October 19, 2003
I?ve been upbraided. I?ve been reprimanded. And I am wallowing in the stinking filth of my own humiliation.

OK, it wasn?t really that bad. I was reminded of something, and I feel a bit silly for having needed the reminder. I mentioned a few paragraphs up that the only person that we generally celebrate on the anniversary of His death was the Christ, and that wasn?t really the death, but the resurrection. Well, like any good rule, this one has an exception.

Elvis.

I almost feel foolish writing about Elvis. When people talk about Elvis, they generally do it in one of two or three ways. Some talk about him in his last years. They remember that Elvis was a fat guy that shot his television, wore rhinestones, and died on the toilet. They remember the excess, and the extremity, and the Jungle Room. On the other end of the spectrum, some talk about Elvis in his splendour. They remember a handsome young man who could sing, write, act, and enlisted in the Armed Forces. They remember talent, and good looks, and charm.

There are, of course, also those people that talk about Elvis as being in the same category as Bigfoot, UFOs, the Bermuda Triangle, Jimmy Hoffa, and Professional Wrestling. In this category, though, reside people of both camps above. Whether in honor or execration, Elvis is talked about in terms that are bigger than life. Even Bono Vox, who is a bigger-than-life figure himself (whether you like it or not, mate, because you aren?t allowed to be famous and ordinary at the same time) writes of Elvis as having a quality like the Pharaohs.

But the truth is that Elvis wasn?t bigger than life. When I remember Elvis, I don?t recall the movies, or the Vegas shows, or the peanut butter and banana sammidges. I don?t think of rhinestones or limousines or bullet-riddled televisions or drugs or even Graceland, even though I think most people, if you asked them at the right moment, would admit that they, too, wish they had a Jungle Room. When I remember Elvis, I think of Hayride.

That was Elvis when he was Elvis Pressley. In the days before the movies, and before the hit albums, he was a young man with a guitar. He was a young man, full of nerves and butterflies, playing a song on a live radio show. There was no cape. There were no hot spotlights. There was no Colonel Parker offstage. He was a young man making music. Just some kid with a guitar. That?s the way I think of Elvis. Young, honest, and no idea what he was getting himself into. He just wanted to make a living doing something he enjoyed.

The trouble is, once people know you are good at something, you get more attention. People want to make you bigger than life, and take you way more seriously than you ever wanted. It becomes a struggle to keep your perspective, and it?s a struggle that few win in the end. And that is why, long before we were mourning the loss of Elvis, he was mourning the loss of himself.

Say what you will about the man from Memphis, or the Vegas act, or the movie star. I miss the boy from Mississippi with the infectious smile that sang songs because he loved to sing them.

October 18, 2003

The time has come, with thanks for your patience, to discuss the Occupation of Iraq.

Opinions abound on this subject. Some think that, had the original UN Coalition done their collective job, this trip would not have been necessary. On the other end of the spectrum, there are those that disagreed with the first Coalition, and disagree even more emphatically with the current Coalition. Their disagreement, in most cases, stems from either a strongly-held belief in resisting violence, or an equally strong suspicion of their own governments.

There are also a few, though the numbers decrease daily, that disagree with the action because they liked the way things were before Saddam Hussein left town, not because he was such a swell guy and you could always count on him to be the designated driver on karaoke night at the Al Smak Jabhouti Lounge, but because they benefited greatly from his being in power.

To address the first issue, the UN Coalition had a single purpose, which was the liberation of Kuwait (thank you for the reminder, Tanya). They did their job rather thoroughly, as we can be pretty sure that Saddam isn?t hiding out in Sheik Al Khalif?s Palace in Kuwait. As for the third issue, those people have perhaps gained enough already. I think even the most ardent opponents of redistribution of wealth would agree that there is an inequity that needs to be addressed here.

This leaves the adherents of peace. Watch carefully, now, because I am going to make a few sudden turns up ahead.

I agree with peace. I am rather fond of peace myself. I would personally sooner put myself in harm?s way than see another injured. I decry violence in all forms, as I do the glorification of violence. Violence is seldom the answer to any of the world?s issues. This is why I initially supported the Invasion of Iraq, or Operation Iraqi Freedom, as it has come to be known.

Now, my opinion has changed slightly. I now believe that it no longer matters whether or not I supported the Invasion. What matters now is that the Coalition is, indeed, in Iraq, and is working toward rebuilding an entire country that had fallen into serious neglect. Long before the bombs started dropping, there were water and power issues in many cities, to include Baghdad herself.

If you have been to Iraq in the last 3 years, you will know that it is, for lack of a more eloquent term, a hole. There are a couple of dozen beautiful palaces, the Mother of All Battles Mosque, and the half-completed Saddam Hussein Mosque, which are well-kept and attractive, and the rest of the country, especially in the Kurdish north, is in shambles. Saddam Hussein sucked his people dry, even through an international embargo, to keep his lifestyle opulent.

This is beginning to change, slowly. Services are being returned to the communities. The looted hospitals and banks have been largely repaired and are open for service. Water and electricity are being turned on. Some estimates state that it will be anywhere from four to ten years before the water and power are completely restored, but at least they appear to be making the effort to get the ball rolling.

So how long should the Coalition stay? Good question. In addition to rebuilding roads, buildings, and power stations, the Coalition has a much more precarious reconstruction to perform, which is the Spirit of the Iraqi People. For decades, they have been beaten like junkyard dogs, kept in poverty, and forced to genuflect before their abuser with public displays of adoration. The entire nation is suffering from, if I may use the term, Battered Citizen Syndrome. There is extensive therapy required here.

If you know anything of Judeo-Christian tradition, or if you even attended a Sunday School for any length of time as a child, you may remember that God brought Moses and the people of Israel to the Desert of Sin, for therapeutic purposes. And 40 years later, He decided they had recovered to the point that they could move on. Of course, God didn?t have the Internet or CNN, but that whole Pillar of Fire thing was a good substitute. Regardless, the world should prepare itself for the Coalition staying in Iraq for a long time. And if there is a way they can help the people of Iraq regain their dignity and prepare them for self-rule, then the sacrifice will not have been in vain. It is a cause worth supporting, and I encourage others to do the same.

October 14, 2003
It has been two days since the anniversary of the Bali Bombing. Outside of Bali, Australia, and Britain, it doesn't appear that much of an event has been made of the day. Considering that it was the second deadliest terrorist action since the attack on America in September of 2001, and was brought to you by the same organisation, one might think that the Yanks would make some sort of gesture, if only to improve public opinion regarding the Occupation of Iraq.

Most people will agree that the acknowledgement of some other person's tragedy, whether he is a friend, a brother, a neighbor, or someone you just met, is at the very least in good taste. And considering that both sets of innocent people were killed by the same organisation, the common bond involved would warrant at least a phone call one year down the road.

I'm sure the teeming masses of readers are just all ate up with curiosity where I am going with this. On the surface, it began as just an upbraiding of the US. "Shame on the US," I thought, "for expecting the world to don sackcloth and ashes for years when tragedy strikes on American soil, but not even having the time of day for the anniversary of such a thing done to one of it's allies."

But, of course, nothing stops at the surface here. After the initial reaction, I had to ask myself another question.

"Well, E., what is the appropriate action in this case?"

I ask myself pretty good questions, although I have to admit I don't really call myself "E." during these conversations.

So I had a debate over it for a while. Western society, of which I am a part, doesn't spend a lot of effort on dead people, for the most part. No one, for example, sets aside a day of rememberance for Mahatma Ghandi, Dr. Martin Luther King, or Steven Biko on the anniversary of their deaths. As a matter of fact, just about the only historical figure that does get a day of remembrance of His death is the Christ, and that isn't so much for the death, but the Resurrection.

So we've established that we don't like to remember when people were killed. Thousands of years of ingrained fear and discomfort with the idea of death aren't going to be changed because I said so, even if I were Secretary General of the United Nations (there's another possibility you can cross of your lists, if you are still interested in my identity by process of elimination). I suppose the point I needed to get to was that American's are probably not, as a whole, marking these anniversaries in order to honor the fallen. Were this the case, they wouldn't spend Memorial Day shopping and picnicing. What they appear to be doing, unfortunately, is keeping the rage going.

I will admin that I got misty-eyed the first time I heard Darryl Worley sing "Have You Forgotten". I will confess that I nearly wept openly as I stood among the Coalition Forces and sang that song together with them, just after a reading of that week's dead and wounded. But the remembrances of the Americans I know, for the most part, do not bring to mind Requiescat in pace so much as Nemo Me Impune Lacessit.

This is not a repudiation of the Coalition Occupation of Iraq. My feelings on that will wait for another day, as I have gone on long enough already. It is merely an observation, at this point, that a government cannot keep even the most righteous war going for much longer than it can keep the populace angry at the enemy.

October 11, 2003
Well, my friends, it's been a couple of days, and I find myself with a few moments to spare, so I thought I would come back and revisit the thoughts immediately above.

While I am thinking of it, I will mention that today I am listening to Natasha St. Pier. Her album De L'amour le Mieux has the beautiful song Nos Rendez-Vous. Elle chante les belles chansons, mais elle n'est pas reellement Francaise, ainsi je suis heureux.

But I digress ...

Why is the world worth saving? I know, it sounds like a stupid question. I think I can say, without risk of revealing anything about myself, that the world is where I live, and I am either related to or on friendly terms with many of it's people. And yet, as I mentioned earlier, it seems to be in a rapid state of deterioration. It brings to mind many ethical questions. For example, are you a person who believes in legalized assisted suicide, living wills, or euthanasia of any kind? If you cannot justify the use of heroic measures to save the life of a person, can you justify the use of them to save a species, genus, or even a planetary population?

At what point does one let go?

At the risk of argument ad Hitlerem, I would ask you to consider the following. We decry tyrants and despots throughout history because of the evil they have caused. Idi Amin was a fine example, if I remember correctly. Outside of his immediate family, he had few mourners. I'm sure you can think of others yourself. Has not humanity caused an equal, if not superior, amount of suffering to itself on its own? It is true that humanity has produced some good as a species, but for whom? Joseph Stalin had some lovely buildings commissioned, and the people in charge of the Inquisition had some lovely architecture as well, in addition to beautiful music. At what point does evil outweigh good?

The answer, I believe, is what I believe to be a startling revelation, an epiphany, if you will. Good and evil are not concepts to be balanced, or even compared. They are independent entities.

There are those that believe in a Balance. They propose a Yin and Yang approach to life, that light must be balanced with darkness. Should you walk up to one of these people in the middle of a good time and stomp on their toe, though, they will not thank you for restoring their balance. When they are fit and in the prime of life, explain to them that, in order to preserve the balance of forces in their life, they must spend an equal amount of time in poor health. Conversely, if you go to a person struggling with a debilitating illness and suggest to their family that it is nothing to be concerned about, because they will be well later in life in order that the balance may be preserved, and they will, at best, think you an insensitive idiot.

Good and Evil are not sides of the same coin. Most people, as a matter of fact, would have a difficult time defining them, much less finding a balance between them. In current society, evil appears to be defined as, "things that happen to me, or things that I have heard of happening to someone else, that I don't like". Remember, though, that if someone was responsible for an action, then someone got some pleasure from it. If you can't define Good or Evil, you certainly can't relate them, much less equate them.

Therefore, if Good and Evil are independent concepts, then the question no longer is, "How bad does it have to be before we give up," but "How good does it have to be in order for us to be willing to keep it?"

Therein lies my reasoning. To quit trying to save the world, I must admit that it was all a waste of time in the first place. I don't think that I am willing to do that. Because Good and Evil are not brothers, but opponents in a war.

Essentially, if there is any good in this world, any at all, it is worth any effort, to include my own life, to see that the Good is perpetuated. Wars were meant to be fought, and they were meant to be won.

And I am not fond of losing.

October 9, 2003
I have actually received a few responses to the challenge of July 19. The majority of these responses reminded me of one central issue. The reason I do what I do is not because the world is such a deserving place (a concept I will address further down), but because it is my nature to do it, and if I didn't I wouldn't be the same person.

This may or may not be true. I have spent an inordinate, perhaps unhealthy amount of time pondering my own nature as of late. If I do something that is utterly contrary to my nature, does that fundamentally change my nature? If I behave like someone else, do I start to become someone else? The question was raised once by a friend. He was contacted by a woman whom he had admired greatly when they were both in High School. At that time in their lives, she had no interest in him, as he was a quiet sort of boy and was not given to the sort of rowdy, boisterous, attention-garnish behaviour to which girls in his school seemed to be attracted. At this more mature stage in their lives, now that he was married and had a daughter, she had sought him out via email and appeared to have taken interest in him. He was somewhat tempted to see just where this would lead. After a discussion over a few beverages, we brought him to the following conclusion. The reason this woman had taken an interest in him, we surmised from the exchange of messages, was that she had matured to the point of disinterest in rowdy, boisterous, attention-garnish behaviour, and the men who behaved in such a manner were generally unfaithful and narcissistic. Should he decide to follow the path of infidelity, he would no longer be the kind of man she was now seeking, and would not only fail to keep her interest, but likely lose his family in the process.

As for whether or not the world is worth saving, I suppose I should clarify that I mean the people of the world. Are people, humanity as a collective, worthy of the expenditure of heroic efforts required to keep them from global warfare?

Check back with me in a few days. I have some thoughts on that, but I'm out of time now.

October 1, 2003
I didn't think so.

July 19, 2003
I am traveling this week, on business. I find myself in one of the several parts of the world in which people feel the need to shoot at each other with substantial quantities of explosive force.

Like the majority of poets, and people, for that matter, I find myself constantly amazed at man's near-infinite capability for cruelty to others. Long ago, we killed each other over "noble causes": religion, loyalty to king and country, human rights, that sort of thing. Later, we lowered our standards, but still fought for grander purposes: political ideology, geographic priority, expansionism, mineral rights.

I spoke to some armed men the other day. They told me that they waited for a large crowd of children to gather, then threw a candy bar into the crowd so they could watch the kids fight over it. This wasn't simple schoolyard pushing. Some of these kids had knives, and knew how to use them. I have seen school age boys that could break down and rebuild an AK-47 faster than the majority of professional military personnel I know.

Recently, I was at a truck stop in America, where I saw a fellow on television called Jerry Springer, who I hear is in the running for some government office in the US. He brings people out on stage, in front of a crowd and television cameras, to discuss humiliating and degrading topics, the title of this episode being "I am pregnant with my brother's child, part 2." Although the topic was revolting, and the vitriolic reaction of the crowd was horrific, I think what was most disturbing was that this was "Part 2,? which indicated that there was more than one group of people who wanted to discuss this topic on camera.

We have Extreme Fighting on international television. We have Faces of Death parts 1 through 15 or so in the video stores. We have "reality television", in which we offer people the opportunity to fall in love with a complete stranger, and then offer them a million dollars to reject this person they have put so much effort to charm.

I say all that to say this: I, even I, the most optimistic, Pollyannaish person I have ever known, who loves everyone and always finds the good in others, am beginning to despair for this world. I spend my time saving the world for a living, and it is becoming more and more difficult to summon up the will to pull the world's fat out of the fire. I am, therefore, making this challenge; if anyone is actually reading any of this, here is how we play our little game. Just as Abraham pleaded for Sodom, I ask you, the invisible universe of people around me, to tell me why this world should be spared. You have my address on the introductory page, and the Guest Book for additional responses.

I await your answer.

March 8, 2003
It's beginning to seem that I only have time for writing about once a season.

I live in the Northern Hemisphere, for the moment. Time has taken the strength of Winter once again, and Spring, the impetuous season, has begun laying out swatches and samples for her annual redecoration. Neighbors, Druidic in their passion for green and living things around them, are beginning their rituals of lawn care and hedge trimming. I am contemplating what seeds I will not get around to planting this year, as the community around me once again makes the transition from one season to the next.

We enjoy the seasons, and even the thought of the seasons. What we dread are the transitions. All the world loves the Spring, and all the world has fond memories of the Winter. But we dread the thaw; too cold for one set of pajamas, too warm for another, all the runoff from melting making a mess of things, the weather becoming as unpredictable as Aunt Harriet after she reached that certain age. The same sentiment can be said of the other seasonal transitions. Change, after all, can be such an accursed inconvenience.

It's also interesting to note that, once we have made the transition, we begin growing impatient for the next season to begin. We complain that the commercial outlets begin their holiday displays too far in advance, but they wouldn't do so if no one were buying the products. We buy our swimwear in the winter and our coats in the summer, all because they give us the opportunity, if only in our hearts and minds, to be in that future season. Seldom do we ever find ourselves satisfied with the moment in which we find ourselves.

"So," you say, "what's the big deal? We've known for years uncounted that we, as a race, are generally unsatisfied with our present lot, whatever that lot may be. Are you really just getting around to discovering this fact? How old did you say you were?"

Actually, I didn't mention my age, nor did I say that I found the concept of greener grass in some other pasture to be a new and novel idea. It does make me wonder, though, what good all this dissatisfaction does us. Yes, I realize that the struggle for improvement in one's lot in life is a major force in the vast majority, if not all, of human progress. But, for all our striving, there is one thing we have not developed. We can, essentially, change anything in our lives that we find the least bit irritating, from the climate, to the location, to the choice of life partner, to our physical structure, to include our organs. But, for all our clever inventions, we have yet to discover contentment.

They say that the ability to invent is what separates us from the animals. If one were to spend too much time thinking on the subject, one might come to the conclusion that inventiveness is only a symptom of the real point of separation, which is the ability to be discontent in spite of a perfectly habitable environment.

November 11, 2002
It has been quite some time since I have made an entry into this journal. Not for lack of material, though. Simply because I have been doing those things which I do, and which, additionally, contribute to my desire for anonymity.

Now that I finally have a moment, I have a cup of yesterday's coffee, and I am contemplating the near future, in which I will be hosting a small gathering of my family. Ramadan is upon us, Chanukah approaches, Thanksgiving draws near, Christmas is around the corner, and Kwanzaa is also in the pack. At no other time of year are we so frantic to show our abilities as gracious hosts, our lofty generosity, and the good will with which we hold all mankind (provided they look similar tu us, practice roughly the same religion, and don't commit the unpardonable sin of supporting a rival football team). This is just about the most sacred 60-day period in our calendar.

Why?

There are those who would say this time of year inspires more holidays because the nights are longer, and ancient people needed the comfort of celebrations to help them endure the dreary and sometimes dangerous winters. Such people have never spent December in Australia. Others believe that the celebrations are a natural function of the end of the calendar year. We forget, though, that the cultures that brought us these celebrations have a variety of different calendars. And so, they finally throw their hands in the air, out of sheer frustration, and say, "Fine, E. Why don't you tell us, since you're so gosh-darned smart."

Well, here's something you won't hear from me very often. I don't know.

Before you get fed up and close your browser, thinking that this rambling is of no use other than filling space, let me get to the point. The fact of the matter is, this time of year is special, for whatever reason, and regardless of the culture from which you approach it. That is, unless you are an Atheist from the Western hemisphere, in which case you are riding the peace and goodwill coattails of the Judeo-Christian tradition and contributing nothing to the reality of peace on Earth and are, instead, taking this opportunity to enrich the pockets of the local Toys R Us and Harry & David.

But I digress.

I don't know why this particular time of year is so sacred to so many cultures (I know Kwanzaa isn't strictly a religious observance, but there is still something of the sacred about the season, don't you think?), but it seems clear that it is, and I don't put a lot of trust in coincidence.

Whatever your value on this time, and whatever you may hold sacred, keep them both close to you during this time. Embrace your beliefs, whatever they may be, knowing that the morals and values that come from our own minds are transient and flexible, and the only constants in out lives must come from without.

July 7, 2002
Tonight, I am alone.

I am away from my home on business, and there are no friends or relations near from whom to gain support. I?m in a place in which I ordinarily do not find myself. Let's call it Mars.

When you have time alone, it gives you time to be introspective. I haven't indulged in that particular pleasure in some time (as you can probably tell from the quality of my writing). Since it's late, and I'm expected in early tomorrow, I won't bore you with all the tedious details of this journey of self-discovery. But since this is a journal, I would like to share a few things I discovered while waiting for a pizza.

When I was a child, I had heroes. In my dreams, I wanted to be a crime-fighter. Publicly, I wanted to be a nuclear physicist from the time I was old enough to spell the phrase (about five and a half, if I remember correctly). There was a part of me that thought I could do both.

Later in life, I had more trouble finding heroes. The living people I had once admired had, one by one, proved themselves all-too human. The imaginary heroes took too much time and money to keep up with.

Are heroes important? Do we really need them? I think so. Heroes give us goals. They feed our imagination and inspire us to reach beyond ourselves. They cause us to ask ourselves questions from the perspective of someone else, someone we would be like if we only dared. And whenever we can find a way to become less egocentric, we have open a door to a larger world.

I said all that in order to say this; once upon a time, I had a desire to become the man my parents wanted me to be. Once I reached adulthood, I found out I had become someone I was not proud of, and would not have liked if I didn't have to share his limbs and organs. But, over time, things have changed. By the grace of God, I have become the man I had dreamed of as a child. I am a hero. And I am saving the world. Okay, so maybe I can't fly unaided, and I don't have anything out of the ordinary on my utility belt, and there isn't a cape on my uniform. Those aren't the things that make a hero.

"So," you say to the monitor, "tell us, Mr. Schmarty-Pants, what makes a hero?"

If you don't know, then you must not have one.