Type A-Team Personalities: How Understanding the A-team Leads to a Better Comprehension of Ourselves

This is the second of a number of blogs that will be written by "guest contributors." This article was written by Dr. Philip Dumat (see my blog entitled "A New Format"). Enjoy!

Before I begin, I would like to introduce myself. My name is Philip Dumat. I have a Ph.D in Philosophy which means I'm technically a doctor, but not one with the power to help a sick person, unless of course their suffering from a lack of credits needed for graduation. I'm also an intellectual, which means I'm really really intelligent, or at least I feign to be. As an intellectual, I have the tendency to look beyond what normal people see due my superior understanding of the world. You see, I have read a lot of books, which not only compensates for my lack of actual life experience, but also gives me the authority to decide which things deserve our attention. Also, As a philosopher I am obliged to investigate the deeper aspects of our collective conscious in order to help further the human race. Naturally, I do this through long drawn out treatises complete with words and vocabulary I use to prove my intellectual prominence. Finally, while I have never actually played chess, I'm aware of it. Of course this means I can refer to any complicated situation in any circumstance by using this metaphor. If this doesn't prove to you that I'm erudite, nothing will.

It was with these credentials that I searched for new ways to describe our existence on this planet. During my requisite three hour pre-lunch library stint, I stumbled upon a book entitled The Simpsons and Philosophy: The D'oh! of Homer. While I had never actually seen the show (I refuse to watch TV, because as someone who desperately wants to be excepted as intelligent, its a cardinal sin), I decided to leaf through the book to see what the less educated were doing with their time. I was amazed to find that many philosophers had deemed this project worth their efforts. After searching more, I found similar books talking about shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Sopranos and films like The Matrix. It was with this new found discovery, that I became determined to write my own book of philosophy regarding a popular TV show. Unfortunately, my lack of knowledge regarding television caused me a great deal of problems , and I found myself losing valuable time reading hundreds of copies of TV Guide. Finally, I gave up and asked fellow blog contributor Patrick Cherniburg if he knew anyone who could give me insight into modern television. He suggested 19 year old Jason Lewis, a respectable young man who had helped him with his latest article. I immediately went to his house but only found his father drunk and on the verge of passing out. As I waited among a pile of spent beer cans, I noticed him watching an interesting program about a group of four men who helped people while being hunted by the government for a crime they did not commit. When I asked about the program, his father told me that it was called The A-team, and was quite popular. After watching a few more minutes, I knew I had found the show that I needed.

Now before I begin my analysis, I would like to reveal some of the basic premises and characters on the show. As I mentioned previously, the program revolves around the adventures of a motley group of Vietnam veterans driving around fighting the government as well other people bent on doing wrong. In the process, Hannibal, Face, B.A., and Murdock (as the four men are commonly called) use their own unique gifts to thwart their opponents and save the day for whatever client (they often work as mercenaries) or friend that required their services. On the surface the antics of this group appear to be nothing more than an action drama speckled with some lighter moments for the sake of comic relief. Fortunately for the world, this could not be further from the truth. So without further ado, I would like to give you the true meaning behind one of mankind's greatest philosophical parables, The A-team.

To begin, I would like to discuss the circumstances surrounding the actual characters themselves. To the casual observer, it looks as though the four members of The A-team have startlingly unique personalities as a result of the writers trying to keep as many options open for future episodes. Once again, I have proven to be more intelligent. In fact, The A-team represents the conflicting emotions and personalities in each and every person on earth. After all, in one way or another, we all want the same things. There are some people who strive to exhibit their unique brand of individualism, becoming politicians, artists, actors. This is all due to a conscious or unconscious desire for power, fame, or respect. More acutely, these aspirations are necessary for attaining a degree of confidence and security in ourselves and in our abilities. Needless to say, there is more to the human condition than just the desire for a degree of self respect. Beauty or the wish of appealing to those of the opposite sex also plays a large role in most, if not all of the people on earth. It's appeal remains one of the strongest, due to our base desire to reproduce. Still, there are other people who wish to be funny, working their whole lives to gain acceptance by being witty or clever. Finally, there are some who desire physical or mental strength, and feel that this is the means of proving their self worth. To quickly sum everything up, it is clear to me that there are certain intrinsic qualities represented in everyone on the planet. It may even be reduced to only four major features. Although I hate to generalize, it is perhaps not a coincidence that the four quintessential human desires that I'm alluding to, confidence (Hannibal), beauty (Face), humor (Murdock), and strength (B.A.) are all represented by The A-team.

Naturally, these symbols of humanity aren't prone to idleness. This is the point where the show really shines, because it reveals some truths about how these conflicting parts of humanity interact with each other. B.A.'s character remains the most obvious reflection of this premise. His strength gives him confidence, but despite this, he still fears petty things like flying. This displays the fundamental flaw of an over reliance on physical strength, notably its ability to breed a type of insecurity that inevitably leads to irrational fear. The writers further prove the deficiencies of physical strength by showing B.A.'s complete lack of comprehension for the acts of the comic relief, Murdock. B.A.'s common claims of "pitying the fool" are less a sign of a general sorrow at Murdock's perceived mental deficiencies, but may actually be a type of self-criticism, in which B.A. bemoans his own lack of understanding for the varied catalysts that motivate Murdock (or anyone else for that matter). It is with this in mind, that I would like to put forth my assertion that "the fool" that B.A. is pitying is not Murdock, but in fact, himself.

On the other hand, Murdock's comedy is portrayed as sure sign of his downward spiral to insanity. It even seems that his overwhelming desire to be funny undermines his real talents, namely his ability to pilot anything capable of flight. In reality, Murdock's singular desire to produce levity, in fact generates the opposite, and in turn causes the characters to have to alter plans (and in some cases, their very livelihood) to adapt to these eccentricities. This is a powerful reminder of the pitfalls of unnecessary or weak comedy. We all have experiences dealing with people who believe themselves to be funny, and many of us can cite a situation when we were forced to compensate for that person's character deficiencies. Of course this all leads up to inevitable conflict between the two characters. When B.A. and Murdock's one dimensional personalities interact, they act as a symbol of the weaknesses of the human condition as a whole. In my opinion, the most obvious statement of the show in this regard is simply the incompatibility between the personalities that favor humor as opposed to those who favor physical strength. Naturally, I believe that my arguments can be verified through careful analysis of our own personal experience. For example, how many strong and funny people do you know? I rest my case.

Finally, I would like to say that my analysis of B.A. and Murdock are only the tip of the iceberg. Each character in his own unique way provides insight into the the very nature of mankind, and only through intense and continual study will we be able to fully appreciate the wisdom contained in each pulse pounding episode. I am so confident of my previous statements that I have decided to stake my academic reputation on my findings. Even as we speak, I am writing a second paper concering some different angles of the A-team ranging from Hannibal's fear and insecurity being the stimulus for his frequent wisecracks to Face's constant whining representing his growing disenchantment with the artificiality of his reputation as a womanizer. These things and others make The A-team a virtual treasure trove of philosophical underpinnings and everyday I begin to realize that it holds the key to eventually receiving tenure at my university. Until then if you have any problems concerning philosophy, if no one else can help, and if you can find me, maybe you can ask me.....a question.


--Dr. Philip Dumat Ph.D

A Different Perspective

This is the first of a number of blogs that will be written by "guest contributors." This first article was written by Patrick Cherniburg (see my blog entitled "A New Format"). Enjoy!

When I first arrived in the twenty-first century I was surprised to see a number of things that would never have been possible in my time. This new world of computers, automobiles, and the female orgasm, made me realize how far our society has come. Naturally, I have had some difficulties in adapting. For example, in your modern world you have a thing called "political correctness." While I'm slowly beginning to understand this notion, I can't help but wonder at your motivation for such a puzzling and altogether unnecessary idea. After all, in my time we called black people "Negros," not because we hated them, (we displayed that through both physical and psychological means), but because that was their name. This same incomprehensible ideal plays its self out through your renaming of many important sub-sets of your society, mainly the mentally retarded (brain challenged), the elderly (walking dead), the handicapped (freaks),and Texans (human waste). If it wasn't for the help of 19 year old Jason Lewis, I would have never learned these important colloquial terms. In spite of his help, I still often find myself creating problems for myself. Never was this fact more evident than the the time I decided to refer to a couple of sodomites with their preferred moniker "butt pirate" rather than the old and (according to Jason) antiquated term "homosexual." Despite my inevitable missteps, I am determined to find a way of conforming to the rigors of modern society, and alter my perceptions for today's world. This of course leads me to the major news at the moment, the 2008 Presidential Election. Now, before I begin I would like to make it clear that I have always voted Republican. My father had been an abolitionist and a strict Christian. His strong moral beliefs made me realize that black people should not be enslaved (despite displaying the mark of Ham, and therefore in no way equal). Naturally, you can imagine my surprise when I noticed a black man running for President of the United States. My initial horror, slowly dissipated when I convinced myself that a different world required different methods for understanding it. Therefore I adjusted my internal compass and looked at the benefits of having a black president.

The first major benefit would be his work ethic. In my day, I often saw many black men working, for very little money, sometimes none at all. This amazing ability would prove well in the high profile office of the presidency. Of course it has been proven that black people are prone to laziness, but I assume that the majority white congress would be able to ensure that he kept on task. Second, black people love to sing. His sweet voice would echo through the halls of the White House, lifting the spirits of all who heard him. Another feature would be his desire to please. In my time, I only had contact with a handful of black people due to the fact that I was rich and from the north. In any event, I heard of their desire to make their benefactors happy. This will play well with voters, as they will see an eager and energetic president. The final positive aspect of a black president will be his desire to eat only domestic foods. I read through your history books how the office of the president has descended into decadence and waste. On the other hand, a black president's affection for chicken and watermelon, would help domestic agriculture, while lessening the nation's dependence on foreign imports like caviar and escargot.

After coming to these conclusions, I couldn't help but pat myself on the back. After all, I had proven that even I could embrace a black president, despite his shortcomings. In any event, this had proven easy because despite it all, he was still a man. When I approached the other democratic candidate, I had to give myself a couple of minutes. After finally regrouping, I decided to continue with my psychological improvement and discover the advantages to having a woman president.

A woman president is a difficult thing to wrap one's mind around. After all, if she is leading the country, who is doing the laundry and preparing dinner? This conundrum puzzled me for no less than two days before I finally realized that there would be female housekeepers devoted this very task. After this initial hurdle, I found myself quick to embrace the idea of a woman president. In the home, they are the rock. Historically, they are barefoot, pregnant, or both, which will keep the population up, and the demand for woman's footwear down. They also tend to keep things tidy and clean, while making their husband feel confident that he is making wise choices. This analogy can be understood both metaphorically and literally. Her feminine instincts will lead our country to safe and secure options, while at the same time, keeping the presidential mansion in tip top shape for the inevitable guests who come to visit. A woman president's motherly intuition will help her rear our countries youth toward more constructive pursuits. Naturally, their are those monthly occurrences of what we used to call "female hysteria" that may cause her to occasionally trip up. This problem is easily solved by the fact that she is married to a former president who will undoubtedly step in during these frequent occurrences of incapacity.

After coming to these conclusions, I took solace in the fact that the world has not devolved as much as I initially thought. Your conceptions have just been altered to the point where certain minorities can attain higher profile jobs, while still being subject to the same age old beliefs. It is with this in mind that I would like to announce both my tacit support for both the woman and her black friend. After all, the possibility of a Mormon, an adulterer, a Baptist preacher, a man with physical deformities, or a southerner, prove that their are much worse alternatives than a (seemingly) normal white woman or black man as president.

--Patrick Cherniburg

A New Format

With the advent of the New Year, I am finding it more and more difficult to keep up with the rigid requirements of writing and maintaining a blog. My work here in Moscow coupled with the desire to travel and learn Russian has forced me into a position that I thought I would never take. Therefore, it is with much regret that I have decided to open my forum to other writers. In my opinion this is the only way to return this earth shattering blog back to its original state of relevance and efficiency. Now, I realize that there are some who wait anxiously for the opportunity to digest my scraps of wisdom and may be disappointed by this decision. I would like to assure them that I will not completely disappear from this forum. I still intend to author the occasional "Tales from Home" entries as well as any updates concerning my life in Russia. So don't worry! Anyway, and without further ado, I would like to introduce the first three (of what will hopefully be many) future writers on this forum.

When it comes to politics, I have always thought the the true nature of any political movement can be seen by looking at its extremes. In my opinion, American politics has always shown a desire for conservatism and traditionalism over what appears (to me at least) to be the infinite possibilities of progress. This can be seen most evidently in the actions of the so called "liberal" Democratic Party who differ from their "conservative" Republican opponents in little more than specific hot button issues, while touting the same line of business, religion, and American democracy. While it is not my place to delve into the nuances of this argument, my disgust at the seeming lack of desire for real progress made me realize the necessity of a voice who could show the world the dangers of conservatism. As a result, when searching for possible political contributors to my blog, I realized that it would be irresponsible of me just search only geographic locations. Therefore, I also chose to search through time and space itself in order to find just the right person capable of the kind of material relevant to this forum. My search eventually led me to to Patrick Cherniburg from Hartford, Connecticut. Born in in 1855, he grew up in a wealthy American family during the the turmoil of the American Civil War. The fighting and subsequent victory of the Union proved to Patrick that America was destined for greatness..., as long as it stuck to the values of his formative years. As he grew older, he became more and more angry about perceived strays from his idealized past. I brought him to the modern day to see what he would say about modern politics and events, (of course with my own ulterior motives). I have to warn you, that many of Patrick's writings may seem politically incorrect, but unfortunately that term is not even a part of his lexicon, so you will just have to bare with him.

While I have discussed my own affection for liberal politics, I have to admit that I have a genuine dislike for many liberal people. They are the first to bemoan the corporate evils of companies like Mcdonald's and Walmart while letting themselves be manipulated by the prefabricated "coolness" of places like Panera Bread and Starbucks. Their bachelor degrees give them an unfathomable pretension, that causes them to look down on the very people their politics claim shouldn't be ignored. Naturally, all I had to do was enter a coffee shop to find someone who thinks that they can make a difference just by writing on a internet forum. After a five minute search I found Julie Brown, a 27 year old teacher from Oregon. I hope that her views can somehow be educated enough to counter the irrational rambling of Patrick, but I somehow doubt her M.A. in anthropology will be able to achieve even that.

Finally, I thought it would be good to invite an intellectual to write for my blog. His unnecessarily intense scrutiny of every aspect of life will in no way further the human race, but it will finally give us that much needed insight into the life of 14th century Chinese blacksmiths, or better, the philosophical messages in the movie "Ghost". Fortunately, the untenured professor Philip Dumat is so wrapped up in his studies, that he doesn't realize that his life's work will only be read by other people whose life work is to read the irrelevant ramblings of people like him. While Professor Dumat's inability to connect with the world at large may be detrimental to any attempts at a social life, I found his plight perfect for writing occasional uncompensated blogs. His Ph.D in philosophy means that he will have deep and altogether useless commentary about certain aspects of the world. Of course this may be hard to stomach or even worse, it could be excruciatingly boring. Fortunately, we can take solace that his great intellectual promise has been wasted for the sake of our collective amusement.

In conclusion, I would like my readers to have patience with my new format. I feel that the inclusion of these new writers may jump start the creative juices that have slowly left me over the past year and a half. In any event, if this turns out to be a huge failure, I can always send them packing, and find a new means of achieving my goals. In any case, the first new entry will appear next week, so please stay tuned

New Year's Resolution

As the year winds down, I am forced (like most) to look at the events of the past year, and decide exactly what I've accomplished. While I unfortunately can't claim any hard and solid achievements, I have been fortunate enough to have expanded my travel record (by including Ukraine and Greece) as well as fulfilling the life long dream of living in Russia. This upcoming year promises to continue the streak with trips to Egypt, Belarus, Kaliningrad (technically in Russia), Armenia, Turkey, as well as numerous cities around Russia. Of course this list is subject to change, but at the moment, these places seem to be the most likely destinations. In any event, my biggest regret (and this should show you that I have few) is that I haven't kept my blog up as much as I should have. So, barring any real issues that I may need to address, I've decided that my New Year's resolution will be to return this incredibly important forum to a state of relative regularity. At the moment, I'm still not sure what I will write about, but as with all things, I'm sure I will somehow think of something. In conclusion, I would like to say that as long as I consider this blog something that truly affects the world, I expect you, my imaginary readers to continue investing the time to read it.

Where I've Been and What I'm Doing

I've finally returned! After nearly a month absence, I have made my way back to the medium which kept me sane during my year in Japan, and has since been sorely neglected. While this particular entry won't be purely devoted to my list of excuses explaining my lack on entries, I would like to explain what I have been doing over the last month. In addition, I want to make it clear my intentions for the future and my expectations for the continuation of my blog.

The previous blog was written shortly before I left to visit my first post-soviet republic (other than Russia), Ukraine. I had to go to Kiev in order to renew my visa, and since the stifling Russian bureaucracy (which has since made what I did impossible) doesn't allow for visa renewal in country, I was forced to take a brief vacation. Kiev is a wonderful city that feels like Moscow except smaller and more relaxed. The city's fame rests on its history of being central to both Russian and Orthodox history. As a result, many of its attractions are monasteries, churches, and monuments heralding its contribution to the Soviet war effort during World War II. While these things were interesting, Kiev was small enough that I was finished with most of my sightseeing after only two days. In any event, Kiev's most interesting feature had nothing to do with the city, but with the hostel we chose to stay at.

Nestled on the third floor of a building located on one of Kiev's main thoroughfares, lies a building with the brilliantly named hostel known as "Kiev Backpacker's." Upon entering the visitor quickly realizes that they have entered nothing more than an apartment which has been modernized and turned into a hostel. While this may seem a little strange, this is not at all unique to Eastern Europe, and the visitor will be happy to finally put his bag down. Upon turning around, they will surely come into the contact with one of the most unique and altogether infuriating characters in Ukraine. If you don't already know this man, then I feel it is my duty to introduce the world to the militantly conservative Norwegian that runs this particular hostel. Always looking for a fight, he will serenade you with the most random and irrational string of profanities while at the same time cornering you with claims that his NATO friends in Afghanistan have told him the war there is over, that we should just bomb Iran and Venezuela and get it over with, and that Putin is the next Hitler (a point that loses any actual merit due to the "Hitler" analogy). This agnostic-monarchist who believes in divine right (what?) claimed that the Norwegian parliament would create civil war if it ever attempted to remove King Harald V of Norway (whose own merits can be measured by his close friendship with the brilliant actor/martial art expert Steven Seagal, whom he frequent invites to Norway for advice as well as the opportunity to hangout together and watch films). Never one to take a hint, the visitor can expect to be given an unwanted political education based on this man's warped views of the world. Despite this, his real appeal lays in his fervent hatred of Ukraine and Russia. Always looking for a way to slam either country (usually in front of his Russian and Ukrainian guests), his gross generalizations leave everyone (even those who may share some of his opinions) queasy. While this may not seem like anything new, the real irony lays in his choice of a wife, a Ukrainian woman (whose similar use of profanity makes you wonder where she learned English). In the end, you dread returning to the place intended for rest and you begin to think that all of the Western European hatred of America might not be the result of any deficiencies on the part of American public.

While my high opinions of Slavs and Russians in particular is based on my love of their common history, my exasperation with the opinions of the Norwegian man may be lessened if he was talking about one Russian woman in particular. About two months ago, I asked the woman at my company who is in charge of accommodations to help me to get the internet at my house. Since this was an essential part of her job, I assumed that it would be taken care of. Two months later, and more then 15 visits to this woman's office, I have yet to receive the next day installation (part of the reason for my lack of recent blogs). Now many of you may wonder why I haven't done it myself, or at least found other help. Before I answer your question, I first would like to enlighten the reader to the character I've been forced to deal with. Probably the laziest woman in the history of the world, I first encountered her behind a mountain of spent sunflower seed shells. When I asked her about the internet, her first suggestion was the extremely helpful "get it yourself". While this piece of advice may have worked for a native Russian, my lack of knowledge concerning Russian internet contracts made it less than useful. During a second visit, she further proved her worth by showing me an internet advertisement that she had found in a local newspaper. After this meeting, I started to get the feeling that this woman was dangerously stupid. These premonitions were confirmed when she so drastically ruined my application, that other Russians were at a loss of words concerning what exactly she had done. As of this writing, my lack of internet continues, and I am forced to continue working through her ridiculous questions and even worse suggestions. Of course, I can do nothing but keep you informed about how she further ruins my life. At the moment, I'm shooting to the get the normal 24 hour installation done before Christmas.

Finally, (and despite the above) life in Russia is going pretty well. Leslie and I are getting used to the peculiarities present in everyday Russian life, and our excitement and planning for future travels in and around Russia will continue with a trip to Greece next month as well as both Belarus and Turkey somewhere on the horizon. In any event, my improving Russian and the opportunity to witness a (potential) turning point in Russian history and politics makes my time here invaluable. In conclusion, I hope that next couple of years in Russia will open the door to new possibilities that can keep me busy and happy enough to free me from the burden of complaining via the internet. Until then, I plan to write blogs more frequently (as soon as I get internet again), so I hope that my loyal handful of readers do not forsake me yet. After all, what’s the use of ranting if there isn't anyone to bear the brunt of the ravings?

Tales From Home Pt. 6: The Tunnel of Doom

During my youth, I was often forced to find things that kept me entertained. This unfortunate side effect of living in a small town helped expand my imagination as well as opening my mind to more advantageous pursuits, like history. Despite this, there were occasional novelties which broke the monotony and allowed me to experience the frequent carelessness associated with youth. The parties at Dan Hummel’s house were one of these things. Famous among everyone who had been their or heard about them, they featured a string of some of the most random things in history. Strange tales of axes crashing through doors, turkeys crapping on couches, and clown heads wrapped in plastic garbage bags, would compliment the unquestioning hospitality of Dan's parents along with the appeal of the latest video game system. Unfortunately, as we began to age, the parties became less frequent and arguably less fun. Despite this, we still found the time to meet on occasion and spend some time at one of our favorite places. It was at one of these last parties, that we entered the "Tunnel of Doom."

Dan was always full of crap, but that was always part of his appeal. He would often tell the most ridiculous stories, and if you feigned belief he would continue, making the stories more and more ridiculous as he went. Of course, if you did not want to hear a particular story, you would just have to call him on it exactly two times. The first time he would assure us it was true, after we repeated our objections, he would concede it was false. This sure fire system always worked until one of us (probably me) told him about it. In any event, Dan's stories were always good for entertainment, and we often listened intently. One of these stories was the "truth" about the "Kennerdell Tunnel".

The Hummels live on a former railroad bed about a mile and a half from a long curving tunnel. When you were in the middle of it, it was almost completely dark. Of course this meant that a visit at night was a must, and therefore Dan felt the need to spice it up. Naturally, the trump card in this situation, at least in the mind of a 17-18 year old, is murder. Dan proceeded to spin an absolute yarn of death, murder, and intrigue all of which had occurred in the small rural tunnel. Apparently, a number of workers had died during the construction, which inevitably caused it to be cursed. The haunted tunnel caused many trains to crash, killing many, if not all of its passengers. The curse resulted in the closing of the tunnel, which only encouraged murdering psychopaths to move in. Of course they would kill people as well. Eventually, the hundreds of deaths would finally force the community to install a road block in front of the tunnel, but by no means would there be any plans for destroying it. It was in the midst of these stories that Dan casually suggested that we visit the tunnel at night and see if there was anything of interest. Therefore we all piled in to his car, and made our way to the tunnel.

In retrospect, the makeup of our group on that faithful night was quite random. It included Dan and I, Shay (a friend of Jesse and I, but someone who hated Dan), Steve Dubrowski (sometimes called DumBROWNski, due to an unfortunate accident on the school bus in fifth grade), Scott or "GYB" (see blog entitled "Tales From Home Pt. 4: GYBin' It Up"), and Chad Reilly (a friend of Shay's). As we all made our way to the tunnel, we could not help but notice storm clouds forming, an ominous omen to be sure. Despite this, our joy a possibly meeting someone who would brutally murder us lifted our spirits, and we entered the tunnel with two flashlights and firm intentions. What happened next would change our lives forever.

As we entered the tunnel I was given the duty of holding a flashlight, while Dan (as the guide) was holding the other one. We had both been to the tunnel before (and surprisingly survived), and therefore seemed to be the most obvious choices for such an important task. The walk was difficult due to the uneven gravel and drainage ditches full of water on either side, but we continued into the deepest depths of the sinister public work. As we were walking, Dan quietly suggested that I walk a little slower. I obliged, knowing that Dan had an idea that would undoubtedly make me laugh. As we reached the middle and by far the darkest part of the tunnel, Dan went over to investigate a part of the wall that had been occupied by one of the tunnel's previous serial-killing residents. Leaning over the ditch his hands against the wall, he claimed that he found it and then stepped back to shine his flashlight on the spot so that we all could examine it. As I moved forward, Dan stopped me, and whispered, "When I say, shut off your flashlight and run to the car." I chuckled, and agreed. While Dan's light flashed on the indiscriminate wall, everyone carefully scrutinized it. At that moment, we both shut of our lights and started running. Dan and I had been quite good runners, and this coupled with the fact that Chad, Scott, and Steve were all quite tall and slower, caused us to get a healthy lead before they finally realized that the dark crunching of rocks quickly moving away from them was us running. As we got to the car, we realized that Shay had managed to follow us. The rain had started to fall, and the three of us hopped into Dan's car and attempted to turn around and go home. Dan was about to go, when a loud thump hit his car. It was at that moment that we saw the unimaginable.

It was GYB. We couldn't believe it. In a furry of grunts and saliva, he had jumped on the top of Dan's car. Holding on to top of the windshield and smiling at us, Dan had no choice but to hit the gas. GYB screamed for us to stop, but Dan only turned on the windshield wipers so that they would hit his fingers, forcing him to let go. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful, and we made it home with GYB riding on top. He dismounted from the car, only a little wet, but (in characteristically typical fashion) assumed he had been part of the joke since he had ridden back with us. Not opposed to laughing at the misfortune of others, we all sat back and played Nintendo 64, while musing over the plight of Chad and "DumBROWNski".

After a few minutes, Chad and Steve entered the room, both soaking from the rain. Chad was angry, but just decided to sulk, while Steve decided to take his anger out on the one responsible for the whole charade, Shay. Quietly dismissing the possibility of Dan being the culprit, he accused Shay of orchestrating the whole thing, including the moment that he had fallen into the drainage ditch (unbeknownst to us). After yelling at him for a good ten minutes (while Dan, Scott, and I laughed), he and Chad left. For the rest of the evening, Shay had a bewildered expression on his face, while Dan and I nonchalantly engaged in games of Sonic and Ecco the Dolphin.

In conclusion, I have not entered the tunnel again since that faithful night. I would be lying if I didn't say that I feared its powers. It's ability to generate murders, house the infirm, and participate in practical jokes while simultaneously passing the blame to the innocent is a skill that is stunningly evil in its execution. Therefore I would urge all to heed my warning and avoid the God-forsaken spot. If you don't, you may be murdered, or worse, blamed as the inspiration for something committed by someone you don't even really like.

The Joy of Russian TV Pt. 2

I have always been a fan of the female form. As a heterosexual man, my entire chemistry has been geared to this undeniable fact. It was with this in mind that I decided to leave the testosterone and chauvinism of Walker and the A-team behind, for the greener pastures of the fairer sex. Russian TV is full of shows that celebrate women while showing things that would make American censors cringe. Russians don't shy away from showing topless women on national TV, and many programs would feature occasional flashes (no pun intended) of this fact. I attempted to watch these shows, but would constantly be forced to change the channel due to a baseness of overall content that left me physically incapable of rational thought. Despite this, my spirits remained high. Then one night I stumbled upon a show called Голые и Смешные. My life would never be the same.

Голые и Смешные, or Naked and Funny as it is called in English, is a mix between Candid Camera and soft-core pornography. The premise is simple. Show people reacting to one of three things, a fat woman requiring help (thankfully not naked) in nearly impossible situations, show people's reactions to being exposed (a light-hearted look at sexual harassment), or the most frequent, people's reaction to naked people (mostly women) doing the most random things under the sun. Each feature as its own unique merit, and therefore I would like to discuss each in detail.

By far the most infrequent, but often funniest aspect of the show is the fat woman in impossible situations. In the most recent episode, she sat on a chair and broke through the bottom. Naturally her butt was stuck in the chair with her legs in the air. While the camera's were rolling, fellow patrons at the restaurant attempted to remove here from the chair through any means necessary. While they were doint this, the grossly over-weight woman "attempted" to free herself by kicking her legs and frantically shaking her head. Another great clip was a fat woman who wanted to climb in through a window. Since she was really fat, she could not pull herself in, and therefore was forced to ask people walking by to help lift her. Hilarity ensued as people would just flat out tell her that she was too fat, or attempt in vain to lift her leg or pick her up. One man almost got smashed when he tried to put the 300 lb woman on his shoulders. Finally the woman would tell the exasperated men that their kindness had been in vain, because it had all been a trick. Upon hearing that the torn muscles in their arms were the product of a practical joke, the men made the "got me!" face, and laughed and applauded their own gullibility.

The second feature of the show is the exposing of innocent people. Naturally this occurs to only attractive people (the overweight woman never finds herself in this situation) and almost always to women. The scenario follows a brilliant formula. An attractive woman must change her clothes for some reason, and then hilarity ensues. For example, one episode showed a number of women in a changing booth at the beach. As soon as they had their shirts off, the producers would raise the booth leaving this naked women exposed to the entire beach. Of course she is horrified and we all laugh. The show presents us with no less than ten different women featuring the same result. Occasionally (as if the show was forced) they would show us a fleeting clip of a man in the same situation, but this would transition into the tried and true clip of a topless woman jumping up and down in the attempt to pull the booth back down to her. Other clips play off this theme, with men sliding (on skateboards on their backs) under the booth while a woman was changing or women changing for a medical examination, only to be exposed. Naturally the women are only angry until they find out it was a joke. After this is revealed, they throw their hands up (no longer concerned about being nude) and laugh at themselves.

Finally, and by far the best and most frequent aspect of the show is people (men) reacting to other naked (women) people. This part is by far my favorite because it shows the natural reaction of men when confronted with a naked woman. Naturally most of the comedy comes from their vain attempts to resist the primal urge of ogling. Naturally the most common method is surprising men with topless women. This is done through a number of completely random ways. In one clip a woman is roller skating and falls down. When a man attempts to help her up, her shirt flies off (at quite an alarming speed). The man then makes a surprised face and apologizes profusely. Another way is to entice a man to play a game of darts. After he throws the first dart, the target falls off only to reveal a pair of women's breasts. Or finally, a man is walking down the street, when a bathtub with a naked women in it (complete with suds and brush) comes rolling out of a side street past him. He of course tries to stop the tub, only to be embarrassed by the naked women inside. (This same joke was also used with a man on a toilet complete with a roll of toilet paper floating behind him, hilarious!) Naturally, the men are all surprised after they find out that was just a hilarious joke.

In conclusion, my blog is only the tip of the iceberg when addressing the genius that is Naked and Funny. The show features many more jokes like women in short skirts asking men to hold a ladder for them, while the men attempt to resist looking up their skirt, or naked women kissing men in front of their girlfriends, causing irreparable damage to the relationship. Unfortunately, I haven't got time to discuss the wide range of ways the show hilariously objectifies women. Despite this, I hope that my praise of such a forward looking program causes it to become popular outside of Russia. I look forward to the day when the two great concepts of nudity and hidden cameras can free themselves from the previous negative connotations and bask in the light of all its potential. After all, any invasion of privacy or petty crime can be justified, as long as it’s (apparently) innocent and done in the pursuit of humor. If that's the case, than that's a guilty pleasure I can feel good about.

The Joy of Russian TV Pt. 1

Three years ago while traveling in the Italian city of Rome, I was inundated with cultural and historical relics that both delighted the senses and rejuvenated my love of history. It was as a result of this vigorous mental and (sometimes) physical exercise, that I would often return to my hotel room exhausted and desperate for something capable of relaxing me. Fortunately, my hotel provided us with the under appreciated luxury of television. Despite my lack of Italian, I felt that the flashing pictures and dull roar could help me achieve a level of comfort so desperately needed at that moment. Of course, you can imagine my surprise when I was greeted with the calm but calculating expression of master actor and martial arts expert, Chuck Norris. Intrigued by his sheer presence on screen, I continued to watch him deliver justice one round house kick at a time. Of course in Italy, he was as an Italian speaking Texas police officer, but that did not deter my fascination with the man that was Walker, Texas Ranger. The rest of my time in Rome was spent impatiently traveling around the city before hurriedly returning to my hotel in order to catch another glimpse of Walker in Italian. When I left Rome, I knew that at all costs I had to return to a country to watch embarrassing American programming dubbed in a foreign language. Although at the time, I did not realize how close I was to fulfilling that dream.

Fortunately, my opportunity for more foreign TV would arrive with my move to Japan in July of 2006. I had heard simultaneous tales of horror and delight from those who had had the opportunity to view its programming. Unfortunately, I was disappointed to find that the Japanese had catered to their foreign guests by allowing all of their American programming to be tracked in both Japanese and English. Therefore, with a simple flick of a switch, I could watch any foreign program in English. This coupled with very little original programming capable of capturing my attention (with the exception of Hard Gay, a "gay" comedian, see my blog “Hard Gay: Japan’s Answer to Stereotyping”), I found myself watching the channel, Movie Plus (see Blog “Smell You Later Japan”) almost exclusively. My heartbreak was further compounded by the absence of Walker in Japanese. I endured the long winter with hopes that Russia would improve my lot.

My first time in Russia had allowed me a glimpse at my possibilities. While living with a host family in Moscow, I had caught brief glimpses of Gordon Shumway chasing a cat in the 80's hit sitcom A.L.F. My host mother's hatred of the show forced me to miss this fantastic program, but its existence stimulated my appetite for the future. My return to Russia didn't immediately reap any rewards. Much of the programming seemed typically European, with some game shows and talk shows littered with some absolutely unmistakable Euro-pop. Sensing defeat, I returned from work one day and decided to flip through the channels, hoping beyond hope for some type of reward. I was just about to give up when something strangely familiar caught my attention. My eyes lit up when I realized that the mohawk and gold chains that I was staring at belonged to no other than a Mr. T, I was watching the A-team. It was better than I could have possibly hoped for. "Команда А" (Commando Ah) or A-team in Russian gave me all of the ridiculousness of Walker multiplied by four. They were all there. Hannibal was leading, Face was attractive, Murdock was a "crazy fool" and B.A. (Bad Attitude) Barracas showed his fear of flying. My heart went out to these four falsely accused heroes, and I cursed the government for their unjust persecution and relentless pursuit. Just as my euphoria began to subside, the show ended. The screen turned black. It was then that it happened.

When the screen finally began to light up, I could see Walker standing there in all his glory. He stood as if looking directly at me, his unmistakable grimace and his coat rustling, the ridiculous music playing while a Russian announcer translated the lyrics. All of the fond memories of Italy coupled with the fact that three people, one for men, one for women, and one for children had been given the task of reading the show’s entire dialog. I was so thrilled that I collapsed and viewed a ridiculous episode featuring dogs having seizures, Walker riding on the top of tanker trucks, and much more. I realized that I had moved to a country capable of providing the poorly dubbed programming so important for my life. In conclusion, I finally had my dubbed Walker. I thought that my existence could not get any better. I went to my evening class full of hope for the future and a strong commitment to life. Little did I know that the best part of Russian TV was yet to come, and this time, not from America...

To Be Continued Next Week!

Dogs of the World Unite!

A few weeks ago, Leslie and I were standing at the crosswalk waiting for the light to change. As we patiently awaited the signal, a stray dog casually walked up to us and sat down. When the light changed, he stood up and crossed the street before taking a left and continuing up the sidewalk. While this may seem strange to people in most countries, in Moscow it is a common occurrence. Therefore, I would like to reveal to the world the truth about one rarely mentioned aspect of the former Soviet Union, namely, its treatment of canines and their elevation to a place of envy amongst all of the dogs in the world.

On November 7, 1917 the entire world stood in awe of an earth shattering event. The turmoil and strife caused by the first World War had allowed for a group of political radicals to seize power in Russia. Promising to create a world free of exploitation and subjugation, they set the stage for the most ambitious social experiment in world history. People from around the world made their way to Moscow to contribute their services to the cause. It was as a part of this pilgrimage, that a group of dogs from Scotland and Germany united to form a lobbying group for their interests. Their appeals made their way to all of the belligerent countries, and it was not long before a small coalition had formed. By late November, the dogs had enough bones to pay for steamer fare. They arrived in St. Petersburg in time to present their platform to the entire Communist movement.

The dogs had a difficult road ahead of them. There was a vocal anti-dog faction within the Bolshevik party. Fortunately, Vladimir Lenin was a firm supporter for Dogs rights. In his widely read treatise, "Собаки и Народ, Ровня?" (Dogs and the People, the Same?), Lenin spelled out his beliefs concerning the inalienable rights of all dogs within a Socialist framework. Lenin's strong personality was not enough to get the equal rights amendment passed. This coupled with the impending Civil War forced many of the dogs to flee the country. Unfortunately, the movement of dogs toward Moscow had caused many western governments (including the United States) to pass harsher laws restricting the rights of K-9's within their borders. Many of the returning dogs were collared by local authorities as soon as the entered their native countries. The small and vocal minority of dogs that remained in Russia watched all of these events in horror. Realizing that their only hope for equality remained in Russia, they hastily prepared a new manifesto and presented it to the Communist Party. Once again backed by Lenin, the uphill struggle for dog equality was renewed. The stage was set for the greatest triumph in the recorded history of the species.

The Civil War in Russia forced the dogs into a tight spot. The country had sunk into a level of depravity never before seen, and it was hard for both dogs and people to feel safe. Seeing the revolution (and their future) in trouble, many dogs joined the red cause. Their tenacity coupled with their dogged loyalty to the cause, left a positive impression on many of the leading Communists. In 1921, with the fighting beginning to ebb, Lenin finally resubmitted the call for dog equality. The vote was almost unanimous. The People's Official and Original Charter for Hounds, or P.O.O.C.H. was officially put into effect on March 15, 1923. A type of euphoria swept the entire canine community, but it would only be temporary. A series of strokes had permanently debilitated their chief benefactor. In January 1924, Lenin died and the second phase of the struggle for true dog-man equality commenced.

Lenin's death helped propel Joseph Stalin, then General Secretary within the party, to the top of the leadership pool within the Soviet Union. Stalin, who had been in the dog house ever since supporting the motion against P.O.O.C.H., decided to make the repeal of the legislation his chief priority. Despite this, the dogs were not about to roll over and play dead. They mounted an effort against the new leader. Joining Trotsky's "Left Opposition", the dogs would angrily bark down any supporters of the General Secretary. Despite this, Stalin's place became more and more secure. The fall of Trotsky in 1926, led to an even tighter leash on dog activities in the Soviet Union. The "Collectivization" campaign during the 1930's further eroded the rights of dogs to the point that they were forced to beg for strips of land, while still unable to bring home the bacon for their families. In 1939, P.O.O.C.H. was repealed. The dogs were in a daze at their misfortune. They entered the 1940's with their tales between their legs and very little hope for the future.

The Second World War put Soviet canines in a tough situation. They could side with their German brethren then under the grip of fascism or support the state that had fallen so far from its original ideals. Fearing the possibility of digging themselves deeper into a hole, they decided to throw their support behind the Red Army. The war cost many lives and the ineffective leadership forced many dogs into a corner. Despite this, the German invasion caused a feeling of patriotism that aroused a rabid defense. The end of the war caused a return to pre-war conditions, but now many dogs (and some people) were howling for a new form of legislation to guarantee their rights. Despite this Stalin remained steadfast. It would not be until his death in 1953 that the dogs would finally receive their just dessert.

Stalin's death caused a renewal of efforts to guarantee dog equality. Fetching copies of the old legislation, the dogs presented Khrushchev with the necessary framework for a new bill. In 1956, B.A.R.K. (Bill for Animal Relief and Kindness) was passed. No longer just chasing their tales, they continued to advance in society. In 1957, a dog named "Laika" was the first animal in space. (I would like to remind the readers that Laika is also the longest formerly living animal still in space) Throughout the duration of the Soviet Union, dogs would receive ample pensions, while being treated to some of the best parks the country could afford. Naturally, this would all come crashing down in 1991.

The collapse of the Soviet Union caused an immense amount of strife for everyone residing within its borders. For dogs, its not been much different. They have taken to traveling in packs, scrounging for food, and begging for handouts. They have even begun to resemble strays in many other countries, listless and unmotivated. Critics of Russia's new course have blamed the rampant speculation and unchecked capitalism. Unfortunately there is no way of knowing for sure. The one thing that is certain is that dogs have become animals in the land that they once ruled. Despite this, there still remain glimpses of their past in many of their present actions. There constant presence in metros, their adherence to important traffic rules and naturally their willingness to submit to the lowest strata of society, have more than proven their civility and cultivation. It is from this species that we should look for our next period of enlightenment. If we don't, we will be nothing more than mongrels, nipping on the heals of actual progress.

The Irrelevance of the Ear

This week while watching Russian television, I stumbled on MTV. While this error would elicit a quick and thorough attempt to either destroy the television, or at the very least, change the channel, I hesitated due to the fact that I saw a music video. Now as many of you know, MTV is a cancer that infects all that encounters it. Filled with the most banal trash ever viewed, it was the only channel that I programmed out of my TV at home, such were my fears of even viewing a nanosecond of some reality show or worse. Unfortunately, since I'm in Russia, I was sucked into what appeared to be shadow of its past relevance, and decided to stay and see if perhaps it was different here. It was at this moment, that this error began to bear fruit. I saw a video by an "artist" called Rihanna featuring Jay-Z. Now many of you may fault me for what happened next based on the argument that I should have expected what would happen just from the name "Jay-Z." I can only say that hindsight is 20-20, plus Rihanna looked attractive. Anyway, I was thrown into an abyss of crap of which I can't adequately relate in words. The "song", titled "Umbrella," was her just gyrating to the semblance of a beat, while repeating the word "umbrella." After two to three minutes of this, it ended, my ears accosted to the point that I feared I would be incapable of listening to music again. It was at that moment that I realized that the "dark ages" of music that we have had the misfortune to live in, had at last reached a new, frightening level. Music, the medium believed to be a direct gift from God, had finally and irrevocably decided to cut its ties with its chief mode of appreciation, the ear.

Music has had a long and complicated relationship with the ear. Since the beginning of mankind, the ear has relished its place as the means of intercepting and understanding music. Beginning with early drums, to lyres, and eventually to more difficult and complex instruments, the ear was constantly treated with new and innovative ways to appreciate rhythmic sound. The ear's prominence reached its peak during the classical era. Full orchestras would perform some of the most beautiful music ever made. The audience would stare blankly at the musicians, appreciating their gift with their ears, while attempting to find something to do with their eyes. The ear had reached its pinnacle, with its place secure, it headed into the twentieth century, the age of Rock and Pop music.

Rock and Roll would levy the first attack on the ear's role at the chief receptacle for the appreciation of music. Elvis Presley entered the spotlight in the late 1950's, not due to the music, but due to his stage performance. After all, a majority of his songs had existed in one way or another before he recorded them. While it can be argued that he was capable of lifting these songs to a place that they could have not hoped to attain with their previous performers, it is clear to most observers, that it was his risqué performances and swagger that catapulted his career from scandalous, to "king" of rock and roll. This initial attack had a monumental effect on the place of ear; music entered its first "dark age" with teen heart throbs and gimmick songs monopolizing the airwaves. Music producers claimed that guitar centered rock was dead, while green lighting some of the worst filth in pop history (Look at any of the hits from 1961-62). In an attempt to stop the darkness, a small group of freedom fighters led by musicians like Del Shannon, attempted to curb the damage, but to no avail. The ear was on the ropes, the line in the sand had been drawn. It was now up to the Beatles to attempt to roll back this advance; the stage was set for an epic showdown.

The Beatles entered the scene with a force unmatched then or since. While adhering to the established norms of appearance over substance that was prevalent at the time, they carefully began to undermine it. Their concerts were spectacles where nobody heard the music, the audience only desiring to see their hair or hear a joke. After a few years, the band had reached the point where they could destroy this type of performance in one swift stroke. In 1966, they decided to stop touring, and instead focus on the music, in the studio. The damage started by Elvis, had not only been stopped, but rescinded. Music had been reunited with the ear. Despite this, the Beatles were not infallible, and in their victory, they made one fatal mistake. Due to their lack of touring, they decided to reward their fans (and promote future music) with videos featuring them playing their songs. This was the birth of the music video. One of the pieces for the ear's ultimate demise was in place; the war was far from over.

The Beatles decision did not stop other bands from touring, but it did set the bar for music to a level where other bands could not afford to ignore the music side of the business. The 70's began with the breakup of the Beatles, which threatened to destroy the balance they had built. Fortunately, other bands filled their place. Rock split into many factions, represented by bands ranging from Queen, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Lynard Skynard, Black Sabbath, and many others. "Pop" which also split from rock shortly after the Beatles stopped touring, was firmly anchored by Elton John and a host of less popular performers. All of these musicians, kept the music in mind, the ear's place and the status quo was secured. Even disco, in all of its shallowness, showed that it could still make music, even if for no higher reason than something good for dancing. Despite this, the second piece of the ear's demise was beginning to gain support. The minority populations of the United States had begun to develop a type of music, which required no instruments, just a message. Their economic plight was offset by goofy humorous lyrics that showed the lighter side of life. It was in this atmosphere that Rap music first saw the light of day.

The 80's continued the previous trends while precipitating Rock's demise. With the help of apparent fellow traveler, MTV (starting in 1981), music began on a positive note through the introduction of new musicians to wider audiences. Rock music in the form of "hair bands" entered a phase of decadence usually associated with continued dominance of any market, while Pop music reached its height in the form of Michael Jackson. His choreographed dance numbers, well written songs and expertise at the art of the music video seemingly proved the compatibility of music and visuals. Unfortunately, this was far from the case and as the decade progressed, his songs worsened while the cost of his videos entered the stratosphere. Rock music, in the final stages of its decay weren't capable of stopping the hemorrhaging, despite the efforts of Gun's and Roses. Produced pop music, exemplified by the music video, began to outshine the music, as a result, less physically attractive musicians weren't able to compete, and faded away. It was also at this point, that the specter of produced pop, long thought exorcised in the early 1960's revealed its existence through the alarmingly bad "New Kids on the Block." Music was facing dire circumstances. It was at this crossroads that either visual or audio based music could have won out. It was at this moment that the hitherto fringe genre "Rap" music stepped up, this time with a much darker but altogether more appealing angle.

As previously mentioned, Rap music started with goofy fun-loving lyrics. Despite this, many within the African-American community found this to be somewhat of an insult and strived to remake rap with lyrics relevant to their life experiences. It was with this goal, that "Gangsta-rap" was created. Exemplified by "N.W.A." the genre used the Elvis route of controversy to get their genre out into the main stream. This coupled with their often repeated desire to make as much money as possible, lifted them past their previous musical ambitions, and into the world of general entertainment and business. The fun loving rap could not keep up, even with the main stream success of M.C. Hammer and the Fresh Prince. MTV, who had long ago thrown away their scruples in favor of cheap reality shows and continued profits, eagerly formed an alliance with Rap musicians/businessmen. The 90's would set the stage for the final battle, and the beginning of the second "Dark Ages."

The new order wasn't created overnight, and in the 90's rock waged one final resistance to the new regime. The insurgency was called "grunge," and while not being the best music ever made, was true to the formula of music over visuals. At the same time, Rap was perfecting the alternative, establishing the required necessities of a rap video, namely cars, people throwing around $100 bills, women in bikinis, and the rapper himself surrounded by his friends rapping directly to the camera. MTV did its part, by replacing many of its shows with original programming, while devoting its remaining music video blocks to rap/hip-hop. Rock finally gave up the ghost in the late 90's, and split into many sub-genres with only fringe popularity, but occasional success (like Metal band Korn's "Freak on a Leash"). In its place, the "Four Horsemen" of any Dark Age, "Boy Bands", Former Mickey Mouse Club Members, Teen Angst, and Gimmick songs climbed the charts. Rap/Hip-hop lost its only redeeming qualities by passing the mantel of its leadership to people who rapped about the same difficult childhoods on the street, but with none of the actual experiences. Finally, the genre grew so far apart from its original source, that it shed its "Gangsta" image, and instead focused on the completely un-relatable lyrics of being rich, and club hopping. Pop, unable to exist without mainstream attention joined Rap to make a strange musically unfulfilling hybrid. The new order had been formed, audio based music and the importance of the ear faded from the scene.

It is during this current phase that I watched the music video of Rihanna featuring. Jay-Z. Music as with anything existing under a stifled regime has only grown staler, with the "featuring" so and so, being the only new innovation of the last five years. Artists who had attempted to make inroads, (notably Jewel and Nelly Furtado) have failed and joined the enemy. Despite this, the ear has not completely died. Bands like U2, Green Day, and even The Foo Fighters have changed their sound without selling their soul, and as a result command a degree of respect from music fans, despite (arguably) poorer quality music. Also, newer rock bands have showed a degree of resiliency. The Strokes, The White Stripes, Wolfmother and others have tapped previous ages, notably the 70's to form a front against Rap. Unfortunately, the recent bands lack the over-arching talent, staying power, or ability to shake the foundations of the establishment. Instead their success has been used for propaganda purposes to show an openness for new and unique talent, and has not been effective as a tool for real change. It is with this in mind, that I sound the call for a new regime. One based on generally good music, free of the corporate and marketing undertone. Of course many of you may mention the indie rock scene as a place to search for our savior, and I welcome anyone from that group. I just desire a world where a band can be the best at what they do, and the most popular for what they do. I want to be able to turn on the TV and hear generally good music, not some "sampled" (usually from the 60's or 70's) or recycled beat. Even I was sucked in by the appeal of a beautiful woman gyrating, completely forgetting that the music would be garbage. In short, I just want to be current music fan again. I think we all deserve this slight concession. After all, we owe it to ourselves, and to our ears.

The Mystery of the BONE KNIFE!

A year ago this month I found myself in a difficult position. I had just returned from China and was planning my move to Japan. Before I left, I decided to visit the Hummel family and discuss my past and future plans. It was during one of these meetings, that I encountered an object of almost universal importance. Of course, I'm referring to the...BONE KNIFE. For those of you who have somehow remained ignorant of such a historically powerful object, I can only suggest that you read my August 2006 blog entitled "Beware the Bone Knife." In any event, I was given the opportunity to briefly hold the knife last year. While my previous entry detailed the the joy and pride I felt during the brief moment that I held it in my hands, I purposefully purged my article of any description of the feeling that engulfed me while it was in my possession. At the time, I was afraid to divulge what the knife had made me think, what it made me want to do. Only now do I feel strong enough to reveal its secret. The bone knife makes you drunk with power. It makes you think you can kill anyone, not just your son, his friends, and terrorists. I could feel the mad rage building and could not take it anymore. After the picture was taken, I hastily put the knife down, afraid to touch it again. I vowed then never to touch it again, as I boarded my plane for Japan, the BONE KNIFE was the furthest thing from my mind.

When I came back to the United States in July, I knew that I would make a requisite visit to the Hummels to fill them in on my news, as well as hearing about how they were doing. As Leslie and I drove to their house, I started to get goose bumps and began to have slight convulsions. Unable to understand what was happening, I pulled into their driveway. As soon as I stepped out of the car, I could feel its presence. I needed it, I wanted it. Walking up to the house, I showed an irrational impatience, curtly saying hello, I asked if I could see it. Everyone looked confused, but I could see a glimmer of understanding in John's eyes. Pam tried to calm my nerves by handing me a class of punch. Frustrated, I threw my glass of refreshment against the wall and demanded immediate satisfaction. Sadly, John went to the the other room, and brought me the object of my desire. The jewel encrusted box was laid at my feet. Feeling the power run through my body, I turned the key. A puff of smoke escaped from the lid, and I saw the BONE KNIFE lying before me in all its glory. I lifted it up above my head, the setting sun glistening off its milky white blade. I knew I had to utilize my gift. I had to kill Leslie.

Leslie looked at me, noticing the change in my entire demeanor. I looked at her, my voice deeper and raspy, my eyes shining, "dirty girls, I'll get them with the BONE KNIFE!" I proceeded to make the slit throat motion and stood up, a big drunken smile stretching from ear to ear. I lunged at her, but John was faster. Grabbing me, he wrestled me to the ground. I then proceeded to stab him repeatedly my hand resembling a piston in all its force. Grabbing me by the throat, he revealed a machete that he had recently purchased at Knife World, a popular knife supplier in South Carolina. Standing up, I marveled at his resilience, and noticed that my stabs had barely made a difference. We had a knife fight ala, West Side Story, dipping in unison, with the occasional pirouette, we battled it out. Finally, he hit me with the butt of his machete and took hold of the my knife. In a split second, he had slit my throat with the BONE KNIFE. I fell to the ground, everything went black.

A few moments later, I awoke to find myself lying on the bed, a wet compress on my head. I felt a new energy flowing through my body. I looked up to see John, Pam, and Leslie anxiously watching over me. "What, what happened", I asked. "Don't worry, its all over now, we've taken you somewhere where you'll feel at home." John replied. I opened my eyes further and realized that I was lying in an elaborate igloo. "I don't...don't understand." I said meekly. "Let me explain," John said. "Years ago when the god's created man, they gave him a land of paradise." Unfortunately, man did nothing but complain, because he had nothing to cut his steak. The gods then met, and decided to fashion a knife of such power, that not only would he want to cut steak, but everything else that made him angry at the moment. If this sounds irrational, keep in my they are gods, their business is an irrationality that you just have to believe at risk of ridicule for your logical conclusions." I nodded my head in understanding. "Anyway, they fashioned a knife out of their collective divine skeletons, which apparently gods possess, and gave it to the first human. Naturally, he proceeded to lay waste to the entire animal population of the world, and of course, that's how dinosaurs really went extinct." I was speechless at this revelation, but begged John to continue. "Anyway, all of the ancient kings desired the BONE KNIFE, it was the cause of many of earth's wars. Finally, a wise Greek man named Johnithiniki Hummelakos decided to end the chaos. He stole the knife and gave it to the Inuit people, the direct descendants of the dinosaurs. He knew they would not want to use it due their memories of the previous genocide. Of course, they kept it for generations, until it was lost, then eventually returned to me, its guardian and the only one who really understands its power." "Wait a minute," I asked. "How do you understand its power?" "Well, I am the the direct descendant of Hummelakos" John replied. "The burden is on me to protect it at all costs. Of course, this doesn't mean that I can't show it off and attack you boys with it, but you understand." I nodded in agreement. I stood up and gave Leslie a hug and apologized for attempting to murder her. She laughed, but looked slightly nervous. I ignored her, as we made for the door. I said my goodbyes, but just before I walked out the door I realized that there was still a slight pain around my neck. Turning around, I asked John why I had not died from the most powerful weapon on earth. He smiled and looked at me. "That is a story, that I will leave for next time. Perhaps next year?" As soon as he said this, I knew the truth. Pride filled me, I nodded in acknowledgment of our mutual knowledge before getting in my car and returning home.

My Life Underground

I would like to begin by apologizing for the extended absence. You see, I have taken to using the free wireless network that only a classy establishment like McDonald's could possibly provide. As a result, my infrequent Internet usage (I don't have access at my house) has made writing blogs slightly less convenient. Despite this, I am committed to continuing the tradition that I started in Japan and I look forward to the possible new material that life in Moscow is absolutely capable of providing. So without further ado, I give to you my first extensive blog from the heart of the former Soviet Union.

Russia has not changed much from my last stay here. The city is still beautiful, the people remain slightly intimidating, and I'm kept constantly busy with school work which seems to be only slightly valuable. In any event, after 23 years of rural life in both the United States and Japan, it's been refreshing to experience an urban atmosphere. With virtually every form of human achievement at my finger tips, its hard to refrain from forsaking my training course, and indulging in the privileges of city life. While it is easy to cite numerous cultural, architectural, and historical attractions that make Moscow unique, there is one well known feature of the city which encapsulates all of these while at the same time remaining incredibly useful. Of course I'm referring to the world famous Moscow Metro.

Many cities have subway systems. New York, London, and Tokyo all support extensive underground services which make the furthest reaches of their limits accessible. Despite this, none of them are capable of attaining the sheer beauty, efficiency, and affordability of Moscow's metro. Beginning in the 1930's, the first stations were intended to be "underground palaces" celebrating the victory of socialism. Designed and constructed under the watchful eye of Joseph Stalin, the early stations were built using materials from many different areas of the Soviet Union. Special stations were decorated with mosaics, statues, and marble columns, while many of the other stations were adorned with just as impressive stars, socialist imagery(in the form of workers doing things) and (naturally) the hammer and sickle. Recent stations have kept to the model(minus the communist undertones) and all stimulate a level of anticipation upon first viewings. The metro's efficiency and price also play a huge part in its appeal. Since trains come (on average) every 90 seconds, its easy to arrive at anytime and be sure that you will soon be whisked away to your destination. This coupled with the metro's dirt cheap fares (one ride anywhere in the city costs about $1.10), help make it easier for me to indulge in inner-city travel, and as a result opens the door to many sections of the city I may not have chosen to visit.

In conclusion, I can't say enough about the Moscow Metro. It truly is a delight, but of course all of these ravings might be the result of my lack of an extensive public transportation system during any part of my youth. In any event, the Moscow Metro is truly one of the city's most acclaimed treasures and no visit the city would be complete with out at least one ride. Of course, many of you may be wondering about more than just the stations and the price. Well, what can I say? I don't won't to spoil the little things that give the metro so much character. After all, would you react positively to occasional garbage, slippery (from dust) floors, or drunk Russians if I didn't allow you to discover them? Probably not! Of course, if you do see or experience those things, its best just to keep your head up. Only after rising above the inherent unpleasantness of reality can it be possible to fully appreciate the fantasy of perfection originally intended by the metro's designers. Frankly, that's an illusion I'm willing to occasionally accept.

(P.S. David, I'm glad to hear that you is still reading my entries. I have noticed that your blog has stopped altogether. I hope everything is going well in the U.K. and of course, if you ever decide to come back to Russia, (which might not happen due to your love of it the first time) I would be happy to meet you and possibly open your eyes to its many positive aspects!)