Drug Court

So there I was, privately walling in my own personal pool of pity, misery, and woe, when I heard a voice as if from heaven. Alas, it was only the clerk over the P.A. system telling me to contact the pod. I staggered from my bunk across the day room to use the intercom next to the door to "contact the pod" as ordered, which upon doing I am informed that I have court. "No I don't" I replied to which the clerk assured me that I was on the list and needed to get ready to go. This actually happened last week, not that it really matters . . .

Now flashback to some point earlier this year. Let's pick February since I cannot remember the exact date. Now picture the above scenario being played out again, except this is the first time it happened, and I was young and inexperienced. Thus I was beguiled by the clerk and was led away to court. The process of going to court involves getting shacked up and then waiting for an interminable amount of time in a holding cell with a bunch of deaf kids. I assume they were hard of hearing based on the excessive volume of their conversations. It's mandatory that you be kept in this holding cell until a headache develops beofre you're alloed into the courtroom. I think this is a strategy of the system to ensure you can't think clearly and see through the system's shenanigans before it's too late.

It was finally my turn. The guard came to get me from the holding cell and points to his list and asks me to confirm that he's got the right person. I look at eh list and sure enough, there's my name clear as day. But wait! Fortunately by divine intervention - for it could be nothing less - I spotted the discrepancy. The name listed was "Brian L. Christensen." My middle initial is "C." I was only too happy to point this out to him. I neglected to mention that this is happening in the courtroom, before the jedge, where I had been led from the holding cell but prior to the list confirmation snafu. So the guard calls out to the many people in the auience asking if there's anyone there by that name. As it happened there was. The other me was in the audience. I was returned to the holding cell to await my eventual return to my unit, which came, eventually.

Having spent nearly an entire day sitting in a holding cell while chackled up is not something I wanted to reapet again, with or without reason. Being shackled involves cuffs on your ankles connected by a chain just long enough to allow you to sheffle around from here to there, but just short enough to prevent you from crossing your legs while sitting down. It also involves your wrists being cuffed to your waist. Needless to say - although I'm going to say it anyway - using the toilet while shackled is right out.

Returning to the present, I once again successfully convinced the powers that be that they were trying to haul the wrong one off to drug court. "Once again?" the more astute readers may wonder. Yes once again indeed. All together this made the fifth time this has happened. Luckily I wised up after the first unfortunate incident and never had to return to drug court by mistake again once I started insisting they confirm which me they were actually seeking. Five times. It's ridiculous. And these are the people running our law enforcement. It can only be a sign that the Second Coming is nearer than ever.

The Power of One (Continued)

I finished "The Power of One" today. I really liked this book. Although I would not recommend it to those with delicate sensibilities due to its unsheltered nature, the writing was excellent and the many life lessons and nuggets of wisdom have left me feeling better for having read it. A powerful drama of South African life in the WWII era. There are way too many good passages to include them all here, but I want to quote several of them.

You've got to be quick on your feet in this world if you want to survive. Though once you know the rules, it is not too hard to play the game.

There comes a time in everything when you don't know something.

Sometimes we live a lifetime in two days.

Life is all beginnings and ends. Nothing stays the same.

To love music is everything. First I will teach you to love music, after this slowly we shall learn to play.

In this world are very few things made from logic alone. It is illogical for a man to be too logical. Some things we must just let stand. The mystery is more important than any possible explanation. The searcher after truth must search with humanity. Ruthless logic is the sign of a limited mind. The truth can only add to the sum of what you know, while a harmless mystery left unexplored often adds tot he meaning of life. When a truth is not so important, it is better left as a mystery.

We need only one winner for a start. One guy you can rely on to win. The rest is easy. The rest is only good management. When men can be made to hope, then they can be made to win.

We are not creating a business situation, we are merely exploiting one. Not to do so would be tantamount to sheer neglect, almost criminal if you ask me.

There are two important rules of business; knowing when to get in and when to get out. Of the two, knowing when to get out is the more important.

It's not what a man does, it's what a man is that counts.

I was seldom concerned with winning a particular light; instead I was cultivating the habit of winning. Winning is a state of mind that embraces everything you do, so I found I won in other things as well.

Doc had thought me the value of being the odd man out: the man who senses that there is an essential collective sanity to humans and who assumes the role of the loner, the thinker, and the searching spirit who calls the privileged and the powerful to task. The power of one was based on the courage to remain separate, to think through to the truth, and not to be beguiled by convention or the plausible arguments of those who expect to maintain power.

Movie would contend that anything, no mater how banal, could be raised to the level of intelligent debate if they minds that attended to it were good enough. He told the story of the little cobbler in a shtetl in Russia who was spreading honey on a piece of bread when the bread fell to the floor. To his amazement the bread fell right side up. "How can this be?" he said, and with the slice of bread in his hand he ran to consult the rabbi and the village elders. "We are Jews in Russia, how can it be that I spread honey on my bread and when it fell to the floor it landed right side up? Since when did luck such as this come to a Jew?" The rabbi and the elders pondered the point for several days, consulting the Torah frequently. Finally they called the little cobbler to the synagogue. The rabbi pronounced the verdict: "The answer my boy is quite clear. You honeyed your bread on the wrong side." We had all cawed and moaned at the story, but Movie, as usual, had made his point: good conversational debate is an end in itself, and talking for the love of conversation is what makes us human.

The music of Africa is too wild, too free, too accustomed to death for romance. Africa is too crude a stage for the small scratching of the violin, too majestic for the piano. Africa is only right for drums. The drum carries its rhythm but does not steal its music. Timpani is the background, the music of Africa is in the voices of the people. They are its instruments, more subtle, more beautiful, infinitely more noble than the scratching, thumping, banging, and blowing of brass and wind and vellum, strings and keyboard.

I suppose that taken out of context, there bits may lose some of their air. I hope though that at least one of them rant true for you and caused you to think about it. If not then at least you killed some time.

You're just jealous because the voices only talk to me.

The Power of One (Letter)

Today I was reading "The Power of One" by Bryce Courteney and I came across a great passage. It is the story of a young boy's life in Africa during World War II as he grows up and seeks to become a boxing champion. At the point of this passage, one of his mentors and teachers is imprisioned unjustly and with the boy's help begins an underground postal service for the prisoners. This is what he says to the boy:

"When man is brutalized in such a place like this, always he is looking for small signs. The smallest sign that someone is worried for him to like a fire on the dark mountain. When a man knows somebody cares, he keeps some small place, a corner maybe of his soul, clean and lit."

I suppose I really like this because I can identify with it so well. To all of you who have written to me, I give my sincere thanks. You've all been like a fire on a dark mountain for me. Being reminded that you care helps me keep the spark of hope alive through this dark period of my life.

Never underestimate The Power of One . . . letter. :)

Extended Stay Approval

"They were the best of times; they were the worst of times" - except for the part about the best of times. I guess I've been a good resident at this gated community, for management today invited me to stay for a while longer - 195 months in fact. The good news is that as an extended stay resident, I now qualify for an upgrade to a more prestigious facility. The decision of which facility I will be transferred to, as well as the actual transfer will likely take 6-8 weeks. Those of you who have nothing better to do but write to me may continue to do so at the listed address in the meantime. Just remember to put a stamp on the envelope (not to accuse Alan of doing precisely that or anything). :)

The past week has been hard. I've been mentally and emotionally drained. So many thoughts and emotions in a chaotic frenzied stampede running around unchecked. If I were likened unto a vehicle traveling along the road of life amidst the traffic with everyone else, mine would be the one overturned in the ditch at the side with the wheels spinning uselessly. Luckily, some of the other vehicles on this road are tow trucks, and luckily there is a repair shop open 24/7 which can mend and heal almost any damage. The price can be tough to swallow, and the repair time varies with the damage, but it's always worth it in the end.

I apologize to those of you who are scratching your heads wondering what in tarnation - what IS tarnation anyway? - that last paragraph was about. Those of you quicker on the uptake will recognize the metaphorical religious point of it all. The rest of you can just nod your head in a manner suggesting that you understand, even when you really don't, just to avoid admitting that yo u're clueless. Moving on.

I would like to welcome you all to this new paragraph, which has been expressly designed to be easy to understand. Unfortunately, I used the entire budget on simple language, and I couldn't afford to include anything interesting or with a point.

I apologize to my readers for the uselessness of the previous paragraph. The writer has been sacked. I hope to bring you the next entry soon with an entirely new, and hopefully high quality writer.

I used to have a handle on life, but it broke.

Drowning Cat

Currently I am bunkies with Brett Whitehead. He seems to have lately come down with a case of "drowning cat." This is the malady where a person unconsciously sings - a generous and liberal way of putting it - to the radio with headphones on. While to themselves they might think they sound pretty good, to the rest of us the effect is more excruciating. Thus the appropriate name of "drowning cat." It tends to show its symptoms at odd times, such as 2 am, when everyone else is asleep except for me because I'm taking advantage of the quiet to read. Well I suppose there are worse sounds - highly unflattering ones in fact - that are a staple amongst the night time sounds in this cozy little 48 man warehouse of a bedroom. So I won't complain any more, at least for now.

To Read or Not to Read

Remember that one time, at band camp . . .? Oh wait, that's a story for another day. But seriously, remember a short while back when I mentioned that I had begun reading Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar"? Well, that has been indefinitely postponed. Or perhaps it's more appropriate to say that it has definitely been postponed. It's sort of a case of the eyes being larger than the stomach, except in this case the eyes are my ambition, and the stomach is my brain. If only I could paint two images side by side for you. I would caption the left one "This is your brain." Under the right one, "This is your brain on Shakespeare." And underneath both, "Any Questions?" I will leave the pictures up to your imagination.

Whining

Sometimes - okay, most of the time lately - I get really tiered of everyone's whining around here. I find myself just wanted to slap some people in the hopes it might break them out of their little tantrums. I wonder at the emotional immaturity and blatant stupidity that pervades those who surround me. That, more than anything I think is my true punishment. Of course, I'm here too. So I guess that doesn't say a lot about me - or maybe it does . . . Suddenly the people of Wal-Mart (peopleofwalmart.com) don't seem as far down the social ladder as I once thought. I'm looking forward to much improved living arrangements. That should be happening sometime in the next couple months. If I didn't have my radio and headphones, I'm fairly sure some sort of protective mechanism would have activated in my brain by now to shield me from over loading.

Speaking - Or writing, as it were, or in fact is - of radio. There is a new song out by Rhianna and Eminem which has quite caught my fancy. I think it's titled "Love the Way You Lie." I've always been partial to Eminem's rhyming and I really like Rhianna's voice. The ending lyric is my favorite - the part about setting the house on fire - just because it seems contradictory to the rest of the song lyric. It makes me laugh every time I hear it.

Some people are alive only because it's illegal to kill them.

Happy Birthday Amy!

Today is my sister Amy's birthday. While it passed uneventfully for me, I hope she had a good day. I am reminded of her birthday last year for which I took her out to dinner at Tempanyaki. It was yummy of course. Unfortunately I can't join in the celebration in person this year due to an unscheduled conflict that came up . . . But I'm sure my family will fill me in on the details of the celebration. Until then I will just celebrate on my own. I ate some Hostess chocolate cupcakes in honor of the day. Happy Birthday, Amy!

Getting older is like visiting an all-you-can-eat buffet. What should be hot is cold, what should be firm is limp, and the buns are bigger than anything else on the menu.

The Birds and the Bees for Computer Nerds

A little boy goes to his father and asks, "Daddy, how was I born?" The father answers, "Well son, I guess on e day you will need to find out anyway. Your Mom and I first got together in a chat room on Yahoo. Then I set up a date via email with your mom and we met at a cyber cafe. We sneaked into a secluded room and Googled each other. There your mother agreed to a download from my hard drive. As soon as I was ready to upload, we discovered that neither of us had used a firewall, and since it was too late to hit the delete button, 9 months later a little pop-up appeared that said: You've got male!"