Monthly Archives: May 2013

Jocks Over Books?

PublicEmployees

A recent examination of state salary databases, coupled with media reports, has proven one of my worst nightmares to be true: coaches are among the highest-paid public employees.  I’m not talking book coaches, or lifestyle coaches.  Of the thousands of state employees, 27 football coaches, 13 basketball coaches and 1 hockey coach rest comfortably atop the heap.  These are collegiate coaches, not high school or grade school folks.  The study point out that most of the money comes – not from taxes – but revenue the teams’ generate.  But, it also highlights that even the most mediocre of coaches can earn millions of dollars, while athletes can suffer near-fatal injuries, and that collegiate sports money rarely ends up in the coffers of the overall university system.  Now, I know why the U.S. keeps sliding down the academic pole, while even some “Third World” nations are climbing up.  Sad, so sad!  Pray for the poor children who are blessed with bigger brains than muscles.  Our education system keeps tossing them by the wayside.

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Best Quote of the Week

“And, I know there are a lot of moms out there who often go without the care they need, or the checkups they know they should get because they’re worrying about that co-pay that has to go to gas or to groceries or to the new soccer uniform instead. …So, we decided that needed to change.  In a country as wealthy as this one, there was no reason why a family’s security should be determined by the chance of an illness or an accident.  We decided to do something about it.”

– President Obama, about the Affordable Health Care Act, on Friday, May 10.

Obama went on later to say that pregnancy will not be considered a “pre-existing condition” under the Act, which was undoubtedly the best part of his speech.

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Worst Quote of the Week

“It’s no secret that our nation may very well be experiencing the hand of judgment.  It is no secret that we all are concerned that our nation may be in a time of decline.  Our nation has seen judgment not once, but twice, on September 11.  And, that’s why we’re going to have 911 pray on that day.  Is there anything better that we could do on that day rather than to humble ourselves and to pray to an Almighty God?”

Rep. Michele Bachmann of Minnesota, in a prayer service, stating that the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks and the ambush of the U.S. embassy in Benghazi, Libya on September 11, 2012 were both signs from God.

Once again, a right-wing extremist has belittled the tragedy of terrorism by dismissing it as “God’s judgment.”  This reminds me of the time when that other redneck asshole, Jerry Falwell, claimed the September 11, 2001 attacks were the results of God’s judgment on America because of abortion, homosexuality and other so-called deviancies.  Falwell eventually apologized for the comment, and I wonder how long it’ll take before Bachmann realizes her head is still not screwed on right.

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Most Convoluted Quote of the Week

“[Texas Gov. Sam Houston] made a powerful decision that cost him his governorship.  He was against slavery, and he stood up and very passionately said, ‘Texas does not need to leave the union over this issue of slavery.’  But, that’s the type of principled leadership, that’s the type of courage that I hope people across the country [will show] on this issue of scouts and keeping the Boy Scouts the organization that it is today.”

Texas Governor Rick Perry, equating the Boy Scouts’ anti-gay policies to the stand against slavery.

The list of idiotic statements from Perry’s mouth keeps getting longer and longer.  I cringe every time he speaks because – like Ted Nugent – I know it’s not going to make sense.  Lord, please deliver us from such madness!  Lord?  Are you listening?  Goddamnit!

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Strangest Quote of the Week

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“Help, reproductive instinct, loneliness and quiet revenge on the church.  I cannot be a priest as a gay man, but I can reproduce myself as often as I want.”

– Markus K, a prolific German sperm donor, trying to explain himself.

The story broke recently in Munich’s “Abendzeitung,” or “Evening News.”  Markus K apparently has fathered 22 children with 17 lesbian women.  Two more of his children are supposedly due this summer.  I wish I could get paid for producing awesome sperm samples.  I mean, I know I’d make a butt-load of money.  Who would think manual labor could pay so well!  But, alas, I have a greater responsibility to society, as a whole, than to believe my sperm cells must be preserved like seeds in the “Doomsday Seed Vault.”  I also don’t think a porn career would sit well with my family.  So, I’ll just have to stick with my homemade videos.  Just so Markus and his overactive hands will know – YOU’RE NOT THAT SPECIAL!  Bringing children into the world is no way to wreak revenge on a church, you dumb ass!

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Funniest Quote of the Week

“I’m going to get in trouble, but I’ll just tell you.  He is so gay.  John Travolta is so gay.  He’s not just gay.  He doesn’t just like men.  He is like Oscar Wilde gay.  Like Lord Byron gay.  That kind of crazy, incredibly flamboyant gay.  I know him well because I did a movie with him and worked with him for a year.  I feel bad for him because I know he would be much happier if he could just come out.  But he can’t.”

– Comic Margaret Cho, during a concert in Australia.

Damn, I’d love to hear what she has to say about Tom Cruise!  He’s kind of like Mitt Romney gay.

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Attack-of-the-Mushroom-People

This year marks the 50th anniversary of the release of one of my favorite movies: “Attack of the Mushroom People.”  It’s sort of “Gilligan’s Island” meets “Little Shop of Horrors” with a touch of “Nosferatu.”  First released in Japan in August 1963 under the title “Matango,” the film had a limited run in American theatres as “Attack of the Mushroom People” two years later; before appearing on American television shortly thereafter.  I saw it on TV one summer afternoon in the mid-1970s, during my grade school years, and took an instant liking to it.  That was around the same time I first read Anne Rice’s “Interview with the Vampire.”  A woman who worked with my mother convinced her I was mature enough to read that book, so my mother let me.  And, I developed a lustful fascination with the book.  Thus, commenced my yearning for the darker sides of life and – in case you were wondering – explains a lot about me.

“Mushroom People” begins quietly.  A psychiatrist is summoned by a colleague to a Tokyo mental hospital.  They’re perplexed by a new arrival; a young man recently plucked from a boat floating aimlessly off the Japanese coast.  He mumbles incoherently; apparently the only survivor of an ill-fated pleasure cruise.  He’s quarantined and speaks from the shadows of a dimly-lit room.  But, he finally starts to relay his story; taking us back…back to when it all started on a bright, sunny day.  He and some friends had decided to take a brief trip aboard a yacht.  An unexpected storm (as if there’d be any other kind) swamps the vessel and slams it onto the shores of an island.  The tale takes an ominous turn when one of the men announces that he can’t find the island on any of his maps.  Things get creepier, though, when the castaways happen upon the wreck of an old ship not far from their damaged yacht.  They decide to take refuge aboard it and are surprised to discover journals left by the crew.  The journals reveal something even more mysterious: the island is shrouded in fog most of the year.  And, they also offer a warning: don’t consume any of the mushrooms that grow on the island!  No, don’t!  Seriously!  Don’t!  Aw, hell – you know that warning comes too late.  But, it gets worse – much worse.  The assemblage soon has the collective feeling that they’re being watched.  They begin hearing strange sounds in the night and think they see movement in the thick foliage.  The movie score – heavily laden with organs and water phones – tells you every step is one movement closer to disaster.  Then, all hell breaks loose, and the term ‘magic mushrooms’ takes on a more perverted connotation.

I like the movie in the same twisted way I like “Barbarella,” which came out five years later.  It’s pure campy sci-fi stuff.  You can’t take it seriously, despite the facial expressions of the performers.  But, I’m certain the cast and crew of such films have fun with it during production.  As a writer, though, I’m naturally curious about the state of mind the original scribes were in when they conjured up the story.  “Barbarella” was based on a French comic strip.  I can only surmise the screenplay for “Attack of the Mushroom People” was composed by some hermit with a vengeance against humanity.  I can empathize.  We writers are a curious lot, but we can also be dangerous.  Trust me.

As silly as the plot sounds, this is one movie I’d definitely like to see remade.

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One More Time

By Alejandro De La Garza

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“May I help you?”  Lakesha didn’t know what to think of the young woman just standing outside the building.  She looked lost.

“I’m sorry,” the young woman finally said.  “I’m Miranda.”

“Oh!” shouted Lakesha, her head rolling back.  She let out a boisterous laugh, then quickly put her hand over her mouth.  She had the habit of laughing too loudly; a result, she always said, of growing up in a large family where everyone talked at once.  She shook Miranda’s hand.  “I’m Lakesha.”

“Glad to meet you finally.”

“Absolutely!”  Miranda had called just this morning, wanting to take a tour of the building.  Lakesha thought she could make another sale, on a Friday of all days!  Fridays had been slow, which allowed her to catch up on paperwork.  Units in the building were selling faster than expected.

It stood only five stories; an 80-year-old structure that had seen better days until developers bought it.  Actually, the entire neighborhood had seen better days.  But, gentrification efforts had peeled away the grime and revealed a unique character.  It was happening all over the city; new money breathing life into older areas.

Lakesha liked this particular building more than most others where she’d set up shop previously.  It had its own personality; its own distinct nature.  Just walking into it made her feel it was alive long before the carpenters and plumbers had rampaged through it.  Her desk in the leasing office sat directly beside a large window.  She just happened to glance up, for no reason, and spot Miranda.

She was petite; her mocha brown hair cascading gently to her shoulders; dark green eyes that reminded Lakesha of a Margaret Keane painting.

“I just wanted to take a look around the building, if that’s alright,” Miranda said, her hands clasped together; a small red leather purse mired between them.

Lakesha thought the purse looked outdated.  In fact, everything about Miranda looked outdated, from the hair with the slight bump on top (á la Jackie Onassis) to the black shoes with pointed toes and 3-inch spiked heels.  But, she wasn’t a fashion designer; she was a real estate agent and she’d learned long ago never to underestimate someone by how they dressed.  Her own brother got nasty looks when he’d walked into a luxury car dealership several years ago wearing jeans and a ball cap.  “Okay!” Lakesha beamed.  “Absolutely!” she added, using one of her favorite words.  Some of her colleagues deplored that, but she didn’t care.  Real estate, especially in this city, commanded outsized descriptions.

They stepped past the office and into the main lobby.  The old tile floors had been ripped out and replaced with terracotta.  One designer had proposed marble; saying it would give the apartment building more of an upscale feeling.  But, the developers insisted on terracotta.  Lakesha was thankful for that.  The terracotta made the building stand out from others she’d seen; a solitary attribute that simply declared, ‘I’m different.’

“It was built in the late 1920s,” Lakesha said.  “They wanted to tear it down – the city, that is.  But, the property management company talked them out of it.  Thank God, huh!”

“Yes,” Miranda replied quietly.  “That would be a shame.”

“Oh, absolutely!  I hate to see that happen.”

“Yes, me, too.”  She glanced down for a few seconds, but then, turned her eyes to the vaulted ceiling.  “I just wanted to see it one more time.”

“Oh – okay.  I only have four units left – starting at ninety thousand.”

“Wow.”

“We bought the property next door and built that parking garage.  I know that may seem a bit much for a 5-story building.  But, we want to make all our residents comfortable.”

“I see.”

“I can show you one of the units we still have – if you’d like.”

“Oh, yes, of course.  That would be nice.  I really appreciate you taking me on such short notice.”

“Oh, absolutely!  No problem!  Give me just –” She started to head back to the office, when she realized she was holding her large bundle of keys.  It surprised her for a second.  “Ah!  Let’s try this one, on the fourth floor.  The elevators are over here.  Or would you rather take the stairs?”

“No, the elevator is fine.

“You know, I just can’t keep my nails even,” Lakesha noted, as the elevator hummed.  She held out her left hand, crimson nails jutting from each finger.  “I don’t know why.”

Miranda chuckled.  “Me neither.”

“I like your shoes.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“They look like a pair my mother used to have.”

Miranda grinned.

“Oh, I’m sorry!  That was so rude of me to put it like that.”

Miranda chuckled.  “No, that’s okay.  No offense.”

The elevator stopped, and Lakesha allowed Miranda to exit first.  “Okay, this unit actually needs just a few touch-ups,” she said, proceeding down the hall.  “The kitchen still has –”  She stopped.

They were on the fifth floor.

“Wait a minute,” muttered Lakesha.

Miranda looked unperturbed.

“I’m sorry.  I pushed the wrong button.”

“That’s okay.  I just wanted to see it one last time.”

“Well – oh!”  She jangled the keys.  “There’s a unit up here I can show you anyway.  They’re all the same size.”

The unit sat at the end of the hallway.  The late afternoon sun floated in through a large set of double doors, directly across from the entrance.  The light wound its way through the branches of a gigantic oak tree just outside the building.

“Oh, how lovely,” Miranda said, as she stepped into the front room.

“Everything is lovely about this place!  It’s an old building, but it has such a unique charm.”

“I know.”

“They all have so much floor space.  Notice how the living area opens up into the dining area, without seeming crowded.  Even with furniture, you’ll still have plenty of room to move around.  And, if you’ll look over here” – she headed towards the kitchen – “you can see how –” She stopped.

Miranda had moved towards the double doors that led onto the balcony.  The sunlight swallowed her tiny frame.

“Uh – those doors are new,” Lakesha finally said.  “So, are those patios.”

“Oh – I figured.”

“Yes, they just knocked out that part of the wall and then added the balconies.”

Miranda remained silent, still facing the doors.

Lakesha felt cold for a second.  “Let me show you the bedrooms.”

Miranda wheeled around.  “Okay.”

“Great!”

The master bedroom boasted two windows, a large walk-in closet and its own bathroom; two slightly smaller bedrooms each had one window.  Another bathroom sat between the two smaller bedrooms, just off the main room.  Sunlight wafted in through each bedroom window unimposingly; almost beckoning.  And, as she entered every bedroom, Miranda ambled to the windows – and just stood there.

Lakesha crossed her arms, as they lingered in the last bedroom, wondering what drew Miranda to the windows.  The young woman with the outdated hairstyle and shoes seemed to have no interest in any other feature of the rooms.  Lakesha glanced around and felt another slight chill.

It then dawned on Lakesha that she’d never asked Miranda for her driver’s license and made her sign in at the leasing office.  Management rules required both.  “Uh – I can show you the other amenities.  We have a workout center in the basement and a mail drop.”

“That’s okay,” Miranda finally said, turning around with a smile.  “I just wanted to see it one last time.  I don’t want to take up anymore of your day.  I really appreciate you taking me on such short notice.”

“Oh, like I said, no problem!  Let’s go back to the office, shall we?”

“Sure.”

“There’s a 10% deposit security requirement,” Lakesha stated, once back at her desk.

“Oh, no.  That won’t be necessary.”

“Excuse me?”

“I just wanted to see it one last time – before I go.”

Lakesha’s brow crinkled, almost involuntarily.  “One last time?  What does that mean?”

Miranda’s eyes dropped to the floor; looking especially sad.

Lakesha suddenly felt cold again.

“Well………………………………………………………this is where I died.”

© 2013

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Silence Hurts

Jeff Darcy 050413

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May 5, 2013 · 5:21 PM

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

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Today commemorates México’s independence from France in 1862, during the Battle of Puebla, in the midst of the Franco – Mexican War.  It’s often confused with México’s independence from Spain, which actually occurred in 1821 and is celebrated on September 16, or Diez y Seis de Septiembre.  México has the unique distinction of being the only country in the Western Hemisphere that honors its independence from two European super-powers.  But, as with every other nation in this part of the world, México’s history is written in blood.  And, just like the Fourth of July here in the U.S., its meaning goes far beyond mounds of food and gallons of alcoholic beverages.

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Above image courtesy José Sanchez Martinez.

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