Some Better Poems

A lot of the time I find that I am
writing too many poems;
about heartache and my failures,
about lost love and cruel women,
about my grief and emptiness,
existential crises and my struggle
with odds and fate.

But I can't help but write
and the poems are all I’ve got to thwart the madness
from taking hold.

So bare with me
and I'll
make some better poems soon.
But the topics and the themes
will probably be the same.

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Bloody Blood Tea

You Boil My Blood
To Make That Hateful Tea
But I Will Survive The Flood
As You're Dragged Out To Sea

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"I Don't Get Beer Goggles. I Get Beer Standards", says Rielly.

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The First Beach Day: No Day At The Beach.
The Beginning Of What May Be My Final Summer In West Michigan

On Tuesday there were no calls for sub jobs above the elementary school level so I elected to go back to bed and sleep in. I woke up around noon and the forecast was for a high of 80. I had decided that this was the first beach day of the year.

I put together a good beach kit. One 2 quart Gatorade bottle full of Country Time lemonade. One pint of regular Bacardi rum. One empty Danasi bottle for mixing. One salami and provolone on sour-dough sandwich. One copy of The Great Shark Hunt. One old bedsheet to serve as a beach blanket.

I drove to the State Park campground to the most secluded place I could access. There were already retirees with quarter-million dollar campers staking out prime campground real estate three weeks or so ahead of Memorial Day weekend. I never understood the purpose of camping with a plasma screen TV, satellite dish, and a microwave, but that is what these affluent blue collar pseudo-yuppies consider to be roughing it.


Left: Rustic Life


I parked in a campsite that was close to my beach spot. This particular spot is only good before summer heats up, because a month from now this pristine stretch of Muskegon Lake beach will be disheveled with the juice boxes and empty Lunchables containers of the 11 year old brats from Grand Rapids and the Detroit Proper who would rather spend their holiday glued to a Playstation 3 than gazing upon waves, sunshine and sailboats.

I am sure I looked peculiar to the old bastards in their campers as I walked out to the sand with my aviators, my square cut swim shorts, and my polo shirt which looked like it belonged to a 1960s tennis pro. I purposely wear unbecoming clothes when I go out to the beach to drink and read alone so that no one who knows me feels inclined to bother me. I spread out my bed sheet and weighed it down with the lemonade and the disguised pint of rum. I took off my shirt and pulled out the empty Dasani bottle and held it over the sand outside the parameter of the sheet and poured in rum about one-third of the way...then I filled it the rest of the way with the lemonade, much of which spilled into the beach and onto my hand. I shook it up and took a swig, but it was a little too strong for me this early in the beach season, so I had to use the rest of the unspiked lemonade as a chaser.

Before I could get my book out a seasonal park ranger pulled up to the fanciest trailer near my car. Great, I thought, the old crank in the Winnebago didn't like the look of me, so he is going to get some 19 year old girl from Grand Valley State to force me to buy a permit. So I opened my book and rehearsed what I would say...I knew that it would be unwise to tell them that I would be working at another State Park, because I am sure this would get back to the boss. I looked up to see what was going on and the ranger and her truck were gone. I was pleased that I wasn't ratted out. Maybe this guy in the camper was alright after all.

I got through one essay in my book before more than half of my Drunk On The Beach© cocktail was done. I decided to take a walk. Despite my post-college lard, the rum gave me enough confidence to feel like I was Daniel Craig in Casino Royale. After all, he is fair featured and lifts weights, just like me!

I dipped my toe in the water and it was colder than the ice water from a carafe in a nice restaurant. If you drank it, your teeth would have hurt. I had noticed that during the drive in there was a smoky haze on Lake Michigan. Suddenly it occurred to me that the warm humid air was meeting up with the cold water and causing a bizarre brand of mist that you hardly see any other time of the year. This was a problem because the best way to go to the bathroom in a secluded part of the beach like this was to go out twenty feet and let things go ballast style. The cocktail I had made had filled my bladder and I didn't quite know what to do.

Only moderately conflicted, I walked down about three quarters of the way to the boardwalk where I found shrubs tall enough to conceal my public urination. Mid-tinkle I hear a ferocious "HOOOOOOOOOONK". A cruse tour was coming through the channel and there were people on the top deck with binoculars, whom were clearly watching me piss. I was a little perturbed, but then again, I did have my dick out on state property. It was not the first time and it sure wasn't the last. After I was done, I pulled my shorts up and made as many rude gestures as I could to the people on the cruse tour. "How the fuck would you like if I drove up to your toilet, assholes!!" I am not sure if I said that out loud or not. The Drunk On The Beach© cocktail was progressively taking its effect on my demeanor, not unlike Spider-Man's black costume. (More on this later.)

I wasn't sure if the police were on their way or not, so I strolled casually back to my spot. I packed up and got dressed since I felt that I was appropriately sun-kissed. It was only 4 in the afternoon and it appeared wise that I should maximize my experiences on this the first beach day. I decided to go up to Whitehall so I could go to the A&W/Long John Silver's. My favorite thing to do at the A&W/LJS was to get a poor-mans surf and turf. In a nice respectable establishment with cold carafes of water, a surf and turf is usually a lobster (surf, get it?) and a fillet mignon (turf-, clever, eh?) , or a sirloin and tuna steak. For a fellow like me a surf and turf is a Fish & More Combo # 3 plus a cheeseburger with a root-beer float.

I chose to take Scenic Drive from North Muskegon to Whitehall. It is about a 20 mile drive along the coast of Lake Michigan with more curves, turns,highs,lows and tricks than Amsterdam's red light district. Along Scenic Drive I imagine are a lot of rich people. I have had two jobs along Scenic Drive, at one of them I worked two summers as a Waiter at a beach lodge resort and one summer I spent as a park ranger. The homes along Scenic range from old Georgian houses, to fenced in McMansions, and even a few Frank Lloyd Wright knockoffs. For a while I have longed for a stretch of land on Scenic Drive, it would be a fine place to retire, I think.

The speed limit along most of Scenic Drive is mostly 35 MPH, it is certainly never more than 45MPH, and most of it is double solid lines, which indicates that passing is restricted. Once I got past the stop sign on Memorial, I booked it up to 60. Once I got past the block house and passed a Chevy Tahoe, I cranked it up to 75. Now and then I would hoot at female joggers, who were mostly women in their late 30s keeping fit enough to keep their rich husbands interested in them to the extent that they might get laid during their bi-quarterly vacation to somewhere with a better water front view than their 2 million dollar Lake Michigan homes. I don't know if the people in the houses on Scenic have a stake in such property for status or if they have taste.

After a few near crashes I was finally in the City of Whitehall. I drove up a hill which took me to main street, near where I took my first drivers test and where incidentally received my first speeding ticket at the tender age of 16, 3 weeks after I got my license. There was an accident up ahead...it appeared to involve a gold colored Plymouth mini-van. I hoped that no one was hurt, but I couldn't help but feel as though the aesthetic of the world was made better by the destruction of that nauseating symbol of exaggerated affluence and feigned family values.

I pulled into the Shell station that housed the A&W/LJS. The A&W was gone. So was the Long John Silvers. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!", my heart yelled out tearfully. Distraught and confused about the justness of the universe I decided to buy some gas at $3.12 per gallon, since I could not put my hands on my siphoning kit. I kept my music up loud as it was when I was jetting through Scenic Drive. I was playing the White Stripes' self titled debut album, which is a lot less disagreeable to the local rubes and hicks than the misogynistic rap music I might play on any other day that I am cranked up on spiked lemonade and driving like a madman.

I drove a quarter mile down from my broken dream to the Whitehall Burger King. The best part about the Whitehall Burger King is that it is up on a hill, like an old make-out spot in a 1950s movie. So, at least there was a peaceful place to enjoy your Whopper™. Plus, at this particular time there was a promotion for Spider-Man 3. . .there were game pieces where you could win a car, cash, or more food. I have won food on such game pieces numerous times. The game pieces allow you to choose the "Red Spidey" (good) or "Black Spidey" (dark, evil). Given the nice weather this day I felt inclined to choose the Red Spidey. I don't normally order the king size value meal, but I hadn't eaten that day (my sandwich layed untouched in my cooler) and I have an unnatural affection for the Spider-Man movies.

Upon getting my food I found that this particular establishment was out of the Spider-Man 3 promotional game pieces. Rage. But I politely drove to my overlook next to the other cars, and enjoyed my towering burger, my bucket of coke and my satchel of fries, sans the opportunity to win a Maserati. Let's be honest, it is not as though anyone who routinely orders the king size Stacker™ meal is capable of fitting in such a small sports car.

As I was eating my chili I head someone say, "M'am? . . . M'am?". I turned to look out the window and apparently someone was trying to get my attention. "You mean, Sir?" I said to the scraggly looking fellow with an unkempt beard, bermuda shorts, and a topaz colored Charlotte Hornets jackets, circa 1991. "Oh..yeah..Sir...sorry, I didn't know." Anyone who has seen me knows that it is difficult for me to be confused with a woman. This guy had called me "M'am" the same way 2nd graders call me "Mrs. McSaddle*" because they do not know the word "Mr."

*Names changed to protect the guilty.

There was a troubling aspect about this fellow. He was either deranged or hopped up on smack. His very presence was unsettling.

He said, "Yeah, so I need a ride up M-20 to eh...Rotheberry." "Sorry." I interrupted, " I'm not going that way." I truly wasn't, though even if I was going that way, I would have lied.

He insisted, " I'm not going to hurt you or anything. . .Hey man I really need to get to -" Suddenly he knows my gender! I am impressed! Maybe I should give him a ride!

"Look, get the fuck out of my face, okay?" I told him.

"Hey fuck you man! Fuck you rich assholes who think you run the world!" he said to the guy sitting in the dirty 1998 Chevy Lumina.

Uncharacteristic of me, I got out of my car, still holding my chili, "Look get the fuck out of my face before I bust your fucking head open, understand?!?" I had chosen the Black Spidey.

The old couple in the late model Buick three spaces away rolled up their car window, either to protect themselves from the ensuing blood shed or the exchange of threats and profanities that is more common between the Crips and Bloods in Compton than between a transient and a substitute teacher in Whitehall, Michigan.

The hobo got a look at my 6'1, 240lbs stature and walked away, muttering unintelligible profanities. I thought about throwing my Chili at him but I was enjoying it too much. I got back in my car and drove away.

I reflected upon the insanity of that day and I embarked upon the idea that in no way do I resemble a functional adult. But then again, If I were I probably wouldn't be able to enjoy my last summer in West Michigan.

More Madness at: www.TheTruthOrSomethingLikeIt.blogspot.com

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I've decided to share some of my cartoons.

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Hook-Up Culture
It's Not Such A Bad Thing.

"What we have seen in American culture is not the erosion of morality, but rather a culminating defeat against a negative social construct that punishes healthy human behavior."



The other day I was listening to Talk Of The Nation with Neil Conan. His guest that afternoon was Laura Sessions Stepp, the author of Unhooked: How Young Women Pursue Sex, Delay Love and Lose at Both. Stepp denounces what she calls the "hook-up culture" as being poisonous for the emotional and mental health of women.

Has she considered that uneven expectations among ascribed gender roles is a boon for males and that in the end, it all balances out?

Seriously, my biggest problem with her supporting evidence is that she uses case studies from stupid girls. By stupid girls I mean the ones that are easily manipulated by cunt-hunting club-hopping assholes who feign emotion and actively use deception for the purposes of sex acquisition. Perhaps fair criticism can be made about about the woman who particpate in such interpersonal fallacies, but it is not forgivable when some gel-haired douchebag preys upon a woman's emotional frailty to gain access to her Rosy Mound. Women have a responsibility to themselves to be more cautious and to learn the distinctions between earnestness and smarminess.When women are tricked into giving up sex under false pretenses, males too bare responsibility for their actions, and they deserve equitable admonishment.

* The website says that "The Rosy Mound is open year ‘round".

Stepp argues that women who are willing participants in the hookup culture contribute to a broader cultural phenomenon that facilitates a male’s ability to treat women like meat. The economic principles of the free market (or rather the free meat market) does tend to favor women who are kind enough to know that Blue Balling isn't a sport that men enjoy.

But Stepp refuses to acknowledge that there are many emotionally healthy women who are willing participants in the hookup culture who want the same things as the male participants. A woman whom partakes in casual sex is not necessarily being tricked or duped; a male does not necessarily have to propose false pretenses to convince a woman to enter a mutually beneficial sexual arraignment.

I happen to believe that people in this generation who are in their 20s value emotionally healthy relationships with reciprocal respect and admiration at least as much or perhaps more so than previous generations. But, I also believe that our generation appreciates the rarity of such premium quality human relationships.

We have grown up watching divorces; we have grown up watching dysfunctional relationships and broken marriages preserved for the wrong reasons. As a result, many members of my generation have high hopes and low expectations about what we can expect from a significant other, or at least many of us know that we can’t thrust upon one person all of our hopes for happiness and fulfillment.

Each of us wants to end up with someone who is right for us, but some of us are fine making due with less through our youth, especially since many of us are focused on career development and since many of us find ourselves enriched by platonic friendships.

Many folks these days accept the terms of less comprehensive romantic relationships the same way we might drive a noisy sub-compact through grad school with the hopes of one day owning a Mercedes Benz. For me personally, I see the emotionally healthy relationship not as a vehicle toward happiness, but rather as a destination along a rich and full life journey.

There looms another important question: If neither party is deceptive or misleading about his or her intentions and they both want the same thing, why shouldn’t they hook-up? For many, the hook-up culture is a welcome alternative to the joyless puritanical Youth Group culture American's endured through the 1950s and 1990s.

Bare with me. Courtships that center around a non-romantic and mutually beneficial sexual relationship existed long before the terms “hook-up”, “fuck-friend”, “bed-buddy” and other variations. But over the years, the viewpoint that sex and love can be different thing has become more prevalent.

Ms. Stepp appears to be totally closed to the idea that all along throughout our history that guys and gals have been pursuing primarily sexual relationships but ascribing erroneous meaning and false emotion to it for no better reason than to adhere to puritanical cultural expectations.

What we have seen in American culture is not the erosion of morality, but rather a culminating defeat against a negative social construct that punishes healthy human behavior. Attitudes are embracing the possibility that perhaps it is more healthy to go through life without the expectation that every person we kiss and every person we date is really a candidate for marriage.

Another problem I have with Stepp's argument is that she looks at the "Hook-Up Culture" through the lens of American culture. To apply narrowly embraced puritanical social values to a global phenomenon of human interaction is just as ignorant as touting American Exceptionalisim as a basis for regime change in nations that jingoistic sociopaths consider primitive.

Western Europe has more relaxed attitudes about sex and relationships and none of the hazardous symptoms of cultural demise that Stepp predicts for our own culture have yet taken place. In fact, the Euro is up along with foreign investment in the E.U. nations, so it appears that Dutch sex shows and horny Frenchman are not negatively impacting the value of European currency not has it caused the other half of the Western World to sink into Dante’s’ Inferno.

Inversely, many Islamic nations is the Middle East, North Africa, and South Asia whom embrace values similar to Ms. Stepp remain, lets say, states of concern.

Thats right, I went there. Which side of the culture war are you on now?

Laura Stepp: In need of a good rogering.
Any volunteers?
----------------------------------------

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Continued From Part 1.(CLICK HERE)




Dave F.A.Q. Originally aired Friday January 12, 2007
© NBC News


Matt Lauer: What should we do about the war in Iraq?

David: This kind of escalation is not the answer. The only hope we have is securing Baghdad with a troop ratio from 3 to 1 to 5 to 1 like we had in the first Gulf War. This could allow the Iraqi government to operate without the threat of violence and it would allow the Iraqi police to recruit and appropriately train forces without being attacked. Increased troop strength does not guarantee success as it does not necessarily mean that the Government will be able to get its shit in order. Increased troop strength definitely will not end sectarian violence, it holds only the narrow possibility of allowing the Iraqi government to handle said violence on its own in the long term.

Matt Lauer: [Chuckles] That's nutty! Why don't we do that then?

David: Ultimately the troop strength would have been more helpful early on as it could have helped prevent the culmination of strength of the insurgency. The reason we couldn't do it then and we can't do it now is because the man-power just isn't there. Remember, the first Gulf War we had a coalition of 34 nations and the good will of the world behind us. The first conflict was much smaller in scale in terms of area and goals. Back then we were overturning an invasion, in this one we were ourselves staging one. Our need for and our inability to produce a large number of troops ultimately shows that Geroge W. Bush's arrogant unilateralism has led to the worst foreign policy disaster in American history.

Matt Lauer:: True but, who could have predicted this? No one, that's who!

David: You don't know the history of the Iraq War, I do. In a 2002 column I wrote,

"If the United States invaded Iraq, it would require more than the 600,000 troops (400,000 of them were American) used in Desert Storm. Indeed, if we stage an invasion, it may take up to a million or more troops to successfully decapitate the government and keep the peace." - Detroit Free Press, 10/16/2002

Matt Lauer: Whatever, dick. Why not just withdraw troops or redeploy?

David: Redeployment and withdrawal is what we probably should do right now, and ultimately what we will have to do. Just because that is the best idea, it doesn't mean that it is without consequences. It is popular to say that "Defeat in Iraq will be devastating for the United States." That is true, but thanks to Bush administration there really is no solution that will prevent such madness. It is what foreign policy experts call a "clusterfuck".

If we do a withdrawal or redeployment, the sectarian civil war will exacerbate and it will probably make Darfur look like Seattle. It will be similar to the Soviet Invasion of Afghanistan. The eventual Soviet withdrawal led to an insurgency, a rise in Islamic fundamentalist rule. From Afghanistan, extremist groups still train fighters and terrorists to cause Russia major problems in Chechnya. Also, this was the base of Al Qaeda and Osama Bin Laden whom operated in comfort to plan attacks on the United States.

A withdrawal will probably lead to a similar climate in Iraq. I am not saying we can prevent this in the long run, but I am saying this is a consequence of withdrawal. It would not be the fault of those who oppose the war and want a withdrawal, it would be the fault of those who supported the war and planned it poorly.

If we stay in Iraq and escalate, we are going to endure more casualties, inflame tensions with Syria and Iran, and we will further deteriorate our relationships with regional allies. To add insult to injury is it likely that the sectarian violence will ultimately persist. In the end, the scenario above will probably happen anyway.

Were are damned if we do, damned if we don't.

Matt Lauer: You seem like a John Edward's guy to me.

David: Right now I can't imagine supporting anyone other than Barack Obama for the Democratic nomination. I have reservations about the other candidates for the same reasons I had reservations about John Kerry in 2004.

Matt Lauer: Do elaborate.

David: While I worked on John Kerry's presidential campaign, I did not support him in the primary. I was worried about his electability, sure, but I favored candidates like Howard Dean and Wesley Clark because they had good judgement that going into Iraq, and going in the way Bush wanted us to go in would be a colossal mistake. Guys like John Kerry, John Edwards and Hillary Clinton made the popular decision to support the war in 2002, and now they are making the popular decision to oppose the war in 2007 in anticipation of the Iowa Caucus. Obama is only decent candidate to have the same wisdom that I did as a junior in college when we both laid out our case against invading Iraq.

Matt Lauer: I was the first guy to call Iraq a civil war, did you know that?

David: That is not exactly true, you announced that NBC would now characterise the sectarian violence in Iraq as a civil war. I guess that it is a good thing you call it that, because even if you did not call it that, that is still what it would be.

Matt Lauer: [Shuffles papers, stares confidently.] I also told Roker to get the gastric bypass. Why do you keep a blog and why didn't you just revive your old one?

David: I keep a blog because I have long been looking for a creative outlet that allows me to be full faceted. My old blog was all political stuff, and it was a catalogue of my writings, speeches, and policy positions. This blog touches on politics, but it also allows me to do social commentary. There was no room for fiction, metaphor, or humor in the old blog, and I wanted to dabble in those things.

Matt Lauer: Tell me the story of that knife fight that you had in Chicago?

Check back soon for part 3!!!!!!

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