Militaristic Obligations

There may be worse plagues through out mankind’s history than the epidemic of the rich kid. The handful of those worse incidents includes the waves of death and destruction in the form of plagues, disease outbreaks, and wars, that engulf the world and plunge entire nations and continents into chaos. And yet they only compare to the humiliation descended upon us by the consistent belligerent lack of compression of the pampered and spoiled group of wealthy younger people. Caged within the school systems their remarks often consist complaints such as “this sucks,” “I hate this,” and “I don’t want to do that.” The unimaginable suffering and deprivation of being  forced out of the comfort and leisure of their own homes, and into the real world, descends on the usually pampered group of students. There are no basement theatres or luxury pool tables to waste the time away, only the wobbly foose ball table with about two missing players. They are forced into a militaristic routine of having classes in blocks and having only small periods in between classes. To acknowledge their lesser ranks in this system they must refer to the teachers and staff as Mr. or Mrs, something completely outside the realm of normal comprehension. While they are permitted lunch once a day during their six and a half hour tenure, and usually spent driving their parents cars to wherever they desire, they are however forced back for one last block before the day is out. This privilege is sometimes suspended however, as some students may be required to catch up on missing work, or complete unfinished assignments. Their education is also enforced as if they can not just depend on their parents for the rest of their lives. They are forcibly required to complete several dull and useless math and social study courses through their stay in the public education system, in order to graduate. Because playing x-box and living with their parents isn't considered a respectable future, they are forced to take courses and plan a post secondary education. Duty, obligation and sacrifice, are the words that echo down the ranks of our public education system. In these prison like camps our younger generations of society are being forcibly contained and made to complete something other than a video game with their time.

The Cold War of the Modern Day Cowboy

     The dynamic 1980’s hit “Modern Day Cowboy” by Tesla was a captivating and inspirational melody considered by many to be one of the top ten songs of the decade. Their song is still a pleasure to the ear, concocted with many deep, powerful, and enriching poetic devices. At the start of the song the similes “Cold as ice” and “Hard as stone” compares the facial complexion and presence of the cowboy as he enters town. This first analogy builds on the mood first cast by the initial setting being dark and stormy as “the thunder rolled” across the jet black skies. The mood is furthered into anger and hate as the song progresses as the cowboy walks into the room, proceeded by “another man who was bitter the same way.” The onomatopoeia bang bang is used to emphasis the atmosphere, as the cowboy featured “shoot’s ‘em up” in the no man’s land of the cowboy of the modern day. A metaphor is made comparing the USA and the USSR as two cowboys and with “their six guns to their sides” personifies this analogy. There are also several allusions made to the Cold War. “So here we are and we’ve come this far, but it’s only getting worse” is the first allusion to the Cold War as this song was written at the height of the war in 1986. This describes how the war has yet to yield bloodshed despite spanning over the last forty years, and was only then reaching its climax. The Berlin Wall was the symbolic barrier that separated the communist East and the Western world and the allusion is made to the famous artwork painted, in seeing “the message written on the wall.” The six guns at the sides of the cowboys symbolizes and alludes to the military might, power and precision that the nations’ wield and how they were readied for war, just as a loaded guns is. The sensational tune from the 1980’s that captured the essence of the drama and intensity of the Cold War was flavour-fully written with intriguing poetic devices.   

Stormy night under jet black skies, Billy pulls into town
The thunder rolled and the lightning bolts come crashin' to the ground
Cold as ice, hard as stone, as he walks into the room
With another man who was feeling the same way, all hell's breakin' loose
Bang bang, shoot 'em up, bang bang, blow you away
[Chorus:]
It's a showdown in the no man's land, for the cowboy of the modern day
Come sundown, don't be hangin' round, 'cos the cowboy'll blow you away
Al Capone and the Bad Boy Jones, on the wrong side of the law
Johnny D and his company, always first to the draw,
Gangster lean, feelin' so mean, try to take more than their share
'Cos all they saw was ruling it all, the scent of blood was in the air
[Chorus]
[Solo]
So here we are and we've come this far, but it's only getting worse
Foreign lands with their terrorist demands, only cause the good to hurt
The U.S.A., the U.S.S.R., with their six-guns to their side
I see the message, written on the wall, too much anger deep inside
Bang bang, shoot 'em up, bang bang, blow you away
[Chorus]
It's a showdown!

Revenge Walks the Dim Light.

     The room fell immediately silent except for the clink of a glass being set down on a heavy wooden table. Like a shadow, the man who walked through the entrance, loomed across the room. His curly beard framed his wild, billowing hair that spilled out from under his travel worn hat.With the poorly lit room, his eyes were forced to squint, giving them a sharpness that pierced the room's awkward silence like a broad headed arrow. He was clad in a heavy leather jacket with the crisply folded collar jutting out. His hands, forged of steel, tensed at his sides. A wide glossy black belt crossed his waist, with a heavy square silver belt buckle that gleamed and sparkled even in the dim and gloomy light. His rough tanned face was unmarred, yet stained with a look of having seen far too much for his age. The eyes of the men sitting at the saloon's tables and benches darted like wild animals trying to escape his hawk eyed gaze. Heavy thumps of leather boots on rough floorboards echoed as he crossed the room. He stopped to pick up a glass of whiskey from a table, belonging to a visably shaken looking old man. With one swift swig, the glass was emptied. The clank of the glass being set down on the table was once again the only noise to break the silence. His thumb teased the brass hilt of his six-shooter.

My Life Altering Altercations

Being a creative, talented and insightful person, many of my works have become worldly recognized and cherished. It is I after all, who always wins the annual Alaskan Ice Sculpting Competition. I was accepted to the University of Paris. Also working for museums around the world, I devote my time to sculpt a variety of historical recreations. On Wednesday’s I devote my time to teaching Beethoven, Shakespeare, and other well known literature to children in underdeveloped nations. I like to listen to ACDC. On Tuesday’s I help many immigrants from Russia learn our culture, as I speak French in Russian.

     Fascinating to women is my devilish talent of being able to eyeball the torque of a lug nut. I am capable of changing a tire. Through my mechanical and engineering genius I have carefully redesigned many of the cars for Ferrari, for without me they would be hopeless. On Thursday’s I attend rugby practices. I lit my back pack on fire while playing with a Zippo lighter. I trained the Navy Seals instead of the Marines, because they, the Marines, complained too much. I can reach the bowls in the top cupboards, travel across the country without a road map, and diffuse bombs for the bomb squad. I am the one who got rid of the mullet.

     I can cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner in about an hour, using nothing more than a barbeque lighter. I taught Einstein how to remember his formulas, Henry Ford the assembly line, and Shakespeare how to rhyme. I am an abide woodcarver, and rhinoceros dentist. I drive a Ford Ranger.  On Monday’s after school to relax, I break ice cubes with a ball peen hammer, and break walnuts between my knuckles. I can balance a pop can on the end of a broom handle. I can ask the awkward questions. I can always predict who is going to win this season’s Super Bowl at the start of every season. I don’t have an X-box. When I’m bored, usually on Saturday’s, I build full sized replica medieval castles out of sugar cubes in my back yard.

     I enjoy painting ceilings, turning cars into transformers, and playing hide and seek with terrorists in the Middle East, even though I always loose because I can never find them. I like to read auto trader magazines. On Friday’s I hold jousting tournaments using brooms and wearing hockey gear, while riding on dirt bikes. I can’t skate very well, but I can make ice sculptures out of frozen potatoes. I can talk in a funny German accent. I have sung opera performances in the Whitehouse, made speeches from the top of the Pyramids of Giza, and tobogganed down from the top of Mt. Everest. They named Doritos Sweet Chili Heat after me. I make model airplanes, and I’ve worked as a hydro-ceramics technician. I’ve taught the Vancouver Canucks how to golf, and given relationship advice to Tiger Woods on Sunday's.  

The one thing I have yet to accomplish in my longevities is to attend a post secondary institution.

Showdown

     Curley stalked out of the barn looking white as a ghost. He paced around the yard with his hands plastered to his forehead, as he turned and looked back into the barn at his wife still lying in a motionless heap. A look of pure rage grasped him, and he turned and looked George straight in the eye.
     "I'm gona' kill that crazy big bastard!"
     "You don't think about touchin' Lennie, it ain't his fault he's as dumb as a stone" Yelled George looking into Curley's face as it turned red as a brick.
"I'm gonna tear him apart limb from limb" screamed Curley in retaliation.
"You're as blind as a bat if you can't see he didn't mean it."
"Are you as dense as a lead brick! He killed my wife, you ain't stopping me!"
The other men stood in the door way looking puzzled and confused not knowing what to do or say. It was now a Mexican standoff, as the two glared at each other. Curly being a loose cannon grabbed ahold of George and started to shake him like a rag doll, they hit the dirt and became entangled as a ball of string. Fists started flying as they continued their tumble across the ground and into the barn. Being as careful as a bull in a china shop, tools and equipment hanging on the walls were sent flying across the barn.
"You're putting the last nail in your coffin too George" Curley squealed like a pig as George socked him. Curley picked up a big hammer that was knocked to the ground and swung and missed, the hammer's blunt nose leaving a large dent in the wooden post, followed by a loud ringing. Blood was pouring from Curley's forehead as he now looked bent out of shape.
     "Why do you keep on fighting," panted Curly,"you know that he's done for, he's going to get strung up for murder."
     "I can't let that happen to Lennie, he didn't mean it" cried out George as tears started falling.
     Just then Slim, Carlson, and Whit pried the two combatants apart and pulled them away from each other. Both were panting like a pair of dogs, and around their eyes were starting to swell. A glum look crossed Georges face, as he realized that Curley was right.
    "I...I just can't... I just can't let nobody get Lennie, he's my friend, he's all i got."
    "Look," whispered Slim, "He's right, nobodies going to see this the way you do, no jury is going to believe him innocent. Even if they did they'd still be in favor of stringing him up. You got to look at it from their point of view. I'm sorry George, there's nothing else I can do or say to change anything." Curley, collapsed to the ground and started to sob like a baby, moaning and sniffling, while hitting the ground with his fists. With glowing red puffed eyes Curley looked up from the ground and looked up to the sky.
     "I never even got to tell her that I loved her."
     "Look I've got to go and find Lennie, it's best that I be the one to find him, he won't know whats going on if someone else does." whispered George into Slim's ear with a cupped hand. Slim only nodded and looked gravely back at George. George then slipped outside the circle of men, and crept past and around the barn outside of view. He the started to run like the wind with the glowing sun at his back.

Unproportional and Falsely Aclaimed

     In a completely horrible portrayal, Lennie was inaccurately played in the film Of Mice and Men. The novel written by John Steinbeck created a character who was supposed to be the stereotypical big, slow and stupid guy. He was envisioned to be well into his prime, a strong and capable worker, unlike the poorly cast character seen in the feature. Lennie was only a fair margin taller in  height compared to the other men, and was nowhere near as large in stature as Lennie was portrayed to be. The much older and nearly bald Lennie did not meet the expected criteria, as he was much more slim and of only an average build. The image of Lennie in the written saga had the deep and heavy voice of a large man, but in the feature film he once again didn't meet his expected grandeur, coming up short with his squeaky, feeble and stuttering voice. The only accurate depiction of him was his shy fascination of Curly's wife, as he peeked from the corner of his eye at her her at their first introduction, and again when he hid behind one of the posts in the barn and peered around it as she attempted to talk to him. However, Lennie was again inaccurately seen to be more violent than the book suggested. During his fight with Curly he snapped into a violent rage making him the aggressor not seen in the book. Also, during his struggle with Curly's wife he turns again immediately violent, threatening her to be quiet as he puts her into a headlock and covering her mouth, once again targeting him as an aggressor. Lennie was inaccurately portrayed in not only his physical appearance and stature, along with his behavior described the the novel.

Forgotten Amusement

     Jim sat down on the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table, and pulled out the morning paper. His wife Clair sat next to him and sipped her coffee, not saying anything. A sour look crossed her face as she frowned. A considerable time past as Jim read the morning paper.
    "So did you hear about the break and enter last night?" Jim asked his wife in an attempt to break the agonizing silence.
    "No" she sniffed in remark.
    With a great sigh he replied "I take it that you are still mad at me then?"  
    Followed by another sniff as she looked the other way she smirked "No, why would I be?"
    "Look," exclaimed Jim "I said I was sorry."
    "You forgot our anniversary!" bellowed Clair as she turned to look at him with fiery eyes.
    "I know" mumbled Jim into his hands, "I know." With hands collapsing to his knees he exclaimed "you know how things have been with work lately. I've just been swamped." With his wife still glaring at him he blurted "why did it have to be on a Thursday?"
    "How could you forget!"
    "I...I said I was sorry," Jim exclaimed, "I promise to make it up to you. This weekend I promise to take you out to dinner...just the two of us...at...at the Le Chateau Fleur De Restaurant!"
     Rolling her eyes Clair mocked " Oh really?"
     "Yes!, Yes!, I'll get on the phone and book a reservation right away" Jim declared, as he got up and rushed through the door and into the kitchen. Leaving a still disgruntled Clair to sip her coffee alone on the couch.From the kitchen came the rasp of the telephone book being flipped through and numbers on the telephone being punched. "Yes hello" Jim's voice echoed from the other room,"I would like to make a reservation for two for tonight please." A short pause followed before Jim replied "Seven O'clock would be just perfect! Thank you!" A huge sigh then followed from the kitchen. He walked back into the living room with an uncertain look on his face not knowing to smile or grimace. Clair sat there looking at him with one eyebrow raised as if to signal something to him.
     "You haven't forgotten anything else have you?"
     "Um...Oh! John, yeah I'll phone his grandmother and see if she can look after him tonight." Jim reassured himself. Jim then went back to the kitchen and made another phone call. He came and sat himself back down onto the couch beside his wife.
     "Everything is set then?" questioned Clair.
     "Yes of course!" Jim hastily replied. Clair gave him an amused smile as she got up and left the room. Jim sat on the couch and let out another sigh of relief as he rubbed his  forehead.

Better than a Can of WD-40

     For a considerable time I have been unrecognized as just another person who's grandmother considers is "a handsome young man." To the contrary, when I was a young boy, I was left unattended in my father's shop full of tools and machines, and my fascination took ahold of me. I couldn't help but to satisfy the compulsion to just start digging through all of the fascinating and obscure looking tools and what they might possibly be for. I recalled my father taking apart his complicated looking machines and fixing them using the various tools I now had at hand. Once again compulsion took over me and I couldn't help but to just start using tools where ever they fit on my dad's shiny dirt bike that appeared to be made of yet more fascinating components.Soon enough parts and pieces and nuts and bolts were being stripped off this once vibrant sleek orange bike, now reduced to a bare frame and wheels, as the motor was strewn about the shop benches and counters, in pieces everywhere. Just as I was about to take out the last remaining bolt, my heart dropped, I heard my dad's footsteps go crunch, crunch on the gravel driveway. This is when I learned my true talent and identity as Mr. Fix It. Within seconds parts and pieces, nuts and bolts starting flying back together to the harmonious tune of wrenches and sockets and screw drivers being torqued and pulled upon. Just as my dad opened the door and stepped back into the shop, I had finished threading in the last bolt to the gas tank of the once again completed vibrant orange bike. None the less I was blamed for the fact that tools were now spread and emptied out of his toolbox and I was covered in oil, but he never suspected the reason why his dirt bike ran so much better. I continued with my mechanical endeavours since then, rebuilding and fixing cars and making other small engine repairs. So if there is a time perhaps when you are broken down and stuck on the side of the road, or if you are embarrassed by the poorly operating and usualy unreliable used car that your parents bought you because it was cheap, do not fear. I am here, and can help you, unless it's a Dodge.