Day One: Introduction
Day Two: Surveying
Day Three: Good Fearing
Day Four: Failing Fears
Day Five: Love to Hate
Day Six: Fight or Flight
Day Seven: Eyeing the Storm

This is the part of the Blog we give fuel to our critics who argue that I’m mentally unbalanced (of course, this is accomplished in regular posts as well, but the distinction is even clearer in this case). This is also where we get to refer to ourselves in the third-person (and later plural singular and then by a series of grammar-warping pronouns).

I’d also like to note I fully align with neither of the two philosophies proposed by the dueling personalities. To have a strong, fair debate you need to believe in what you’re saying, so I’ve split my outlook between two voices. As always, I believe you can only find the truth if you examine both viewpoints.

We’ve flipped coins backstage. Prior to the start, we established that the first speaker would be the one who won the best of five flips, based on earlier complaints. Our first speaker one, and despite the protestations and death threats made by the loser (who proposed a “multiple-suicide-homicide” scenario), we will now begin with our discourse.

MEdiator: The topic to be batted about today is about fear in America, specifically is America ripe for another senseless freak out like Orson Welles’ 1938 “War of the Worlds” broadcast, of which today marks 67th anniversary. Discuss.

Me One: I fear America may panic itself into another needless hyperventilation. Look at the dangers broad cast on the news. Crime reporting is at a record high, though statistics show the nation is experiencing lows. When planes crash, the next month will be flooded with updates about the “dangers from the sky” even though airplanes are the safest way to travel and car accidents will claim a greater number of lives in the same amount of time. We worry about the deadly spectres of diseases like AIDS and HIV and fail to take basic steps to better our own health by eating right and exercising well. We are whipping ourselves into a frenzy and we can’t be far from the edge. This nation is a hair’s breadth away from being swallowed alive by the fear’s we’ve created. If given enough time and enough mis-directed energy, we will hype ourselves to death.

MEdiator: Your response?

Me Two: I think believe my opponent is wrong. I also believe that candies like black licorice, those little black and orange wrapped toffees, and suckers are unfairly underrated handouts and shouldn’t be badmouthed. You got it for free! Why should you complain just because your sucrose came in a form you didn’t prefer. Eat it or give it to someone who would appreciate it, like me. End discussion.

MEdiator: Um… Is that all you want to say. Don’t you want to wax more on the topic on hand?

Me Two: Oh yeah. That reminds me. I also miss those little bottles made out of wax that had that sugary juicy liquid inside. You had to make sure they didn’t end up at the bottom of the bag (or plastic skull/jack o’ lantern/bowl of choice) for fear it’d get crushed and would ooze out on your other goodies. That’s an easy way to ruin a stack of Pixy Sticks.

MEdiator: I mean is there anything about fear in America you’d like to address?

Me Two: You want to talk about fear? I hate the fact that we can’t have candy cigarettes anymore. Those were cool, but now you can’t market candy cigarettes for fear of getting sued over sugar. They call them “candy sticks” now, but that doesn’t fool anyone who remembers the old days where you’d walk around November 1 with little white prongs sticking out of your mouth, taking them out to blow an imaginary puff of smoke. Nowadays, they’re just harmless little non-tobacco sticks. Right… Wink.

Rebuttal?

MEdiator: Excuse me. That’s my line. Um… Rebuttal?

Me One: Sure… I’d like to contest my opponent’s earlier statement that America is not heading toward self-destruction. While I wish I had specific points to contest, rather than candy commentary, I will briefly list some additional facts to support my own conclusion. There are true dangers to be feared facing the world, but we rarely ascribe them the proper respect we’d need to seriously address the situation. We worry about kids bringing guns to school, but we spend our money more on metal detectors and cameras rather than additional counseling services. People complain about the exploding prisoner population, but funding is cut for educational and rehabilitation programs that could help end the cycle of poor choices (which is too often passed on to the next generation). We waste our time and resources on flashes in the pan. Those sparks catch our attention and are easily addressed, but we do so by ignoring the long raging fires that are encircling us. That is why it is inevitable that we’re going to get burned.

MEdiator: Your response?

Me Two: First, I am offended by the supposition that I’m exclusive concentrating on candy. In my defense, I didn’t make the “Fun Size” joke about the miniature candy bars that everyone makes this time of year and ceased to be clever around 1993. Second, I thought the answer was obvious and even proved by my opponent, so I moved on to other topics to make the most of my allotted time. To wit, I believe the nation won’t have another nation-wide fright-fest because our attention is already to splintered, as stated by my imbecile adversary. You may have many of the ingredients that were vital in 1938: citizens concerned with a war abroad and threats at home, a economy straddling the fence between renewal and collapse, and public that is easily bewildered and enthralled (look at today’s movies and television programming. How does half of that stuff get made?). But even if the pot finally starts to smoke, our national concentration will be so distracted, we won’t see anything happen. We will be alternatively checking our stocks and consulting the weather channel and seeing how badly our sports team did and bulking up on celebrity gossip and we might catch a snippet of the pending nightmare, but a commercial break will come and well switch to the latest reality tv blend. Ignorance is bliss, and this country will prove it by being fat and happy and clueless.

MEdiator: Concluding remarks?

Me One: We’re in danger of falling prey to our own creations. The media has created countless boogey-men. Ebola, killer bees, road rage. Despite the reassurances the lottery-like odds of such things occurring should give us, we are told threats like this can kill us… and they eventually will be right. With the distractions they provide, we’ll eventually be done in by the dangers we should have been focusing on, and in this indirect approach, we’ll prove the pundits right. I blame the talking heads on the screen for fooling us and the empty heads at home for believing it and letting them get away with it. The monster hiding in the closet is lack of knowledge. He is real and he is deadly. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Me Two: Beware of boys crying, “Wolf!” Statistically speaking, they’re unreliable and considering how well armed people are today, it’s the wolf who should be worried about us. You want facts instead of putdowns, fine. For me, the most bone chilling section in “The Culture of Fear” – which has been liberally referenced without citation by my opponent, is the fear that didn’t occur. At the end of the book, written in 1999, the author asks what it will take to prompt an honest response to serious threats such as hunger, dilapidated schools, and health care. He wonders: “Will it take an event comparable to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor to convince us that we must join together as a nation and tackle these problems?” My sorry answer is no. We’ve seen such an event, and though it made our nation pause, we sometimes appear to have made little progress.
The week of 9/11, the song I listened to most was “Great Big Stupid World” by Randy Stonehill, which listed a number of daily distractions we concentrate on rather than the serious issues at hand. Now that we’ve returned to “shark attack” alerts and in-depth meditation on “celebrity romances,” I see no reason to change my tune or expectations now.

MEdiator: Please make your final, summarizing comments.

Me One: Be knowledgeable or be afraid.

Me Two: Great, big, stupid world.

MEdiator: Thank your for sticking with us and I wish everybody a good (Martian) landings.

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WARNING! This post has the potential to irk things off if you don't read it in its entirety. It may still push your buttons after you've finished it, but you'll only inadvertently prove my point if you go off half-cocked after a statement that you don't agree with. We'll be looking at what happens when fear gets mixed with strong emotions. It's a volatile, potentially explosive combination… and my safety goggles are in storage, so let's all promise to be extra careful and understanding of each other's opinions.

State of Fear - Day Seven: Eyeing the Storm

"Evolution, revolution, gun control, sound of soul,
Shooting rockets to the moon, kids growing up too soon,
Politicians say, 'More taxes, will solve everything!'
And the band played on."
- Lyrics from the Temptations' "Ball of Confusion"

This song is my favorite protest song. In my opinion, it's an equal opportunity rant. You may not agree with every line, but there's something for everyone in there. Also, it's the only song I know that repeatedly uses the phrase, "great googamooga," and I inherently find that cool.

You don’t have to dig very deep to get at the emotions of this song. There are a lot of passions expressed in this song: anger, sadness, frustration, and fear. And once you get riled up, you don’t always act at your best.

I earlier posted examples of my own ineptitude when it came to fear. I know many of you could easily provide other examples. I will tip my hat to a few more to placate people who might otherwise flood the comments box additional misadventures. There’s the time I got scared of potential robbers when I was home alone and temporarily trapped myself in the backyard when I left the house and got stranded at the bottom of a icy hill (I should have paid more attention to Macaulay Culkin). There’s the time I ran away from home (by hiding in the tall grass across the street) when I got my sister’s boomerang caught in the rain gutter and thought my parents would be upset when they found out (I later used a long stick to knock it out and returned home before my disappearance was noted). I skipped the whole category of “Caleb-scared-frozen-because-he-thinks-a-snake-might-be-around” stories. I haven’t made a new entry in that file for years, I am proud to say, though my sojourns with the Missouri Department of Conservation did lead to more than one temporary freak out moments due to airborne amphibians.

Note: You can be one of the calmest, coolest people around, but if you have a frog flying toward your face, it’s difficult to remain composed. No matter how many times it occurs, if you’re peering into a tight spot and something green starts hurtling at you, odds are you’ll make a fool of yourself.

I spotlight these mistakes (and lower the estimation many had of me) because I want to show that I can handle criticism. This is important because I’m about to take aim at some personal pet peeves that may step on people’s toes. Check your footwear, make sure it is something sturdy (nothing open-toed or made of wicker) and follow me into the lobby.

Here are two seasonal statements that invariably make me twitch upon hearing them:

“Harry Potter is the devil!”

“We’ll be having a ‘Fall Festival’ on Halloween night.”

Neguah! Sorry… Mini-aneurysm. One moment. Sigh... Thanks.

Please hear me through. I think these comments display an unbalanced reaction to fear as well as missed opportunities to do some constructive good. Let me be the first to say comments of this ilk are made with the best intentions, but the rationale and the execution leave something to be desired in my book.

Let me tackle these subjects in the order in which they made blood leak out my ears:

Harry Potter is a literary character in a highly successful series based in a world of magic that is very popular readers of all ages, though the biggest draw is among children (the reason the New York Times created a top 10 bestseller list for children’s books was to prevent J.K. Rowling’s entries from taking up too many spaces on the “adult” list).

Some parents are afraid the “boy wizard” glamorizes dabbling in the occult and could blindly lead children astray. They pop up in droves every time another Potter book or movie comes out. Between the most recent bestseller and the pending November movie release, it’s been a big year for Potter-panners and we haven’t seen the end of them yet.
It’s easy to find their comments reported for they make strong, striking copy and because some journalists have no problem letting people hang themselves when given rope and a place to jump.

The best argument I’ve heard for banning books is the fear that they may confuse kids and that mystification can lead to mistakes down the road. I understand and believe this concept is solid. I simply believe it is misapplied when it prompts people to avoid the books.

I am reminded of the lesson of “The Man who Corrupted Hadleyburg,” by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemons, I know). In it, the namesake hamlet has set up a utopian system to protect the spirituality of the town. All the dangers of the world have been removed from the town; no sin has been left to tempt the townsfolk. The framework is meant to grow the strongest souls, for by their logic, their faith will be unmarred by the dents, scars, and soot of regularly combating temptation.

All it takes is the entry of a single charlatan and his introduction of pride and greed, to show how weak people were. The final conclusion is that untested faith is the flimsiest, for it has not been tried by fire and will be found wanting when true trials arrive.

I would worry that Harry Potter could accidentally spark an interest in unhealthy topics, but I think such concerns should spur one to expand a child’s education rather than limit it. This doesn’t mean you throw a babe to the wolves to teach them about “natural selection,” however. One should slowly build a foundation of understanding. Pile additional layers on as the child comprehends more and can handle more serious bricks.

Too often, I believe, these people don’t give kids enough credit. We underestimate their intelligences and talk down to them too often. I believe you can use the Harry Potter books to correct that common mistake.

My mother is a school librarian and she has talked about how the world of Hogwarts has gotten many kids to read who otherwise would not have picked up such a hefty book. In the book, “The Culture of Fear,” Barry Glassner uses the rich literary landscape as a springboard to discuss advancements in science. To those who quibble and warn that Harry Potter is a “gateway,” I say you are right, but you also have the ability to shape what topics a child will be led to.

A frank discussion of Harry Potter can help a parent talk about religion, morals, heroics, and other topics not as easily broached with children. Such opportunities should be embraced and not avoided. And besides, if you ban a book without discussion, it only makes people want to play it even more (a truth that was spotlighted even in the Potter series).

Now let’s look at “Fall Festivals,” which coincidentally often fall on October 31. They typically involve costumes, bags and bags of candy, spooky decorations like pumpkins and bats, and games like bobbing for apples or toilet paper relay races. Just don’t call it Halloween, because it’s a “Fall Festival.”

Just because it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and goes out looking for treats like a duck, it doesn’t mean…

Fall Festival celebrations are another opportunity missed by those who would seek to shield children from the impact of Halloween. I find myself returning to the Potter debate and pulling out the most rationale trump card: Aren’t you worried the kids might get confused?

If you're going to do the same thing as the world but call it by a different name, you’re potentially setting people up for a conundrum that may haunt them some day. In retrospect, the rationale for such nights might come across as superstition, and that may undercut one’s faith. What was done out of concern for safety – providing a controlled environment where kids can guzzle sugar and run freely – may not be as clearly seen down the road.

I have my current perspective due to the comments of my father. I’ve heard him make many of the remarks I’ve already repeated voicing his disappointment at the whole enterprise. One had the opportunity to do something different, to inject talk of Jesus and God into the activities, and the end result was indistinguishable from a secular party (though Lazarus might be wrapped in toilet paper rather than a mummy).

I’ve never looked at the parties the same way again. I never mistook them for a Halloween party or for a foolish alternative put on by superstitious people. They were simply well-intentioned functions that never seemed to live up to their potential.

I’m not saying one is condemned to doubt by attending a Fall Festival, though I would say a potential stumbling block has been added rather than removed. Many people still find God’s path despite all obstacles. I simply fret over the fact that in overreacting to fear, and attempting to dodge the issue, we introduce a handicap that could have been avoided.

I’ll say it again: kids are smart. I am constantly (and delightfully) surprised by what children know. They can handle a lot. Of course, they still have a lot to learn, so they need our help and guidance as well.

When I was young and couldn’t swim, my parents didn’t avoid pools nor did they toss me in the deep end. They signed me up for swimming lessons.

Context is key. In addition to TV, radio, internet, video games, movies, school, books, friends, and other stimuli, make sure kids get influenced by their families, too.

So I wish you all a happy forthcoming Halloween! And if you’re participating in a “Fall Festival” of sorts, I wish you well with that too. Whatever you do, don’t let fear prompt you to lose the opportunities you have in your path.

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“The decision to flee came suddenly. Or maybe not… Maybe I’d planned it all along; subconsciously waiting for the right moment. The bill was a factor, I think, because I had no money to pay for it. Our room service tabs had been running somewhere between $29 and $36 per hour, for 48 consecutive hours. Incredible. How could it happen? But by the time I asked this question, there was no one around to answer. That rotten attorney of mine, Dr. Gonzo, was gone. He must have sensed trouble.”

- The late Hunter S. Thompson in “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”
This book is on the short list of titles I try to read every year. I like Hunter’s wry voice as he details insane, this-can’t-be-real-can-it misadventures in the desert. Of course, after noting the whimsical, hilarious escapades, one shouldn’t forget the dark end, where the author relates the sharp downturns that accompany false heights. Too many forget to include both halves. Doing so is like waxing romantically about “Romeo and Juliet” and forgetting that the title starts with “The Tragedy of…” and ends with a noteworthy body count.

Getting caught up in the excess of fear can cause you to do foolish things. If lack of fear is marked by zero zeal, an overemphasis on fear is demonstrated by feverous feelings. Such sensations can freeze a person in their tracks, but I am more interested in those who are spurned on to eager blind action.

Fear can fuel passions and honest people will admit they don’t think the clearest when their hearts are racing. Let me tear into myself as an example:

I’ve long been fascinated by the concept of “fight or flight.” This is the premise that seeks to simplify the base reactions to fear: when you are backed into a corner, you have the choice to run or rage. Of course, those two ideas aren’t necessarily the best options; they simply appear to be the default of a frenzied operating system/brain.

I remember being initially driven by those defaults my sophomore year in college when the learning community I lived decided to play the game “assassins.” The basic idea is that everyone is given a paper airplane “bullet” and the name of a “target.” You “kill” someone by hitting them with an airplane. If hit, you can survive the ambush by hitting your assassin with the airplane you’d been struck with within 10 seconds, thus negating the attack. Once a person is killed, they turn over the name of the person they were assigned and the death cycle continues.

This exercise was intended to promote more interaction between residents, encourage more people to travel to other floors (since the community was on the fifth and sixth floors), and improve name recognition. Of course, since it took place in the "honors" community, it was destined to drive certain individuals temporarily insane, including myself.

I partially blame the person hunting me. I was at band practice when “hunting season” started. When I returned to my dorm, I entered an in-progress war zone. People were traveling in tight packs of trusted friends. Strangers to the floors were eyed suspiciously, and with good reason. The “body count” in the first few hours was high. Many good friends, with him I had discussed possible strategies, were “killed” before I’d even entered the fray. One of the casualties kindly told me who had my name and that my days were numbered.

The person who was hunting me was, as of my arrival, the most successful assassin of the game. Within the first 30 minutes he had killed four targets. Only my absence had slowed him down. I knew him very well. He not only lived in my wing, but his lodgings were located between my room and the bathroom. As I was learning this, and re-consulting the “obituary” list, his grinning face appeared in the midst of a crowd and he lunged at me.

Thus officially began my madness.

Somehow squeezing past a dozen people, I completed a 23-meter mad dash by running top speed into a wall, plant-kicking myself off it, turning 180 degrees, and landed in a crouching stance, huffing and puffing, as I looked to see where he would come from next.

I got a lot of kudos for avoiding that attempt. In the next few days, I scored more points by becoming the person who scored the most counter-hits. This was difficult due to the flimsy nature of the bullets. The paper airplanes were about palm-size and of a light paper stock. This means they were worthless for throwing. The best way to ensure you made contact with your target was to clutch the airplane in your fist as you tapped, socked, or clobbered your victim. This means if you were hit, you had to shake off the blow and scramble to pick up the discarded shot. Last, you had to catch up with the fast-disappearing killer and “touch” them in return before he or she disappeared around a corner or into the elevator.

In my case, returning bullets typically included short sprints and sudden, hard stops.

I once sandwiched my would-be killer between myself and the heater at the end of a hall (I had tucked down at the end to ensure we both didn’t fly through the fifth-story window). One time I had to tackle him on the steps (after leaping a couple flights of stairs to catch up) planting the airplane on the top of his skull. My most famous move was made before a rapt audience because it involved a decoy.

I had largely become a recluse in the community: shunning elevators and study rooms, taking different routes to classes, and going to other floors to use the restroom. I was wary around corners, especially after I nearly fell for an intricate mirror trap that was set for me the second day (which had netted a number of the victims before me).

I had also revoked the open-door policy my roommate and I had to ensure I wouldn’t get ambushed after an earlier incident. My roommate humored my madness and went along with this and was even kind enough to start answering the door when the slew of phantom knocks started occurring. Anyone can see where the blind spots on a door viewer are and I was knowingly paranoid of answering such raps.

One day, a friend knocked on the door. My roommate told me who it was and I cautiously approached. Looking through the viewer, I confirmed who it was. I asked what was going on, and the person remained verbally circumspect. Against my better judgment, I cracked the door.

Seeing my friend standing in the tight frame, I briefly relaxed until the head of my assassin suddenly appeared on the side. He bopped me in the head and turned. I snatched the airplane and pounded after him. Scores of people in addition to my friend lined the hall. Not only had I been set up, I realized, but a crowd had formed to see if this tact would finally work. About the same time, I recognized that my killer was heading toward his own room. If he could lock the door behind him, I’d really be “dead.” I was on his heals as the door closed. Using a trick I’ve long known, I turned the handle as I simultaneously smashed into the door. My assassin was knocked off his feet and onto his bed. I threw the paper airplane down on him and marched out of the room. I returned to the startled crowd around my door and began to dress down my friend.

Smack! When I was focused on choosing the right words to express my anger, my assassin had returned and hit me again. I was good for another quick dash and we both bounced off another wall for good measure. I didn’t take the time to chew out my friend a second time to return my room and let the adrenaline boil off.

Fight or flight, I had it covered.

Did any of this behavior make sense? No. Did I ever get assassinated? No, but there was a better approach waiting to be discovered.

My habits eventually returned to something that could be mistaken for “almost normal.” I began to show up in the lounge again and stopped avoiding the elevator. The room to 508 began to be left open for people to wander in. Only my bathroom habits remained random, but that was more based on the fact that I had discovered which bathrooms in the building were cleaner and/or used less often.

At the same time, I became the most successful assassin in the community. Instead of stalking opponents, I began to talk them into voluntarily giving up. I made many phone calls and made my case to more than one locked door. I made bargains, especially if the kill was a good friend. If I remember correctly, I even let one put glitter makeup on me to show how sorry I was that I was forced to “collect.” Only one refused to give up, and by that point I had the 23-yard dash down, so finishing him off and getting away clean was no problem.

My life got much easier (and shiny) once I started looking beyond the basic responses to fear. I sometimes wondered what could have happened if I thought of that approach earlier. Could I have completed the loop and finally turned the tables? Probably not… And I wouldn’t have explored the campus as extensively as I did, nor would I have found the most private bathroom.

The trick is considering more options. I’m not saying you should reset your defaults –
they are there for a reason and can save your life - but in some cases, you need to do more than blindly charging (full ahead or in retreat). You have a brain, too… in theory.

My challenge today is to prove that final supposition and to think of alternative ways to face your fears. You never know what trouble you may be saving yourself.

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A note before we begin.

Sorry for the delay in posting. I've been unavoidably removed from my word processing program. I was back in Sullivan Friday working on the under-appreciated lawn. There are few things as thrilling as working hard to maintain the grounds of a home you no longer live in. The closest I can envision is a kinship with an indentured servant who traveled to the New World seeking a new life, but due to a tricky sub-clause in his control, routinely has to return to the Old World to trim his master's shrubbery. Saturday was largely spent running diagnostics on my computer since it was developing a tendency to crash whenever one opened a document file (as you might imagine, that makes it awfully difficult to compose anything). The problem has not been fixed, but a manageable coping mechanism has been fashioned.

The lag did provide me time to do some additional research. I chewed through the following tomes:

"The Culture of Fear" by Barry Glassner, a sociologist's views opinions on American's misplaced fears

"The Science of Harry Potter" by Roger Highfield, a science reporter who proposes potential muggle explanations for the magic and discusses how superstition and science mix

and "Crisis on Infinite Earths" by Marv Wolfman and George Perez, the 1985 comic series that dealt with the threat to all matter-based universes (especially, our own), which was also the first cross-continuum event that pulled together heroes and villains from all DC titles

I wish I could say I considered the 900 pages "light reading," but that would be pushing it even for me. As it was, I had to severely curtail my TV watching and limit myself to following only the first hour of the Patrick Fitzgerald press conference on the indictment of “Scooter” Libby.

The sacrifices one makes.

Anyway, I felt invigorated by the influx of ideas. It was also nice to know I’d developed themes that were also highlighted by prominent people. Apparently it’s not just me who thinks some of these things.

It may only be a handful of us, but according to Arlo Guthrie’s “Alice’s Restaurant,” three people – working in harmony – can be mistaken for an organization. Add a couple more to it, and it becomes a movement. So be smart, catch the wave, and change the world… or at least read on.

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We are entering a mix of emotions where fear gets mixed with anger and the two become more difficult to separate.

Think of Hitler. He’s about the only person everyone can agree to hate (Screw the neo-nazis and the few surviving originals still hiding out abroad. The world took a vote, and when the final tally comes to 99.999 percent detesting a guy, I feel pretty confident rounding up the figure). He evokes feelings not only of boiling bile at the atrocities he spearheaded, but also trepidation for what he almost accomplished (and in establishing the precedent, proving that it could happen again).

Since people are often partially defined by their enemies, it speaks great volumes about the peoples who came together to thwart such a monster.

Fortunately, such monsters of that stature are rarely found in the world; though we can find quite an assortment at the local library or video rental store (or for those of you who Netflix, in your mailbox.

In writing classes they say to have a great hero, you need a great villain. Sure, most of us are cheering for good to win, but if bad isn’t nearly as cunning and calculating, a victory isn’t as thrilling.

No one gushes over an ending where the protagonist disconnects the bomb with 46 hours, 23 minutes, and 18 seconds to go. You want the hero to bust in with only minutes to go, get into a distracting tumble with the chief goon, finish them off, return to the device where, with mere micro-seconds to go, the explosive situation is diffused. Once you’re done debating whether it’s more impressive to stop the clock at 0:00:01 or 0:00:00, it’s time to race on to final confrontation with the mastermind and finally, prior to the credits the credits, reunite with the love interest of choice.

As one might guess, I’m largely patterning this textbook ending after the every James Bond movie ever made. 007 is the archetype for many a writer (and/or guy’s fantasy life), so I think it’s okay to use him as a case study.

Note: I think we need to spend a short amount of time on the hair color of the latest person cast to play James Bond because it seems everybody else is concentrating on that subject. Pretty much every article I’ve read features that fact that he’s blond either in the headline or, at the latest, before the close of the first paragraph. “Blond, James Bond,” they tout, “Blond Bombshell!” And while I can’t say I’ve seen these headlines myself, I’m sure someone has penned, “Live and Let Dye” or “Dye Another Day.” When the papers concentrate more on your hair color than your acting ability, you need to be concerned. Do the words “George Lazenby” mean anything to you? To explain to the less informed, he has the dual distinction of being the man who replaced Sean Connery as James Bond and who only played one movie in the role (even Timothy Dalton cranked out two before being replaced by Remington Steele).

I’ve been a casual fan of the franchise over the years. I use the term “casual” because I know a number of people who get more frenetic over the character. Most of my fascination stems from my senior year in high school when the marching band played a James Bond medley. I was excited because I was a drum major and the band directors wanted to do something a little bit different with uniforms. Typically, drum majors’ outfits are a flipped negative of the band, which is no big deal (“Check me out! See how my uniform colors are inverted compared to the rest of the band? They have black shoes, but I have white. Aren’t I awesome?”).

In trying something new, and in response to the fact the gender ratio of the three drum majors were two women to one guy, the decision was made to spring for Bond-style costumes. Thus, I have many fond memories of marching down the center of the football field decked out in shades and a white tux with two striking ladies at my side clad in sparkly cocktail dresses. After toiling eight years under the title “band nerd,” my ego was in no way hurt by this turn of events. The fact that I also would get to “romance” and waltz with three people in the show (a color guard member, one of the drum majors, and a tuba player “assassin” clad in an ugly dress and obvious wig) was only frosting on top of a killer cake.

That semester, I immersed myself in the music and the movies of Bond. I even tracked down some of Ian Fleming’s original (which were often quite different compared to their cinematic namesakes). Due to my studies, I would not consider myself a spy scholar, but I do feel qualified enough to point out some illustrative patterns I’ve noticed about Bond’s infamous movie counterparts (since most will be more familiar with those than his literary exploits).

Consulting the Bond barometer can tell us a bit about the times that he has inhabited.

Let’s start with “Dr. No” (yes, I am skipping “Casino Royale”). The villain is the son of German Missionary and a Chinese girl, making him the offspring of two Cold War players. His dastardly credentials are further backed up by the fact he works for S.P.E.C.T.R.E., or the Special Executor for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge, and Extortion (which you have to admit, looks pretty snappy on a business card). Finally, his is an atomic specialist who has lost his hands during an experiment (don’t worry. He slapped together some plastic replacements), which marks him as a malformed nuclear madman.

Compared to Connery’s debonair Bond, it’s easy to know which one to root for. Most people like their bad guys clear-cut. A tiny bit of gray ambiguity may add a level of characterization, but the stark black-hat/white-hat distinction of Western movies is preferred (having a fearsome scar, a discordant accent, or a propensity to punt puppies also work as trustworthy indicators).

Communists were popular spit-worthy scoundrels, though corrupt capitalists also made a showing. Auric Goldfinger is the most famous (and arguably has the best villain’s theme song, rivaled only by Darth Vader’s “Imperial March”) with his plan to increase the value of his gold by nuking Fort Knox (and his habit of turning women into glittering statues). Drug running plots figure in “Live and Let Die” and “License to Kill” (though “plot” may be too strong a term to employ in certain Bond entries). Tomorrow Never Dies features the advent of WWIII nearly brought on by a news media mogul.

Since the collapse of the Berlin Wall, you really don’t see any more communist plotters (The Russian mob, maybe. Trotsky followers, nyet). It’s easy to aim your sights at greedy billionaires. General terrorists are also acceptable, but politically correct people are wary to list a specific jihad for fear of being perceived as insensitive. The latest Albert Brooks’ comedy about American’s trouble with connecting with foreigners, tentatively titled “Looking for Comedy in the Muslim World,” is also having trouble getting released thanks to the same studio disconnect his movie seeks to illustrate.

It’s a tricky line one has to walk between respecting other cultures and creating a riveting villain; which is why the cliché is becoming standard. James Bond enjoyed great luxuries. Not only does he have the license to kill, but he inhabits a world where you know the villain is the guy who fiendishly strokes a cat or has a metal grin or a razor-lined bowler. In the real world, it’s harder to tell, and I envy Bond’s clarity (and his really cool gadgets).

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Day One: Introduction
Day Two: Surveying
Day Three: Good Fearing

“Youre’ gonna need a bigger boat.”
- Roy Scheider, finally seeing the colossal fish and his own inadequacy in the movie Jaws

There are few things as sobering as realizing a long-developed strategy is hopelessly insufficient to tackle the monster at hand. It’s like crashing Dracula’s Halloween party with only a handful of stakes and a single clip of silver bullets – the end result is sure to be ugly and most likely bloody (meaning your blood and probably your entrails).

Yesterday we discussed having a measured response to fears and how having unbalanced scales can be painful – as has been proved by anyone was ever abandoned mid-air on the teeter-totter.

Today I’m aiming to look at under-whelming experiences, those who don’t treat fearsome dangers with the proper amount of respect.

Seatbelts are optional accessories for some drivers, skateboarders are rarely spotted with helmets (or any other type of plastic protection), and heart disease caused by poor food choice remains a major cause of death.

If pressed, many of the people with these highlighted vices could repeat reports that show their actions are foolish even though the facts didn’t change their behaviour. They knew the dangers and shrugged.

We grow accustomed to these fears in many ways. Sometimes society does the conditioning by repeating false alarms.

Remember when killer bees were scheduled to become the new scourge of the American Southwest? News programs had their science reporters talk about it, cheesy TV movies were made illustrating the threat, and we all sat back to wait.

Most experts are still waiting. The bees’ migration slowed and the deadly threat that was initially predicted has yet to show (yes, many killer bee colonies have been established in the United States, but the death toll that was frequently insinuated has, fortunately, not appeared). For now, we simply must content ourselves with a rented “creature feature.”

Remember the Y2K bug? Think of the people who stocked up on food and provisions for when everything electronic was going to revert to 1900. Even many who didn’t buy extra batteries or bottled water quietly wondered if they should have. Of course, when midnight stuck and nothing happened, they didn’t have to deal with the surplus of unused supplies, like some people I know. The major benefit of the arrival of 2000 was that we no longer had to hear Prince’s song, “1999,” which, while a good song, had been grossly overplayed that year.

Those left holding the bags and bottles would be more wary in the future.

Think of the nation’s color coded terror Homeland Security Advisory System. Do you know what’s today’s hue?

Hint: It rhymes with “yellow-vated.”

I bet you don’t even know that the last time it was lowered two weeks ago. I know the premises of the system, as it is currently setup, is meant well. Should something serious occur and the public discover after the fact that there were unannounced warnings, you’d see people turn red. Still, we become desensitized by the semi-frequent changing of colors, and there is no obvious way to change that.

Let’s change the scope again and take it down to the street where you live.

When was the last time you heard a car alarm and thought, “Oh my goodness! I should call the police!”

If your answer is, “Sometime this century,” I’d say you’re above average. Most people figure someone tapped the wrong button on the remote entry key chain or brushed by an alarm that was simply hyper-sensitive. Personally, I can recall one time when I was woken up at 3 a.m. in the morning and bitterly cheered on the potential thief:

“Hurry up and cut the klaxon so you can finish stealing the stupid car and the rest of us can go back to bed!” I mentally urged before reburying my head beneath a pillow.

It’s gotten to the point where people in positions of authority question whether or not warnings should be given. I’ve seen many editorials questioning whether the bird flu is worth fretting about. While the dangers are noteworthy when you look at the deaths caused by previous flu pandemics, others are arguing that alerts aren’t worth the potential disillusionment that may result if such red flags are unwarranted. These people are afraid that people won’t respond to a serious warning when one is finally sounded.

In my opinion, I think it a grave matter when others’ poor reaction to alerts threatens to limit what information I will hear about future concerns. Once again, it is primarily the response to fear, rather than the motivator, that is of greater concern.

The best way to combat this trend is start challenging fears.

For example, reconsider global warming (which is split by the polar camps who disagree whether the world is turning into a microwave or whether all of this is part of nature’s patterns). Go beyond the sound bites and look at the data. Don’t listen to celebrity sound bites (“Hi! I made a movie in the rainforest once, and that makes me an expert, so listen to me.”) Review articles, especially those that disagree with your views. Consider the alternatives and see if you believe their arguments – whether you amend your beliefs or become more set in your stances, you’ll be better off for having tested yourself. And this method can and should be applied to countless other topics.

I’m not asking anyone to get outlandishly tweaked over topics like nuclear proliferation, deforestation, or raising in-city speed limits. I’m asking you to be involved, to be educated.

Don’t ignore something based on mistakes from the past. Just because an alert was unreliable in the past, it doesn’t mean this one is equally faultless (though on the other hand, if certain outlets fail to improve their batting average, call them on that as well).

Don’t dismiss the latest reports without considering what they mean. You may choose not to be concerned, but make it an informed decision.

For every unfounded fear that is broadcast on the evening news and easily lampooned (shark attacks, anyone?) there are dozens of founded fears that we’ve stopped questioning (how many infants were injured because someone didn’t take the time to properly fasten a safety seat?).

Those who disregard fears out of ignorance do themselves no favors and indirectly harm the rest of us. Sticking your head in the sand won’t protect you from the dangers of the world; in fact, it makes you a more inviting target.

An old First Amendment slogan went, “Your voice: Use it or lose it.” It’s easy to make the same argument about your brain.

It is a sign of intelligence to know what to fear and how to respond. Here’s hoping we’ll all be a little smarter with our actions and reactions today.

No question for today. If you’ve been pondering these thoughts, you’ve been working hard and deserve a break. If you haven’t, well, this time you can slack off with our blessing. Either way, you win.

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Day One: Introduction
Day Two: Surveying

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
- Franklin Roosevelt, first inaugural address March 4, 1933

Male cattle!

Don’t get me wrong… Roosevelt was a great guy, but that philosophy is too simple. Yesterday I argued people’s response to fear was important in measuring its impact. Fear, by itself, is inconsequential.

Roosevelt’s line overemphasizes the negative. It’s easy to remember that fear can cause you to do bad things. But Roosevelt’s straightforward, streamlined slogan ignores the fact that is can have positive influence as well. I know you’d have trouble fitting a more convoluted statement – like “The only thing to fear is harmful decisions based on fear” doesn’t roll off the tongue like the original, but it would be more accurate.

There are practical aspects of fear. They include the avoidance of harm, the limiting of dangerous behaviors, and enforcing moral behavior.

Avoiding fear doesn’t mean you will avoiding trouble. A fearless person can decide to swim among sharks, drive recklessly without wearing a seatbelt, and play Russian roulette and his lack of fear will not automatically protect him.

When properly applied, fear should remind us of consequences. I’m not saying one shouldn’t take risks, but one should carefully consider what the repercussions should be. Only then will you be on the right track to discovering a healthy balance of fear.

I’m not talking about some international concept like nuclear deterrence (mutual extermination insurance). I’m talking about developing a personal set of scales for you to use to judge how to respond.

Like Dr. Hyde, let me use myself as an example. Let’s re-examine yesterday’s example of fearing God.

For years I didn’t know how to approach the concept of fearing God (I’m still not saying I’ve put it all together now, but I have a much better idea than I used to). I had trouble reconciling the extremes between a loving, caring Father and a powerful, vengeful deity. The Bible has examples of each in both the Old and New Testaments.

I slowly came to realize that these descriptions can be of the same God and that the consequences depend on the position of the observer. If you are a loyal servant, you will get treated as such. If we turn our backs, we are treated as traitors.

We seek the same ideal in our political leaders (with, admittedly, mixed results). As a whole, democratic electorates seek a person who will protect loyalists and rebuff opponents. Both hats, advocate and aggressor, are required. Voters routinely dump candidates who fail to display one or both characteristics.

The difference is not in the leader but where people stand in relation to him. Let me offer another anecdote to bridge the two examples:

In the American Civil War, Abraham Lincoln was reportedly asked whether he thought God was on the side of the North or the South. The president wryly responded that he was more concerned with making sure he was on God’s team than fretting over God being on his team.

Lincoln recognized that God doesn’t change, people do. God’s actions are constant while we humans are consistently inconsistent. God always offers forgiveness, but we have to make a choice to accept the blessings.

Once you start to get a handle on that, then you can start to respond accordingly. Having a healthy fear of God is respectfully offering God the consideration He is due. If I mess up, I need to seek forgiveness or risk the consequences of being beyond His grace. That doesn’t mean I live in constant fear of smiting, but I should be mindful of whether or not I am doing right or not.

Thus, we show the fear to be constant and our reaction fluctuating. Looking through this prism, other examples are easily discovered.

I believe there will always be a fear of diseases. We may eventually cure AIDS and HIV, and I hope we do, but history shows us that a new name invariably arrives to haunt our homes and hospitals. Fear of warring and strife will continue as long as people violently disagree (and don’t worry as much about banning the weapons. You can still do quite a bit of damage with sticks and stones – as frequently demonstrated by sports-related riots).

Sure, specific causes, groups, or personalities may vary in their potency, but it’s a zero-sum game in the long term.

The key for us is finding an equilibrium of deserved respect. Trouble occurs when we give fears too much or too little weight. Responding incorrectly, though inaction or overly-extreme measures, is what we should guard against.

To take one more shot at revising Roosevelt, “The only thing to fear is unbalanced terrors.” It still lacks the original’s snappiness, but this one fits on a bumper sticker, and it may help you better weigh your future responses.

Question for the day: Earlier we asked you to consider how you reacted to fear. Now consider whether or not it was a balanced response or an uneven approach.

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Day One: Introduction

“‘Relax,” said the nightmare, ‘We are programmed to receive.’”
- misheard lyrics to The Eagles’ “ Hotel California ” (which I always thought made for cooler lyrics)

On my way back from the library Monday, I realized I needed to answer to answer the questions I’d posed at the end of the previous post. I hadn’t originally planned to go through the introductory exercise. One rarely ducks back to do warm-up exercises in the midst of a workout (intellectual or otherwise), but I realized it’s important to find common ground before proceeding.

If we can’t agree on the basic terms from the start, it will become steadily more difficult to communicate. Deferent definitions breed different expectations.

Also when you had the dark and dismal surroundings I had going back after sunset, for downtown Jefferson City makes a bumpy transition from the business section to industrial lots and eventually residential plots. When you have a bat swoop only a few feet over your head, it’s easier to conjure the moodier mindset needed to quantify the various things that go bump.

One other distinction before we start listing. There is a difference between rational and frenzied fears. Some fears we have are illogical quirks; silly but intense beliefs that won’t be eased by common sense or other rationale. Some people find a certain color or number unlucky. Some have a bizarre fear of __fill_in_blank_with_a_common_item__. And one should remember that one person’s nonsensical conviction may be a solid, proved principle for another. Those who have had their stomach pumped have reason to be pickier about sanitary conditions around food. If you ever had a snake curl around the wheel of your tricycle when you were five, like me, you’re going to be a bit skittish around serpentine shapes for a couple decades.

It can be easy to poke fun at fickle fears, but I’m making it a point to concentrate on mainstream ideas that cost people sleep at night: fears that are consciously weighed and considered. One again, we must grant a difference in permission for one man’s philosophy is another’s folly, but I believe these disparities further illustrate the chaotic patchwork that comprises the State of Fear we are trying to examine.

So let’s briefly crack open Pandora’s boxes and see what comes flying out…

What am I been afraid of (past and present tense)?


the Dark (and what hides in it)

War (I remember back in 3rd grade asking my parents if Iraq’s Scud missiles could hit the U.S.)

the Deaths of those close to me

Demons and the devil

God (more specifically a vengeful, spurned God)

Personal persecution (due to religion, political views, morals, etc.)

Car accidents and life as an invalid (Spending an afternoon in a neck brace will do that to you)

Disappointing the people around me

Inaction that will cause others to suffer needlessly

People who abuse the power they are given

What is society afraid of?

Death

Losing affluence

Failure

That which is different

Those who challenge the status quo (and ask people to change)

The last question, ”Where do the lists start breaking down?” is more an essay question so we’ll skip enumerating this category.

Most of my fears fit into sub-categories of society’s concerns. The retort “Politics is personal!” is also accurate when it comes to perspective. I may find fault in a leader that others idolize, or versa vice, or maybe we’ll hate (or love) the same person for different reasons.

Sometimes you can do all the above simultaneously. I’m specifically thinking of my current relationship with God. Right now, I’m going down a road I haven’t traveled before. I’ve getting bumped and bruised by the pounding of questions that haven’t plagued me like this since my first year of college when I was asking, “Who did I want to be?” The tricky thing is that question is never completely answered in this world. Every day you have the opportunity to revisit and revise your answer. There are times when I appreciate God’s guidance (which sometimes involves painful discipline) and there are other times when I am afraid of the path I am taking and other times when I’m afraid I’ve wandered completely away.

The key lesson I learned back then, and still hold to now, is that asking questions are important. I believe the answers are out there for those who search. If you don’t investigate you’ll never find out anything.

Fear can influence you, but indirectly. I am not merely defined by what I am have been afraid of (snakes, the pink elephant hallucination from the movie Dumbo, alienating friends when I share my convictions). I am more often shaped by how I respond to my fear.

Scared people have done some very brave things and their actions earned them accolades more than their feelings. Nightmares shouldn’t stop us from dreaming; fears shouldn’t stop us from living.

Homework for today: Think about how fear has impacted you, specifically, what did you did in response to the fear.

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Granted, you get to a point where one should stop talking about doing something new, but if I did now, I would have to work harder to get to the point of this premise. And while I like talking in circles, one can spend only so much time on the merry-go-round before you loose your ability to concentrate (or is that only me?).

Anyway, we’re trying new in having a topical week. Let’s bring in the banner.

State of Fear: An Introduction

Day Two: Surveying
Day Three: Good Fearing
Day Four: Failing Fears
Day Five: Love to Hate
Day Six: Fight or Flight
Day Seven: Eyeing the Storm
Day Eight: Point-Counterpoint

This is something I’ve been slowly working on for some time now. I’ve been letting some of these concepts mentally stew and simmer for over a month and I think I have enough ideas to make a week of posts.

Note: This is falling back into old habits, but I’m saying that the week starts on Monday. This is based on too much time spent at newspapers. It is common knowledge that the majority of pieces that appear in Sunday newspapers are written on Friday. One may need to come in briefly Saturday to fill a small hole or perform a late quote check, but if one worked efficiently, they will spend little time there. That is why most staged events produced solely for the media occur during the “work week.” If it happens on a Saturday, there’s few people to cover it. This is a gross generalization, I admit, but it seems to fit most of the news cycles I’ve seen.

It’s also my website, so I get to call the shots. We’re going to be posting Monday to Monday (or Halloween) about our country’s current state.

Here are some topics I’m aiming to cover:

What is fear?

Who do we cast as the villains in our society and why?

What evils are out there, real and imagined?

What feats of clay are performed to fool us?

How is fear managed; how do we use it and how it is used against us?

This will be a lot to chew (both for readers and for the person who is seeking to make his musings accessible to the audience he is addressing). I know it will be interesting, it might even be good, and I’ll leave other people to apply other adjectives.

Just setting up the foundation is all I’m going to do today, though I would ask that one consider three things before continuing.

1) What do you personally fear?

2) What do you think society, as a whole, fears?

3) What differences exist between the two lists and why?

I hope to have a good rev up for Halloween. Anyone can spread around a package of fake cobwebs. It takes more work to try to clean up mental ones.

Come with me on an expedition where metaphors will be mixed, basic concepts will be challenged, and infinitives unavoidably will be split.

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No, don’t adjust your monitor. If you scroll down the screen, you will see entries that weren’t previously there at the times. That is due to me playing around with posting options rather than a recent deficiency in your short-term memory.

I’ve flashback posted items before, but never this many. I’ve had several topical items that were languishing away in my often-abused notebook.

Most of them were largely completed just waiting to be entered.

Normally, I’d apologize for being AWOL for so many days and leave the week blank, but I have something special I’m planning for this week (starting Monday). In my opinion, putting them up over the course of this week would be distracting and waiting an additional week wouldn’t do them proper service.

I’ve spent a day writing, revising, and revisiting the entries and will now put up posts that weren’t originally appeared on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and later in the week, a bit behind the rest, Friday, (the last post needed a bit more work and I’m trying to bug publishers about employment and have to give the more important job the concentration of my time).

If you have the time, I’d be flattered if you’d make your way through my belated posts. If you don’t, well I’m not reading over your shoulder so I’ll probably never know that you didn’t. Ignorance is bliss and I am joyful. What does that tell you?

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Note: The title is post is a play on one of my favorite lines from “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” specifically, “Martha, will you show her where we keep the, uh, euphemism?”

Sometimes we use polite language to cover harsher realities. Sometimes this is out of respect for others; sometimes it’s to protect ourselves. It’s politically correct malarkey either way, but it’s commonly accepted.

I’m often asked, “What are you doing these days?” The stark reply is, “I don’t have a job, so not much…”

Such direct phrasing shocks people and often leads to extended, awkward silences. While a comedic pregnant pause can enhance the humor on TV or in movies, living through one is less than pleasant (though whether I or my conversation partner is most discomforted is up for debate).

Due to that, I have developed a number of deft verbal modifications that lessen the impact. It’s like wrapping a boxing glove in cotton candy, making any blows that land softer and sweeter.

At lunch today, I saw another trapped by the same quandary that had often hounded me: “So what are you looking to be doing?”

I was tipped off by the prolonged, beleaguered “Welllll….” I recognize that sound well; it is the “Call of the Mild” for those who don’t know how to say they don’t know the next step. (It makes sense, really. If I don’t know where I’m going, how should I be able to easily explain to you that I don’t know where I’m going?)

Knowing I was a couple of years (and rounds) ahead of him, I thought I’d take this punch on his behalf.

I interrupted his hesitant beginnings, noted them for what they were, and said that it was okay since I had developed seven or eight different ways off communicating the same thing.

And this was where I slipped up.

After this statement, I was immediately challenged to repeat this list of excuses in rapid-fire order.

Apollo Creed landed a solid hit and I felt my stance weaken.
Now, I’d been practicing many of my different responses prior to this blow by “The Count of Monte Fisto," or "Master of Disaster," if you prefer. It was a crowded dinner and my lack of employment had been discovered in the course of several conversations.

Still, the numbers I’d given were a bluff and you can only make so much out of nothing. I believe I rattled off four before freezing up. I could have squeaked out more, but the jig was already up.

I was later told I could have written them down, should I have reached that number. While I would be loathe to keep such a list on my person, here I produce a delayed list of underemployed allusions.

And we shall start with “Welllll…”

“I’ve been exclusively working around the house.”

“I’m re-evaluating my job opportunities and have yet to select a new direction to go in.”

“I’m engaged in tight negotiations of a sort that I’m currently not at liberty to detail.”

“I presently lack viable employment offers, though I am striving to broaden the available scope.”

“I’m acting as an additional theft-deterrent measure on behalf of my parent’s property.”

“I’m between paychecks. Way between paychecks in that I don’t know when the next one is coming or from where it will be from.”

“I’m spending a lot of quality time on my parent’s couch.”

“I’m seeking inner realization and rationalization to fully grasp my possible potential; and in between that I watch soap operas.”

“I am seeking to correct a recent deficit in my personal production quotas.”

“I’m participating in what my English professor described as a ‘stop over,’ which is a fancy term for being a bum.”

“Ever hear of a employer being hindered by a ‘union-directed work stoppage’? Well I’m an employee hindered by difficulty with a ‘work startage.’”

“Over the course of my frequent outings, I’m trying to definitively answer how many roads must a man walk down before he is a man. I’m told the answer is blowing in the wind.”

“I perfecting my practice of peaceful resistance. If it means I resist work as well, so be it.”

“My use of resources is, regrettably, inversely proportionate to my export of assets.”

“I’m testing an alternative form of revenue generation. If you crunch the digits, the odds of winning the lottery are about the same regardless of whether or not you buy a ticket, so I’m just waiting for the right numbers to come up.”

“Ain’t misbehaving.”

“Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time twiddling my thumbs clockwise; counter-clockwise, too.”

“I’ve been developing a series of street performance pieces where I illustrate the futility of man, though my productions have been limited to living room recitals.”

“I am caught in a reverse-work flow situation.”

“At the present time, I am stymied by the business catch-22 where you need experience to be employed and you need to be employed to gain experience.”

And my simple favorite, “I’m actively unemployed.”

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Mind readers are among us.

And they should know what I think about that.

For the rest of you, let me spell things out. Whenever you turn on the TV, flip through the back ads of a magazine, or look at posted fliers, it seems those blessed with “perceptions far more advanced than are own” are easily found.

Granted, Miss Cleo isn’t around any more, but she has many “soul sisters” that were keen to fill her void (though some wisely decided not to pick up her accent).

All you have to do to get in touch with them is dial onto a website or call a number (and keep a credit card on hand. Don’t worry. The first five minutes are free). Some may scoff at the blatant capitalism, but they would counter that going through such “official” channels prove that they are genuine. The fact they’ve set up a solid business infrastructure lends them more credit as opposed to a person who is set up on a sidewalk advertising their services with a hand-lettered sign (I’ve seen those people. Either they failed hotline work or simply aren’t applying themselves enough).

Don’t worry about the minute-by-minute “entertainment fee.” We all know that’s a “wink, wink, nudge, nudge” disclaimer. Those actually seeking entertainment can find it easier and cheaper. Those who stay on the line rationalize it as a courtesy nod to a legal system that refuses to acknowledge their prowess. And they are free to continue thinking that as long as predictions don’t go wrong and they try to retaliate with a lawsuit. It shouldn’t surprise you that psychics – in their all-encompassing knowledge – know the legal system extremely well. And anytime lawyers get involved it isn’t going to be pretty.

Some people prefer to spend less and simply watch harmless psychic fare. Network and cable stations know how to cater to such tastes (even if “The Ghost Whisperer” is one of the stupidest titles ever imagined. Yes, I get that it was a play on the “The Horse Whisperer.” No, that doesn’t actually score it any points). Some show “real” psychics who connect audience members with those who have gone “beyond.”

I do believe in psychics. They appear in the Bible (though rarely were they batting for the good team). I’d wager most genuine psychics do more than dabble in parlor game style theatrics. Those who say “gifted” people are as widespread as their advertising would indicate are merely full of it (“it” being whatever material you wish to mentally cram down their throats).

I recently renewed my belief in this viewpoint after an afternoon of mental shrieking.

Ever messed up and not been in a position to openly wail about it? There are few things as discordant as smiling nodding politely while your brain bellows “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhh!”

While some psychics tell you they have a filter developed and/or treat “background thoughts” like static, I’d wager these silent primal screams could cut through the sieve of any psychic within “earshot.”

Now it would be real easy to make statements without providing any proof of your claims. Many professions take that tact – telemarketers, fad diet gurus, news pundits, etc. – and while it takes little effort to propagate their message (once an audience is tapped, of course) I would like to aim slightly higher.

I decided to be scientific in my approach. I picked up a couple of books on parapsychology from the library and formulated a plan.

Thus, I designed a series of experiments in the category of thought projection. The procedure wouldn’t hold up to standards required by major peer-reviewed science publications, but I figure my work is just as bankable as the results of other so-called “experts” that argue their work proves Extrasensory Perception (ESP) exists (I’d also wager my results are more likely to be repeatable, another indicator of solid research).

Question: Can one’s loud mental outcry elicit a response on a crowded street?

Expectation: Crap, no!

Procedure: Walk a distance of 100 to 150 meters mentally concentrating on broadcasting message. Thoughts should be clear, convey strong emotion, and repeated at a booming volume. One will look for responses across four lengths. Two times one will “scream” negative messages, one will “call out” a positive message, and the final length will be normal-level mental musings, to act as a control. One will look for any response that indicates a “gifted receiver” perceived the extreme thoughts.

The messages conveyed were not directly recorded, for that would slow the communication and reading a “prepared” thought may come off as too stilted or artificially composed.

Quick note to FBI dataminers To those of you whose job it is to comb through domestic sites using key words like “bomb” to find plans for imminent destruction, you will not find them here. This is just a probing of local psychic perception and not a walk-through of something more serious. You would think something like this would be common sense, but my legal counsel suggested otherwise. I should note that while my lawyer, David E. Kelley, is not paid a binding retainer, he, nonetheless, has taught me much about the legal system through his shows “Ally McBeal, “The Practice,” and “Boston Legal.” I am told his show “Girl’s Club” was also about lawyers, but I, and the rest of the country, never watched it.

Legalese aside, what is to follow are selections of the messages projected.

Length One: Dirty Bomb
Selected thoughts:
Hey! I’ve got a dirty bomb. One of those nuclear things? Ever watch the movie “Sum of All Fears”? Yeah, one of those. I’m talking serious radioactive fall-out. Look at me! I’m wearing a camo-print raincoats and have a lumpy backpack. Don’t I look like the type of guy who would carry around a dirty bomb? I’d start running if I were you. This dirty bomb is really dirty, like Christina Aguilera dirty. Don’t look at me! The flash could cause you to go blind, if it doesn’t kill you first. I’m getting tired; I think I’m going to set it off now just to save the trouble. Hear comes the mushroom cloud.
Perceived psychic reaction Nothing.

Length Two: Anthrax
Selected thoughts:
Anthrax! I’ve got anthrax here! I’m not talking about that stupid old 80’s band, I’m talking that deadly spore-y powder stuff. See me walking toward the post office? I’ve already got my own stamps and envelopes and everything. I’m one drop box away from spreading first-class mayhem. Think of your favorite personality – politician, celebrity, or media master. I’m sending a letter to them. Now think of your least favorite headline maker. Can you picture them getting a letter in the mail from me? Well too bad, ‘cause I’m still going to send a letter to your favorite person… or maybe to you. You know how the postal service is. It’s not flour or cocaine in these envelopes. It’s anthrax!
Perceived psychic reaction Nothing.

Length Three: Puppies
Selected thoughts:
Free puppies! Who wants a cuddly little ball of wonderful fur? Everyone needs a puppy? If you’re a dog-lover you know what I mean. If you’re a cat-lover, you need to see what you’ve been missing. Don’t you want to see a cute little waging tail? Look at all the pockets I have: I have room for a handful of puppies, but the supply is limited. Better stop me now and ask about the puppies. Do it soon or I may choose to keep them all for myself. Does your apartment ban pets? It doesn’t matter! These puppies are sooo sweet and endearing that they’d covert even the worst Cruella DeVil. Find out why dogs are man’s best friend or rediscover your love of the most perfect animal ever
Perceived psychic reaction Not surprisingly, nothing.

Length Four: Regular ramblings
I had no idea peanut butter sandwiches can turn neon yellow if you leave them alone like that. That was freaky. I’d forgotten I’d left them in that front pocket. That’s what I get for swapping backpacks for a couple of weeks. That’s plenty of penicillin for someone to swallow. I really shouldn’t have just dropped them in that parking lot when I discovered them. It wasn’t very Earth-conscious of me, but I was afraid the bags might bust if I keep carrying them around. Maybe if they’re still there when I come back – and I have no reason to think someone else would touch them – I’ll put them in the dumpster… unless they’ve already walked away under their own power.
Perceived psychic reaction Nothing, but if someone was psychic could you blame them?

Conclusions: Either I was surrounded only by fellow jihadists who were equally dedicating to spreading mayhem and were all cat-lovers, or psychics don’t abound as much as the mass media postulates that they do, or all area psychics were sharp enough to recognize a crackpot when they see one and knew better than to get involved.

I know what conclusion I think is real; and I’d wager you do too even if you’re not psychic.

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Unanswered Unemployment queries

It seems I’ve been writing a lot of lists lately.

It’s a habit I picked up from my mother. I’m sure a guidance counselor or two in my past tried to cultivate the same positive behavior, but I base my current practice on the example provided by my mother.

I have lots of memories of my mother making a brief list of things to do and checking her way down the page. It’s a smart, organized way to methodically accomplish a complex set of goals.

It can also be used to waste time, as proved by a recent list of questions my unemployed mind has spawned:

Does anyone know when the school year starts in the Southern Hemisphere?

Are there still sign-ups for the French Foreign Legion?

Who does the officiating for the Guinness Book of World Records, and who put the drink guys in charge of it anyway?

What kind of health benefits do you get if you work as an assistant to a sideshow knife thrower?

Is there any way around the “must speak Mandarin” requirement at Hong Kong Disney?

Does Apple need an extra person to test run the latest iPod? I’d do it for free.

Can you simultaneously be a bartender and a teetotaler?

Is the Goodyear Blimp crew hiring?

Do you have to provide your own helmet to be a human cannonball and is a history of head injuries a bonus?

Where do organ grinders get their dancing monkeys (must they buy the simians, or can they be leased)?

Are there any eccentric millionaires trying to build a real Jurassic Park and, if so, do they need gift shop workers?

How many tattoos are required to be a member of the Hell’s Angels?

Are there any clothed positions at the nudist colony, like the guy who drives the ice cream course (of course, you know all nudist colonies have ice cream trucks)?

Does Cher want help on her next “final farewell” tour?

Are workers at the zoo’s penguin exhibit allowed to have snowball fights, and if not, what are the repercussions should they engage in the prohibited behavior?

Does the Girl Scout Cookie plant need a “quality control” tester? Do they provide milk?

Can people volunteer for jury duty?

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As part of her role in shaping the mind’s of the leaders of tomorrow (or something like that), my mother acted as a chaperone for a school field trip this week.

“Why would a school librarian go on a field trip?” you might ask.

“Why not?” is my first response until I consider the fact that the original question actually is a good one and deserves a more serious consideration.

The way her schedule is set up all the classes from the same grade have library time on the same day. The grade scheduled to travel would usually go to the library on the day of the trip. Rather than leave the library vacated for an extended period of time, someone decided to send the librarian along to assist in the overseeing of the group.

Upon hearing of this, I thought back to various school-sponsored trips I’ve been on in the past.

In my experience, field trips were typically a good thing. Even at the most boring and inane locations you were out of school, and thus, removed from homework. Sure, sometimes you were required to fill out a worksheet or two, but the collective groupthink of your friends and seatmates would push you through the answers quickly. Besides, it was obviously busy work that was not to be treated (or graded) seriously. The goal was to fill in the blanks and get on to the business at hand.

Of course, bucking the agenda was usually the key to having a good time. The best stuff usually wasn’t included in the school-approved itinerary (or if it did make it, you knew it wouldn’t be included on a return trip). One had to look for the opportunities between the life-sized models and display-cased reproductions. It may be hidden in plain sight or down a little-traveled wing, but it was always out there.

I think I did a good job of discovering and/or blundering into extra opportunities on these trips:

I’ve played tag using the two ends of the St. Louis arch as “base.” We were supposed to go on a ride on a riverboat, but the great flood of ’93 flooded the road to the dock, among other things.

I’ve even had my camera’s film confiscated on a trip to Whiteman Air Force Base. Even pre-9/11, the government really didn’t like people taking pictures of stealth bombers rolling out of their hanger. It’s a security issue of some sort.

I’ve temporarily blinded an emu. If you put a ball cap that is adjusted for the circumference of a human’s head onto the smaller head of the flightless Australian bird, the hat has the tendency to fall forward, subsequently blocking the eyes of the bird that will begin bucking and flapping to regain its sight (which also makes it even more difficult to retrieve the hat).

I was on a trip where the entire 8th grade got stoned. For the record, taking students to the local aerosol plant is NEVER a good idea. Taking students into small rooms with lots of chemicals in the air is guaranteed to systematically make the whole crew high (I would suppose that’s the only way people can be convinced to go back to a job like day after day). I experienced brief drop in IQ based on that trip. I base this belief on a book report I wrote after I returned from the gassing. My musings on a “silly” and “funny” events were based on, “Across Five Aprils,” a book about the American Civil War. The chapter being reviewed featured the tragic death of a main character. Re-reading my work the next day, I asked myself, “Was I high or something?” and realized that, yes, for once I was. And it was my teacher’s fault.

After thinking of these misadventures, I began to look at it from the chaperone’s perspective. Trying to keep the heard moving and not getting into too much trouble must be difficult. Between those who are searching for trouble and those who can’t seem to avoid it, it’s a crazy job.

I quickly developed a list of things chaperones would never want to say. Since then, I carefully crafted them into an order in which (I hope) they make up part of a story. As always, the best details are hidden between the lines, but I hope I’ve given you all enough to imagine.

So here’s “The Chaperone’s Laments”

“What do you mean, the field trip was switched to today? I’m wearing heels.”

“Kids. Would you stop singing ‘The song that never ends?’ The bus driver seems to be developing a facial tic and I’d prefer Mr. Hanson keep his eyes glue to the road.”

“Roger. Next time, tell someone you’re feeling ill rather than simply sticking your head out the window. The four rows behind who also had their windows open would appreciate it.”

“Why are we crossing a river? Why are we ‘Now entering Illinois’? We not supposed to cross state lines on a trip. Would someone tell Mr. Hanson to double-check his map, please.”

“No, I don’t think we should stop for directions… Because I’m worried about the bus retaining its hubcaps, and other parts, should we stop in this area of town.”

“Don’t cry Suzie. I’m sure the bus driver was only joking when he dropped us off and swore he was never coming back.”

“Please stay in a line kids. If one of you got killed I’d be deprived of the opportunity to do it myself. What’s that Tommy? No, no, I wasn’t muttering anything.”

“Don’t poke that with a stick! You’ll only make it madder. Turning red is a sign in nature that a creature is mad. Yes, kinda like Mr. Hanson.”

“George! Get off that. It obviously doesn’t like you riding it. George. George! How did that kid get in that cage anyway?”

“Lightning? What’s next, locusts? Knock on wood, I don’t want to be right. At least it will finally force the kids inside.”

“Where are the mannequin’s pants? You there, take those off and get out of that historical diorama! General Washington, the father of our country, did not fight the British only to have you steal his pantaloons.”

“Get off that! If the sign says, ‘Don’t touch,’ it also implies don’t climb. The broken shards of the first panel you clambered on also should have been a clue.”

“Where are your shoes? What do you mean you left them back in the cage? Tell you what, I’ll go back and look for them. Why? Because that’s what teachers do. Why? Presently, I don’t know.”

“You want to know why I’m wet and walking funny? When heading back out to the petting zoo, between the mud and the animal dung, my left heel chose that time to snap. No, they don’t pay me enough for this; not that I suppose they ever could.”

“Who drew mustaches on the Victorian portraits? Was it the same person who left Cheezz-E Doodles finger prints on the marble bust? I swear to… Yes, Pauline swearing is bad. I’ll try to remember that. What? I’m gritting my teeth because it makes me feel better.”

“Would someone kindly inform the tour guide that Roger lost his lunch all over the facsimile teepee. And be sure to thank him for his “used every part of the buffalo” speech with it s colorful examples that prompted the liquidation.”

“What idiot stocked the gift shop with genuine blow dart pipes. Each pack comes with 20 pieces of ammo. Twenty! I bought four just to be able to defend myself on the ride home.”

“The students are all outside pushing each other into the lake or something. I just wanted to sit down for five minutes and not be disturbed. Sigh… Do you smell smoke?”

“Go inside and apologize one more time to the tour guide for the teepee that got set on fire. At least he won’t have to worry about Roger’s stain. I’m going to go meet with Mr. Hanson and, if necessary, beat him into submission with my busted heel.”

“I don’t care about union rules. I’m covered by union rules too and did it stop any of this? No! Don’t push me. No jury I the world would convict me after what I’ve been through. Now do I start pummeling again, or can we reach a ‘compromise’?”

“On the bus kids, quick, on the bus. No we’re not going to do a count. If we find we’re missing one, then we’d have to go searching. If the parents love these scamps so much, they can drive back up here and look themselves.”

“Sigh… If you can’t beat ‘em… This is the song that never ends… Yes, it goes on and on my friend…”

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Let me explain at bit first…

Thanks to my father’s influence, my sister and I have game shows deeply imprinted on our brains.

I do not believe it was a purposely made decision. I figure it was like my early exposure to the Die Hard movies – an inadvertent though unavoidable occurrence due to their frequent appearance in my immediate environment.

From an early age through the present, the Smith household television sets routinely showed images of game shows.

One of my earliest childhood memories is of dreaming that I heard the “Wheel of Fortune” theme song playing. I woke up and ambled out into the living room to see what I was missing. Upon realizing that no one was there, and that I had left myself vulnerable to the multitude of monsters that lurked in the shadows, I quickly made my way back to my bed. In retrospect, the fact I lived long enough to turn the age of five is surprises me as much now as it did at the time.

Later in life, I saw an episode of the “Price is Right” where all three contestants spun $1.00 in their initial spin prior to the Showcase Showdown. At the time, Bob Barker announced this was only the third time in the history of the show in which that had happened. And even stranger, there is a part of me that is actually proud of the fact I’ve seen that.

And please don’t ask me to share my memories of the short-lived
Monopoly game show. Yes, I could still sing you the theme song. No, I’m not going to.

With the popularity of “reality TV,” there have been more programs that showcased people doing insane things to earn money. I’m not saying I don’t have a price (though all offers I’ve been quoted such far have been insufficient), but when you compare how easily many contestants sell their self-respect for the possibility of rewards, I come out looking pretty good.

My sister and I have recently spoken (not “at length,” but maybe “at medium”) about how all these influences impacted our brain. It seems we both do quite well in word puzzles, pattern-recognition, and in soaking up peculiar trivia (see my previous useless knowledge of the Monopoly game show).

After yet another viewing of Jeopardy, I began to think about the categories. I first started to think of what categories I would want to face. I mean, if you had the opportunity to pick what six categories that you excel in, wouldn’t you be tempted to play.

Of course, listing a handful of choices would severely limit the length of the post and would potentially come off as crowing. Granted, the bard Will Rogers said, “If you done it, it ain’t bragging,” but that’s doesn’t always come across well.

So instead, I will now highlight my short-comings for the sake of length (and possibly) humor. I’m sure I have the quantity; we’re just working on the quality.

Categories of Jeopardy I would Suck At

Finland, Finland, Finland

Knitting through the Ages

Beatniks Aplenty

James Joyce’s Shorter Sentences

Fish that Start with the Letter Q

The Song of Roland

Vermont

Popes that Couldn’t Swim

Bodacious Bogs

Historical Pants

Dali’s Melted Clocks

Elephant Graveyards

Cherry PI

Lie vs. Lay

Omar Khayyam’s Ruby Yacht

Lamps of Peru

Chamber Pots

Mongolian Road Kill

Pinecones of the World

Smells like cheese, but isn’t

Tennessee’s Lt. Governors

Apollo 15

One Night in Bangkok

Catty Cacti

Little Blue Engines that Couldn’t

If a Mime Falls in a Forest

1829

Yoko Ono’s Greatest Hits

Smells like Teen Spirit

Einstein’s Kittens

And our Final Jeopardy Question:

What Number am I Thinking Of?

If stumped by these categories, at least I’ll always have the chance to replay my shame in the home game. There’s nothing more I’d like to do after publicly embarrassing my family than to have a miniaturized version of the game that destroyed me. Thanks Jeopardy.

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