Jake's Science Theatre 2000 - 1st Installment

If you look on your life at this moment through the eyes of the person you were in a former time, what happens? Do you feel intense gratification and astonishment for experience never thought possible; or, do you feel a foreboding sense of urgency and guilt? Inexplicable situations flash at us more than we will ever know; relentlessly traced by perception’s arrow, haunting us with a Freudian-like regret. This unpreventable aspect of time, which unites us with perceived failure and achievement, tragedy and miracle, exemplifies an often overlooked boundary to our lives. Perhaps a gentle repression is all that we seek.

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Hitchhiking is a common practice in the remote maritime regions of Acadia. More often than not, the seeker is elderly and alone in more respects than just their isolated presence on the road. They tend to haunt the pavement, only manifesting to individuals of belief. Not helping their cause is the illusory sense of floating along the road created by the transfer of energy from my tires to my now deceitful eyes. People in this land are generally sympathetic to the needs of these outsiders, but overlooking is still common practice and reflects more of a desire to avoid inconvenience rather than a lack of trust. Once you see the setting and individual for yourself, it is not a difficult task to divest these previously engrained defense mechanisms. As this came to be, I allowed myself to see through the ghost and identify the old man.

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It has been cold and rainy the last few weeks, yet the highway continues to plague the old man who wears his red flannel and blue workpants regardless of weather conditions. Every time I pass him, his thumb comes out and I catch a glimpse of his grey hair and worn skin. As our relationship dictates, my volume remains unchanged, he continues dispassionately down the road. I have never actually seen him picked up, but with the frequency our path’s cross, I have to believe that not only do the locals help this guy out, but he is also one of those elusive characters every community seems to have. However, where this might benefit such a character by providing a sense of identity and subsequent charity, the old man is only unique to my perception. The reality is I see hitchhikers every day up here. It is a way of life for many locals who have no family and live completely off of government welfare – routine. Yet, where He is one of many, the old man is a singular embodiment of surrendering to life in order to reclaim a sense of freedom from perception.

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As is typical of my post-workout mentality, I stepped out of the gym and cut through the depressed maritime fall with a climactic sense of clarity. Nothing much bothers me in the time adjacent to this feeling, which was perhaps the spark that prompted my meeting with the old man. Like so many times before, it started as blurred redness in the distance and, as it came into focus, I could make out the slight crowning of a head eclipsed by a disproportionately slouched back. You could say my judgment for the apparition increased with our closing distance; I could now attach a fictitious story to the elusive character. Like so many times before, as I approached, the man indicated he would like a ride, I indicated ignorance. Only this time, possibly attributed to my increased levels of dopamine, I slammed on the breaks, pulled over and waited. In my mirror I could see this hunched figure half attempting to run the stiffness out of his obviously worn body. Unfortunately, it was such an unnatural movement – obviously stemming from gratitude - that I could not dissuade a sense of superiority over him.

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The old man climbed in the jeep and thanked me in his out-of-breath French. The contrast he introduced was frightening and did not just result from our physical inconsistencies. It certainly did not help how his sack of apples and three homemade cigarettes sticking out of his shirt pocket stacked up against my ipod, blackberry, running shoes and protein shake. However, it was the implied stories behind his sack of apples and say, my blackberry that presented the disconcerting differences. I felt ashamed, arrogant and gratuitous. He felt tired, relinquished, but thankful for the ride. “Je na parle pa France.” This extent of my second language indicated to the man that I would not understand him from this point forward. Without taking his glassy eyes off the windshield, he pointed in a general direction; I continued without further inquiry....

til next boring time

Are you as smart as a the dumb kid?

...probably not.

Check out this article written by famed war correspondent Chris Hedges. Remember, just because you have some placard from an educational institution citing some academic achievement does not mean you are exempt for the Other America. In fact, disappointingly enough, I know many of you in this category.

The other America, which constitutes the majority, exists in a non-reality-based belief system. This America, dependent on skillfully manipulated images for information, has severed itself from the literate, print-based culture. It cannot differentiate between lies and truth.

Military Falsely Accuses Consultant of Treason

by Rod Bulger

The US Air Force has confirmed reports that one of its southern bases improperly detained a contractor during a routine visit. Military spokesperson, Captain Gina Steelfagina, reported that an environmental consultant contracted by the US Government to perform energy related audits at several of its military facilities in the southeast, was forcibly taken into custody and held without due process for minutes, perhaps even fifteen minutes. Capt. Steelfagina cited a lost camera in a highly classified area as the primary reason for the contractor’s detention. “The military admits full responsibility for the extraneous actions taken by some of its members, but this was a proportionate response in accordance with the Patriot Act,” cites Capt. Steelfagina. When asked to reference specific sections of the Patriot Act that allowed the military to respond in this regard, the Capt. stated, “There is only one section of the Patriot Act. You know, the section that grants us dick power, and I’m not talking Cheney.”

Initial attempts to contact the involved party were not successful. However, the Sun City News Team did receive a return call from the same number. Due to FCC restrictions, the conversation cannot be repeated. What we can tell you is that some of the words included: fecal, fascists, I’m, conspiracy, matter, horny, dude, lawsuit and monkey-shit. However, additional attempts were successful and our own Karen Blondielegsdon’tclose was granted an exclusive interview. Here is a preview:

Karen Blondielegsdon’tclose: Jacko Hart, an environmental consultant from a windy Midwest city, was detained, searched and held without as little as a phone call by the US Military for what he has described as twelve minutes of hell. We’re pleased to have with us today Mr. Hart. Mr. Hart, welcome.

Mr. Hart: Thank you, it’s a pleasure to be here.........please close your legs.

Ms. Blondielegsdon’tclose: Hehe, sorry they do that sometimes. Mr. Hart, I know that due to ongoing litigation, you have limits on what you can divulge, but can you describe the incident of November 13, 2008, as you saw it?

Mr. Hart: Well I was down here (Florida) to perform various functions of energy management on several military installations to make recommendations to the US Government in the hopes of cutting energy related costs. Upon entering the room in question - which can only be described as similar to those Hollywood military com’s rooms like that in Under Siege 2: Dark Territory starring Steven Segal - the personnel had to cease operations and turn on screen savers that I found a bit disjointed from known military protocol.




So it was during this routine walkthrough of one of the rather more sensitive rooms, my camera, which had been utilized to document areas of needed improvement, fell through a previously unidentified hole in my bag.

Upon exiting the com’s room and entering a less secure administration area, I discovered that my camera was no longer on my person. I decided to retrace my steps and made my way back to the armed guard securing the highly sensitive area. I politely told the guard who was brandishing an M-16 A2 service rifle and a leg-strapped M9 semi-automatic service pistol that I had inadvertently left my camera in the com’s room. Without acknowledging me, the guard spoke inaudibly into an unseen radio device resulting in electronic locks slamming shut on several doors, a red alarm starting to flash and brusquely escorted me into a windowless room with a six-inch steel door.

Ms. Blondielegsdon’tclose: This is the beginning of what Mr. Hart calls his personal hell. For the next five, perhaps even up to twelve minutes, Mr. Hart was detained without explanation.

Mr. Hart: The military claims they held me for five minutes before clarifying the situation, but I know how to tell time in a windowless cell without a watch or cell phone and it was at least twelve minutes. Twelve minutes I will never get back. Twelve minutes I won’t be able to watch mind-numbingly poor acting on extended basic cable or twelve minutes I often used to make love to my Turkey Template or twelve minutes to clear my bowels in the morning. Basically, the military is saying, “That’s fine. We don’t mind if Mr. Hart poops his pants tomorrow after his coffee.” Had it not been for the seven minute discrepancy, I would not have pursued legal recourse.

Ms. Blondielegsdon’tclose: Don’t you think the military acted within its rights to protect information that is ultimately used to serve your wellbeing?

Mr. Hart: Look, my checkered history with the military goes back a long way. Like the time they told me to lie then kicked me out for lying. They’re dicks. Let me clarify though. I initially joined the military for my intense respect I have for veterans; however, that doesn’t mean they aren’t dicks. Yet we have to ask ourselves, do we want pussies protecting us? Hell no! So keep on stickin it to the world, dicks, and keep us safe. Good on you guys. I must also say that it seems our dicks have been pumped up by testosterone-infused imperialism the last few years, so hopefully with a new sheriff in town, we can drain some of the blind power. Unfortunately, since our new sheriff is black, our dicks will probably be bigger and more powerful than ever.

Ms. Blondielegsdon’tclose: So you admit that the military is and has to be a big dick in order to protect us; yet, if they’re a dick to you, it is unacceptable?

Mr. Hart: No. This is a fight of principle; a war of attrition if you will. The military has lied to me personally on several occasions and all I want is the admission of the seven minute discrepancy.

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To catch the full interview, tune in to our melodramatic news cast, full of plastic hair and bleached teeth, tonight at 7pm.

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Since we initially brought you the story of Jacko Hart, the government contractor detained and falsely accused of treason by the US military, many events have transpired and it seems civilian life has returned to normal for Mr. Hart; at least for now. We caught up with Jacko as he lounged on one of the many white-sand, turquoise water beaches along the gulf coast.

Mr. Hart: As you can see life is pretty good at the moment.

*Crappy local news montage of Mr. Hart performing various activities with an overlain melodramatic voiceover*

Life has appeared to normalize for Mr. Hart since his time spent in what he refers to as his 12-minute-nightmare.

“See that woman right there?” Mr. Hart referring to the good looking middle-aged black woman lounging up the beach. “She totally came up to me after my run and started making conversation. “I’m pretty sure it’s a Stella and Her Groove Getting Back kind of thing, but frankly, I deserve a black chick.”

Since the incident, Mr. Hart has spent much of his time running and lounging on the beach. The military finally admitted to the ‘lost minutes’ of the detention and as reparations, allowed Mr. Hart to view the Blue Angels from a restricted area. When asked what he will do now:

“It has not been an easy recovery. The events of last week have led me to consume large amounts of Cabernet Sauvignon and Pinot Noir. As of now, I’m just trying to forget. I’ve traveled so much this year; I think it’s time for home. It’s paradise down here, but I miss my brisk, windy city.”

For this lonely soul, it appears cold has never looked so warm.

Religion as Art

In my seemingly hopeless crusade to understand who I am, who you are and the countless emotions we evoke within one another, I have arrived at a concrete conclusion. Regardless of whether we are a random collection of molecules or the spawn of a Divine entity, what we perceive as love, contentment, perhaps moments of happiness through infatuation or a sense of hope during moments of despair, are what we all gravitate towards, what we all deserve and what we are all entitled to. That is why when Prop 8 in California passed, hope for our happiness, diluted in a present so saturated in bigotry and ignorance, dissolved that much more.

It's just so amazing to me that an organization that calls itself The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints would devote countless man hours and millions of dollars to prevent the happiness of a single people. The Mormons and other advocates of Prop 8 - under the guise of One Man, One Woman, cite unfounded studies and subjectively interpreted church doctrine to claim homosexual families will undermine cultural heritage and corrupt the foundation of our society. I don't care if you think homosexuality is written in our genetic code or the blasphemous choices heretics, no one has the right to vote against the happiness of anyone. I don't even care if homosexuality was proven to be indirectly detrimental to our culture - it won't, it can't - as long as the actions do not involve the direct harm of others, we should encourage circumstance to promote contentment of ALL peoples.

I find it quite liberating that a twenty-six year old straight man from the land
of God and corn could become an advocate for gay rights. I know my sexuality
was questioned in the now infamous EasyCheese/Nipple-4 Scandal, but
that doesn't bother me and feel free to think what you want.

What drives such blatant hatred for one people? We have seen this so much in the past that it's almost becoming cliche, and what has been the end result of the majority of these situations at least in American history? Well, look at the Civil Rights Movement of the 60's and 70's. Um...we got a black prez! Guess the logical end to the Gay Rights Movement. Um..homosexual marriage. The root cause of this new form of racism is identical to the old form of racism: Fear (after all, fear is the path to the dark side). Fear of change, diversity, progression; arrogance and ego. The Mormons and the other pros of Prop 8 can be described as nothing other than ignorant, whiny children. I have heard countless anecdotes from my mother, father and sister - all elementary school teachers - telling their pupils the virtues of worrying only about thy self.

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One of my philosophical aides has been the injection of ink into the second layer of my skin, or dermis, resulting in now semi-permanent body art. People tend to make a bigger deal of tattoos than they actually are and the primary reason for my body art is a meditation of mortality. An acknowledgement that I am literally a rotting corpse and not special in any sense of the word. The following quote from Chuck Palahniuk sums up the feeling, "You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else, and we are all part of the same compost pile." Harboring the feeling of my universally generic nature not only creates a sense of urgency to experience, but helps me transcend my ego, value my happiness all that much more, and in turn, truly feel for the happiness of others.

My tattoos are for my own metaphysical liberation. People often ask me for the meaning behind presumably what they view as gaudy body art. I often attempted to muster through an explanation that diminished the strength of these reminders of my relatively imminent demise. Even if my descriptions are clear and concise, they are just words - arbitrary noises assigned to articulate the human experience. Linguistics are frequently misinterpreted, as are my explanations, which often make light of the infinite number of events that have resulted in my current philosophies. These stories I mutter at your request are never not subjectified. They are as much art as the art itself.

Religion can be held in the same light. In the countless world religions, faiths, creation stories, doctrines and laws, there lies intrinsic subjectivity. Bible verses and church sermons get lost in linguistic madness, individual views change to accompany newly discovered inter and intra-faith hypocrisies and metaphysical resignation often occurs at the onset of quality education.

Religion as art is the most compassionate and least paradoxical form of spiritual practice. Any other method runs the all too documented risk of bigotry stemming from ignorance and fear. Movements such as the overtly discriminatory Prop 8, cite Divine doctrine as justification for hatred. I urge all peoples of faith to worship in a metaphorical subtext and take doctrine with a grain of salt.

Look, I will be the first to admit that our shared human experience is far from easy, and if you lack the existential ability to find meaning in struggle, you often resort to faith. I might scoff at the absurdity of religion, but I absolutely do not blame you in your practice to overcome the universal fear of nonexistence. I have just one request: Religion as art.

EVERYONE IN CHICAGO IS GETTING DRUNK AND HAVING SEX TO DEMOCRACY! GOOD FOR THEM.

GOOD FOR ME!