickly realized that we were stuck with him, and so we decided we may as well try to believe him when he said things were in hand and under control.

And maybe they were. Maybe they got things under control fairly well. Yes, Al Qa'ida was responsible, and the Taliban government of Afghanistan was harboring them. So we had a target. And the military (which Bill Clinton had supposedly let fall to waste during his eight years in office) swept in, and proved their ability to stomp ass when necessary, and the American people praised Dubya for pointing at the map of Afghanistan and saying "Attack That" to Clinton's well kept military.

Meanwhile, stooges that they are, Americans at home were saying the dumbest things. "Our security is worth giving up some of our freedoms for". This, mates, is the intended topic of this long-winded rant.

The freedom to not have a cop check your carry-on luggage IS NOT a freedom. The freedom to carry a pocket-knife on an airplane IS NOT a freedom. The freedom from having a security guard ask you some questions if you look suspicious IS NOT a freedom. These are all luxeries which we took for granted, and they were part of our weakness which allowed the religious nuts to succeed in their attacks.

The freedom to ask Dubya what the long term plan is IS a freedom; for the U.S. Congress, it is an obligation. The freedom to disagree with policy is a freedom that can not be given up under ANY circumstances; no measure of hypothetical security could warrant it. What precisely is this security we seek? We want to keep from being killed by psychos, right? Would we rather live as peons under gag order than risk death? What ever happened to Patrick Henry; "Give me liberty or give me death"? Further, what measure of security is really achieved by eliminating dissent?

The prevelant thought amongst Americans post September 11th seems to be that we must now all think the same, belive the same, and follow whatever Dubya proposes. I think that rampant fear has impaired the rational thought processes of a people who have, over the past several decades, been inclined to abandon reason to begin with. Other countries get the impression that America is full of self-absorbed religious hypocrites, and why shouldn't they? Most Americans had never heard of the Taliban before 9/11. Several of our states have tried to ban the teaching of evolution in our schools. The spokespeople of our nation are Jerry Falwell and Jerry Springer. Blind faith and blind fistfights make up our culture. It may be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven, but fuck sakes....who needs a camel when you've got a goddamned SUV??

When I say Dubya is a turd and a cabbage-brain, I am not being un-American. When I say that his policies continue to be arrogant, isolationist, ineffective, and sometimes downright dangerous to human rights and dignity, I am not merely critisizing; I am reveling in the most essential American ideal: the right to think, and the right to share those thoughts. When the citizens give their elected officials complete trust and power of decision, without checks, balances, and the watchful eye of justice, human rights and American ideals get violated (wittness the internment of Japanese American CITIZENS during WWII). WE will have to answer to future generations, and the world, for the actions of our elected officials. Free thought, free speech, and free expression transcend the notion of personal rights; they are our global responsibility.

To those Americans who critisize dissent, I applaud you on one hand. You are expressing your thoughts, and by damn you have every right to them. Just remember that when our government turns prisoners over to countries where torture is still a permitted form of interrogation, we are endorsing torture. Just remember that when you talk about holding nations responsible for their fringe fanatics, you are talking about retaliating against innocent citizens for the crimes others have committed. If you would not feel comfortable nuking an American city to punish America for not controling terrorists like Tim McVey, don't be so hasty in pointing our nations atom bombs at the innocent children of other nations. And also remember that just as long as you are opening your mouth and exercising your freedom to let dumb things spill out of it, I'll be exercising my right to open my mouth and tell you how dumb I think they are. And neither of us is any less American for it.

Sae oan oor around thi beginnin' ay March, Wee Brither decides 'e's anetae laptops. 'E's decided 'e'd lik tae check yin oot, see prices, an all tha'. Weil come tae think oan it, I decided tha' maybe I'D lik tae check 'em oot as weil, an sae thi search began....

At first we were all keen oan Gatewa', since they made our desktop an they tend tae 'ave guid prices lik. Meanwhile, Mum's oan thi bandwagon, an decided tha' whot wi' Wee Brither's b-day ane mid-April, an considerin' tha' she's nae taken 'im oan any fancy trips yet ('is choice), she'd get 'im a laptop fir thi special 20. But these babies arenae cheap; they start and a grand, an soar fae thir dependin' oan 'ow fancy ye wanna get.

Weil Mum's set 'ersel' oan a price tag ay $1000, an then Wee Brither can kick ane any extra dependin' oan whot 'e wants. Sae we're all oof tae check 'em oot.

Lang story short, we land at Best Buy, think oan thi Toshibas. But Wee Ben 'as a sharp eye, an spies thi Fujitsu, wi' a chunky pricetag but loaded wi' shite tha' ought tae mak it cost twice as much. Na'er 'eard ay Fujitsu? Me either. But I net-researched it (is there any other wa'??), an found them tae be quite kick-arse. Mair-o'er, I couldnae find thi computer wi' those features fir anythin' less than BB was offerin', whot wi' thi rebate special they were runnin' fir this week only.

Sae Thursday night after work, Mum an I decided tae tak a drive tae thi Best Buy ane Frederick (where they actually 'ad some ay thi damned thin's ane stock). Thi roads sucked arse, people drove lik fuckwads, and gettin' thir wis bad enough. Then we gae ane, and thi cunt ay a sales-person starts all aboot thi service plan. This daft wee skater-lookin' punk fuck-o oan an oan aboot 'ow terrible laptops are, an 'ow they break an thi batteries die an cost ye an airm an a leg, an nae matter 'ow many tymes we telt thi prick we didnae want thi service plan, thi cunt wouldnae let up. Finally, when 'e saw we werenae fir it, 'e passed us oof tae thi porky wee other kid tae ring us up.

Weil this butterball is lik "Sae yer no fir thi service plan?" an we're straight oot wi' "Nup". An then 'e sais "May I ask why?" an starts ane wi' thi fuckin' badgerin' all o'er again! Thi nerve!!

Then this lippy cunt brings oot these "Set-up" papers an 'as all these boxes already checked (msn internet, all this "system optimization" shite), and we'd 'ad it. We walked. They two wee turdies talked themsel's ootay a $3300 sale, thi shites.

Then thi 'arrowin' drive 'ome, but luckily we'd set up thi video tae record Survivor. Sae we come ane thi door, flustered an stressed, an fuckin' Wee Brither walks up an tells us tha' Gabe got thi boot. FUCKIN' 'ELL!!! Thi poor felly thought 'e wis daein' us a favour; thought we'd missed it an wid want tae ken whae wis kicked oof. But whot a fuckin' night!!

I spent thi rest ay thi night tryin' tae find comparable computers oan thi net, but nae dice. Durin' thi night, I dreamed that I wis oan a tour-bus trip tae NY wi' my chihuahua Lopez, but I alsae 'ad yin ay 'is litter brithers wi' me. Somebody wis talkin' aboot Jerry Springer gettin' sued fir somethin' oor another, an I wis sayin' 'ow fucked up everythin' is now wi' Dubya ane thi White Hoose, violations ay free speech an tha', an all thi other people oan thi bus were yellin' at me an sayin' I should gae live ane Russia.

I woke up this mornin' thinkin' tha', if at all possible, I should try tae get my 'ands oan tha Fujitsu, even if it meant bravin' thi barage at Best Buy again. Mum wis like-minded, sae we set off fir thi BB ane Timonium, 'opin' tae get two wi' minimal 'assle.

Thi store 'ad nine! ane stock, an luckily thi sales people were much less abrasive. Once they 'ad it sussed tha' we werenae fir thi service plan, they quit naggin', an even appologised fir they cunts o'er ane Frederick. Weil fine by me!

Sae whot thi fuck am I tellin' ye all this fir? Cause my dear mates....I'm typin' this rant oan my brand new top ay thi line bitch-kickin' FUJITSU LAPTOP WI' CDRW/DVD AN ALL THI GODDAMNED FANCY TRIMMIN'S!!!!!!!

Maybe now we'll see mair rants mair often...

Wow....It's been nearly three months since my last rant...but tha's sortay understandable, considering that I came off of graduation, worked like a dog for a month, and then left for Scotland on June 28th, only to return on the 25th of July. It was an absolutely awesome trip, and I'm in the process of typing up my travel journal and scanning pictures fae the 50 rolls of film Mum shot, which I will soon organize and make into another web-page. Hey..Then I'll have TWO web-pages that nobody ever visits!

Last night I had a dream....I dreamt that a tornado had blown through the neighborhood, and ripped a side off our house. It was part of the front of the house, where my bedroom is, and while it was my sword wall which had been hit, the swords were all still there, but horribly bent and damaged. I wasn't terribly bothered, until I realized that the hilt of my first sword, the one Mum gave me for my birthday six or seven years ago, was bent beyond repair.

My brithers have been on a week long road-trip. They left last Sunday and drove up New England, hitting as many states as they could fit in (and even made a stop in Toronto yesterday). So, um.... Not sure why I told you that...

So we have relatives on my dead grandfather's side who live up in New York State, and have a house in the Hamptons (or is it Hampdens? Well, either way, it sounds the same, doesn't it? I mean...who really gies a fook how ye spell it), which I guess is some big rich fancy area, and last year Aunt and Uncle and Granma went up there for a weekend. Well, they decided to go up there again this weekend, so they've been gone since Friday. And since I work out at the tree nursery on Granny's 100 acre farm (gods, you have no idea how annoying it can be working for family), and since everyone was up in New York, I had the entire hundred acres all to myself. It's nice to pretend that you own that much space. I sang the reprise to "Alive" from Jekyll & Hyde at the top of my lungs (as it was meant to be sung), and when I finally let go of the last note, I could hear it echoing across the hills and against the trees far off in the distance for nearly five seconds after I had stopped singing. Very awesome.

Now you see why I havenae ranted in so long...I don't have anything to say, really.....At least, I don't tonight...

It's been exactly two months since my last rant.

I just finished my second of three final, final exams. Well, not exactly just finished. I finished at 8pm, and it's 9pm now. It only took me an hour and a half...I thought it was gonna be much worse, but it's hard to really get into philosophy essays when you're anxious to be done. After I finished, I went outside and sat down on one of the leveled...step like things, out in the college square. I wanted to wait for Ashley to finish, so I could say goodbye and wish her a good summer, and tell her I liked her hair dyed blue like that which she must've done over the weekend, but I guess she left out of one of the back doors, cause I didn't get the chance. But after I sat down, after the first five minutes, I forgot that was why I was waiting. You see, it hit me again...the nostalgia, and the saddness.

Last Friday, I had my very last class at Western Maryland College, and I really didn't want it to end. It was my religion and culture class...Fitting, the class, and the fact that it was in the same classroom where I had my very first philosophy class. The final class we had a discussion...I forget the topic, it may have been the death penalty...but as I sat there, I began to reflect on my four years of college, and what a truly wonderful experience it has been. And when I think about that, I can't help but think of missed opportunities. Since I didn't live on campus, I was always in a hurry to leave, and I never participated in any extra-curricular activities. As a result, I had quite a few aquaintances on campus, but I didn't make any of what I would call real friends. And in all the time I went to WMC, I never really stopped to take the time to enjoy being there. It's a very pretty campus, especially in the spring, and the buildings are very cool to look at...I'd like to sculpt them sometime...

So tonight, instead of leaving right after my exam, I sat there for about forty minutes, watching the sky grow dark, and watching the scattered people walking around. It seemed like everyone who walked by either knew someone they were passing, or said hi to someone who said hi to the very next person passing by. I sat there soaking it all in, enjoying my last bit of time as a college student, all the while knowing that I was outside of it all, looking in. It isn't really anything to be sad about...It's just the nature of things.

I was so eager to get out of high school...I mean, I was so fucking ready to be done with that mess, I didn't even think about college. I applied to colleges in the area just because it seemed like something to do, but I really didn't care...I was just glad to be out. WMC offered me a nice scholarship, and it's a five minute drive from my house, so I said what the hell and went with it. I didn't know what I wanted to major in, and ended up in philosophy because I had alot of credit hours in it, and it was the one field that I not only did well in but also really enjoyed. And before I knew it, it was my senior year. College was nearly over. I was shell-shocked after high school, and didn't even realize how much I liked college until just this year.

And now, I've got one more exam tomorrow afternoon...religion and culture, ain't it....and the finishing touches to put on my senior thesis, which I'll hand in Friday morning. And a week from this saturday, the graduation ceremony. And that's it. Over now, the music of the night, and all that shite.

I've some really good stuff to look forward to. After my senior thesis, I'm more eager than ever for it to be June, so I can go on my trip to Scotland. Five days in Edinburgh, three in Aberdeen, two in Oban and one in Glasgow, with two whole weeks in a cottage right on the banks of Loch Ness in between the time in Aberdeen and Oban. I plan on working on my thesis some more while I'm there, hopfully expand it into a book-form which I might try to get published. Then, over the next few months, I'll be scouting around and applying to graduate schools, and also working on a compilation of my thoughts in writing form, the "Jakiesm Tractatus", if you will....Yeah, I know what you're thinking, reading these rants and all....The shite this guy writes, and he expects to publish a book and get together a body of writings?! Git tae fook! But I like to write, and so what if I suck at it? Life is too short to do what everyone says you need to do, or what anyone else says you ought to do.

I got alot out of college...I really did. Yeah, I learned alot in my classes, but more than that, I experienced alot over the past four years. It's funny...you can memorize Hegel's dialectic this, and Kant's epistemological that, and you can read Sartre and Kierkegaard and Hume, but none of that is really what philosophy is about. Philosophy means "love of wisdom", but it's gotta be more than love of knowing names and theories. You get wisdom from experience, and from thinking about stuff. Yep, you can read War & Peace and be wise, and you can make huge mistakes like drinking too much and puking on a girl you really like and be wiser about the dangers of drinking (or drinking around a girl you really like)....but you know, you can find wisdom in other ways as well. I was sitting there tonight and I realized that in all my four years at the college, as many times as I had walked across the court-yard, I had never touched the bricks which make up the walkway...so I reached down and touched one. I wonder how many students have come and gone at WMC, and have no knowledge of what those bricks feel like under your fingers. That is wisdom too, I think.

I'm sad it's done with, and I'm nervous and excited about the stuff to come in the years ahead, and I try to be hopeful that while there will always be some bad stuff to deal with, there will mostly be good stuff comming my way. It's just that things come and go so quickly, it's easy to miss them, or only to catch a very fast glimpse of them, which in some ways is even worse...when you know what was there, but that you didn't appreciate it...

Well, anywho...I hope who-ever you are, and where-ever you might be right now, you take the time to just enjoy the now-ness of it all. May your life be full of love, happiness, joy and contentment, and I'll talk to y'all real soon......... ; )

Sometymes, things jist feel weird. I wis informed tha' I've been invited tae join this 'onor society (phi beta somethin'-oor-other), sae I went tae thi meetin' tae find oot whot it wis...I'm nae anetae tha' sortay thin' at all, but I 'ad 'eard tha' it might 'elp me get a job oor anetae a guid graduate school later oan, sae I thought whot thi 'ell. Weil, I went tae thi meetin' last week an all, an thi woman is talkin' aboot 'ow prestigious it is, an 'ow some members wear their..necklace-thingies oor pins oor whotever tae job interviews tae try tae intimidate thi other applicants, an all this crap aboot 'ow we're thi "academic elite" ay our college... I found mysel' askin' me "jist whot thi bloody 'ell are ye daein' 'ere? this really isnae yer thing, lad"... But thi problem is, I'm guannae need whotever I can get tae get a job ane thi field ay philosophy, an tae get anetae a grad school...

But ane my philosophy class taeday, we were talkin' aboot Nietsche (oor 'owever thi fook ye spell 'is name), an 'is ideas tha' ye shouldnae live life by societal norms, an dae whot people tell ye ye ought tae dae; tha' anestead ye should mak yer own path, an tha' sortay thing... An whot dae I really want tae dae?

As I left class, I noticed it wis a pretty nice day...A bit chilly, but sunny. I realized tha' I often walk fast, too fast really...It seems lik I'm alwis ane an 'urry tae get somewhere oor tae get awa' fae somewhere, sae I walk fast..an I wondered whot I wis missin'. Whot would 'appen, I wondered, if I walked slow fir once? Sae I tried it.

I cannae stand writin' poetry, cause I'm really terrible at it. My poems alwis sound forced an cheesy, an lame, an they really show oof thi very worst my already poor writin' style 'as tae offer. But I jist wrote a poem, an it sucks, but I'm guannae put it up anywa', because I fookin'-weil feel lik it.

There are tense changes thir, ane thi verses. Guess whot? I dinnae gie a fook. I told ye it wis shite, didnae I?

Sometymes senses are a bit o'erpowerin'. Sometymes colours are jist tae rich an bright tae even look at, an when ye dae look at 'em, it's almaist as if ye can 'ear them, screamin' at ye...Sometymes thi sky is sae blue, ye can close yer eyes an still taste thi blueness ay it...

I still say thir is nae god. An I'm thi goddamned academic elite..I think I ken whot I'm talkin' aboot 'ere. If ye 'ave love, oor music, oor pineapple juice, whot dae ye need god fir?

Sometymes life tastes very sweet, an sometymes it tastes very, very bitter... Sometymes, life jist tastes...like... like...

Sometymes life tastes jist like tea.............

I 'ad a very vivid dream last evenin', and I'd lik tae share it wi' ye, if I could...It wis yin ay those dreams where everythin' feels completely real, right up until thi moment ye wake up...

Thi dream ended an began wi' an awakenin'. I woke up in an 'otel room, a very small single room, wi' ordinary furnishin's. When I awoke, though, it wis wi' a bit ay a start, fir I realized I 'ad plans tha' day, stuff tae day, an it wis nearly evenin' already. I didnae yet remember whot my plans were.

I left thi room, went doon thi stairs, an oot thi front doors ay thi small 'otel. Ootside oan thi street, I realized I wis ane a small town, much lik Inverness but smaller, lik many other small towns I 'ad visited in Scotland. Thi surroundin' area wis very Scotland-esque; I wis surrounded by very 'igh mountains, thi sky wis o'ercast an dark, an thi clouds were thick, gray, an close tae thi earth. But I kent I wisnae ane Scotland, because jist then I remembered whot I wis saepaesed tae dae tha' day: I wis saepaesed tae gae tae Lake Okanagan, tae tak a picture ay thi Ogopogo (a British Columbian lake monster, some say kin tae Nessie).

I walked doon thi street, tryin' tae figure oot where I wis saepaesed tae gae, when I realized tha' it wis gettin' darker, nae jist because ay thi clouds, but because thi sun wis settin'. I decided tha' thi day wis shot, an tae return tae my 'otel room, but as I began walkin' back ane thi direction I 'ad come, naethin' looked familiar. I began tae feel nervous, crossin' yin street an then another, scannin' up an doon fir anythin' recognizable...An then somethin' familiar caught my eye. It wis a bookstore/cafe, and though I 'ad na'er seen it befir, I some'ow kent it, and I kent tha' it wis where a net-friend ay mine works. I wis a bit nervous aboot jist droppin' ane, ane case she wis there (I distinctly remember tellin' mysel' "Whot if she thinks yer a cyber-stalker?!"), but it wis gettin' dark, an it wis very cold ootside, sae I went ane.

Thi doors I entered took me directly anetae thi cafe, an thir were round tables ane front ay me, wi' a servin' counter at thi opposite wall. If I looked tae my left, I could see a door tha' led anetae thi rest ay thi store, and I could see shelves ay books o'er thir. When I entered, I wis struck immediately by thi smells (it wis a very vivid dream). I smelled coffee, mixed with thi smell ay an antique book-shop, and even though I kent it wis a new-book store, I wis certain tha' thi other room contained 'undreds (an maybe even thousands) ay aulder books, an I wis 'it wi' thi thought tha' per'aps I might even find some ay thi mair elusive Loch Ness Monster books I'm alwis oan thi look-oot fir.

Thir were people sittin' at thi round tables, and a few at thi counter, but I noticed tha' thir wis an empty stool thir, sae I sat doon. Ane thi corner, between thi doors tae thi ootside an thi doorway tae thi bookstore, thir wis a small platform set up (nae quite a stage), where people were playin' music an singin'. As I sat doon, I smiled tae notice tha' thi guy oanstage at thi moment wis my aulder brither, an 'e wis playin' 'is guitar an singin' thi Bob Dylan song "Tangled up in Blue", but ane an operatic style tha' wis very odd.

Thi girl at thi counter approached, an set a napkin oan thi counter ane front ay me. I wis jist aboot tae ask 'er if my friend wis workin' tha' night when I realized tha' it WIS 'er. Thir wis nae recognition ane 'er face as she looked doon at 'er note-pad, an asked "what can I get you?" Thir were a thousand thin's I wanted tae say (per'aps "'ello", oor "Hi! It's me!" oor per'aps somethin' witty lik "A medium latte an Ace!"), but all I could manage wis "A cup ay hot tea, please". Tha's when she looked at me fir thi first tyme, right ane thi eye, an 'er eyes were amazin'ly green an shiney, lik thi sparkle ay dew-drops oan a spring meadow, early ane thi mornin'. Fir a moment I wis lost, 'ypnotized by 'er eyes, an then I noticed thi annoyed look oan 'er face, an she said "That's it? All that way for a cup of tea?" I realized again tha', even though she 'ad seen pictures ay me, she still didnae recognize me, an then I realized it wis because I wis bearded (whether I 'ad 'ad thi beard thi entire dream, oor it appeared jist then, I dinnae ken). "Yes please," I mumbled, "just some tea." So she brought the tea, set it doon ane front ay me, an then moved oan tae wait oan other customers. I noticed tha' she smiled, and laughed with them, and I suddenly felt very ootay place ane thi entire settin'. I got up and moved towards thi door, but as I wis about tae leave, I recognized thi first few notes ay a song tha' wis bein' played oan thi stage. Somethin' ane me compelled me tae move towards thi stage, and when I got there I walked right up oan it an stood ane front ay thi microphone. "This is for a friend of mine," I said, an as thi music continued tae play, I began tae sing: "Music ay thi Night"...

I amazed mysel', because I 'ad na'er sung lik tha' befir, tha' is, GOOD, an it wis 'auntin'ly beautiful...Conversation ane thi cafe began tae dwindle, and finally died oof completely, as everyin' turned tae thi stage tae listen...I continued tae sing, an then I got tae thi line "Let your soul take you where you long to beeeeeeee!", an I 'it thi 'igh note, an 'eld it...An ane thi brief silence aftir tha' note, I realized tha' some'ow I WIS where my soul langed tae be...But I looked o'er, an noticed my friend be'ind thi counter, alsae watchin' an listenin', an I saw thi maist amazin' look ay saddness oan 'er face tha' I 'ave ever seen oan anyin'...It wis 'eart-breakin'...

I closed my eyes an continued thi song tae thi end, finishin' wi' thi 'igh, gentle falsetto note oan "niiiiiiiight", an when I wis done I opened my eyes, an noticed tha' several people at thi tables 'ad tears in their eyes an oan their cheeks. Thir were nae applause as I exited thi stage an made my wa' tae thi doors, but I did steal yin final glance back tae thi counter. My friend wis thir, watchin' me...'Er eyes were very green, an 'er face wis very sad, but thi corner ay 'er lips turned up ane a tiny smile, an she lifted 'er 'and slightly, a wave guid-bye...An then I stepped oot thi door, an a blast ay cold 'air 'it me, chilling my entire body...

An tha's when, shiverin', I awoke tae discover all thi covers kicked tae thi floor, an mysel' freezin' tae death ane my very cold bedroom at 4:47am...I pulled thi covers back up o'er me, an closin' my eyes, I drifted back oof tae sleep. I 'ad nae mair dreams tha' night.

Weird, aye? Dae dreams 'ave 'idden meanin's, oor are they jist a bunch ay stuff tha' 'appens? Maybe a bit ay both............

"Dude; Where's My Anagram Game?!?"

Okee, sae tha' last rant sucked arse (again!)...Let me 'splain.. Ye see, I'm usually a very 'appy person, but thi key word 'ere is PERSON, which means tha' fae tyme tae tyme I 'ave bad moods, jist lik any other 'uman... Thi problem is, I usually tend tae write my rants at 4am, an 4am is when I usually get moody! Sae nae I amnae yin ay those suicidal woe-is-me goth-depression wear all black an Ozzy Osborn music types...I wear all black fir two reasons COMPLETELY unrelated tae depression; 1.) it maks fat people lik me look thinner, an B.) it requires nae fashion sense oor sense ay colour an style tae pick oot whot I'm guannae wear.

Thi truth is, I live a bitchin', kick-arse life, an though it isnae wi'oot its stress an problems, I've got alot tae be grateful fir. I'm only twenty-one, which ane itsel' is pretty kick-arse...an I've already been tae Scotland twice an I'm gaein' back this summer! I've got philosophy an thought tae keep me company, an though I'm nae thi sharpest knife ane thi drawer, I 'ave my moments... I 'ave some truly wonderful friends whae I think thi world ay, an whae's friendships I truly cherish...I live ane a wonderful 'ouse, 'ave lots ay lovely posessions, 'ave seen lots ay Broadwa' musicals (oor thi same few lots ay tymes), I 'ave three dogs which I'm jist crazy aboot, an maist importantly I've got a family tae which I literally owe everythin'; my dear lovin' Mum an my two brithers, yin aulder an yin younger...

I think I've done a wee Mum rant already, an though whot she really deserves is a book (I'm workin' oan it), taenight's rant is devoted tae my brither...I say brither wi'oot thi s nae because I lik yin ay 'em mair than thi other, but because wee brither 'as decided tha' 'e'd prefer it if I left 'is name, face, an personality oofay my website as much as possible. I could rant thi little bugger up an doon fir all ay 'is guid traits, but I'm guannae 'onor 'is wishes anestead an leave 'im tae yer imaginations... ; )

Taenight's rant is devoted tae aulder brither, Mason, whae ye've probably seen pictures ay (thir's a link tae 'is website oan my main page...Gae check it oot!!)... 'Ence, thi title ay thi rant...

Sae whot can I say aboot Mason?? 'E's an 'ell ay a guy...I remember back when we were wee bairns, we 'ad a swing-set oot ane thi yard...I would swing back an forth oan thi see-saw contraption, an 'e would climb up tae thi top ay thi slidin' board, an spit oan my heid...An I would yell oot "May-SON!!" an "STOOOP-IIIIIT!" an "MOOOOMMY!!", an Mum would come oot an yell at 'im an tell 'im tae stop...An then she'd gae back aneside, an 'e'd spit oan my heid again, an thi cycle would resume...

But thir wis another tyme, when we were wee bairns, at a great big shoppin' mall...An ane thi center ay thi mall were these giant plastic multi-coloured cubes tha' ye could climb aroond aneside ay (if ye were small)...Sae I wis climbin' aroond, an settled aneside thi green yin, when a bigger kid came along an informed me it wis 'is block, an tha' I'd better get thi 'ell ootay it... Suddenly Mason appeared, an told thi kid tae beat it befir 'e punched 'is teeth ane...Tha's thi sortay guy 'e wis, an still is....Whatta they say aboot Mason thi Bull? Stand-up guy...

Fir my first few years, I absolutely idolized Mason...Wee brithers think their aulder brithers are gods oan earth, an tha's 'ow I felt aboot Mason....But sadly, thir came a tyme when we were ane our teens when we didnae get alang very weil. Ye see, we 'ad very different personalities, an some very different life experiences which sortay set us at opposite ends ay certain world views... An fir awhile thir, I wis quite judgemental ay people ane general, an Mason ane particular... It really reached a point where I think 'e thought I 'ated 'im, an per'aps, tae my current shame, a part ay me did 'ate 'im...

But dammit this isnae another yappy depressin' essay!! Cause see, Mason moved oot fir a few years, an suddenly we got alang great! We share some similar interests, an now tha' we're aulder, we get alang really weil...

Sae whot thi 'ell sortay guy is Mason?? Ye cannae compare Mason tae anyin' else...Thi guy is an entity all 'is own. 'E's got thi Mason smile, thi Mason walk....'e daes thin's tha' are indescribable ane any wa' other than "Tha's SAE Mason!!"

At thi family reunion (extended family, my maternal granny's family) back aroond x-mas tyme, yin ay thi relatives gave a blether oan 'ow fortunate we all are, an then took up a collection fir donations tae a local charity tha' 'elps oot thi needy... Weil, some people were tossin' ane, tens, twenties, sae forth... Mason reaches doon tae thi bottom ay 'is pocket, comes up empty...Reaches anetae thi other pocket, pulls oot 'is wallet... 'E sifts through thi massive thin', burstin' wi' auld receipts an coupons, seams rippin' fae overstuffin' wi' everythin' under thi sun except money...An finally, aftir flippin' through, 'e comes up wi yin crumpled dollar bill stuffed ane thi very corner ay 'is wallet....'E walks o'er tae thi collection bowl, taks oot thi bill, smooths it oot a bit, an tosses 'is last dollar ane. It wis a classic Mason moment.

Once, when we were very young, we were eatin' brownies. Mason ay course wolfed 'is doon, an as I sat eatin' mine, 'e 'overed o'er me wi' 'ungry eyes. "I'll gie ye five dollars fir a bite ay yer brownie" 'e offered eagerly. "Okee" I said, an thi transaction wis completed. It wis a classic Mason moment.

This evenin', Mason sat doon at thi computer desk an turned oan thi new computer, a top ay thi line $2000 dollar machine which I saved a year tae pay fir 'alf ay, an which can dae all sorts ay jazzy stuff an play all sorts ay cool games. 'E picks up my wee Franklin Word-Master Speller device which I alwis keep oan thi computer desk, fir fast reference ay misspelled words... "'Ow dae ye play thi anagram game oan this wee thin'?" 'e asks me. It wis a classic Mason moment.

Whot can I say aboot Mason?? 'E's an 'ell ay a guy, an I'm glad 'e's my brither...Maybe someday wee brither will let me tell ye aboot 'im...I think ye'd lik 'im as weil............

'Ey, dae ye 'ave a few minutes? I want tae tell ye a story, if I may....but if ye want tae 'ear it, ye'll 'ave tae bear wi' my sel'centred-ness yet again, fir it is still another tale fae thi life ay Ian...Ye must be gettin' as sick ay readin' 'em as I am ay writin' 'em...

Once upon a tyme, thir wis a wee bairn tha' wis born. 'E 'ad curly blonde 'air when 'e wis younger, an wis sae thin 'is pants were alwis fallin' doon, an 'is mother wis afraid 'e would starve tae death, especially when 'e would get thi flu an nae eat fir several days. She would even sit doon wi' 'im an mak lists ay all thi thin's 'e would eat when 'e got better, tae 'elp "fatten 'im 'up".

When 'e wis six, 'is father an mother split up...Weil, tae put it accurately, 'is father split. It wis especially rough because 'is father wis thi principal ay thi elementary school which 'e an 'is aulder brither went tae, sae they saw their da' every day, under very strained circumstances. Thi little boy 'ad problems, an began tae "flip oot". 'Is parents put 'im ane whot wis called "play therapy", where 'e would bring toys an act oot 'is emotions wi' thi 'elp ay 'is shrink, a very nice woman named Beth.

In thi summer ay '87, thi boy's mum moved 'im an 'is two brothers back tae 'er 'ome state, where she could be closer tae 'er family. They still saw their father, but less an less ay 'im each year, as 'e 'ad remarried an started a new family. Thi little boy, now ane third grade, began tae grow chubby, an though 'e wis ootay therapy, 'e still 'ad bouts ay "flippin' oot" fae tyme tae tyme. 'E first threatened suicide back when 'e wis six, an probably first began tae really mean it when 'e wis nine oor ten. Aftir yin particular episode somewhere between thi ages ay 10 an 14, 'is bedroom door wis removed fae it's 'inges fir o'er a year, tae prevent a repeat ay thi incident. Meanwhile, thi boy grew fatter.

'E 'ad alwis been shy tae begin wi', an thi divorce 'adnae 'elped, an now tha' 'e wis fat, an wore glasses, 'e became even mair ay a social recluse. 'E developed a strong phobia ay social situations, due ane part tae thi merciless teasin' 'e received through thi remainder ay 'is public school years. Ane middle school, 'is "friend" George would chase 'im aroond thi classroom wi' a pair ay scissors, tryin' tae cut thi acne oofay 'is face. Ane 'igh-school, 'e often sat at an empty lunch table, quietly readin' an eatin' 'is lunch, until a group ay kids at a near-by table picked up oan 'is presence an decided tae mak 'im their personal target. Now 'e 'ad tae eat 'is lunch tae thi resoundin' chorus ay "Faggot!", "Zits!", "Fatboy!". Aftir awhile, 'e began tae tak an 'int; 'e spent 'is lunch break ane thi library anestead, an since eatin' wisnae allowed ane thi library, 'e began skippin' lunch.

Nae everybody teased 'im. 'E 'ad a few aquaintances, some 'e would even gae sae far as tae call friends; maybe three oor four at maist. Thi rest, those whae didnae tease, seemed nae tae even recognize 'is presence, an compared wi' thi alternative, 'e wis 'appy enough wi' tha'. But 'is impressions ay 'uman bein's ane general were (per'aps unfairly) shaped by 'is exposure tae those people at 'is school, an aftir seein' thi Lord Andy Phantom ay thi Opera when 'e wis aroond 14, 'e decided tha' 'umans ane general were evil. 'Is mentality became 'imsel' against thi world, an sometymes 'is thoughts were occupied wi' violent revenge. Maistly, 'owever, they were occupied wi' thi idea ay escape. Thoughts ay endin' 'is own life were nae langer cries fir 'elp oor attention, fir 'e kept them tae 'imsel'...They 'ad become 'opeful dreams ay salvation fae a world tha' 'ad naethin' left tae offer 'im.

'E stuck it oot, though...'E made it ootay public school, an went oan tae college; an 'e wis amazed tae find people thir whae werenae oot tae attack others, tae crush 'is spirit, tae break 'im apart fir their own amusement. 'E alsae found a means ay communication wi' other kindred personalities fae all o'er thi globe, whae shared common interests an thought similar thoughts. 'Is o'erall view ay 'umans changed, an 'e wis now able tae recognize tha' while thir are certainly evil, nasty people oot thir, thir are jist as many nice, kind, compassionate people ane thi world. An yet....

An yet 'e still felt alone. 'E 'ad many aquaintances at thi college, but nae true friends. 'Is few friends fae 'igh school 'ad all faded awa' anetae thi past, an while 'e 'ad many internet friends whae 'e loved an cherished, they were bitter-sweet friendships, fir thir wis a vast space an distance between 'em, an when thi computer wis switched oof, thir were barely even voices tae echo ane 'is heid, an their words seemed lost ane tyme...

Thir is a price tae pay fir shyness an social insecurity; it is called lonliness. Thir is a price tae pay fir distanced friendships; it is called longing. Thir is a price tae pay fir living; it is called suffering. Thi wee little boy whae wis born as thi seventies ended may 'ave payed fir 'is twenty one years sae far, but may still wonder fae tyme tae tyme whether oor nae 'e can afford another twenty one, oor ten, oor one....

Sae tha's thi story....'Ope ye arenae terribly bummed oot by it! Tha' certainly wisnae thi intention...Sometymes, though, thoughts gae beyond intentions, an they need tae be rambled oot, whotever thi consequences...

Sometymes I can feel thi pressure pushin' oan my skull, fae thi inside an thi oot...I ken it's guannae crack yin day, an I often wonder whether it will collapse ane oan itsel', oor explode ootward...Oor maybe it will simply crumble anetae dust, wi'oot makin' a sound; jist a quiet disintegration as my thoughts drift awa', an sensation ceases, an I disappear back anetae thi randomness from which I came, leaving behind no trace ay my existence, an nobody remembers tha' I ever was at all............

'Ow aboot a scattered thoughts rant? Whot's oan yer mind, Ian? Whot's gaein' oan ane yer world??

I saw a really cool movie yesterday..I've 'eard it ranted up an doon an left an right by several people fir thi past few months, an I meant tae watch it oan Thanksgivin', but loaded doon wi' turkey, I sortay fell asleep through maist ay it...

Fae thi previews an trailers, I wis certain it wis guannae be a complete an total Brave'eart an Spartacus rip-oof...I mean, massive battle scenes, roman gladiator matches, thi brave an brawney 'ero whae dies at thi end (I saw tha' part oan thanksgivin'), an a villian whae's easy tae 'ate...Sae I went ane expectin' rip-oof city.

Wisnae tha' at all. Anestead, thir wis a fantastic an ORIGINAL plot, guid character development, unpredictability (even considerin' my previous partial viewin'), battle scenes done ane a very different style, an a very surreal quality when appropriate. Did I mention a fantastic cast ay actors an actresses (weil, actress...nae alot ay female characters)..? An I'll tell ye somethin' else...Tha' 'elmet kicked ARSE!!!

I'm talkin', ay course, aboot Gladiator, which is far mair then a big budget 'Olywood epic, which usually sacrifices actin' an plot fir special effects an cheezy lines...Granted, thir were tons ay special effects, an thir were lines borderin' oan cheese (but only because I'd seem 'em used ane thi previews sae often...ane thi context ay thi film, they worked). An I'll tell ye this...'E wis guid ane L.A. Confidential, an even better ane Thi Insider...but aftir seein' Gladiator, if thir's a Russell Crowe movie oot, I'd gae see it...Tha' is yin kick-arse Aussie...

I use thi expression "kick arse" tae much...Arses dinnae ever seem tae actually be gettin' kicked...sae why thi 'ell dae I say it?

They're callin' fir snow taemorrow mornin'...This really sucks arse (see?! Weil, okee, tha' tyme it sucked anestead ay kickin'...but still) because thi parkin' situation at thi college campus is terrible. All thi rich punk bastards whae live oan campus...they arenae even saepaesed tae 'ave cars thir! But they dae...an they park ane all thi lots close tae thi school, an leave their bmw's thir all week, an then tak 'em oot friday an saturday tae party, an 'ave 'em all parked again oan monday mornin', sae tha' us poor commuter students 'ave tae park 'alf a mile awa', IF we're lucky enough tae find a goddamned spot at all!!

March, thi Jekyll & Hyde pay-per-view special is commin' oan....Now, I'll admit tha' fae thi pictures I've seen, David Hasselhoff looks okee ane thi part...But I've 'eard 'im sing oan thi Today Show, an my goddess it wis absolutely awful! I 'ave such wonderful memories ay tha' show, wi' wonderful performers ane thi lead role...if baywatch boy comes alang an fooks tha' up, I'm gonna be pissed....

'Ow dae ye ken if ye've got a crush oan someyin'? 'Ow can ye tell...whot are thi signs an symptoms..? Dae ye think aboot 'em alot..? Wonder whot they're daein'? Dae ye draw 'em...dream aboot 'em? Daes it begin an end wi' a smile? Whot lies be'ind pleasant conversations...oor whot dae ye mak ay it ane yer own heid..?

'Ow can ye tell if yer really 'appy? 'Ow aboot if yer really sad? If ye recognize yer emotional state, 'appy oor sad, whot factors dae ye use tae determine tha' state? Whot if thi factors tell ye yer 'appy, but ye still FEEL sad? If ye add up all thi factors, an they tell ye "Ye are sad", an then yin tiny factor changes, can ye still be sad? Where is thi line between thi two? Can thi very same factors tha' add up tae sad oan wednesday add up tae 'appy oan sunday?

I usually shave one day a week (my skin is sensitive, sae much mair then tha' an it gets agitated...an I'm lazy as 'ell tae boot)...It's usually sunday night (it wis this tyme, an last week tae)....Fir one night a week, my face feels all nice an smooth, an I like it....

Why dae people pray sae much? Last week, ane an elementary school ane Pennsylvania, a guy ane 'is fifties walked ane wi' a machete an started choppin' at people, woundin' thi principal, two teachers, an six students...Luckily, naeyin wis killed, an all are expected tae fully recover....But now they're 'oldin' prayer-meetin's an candle-light vigils thir...I thought candle-light vigils were fir when someyin dies...An whot are they prayin' fir now? "Dear god, please let thi 'urt ones be 'ealed"...Yeah, okee...Thi doctors 'ave it covered..."Dear god, thank ye fir nae lettin' anyin' get killed"...Weil, thank thi principal an thi teachers, those three courageous ladies whae risked their lives tae save thi children...."Dear god, thi next tyme ye let an machete-weildin' psycho walk anetae a school an hack at people, please protect us again, lik ye did taeday..."... 'Ey, I've got an idea! 'Ey god! Why daen't ye jist keep thi machete-weildin' psychos ootay thi schools all taegether?! Strike 'em doon wi' a fookin' stroke, oor 'ave 'em get 'it by a bus oor somethin'....

My dogs all 'ave psychological disorders....Magic is obese, an 'as obsessive-compulsive disorder...Cajun 'as separation anxiety...An Skye is jist pure sneaky evil.. ; )

I'm lookin' firward tae startin' back tae work soon...I need some money tae spend...I've nae bought mysel' anythin' ane ages, an my car could gae kerplunk at any tyme...

A final thought....They say (an some sing) that money cannae buy ye love....Weil, okee....But can love buy ye money? I love my friends, an Scotland, an musicals lik POTO an J&H, an my dogs, an my bumperstickers, an my family (I probably should've put them 'igher oan thi list, but ah weil.. ; ), an I really, REALLY love tha' 'elmet ane Gladiator...An let me tell ye...I sure dae love money....Sae wi' all this love I've got...Can I get some money?????

It must suck tae be thi sole ay a shoe............

At Western Maryland College, thi school I gae tae, thi "fall" semester begins ane thi end ay August, an runs through thi second week ay December oor sae....Thi "spring" semester begins ane thi end ay January, an runs through aboot thi second week ay May... Thi tyme between thi two semesters, durin' thi month ay January, is free tyme, fir sleepin' late an daein' alot ay naethin'. Except....Once, durin' thi four years ay college, students 'ave tae tak whot they call a "Jan-Term"...a class tha' runs durin' tha' free tyme an all....

Sae it wis my senior year, an I 'ad tae sign up fir a jan-term fir this past month.....I originally signed up tae gae oan a trip tae Spain..."Castles an Cathedrals"...but they 'ad tae cancel it cause nae enough people signed up fir it (lucky fir me...I couldnae really afford it tae begin wi')...But I still 'ad tae 'ave a class, an thi only thin' tha' looked remotely interestin' wis a philosophy class called "Philosophy ay Nonviolence" oor somethin' tae tha' effect....Sae I took it...

Now I went ane thir wi' a very skeptical mind. I dinnae ken if I could necessarily call mysel' a practitioner ay nonviolence, even though I've na'er been ane a fist fight, na'er beaten anybody up, an na'er executed any mair severe ay a sel'defense strategy than thi implementation ay several wrist-locks an twists tae deter aggressors...But I did 'ave several years ay Tae Kwon Do, an if thi situation arose where I oor someyin near me were in immediate physical danger, I would dae whot is necessary tae prevent it, an if tha' means a punch oor whotever, then sae be it. Sae when I went tae this class, I expected it tae be very preachy, advocatin' nonviolence ane all situations an under all circumstances, "turn thi other cheek" type bullshite...

Thi instructors fir thi course, a married couple named Pam and Charles, were quite near to what I expected when I read thi course description. Pam 'as worked wi' several organisations 'elpin' oot battered women, an 'as a backgroond ane psychology, as daes Charles, whae 'as worked ane many different areas ay 'uman nonviolence relations...Both were clearly x-'ippies, but tae their credit, neither wore tie-dyes oor bell-bottoms, though they did bring ane their instruments an sing freedom-songs....

Thi course itsel' focused oan thi life an teachin's ay Mohandas Gandhi, an thi U.S. civil rights movements ay thi 1960's, especially thi work ay thi late Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. Thi internet is a fabulous source ay information oan thi lives an efforts ay both ay these men, sae I'll leave all tha' tae ye, if ye've an interest ane it...

Thi student body ay thi class wis made up ay a few adults, an 'andful ay college-age students (some thir fir noble reasons ay movin' towards careers tha' 'elp others ane some wa', an some thir tae kill a requirement, lik mysel')... One ay thi nice thin's aboot thi class wis tha' everyin' ane it 'ad a guid heid fir discussion, an if ye've ever takin' a philosophy course befir, ye ken tha' tha's thi best part ay 'em...

Ane general, it wis a guid course. Tae thi credit ay thi instructors, they did a wonderful job ay nae preachin', choosin' anestead tae present thi material ay nonviolence as an alternate form ay action ane situations where we might instinctively oor 'istorically resort tae violent means. I wis oan my guard against condemnation ay anyin' nae willin' tae fully embrace a total life ay nonviolence, but thi two werenae thir tae condemn, preach, oor convert...I admired them fir tha', an appreciated it...

Sae whot wis anevolved wi' this nonviolence stuff? I simply cannae sum it all up ane a rant, an thir are tons ay websites oot thir tha' ootline alot ay thi course material we were exposed tae....But whot we mainly focused oan wis thi role ay nonviolence as an active wa' ay affectin' change ane political an social situations. Alot ay thi nonviolence stuff 'as a strong base ane religion (King, a devout Christian, refered tae 'is religion often fir guidance an justification ane 'is path ay nonviolence, as did Gandhi, a Hindu), an tha' ay course ruffled my feathers, an set me oan guard. Whot I found, fae readin' thi assigned course material (an if ye want tae see thi floatin' reactions I 'ad tae thi three different books, ye can find 'em 'ere), wis tha' sometymes religion CAN play a benificial role. I think a nonviolent approach tae life can be adopted wi'oot any religious connotations at all, but fir many people, thi religious beliefs certainly 'elped.

I guess thi part I liked least aboot thi course wis tha' alot ay thi actual lecture tyme wis spent oan thi presentation ay thi sortay stuff ye'd see ane a typical seminar-type settin' ay any kind; diagrams an six-step plans an theories an such...stuff tha' tae me seems lik common sense, an disnae warrant dramatic reflection oan oor gettin' up early an sittin' ane a class fir. Fir example, thi presentation ay steps ane nonviolent conflict resolution seemed jist silly tae me. It wis a bunch ay common sense stuff written up oan thi board ane a nice flow-chart form, which I cannae even remember specifically now, because it's stuff tha' I use tae resolve conflicts already, nae ane chart form, but ane ingrained practical application form. An dinnae get me wrong...Charles wis a very nice guy (fae Canada an all...an as everyin' kens, Canadians are FAR cooler people than U.S.ers ; ), but 'e wis a psychiatrist (oor psychologist...cannae remember which), an thus 'ad a very quiet, 'ypnotic voice, which I sortay came tae think ay as audible valium...When 'e talked oan these steps an such, I struggled tae maintain consciousness....I considered thi toothpicks tae 'old thi eyelids open, even...

But I'll say this fir Charles...'Is approach tae thi nonviolence thin', an especially thi religious aspects, seemed tae be very close tae mine, oor at least, durin' discussion, 'e put it ane tha' context tae 'elp me get past all tha' religion god-shite....Sortay lookin' at it fae thi practical application viewpoint, thi sociological type uses ay religion ane relation tae 'ow it 'elps form a nonviolent lifestyle, an thi symbolic meanin' ay "god" oor "universe oan thi side ay justice" anestead ay an actual truth tae thi statement oor deity. An as far as people gae, both Pam an Charles were jist all oot guid people. They werenae lik instructors sae much as equals (right doon tae thi first-name business), they ate lunch wi' thi class, an even invited everyin' o'er tae their 'ouse fir a pot-luck dinner....Unfortunately, I'm nae a very social creature, sae I declined thi lunch invitations an missed thi dinner (though I alsae 'ad my Tai Chi course thi night ay tha', an I cannae miss Tai Chi fir ANYTHIN'!). An if naethin' else can be said aboot Charles an Pam, I can at least say this; I greatly admire people lik them whae devote their lives an careers tae 'elpin' others, an teachin' peace tae whae-ever 'appens by tae listen...

Sae whot did I really get ootay this class, aside fae credit fir thi Jan-Term...? Weil, as part ay thi classwork, I 'elped design a wee web-page, wi' links tae sites oan nonviolence (ye can see it 'ere: http://www.geocities.com/nonviolence_wmc). I discovered tha' there are some guid Christians, an tha' nonviolence can be an incredibly powerful tool fir bringin' aboot change. But I really remain firm ane my stance tha' nonviolence isnae a complete fix-all tool...Thir are certain situations where it is undeniably thi maist (an sometymes thi only) effective tool, but thir are other tymes where, even though full-tyme practitioners ay nonviolence would still use nonviolence, violence would be mair effective. Part ay tha' lies ane thi definition ay violent oor nonviolent action. If somebody comes up tae me, an throws a punch at me, then I would see a block tae tha' punch as bein' nonviolent. If I felt tha' thi only wa' tae prevent tha' person fae strikin' again, an maybe bein' successful if they struck enough, wis tae strike back an stop them, then I would use it; but I would see it as violence. A practitioner ay nonviolence, 'owever, wouldnae use thi counter-punch, an wouldnae even use thi block, which they would see as usin' violence, oor meetin' force wi' force... They would say tha' it is better tae let thi aggressor rain blows doon oan ye an nae fight back, fir if ye are ane thi right, then eventually thi agressor will be seen fir thi tyrant tha' they are... This is true tae a degree, but fir yer nonviolent method tae eventually stop thi attack, it relies oan thi agressor realizin' their wrongness ane attackin' ye, an stoppin' themsel's....An let me tell ye, fae personal experience, some agressors simply willnae stop, 'oundin', attackin', beatin' ye, until ye are deid. Sae I embrace (as I sortay alwis 'ave) nonviolence ane certain appropriate situations, but I willnae gie up thi thought processes ay evaluation when dealin' wi' different situations by committin' tae all-nonviolence, all thi tyme...

Weil, it's now offically Sunday (3:13am), which means tha' the new semester begins taemorrow...I really 'ope I can mak it through my last semester ay college wi'oot beatin' thi bloody 'ell ootay somebody...G.W. Bush, keep yer distance! But ane all seriousness....I'm really startin' tae wonder.....whot comes next? Where dae I gae fae 'ere...?

I guess I'd better sleep oan it..........

Thi first day ay thi new year, 2001...01/01/01...It's only once every 'undred years tha' ye can write tha' date.. ; )

Sometymes I'm an non-conformist tae a purely idiotic degree...New Year's Eve an Day...probably my least favourite 'oliday, oor yin ay 'em....People celebratin'..whot?! A date?! Jist an excuse tae get wasted, an then ye say some shite ye intend tae dae o'er thi next year, which everyin' kens ye'll na'er get done if ye 'ad a thousand years tae dae it ane... "I want tae lose weight!" Ye fat prick, ye ken yer guannae dig anetae thi left-o'er x-mas candy as soon as ye've shaken yer 'ang-o'er...an then it's February, wi' 'eart-shaped chocolate boxes an all...guid fookin' luck! "I'm guannae quit smokin'!" Ye lame-arsed tumor-food...Why thi fook did ye start smokin' tae begin wi'? Disnae tak a rocket scientist tae figure oot tha' if maist people tha' die ane 'ouse-fires die fae breathin' smoke, then direct puffin' isnae guannae dae ye any guid! An whot wi' thi stress ay cabin fever durin' thi winter, dae ye really think yer guanne be able tae kick yer yin 'elpful crutch?! "I'm guannae be nicer tae others!" Ah fook ye ane thi ear!! Ye ken yer guannae be thi same foul-nasty scumbag ye were last year, an thi year befir tha'!

Ye want a New Year's Resolution? I'll gie ye a fookin' resolution.

I resolve tae gain 500lbs, an become a disgustin', bed-ridden, immobile slug, covered ane bed-sores an reekin' ay unwashed flesh...I want tae be thi first fucker oan earth tae die ay an 'eart attack at thi age ay 21, nae cause ay drugs oor some genetic disease, but fae eatin' five gallon buckets ay salted butter at every meal...

This year, I resolve tae fall madly ane love wi' this absolute perfect girl, whae will turn aroond an dump me oan my arse fir a lad wi' an IQ ay 64 an a motorcycle.

I resolve tae tak up smokin'. But nae tobacco...tha's a fookin' cop-oot fir those wankers tha' cannae 'ack it...I'm guannae smoke asbestos.

This year, I resolve tae break somebody's nose, jist cause I fookin'-weil feel lik it. Probably some christian dickheid.

This year, I'm guannae leave this country. I may na'er come back. Probably willnae.

'Ey, guess whot? Now I feel better! Why cannae New Year's Day come every day?!? Although, if ye think aboot it, every day could mark a new year, dependin' oan when ye decide a year starts....but tha's a different rant.........

Sae my maternal Granda' died oan 27 December 1997. 'E 'ad leukemia since at least thi summer ay '97, but 'e didnae tell us until thi fall...Then, it wis chemotherapy, an then a stroke ane early December fae blood-clots as a result ay thi chemo treatments...Ane fact, I 'ad jist finished my last final exam fir my first semester ay college, when Mum came 'ome tae tell me 'e 'ad a stroke...I went tae visit 'im ane thi 'ospital, an spent maist ay thi rest ay tha' day thir...but aftir tha', I na'er went back tae see 'im again. I think it wis sortay fittin' tha' when 'e actually died (aroond 11am, I think), thi only three people ane thi room wi' 'im were 'is wife (my Grandma, ay course), my aulder brither ('is first-born grand-child), an Mum ('is first-born child). Funny...ironic... Granda's auldest child an auldest grand-child...thi very same two 'e treated thi worst...

I wis alwis afraid ay Granda', right up until 'is last summer, when 'e changed...mellowed oot a bit, whot wi' expectin' 'is death an all (nae drastically, but enough). Grandmum 'as alwis been a very lovin', very friendly, very sweet person...jist whot ye'd want ootay a grand-parent. She's very 'yper, energetic, still plays tennis even though she's ane 'er mid tae late seventies (though she's been a bit less active since 'er 'eart attack last November). Granda', oan thi other 'and, wis thi 'arshest, maist judgemental, auld-fashioned thinkinest person I ever met. An arch-conservative, 'e clashed wi' my Mum lik fire an water. Mum wis a wild child, thi only yin ay thi three ay Granda's children tae really strike oot oan 'er own, awa' fae thi family...An probably thi only yin ay 'em tae stand thir an shout "Fuck You Fuck You Fuck You!" right ane 'is face. Granda' na'er firgave 'er fir some ay thi stuff she did when she wis younger (which, really, wis nae worse than any other mistaks any normal person maks)...An worse still, Granda' wis 'arsh oan my aulder brither, because 'e is truly 'is mother's son.

My aunt Sandy, Mum's younger sister by aboot a year, na'er moved awa' fae my grandparents 100 acre farm...she moved anetae thi auld farm-'ouse tha' occupies part ay thi property (Grandpa, an engineer back ane 'is day, bought thi farm [literally..i'm nae talkin' aboot 'is death 'ere] back ane thi seventies, I believe, an built thi 'ouse tha' 'e an Granny lived ane, an she ay course still lives ane). Uncle Frankie, thi youngest child an only son, owns an runs a tree nursery business ootay thi auld dairy barn oan thi farm property (which is where I work...Workin' fir family really sucks, but it's thi only wa' I can feel a closeness oor partial attachment tae thi farm, which is a beautiful place).

Now Sandy married Dale back ane thi eighties, an Frankie married Vanessa ane 1990, I think...Frankie an Vanessa 'ave two sons, Vince (whae's aboot seven), an Clayton (whae's almaist four). Sandy an Dale na'er 'ad kids, an now tha' she's approachin' fifty, still ane thi same secretarial job she's been ane since she came ootay college, Sandy's gone a bit flakey (especially since Granda' died). She is extremely with-drawn, totally removed fae social interaction, an yet 'as a very obnoxious, touchy-grabby nature aroond Frankie's kids. Frankie, oan thi other 'and, 'as fallen anetae thi total yuppie life-style, wi' thi SUV, thi cell-phones, 'is kids ane private schools, an actin' thi part ay big Mr. Community Involvement an Society (I'm nae at all surprised 'e voted fir Bush...'E's only anetae Society as far as title is concerned, 'as thi typical greed ay yin whae stands tae in'errit a nice chunk, an fir all 'is attempts at appearin' intelligent, is actually jist a dumb dirt-farmer).

Sae it came tae pass tha' this past spring, June 2000, my wee brither graduated fae 'igh school. Now my aulder brither went tae 'is graduation, but I skipped my own graduation ceremony. I wis an oot-cast, 'ad a total loathin' fir thi school an thi people, an nearly didnae graduate because ay my protestin' a blatently unconstitutional graduation requirement. Even mair than tha', though, I kent I couldnae stand tae sit wi' my "clasemates" an listen tae 'em all clap an cheer as thi popular kids got their diplomas, then get up an bear thi silence I kent would come as I walked across tha' stage. Mum understood, an didnae pressure me. But wee brither agreed tae gae through wi' thi ceremony, fir Mum's sake, an especially since thi passage wis nae jist fir a son, but fir 'er baby son, it meant alot tae 'er. Now, Grandma an Granda an Frankie an Vanessa an Sandy an Dale 'ad all come tae aulder brither's graduation, which wis back ane '94, but ay course since I didnae 'ave yin, it wis six years since thi last yin. Mum made sure tae send thi invitations tae wee brither's weil ane advance, an went ootay 'er wa' tae mak sure everyone kent 'ow important it wis tae 'er. Sandy an 'er 'usband decided weil befir thi graduation tha' they wouldnae be attendin'. Though Frankie called jist a day oor two befir tae say 'e an 'is wife couldnae come either, I think 'e 'ad nae intention ay gaein' all alang. Ane thi end, it wis Mum, aulder brither, Grandma, an mysel' sittin' ane thi audience, clappin' an cheerin' fir wee brither.

This wisnae thi first snub oan Frankie's part. Thir were past invitations tae dinner, etc, which 'ad alsae been rejected (one an 'our befir it wis scheduled, because 'e wis "tired"). Thi deeper issues were, though, tha' Sandy an Frankie 'ad really drifted apart fae Mum...They 'ad become nae only different people, but different ane wa's tha' conflicted wi' 'er very nature. Mair-o'er, Frankie, bein' thi only son, 'ad alwis been 'eld up as thi Prize Pig ay thi family by Grandmum an Granda'. Ye see, Granda's name wis Franklin Vincent Vleck, an Frankie's name is Franklin Vincent Vleck Jr. (can ye guess whot my cousin Vince's full name is?). By Granda's wa' ay thinkin', thi fact tha' Frankie wis born wi' a penis automatically made 'im thi favourite child, and sae as they all grew up, it became ingrained tradition tha' Frankie got first consideration ane all matters, followed by Sandy, whae na'er told 'er father tae fuck oof, an finally Mum (whae, truth be telt, wi' 'er stubborn streak an 'ot-heidedness, wis really thi maist lik Granda' all alang).

Sae Frankie an Sandy skipped wee brither's graduation. Aye, it 'appens tha' wi' family yer born anetae a relationship wi' people tha' ye often 'ave naethin' ane common wi'...wi' people tha', were ye choosin' mates, would be thi LAST people ye'd choose as friends...But thi common bond ay family 'olds ye taegether. Ye get taegether at important events, oor at 'olidays, tae remind each other tha', though ye may be different, an though politics may be a taboo discussion at Thanksgivin', ye still all love each other. An yet, Frankie an Sandy 'ad decided tha' they would nae langer gae ootay their wa' tae dae stuff they felt nae interest ane. Graduation ay Mum's youngest son? Sandy's excuse wis blatently 'onest: "I didn't want to go, and people shouldn't do what they don't want to do". Frankie's excuse, even though 'e called a few days ane advance, wis tha' 'e couldnae come, since thi day ay thi graduation they were makin' hay, an yin ay thi machines broke doon. While Grandma 'alf-'eartedly suggested tha' Sandy probably should 'ave come, she still defends Prize Pig tae thi very end.

Sae fir Mum, first thir wis anger...an thir wis 'urt...thir wis disgust...Thir wis alsae guilt, fir she wis thi family scape-goat, an even though she wisnae alwis responsible even if they blamed 'er, thir 'ad been psychological damage done....Sae she felt tha' maybe this new situation wis 'er fault...Maybe she should jist let it drop...blow it oof lik thi countless other thin's...

Mum came tae realize thi simple truth; tha' sometymes even thi bonds ay family can be broken. Nae only were thi interests ay thi three siblin's extremely different, two ay 'em were obviously nae even gaein' tae mak an effort any mair. Thi family decided tha' personal conveniece would come befir family, sae tha' wis 'ow it would be...

Now Mum 'as alwis 'ad a love-'ate relationship wi' x-mas... Ane one sense, she loves gettin' gifts fir 'er kids (though she 'ates tae shop), an she liks tae decorate, an sit ane 'er livin' room an read by x-mas tree light....An she liked gettin' taegether wi' thi family, tae be wi' 'em, see 'er nephews, etc...But she's alwis 'ated thi big gift-exchanges amongst thi extended family, where they all gie each-other stuff none ay 'em need...An since Granda died, an thi family 'as continued tae grow apart, it's become even mair uncomfortable. Mum alwis prefered Thanksgivin', since it wis a tyme fir thi family tae get taegether wi'oot all thi stupidness ay gift-givin' fir thi sake ay gift-givin', but thi past few years Grandma 'as spent Thanksgivin' doon ane Florida, sae each ay thi siblin's dae their own thin' wi' their families. When this graduation thin' occured, she kent she wouldnae be able tae 'andle x-mas this year. Sae, ane keepin' wi' thi family tradition ay nae daein' whot ye dinnae want tae dae, an wi' thi complete an full support ay 'er three sons, Mum decided tae skip gaein' tae thi extended family x-mas get-taegether...

Thi only problem ane all ay this is Grandma. She ay course blames Mum fir thi familial rift, accusin' 'er ay lettin' somethin' small an petty lik thi graduation thin' rip thi family apart...She refuses tae recognize thi parts 'er other two children played ane it all, thi general rift tha' already existed, oor thi fact tha' she 'ersel' only maks it worse by uniformally takin' thi side against my Mum ane all issues. But fir all ay tha', Grandma 'as tried nae tae get anevolved, an 'as alwis worked 'ard tae keep thi bonds ay family taegether (except Thanksgivin', since Frankie an Sandy na'er cared aboot tha' 'oliday..I mean, why shouldnae Grandma spend it doon ane warm Florida when Frankie an Sandy dinnae care aboot Thanksgivin' anywa'??), an Mum disnae want tae cause 'er any grief o'er it all...

But we've already decided. I love Grandma, but I love Mum maist, an I think tha' aftir years ay 'ell, she deserves some tyme tae relax. Taeday I baked a cheescake an a rum-cake, an taemorrow I'm makin' a double batch ay spinach lasagnia, an aulder brither an 'is girl-friend are commin' o'er, an it's guanne be jist thi five ay us (eight, if ye count thi poodles ; )...We're guannae 'ave a fire, an dinner, an exchange gifts tha' were bought ootay love an nae jist x-mas tradition, an we willnae 'ave tae get up early, oor put oan nice clothes, oor mak small talk wi' people we 'ave fook-all ane common wi', an Mum can jist relax, an enjoy 'er days oof fae work. An next year, if she wants, Grandma can come spend x-mas wi' us...Oor maybe even Sandy an Frankie will dae tha' yin wee small thin' tha' may 'ave smoothed oot thi entire situation all thi wa' back ane June; say "I'm sorry"...

But then again...maybe it's tae late fir tha'........

Where daes cynicism an skepticism come fae? Are we pre-destined at birth, by thi month an alignment ay thi stars, oor by thi genes we're born wi', tae be believers oor doubters? Why are some ay us trustin' tae thi point ay naivete, while others are distrustfull ay others tae thi point ay sel'-isolationism..?

Personally, I think thi greatest factors ane determinin' our personalities are environmental yins...Tha' is, our experiences shape our personalities, an our views ay thi world, anecludin' aspects ay trust an belief...

Ane my early child-'ood, I wis a shy kid....As far back as I can remember, I would run awa' when people I didnae ken came anetae thi 'ouse, an when my father shaved oof 'is beard when I wis three oor four, I wis terrified, an 'id be'ind thi rockin' chair all evenin'...I wis terrified ay startin' school, an bargained my wa' ootay thi terrors ay pre-school ane exchange fir a peaceful start tae kindergarten (a promise I tried tae keep, but couldnae).. Sae granted; my personality at birth an ane my early years wis introverted, an 'ad a slight inclination towards distrust...

Then when I wis six, my father left, an I think I na'er completely recovered fae tha'....I went tae an elementary school tha' 'ad a total ay ninety students ane grades K-6, an my father wis thi principal, sae I saw 'im every day.....Fir a few years, 'e remained part ay my life, but by thi tyme I wis ten oor eleven, I barely saw 'im oor 'eard fae 'im...

An then I got really fat...I spent thi next nine oor ten years, all through middle an 'igh school, a social recluse, teased an 'arassed an shunned by my peers...

If by my twentieth year I 'ad any shred ay trust left aneside me, it would 'ave been a miracle...An mair-o'er, I 'ad found Philosophy when I wis nineteen, an wi' it came names fir my world view; atheism...skepticism...cynicism...empiricism...

It's funny....If I 'ad tae point tae yin event ane my life tha' really made me an atheist, it would 'ave tae be Christmas 1989, an whot followed....

1989 wis thi year thi first "Batman" movie came oot, an wee ten-year-auld Ian wis quite taken wi' it...Thi big toy ay tha' Christmas season, then, wis thi Batman action figure...By October they were ane scarce supply, an by November they were impossible tae find...

Now 1989 wis my first year fir doubtin' thi existence ay Santa Claus....Mum took great pleasure ane Christmas, an went all oot tae mak sure every year wis truly special...An though it wis alot ay work, playin' Santa wis thi maist rewardin' part ay it all fir 'er, sae she worked 'ard tae keep us believin' fir a lang while......But tha' year, I 'ad begun tae doubt...tae question thi practicality ay a fat guy deliverin' presents all o'er thi world...

Though it wis thi thin' I maist wanted fir Christmas tha' year, Mum 'ad pretty much prepared me fir thi fact tha' Batman figures were impossible tae find...She discussed 'ow even Santa might 'ave trouble findin' 'em , since sae many people were aftir 'em...Fir ten year auld Ian, already oan thi path tae skepticism, thi question came up..; Why should 'e 'ave trouble if 'e's magical? Per'aps 'e really didnae exist....

We 'appen tae 'ave Christmas mornin' 1989 oan video-tape, an as we were watchin' 'ome movies thi other week, we came upon tha' particular tape...My brothers an I came doon thi steps, an anetae thi family room which wis laden wi' gifts an decorations....Thi joyous sounds ay kids oan Christmas mornin' were whot Mum lived fir, I think, an sae she taped us as we tore antae thi gifts...But tha' year, she wis waitin' fir a particular reaction, fir when wee Ian turned tae look at a chair next tae thi Christmas tree, 'e saw thi impossible gift sittin' thir, waitin' fir 'im..: it wis a Batman figure, an thi tag said "Fae Santa"....An then wee ten year auld Ian burst anetae tears ay joy, o'er mair than jist thi toy...Fir wi' it all doubt left 'is mind, an 'e wis convinced fir yin mair year tha' Santa Claus did exist, an tha' thir were anedeed miracles an magic ane thi world....

Thi moment wis fleetin', though...O'er thi next few months, wee Ian's doubt returned, an aftir continuous questionin', Mum finally broke doon an admitted thi truth....Santa wis a lie. Wee Ian took it very 'ard, fir 'e 'ad come tae find tha' thi only person 'e could ever trust wis 'is Mum, an thi fact tha' she 'ad perpetrated this "lie" wis somethin' 'is young mind couldnae come tae terms wi'....

Mum still insists tae this day tha', though it wisnae Santa, thir wis magic at Christmas tha' year...She 'ad searched all o'er, an couldnae find thi figure anywhere...an finally, aftir weeks ay lookin', she came across ONE, set aside ane thi wrong section (next tae thi Pee Wee 'Erman toys, if I remember right), jist by thi door....

But I na'er recovered fae tha' discovery tha' thir wis nae Santa (oor Easter Bunny, oor Tooth-Fairy, by proxy)....Fir a kid whae wis raised pretty much wi'oot existential beliefs, oor a deep sense ay god oor 'igher powers, these figures represented faith ane thi intangible...an tha' faith proved tae be a sham...

As I mentioned earlier, thi next few years were 'ell, bringin' bitterness an 'atred...an when ye combine bitterness, 'atred, unbelief, an distrust, ye come up wi' cynicism, skepticism, empiricism, an atheism....

Now I'm at a mellower faze...I've tried tae temper my unbelief wi' open-mindedness towards other belief systems, an I 'ave anedeed sought existential experiences (though I've na'er 'ad an answer fae any forces oor powers...at least nae yin tha's clear enough fir me tae count)...

Sae I doubt...I disbelieve...I dinnae trust.... Daes thi fact tha' I ken where this state ay mind comes fae change it at all? I dinnae think it daes... Anestead, it serves tae strengthin' my views... It's 'ard fir believers tae point tae somethin' tangible tae show why they believe, but it is easy fir me tae find tangible evidence fir my unbelief...

An yet...(ever notice 'ow many "an yets" I 'ave ane my rants??!)...I look back oan tha' tape ay Christmas 1989, tha' tape ay mysel' at ten, cryin' tears ay joy an belief...an I wonder if, wi' all my logic an evidence an doubt an empiricism an atheism an unbelief....I wonder if I'm missin' some truly beautiful 'uman experience; an experience I 'ad almaist eleven years agae....

Sae I collect swords an knives. NAE, nae, I amnae a lunatic oor some deranged psycho-slasher...nor am I a tickin' tyme-bomb, mentally unstable, oor dangerous an scary. I collect replica swords (cause thi 300 year auld real yins are WA' ootay my price range), maistly replicas ay Scottish swords..an I collect knives, really any tha' catch my eye (I use alot ay 'em at my job...Oot at thi tree nursery, workin' ane thi dust an dirt, ye'd be surprised at 'ow often ye need a knife)...an some knives I 'ave jist 'ave a bit ay sentimental value (my absolute favourite knife is thi wee pocket-knife my mum smuggled back fae Florence, Italy)...

I can tell I'm losin' maist ay ye, sae I'll get tae thi point....oor I'll work my wa' closer, at least... ; )

Sae thir's yin type ay traditional Scottish knife called a Skean Dubh..It's a wee black knife traditionally worn ane thi sock, an 'as a distinct shape tae it tha' maks it noticable anywhere...Now I came across a knife company called Cold Steel, an they mak a modernized version ay thi Skean Dubh...It's a very beautiful (if yer anetae tha' sortay thin') mix ay tradition an modern design, an auld Ian 'ere wis anxious tae get 'is 'ands oan yin....

Sae I ordered a catalog tae be sent tae me fae Cold Steel, an I flipped greedily through thi pages, admirin' all thi cool knives tha' adorned thi pages, until I came tae this two page advertisement:

Please firgie thi very poor quality ay this scan..I did it ane an 'urry....Jist ane case ye cannae tell whot it is, it is an ad fir an African safari 'unt, an thi pictures surroundin' thi text are pictures ay thi owner ay thi Cold Steel company, Lynn C. Thompson, wi' a variety ay animals. They aneclude alligators, an elephant, a rhinosaurus, a zebra, various elks an bison, an 'ippo, an a leopard. Friends, thi beautiful an majestic animals featured ane these photays are all dead.

When I saw these abominable pictures ay Cold Steel owner Mr. Thompson, standin' o'er thi corpses ay 'is victims an leerin' anetae thi camera, I kent I could na'er, EVER buy a product fae 'is company, nae matter 'ow much I may 'ave wanted tae befir. Any 'uman bein' tha' would 'eartlessly butcher such beautiful animals simply fir sport is, ane my opinion, thi lowest scum oan thi face ay thi earth, an I would sooner wad up my cash an flush it doon thi toilet than put it ane such a person's pockets.

Dinnae get me wrong...I'm nae yin ay these animal rights nuts whae'd gae oot shootin' people fir eatin' chickens....I'm strongly against usin' animals tae test cosmetic products, but when it comes tae research ane thi field ay medicine, sae lang as it is 'umane, I feel tha' such research is acceptable, as thi ultimate ootcome is tae save innocent 'uman lives. But when it comes tae 'untin' simply fir fun, an nae jist exotic animals lik ane thi photays, but alsae deer an duck 'untin', I see it as cruel an blatant murder. It sometymes puzzles me whot sortay person could tak pleasure ane thi theft ay life. Whot is thi fun oor thi thrill ane blastin' big bloody 'oles ane a graceful leopard?

Now let me gie ye somethin' else tae chew oan...At thi risk ay makin' unfair o'er-generalizations, I'm guannae say tha' thi sortay people whae love tae gae 'untin' alsae tend tae be thi right-wing gun-nuts thi NRA relies oan fir membership dues (fir those ay ye whae dinnae ken, thi NRA is thi National Rifle Association, yin ay thi largest government-lobyin' groups ane thi U.S....They support an american citizen's right tae keep guns fir thi purposes ay "hunting, target-shooting, and home defense", an mis-construe thi 2nd Amendment ay thi U.S. Constitution tae mean tha' citizens 'ave thi right tae own, wi'oot limits oor restrictions, rapid-fire assault weapons; wee killin' machines tha' are designed tae tak many lives very quickly)...Thi NRA 'as fir many years backed thi Republican party, which is thi U.S.'s right-wing, conservative political party. Thi Republicans are ALSAE backed by thi Christian Coalition, whae are ardent anti-abortion, anti-choice supporters... Sae whot ye end up wi' is tha' maist Republican candidates fir public office believe tha' abortion is "murder", an thirfir wrong an immoral, but tha' people ought tae be able tae own weapons tha' mak murder easy, an ane fact tha' 'untin' animals is part ay a proud american tradition tha' must alwis be preserved...

Tha's right...Ye 'eard me correctly...Shootin' full-grown animals fir sport is tradition, an somethin' tae be proud ay...but a woman decidin' tha' she wants tae remove a mass ay cells fae aneside 'er own body is MURDER...tha's thi fookin' country I live ane....

Sae Lynn C. Thompson, ye'll na'er get my money, an I truly 'ope tha' yin day yin ay those animals gets thi drop oan ye, an I 'ope it rips yer guts oot wi'oot a second thought...An fir those ay ye thinkin' aboot 'ow fun it would be tae gae 'untin', tae get a gun an some green army pants, an gae oot ane thi woods somewhere an find a nice deer tae blast, jist fir thi 'ell ay it, I'd encourage ye tae gie it a second thought...Why nae try tae find a nice, peaceful 'obby anestead, lik knife-collectin', weavin' beaded 'emp necklaces, oor makin' a web-page...? An if ye still 'ave an 'ankerin' tae gae oot an shoot somethin' beautiful, first pick up yer beloved pet, a furry black poodle, oor yer soft warm kitty, an 'old 'im oor 'er ane yer arms, an feel their gentle breathin', an their 'eart beatin' under yer palm...an realize tha' by gaein' oot oan thi 'unt, killin' fir sport, yer stealin' a life jist as precious.....

It's very late, an I'm VERY tired, sae firgie thi jumbledness an inarticulate nature ay this rant....

Did I ever mention tha' I work at a tree nursery..? Cause I dae....it 'as little relevance tae this rant, but it's framin' information...

Sae oot at this tree nursery, I dae lots ay different stuff...sometymes mowin' ane thi fields, sometymes diggin' trees, sometymes sellin' 'em, an sometymes other tedious an borin' stuff lik pottin' plants oor clippin' weeds fae aroond thi newly planted stuff up ane thi fields...Weil, when I'm pottin' oor weedin', thi only thin' tha' keeps me fae gaein' absolutely bonkers wi' monotony is a wee portable cd/cassette player, an my music...Normally, I stick wi' cd's, an fir thi past year oor sae, I've listened tae little else besides Broadwa' stuff..(I'm currently 'ooked oan thi Scarlet Pimpernel cd)...But then thi cd player stopped workin', an I 'ad tae rely oan thi cassette player function tae preserve whot little sanity I 'ave remainin'...

Lang story short (tae late), I dug oot some ay my auld tapes tae play, an since they're fae my pre-broadwa' days, I 'ad tae revert tae my former tastes...Tae my delight, I still enjoyed 'em as much as I used tae, an I came tae a startlin' realization; my all tyme favourite band fae thi past is STILL my favourite band now: R.E.M.

If ye've na'er 'eard ay 'em, R.E.M. is a four-man band fae Athens, Georgia, tha' 'ave been aroond since at least thi early tae mid eighties...While they 'ave 'ad various 'it songs throughoot thi years, they really came tae fame ane 1991 wi' their song "Losing My Religion", fae their album Out of Time...Their other song oof tha' album tha' recieved lots ay airplay wis nearly at thi opposite end ay thi spectrum when it comes tae genre; 'as 'eavy as "Losing My Religion" wis, "Shiny Happy People" wis as light....Thi last tyme R.E.M. wis ane entertainment news wis probably wi' thi release ay thi 1998 (oor wis it '99) Jim Carey film aboot Andy Kaufman, inspired by thi song "Man on the Moon", oofay R.E.M.'s 1992 album Automatic for the People....

R.E.M. 'ave a style tae their music tha' is really difficult tae define ane conventional, modern music terms....Rock, Pop, Alternative; none ay these seem adequate ane describin' thi vast array ay light an dark melodies, lyrics, basslines an vocals which make up their music...When listenin' tae some ay their earlier albums, such as Eponymous, ye 'ear a band still seekin' thi style tha' works fir 'em...While "Radio Free Europe" 'as a techno, eighties sortay sound, "(Don't Go Back to) Rockville" an "Can't Get There From Here" 'ave almaist a country music sound, wi' Michael Stipe (REM's lead singer) adoptin' a sortay twang tae 'is singin'...An then ane songs lik "Gardening at Night", thi vocals are reminiscent ay Curt Cobain's style of mumble-scream-singin' (though thi songs oan Eponymous predate Nirvana by several years)...An then thir are thi songs tha' were mini-'its ane their tyme, which are(probably nae coincidently) ay thi style tha' R.E.M. adopts oan their later albums; Green(though still a bit raw), Out of Time, Automatic for the People, Monster, New Adventures in Hi-Fi, an Up...

Though there are stan'-oot songs oan each an every yin ay R.E.M.'s albums, Out of Time an Automatic for the Poeple are my absolute two favourite ablums...R.E.M., ane thi medical/psychological world, stan's fir "Rapid Eye Movement", oor thi heightened sleep state where dreamin' occurs...It is interestin' tha' they should 'ave named their band tha', fir thi musical style they developed, especially oan thi two albums I jist mentioned, resembles a vast array ay dreams....Oan Out of Time ye 'ave represented many different types ay familiar dreams ane thi 11 songs..."Near Wild Heaven" an "Shiny Happy People" capture all thi emotions ay tha' perfect 'appy dream, where colours are very vivid, an thi sky is clear, an thir is peace an contentment; while "Low" an "Texarkana" capture thi mood ay dark dreams ay despair..."Losing My Religion" is an anxiety dream ay confusion, an "Half A World Away" is a dream ay weary travel, searchin' fir thi light at thi end ay thi tunnel...

Though Michael Stipe's vocals really define an distinguish R.E.M., their greatest songs are thi yins where Mike Mills' backgroond vocals play an important role..."It's the End of the World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine)", "Man on the Moon", "Belong", an probably my all tyme favourite R.E.M. song, "Fall on Me", all feature the beautiful blendin' ay thi two voices, alang wi' thi sometymes energizin' an alwis movin' ORIGINAL an UNIQUE melodies be'ind 'em...

Thi lyrics tae their songs are another thin' tha' mak R.E.M. an incredible group...Ane a tyme where many modern performers dinnae write their own lyrics, an none original yins at tha', I would gae sae far as tae call R.E.M. prolific...Thi simple lyrics ay "Shiny Happy People" add tae thi pure joy thi song projects, while thi words tae "You Are the Everything" create a nostalgic love song; whereas thi lyrics tae "Low" paint a Picasso-esque picture ay confused order an unrequited love...

I only 'ave R.E.M.'s two newest albums oan CD, sae they werenae part ay my recent tape-rotation, unfortunately...it's been quite awhile since I've listened tae 'em, an nae very much at tha'...But rest assured, wi' my new-found interest ane an auld favourite ay mine, they'll be spinnin' oan thi cd player fir thi next few weeks tae come....

Because ay a stupid computer glitch, I have lost nearly all ay my rants ane thi archives....Fookin' 'ell........

I really ought tae be daein' my spanish 'omework, pero no quiero hacerlo. I think anestead I'm gonna sit 'ere an type some stuff....sans profanity this tyme...I'm feelin' a bit mellow, despite my stiff neck...

I jist watched a really guid movie, I mean REALLY guid...Usually when Mum sais "'Ere, watch this movie, it's sae guid!!" I end up wishin' I 'ad sat aroond pickin' fungus scales oofay a brick wall fir two 'ours anestead....But this tyme she wis oan tae somethin'...

Alot ay whot maks a guid movie is viewin' mood. Granted, some movies are guid any tyme ye watch 'em (X-Men, fir example, which my brithers an I are gaein' tae see this evenin' fir thi seventh an probably last tyme ane thi theatres)...But some films, lik "Trainspotting", ye've got tae be ane thi right mood fir it, oor it'll mess ye up...Tha's why it's rough sometymes tae see a movie fir thi first tyme; often, ye dinnae ken whot kind ay mood ye should watch it ane, sae ye get stuck watchin' a guid movie fir a different mood ane thi wrong mood...an then ye've spoiled everythin'...

But aftir a lang night's sleep, an a VERY rough friday evenin' an even saturday mornin', I wis ane a sortay sombre, mellow, exhausted an drained really, an nearly spiritual mood (aye, athiests can be spiritual...it's jist ane a different sortay wa' then bible-beatin' jesus freaks oor 'indu gurus)...

Sae thi video I sat doon tae watch wis "Thi Red Violin", which I 'ad seen a fleetin' preview fir once lang agae at thi beginnin' ay a movie I dinnae remember.. Thi movie didnae 'ave alot ay big-name actors oor actresses ane it (aside fae Samuel L. Jackson...an dinnae let 'im fool ye...'E can dae roles other than mindless action-flic characters, an dae 'em weil), but I've found tha' movies wi' big-star appeal usually shell oot fir thi names cause thi rest ay thi film (ie plot, character development, conclusion, an importance) is sorely lackin'...Unkent's are usually far better actors (case ane point, X-men's Hugh Jackman)...

I'm nae guannae spoil thi flic, ane case ye ever want tae see it, cause it's best watched wi'oot alot ay knowledge aboot it gaein' ane...But ane a nut-shell, it's aboot a violin crafted back ane thi 15th oor 16th century, an all thi stuff it sees between then an modern tymes, when it is up fir auction...

But see, it's aboot sae much mair than tha'...It's really a material representation ay a transfer ay thi intangible 'uman experience, whot some people might call "thi soul", an whot others would see as shared emotions an feelin's....When ye 'ave an item tha' 'as been aroond fir centuries, oor even simply a few generations, it brings wi' it stories...Each owner ay it 'ad special an unique experiences, an yet thir are common emotions between all thi people, regardless ay tyme period oor specific events...Passion, beauty, complex simplicity... love an fear an 'appiness an fulfillment.....

As different movies are guid fir different moods, sae they alsae leave ye wi' different moods...X-Men leaves me pumped an excited, quotin' lines an wishin' I 'ad six retractible metal blades ane my arms....Thi Red Violin left me ane a sortay dreamy state, able tae put thi stresses an anxieties ay my life aside fir a little while, an realize tha' ane thi grand scheme ay 'uman existence, past, present, an future, my personal trials can appear overwhelmin' oor insignificant, but they are whot link me wi' all people, ane all tymes....

Awwwwwwwww! Poor wittle Ian...! Is wife tae tough for wittle Ian-poo??! FOOK OOF YE STUPID GOD-DAMNED SEL'-PITYIN' WANKER!!! Get a clue mate...EVERYIN's life is tough...Yer nowt special wi' yer fookin' "I wanna die" bullshite, an I dinnae want tae 'ear it!! Sometymes I mak mysel' want tae puke...

Sae tha' last rant wis sae awful, I thought aboot deletin' it completely...lettin' it dissolve back anetae thi very thin air fae which it emerged...but I decided tha' this rubbish 'eap claims tae be aboot auld muggins 'ere, an if yer guannae get a fair an valid idea ay whae an whot I am, I've got tae leave thi bad wi' thi guid (IS thir any guid??)...Sae I'm stickin' it ane thi archives wi' thi rest ay thi rants...Maybe, when I get aroond tae puttin' up my "Why Ian Disnae Write Poetry" page, I'll put tha' an tha' last rant under another category ay "All thi Stuff Ian Finds Dispicable Aboot 'Imsel'"...

I ken, Wee Brither, I ken... I've been promisin' Part II ay thi family rants fir thi past couple ay weeks (months?), but I jist dinnae feel lik daein' it now...Maybe I'll wait 'till thi 'oliday season...Tha' gie me plenty ay family-related material (nae pun intended) tae bitch aboot....

I saw my first episode ay "Survivor" last evenin'...It 'appened tae be thi final episode ay thi show... Aftir 'earin' it ranted up fae all sides an social circles, I finally decided I'd find oot whot all thi fuss wis aboot... Let me tell ye..I can easily understan' thi addiction. If ye can get past thi very cheesy manner ane which it's presented (wi' thi torches, amulets, orange-slices, an tha' goddamned 'ost whae ye jist want tae kick ane thi teeth until 'e begs fir immunity), ye'll find a very interestin' study 'ay 'uman be'avior ane thi formation ay societies, mores, an ideas ay sel'concept.... Ye'll alsae find a big, nasty, bitchy-heided slag ay a truck-drivin' scum-bag named, sweetly enough, "Sue", whae gave a rant tae thi poor wee lassie tha' lost tha'd mak Adolf 'Itler cringe....

But then ane tha' delightful bull session aftir thi show, 'osted by Bryan oor Bryant oor 'owever thi 'ell ye say 'is name Gumballs, I realized somethin' else very interestin'...Thi entire ordeal wis, obviously, created tae achieve massive ratin's (which it did), an tae captivate audiences tae encourage repeat viewers fir "Survival II" (which it certainly did as weil)... But did ye 'appen tae notice tha' NAE A SINGLE YIN AY THI "CASTAWA's" WERE UGLY??!! Right...there were thi three auld people, an I really cannae comment oan 'ow attractive thi auld guys were, but ye could tell tha' Sonja, ane 'er younger days, must 'ave been a bonny lass, an tha' as far as auld people gae, she wisnae ugly at all...An ay course, thir wis Sue, whae's ugliness wis mair ay a personality issue than anythin' physical...Though she wisnae pretty by any means, she wisnae a troll. An then thir were a few ay thi lassies sittin' up thir tha' were doon-right LOVELY tae gaze oan! As far as thi lads were concerned, again, I'd imagine "Rich" could probably pass better judgement oan their attractiveness than I, but they appeared tae me tae be "photogenic" at least.....

Sae whot I'm wonderin' is (an I think I already ken thi answer) Would thi show 'ave been as much ay a success if thir were alot ay ugly people oan it anestead?? An I think THA' tells ye an 'ell ay alot aboot our society, maybe even mair sae than "whae stabbed whae ane thi back, an whae made an alliance wi' whae an why"....

Taemorrow I'm gaein' ane tae talk wi' my advisor aboot jist whot thi bleedin' 'ell I can dae wi' a major ane Philosophy (cause, ye ken, I dinnae get paid fir runnin' this lovely site, though I remain convinced tha' thi department ay waste disposal owes me at least a "thank ye")... I guess tha', right now, I want tae be a professor ay Philosophy at thi University ay Edinburgh when I grow up, but I'm flexible oan tha' 'ole thin'...I'd settle fir a janitorial position thir, I think...

Ye ever get yin ay those summer caulds tha' mak thi top ay yer heid feel real 'eavy, an thi bottom feel real light? I'm ane day four ay yin...

My car is fallin' apart... Every day a screw pops loose somewhere, oor a piece ay somethin' breaks oof, oor thi engine offers up some new less than musical noise an note, jist tae remind me tha' eleven isnae auld fir a car, if yer a wee auld granny tha' only drives it a mile tae church each sunday an doon tae thi Piggly Wiggly oan thursday aftirnoons...

I need tae treat mysel' tae somethin' nice, tae 'elp me feel better aboot gaein' back tae school an all... Maybe I'll start thinkin' seriously aboot gettin' tha' kilt, now tha' I've lost weight an all... But nah, I'll probably be gaein' back tae Scotland next summer, sae I'll wait 'till then... I need tae check oot tuxedo jackets wi' tails...I'm sick ay 'Alloweens as "Erik thi Accountant".....

Sometymes ane life yer fingers an toes get cauld, an when tha' 'appens, ye've jist got tae light a candle an warm 'em.... An if ye've nae got any candles, ye jist 'ave tae sit oan 'em... An if they're still cauld, ye've got tae live wi' it, alwis rememberin' tha' even if yer digits are cauld taeday, thir's alwis another warm day nae far oof... Failin' tha', lava lamps are pretty nice....

Nae langer an Ian Original Rant, this 'as become an Ian Original Ramble...I sortay lik it tha' wa', at least fir a wee while.........

I'm commin' doon oofay a period ay prolanged 'appiness an joy tha's been runnin' fir thi past several months, an let me tell ye, thi plummet is nae fun at all...I 'ad alot tae look firward tae, whot wi' trips tae Baltimore, D.C., an Washington tae see some shows, an' an o'erall relaxin' summer where I could put aside thi worries ay decidin' whot thi bleedin' 'ell I'm guannae dae wi' my last year ay college...

But now, classes begin ane a week, I'll be endin' up wi' a major ane Philosophy an a minor ane Spanish, an tha's IF I graduate at all (cause I've alot ay classes tae pull taegether o'er thi next two semesters...)...An, tae mak matters worse, I'm stuck ane this shite-'ole ay a town, surrounded by idiots an reid-necks, an my last friend 'asnae called me ane weeks (actually, since I asked 'im back ane early July tae repay thi money 'e borrowed fae me o'er a year agae)...

I jist seem tae 'ave alot ay anxiety all ay a sudden....A sense tha' thir's sae much I need tae dae, an nae wa' I'll be able tae dae it... It's coupled wi' a depression tha's startin' tae bog me doon, disrupt my sleep, mak my interactions wi' others rather disagreeable an uncomfortable fir all parties anevolved, an jist generally piss me oof....

An then thir's thi boredom....I want tae dae somethin' different, but I dinnae ken whot..Nae, nae, tha's nae true...I ken EXACTLY whot I want tae dae...I want tae gae tae Scotland, but I dinnae jist want tae sit at thi fookin' loch all day...I want tae meet people, mingle wi' intellectuals, an carry oan discussions oan all manner ay thin's...I want tae 'ave mates tha' I can gae oot tae a pub wi', 'ave a few pints wi', an chat up thi meanin' ay life wi'...

But then, thir's a problem wi' tha' as weil. Even assumin' I could get o'er tae Scotland any tyme soon, oor ANYWHERE tha' I could meet some intelligent people, my socio-phobia comes anetae play... I dinnae ken if I'll ever be able tae get o'er my discomfort ane social settin's, especially wi' unfamiliar people (thanks a lot, 'igh-school ye daft fook ye)... I try tae be friendly an personable, but my internal defense mechanisms alwis seem tae kick ane, an thi next thin' I ken, I'm actin' cauld, sarcastic, an aloof... I really cannae blame people fir thinkin' I'm a fookin' bastard...

Sae tae thi anxiety o'er up-commin' decisions I've got tae mak, we can add a nasty sense ay lonliness an isolation... An per'aps worst ay all, I feel as though I've got nowt tae look firward tae....

Ye see, thi wa' I live my life (an at moments lik these, it seems a pretty stupid wa'), I alwis 'ave tae 'ave somethin' tae look firward tae, be it a trip, a show, an event, oor even a tattoo... My weltanschauung, my world view an philosophy ay life tells me tha' thi purpose ay life is tae be 'appy...If I'm guannae drag mysel' ootay bed each mornin', I've got tae 'ave a reason, somethin' tae mak it worth it tae wake up an open my eyes tae this miserable world... I need motivation ay some sort tae get me through thi days; otherwise, I'd jist curl up ane bed ane my dark room an tell thi world tae gae screw itsel' ane thi ear.....

But now my New York trip is o'er, my summer is o'er, I've a lang year wi' tough decisions tae mak, an total uncertainty ay whot will come when thi year is done even if I mak all thi right decisions... We've begun discussin' a trip back tae Scotland next summer, but it's mair than a year awa', an it's tough tae be 'opeful aboot somethin' sae far awa' (an naewhere near solid enough tae look firward tae)... Tae mak matters worse (I can dae it if I want...it's my goddamned rant, isnae it?), I turn twenty one ane ten days... Twenty one years auld, an I've got next tae nae mates, I've na'er been ane love (I dinnae even ken if I'd ever 'ave thi capicity, social ability, oor trust tae fall ane love), I still live at 'ome under thi sheltered protection ay my mommy, I've nae direction ane life (other than North-East), an lately, when I gae oan my walks, I watch thi cars passin' by, an contemplate steppin' oot ane front ay yin...

Thir wis a tyme ane my life, four oor five years agae, when thin's were at their worst; I stuck it oot, lived through it all, an came tae find a wonderful period ay 'appiness an general pleasure wi' life, where I didnae sweat thi wee thin's an I didnae think tae far anetae thi future, thus tae avoid thi anxiety ay indecision... I ken tha' whot I'm facin' now is nowt compared tae whot I survived befir, sae when I step back fae it all, an really examine my current situation, it 'ardly seems worth thi electronic page this rant is written oan... But it's damned 'ard tae be reasonable an logical all thi tyme, an I'm beginnin' tae understan' tha' depression, lik all other emotions, isnae somethin' tha' can jist be switched oof oor ignored...

Sae let me bitch an moan...It disnae exactly mak me feel better, but I dinnae feel worse...An maybe taemorrow I'll wake up, an read this rubbish, an 'ave a guid laugh o'er my pettiness an sel'pity...At least it's SOMETHIN' tae look firward tae.........

Life is full ay regrets. I'm pretty sure thi definition ay a guid life (oor yin definition, at least) is a life wi' mair fond memories an 'appy decisions than regrets. As we live our wee lives, na'er certain at thi beginnin' ay each day whot awaits us at thi end ay it, we try tae find 'appiness an contentment wi' thi paths we choose. Sometymes, somedays, we 'ave thi opportunity tae mak decisions tha' will affect us until thi very day we die, an we can only 'ope we choose correctly ane these instances....an sometymes, it's only a few 'ours befir we ken wi'oot a doubt tha' we made thi right decision...

A week agae Thursday evenin', thi 13th ay July 2000, I drove up thi major 'ighwa' (Route 140), which connects thi town I live ane tae thi rest ay thi world, firm ay mind but nae wi'oot fear, heided fir Little Vinnie's Tattoo shop, where I had gone several months earlier wi' my mum when she went fir 'er second tattoo. I 'ad gone wi' 'er tha' cauld January day because she 'ad naeyin else tae accompany 'er, an thi very last thin' oan my mind wis gaein' under thi needle mysel'...

Thi artist 'ad done a drawin' ay thi thistle pin mum 'ad brought ane fir 'er tatoo design, an I wis very impressed by 'is artistic abilities...I wis even mair impressed, 'owever, by thi stoic face which dear auld mummy wore as thi needles buzzed fir o'er an 'our, an thi beautiful flower ay Scotland blossomed oan 'er shoulder befir my very eyes...It wis then tha' I began contemplatin' thi course ay action which would finally lead me back up Route 140 that Thursday a week agae, where I met wi' thi same artist (Jeff), an gae 'im thi lion rampant design which I 'ad come tae love, 'avin' studied an traced it o'er an o'er again....

My aulder brither wis thi first ay thi family tae be tattooed, choosin' first an eyeball ane a cube (I still dinnae get tha' yin), tae be followed by Darth Vader oan 'is fore-arm, an finally a ring ay dancin' Grateful Deid bears aroond 'is ankle...Mum's first thistle wis oan 'er back, up by thi left shoulder, an 'er new yin, thi yin I watched, wis oan 'er right shoulder....Though I 'ad admired all their tattoos, I wis particularly impressed by thi artwork oan mum's newest tattoo, an I decided tha', were I ever tae 'ave a tattoo done, it would be by thi same artist....

As thi months went by, my confidence grew....an sae did my desire fir skin art...Though I 'ave alwis 'ad a needle phobia, my desire fir a lion slowly o'ertook any fears tha' lingered, an I 'ad finally found thi perfect lion rampant design (fir there are many variations ay thi Scottish lion, but none sae bold as thi yin I fell ane love wi', which adorns a wall-plaque I 'ave)...

Thi final factor which 'elped me mak my decision came ane thi form ay a rant written by my friend Kelly, whae wis (an is) ponderin' a tattoo ay 'er own....It wis by discussin' tattoos wi' 'er tha' I came tae thi realization tha' thi symbolism ay thi lion, fir me, would last fir-ever, an tha' aftir months ay contemplation, I kent tha' I truly wanted a tattoo, an thi only thin' stoppin' me wis thi uncertainty ay thi procedure itsel'...

Sae I decided tae get a tattoo, ay thi Scottish Lion Rampant, oan my right fore-arm, where I could alwis see it, an na'er firget it...An though both mum an brither, thi two tattoo enthusiasts ay thi family, were eager tae come alang, I kent it wis somethin' I 'ad tae dae alone...

Thursday thi 13th ay July, I talked wi' thi artist, Jeff, an set up an appointment fir Friday, July 21, at 12:30pm....an yesterday, thi 21st, I again drove thi 'ighwa' tae Little Vinnies, armed wi' my discman an my custom-made Anthony Warlow cd, a celtic knot ring my mum left ane my care while she wis awa' ane Italy (she's 'ome next Tuesday), an a wee VW beetle my friend Kelly sent as a model fir a sculpture I'm workin' oan...I 'ad all thi luck (an distractors) I needed...All tha' wis left wis fir me tae okee thi drawin', spot thi place oan my arm where I wanted it, an then sit back an allow mysel' tae be fir-ever changed......

Firstly, I 'ad been gien some mis-information oan tattooin'...I 'ad 'eard it described as bein' lik "'avin' a razor-blade dragged alang yer flesh, cuttin' yer skin", an ay course, because it anevolves a needle, I wis expectin' thi sensation ye get when ye receive an injection oor a needle fir drawin' blood; thi feelin' ay metal piercin' through yer skin', an thi sensation ay it aneside ye...only o'er an o'er an o'er again.... Thi tattooin' procedure wis absolutely naethin' lik tha'....I 'ad alsae 'eard it felt lik a bee sting, but I wis stung three weeks agae, an tha' 'urt far worse than my tattoo... Thi closest I can compare it tae would be lik 'avin' a piece ay sand-paper rubbed alang yer skin...It wis a sensation ay warmth, really...mild irritation...an though thi entire procedure lasted mair then an 'our, thi tyme flew by...

Thi worst part ay thi entire ordeal were thi few seconds befir it actually began...I 'ad jist pressed play oan my discman, an auld Warlow wis jist kickin' anetae "This Is Thi Moment" (a very fittin' song fir thi occasion)...I wis waitin', nae kennin' whot tae expect, an thi buzzin' ay thi needle wis unnervin'...An then it began, startin' at thi lower part ay yin ay thi lion's feet, an I wis shocked, fir I could 'ardly feel anythin' at all...Thir wis a bit mair sensation 'igher up thi arm later oan, but o'erall it wis far less a deal than I 'ad built it up tae be...

'E did thi ootline first, ane black, an I 'ad my heid turned fae it, nae wantin' tae watch...But when 'e began tae dae thi shadin', an tae add thi reid colour, I wis enthralled...I realized tha' when I watched, I felt it less, fir I got caught up ane thi art ay it rather than thi physical sensation...An I wis nearly sad when it wis done, fir wi' thi experience came a great euphoria; a mix ay pride wi' mysel' fir o'ercommin' my fears, awe at thi beauty ay thi design an thi shadin', an a love fir a new part ay mysel' which I'll 'ave until thi day I die, an will even still exist when my life is done....

Every single 'our since it wis done I've come tae love it mair, an it's nearly tae thi point where I dinnae glance twice when I see it ootay thi corner ay my eye...I cannae picture mysel' wi'oot it, an though I've searched all aroond my psyche fir it, I cannae find a shred ay regret fir my decision...I love my tattoo, an I wouldnae be surprised if 'e didnae 'ave a mate oor two by thi tyme I'm twenty-five...

Aye, sometymes ane life ye mak thi right decisions, an all doubts evaporate ane thi face ay yer 'appiness....These are thi thin's tha' mak life worth livin'.........

Yesterday afternoon we drove my Mum tae thi airport, sat wi' 'er fir an 'our an 'ad lunch, then kissed 'er guid-bye an saw 'er oof as she boarded a plane bound fir Italy, where she'll be oan 'oliday until thi 25th ay July...She said guid-bye quickly, already beginnin' tae tear up, an rushed through thi metal detectors befir thi emotions really began tae flow, pausin' yin last tyme tae turn an smile an wave guid-bye, an as I watched 'er dissapear doon a lang airport corridor, I already missed 'er...

Aye, I'm a mamma's boy, an I guess I alwis will be...but ye see, I literally owe 'er EVERYTHIN' tha' I 'ave, an I am as I am, fir worse oor fir better, because ay 'er. Nae matter whot 'appens tae us ane life, we cannae firget thi importance ay family an thi impact it 'as oan our life. This will be part 1 ay a three part rant oan family, namely mine.

Oan 21-23rd ay June ay this year, we finally took a trip back tae my 'ome state ay West Virginia; a trip we 'ave been plannin' fir weil o'er five years. I wis born an raised ane thi Eastern "Pan'andle" ay thi state, an we've been back thir several tymes since we moved awa' ane 1987, but befir I wis born my mother an father 'ad lived ane thi center ay thi state, where my aulder brither wis born, an where I wis conceived.

Some 25-odd years agae, my da' an mum were married, an lived ane Washington DC. They first met when they became rooom-mates wi' four oor five other people, all livin' ane an 'ouse tae keep doon costs. They 'ad a mutual friend named Gary, an soon thi three ay 'em became very close mates...But while Mum an da' grew close, Gary wis sufferin' a bout ay depression, facin' several large life-letdoons. One evenin' Mum an da' returned tae thi 'ouse, an as Mum climbed thi stairs wi' da' followin' close be'ind 'er, she came upon Gary's body lyin' ane thi upstairs 'allwa'. 'E 'ad slit 'is wrists wi' broken glass, an must 'ave decided at thi last minute tae try tae call fir 'elp, fir 'e wis still clutchin' thi telephone ane 'is cauld deid 'and...

Brought closer taegether by grief, they (per'aps 'astily) decided tae get married, an wi' a bit ay cash they 'ad saved up they bought a several acre farm oot ane West Virginia, where land wis cheap...They went "back tae nature", movin' fae thi city oot tae thi small piece ay land ane an area called Duffy, where thir wis only a small shack wi' 'an oot-'ouse ane thi backyard...Fir a year they lived ane thi town ay Weston while da' made repairs tae thi 'ouse oan thi farm, an then they moved ane...

My aulder brither, Mason, wis born ane September ay 1976, an they 'ad tae drive 45 minutes tae get tae thi 'ospital ane thi town ay Buckhannon...Though they loved it oot oan thi farm, they decided tha' it wis tae isolated now tha' they 'ad a wee bairn, sae they moved anetae an 'ouse ane thi nearby town ay Rock Cave...Both ay them found teachin' jobs, though Mum wis 'ome ane thi afternoons tae tak care ay aulder brither, an soon decided tae leave 'er career completely tae be a stay at 'ome mum...

Sometyme late ane 1978, thi wee mass ay cells tha' would yin day become yer auld pal Ian wis conceived, an ane thi winter months ay 1979, Mum wis jist startin' tae suspect tha' she wis pregnant. Yin mornin', while aulder brither wis eatin' a breakfast ay Cream ay Wheat an watchin' Capt. Kangaroo oan thi telly, Mum 'eard a strange noise ane thi attic, an when she opened thi door leadin' up thir, discovered tha' it wis all ablaze...She rushed aulder brither oot an ran 'im tae thi neighbors (Kenny an Linda Fitzgerald were their names), an da' wis called 'ome fae work...They saved whot they could fae thi 'ouse, an as thi day came tae a close an night fell, they watched their 'ouse burn tae thi ground...Mum, kennin' she very weil might be pregnant, tried 'er best tae keep calm, sae as nae tae cause permanent damage tae 'er unborn cell-mass...

Lang story short, they decided tae move tae thi Eastern Pan'andle ay thi state, fir it wis closer tae Mum's parents (whae were livin' ane Maryland, where we are now)...I wis born ane Martinsburg, an lived thir 'till thi divorce...but tha's another rant.....

Our trip back tae West Virginia this June (only big brither, Mum, an I went...wee brither didnae want tae gae) took us tae thi center ay thi state, where Mum an da' first moved when they went a'tree huggin'...We stayed at two different 'otels ane Buckhannon, an traveled oot tae Duffy tae see thi farm....As we climbed thi lane up thi 'ill tae thi spot Mum kent sae weil but which wis unfamiliar tae me, we came upon a broken doon auld shack, a shambles ay an 'ouse set ane thi middle ay a weed-infested an o'ergrown yard....Mum's farm-'ouse wis lang abandoned, an thi farm wis unkept....I've seen pictures ay whot it looked lik when they lived thir, an tae see it now, though I na'er lived thir, sent waves ay saddness an remorse washin' o'er me....

We alsae drove tae thi spot where thi 'ouse tha' burned doon wis...They 'ad built a new 'ouse o'er it, but Mum discovered tha' thi Fitzgeralds (thi neighbors whae's 'ouse she 'ad carried wee Mason tae thi day ay thi fire) were still livin' thir....They were shocked tae see us, especially tae see Mason, whae wis but two when they last saw 'im...

Stoppin' at thi Buckhannon City 'All tae get a record ay Mason's birth cirtificate, we ran anetae an auld friend ay Mum's, whae used tae baby-sit big brither when 'e wis a bairn...An, ay course, Buckhannon 'ad a Dairy Queen, sae Mason indulged an mair then one dip-top ice-cream cone (an I've thi video footage tae PROVE it!!)...

Thi 'ighlight ay thi trip fir me wis when we went tae Audra State Park, where a beautiful river flows...Thi water wis cool an clean, an we went swimmin' ane it, as Mum used tae some 25 years agae....

Though I 'ad na'er been tae all thi places we saw oan thi trip, I 'ad 'eard aboot them my entire life, an as they were a part ay Mum's 'istory, sae were they thus a part ay my own...It wis wonderful (an sometymes painful, as ane thi case ay thi farm) tae finally be able tae add images tae all thi stories I'd 'eard, an Mum wis able tae come tae terms wi' thi mix ay memories ay those tymes past....My parents 'ave been divorced 13 years now, as lang as they were married, an when she thinks ay da', it's usually thi bad tymes she remembers...This trip 'elped 'er remember tha' there were alsae guid tymes as weil....

These are thi roots ay my immediate family....

Thir's a big thin' ane thi U.S. tha's been gaein' oan fir several years now, an every now an again we 'ear aboot a court case somewhere where thi issue comes up, an it's discussed fir awhile oan thi political news shows, an then it fades back anetae obscurity fir awhile, only tae surface again, an again, an again....An until it is resolved by fair legislation, it will continue tae be an issue....Thi issue is 'omosexual marriages.

I'm nae sure if it is thi same ane all other countries, but ane thi U.S. there are still many very large misconceptions aboot 'omosexuality...Were I tae bet oan it, I'd wager they stem fae thi Christian view tha' 'omosexuality is an "abomination", as stated ane thi bible...It seems tha' many people still believe tha' gay people are all a bunch ay perverts, weirdos, oor ill an misguided, an at thi very least unequal tae 'eterosexuals....Oddly enough, these are thi very same incorrect stereotypes which were 'eld against black people ane thi U.S. fae thi tyme ay thi Civil War through aboot thi 1950's an 60's...

Moreo'er, there exists ane this country (an especially amongst 'eterosexual males) an intense 'omo-phobia...American males are socialized tae fit anetae macho an masculine roles, an are taught tha' there is nowt worse then tae be a "girlie-man"...As a result, ye'll often see otherwise intelligent males gaein' ootay their wa' tae mak anti-gay oor 'omophobic comments tae prove their manliness oor "non-gayness". Even those whae see thi illogical nature ay descrimination, an tak a position ay defense ane favour ay 'omosexuals feel thi need tae preface oor sum up their comments wi' a disclaimer professin' their own 'eterosexuality..."I'm nae gay, but I think tha'..." oor "I think gay people ought tae 'ave thi same rights as others, even though I'm nae gay mysel', etc..." Though their intentions are certainly noble, thi insecurity ay their rhetoric is a clear reflection ay thi anti-'omosexual society ay thi U.S....

But thi big issue isnae sae much whether gay people ought tae 'ave thi same rights as 'eterosexuals (unless yer part ay Jerry Falwell's sicko-coalition). Thi issue is tae whot degree should they 'ave equal rights. Should two people, who share a mutual love an respect an a desire tae live taegether till death dae they part, AN want thi government tae recognize their union as legitimate, 'ave tha' right? I say "Aye".

Aye, traditionally marriage existed between a lad an a lass. 'Owever, an argument based oan tradition is in'errantly flawed, for there are many traditions (segregation, fir example) which o'er tyme proved themsel's tae be twisted an unjust. Many people opposed tae same-sex marriages claim tha' though they feel 'omosexuality is wrong, they feel such people 'ave thi right tae "be tha' wa'" if they sae choose; 'owever, if thi government were tae pass a law makin' same-sex marriages legal, it would be an endorsement ay such be'avior, an it would thus be pushin' thi belief tha' 'omosexuality isnae wrong oan those whae believe it IS wrong. Weil, when thi government passed laws against invidious descrimination (tha's descrimination based oan a factor irrelevant tae thi matter at 'and, lik nae lettin' a person rent an 'ouse simply because ay their race, oor gender, even if they meet all other criteria makin' 'em elligible tae rent thi place) tae prevent thi segregation an mistreatment ay blacks, it could 'ave been argued tha' it wis pushin' thi belief tha' black people are equal oan those whae dinnae believe they are equal. DAMNED STRAIGHT! Whot those laws said, ane a nutshell, wis tha' thi U.S. government sees people as equal REGARDLESS ay race (an, a bit later, gender as weil). People 'ave thi right tae disagree wi' it, but thi law disnae legislate thought; it legislates action, oor against descriminatory actions, rather...It protects people from thi discrimination ay those whae feel different. Sae would be thi same-sex marriage laws. They wouldnae say tha' Christians must accept 'omosexuality as a guid an wonderful thin'...thi laws wouldnae say tha' Christians 'ad tae accept 'omosexuality at all! It simply sais tha', if ye feel it is wrong, FINE. But dinnae try tae deprive others ay their right tae thi same 'appiness as everyin else, especially when tha' 'appiness 'urts ABSOLUTELY NAE-YIN!

Ane this country, it is currently legal tae marry fir money, fir convenience, oor ootay fear ay lonliness. It is legal fir two people tha' 'ave na'er met, na'er talked, an na'er even seen each-other tae marry. Further, if a man an a women 'ave lived taegether fir a certain number ay years (thi number varies based oan thi state they live ane), they are considered legally married. Yet, ane thi case ay two people whae 'ave found each other an enjoy a fairy-tale romance, a deep an bindin' love, an a mutual respect fir each-other, thi government willnae accept them as a married couple if they are of thi same gender. Arenae all people equal? Isnae love thi important factor ane marriage......?

Durin' thi summer ay 1996, I went tae Scotland. Sometymes there are places ane thi world whae's existence we really arenae aware ay, but I've kent ay Scotland as lang as I've 'ad continuous memory. When I wis but a wee laddie, I used tae check oot books fae thi local library oan thi Loch Ness Monster, an even befir I could read all thi words I could at least study thi pictures an thi maps. Sae fae thi tyme I wis young, thi word "Scotland", whenever I 'eard it, wis a familiar an intriguin' word, an a place I only vaguely 'oped I'd yin day see.

Sae when my Mum took 'er trip tae thi British Isles ane thi summer ay 1994, I wis maist eager tae 'ear aboot 'er few days ane Scotland. Prior tae thi trip, she 'ad maist looked firward tae seein' Ireland, but when she came 'ome ane mid-July, it wis Scotland tha' stayed ane 'er mind. When she began plannin' a trip tae Scotland ane 1995 fir thi 1996 summer, it turned oot tha' wee brither didnae want tae travel, an aulder brither couldnae leave work (oor 'is girlfriend)....Sae it came tae be tha' I would be thi lucky son, an tha's 'ow I first came tae be sittin' oan a bus, travelin' doon thi A82 between Inverness an Fort Augustus, alang thi north-western bank ay Loch Ness....

I might yin day die a senile auld coot at thi age ay 99, but I will na'er fir

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