Lawyers, Onions and Pizza on a Gram Scale

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This week we will depart once again from the merry go round of political boondoggles and fantastic stories of redemption to delve into the delicate issues of food offered today by the New York Times food section. Logic and reason are once again at stake and however minute the threat actually is we must work diligently to protect these sacred values from corruption. For what truly is life without an onion and pizza to slice? So forward we forge to ensure our slice of the pie and perhaps a tear in our eye.

Firstly we consider the plight of the Vidalia Onion. According to reports the state legislature in Georgia have strict controls on when their farmers are able to release the Onions into the consumers hands. April 21st is the date that was enacted into law by the “Vidalia Onion Act” of 1986 to apparently “protect the brand”. Far be it from the common sense of the farmer to decide when the fruits of their labors be released into the wild. Recently, despite the pleas from farmers, chefs and grocery store owners, the Georgia Agricultural Commissioner Gary Black pronounced there would be no early shipments.

For those of you not familiar with the Vidalia Onion you have been deprived of one of life’s rare treasures. This is an onion that is so mild and sweet one can slice it without fear and use it in place of bologna on a sandwich. Mayonnaise or Miracle Whip, whatever your favorite condiment is then applied and you have a gourmet treat. The onion is so mild and sweet your taste buds will dance will delight. The ways to prepare this culinary treasure are limited only by your imagination.

This law must be revised it must be abolished! Let the farmer decide when to bring forth the fruits of his labor. To rule otherwise is an abomination to nature!

The second offensive position the food section brought forth was a supposedly simple pizza dough recipe. In this simple recipe great offense was taken that the flour be measured on a gram sensitive scale. Say what!? Ye old cocaine scale!? Are we out of touch and does everyone now have a gram scale in the cupboard? But there it was in black and white. One must measure an exact amount, in grams, of two different types of flours which even had numbers assigned to them apparently correlating to how fine the grind of flour is. The recipe went on to demand that the “sea salt”, yeast and olive oil be measured gram specific as well. This was supposed to be a simple recipe mind you.

Well this is not a chemistry lesson nor is it gluten free. So gird your loins and heretofore is a simple, no fail pizza dough recipe which you can garner with your favorite toppings when you feel so inclined. Try this and you will not be perplexed or disappointed.

Reach for the flour. Four cups of the brand you prefer. If whole wheat is your preference you must temper it with a white type and use half of each. We need the gluten! There is science here but it is not gram specific. So fill one large bowl with four cups of flour. In the other large bowl fill it with one and one half cups of water. Heat the water until it is lukewarm. Use the microwave please fear not the free radicals! A minute usually does it. When it’s warm to your finger add one teaspoon of yeast, more or less, to the water and whisk it in. When it’s dissolved begin sprinkling two cups of your chosen flour to the bodacious mixture. (Yes that will be half of what’s in your other bowl.) Stir it in the same direction for a minute or two. Clockwise in the northern hemisphere and counterclockwise in the southern hemisphere. Just kidding in the same direction will work no matter where you are!

Now cover that bowl. The yeast is happy and beginning to multiply. The feared gluten is developing. Cover and let it rise in a warm place for two or four hours. If it’s bubbling you know the cells are dividing and creating the crust you want. The volume should double more or maybe less. Keep the yeast happy! If you have to…. put on jazz music to make it feel sexy. Maybe you have classical yeast! In that case play Vivaldi or whatever suits you. Rastafarian yeast? Reggae Jah Mon! Marley is good in any climate!

Take that beautiful sexy sponge of mytosis now and add a teaspoon or so of salt and a couple of tablespoons of olive oil. Get a big stirring device, stir and add the rest of your flour. When it’s too thick to stir turn it out on a well floured surface, something you can stand over and apply leverage to. Start kneading it. Press it down with your knuckles. Put flour on your hands when they get sticky. Fold it over on itself again and again. Do this for eight or ten minutes. Sip on a beer or cocktail or use your blue tooth to call your parole officer this way you can multitask. They’ll wonder what your doing as they hear all those slapping sounds.

Now take the bowl that you’ve emptied of flour and put a splash of olive oil in it. Place the living mass that you’ve created and coat it with that oil. Cover it and let it rise again. Two or four hours, or so in a warm place. When it is ready, you will know because it has doubled or more in mass. Mytosis in the workplace! Isn’t this fun!? Now you’re ready to make the pizza.

Take the dough out and divide it into workable sizes. Two will make two large pies. Be sure to use a floured board. Stretch it into a pan that has been greased with olive oil. Heat the oven to 450 degrees. Put on your favorite toppings. Cook for ten minutes and check the bottom. Don’t burn it!

“Give me an Onion and Give me breath” — Jake Shween

Get off the cell phone and drive! — Jake Shween

In The Company of Angels (Burning Man 12)

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“That must’ve come from a dark place”

Margaret sat up in her seat startled. “Huh”

“That shout I just heard, not sure what you said exactly, sounded scary”

Margaret looked at the young man seated next to her. He had his seat table down and was fumbling with his laptop. He was a young man in his early twenties. Margaret had barely noticed him as she had sat by the window when she had boarded the flight. She had fallen asleep as soon as the flight took off. She looked at him, he smiled shyly.

“What did you hear?” she said in a desperate almost defiant way.

“Oh nothing really. I jumped because you’d been so quiet. I’m sorry my name is Roland, Roland Moffitt.”

“I’m Margaret.” Her voice sounded strange to her. It was probably the cigarettes and lack of sleep.

“I’m sorry if I startled you. I think I jumped just like you did. Long flight, wish I could sleep. Just too excited.”

Margaret lightened up a bit. She didn’t want to seem brooding and offensive. His pleasant tone seemed to temper her strain and sadness. “First time to Paris?” she asked.

“Yes!” Roland replied enthusiastically. “I’ve been accepted at the Sorbonne. Have you been to Paris?”

“Ah oui” Margaret actually smiled. This enthusiasm was somehow contagious. She remembered the first time she had been to ‘La Ville Lumiere’ the City of Lights, as a young girl visiting her Father for the first time. It was also the first time she had been on a plane alone. Her first taste of independence.

“You’ll love it. Will you be studying there?”

“Yes I will. Fine arts and science. My ambition is to be an artistic scientist. My Father thinks I’m crazy.” Roland popped his laptop closed.

“Well I say you should go for it. The world needs more artistic scientists.” Margaret looked at the window and pulled up the shutter. She thought she must look a fright. The flight was full. Only now did she realize most every passenger was awake and talking. The inflight movie was on but no one seemed to be paying any attention. She picked up her cell phone out of habit and checked the time. She had already changed it to Paris time. Now she remembered what she had been dreaming! There was a monster tearing up the wing just like in the old twilight zone episode. She thought about the missing flight in the Indian Ocean. That could be what caused the crazy exhausted dream. She grinned as it occurred to her that William Shatner was now doing those corny travel ads all these years later. From the ‘Twilight Zone’ to Priceline. Ironically that was where she had booked the flight from Dulles to Orly.

The stewards were heading down the aisle. They looked quite sprightly and proper in their British Airways uniforms. “May I get you a beverage?” he politely asking Margaret first.

“Yes may I have water please.” Margaret was parched.

“And you sir?” He smiled as he asked Roland. Margaret wasn’t sure but he looked as if he might ask Roland out for a date.

“May I please have a beer. Just surprise me with the type.” Roland looked back at Margaret as if she needed to give him permission to indulge. She caught herself grinning and half winking at him.

With the care and precision of a magician both a Perrier and Brown Ale were produced without the slightest apparent effort by the obliging steward. “Enjoy your flight and thank you for flying British Air” he remarked as he went on down the aisle.

Margaret held the Perrier to her nose and sniffed it as she had the habit of doing. She didn’t even use the plastic cup, she thought it would denigrate the purity of l’eau. She took a delicious drink and enjoyed the flavor. Roland smiled at her but in a way that made her feel safe. He respected her and she could tell that from his careful expression.

“Are you going to visit relatives?”

Rushing and tumbling. Her thoughts crashed inside her mind. How could she have been so cold? What had happened inside her mind to alienate her Father to such a degree? The teenage rebellion had never left her. She was never equipped to deal with his rejection of her ideas, so she had ventured to reject him entirely. Only now, on a flight to Paris, sitting next to an ‘artistic scientist’ did she realize the running she had been doing.

“Yes my Father.” With a choked enthusiasm now, she suddenly felt reserved.

“Is he retired in Paris?”

“Yes” she now shrank into her seat. She had never felt so small. Margaret who did television ads for the oil oligarchy had shrunk away into her seat on flight 719. She felt insignificant, she was tainted.

Roland sat back. He looked at the passengers around as if they had heard. She felt like he could shield her from their stares. She felt guilty.

“I don’t know why I’m saying this exactly but I think you’ll be okay. People are not as evil as you think, even the darkest person has moments of kindness if only to themselves.”

Margaret sat straight up in her seat. Why did he say this? It struck at the heart of her thoughts, like a song you finally hear and understand. She looked out the window. Blue and clouds. The flight went on.

“I wanted to cry, but I realized that I was too old for that. I would be a woman soon and I would have to learn how to live with a divided heart.”— Anita Diamant,

“Of all life’s pleasures, only love owes no debt to death.”— Anita Diamant

Get off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween

 

The Men That Don’t Fit In by Robert William Service

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There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,
A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain’s crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don’t know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they’re always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: “Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!”
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life’s been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone;
He’s a man who won’t fit in.
                       Jim Baker, Trapper, Scout and Guide
“We choose the right to be who we are. We know the difference between the reality of freedom and the illusion of freedom. There is a way to live with the earth and a way not to live with the earth. We choose the way of earth. It’s about power, Ray.” — Jimmy Looks Twice, Thunderheart 1992
Get off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween

Alexandria (Burning Man 11)

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Blankly she stared at the traffic below rushing away on 395 even though it was almost 3 am. The news had hit her hard and was totally unexpected. She had listened to the recorded message from the Paris hospital three times. She truly regretted never giving her father her cell phone number and now he was gone. A stroke had taken his life. Never again would she be able to defend her politics to the expat.

Margaret’s father was a veteran of the Korean war. He had been in the United States Air Force. He was a lieutenant and had served as a B-29 navigator in many bombing missions during the conflict. He was a stubborn man with strong political convictions. When she was young she loved to listen to his rambling stories of the decent republican president, good old ‘Ike’ Eisenhower. Her Father had worked as a defense contractor when he returned. A civilian consultant for the defense industry. Plenty of work fighting the cold war in those days. Lots of money to be had for the military industrial complex as it was known around their house in McLean Virginia.

Shortly after Margaret had been born the Watergate scandal occurred. This and maybe all the antiwar protests had changed her Father for good. When she was four she remembered her Mother and Father having world war three in the parlor. It was sadly one of her earliest memories and as far as she was concerned the beginning of the end of her parents’ marriage even though her Father had stuck it out until she was thirteen. Their political battles were never ending. Her Mother ever increasingly Republican and her Father a liberal Independent. Not surprising in fact because her mother had come from old southern money and her Father had come from a New Hampshire farm.

In 1982 her Father had moved to Paris to work for UNESCO. It was a change of pace for him but something he truly believed in. She had stayed behind in McLean. After graduating high school she had been accepted at Georgetown. In fact although she had traveled extensively her home had always been in the nation’s capitol. She knew the city well. K street was her domain. The American Petroleum Institute payed her grandly. Her Mother was very proud, but her Father had disagreed with her decision from the very beginning. She had turned down an offer from the CIA.

She reached down for the bottle of Pinot on the glass table and refilled her tumbler. The pack of Benson & Hedges was half gone already. The first cigarette had tasted okay and took the edge off the bad news but now she was smoking and trying hard not to think about the pain that was building inside her. It was her first cigarette in seven years. The first time she had listened to the message she had run downstairs to the Korean market at the base of the apartment building and bought wine and cigarettes. The owner, whom she had know for years knew this was not the regular Margaret. The wine was relatively normal but the cigarettes meant something was wrong. He had sensed the pain in Margaret’s face but he had kept his silence in the intuitive fashion of the orient.

She wondered about the funeral arrangements. Since her Father was a veteran would he be buried at Arlington? She wasn’t sure he would’ve gone for it. She had remembered one time when he came to visit he befriended the store owner downstairs. Despite the fact his Korean wasn’t very good he still managed to have a decent conversation making friends for life in the process. That was her father. He could make friends standing on the platform at the train station. He was too friendly for DC. She wiped a tear from her eye. So much to do now. She dreaded the call she would make to her Mother. Had she heard already? She just wasn’t sure.

She closed the sliding glass door to the balcony and sat down on the couch carefully placing the bottle and glass on the coffee table. She had left the cigarettes outside. She might be smoking but she detested the smell of smoke inside. The big screen TV blared the endless news of the day. Something about the missing plane, maybe it had been found. Tomorrow she would make plans to fly to Paris. She had the name of her Father’s attorney on her cell phone. She scrolled through her extensive address list. There it was, Marcel Lemieux Avocat. She began to sob gently. She still couldn’t believe she hadn’t given her father her cell number but here she had his attorney’s number at the ready.

Australian authorities had maybe located the plane. The blaring TV had jolted her out of a half sleep. She grabbed the remote and turned it off. Her mind drifted. Australia, just the name stirred something inside her. She didn’t know why. Tomorrow was another day. She fell asleep on the couch. A siren wailed down 395.

“I was born on the prairies where the wind blew free and there was nothing to break the light of the sun. I was born where there were no enclosures.”                 — Geronimo

Get off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween

Our Lonely Electronic World

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amazing street art 16 Amazing street art from the village of Doel (34 photos)

Bring back the town hall meeting! In our ever increasing electronic world humanity has fell quite literally out of touch with humanity. We now shake hands electronically. We sign our new mortgage loans electronically. We “friend” people over the internet, people we may have never met, perhaps people we knew years ago. Many of us will go for days without any real human contact. Of course we see people at work everyday but are these actually people we would share our true feelings with face to face? How many times have you pictured the new Norman Rockwell portrait with everyone sitting around texting others who aren’t even in the room? The new American, even the new international family fits this description quite nicely.

We take pictures of everything! Literally everything since now we no longer have to go to photomat. We can delete what we don’t like, enhance what we want click and send! Look at all the cat and dog pictures! Our new celebrated celebrities. Most of us don’t go for a single day without giggling at some newfangled animal in the perfect ridiculous pose for our amusement. Hell we’ve even replaced the need for human contact to an alarming degree. Sex? Yes of course! Just seek out your new electronic fantasy the venues are virtually limitless. No birth control necessary, no awkward moments the next morning, free from STDs and any emotional investment.

amazing street art 22 Amazing street art from the village of Doel (34 photos)

We seek and choose our news. Don’t bring us down with the real world. We need our paradoxical utopia. Please don’t unplug our game! We have important tasks to complete! We started sorting those bricks, killing those aliens and eating those ghosts and now we are killing mutant zombies, destroying hostile villages and tilling imaginary fields vicariously living our existence in fantastical imaginary cities. Life is wonderful, life is great, our painless reality why should we wait? Disconnected? Not at all! Just pick up the controller and join the ball!

Which brings us to our inherent loneliness. Our huge disconnect with the physical world. We ignore reality at our own peril. Bring back the town meeting. We need face to face contact and human interaction. We need oxytocin. We need to feel like a valuable part of something but not electronically. If we don’t seek to embrace each other in the true physical sense our world is in serious peril. Sure our vicarious existences can be very cool but in the long run we need the real embrace of true friends! Bring back recess to our grade schools first thing in the mornings. Let the kids run around and interact with each other before sitting them in a chair. Watch the incidence of ADD go down, naturally!

We disagree with each other all the time. In our electronic world we bitch and insult constantly. How much more might we accomplish by coming face to face to discuss our differences? We need to break down our huge disconnect with other people living in different ways. After all is said and done we are quite human everyone. This of course comes with quirks and limitations but it’s better to recognize them and deal with them than to pretend that they don’t exist and continue to ignore each other. The human condition should be a cause to gather and celebrate rather than one to build walls and destroy. Spread the Word!

amazing street art 2 Amazing street art from the village of Doel (34 photos)

“Share your opinion. Don’t be shy. Just pick up a Dr. Seuss book and bastardize it to make your speech. Can’t think of anything creative? Just choose you own reality. Ignore the scientific facts.” — Jake Shween

“Criticism is always easier than constructive solutions.” — Jaron Lanier

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Screw Healthcare; Buy a Gun!

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If more people owned guns the great citizens of the United States could do away with the need for healthcare altogether. After all when a horse becomes lame it is usually shot to death. Certainly the cost of a bullet is much cheaper than a statin drug, an aspirin, chemotherapy or any of the drugs prescribed for depression. Heck a bullet cost less than a stalk of broccoli. Just think of the billions of dollars that could be saved if we simply shoot people who are ill or depressed.

Perhaps the Supreme Court should enact a law that to be a citizen of the United States one must own a gun. (After all they pick Presidents don’t they?)  There could be classes in schools where we could teach our progeny to shoot first and ask questions later. If there were any unfortunate accidents in this process we could simply say that we were “decreasing the surplus population” just like the famous character of Ebenezer Scrooge did in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Now there was a man ahead of his time!

Imagine what a better place this country would be. The waiting lines everywhere would become so much shorter. No more listening to drug ads ad infinitum on your favorite television shows. Instead we could listen to the testimony of a husband who cured his wife’s depression with a single shot from his brand new .357 magnum:

“She started complaining again that she felt like the walls were closing all in around her. I just went to my gun case and whipped out my shiny pistol and gave it to her right between the eyes! The silence was golden! I think grandpa is next, his Alzheimer disease is rubbing me the wrong way! God Bless America!”

So listen up and stay ahead of the curve. If you have any spare funds invest them immediately in arms manufacturers. Take to the streets and extoll the virtues of guns and live ammo. The world could be such a better place without all the sickos walking around! The new slogan is “Bullets not Broccoli!”

Malala. #gunviolence #gunsafety #gunsense

“If that’s the eye of the law, the law is a bachelor; and the worst I wish the law is that his eye may be opened by experience—by experience.” —- Mr. Bumble in Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist

“You can make people buy broccoli!” —- Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia

Get off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween

Save the Dinosaur in the Senate

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Recently a very serious situation has developed in the Senate and one of our dearest and most ancient demagogues has become seriously endangered. Senator Addison Mitchell (Mitch) McConnell Jr. is now facing a heated battle being opposed by Alison Lundergan Grimes the crackerjack, feisty Secretary of State of Kentucky. Fortunately Mitch has a crack team of garbage digging cohorts who are scrambling to insure his survival, albeit for the time being, by slinging dirt and generally being the most unwelcoming of opponents possible.

To cap off our dear dinosaur’s dilemma he’s facing opposition from a member of his own party in the primaries, the U.S. Chamber of Commerce hating champion of the illustrious Glenn Beck himself, Matthew Griswold Bevin. This man is a certifiable Teanderthal with credentials coming from the rightest and tightest but not so brightest Bluegrass Institute for Public Policy Solutions. He’s already infamous for being against the bank bailout of 2008 that helped save his business thus earning him the affectionate moniker of: Bailout Bevin!

You may recall that Mitch had suffered an apparent ‘Nixonian bugging’ of his office. This happens when you receive a small Nixon doll in the mail, place it on your bookshelf, and the next thing you know Mother Jones is hawking stories about how very evil you actually are with an honest recording of your thugs plotting against anyone who dared to thwart your despotic behavior. Yes Mitch was ‘tricky Dicked’! Now the Federal Bureau of Investigation has taken over. Taxpayer money at work doing the important things like protecting our venal elected despots and preserving their right to preserve their particular special interest group unfettered by ethical behavior and such trifles.
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Maybe fellow libertarian/republican junior Senator from Kentucky Rand Paul and ‘Ole Mitch’ can hole up together! They can collect guns, swig whiskey, swap wives and trade stories about shootin’ those yonder revenooers! The Nixon doll will have to go of course. They might be happier with an Ayn Rand doll and maybe a Raggedie Ronnie Reagan. Pull the string on Ayn and she says: “The question isn’t  who is going to let me it’s who is going to stop me!”. Ronnie exhorts when you drop him on his head: “Facts are stupid things!”. Why they can amuse themselves in lockstep together as they contemplate how to hold democracy hostage for their own selfish desires. That is of course after they do something important like blocking any common sense bill on gun control or the possibility of raising the minimum wage etc. etc. etc!

It will be interesting to see where the ‘Dark Money’ takes the ensuing campaign. One thing is for certain and that is the people of Kentucky need to be aware of the facts. They need to show they won’t be boondoggled by a media blitz of lies, lies, lies which is sure to be paid for by a Super PAC of nebulous money which ultimately originates from the Koch brothers and their minions.

Watch Bill Moyers and Company expose ‘Dark Money’ here!

Get off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween

Showdown at the NRA Corral

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The time has come for the sane people of this country to take a stand against the violence that has intruded into our lives. We can no longer ignore the outbreaks of violence and death that occur every single day in this country of free thinkers. It is absolutely outrageous that the National Rifle Association can suggest that the solution to the violent deaths caused by firearms every day is by arming more people. An analogy to this would be like suggesting that the solution to stupidity is, by golly, more damn stupidity. Bravo NRA you have truly outworn your welcome.

What started as an honorable society to promote hunting, conservation of wildlife through population control as well as marksmanship has turned into a far right wing organization that defends the right of American citizens to own military killing machines. These are the assault weapons that have been center stage in our most recent spree of heinous and nightmarish murders. These are murders that made policemen and firemen, our fellow citizens that we have hired and have sworn to protect us, our most valiant breed of first responders, sick and horrified at the scenes of these crimes.  If we are truly a civilized country as we claim to be we shall stop right now and make drastic changes to these ridiculous gun laws that we have in place.

We have watched as the NRA has taken the interests of sportsmen and twisted them into the interests of right wing survivalists. Twisting the Second Amendment of the Constitution into a self serving violent clause when at the time it was written it was meant to prevent a possible British insurgency from retaking the country we fought so hard to free in the Revolutionary war. It is time for the saner of us to step up and tell these bad children to step down and admit that the solution is not more guns at all but to put an end to the dispersion and apparent hoarding of such killing devices into the hands of every schmoe who has legs to walk into a gun shop or gun show and slap money down and buy them.

The NRA in its despotic behavior has purchased venal Congressmen who have enacted legislation rendering the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms impotent to protect us by simply enforcing many of the gun laws that are currently on the books! We need to wake up and take action. We can cite the examples of how gun laws can and do work by comparing the United States to such countries as Japan and Great Britain where due to very strict gun law enforcement these crimes hardly occur. This is a problem whose time has come. Stand up and be counted!

“Mental bearing (calmness), not skill, is the sign of a matured samurai. A Samurai therefore should neither be pompous nor arrogant.” — Tsukahara Bokuden.

“Master the divine techniques of the Art of Peace and no enemy will dare to challenge you.” — Ueshiba

Get off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween

Inner Visions (Burning Man 10)

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Crashing through the safety rail the car went careening off the bridge whistling in the darkness until plunging into the river far below. It hesitated for a few moments on the surface of the water then began a quick descent into the inky black darkness. Water poured through the vents, the water was now up to his waste. He quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out his Swiss army knife. Opening up the awl he put the knife in his fist, the awl sticking out between his knuckles. He turned towards his window and gave it an adrenalin filled punch of extraordinary strength. The glass gave way, the water rushed in. In one motion he released his seat belt and thrust himself through the opening, knuckles bleeding.

He felt no need to breath. The only question was which way was the surface. It was so dark there was no up or down. The car had disappeared. Time was speeding by and his heart rate was incalculable. There out of the corner of his eye he caught a beam of light. Turning towards the ray there was a shiny ribbon of illumination. A snake of sterling silver, maybe three feet long. Hard to say now, all relativity of distance was askew. He instinctively followed the glowing jewel with the strong strokes of an accomplished swimmer. The snake was gone now. Moonlight shone on the surface of the river. Gasping he broke the surface of the black water.

Eddie woke up breathing hard. He rubbed his knuckles of his right hand. The storm rumbled outside, rain lashing against the bedroom window. The banana tree in the corner of the room rustled gently in the breeze of the ceiling fan. He sat up and went to the closet. Gingerly he picked up the book of Jungian archetypes he kept there. Not knowing why he felt an urge to look at the large glossy photos of archetypes inside. He turned the light on the bedstand and opened to the picture of the Norse God Loki. Ah yes, the trickster he thought to himself.

Three things Eddie had found in the apartment at 155 East 52nd street when he had moved in back in ’86. One was the very old banana tree which the realtor had offered to remove but Eddie liked it immediately. It reminded him of growing up in the south. The other was the book of Jungian archetypes which Eddie had felt like fate had destined him to have. He found whenever he was at a loss, a mental block of creativity, he would open the book and it would crash through the gate. He had always kept it where he had found it, on the top shelf of the bedroom closet.The third was a broken glass box which contained a porcelain Geisha figurine. He had had the box reconditioned and it now sat prominently in the sitting room.

He turned to the index to reference the snake. He knew already the water had signified the unconscious realm. The snake perhaps a different version of himself. He wasn’t sure why but something was familiar about it. He knew not to take any of it too literally. He flipped through the pages and began to feel sleepy again. Placing the book reverently back on the top shelf of the closet he laid back down. Below on the street there was the sound of sirens now. He knew he was home. Back home in the city that never sleeps, New York.

Phixx Pharmaceuticals brand new drug: Soma. The exposition was all set. The atmosphere was like a carnival. This was the drug of the century. It was a fix all snake oil remedy. Eddie was dreaming but this time he knew it. He was an ad agent for Phixx Pharmaceuticals. He wondered exactly what was in this brand new panacea. He watched the video he had helped produce on their big screen. People on Soma seemed like happy zombies. They ignored what was really going on all around them and performed their jobs and lived their lives like happy idiots. Eddie shuddered and secretly believed this was the drug they really are searching for. Whoever controls this drug, controls the world. He slept peacefully.

File:Processed SAM loki.jpgGet off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween

Flight 101 (Burning Man 9)

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Eddie Sargavy stood in the terminal at the Montreal Trudeau international airport staring at the departure screen. He sipped his coffee and shook his head. He hadn’t missed his flight this time. His flight had been cancelled. He looked at his watch then wondered why since the time seemed to be posted everywhere like an inescapable fate. It was 1:01 pm. Ironically that was his flight number. There was a bad storm moving up the easy coast and all the flights to JFK had been cancelled.

He walked outside the terminal and lit a cigarette. Just as well he thought to himself. Something in his mind remembered that flight 101 was not a flight to be on. He remembered other flight 101’s crashing somewhere. He finished his coffee and spit into his cup. “101st Airborne” he said aloud. The woman standing next to him heard and moved away. He thought about history. The 101st, the Screaming Eagles, that was the “Band of Brothers”. Among their many heroic exploits one was being an integral piece of Operation Overlord in World War II. In Vietnam they were famous for outstanding bravery in the battle of Hamburger Hill. He choked up a bit and wiped his eyes. Eddie was not a man who stood still. He went back into the terminal. He would rent a car and drive to New York.

Eddie flew down the highway in his full size, brand new Dodge Charger. He had passed through customs quickly as he had nothing to declare. Heck he’d been through the border so many times he felt like he should know all the customs agents on a first name basis. It felt good to be on the move again. Never mind that he was tired, he was on his way home.

He thought about his presentation that morning. He had ended up winging the whole thing. The more he had talked the better he felt. Eddie was a pro. It didn’t matter that his heart wasn’t in it. He was glad it was over with and the client, Truefoam, seemed satisfied. He had the radio blasting loudly. The satellite radio was perfect for these extended drives. No station flipping necessary. The October scenery in the Adirondack mountains was beautiful. He only wished it was summertime and the daylight would last longer. A glance at the gas gauge and the rumbling of his stomach told him it was time to refuel and grab a bite. Just outside of Albany he took an exit that offered gas and a bag of cheeseburgers within spitting distance of each other.

Eddie turned down his radio as he pulled off the ramp. He had been blasting a song by Tito Puente. He loved the Latin salsa and was thankful the satellite radio had a station dedicated to that sound. It was dark out now but the air was still friendly. He pulled up to the pump, ready for a stretch. Yawning as he locked the doors he went inside to relieve himself. It felt good to be out of the car if only for a minute.

Returning to the car with six cheeseburgers and a large coffee he noticed a car of teenagers had pulled up a short distance away. The music blasted out of the vehicle. He could hear the vibrations as he stooped inside the Charger to put the burgers and the coffee inside. What was the recent story in Florida? Oh yes, he thought, some lunatic had sprayed bullets into a car when he thought the music was too loud. It reminded him of a time years ago when he was with his precious wife Gloria, a beautiful girl from Cuba. They were taking a road trip in his Pontiac Bonneville which had come with a brand new 8 track player. They had pulled into a full service station outside of Baton Rouge. Birdland blasted from their car. He leaned over and kissed Gloria. Just then a rather nondescript man walked by. “Turn that Spic shit down!” he said loudly. Eddie complied, he felt sheepish. He was nineteen years old and had been married for a month. He wondered where that burst of hatred had come from.

He finished pumping his gas and pulled away. The music from the teenagers’ car still resonated in his ears. He liked a different kind of music but he’d be damned if he’d ever shoot somebody over such a ridiculous thing. “The world is a fucked up place” he said aloud. He hit the gas so hard his tires screeched. The advantages of a rental he thought. He thought about Gloria who had died of cancer years earlier. He knew she could never be replaced so he had never given it a second thought. He was married to his job ever since.

As he hit the entrance ramp to 87 south, Tito came on the radio. It was “Jam En El Bario”. Eddie hit the gas hard and wondered aloud, “aren’t we all our brother’s keeper?”. A light rain had begun to fall.

Get off the cell phone and Drive! — Jake Shween