misAdventures of Workmonkey 3.0

Finally got around to watching "The Pianist" last night. I'd been intentionally avoiding it due to my lack of interest in watching another Jew-triumph-of-spirit story. I've watched pretty much the same storyline countless times. I am not trying to sound callous, but I've seen the story, appreciated it, and now am looking for another angle. Here is the equation: Some souless, mindless, evil group of German Nazi soldiers storm an unsuspecting city during a beautiful Spring day in 1941. Usually by this point, the filmmakers have already established some blossoming Jewish romance and a loving Jewish family complete with a young newborn. Soon enough, the soldiers are ripping the families apart, separating old from young, husband from wife, and mother from child. Here we are introduced to the traditional scene of the new mother screaming insanely as the heartless Nazi soldier steals her baby. The mother has to be held back by her parents. Then the mother crumples to the ground, too horrified to stand. Next, we cut to the scene of people in the crowd being randomly shot in the head by the aformentioned evil Germans, who snicker and laugh as they do so. Final scene is of the crowd of Jews being shoved and beaten into a train car by these same inhuman Germans. The train doors are slammed shut, finally quieting the chaotic screams and cries of everyone. The German soldiers turn around and start to shoot the rest of the people randomly, laughing and giving each other high fives as they do so.

Then we move on to the triumph of the human spirit part of the story. Our hero (in this case Adrien Brody) uses his courage and enduring passion for something (in this case, the piano, though you can insert anything here, such as his wife, child, shoemaking business, etc.) to persist through the agony and incomprehensible pain of the Nazi occupation. Ultimately, he triumphs, and the movie closes on our hero reunited with his passion.

Now, again, I don't want to sound insensitive to the subject matter, but this story is as generic as a Hugh Grant/Sandra Bullock romantic comedy. I've seen it so many times, it has lost its emotional value. I don't care what the subject matter is, at least approach it creatively. It isn't the history itself, it is the way it is portrayed in movies. Show me something new. As example, the whole ripping apart the families at the train station scene is old. Film it from a different perspective, such as through the eyes of a German soldier or little kid or local whore or something.

Also, I get tired of the cliche portrayal of characters. The Nazis are all bad, horrible, soulless assholes who shoot people randomly without any remorse. Now, I am sure a few of them were like that, but everyone? Where are the German soldiers who were just trying to stay alive themselves, and didn't agree with the Nazi ideals? From all the reading i've done on WWII, that was a lot of them. And the Jews are always portrayed as intensely generous, selfless, loving angels who don't have a single flaw. I mean, people are people. Some of them had to be assholes. Am I wrong? Where are they? Some of them probably tried to sell the other ones out to save their own skin. Some of them were probably annoying. They never show these ones.

In truth, I want to see a story about the Holocaust without as much of the emotionalism and melodrama. I want it to be realistic. I want people to be like people really are. I want to see Adrien Brody bitching at everything that exists, mad at God and Germans and Jews and everything else. I don't want it to be the perfect example of goodness fighting the perfect example of evil. Stop worrying about how to tug on my heart strings and just show me people as they really are. My heart strings will be tugged in the process. I mean, there is so much you can do with the subject matter. Why go back to the same cookie cutter mold?

And what about other triumph of the human spirit topics. Aren't there people in Indonesia who have triumphed over pain? What about people in Africa. I know Pol Pot exterminated millions of Cambodians in the seventies. Where is that story? Let me see some of those so I can learn something new.

Suffice to say, "The Pianist" sucked as far as I was concerned. Cliche story, reviewing very powerful history topic with little insight. It won the awards it did only cause the Jews own Hollywood. If you wanna see a real movie about the Jewish/Nazi story, watch a new movie called "Max" with John Cusak. Now, that was an intelligent movie with some insight. It must have been funded by Catholics.

Thugs. They are everywhere. Everyday, you encounter them. I once thought that in order to be a thug here in the U.S. you had to black. I have sinced learned. Thugs can also be Mexican. Thugs cannot be Asian. A quick trip to the Daly City Century 20 Cineplex will reveal that. Asians everywhere. All of them trying to be thugs. Headbands, baggy jeans, addidas, doo rags, funny walks, oversized Miami Heat Jerseys, gaudy jewelry, bad grammar .. they have it all. But they look fake. They are not thugs.

Which brings me to rule 1. Thugs have to look scary. It is very, very hard for an Asian to look scary. At least in comparison to blacks and Mexicans. Even with all their gear on and their thuggish language, Asian wannabes still look like they are really good at math. Also, they are too small.

Which brings me to rule 2. Thugs cannot be under five feet tall, unless they carry a gat (gun in thug language). And Asians thugs don't like to carry gats. Even the Asians that can whoop me quickly (e.g. Jet Li) don't look scary. I mean, if I see Jet Li on the street, all 4 feet of him, and don't know who he is, I am not scared. Yes, I know he could rip my spine from my body and shove it down my esophogus while have sex with my ears, all before I could lift a finger .. but I wouldn't really have time to recognize that before I was killed by him ...

Which brings me to rule 3. Thugs cannot be from nice cities. I mean, thugs from Daly City? Come on. Thugs from Hunter's Point? Yes, I believe this. Thugs from Watts? Yes, I buy it. Thugs from Los Gatos by the old Ice Creamery? No, I don't believe it. Thus, we can conclude that thugs cannot be made, they must be born.

Which, naturally, leads us to the next rule (rule 4 for those of you not keeping track). Thugs can never be anything other than thugs. Give them money, fame, an education .. they are still thugs. This becomes especially apparant in the professional sports arena. Every day I visit espn.com and read a new story about a thug. This week alone ... thug stories everywhere. Darrell Armstrong from the Orlando Magic was arrested for assaulting a female officer outside a nightclub. Damon Stoudemire from the Portland Trailblazers was arrested (again) for trying to bring 40 grams of weed onto a plane. Denver Broncos tight end Dwayne Carswell was arrested for picking up his wife by the neck outside of a restaurant. As I look back over my last three examples, a new rule has occured to me.

Rule 5: To be a thug, it helps if the first letter of your first name is a D. Perhaps that is because black people like first names that begin with D. Darrell, Damon, Dwayne, DeShaun, Daunte, DaVon, etc. All thugs. Even worse, they are thugs with lots of money and cars and houses. All this, yet they still are thugs. My favorite are the real thugs who moonlight as professional athletes. Who can forget Bam Morris being arrested for having a trunk full of bricks of weed and guns? Or that Arizona Cardinals fullback who was recently arrested for running a major drug ring in Phoenix? I mean, you have all the money you could want and you are still running drugs? So, it is no coincidence that thug rhymes with drugs. The two are often closely intertwined.

Thugs are proud of their actions. They thrive on it. They are truly prideful of their poor grammar, financial problems, lack of education, prison terms, and violent, immature approach to conflict. To be a thug, you must be proven. And nothing proves you better than a stint in da Joint (State Prison thug terminology). Thus, thugs in training actually aspire to achieve signs of their thug stature. Education is a no-no. Proper English is a no-no. Responsibility is a no-no. Respect for authority and women is a no-no (I don't love ya ho as Snoop Dawg is fond of telling us).

Contrary to popular belief, thugs have a very neatly organized hierarchy, not to different from the military. As I take the J train to school each day, I will be sure to encounter at least one junior thug (Thug PFC). Junior thugs cannot be over twelve years old. Their behavior is already full of signs of extreme disrespect and hatred. Spitting on the seats, playing their boombox loudly rather than put on headphones, cursing at the Muni driver. Such behavior is becoming of a junior thug. They are not yet big enough or independant enough for truly damaging behavior, but it shall come in time, at which point they shall become an assistant thug in arms (Thug Sgt.)

This discussion will continue at a later date. I'd like to give you all a chance to go through a day observing thug behavior before continuing. Perhaps you will gain some insight into their world and culture. Experience is better than my words. Thug 4 life!

To you humorless people who took insult from my last blog on thugs: You've managed to forget a founding principle of my entire nature as a human being. Don't ever take me seriously. If I tell you take me seriously, you should still probably not take me seriously. Taj has somehow managed to lose his sense of humor over in Spain and spread it to other people. If you want me to write nice little blogs telling you about what I did during my day, then perhaps I should cut off my penis and become a bitch.

There are two problems I encounter everytime I sit down to write a blog: how to get my readers to properly distinguish my tone, and how honest I should be. My primary goal with blogs is to entertain my readers. The best way to do that is to write about things 99% of America considers to be taboo subjects. I live in a country where people refer to a word (nigger) as the "N word". They cannot even pronounce a six-letter word, in fear that people like Taj will get all worked up. It is not far off from how they refer to the bad wizard in "Harry Potter", a series of children's books. They cannot call him by name lest he appear in a firey ball of anger to rip the tongue out of the person who spoke the word. So he is referred to as "he who cannot be named". Maybe we should start referring to blacks as "the race that cannot be discussed". I will discuss it. Precisely because it needs to be discussed. And I will discuss it honestly, because again, 99% of America is afraid to. So we all walk around all fucking day talking fake bullshit to one another, in fear that someone will get offended if honesty is spoken.

My last blog proved this fact. I managed to truly offend Taj, a friend of mine since day one of college. Why is this? Because the topic was touchy and emotional for him, which I can respect. Will that keep me from writing about it? Fuck no. I guess it was a matter of time before people got confused. A high majority of the people who read this have no legitimate idea of who I am or what I believe. So let me clarify my last blogg for you, sans any type of humor, which apparantly has confused some of you. And I will give you totally honesty, since most of you fuckers are too conditioned to step back and take an honest look at your own self.

Do I think blacks are thugs? Yes. Do I think all blacks are thugs? No. Do I think white people are thugs? Yes. Do I think black people are more likely to be thugs than white people? No. Do I think it is funny for me to pretend to believe that certain races have higher percentages of thugs than others? Yes. While growing up, did my father often refer to black people as niggers? Yes. Is my father a racist? Taj and Thomas, feel free to decide on your own after meeting him. Maybe he is. In truth, history dictates that white people are possibly more prone to be thugs than other races. You think I am ignorant to the fact that my heritage as a white Christian male is largely based upon racism, sexism, ignorance and murder? But do you think that your own race, regardless of what it is, doesn't have a similar history?

Let's examine what I truly believe more closely. Humanity is humanity, despite any color or religion. The majority of us are good people, and the rest are ignorant fuckers. I hate stupidity, not races. Do I feel I certain disgust when I sit by some black fourteen year old in a doo-rag on Muni, only to watch him spit snotballs onto the seat in front of him, all the while blasting his fucking radio so that the entire train has to hear his music? Yes. Would I feel the same disgust for that person if he were white? Yes. Have my blogs not ripped into just about every type of person, regardless of color? Figure it out. I hate senior citizens, kids, white people, black people, jews, catholics, people in the Western Hemisphere, people in the Eastern Hemisphere. Anyone can cause me to feel disgust. All they have to be is stupid or disrespectful. And none of these groups of people are more prone to it than any others. What I fucking hate the most is the idea I am not allowed to say I am disgusted by that aforementioned fourteen-year old black kid simply because he is black. Because then I would be judging him by stereotypes and be racist. Well, here is my stereotype. I don't like fourteen-year olds that spit their own snot onto the seats of the Muni. Since I am a writer, I use adjectives, and a helpful adjective to use when describing a fellow human being is his skin color. So, when I tell a story, it will be a black fourteen-year old, not just a fourteen-year old. And if that fucker was white, I would have told you all as much. But if you think I am going to pretend that black people are not as prone to stupidity as white people, like Taj does, that is where you are wrong. Let's take the perfect case-study. Slavery. Even after four-hundred years, the word causes anger.

Did white people bring Africans over as slaves to America? Yes, and it is an example of stupidity. Did all white people bring slaves over to America? No, plenty of them stayed at home to drink their tea and grow gardens. During this same time, did many African tribes have their own system of slavery using members of their conquered rival tribes? Yes, another example of stupidity. Did all African tribes use slavery? No, plenty of them were busy chasing Cheetahs and dancing (okay, I couldn't go a whole blogg without some humor .. i must be racist). Does just about every single race in the world have examples of using slavery at some point in their history? Yes. Look into it if you doubt my facts. Did the white Germans attempt to exterminate an entire race of people because of their religious beliefs? Yes. Are black Africans in Liberia currently attempting to do the same thing? Yes. It is human nature to hate people not like you. It is human nature to believe that the choices you have made for yourself about religion and culture are right, and everyone else's choices are wrong. It is human nature to force your ideals onto other people. This is why I hate human nature. And why I've spent a good part of my life using my logic to grow past my instincts as a human. And as someone who believes that people have a duty to improve themselves so they can continue the basic progression of the human race, I hate to encounter people that I see as hindering that process. And as far as I am concerned, thugs hinder that process, so I don't like them. Regardless of their skin color, religion, blah blah blah. You've heard it all before. I am shamed to even have to explain this all to Taj.

And before any of you accuse me of being ignorant, spend a few minutes examining your own belief structure and determine just who the ignorant one is.

Fuckers.

Upon a lively discussion with Kentaro earlier today, it was learned that I am in fact a racist. Thank you Kenta for bringing this to my attention. I apologize for the confusion placed by my the earlier claims of impartiality. Carry on.

As I approach my thirties, I've decided it is time to start to act my age. Actually, I'd rather make it seem as if I am acting my age, rather than truly act it. Being an alcoholic, the first place I've turned is to my choice of liquor. As with a car, the drink a man chooses speaks chapters about his personality. There is something to approaching a bar and asking for a liquor on the rocks, as opposed to a beer or mixed drink or wine. You just look cooler and more advanced. Without getting too specific, it is clear knowledge that an older man's drink has got to be a straight liquor on the rocks. The ultimate rich, older man drink reserved for dinners after hostile takeovers is Cognac. Preferrably an older blend. I am at least three decades from that however. About six months ago, I began my venture into drinking straight liquor the easy way-- vodka. Good vodka. Straight, on the rocks. A good vodka, such as Grey Goose has no taste or burn, and thus feels not too different from drinking water. It has been a fruitful six months for me. Good vodka is pricey, especially at the bars, however, this contributes to the feeling of being older and more mature. I should be able to afford these drinks. The fact that I cannot has not yet stopped me. Recently, after extensive research and evaluation, I realized that the drink for my thirties should be something more manly than vodka. The obvious choice was scotch whiskey. As Sy had brought back a bottle of GlenFiddich 12 year single malt a few years ago after a trip from Scotland that has never been touched, last Monday I cracked it open for my foray into manhood. For those of you non-drinkers out there, scotch whiskey tastes a bit like someone pissed into a jar twelve years ago, sat it in the sun, opened it up at six years of age to add kerosene, and then threw in some christmas tree pine needles in the last six months. It isn't good. However, after forcing two glasses down my throat, I found that the warmth brought about made the third glass much tastier. Perhaps it'd be better to drink after getting caught in an avalanche or something, while sitting next to a St. Bernard in some Swiss lodge. The next morning upon waking up, I was pleased to find that rather than a hangover, I had a fair amount of hair on my chest. It had grown overnight. I am pleased to slowly be making progress in my quest to become a man. For those of you who cannot drink alcohol, like our good friend Age, perhaps you can join me in my quest in other ways. It is time to stop drinking those strawberry lemonades and flavored ice teas and going straight to the hard stuff. Pure, unadulterated lemonade without ice. Can you handle it?

I have given my dear roommate Lee plenty of time to come clean. For those of you who are not aware, Mr. Anti-American Car, Mr. Anti-SUV, Mr. Asian-Lover recently purchased a blue 1996 Ford Explorer for trips requiring a bit more size than the 5 cubic feet of his Acura.

Every day I take the J-Line of SF Muni to school. As the J-Line runs along Church through 16th street (thuggish area), I often am treated to pleasurable experiences with the youth of the area. I've had my head rubbed by a young female thug, listened to their music at a loud volume, heard a group of them singing acapella versions of Ashanti songs, watched them spit snotballs into the seats, heard them call various passengers ugly fat old bitches. I nearly always keep my mouth shut, as you learn to on Muni. As these young thugs have no respect for age, speaking up will get you into a useless, profanity-laced shouting match with the bulk of them. And unfortunately, it is considered socially unacceptable to hit a twelve-year old boy or girl, so my size is of little advantage. They are well aware of this fact, and thus have absolutely no fear of anyone on the train. That is why they get away with what they do. There is no real course of action for a 27-year old man like me to take against a 12-year old thug. All anyone really can do is go tell the Muni driver about their inappropriate behavior. Nine out of ten times, the Muni driver doesn't give a shit anyway, and thus nothing happens. So I sit quiet and watch in disgust, as these disrespectful kids run rampant on our public transportation system, knowing that my hands are tied.

I knew the day would come when I was having a bad day and I might snap. That day was yesterday. I'd officially had enough of the little fuckers.

I was on the back of the J-train, standing up as most of the seats were full. There were three thugs sitting close by, probably between ten to twelve years old. Of course, in typical disrespectable fashion, each one had their own row of seats, and they had their bags in another row of seats. So instead of anyone else being able to sit down, they pretty much comandeered the back of the train with all their shit. This is nothing strange, and so I was fine with standing. They were talking usual thug talk (i.e. "nigga, fuck, what da fuck you tink? dat white bitch is fuckin' ho" and so on, and so forth). Again, this is a regular trip on the J-Line, so I paid no attention. Until the first stop.

As the train doors opened at a stop, one of the thugs grabbed a water balloon from his bag, stood at the open door and threw it as hard as he could at a seventy-year old woman walking her little dog at the sidewalk. It hit her in the legs, and she kinda freaked out. Looked all around wondering what had just happened. The thugs started laughing wildly as the train doors closed and grabbed more balloons, waiting for the next stop. Everybody on the train shook their heads and were angry, but, as usual, said nothing. I was pissed. The little fuckers. So I started talking.

I told the kid if he threw another water balloon, I would throw him (which was completely feasible being that he was roughly 2' 7" and 82 pounds). He told me to fuck myself. I told him that was fine, but if he threw another water balloon, he would be thrown. His lovely fat twelve-year old girlfriend came to his defense, and assured her boyfriend that I couldn't touch him (she would have been right most the time, but after what I saw, I was ready to kick his ass off the train). A woman around my age in one of the seats started talking to the thugs now too .. The woman called him a little shit .. He called her a dumb bitch .. So the fat girlfriend told the other two thugs to throw a water balloon at her. I was starting to figure out quickly that I was in a unwinnable situation. I was not going to let the thugs throw another water balloon, especially at the woman on the train. I had resolved that much. But I knew I couldn't use any force, and words were useless. So, I decided to use intimidation and fear of force.

I wouldn't have touched the kid (well, if he had tried to throw a water balloon at me, he would have been physically stopped, but that was as far as I knew I could go). But the kid didn't know that. I needed to get him to think that I would hit him. Kind of the way the US uses their power to police the rest of the world. I walked up next to the thugs and blocked their path of access to the doors. I told them that there was no way they would be throwing another water balloon in my presence, and they could feel free to leave the train and get on the next one. I told them I would be taking their bag of water balloons and dumping it at the next stop. They weren't really buying it, but they weren't ready to find out if I was serious either. As the next stop began to approach, and the standoff was about to meet a climax, I was saved by divine intervention. Someone had reported this business to the muni driver, who had called the police. He came on the intercom to tell the kids the cops were waiting for them two stops up. That got their attention. They grabbed their bag o balloons and ran off the train at the next stop.

Thank God. Cause I would have been screwed if they had thrown a water balloon at me or the other woman. I was as close to physically grabbing and throwing a twelve-year old as I'd ever been. Should we be able to? How do you handle that situation? Should it be legal to physically pick up a kid and carry him off a train or bus? I think these kids need some fear in them. They need to know we have some leeway if they start to fuck around. The heart of the problem is exactly what I faced ... I had no options. Society is so protective of kids these days, they have absolutely no sense of consequence. We are all handcuffed from enforcing any sort of respect. That is why they could throw water balloons from a crowded train .. they knew we couldn't do anything. Perhaps a 27-year olds foot in their ass would have been the sense of consequence they need to behave. Violence might not solve problems, but peace sure as hell doesn't either.