2010

So, since its been so long (by the looks of it, almost two years) since I've posted a blog, I've decided do something so I at least appear to be consistant. Starting in 2010 I'm going to focus my writing on music. While it has always been a hobby of mine, the changes in my life over the past year have made me a little more serious about. Like the previous posts, it'll be just me commenting on things based on my own personal opinions. Anyway that's it for now. I hope to keep this going for a while and I pray that the laziness which usually grips me whenever I force myself to something more than nothing. Either way, here's hoping...

A Shoulder to Zion

This is the fourth of a number of blogs that will be written by a "guest" contributor. This article was written by Patrick Cherniburg (see my blogs entitled " A New Format" and "A Different Perspective"). Enjoy!

As a man hailing from the later half of the 19th century, it’s sometimes difficult to understand certain aspects of your society. Naturally this is true of technology, but it is also applies to the world’s political situations. My ignorance was tested when I was watching the television device and happened upon a channel displaying the world's news stories. Intrigued by the idea of all the news on earth being beamed into my home, I decided to watch the modern news in order to enlighten my world view. As the programming continued, it transitioned to Middle Eastern affairs. I hadn't heard much about the Ottoman Empire lately, so I was curious to see what the nation had been up to during the last 150 years. I was shocked to discover that the Ottoman Empire didn't exist (which wasn't too surprising, that heathen nation had been slowly dying during my time) and instead had been replaced with a number of small nations that the British Empire had allowed to rule themselves. While this is more or less palatable after a day or two of serious consideration, there was one country's existence which sent shivers down my spine. Of course I'm referring to the nation of Israel.

In Revelation, it says that when Israel exists, Jesus will return. Naturally as a Christian, I've never actually read the Bible, but I have one and I'm pretty sure it’s in there. My initial shock at the possibility of a modern Crusader state in Palestine turned to horror when I realized that the country was actually being run not by Christians, but by Jews themselves! Now, don't get me wrong, I am enlightened enough to be past the stage of anything more than simple verbal abuse as long as any wandering Jew makes sure to clear the path when I'm coming. After all, if the street is good enough for horses, it’s good enough for all of God's lower life forms. Anyway as I was saying, despite my progressive views of the Jewish race, I don't believe that they should be given any nation to rule. After all, they are the ones who are cursed by God to wander the earth wringing their hands and bemoaning the fact they consciously delivered Christ to Satan. Why should they be given any type of reward? I puzzled over this predicament, and I did more and more research at the library to get to the root at the problem. I initially believed that their skills in the banking sector had facilitated a purchase of the land, but this turned out to be not true. I then stumbled on something called the "Holocaust" but found this to be nothing more than an institutionalized and more efficient form of the pogroms that were common occurrences in my time, and therefore skimmed over it. It was then, that I found the indisputable source for the allowance of a Jewish state, in one word, Arabs.

The Moslems have always been something of a pain. Their language is indistinguishable, they worship the moon, and they have been known to take commissions from the Devil himself. As I mentioned before, I was shocked to discover that the Ottoman Empire no longer existed, and this was for no other reason than the fact that the civilized nations had invested so much money into it. Of course its religion and the fact that they weren't truly European made this inevitable. As I continued reading through the history, I was surprised to learn that unlike the Jews, who pretty much left the country following the Roman destruction of their temple in 73 A.D., the Moslems hadn't gone anywhere after the fall of the Ottomans and the subsequent rule of the British. While I can understand why the Moslems didn't leave, I can't fathom for the life of me why the British didn't make them leave. After all, we had spent hundreds of years trying to regain the region during the Crusades, so when we finally did get it back; it seems that we lost any initiative to right this grave injustice to Christianity. While this questions remains a conundrum that should be reserved for a future article, the British restraint allowed for the Moslems to still be living there when the Europeans got the (on the surface) crazier idea of giving the Jews that same piece of land following the second war with Germany. As a result of this seemingly irresponsible action, the Jews moved into a country chalk full of Moslems. So why did the British allow such a thing? The answer, after careful consideration, makes perfect sense.

So, what do you do with two groups of people whom are both equally hated? Put them together of course! And, where do you put them? In one place with so much religious symbolism and superstition that they fight to the death to preserve small and relatively meaningless plots of land. This is what the great British Empire in all its infinitive wisdom pulled off in the year 1948. Naturally we chose the Jewish side to support throughout the whole mess due to the fact that their long history in Europe had at least given them a little bit of civilization, despite their best efforts to undermine it (see Yiddish). Plus, Arabs have dark skin, which makes them inferior enough to clear our conscious about the fact that we are overtly supporting the people who killed Jesus. Of course, there are some exceptions. I've seen that some countries like France continue to largely support Arab interests. I guess their Catholic heritage makes it more difficult for them to hold the hand that hammered the nails into the cross. As a result of support for two competing entities, the European powers have discovered a full proof plan to ridding the world of those who don't believe the way we do. I can't think of a more efficient plan, and a tear comes to my eye when I think about how far we've come since the "smash and grab" tactics used during my time.

Finally, I'd like to say that I'm proud of my country, the United States, for investing so much money and time in arming the nation of Israel in order to allow for more widespread and specific death and destruction. Of course, I wouldn't want to leave out the former Soviet Union as well as other nations for their equally important task of arming the Palestinians. In conclusion, I'd like to say that the last sixty years of Israeli history has shown me the light, and I can now look at my Christian faith from a different perspective. You see, as a Christian it is my duty to reveal the good news to everyone. Unfortunately those who follow Judaism and Islam have actively refused to hear the truth. As a result, I have revised my understanding of the book of Revelation, and now I understand why Jesus hasn't returned yet. He was waiting for a Christian Israel, not a Jewish one! Unfortunately, at the moment his homeland is infested with vermin, so naturally he doesn't want to move back yet. The conflict in Israel is a sort of spring cleaning of Jesus' house before his return. Once all the riff-raff has been cleared, the Christian Jesus can return to a Christian Israel, the way it was meant to be. This truth has filled me with a great amount of joy, and I will continue to support the violence in the Middle East with all my soul. After all, I know the power of faith, and with the right faith I'm sure our great nations can continue the policy of preparing the Middle East for the imminent arrival of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Tales From Home Pt. 7: "I Like Her Hair, Man!"

Before delving into my current entry, I would like to apologize for my inactivity. I was on vacation in Egypt two weeks ago, and then I went to St. Petersburg last week, leaving little to no time to actually do any writing. Of course my vacations shouldn't have applied to the other contributors on my blog, but for one reason or another they also decided to take a break! Of course, I now intend to get them back to work. In fact, Julie and I are working on a joint entry that should be available for all of my incredibly patient readers as early as next week. In any event, I've decided to stick to an old standard to ease myself back into the swing of things. So without further ado, I give you the latest installment of the incredibly popular "Tales From Home" series!

Northwest Pennsylvania is an anomaly not only within the state of Pennsylvania, but in the whole United States. Despite its regional placement firmly in the northeast part of the country, it prides itself on having the customs (and the test scores) of the southeast. Needless to say, the similarities can be positively traced to back to the fact that both areas have descended into economic depression. In fact, my hometown displays all of the standard hallmarks of uneducated escapism, including the love affair with real (or imagined) Native American heritage, country western music/being a cowboy, NASCAR, hunting (a sport of such importance the region gives children days off school for the beginning of the season), and fundamentalist views on religion. In fact, an interesting study for any sociologist might be the relationship between "mudding" (driving your car really fast in dirt for the expressed reason of kicking up dirt and getting your vehicle dirty, don't ask me why its perceived as fun) and living below the poverty line. It was in this seemingly inhospitable climate that my friends and I enjoyed a generally positive adolescence due to nothing more than each other's company. Of course this was not easy and occasionally we needed a little luck in order to sustain our wills. One of these gifts was an individual named Dustin Dashner.

Dustin Dashner had always been someone that commanded attention, albeit for the wrong reasons. As a result, even before we actually knew him we had been aware of him. About five to seven years older than any of my friends, he was known as the guy who curiously chose to wear a cowboy hat in all of his school photos. He insisted on the tightest black wrangler jeans imaginable and oversized belt buckles (this and the previously mentioned cowboy hat reveal another example of the all pervasive and unexplainable desire of many people in my hometown to present a cowboy image while living in the forests and rolling hills of the Northeastern United States). This "cowboy" was also not the brightest guy alive. Naturally this caused him to have incredibly low self-esteem which inevitably resulted in sporadic aggressive behavior. All of this coupled with a high voice (probably one of the most damning misfortunes in any male high school student's life), made him the object of an intense policy of derision. He eventually left high school early, and my friends and I resigned ourselves to the fact that any further discussion of Dustin on our part would most likely be relegated to the realm of laughing at old yearbook photos. Despite this, Dustin had other plans. He was determined to have a huge impact on our lives, and a few years later, he did just that.

When I was seventeen, I decided to get a job at a quaint little sandwich shop called Subway. I had already cut my teeth in the fast food industry (I had worked at Burger King for eight months), and decided to see what lie ahead in greener (as well as fresher and supposedly healthier) pastures. As with many Subway's, the ones in my area were franchises, so it was with great pleasure that I met my new boss, Doug Dashner. As soon as I heard his name, I perked up instantly recognizing the name of a former cowpoke I had known in the past. Of course I had to show incredible restraint when asked if I had known his son. Naturally, I replied that I was too young, (which I was), and we left it at that. The first few months of the job seemed normal, and eventually I found myself working most evenings alone surrounded by friends who had come just to enjoy my company (and not for the very good chance of receiving a free sub or cookie).

As my time at Subway continued, I found myself growing weary of the constant monotony of the job. Despite this, I kept on going under the assumption that it would last a few months, and then I would be free to continue on with my life. It was one day, in which I was feeling particularly miserable that I stepped through the door and felt my whole life change for the better. Behind the counter, I saw a face that I had long believed would be lost to me forever. He stood there, sporting a work shirt that had already been stained and a smile that divulged his intelligence. I knew him immediately, it was Dustin Dashner. I could hardly believe my eyes. Dustin introduced himself as the boss' son and then proceeded to tell me about his wife and baby daughter. I pretended to listen but I was more amazed by what appeared to be a total lack of aging. Sure he had put on a few pounds and was balding (of course he could have been balding earlier, but this was the first time I'd seen him sans cowboy hat), but overall it was the same face that had brought me so much joy in my youth. I realized that this gift was just the kind of thing I needed to rejuvenate my desire to come to work. As I would later find out, I wasn't going to be disappointed.

Working with Dustin Dashner was one of the most interesting experiences in my life. His voice remained unchanged since high school, but since then he had added a penchant for ending all of his sentences with the word "man", which was usually an octave higher than the words preceding it. This resulted in an almost glass shattering pitch that had me dreaming of ways to reduce the amount of sentences he spoke during any one shift. In addition to this, he was usually in a bad mood due to a number of things ranging from arguments with his wife to the misguided idea that he could have had a lot of sex if he hadn't gotten married. I generally bore the brunt of these bad moods, but I did it with cheer because he was such a ridiculous character. It was due to my patience with him, that he began to see me as someone he could talk to about whatever was on his mind. Naturally, this was coupled with a desire to look cool in front of my friends who still frequently came to wait for me to finish my shift. Dustin's ease with me gave him the freedom to tell me about every single woman he found attractive (which usually was anyone showing cleavage), including the one's who were obviously (way) underage. These vain attempts at being cool would reach their pinnacle in a night that has gone down in history as one of my favorite memories from home.

It's funny how people will jump at a second chance to attain any degree of popularity which they may have squandered in their youth. In this respect, Dustin was not unusual. As high school students who weren't particularly popular, he was wasting his time, but who were we to spoil his delusion? In any event, his attempts at winning us over to the idea that he was cool resulted in one of my fondest memories of home. During one fateful night, my friend Ric and I were discussing music, when Dustin walked into the room, a big smile on his face. As if out of nowhere, Dustin announced, "You know who I like?" Realizing he was talking to us, we happily turned and asked him who tickled his fancy. Looking at us his smile growing, he replied, "Pink! I like her hair, man!" Perhaps no other singer could have possibly made us laugh harder. After all, who likes Pink? Naturally this question opens up a whole world of new questions, notably if somebody does happen to like Pink, who likes her just because she dyes her hair? All of this was too much to deal with, and we openly laughed in his face. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice and just laughed with us.

Since that night, this story has been told countless times. It never seems to impress whoever hears it, and for that purpose I figured it was time to share it with the world. As for Dustin, it’s hard to say exactly what he is doing. One thing is for certain though; he is probably no longer a fan of Pink. Last I saw, she had changed her hair, which naturally negates (in Dustin's mind) any artistic merit her music may have contained. I only hope that he has found someone who can whet his appetite for crazy hair. Of course, even if he hasn't, I'm sure that somewhere, somebody is enjoying the pleasure of knowing and conversing with Dustin Dashner.

Why are Corporations Evil? I'll Tell You!

This is the third of a number of blogs that will be written by a "guest" contributor. This article was written by Julie Brown (see my blog entitled " A New Format"). I apologize for this article being so late, but it seems like there is nothing on earth capable of stimulating Julie to work. In any event, she has turned in an article that easily adheres to my reason for hiring her. Enjoy!

As an educated woman with a college degree, I have been forced into the unenviable position of sharing my wisdom with the rest of the world. Therefore... Oh! Excuse me! I was so eager to write my first article that I completely forgot to introduce myself! ;-) My name is Julie Brown. I'm 27 years old, and I'm currently teaching social studies at a middle school in Northwestern Oregon. I grew up in a normal home with a normal family who encouraged me to enter college as soon as I finished High School. I have to admit, when I arrived at college, I was surprised! There were so many new people and ideas, that I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. Anyway, after six years at university (hey, college is about having fun too, right!?!), I received a bachelor's degree, and then set my sites on grad work in anthropology. Graduate school was a lot of work, and I hated it. After all, when can a girl get a drink if you have professors breathing down your neck (and your shirt) all the time? When my two years was up, I graduated at the top of my class of three and was well on my way towards my dream of teaching. With my education behind me, I find myself reminiscing about many of my past decisions. For example, I recently read an article reminding me of some of the injustices done on behalf of The Mcdonald's Corporation. I had encountered these ideas while at university, but I have to say, I was quite offended upon reading it again. I knew at once that this would be the first article I should write for Todd's blog. Knowing full well the power of the Internet, I'm convinced that the following article will wake people up to the problem and clear the way for real change.

When I entered university, I was introduced to many new ideas about the world. The one thing in particular that interested me was politics. I had never paid much attention to the affairs of government, but I knew my parents voted Democrat, so it was a no-brainer that I did the same. It was not long, before I found myself torn apart by the contradictions taking place in the United States, especially in business and the economy. Fortunately, the altruistic and noble intentions of my university woke me up to the evils of big business that lay just beyond graduation. My beliefs during my college days took a drastic turn, and I hate to admit that I was something of a Communist that first year. I even bought a Che Guevara T-shirt! Fortunately, after reading a couple more things online about the matter, I realized the error of my ways and accepted my place as a tried and true (albeit very very liberal!!!) Democrat. All of this brings me back to what I started talking about earlier. The evil that is Mcdonald's. You see, my brief flirtation with Communism wasn't all in vain. I learned about how big corporations exploit the working class for their own gain, and Mcdonald's is no exception. In fact I was typing on my Apple I-book (I refuse to use Microsoft, because its is another big corporation which only cares about the bottom line) when I realized that simply by Googleing "McDonald's" and "exploitation", one was able to see a lot of alarming statistics. Unfortunately, there was to much information to read it all, but a casual skimming of all of the material was more than enough. It was at that moment, that I knew that I must boycott McDonald's. I haven't eaten anything there in almost three months, and I see no end in sight.

My abstinence from all things McDonald's has also opened my eyes to other places that require my attention. While I've already mentioned my important stance against Microsoft (I hate Bill Gates! Don't ask me why.), I feel I must also take a stand against another company that doesn't receive (in my opinion) its fair share of liberal criticism. Of course I'm talking about Wal-Mart. Did you know that Wal-Mart pays their workers in the United States very little money? So little in fact that they almost always spend their money only at Wal-Mart!! Did you also know that Wal-Mart produces most of their products in poor countries like China? A friend told me that the workers only earn a few cents a day, and that they only get bathroom breaks if they are pregnant :-O!! This is something that must be changed, and I'm committed to starting an Internet campaign to discuss this matter. In fact, recently I single-handily took it to the next level. Just last week I started shopping at other department stores like Target, and you know what? Target actually has a better selection of products which not only helps my conscious, but also doesn't put such a heavy toll on the pocket book ( I'm only a teacher, but I still think I deserve those little luxuries in life, even if its on credit!). I truly believe in my heart that my one act will start a chain reaction that will make people realize that Wal-mart is doing bad things.

Anyway, I'd like to end this blog by urging you to stop shopping at big companies, and choose other companies that will make you feel better about your shopping. My boycotts against McDonald's, Microsoft, and Wal-mart have already begun to bear fruit. Just recently I read that Bill Gates is no longer the richest man in the world. I can only assume that the campaign of me, and people like me has had it's desired effect. In conclusion, I would like to thank Todd again for giving me the opportunity to do some writing. I know that my insights are bound to benefit the majority of people who think the same way I do. Until then, stay tuned! There's plenty left to come! :-)

Suicide Notes

I decided to write the following article for a number of reasons. The major reason is a desire to remain the driving force behind this forum, and as a result I feel that it is necessary to make occasional contributions. My second reason is a genuine desire to put on paper the latest product of my wondering mind. It is with this in mind that I present the latest piece of wisdom to be regurgitated by the chaos that is my conscious.

A few days ago, I had a particularly depressing day. I don't have a good excuse to explain why I felt the way that I did, but I know that by the end of the day I had descended into a type of melancholy that had me thinking about my life, my prospects, and to put it bluntly, suicide. Now before all of you jump to save me from the edge of this precipice, I assure you I had no intention of actually committing the act. While it's true that I stood in awe of its ability to due away with my petty problems, I shied away from actually committing the mortal sin because of the ambitions which would undoubtedly have been left unaccomplished following a successful suicide attempt. Despite the decision against actually committing suicide, I still continued to consider the nature of the act itself. Now I know that many of us at one time or another have considered life after our own deaths. How will our family act? Will there be a lot of people at my funeral? Will anyone even care? While these may be important personal questions, they have little relevance towards my general aim at the moment. Of course all of this leads us to a very important philosophical question. What leads people to actually make the choice to commit suicide? The following are the conclusions I made concerning this subject during a particularly boring commute from work on the Moscow metro.

In order to understand why one would desire to end their lives, its important to find out why anyone would want to live it. It is with this in mind that we must delve into the most famous (and cliche) question in human history, the meaning of life. Everyone on earth has different interpretations concerning the answer to this question, but its clear that every person uses their own specific beliefs as a blueprint for their day to day lives. While these beliefs may be unique to each individual, it goes without saying that most of them can be similarly categorized through careful observation. Through these means, the generalized meaning of life reveals itself to be the result of either religious, traditional, or cultural obligations. As previously alluded to, everyone has specific details and combinations from these categories which makes their "meaning" unique, and therefore personalized. Despite this, the fact of the matter is that all "meaning" is derived from or as reaction to these three principals. The decay of the human spirit as well as the road toward suicide comes as a result of a failure to live up to the preconceived notions or goals based on one or a number of these ideals that were set forth at some particular time in a person's life. Most of these problems begin in a similar fashion. Something that starts as a seemingly innocuous event in our lives develops into a compounding problem that quickly spirals downward. At the same time, the inability to rationalize the failure of the very thing we believed our life stood for causes a massive mental crash resulting in that catch all for all mental and psychological misery, depression. Naturally, depression does not mean that suicide is inevitable. In fact, the vast majority escape its clutches by reevaluating their lives and starting anew with their previous beliefs, or alternately choosing a new "meaning". Unfortunately either choice is likely to come from the same three obligations discussed above and as a result the chance of another collapse remains likely. Fortunately (or unfortunately) many people don't ever fall into the trap of depression and continue living their lives based on their belief structures due to that incomprehensible of all human characteristics, faith, or more specifically, faith in themselves. This belief in having had the good fortune of living for something worth while, keeps most of society happy their entire lives. Naturally these same people have bouts of doubt, but these tinges of regret only seem to flash across their mind at certain points of life, or on their deathbed. The majority's success at living full lives makes one wonder why the minority chooses suicide. This question is one which while puzzling at first, becomes much clearer following closer examination.

Suicide is not a unique phenomena. Throughout human history, people have found themselves falling to its whim, while at the same time being unable to comprehend while they are victims in the first place. As mentioned earlier, depression is the state that immediately precedes suicide. This state caused by the absence of "meaning" is a non-stop exercise of mental toughness, as the brain desperately tries to search for something worth living for. As the mind begins to search for "meaning" it attempts to safeguard itself from a possible return to depression, by throwing out all that it deems unsatisfactory. It is in this state that many of the traditions and values held in reverent awe by a majority of the human race reveals itself to be nothing more than a means to protect us from knowing the regrettable truth. There isn't any meaning to life. Everything that we cherish, from religion, to family tradition is nothing more than humanity attaching meaning to an otherwise meaningless existence. All has been created just to give us reason to continue living, as opposed to the alternative, which is the soul-crushing truth that we are unnecessary. This form of social enlightenment is staggering and when the mind finally realizes the futility of its pursuit it decides to end itself through the only means possible, physical extermination. While this seems harsh, it is necessary to see the scale of the illusion that has been pulled over our eyes. Unfortunately for the victims of suicide, this result proves what can happen to the unfortunate variable of the population incapable of accepting the current fantasy of our own self-importance.

Finally, its easy to see why a majority of the established paths to happiness look down on suicide. The world's religions as well as the common notion of suicide being "selfish" make it the ultimate unforgivable act. Despite these negative repercussions, suicide continues to occur. Of course, all of this may have many readers wondering about where I stand which in turn begs the question concerning why I haven't committed suicide. Especially if I'm so confidant in the meaninglessness of life. The question is a good one, and a difficult thing to answer. In my opinion the continued existence of suicide proves that if life does have meaning, it hasn't been discovered or created yet. In fact the continued (and increasing) materialism that exemplifies a capitalist world has only intensified these feelings of personal irrelevance. The further entrenchment of a materialist conception of value only threatens to make the situation worse. In conclusion, I can only say that since we live in a world devoid of inherent meaning, it is our duty to find a purpose. Our biology demands that we give ourselves a reason to live, but unfortunately we have failed at creating a universal "meaning of life" that humanity can collectively appreciate. Of course my belief in the possibility of this idea may be just another delusion, but for me, its enough to give me the "meaning" I need to keep going.

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!