Michael, Mike, and Mikey in The Godfather

I had the pleasure of watching The Godfather on Sunday at the historic Tampa Theater during their annual Summer Classic Series. They play a series of classic movies through the years and I when I saw The Godfather on the schedule I knew I couldn't miss it.

Of course, The Godfather is a great movie and not much needs to be said there. It was nice seeing it on the big screen as it came out several years before I was born. I could really observe some of the interesting lighting and shading effects in the scenes that I wouldn't pay much attention to on my 29 inch TV, which made for a better experience.

But what I really found most interesting was certain elements of dialogue, namely the addressing of Michael Corleone. Being named Michael myself, I pay attention to when people call me "Michael", "Mike", or even "Mikey". Corleone is addressed as all three during the movie.

Some observations:

Corleone's brother and friends predominantly call him "Mike" when addressing him but "Michael" when talking about him. This is similar to how the same type of people address me, although many also tend to call me "Mike" when talking about me. It is a casual peer thing, and I would feel uncomfortable if friends called me "Michael" and I don't remember the last time my brother addressed me as such.

Corleone's girlfriend/wife Kay addresses him as "Michael" almost 100% of the time. Normally, I don't object to women calling me "Michael". It doesn't carry the authoritative tone of a man's "Michael", unless it is used in an state of anger or annoyance. Some female friends have even taken to calling me "Michael" all the time. At first it's a little strange, but I get used to it. It becomes something unique to them. Some even mix it up in the same conversation. A waitress I am familiar with, for example, said "Hi, Mike" and "Bye, Mike", but referred to me as "Michael" when she asked if I wanted another drink. When it comes to women, as long as they don't call me "asshole", I usually go with the flow.

Although women can address me as "Michael", I usually ask boyfriends and male friends of my female friends to address me as "Mike". I think there is a bit of an authoritative, dominant tone to a male calling me "Michael" that I don't like, unless that person is in an actual position of power over me such as a boss or unfamiliar with me such as a doctor. For a casual male acquaintance (such as a friend's boyfriend) to call me "Michael" after I correct them is a power show to me and I take that as an offense.

Likewise, in The Godfather, Michael Corleone's sister's husband Carlo addresses him as "Mike", even as he is begging for his life in the final scenes. He never uses an authoritative tone with his sister's brother.

Corleone is also addressed as "Mikey" by his brother Sonny several times. I have a few friends that call me "Mikey" and although it's rare, I'm cool with it, as long as I am very familiar with that person. It's the friendliest addressing and the one that requires the most familiarity and closeness.

Michael Corleone is addressed as "Michael" by his father 100% of the time. There is a hierarchical tone to this address. Don Corleone is not Michael's friend. He is in a position of authority as his father. It is also a sign of respect that he is instilling in his son by addressing him solely by his given birth name. In my case, my parents call me both "Mike" and "Michael". It's usually pretty random, although my mother tends to call me by my full name when she is mad but I'm sure that is a typical mother trait for every name.

Anyway, just a quick post on something I noticed.

In Media Attraction

(This article was originally published in the FSView and Florida Flambeau in June, 2003. Although I thought it was original, it was immediately compared to another editorial column written a year before by another columnist who preceded me at the paper. I'm not going to lie, being told by commentors that I stole someone's idea was one of the lowest points I had as a young writer. Now I am little tougher and know that although the premise might be the same, presentation and voice make articles unique.)

While traveling the New York City subway lines last month, major league baseball pitcher Randy Wolf had an encounter with a beautiful young woman. Their moments together were fleeting however, as after she asked him for directions they were separated and she was out of his life.

Of course, this has happened to everyone. Why should a baseball player be any different? A seemingly perfect 10 moves on without saying goodbye or allowing a chance for a second hello. Unfortunately, it is one of the sick games of the fates.

But Wolf attempted to change his fate and give destiny a second chance. He appeared on at least two nationally syndicated sports radio talk shows attempting to find the woman. He openly went on the air describing her appearance, her clothes, everything about her.

“There was something about her eyes,” he said.

Wolf also planned to place ads in several prominent New York newspapers in the hope that she might see them, remember him and reply, according to an ESPN Web site.

Besides tugging on the heartstrings in an almost Hollywood-esque way, Wolf’s search reminded me of the great power available to public figures. They often have numerous media channels at their fingertips, each capable of helping find a possible social interest.

Although definitely not of the public stature of Randy Wolf or of a sports radio talk show host, I like to think of my column as a media channel and of myself as a public figure in the Florida State universe. I guess that means I have a little power.

But, to quote the movie Spiderman (which was on HBO every day last month), “With power comes great responsibility.”

Would I ever dare use this column in order to get the attention of a certain young lady? If so, I would only get one chance. I couldn’t write to a different girl every semester and beg them to talk to me.

“Dear girl in the 2nd row, 4th seat of Professor Smith’s 11:15 English class, please say hi to me tomorrow. Thanks, Mike.”

Not only would that kill the “romance” of the search, but it would make me pathetic and desperate beyond belief.

I mention Wolf’s search and my own ponderance of power because a situation I was in on Memorial Day has forced me to contemplate using my column as a social tool.

As I was driving down Highway 19 (Apalachee Parkway) on the way to my grandparents’ house for a Memorial Day dinner, driving either behind me or along side me was a very attractive Florida State female student in a white Toyota. For over two hours, we (if I may be so bold as to use a pronoun that puts the two of us together) wove in and out of streams of holiday traffic on the way to our respective destinations.

As we eventually came to a stop at a traffic light in the town of Crystal River, I rolled down my window and thanked her for driving “with” me. She smiled and said, “You’re welcome.”

Then the light turned green and away we went again, with me eventually turning onto another highway in route to my grandparents’ town.

So should I use this column as way of getting in touch with her?  Maybe I already have.

Clutch, Tow Trucks, and T-Shirts in St. Petersburg

There are certain rules I abide by on the day of a concert. These are simple rules, acquired through years of seeing almost every genre of music from blues to hip-hop to death metal.

Rule one: Don’t listen to anything by the band within 24 hours of the show. If you don’t know the songs by the day before, you won’t know them. Concerts aren’t college, there is no cramming. And you don’t want your ear influenced at all by the studio recordings. Enjoy the show for what it is.

Rule two: To quote the Wu-Tang Clan, cash rules everything around me. Merch vendors, bars, and some ticket stands don’t take Visa, Mastercard, or American Express, so “if you don’t have dollars, it don’t make sense”. Hit the ATM before you get to a show. It allows flexibility and convenience.

Rule three: Dress the part. Never wear a t-shirt of a band you are going to see. Wear a similar band, or someone of the same genre. But always dress to fit the scene. Don’t wear a Parliament-Funkadelic shirt to see Slayer.

There are two exceptions to rule three. The first is that you can wear a shirt from a festival featuring the band you are seeing. That’s simple enough as it shows community and that you have seen other bands. The second exception is the seldom used “memorable slogan clause”. If your t-shirt has an overly funny, clever, or all-round bad-ass slogan, you are accepted into the community of the performance.

In my time going to concerts, there have been two memorable slogan t-shirts that stand out among the masses. Both are engrained in my cerebellum not only because of their cleverness, but because of the stories associated with them. The first, a black t-shirt that proclaimed “Fuck You, You Fuckin’ Fuck”, was worn by a man named Manimal who I wrote about nearly three years ago. For those who missed it, Manimal was a bad-ass biker dude who forbid moshing in his general area during a 1999 Metallica concert.

The second most memorable slogan tee that stands out for me is a black shirt with the devil’s face and the words “God’s Busy, May I Help You?”. This shirt brings back memories of a concert adventure I had on my 23^rd birthday when my college roommate Zheke Snow and I traveled from Tallahassee to Orlando to see rock bands Isle of Q,  UPO, Full Devil Jacket, and Nickelback (after their first album, and before they jumped the music shark).  It was a night of obnoxious cops, tire problems, good rock ‘n’ roll, and driving around the Disney World Complex with the bassist of UPO as he yelled at his drunk bandmates who left him and didn’t tell him where the hotel was located.

It’s a classic story perhaps I’ll tell in full here one day.

Even though I have been to dozens, if not hundreds, of concerts since, I hadn’t seen either of those slogan t-shirts. Until a few Tuesday's ago, when the devil’s question made another appearance.

And of course, I had another interesting night.

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The flyer stared at me from beside the keyboard at my work desk, a simple reminder that time was moving far too slow. Every minute dragged on with the full power of 60 seconds of might, as I fidgeted like a child who refused to dream of sugarplums and candy canes on Christmas Eve. Finally at 6:30 I flew out of the office like Meatloaf’s bat out of hell, sped down I-75 at 90mph, daring the Florida Highway Patrol to stop me, and cruised into St. Petersburg.

On the docket that night was one of my favorite bands, Maryland-based groove-metal band Clutch. I’d seen Clutch five times prior to last Tuesday, the latest time being with Black Label Society in October. Opening for Clutch was GroundScore from Washington DC and the Florida/Alabama-based Maylene and the Sons of Disaster. I was totally in the dark about Groundscore, but I had heard a few good things about Maylene and the Sons of Disaster, and I was also looking forward to seeing them.

Into St. Pete I drove, finding a spot in a parking lot a few blocks from the club. Needing money for a ticket, beer, and a new t-shirt, I walked over to a local ATM and pulled out some cash. On my way to the club from the ATM, I found two 2011 pennies with the new backing. One was heads up and the other was tails up. Although I usually think money is money and finding two cents gets me that much closer to retirement, I was struck momentarily by the symmetry of the yin and the yang.

After I bought my ticket, I walked into St. Pete’s State Theater, ready to finally get my rock on. One of the best things about a Clutch show it that it is usually attended by veteran rock fans. Fans who proudly sport their shirts of quality metal bands, such as Slayer, Danzig, or Judas Priest. Shortly after entering, I received a compliment on my shirt, the tour shirt from the aforementioned BLS/Clutch gig from a few months back.

Even though my shirt was highly regarded, I quickly hit the merch stand for a new Clutch shirt. To my amusement, the merch vendor was wearing another shirt I hold near and dear to my heart: an “Arm The Homeless” tee from a punk band called Tree who toured with Clutch in 2003. That was one of the few times I didn’t buy a shirt from my favorite band and opted for the opening act. I couldn’t resist walking around with a picture of an AK-wielding old lady on my back.

Now dressed to impress with a brew in hand, I walked into the theater and closer to the stage to check out Groundscore. They weren’t bad, a mix of 311 and Sublime, with elements of punk and metal blended in. They were definitely Warped Tour material or the soundtrack to a new skateboarding video game.

(Speaking of interesting t-shirts, the drummer for Groundscore had A Tribe Called Quest shirt on. I wonder how many metal fans caught that?)

During the Groundscore show, I perused the crowd, checking out the environment and doing a little people watching. No matter the type of music show, people watching at a concert is always fun, especially if the band isn’t entirely up my alley.

But that’s when I saw it: “God’s Busy, May I Help You?".  I’m surprised the guy wearing it didn’t ask me what I was looking at I paused for a moment when my eyes hit his shirt. It was if Satan himself was telling me the night was going to be interesting. A warning from Lucifer for me to heed.

Second on stage was Maylene and the Sons of Disaster. Like I said, I heard good things from a few friends about this relatively new band. But because friends can sometimes have music tastes that don’t always jive with mine, I turned to my brother for his valued musical scouting report. That morning, his review came in: “Heavy southern rock/blues sounding”. Nice. My kind of music. I was excited.

Maylene didn’t disappoint. Although I couldn’t understand their lyrics on occasion, I was impressed with their sound. Throughout their set, I pulled out my phone and tweeted comparisons to Corrosion of Conformity, White Zombie, and Black Stone Cherry, all bands I hold in high regard. I closed my tweeted review with the simple phrase, “I like”. I’m going to have to buy some Maylene and the Sons of Disaster.

After the usual downtime between bands, the mighty Clutch came on stage. As to be expected (for me, at least) Clutch was absolutely spectacular. They played many of their most popular songs, from Big News I & II, The Regulator, Electric Worry, and the trace-like Spacegrass. As compared to the last time I saw them in October, Clutch didn’t have to worry about set limits, so they threw in a few jams between songs.

(Here is a youtube video of Clutch playing Escape From the Prison Planet and here is the concert review from the Tampa Bay Times.)

Being a long time fan, seeing Clutch brings out a sense of community for me. Other Clutch fans and I compare times and places we’ve seen Clutch, admire each others’ concert shirts, and no matter what song, we sing along, even if Neil Fallon’s lyrics are sometimes far too complex to understand (Songs about anthrax, redcoats, and elephants?).

Following an extensive set, Clutch ended their show with a mellow encore. And with that, the show was over. But little did I know the rest of my night was just beginning.

Across the street from St. Pete’s State Theater is a row of hole-in-the-wall bars and pubs. As I discovered after a recent House of Pain show, one bar, Fubar, usually has a band on the stage late and capitalizes on the crowd from State Theater to relax and buy some cheap beer.  After House of Pain, Fubar featured a local death metal band, so I was curious to see what they had on stage after Clutch.

On stage at Fubar was a DJ playing dubstep. I’m not normally an electronic music fan, but last year the Wu-Tang Clan put out an album with dubstep DJs and I was curious, so I grabbed a beer, unwound for a bit, and enjoyed a few tunes.

After my beer was finished, I made my way out Fubar. Shortly thereafter, I noticed something was missing.

My truck wasn’t where I parked it.

To my surprise, I parked in a lot guarded by a local towing agency. In a panic, I called the number on the sign and inquired as to whether they had my precious pick-up. After they confirmed it was in their possession, I frantically called my friend Keri, who I briefly saw at the show. Fortunately, even although she was well on her way back home, she turned around to bring me to the wrecker lot so I could get my truck. Thank goodness for friends, or I would have been sleeping with the homeless on the streets of St. Pete.

Did I mention I hate late-night towing companies? I think they are spawns of Satan, brought to Earth only to make life difficult for people. No one is going to use the bank at midnight, so why can’t I park there to go to the bar? I promise I’ll move my truck before the bank opens in the morning.

Anyway, 121 dollars later, my truck was back in my possession and my night was finally over. I should have heeded the t-shirt symbology and been more careful in the presence of the smiling devil t-shirt.

My Top One Album Bands

I was thinking the other day about my top five one album rock bands. These bands are more impressive and rarer than one-hit wonders, as even one-hit wonders are usually guaranteed a second chance to recreate their magic. One album bands are like comets that disappear as quickly as they arrive.

Before I get into my list, certain rules apply, of course.

1) There can not be another album with the band's name released. This disqualifies bands such as Days of the New, whose members split to form Tantric.

2) Can not be an all-star power group. This disqualifies Temple of the Dog, Mad Season, Les Claypool's Bucket of Bernie Brains, or Rebel Meets Rebel.

3) Can't be an off-shoot of another band or a side project, such as Jimi Hendrix's Band of Gypsies.

4) Must be broken up for at least five years. Because sometimes hell freezes over and bands get back together (an Eagles reference!).

Without further ado:

5) American Minor

In 2005, this southern rock-sounding throwback band released a self-titled album. Then they vanished.

4) Union Underground

Probably the most commercial band on this list, The Union Underground were an amalgamation of several bands, to include Alice and Chains, Powerman 5000, Nirvana, and The Beatles. They sang music to drive fast to about drugs and rock 'n' roll. In 2000, they released An Education in Rebellion. They were formulaic, but they followed a great formula. Then they disappeared. In 2002, they released the theme song for WWE Raw. "Across the Nation" would be the Raw theme until 2006. The Union Underground were never heard from again.

3) Full Devil Jacket

I first saw Full Devil Jacket in an Orlando bar in 1999 opening for Marvelous 3. Impressed by this Bush/Sevendust mash-up, I picked up their sampler EP and waited for over a year for major release. They released a self-titled album in 2000 and I saw them two more times, once in Tallahassee and again in Orlando. Sometime during their tour, however, their lead singer nearly died of an overdose and quit the band. One of their guitarists surfaced in Saliva for a few years, but otherwise they were done.

(Update: Full Devil Jacket reunited in 2014 and released a new album.)

2) Silvertide

Silvertide were another throwback band with a 70's southern rock vibe. They were a bit more sexy and rocking than American Minor, sort of like Aerosmith to Tom Petty. They released Show and Tell in 2004, toured with major names like Motley Crue, and then broke up. According to Wikipedia, the guitarist and lead singer have formed another band. That might be a possible pick-up.

1) Mother Love Bone

The "mother" of all one album bands, Mother Love Bone were among the first of the 1990s Seattle grunge bands to have a release on a major label. Unfortunately, days before Apple's 1990 release date, lead singer Andrew Wood died of a drug overdose. Although the band would release a compilation album in 1992, it was mostly to capitalize on the new found fame of guitarist Stone Gossard and bassist Jeff Ament, who had found a home in a band called Pearl Jam. Thoughts?

Missing out on the Macho Man

(This post originally appeared on Bus Leagues Baseball.com)

Nearly a year to the day before he died, I discussed with Bus Leagues Baseball the idea that I should interview Randy Poffo about his brief minor league career.

Poffo, better known as “Macho Man” Randy Savage, played ever so briefly for the Gulf Coast League Cardinals, the Gulf Coast League Red Birds, the Orangeburg Cardinals, and the Tampa Tarpons. As other people have mentioned, he didn’t play long and after an injury, he changed his name to "Randy Savage" and decided to try the pro wrestling route.

(Here is an absolute must-read article by Jeff Pearlman on Randy Poffo's love for baseball and his minor league career.)

After agreeing that an interview with Randy Poffo would be a great story, I surfed the web for any contact info for the Macho Man. A visit to a few web sites informed me that he had recently tied the knot, but I failed to find an email or any representative contact information. So I shelved the idea and wrote the name "Macho Man" Randy Savage on my potential interview list.

The problem with putting ideas on the back burner is sometimes they burn away.

Having grown up when pro wrestling was blowing up in a national sense, I was always a big Macho Man fan, as were millions and millions of kids my age. His stories and situations were always among the best and you knew no matter who he fought, he was going to put on a hell of a match. I got into wrestling as he was feuding with George “The Animal” Steele and followed him throughout his WWF/WWE career.

Although he wrestled in various other promotions throughout the late 90s and into the 2000s, I never saw another Macho Man match after he left the WWF. I know better now, but in those days I used to think anything outside of WWF/WWE was an inferior product, with less capable wrestlers. I thought WWF/WWE was “the big leagues” and would never consider “the minors” as equal entertainment.

Funny how things change.

Those who know me well know my interest in lower level baseball is almost matched by my interest in lower level professional wrestling. For that I have to thank my brother, professional wrestler Bryan Maddox. For over six years, he has wrestled throughout the State of Florida, working in the ring or behind the scenes with such legendary names as Haku, Afa the Wild Samoan, Jimmy Hart, and Scott Hall (aka Razor Ramon). Ironically, he was also once on the same card as Randy Poffo’s brother, “The Genius” Lanny Poffo. My brother’s wrestling career has taught me that like the bus leagues, it takes years of dedication, hard work, and several lucky breaks to make it in professional wrestling.

There were several times I talked to my brother about my idea to interview the Macho Man. Every time I mentioned it, he concurred that it would make a great story and that I was the right person to do it. Unfortunately, I never attempted to use his contacts to track down the Macho Man.

In January of this year, as we planned the Bus Leagues agenda, I reiterated to Brian and Eric how this would be the year I would interview Randy Savage. “My goal this year is to interview Macho Man Randy Savage on his minor league career. I don't care who I have to elbow drop,” I wrote in an email to them.

“I'll say now what I said when you first mentioned it: that would be completely awesome,” Brian wrote back.

“That would need to be on the site. We could not hold that for a book. Everyone would link to an interview with Randy Poffo. We would win the internet for the day,” I replied.

Two weeks ago, and only 10 days before he died, I again wrote to Eric and Brian that I was going to pursue the Macho Man interview. I now work in Sarasota and it would be convenient for me to drive from work one evening and talk to the legendary former grappler. All I had to do was find the right contact and line it up.

Once again, however, my effort to find a contact was minimal. I did another cursory glance at a few web sites, but didn’t consult the Rolodex or push the issue at all.

Sadly, the world mourned the passing of “Macho Man” Randy Savage on May 20^th. Sports Illustrated published pictures of Savage in his minor league uniform, ESPN interviewed Larry Herndon of the Lakeland Flying Tigers on his time playing alongside Savage, and even Deadspin.com discussed Savage’s minor league exploits.

After learning of the car accident that took his life, I logged on to twitter to express my sadness with millions of other people, from casual fans to full-blown “Macho Maniacs”. Among my tweets about Savage was a casual mention that he was one of my “dream interview subjects”.

Shortly after that tweet, I received a reply from a local Tampa Bay Bucs blogger. He told me that he not only lived by the Macho Man, but even had his cell phone number. He told me that although Savage was quiet in regards to wrestling, he loved talking baseball. He even mentioned that Macho Man talked often about his time playing with Andy Van Slyke, Keith Hernandez, and Vince Coleman.

I was crushed.

I missed out on a golden opportunity. All I had to do was ask every journalistic contact I had, “Looking to interview Macho Man about baseball, anyone have a contact?” and I am sure the Bucs blogger would have come through. Or he would have at least tried to make it happen.

But I never contacted anyone. I never made an effort outside of talking about it.

(As I write this I can imagine the Macho Man saying, “Talk is cheap, yeah. Actions speak louder than words. And words written are words read. Dig it?”)

Needless to say, I learned a very valuable lesson. Never put a great idea on the back burner. I thought I had all the time in the world, but as a friend of mine likes to say, “Time is the most precious commodity”.

You never know when it will run out.

Tonight I found my potential interview list and sadly struck a line through the name “Macho Man” Randy Savage.

A Funky Take on Star Wars

Via olde tyme e-migo Jay Busbee comes this gem of a video. I think this might be the coolest thing I have ever seen. Feast your eyes on "Blackstar Warrior".

Preaching the End of the World ... Again

Thanks to highly quotable blogger extraordinaire Clark Brooks, I just learned the end of the world is tomorrow. Which sucks, because I had a lot of stuff to do this weekend. But then again, if we are all going evaporate into thin air in the next 24 hours, I guess it doesn't matter if I have milk in the refrigerator or not. But it also means I definitely need to rush getting a haircut, especially if I am going in front of St. Peter.

If you think about it, that's the ultimate job interview. Sure, they are looking at your credentials and all, but appearance counts. Especially if you didn't die doing something heroic like saving a herd of kids from a burning schoolhouse. Then you have an excuse. But if you die normally, then you better look sharp: teeth brushed, face shaven, and get a haircut. Everyone knows Jesus was the last hippie to go to heaven.

But anyway, a few years ago (seven to be exact), I wrote a piece for the FSU and Florida Flambeau about prophesies and predictions. So being that I don't have much time left, and that I have more important things to do (like get a haircut), I'm re-posting it here for my final blog post.

Like Ozzy said, see you on the other side.

Preaching the End

Since the dawn of time, humankind has pondered when time will end. Knowing nothing lasts forever, hundreds, if not thousands of philosophers, scientists, religious leaders and everyday laymen have proposed their own ideas on the eventual demise of humanity.

Religion often goes hand-in-hand with apocalyptic forecasts. Just as many beliefs have their own creation story, their teachings usually conclude with a story about humankind’s or even the Earth’s final end. Possibly the most famous of all the end of the world predictions is the Biblical Book of Revelations.

Many organizations travel around the world preaching their interpretation of Revelations to the masses. One such organization, the Sure Word Ministries, recently visited Tallahassee. A flyer describing their 10-night event detailed such sermons as “How Near is Armageddon and the End,” “666 Part 1 and Plagues Upon the Land” and “Revelation’s False Prophet and his Cult Leaders.”

Surprisingly, one of the first “doomsday prophesies” predated the writing of the Bible. According to The Interactive Bible’s online library of date setters of the end of the world, the ancient Thessalonians had heard Christ had returned in 53 A.D. and that “the day of the Lord was near.”

The online library also lists other organizations that have attempted to warn the world of its impending conclusion. The Jehovah’s Witnesses, for example, have issued predictions the world would end in 1874, 1878, 1881, 1910, 1914, 1918, 1925, 1975 and 1984. Another organization, the Jack Van Impe Ministries, predicted disaster in 2001, bringing in “international chaos such as we’ve never seen in our history.” They further added that there will be “drought, war, malaria, and hunger afflicting entire populations throughout the [African] continent,” Islam would be larger than Christianity and “a one-world church will emerge, controlled by demonic hosts.”

Sometimes interpretations of the Bible have directly led to conflict. The online library discusses a 16th Century German peasant named Muntzer who, along with a group of followers, thought attacking the German government would cause God to return. Muntzer believed “the Lord promised that He would catch the cannon balls of the enemy on the sleeves of His cloak.” As could be predicted, Muntzer’s rebellion was suppressed when they were “mowed down by cannon fire.”

Even modern conflict has coincided with apocalyptic predictions. In 1991, Nation of Islam Leader Louis Farrakhan called the Gulf War “the War of Armageddon… the final War.”

Visitors from outer space have been cited as the future cause for the end of humankind as well. According to a Web site appropriately named “It’s the end of the world as we know it…again” (http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Oracle/9941), The Sacerdotal Knights of National Security announced in November 1997 that an alien had been captured. This alien cracked under CIA interrogation and “revealed his species’ nefarious plan to attack with a massive space invasion force, stripping the world of every last of its natural resources and enslaving all humankind.”

Opinions on the types of aliens that are planning to invade vary. California psychic Sheldon Nidle claimed that angels would join the “16 million space ships” arriving on Earth in 1996. In stark contrast, Robert Hallman called the extraterrestrials who were planning to destroy the world in 1998 “Satan’s minions.”

Finally, it must be noted that even the most respected historical figures have tried their hand in doomsday predictions. Sir Isaac Newton, famous for his writings on the Law of Gravity, not only wrote that Christ would return in 1715, but according to recent news reports, he also concluded the apocalypse would occur in 2060. Newton further predicted he would be one of the many saints to rule over the earth after this apocalypse.

My interview from the BJ Upton Bowling Event

A few months ago, I went to the BJ Upton charity bowling event at Splitsville in Tampa. BJ personally invited me allowed fans to attend, so I dressed in my Sunday best, afro and all.

While I was there I was interviewed by local reporter Todd Grasley. I'm at the 2:14 mark.

The Terrorist on Ice

Way back in my glory days of grad school, I wrote an essay on the collapse of the Soviet Union. In this essay, I claimed that American culture had a profound impact on how the Russians perceived themselves. The international success of movies such as Rocky 4 and Red Dawn made the Soviet Union look weak, no matter how hard they tried. Although Rocky and the Wolverines popped the Soviets in the jaw, nothing mattered more to the idea that the US could eventually defeat the USSR, I argued, than the 1980 Winter Olympics hockey game - The Miracle on Ice.

America in the late 1970s wasn't doing so hot. There were high gas prices, political turmoil in the Middle East, a president no one took seriously, and the Bee Gees. People were still suffering from the social fatigue of the Vietnam War. Then on February 22nd 1980, 20 college hockey players gave America something to believe in again. If these college kids could beat the vaunted Soviet Hockey Machine, then maybe all of American could stick it to the USSR. The team and the victory gave people hope. They made people proud to be Americans.

I was reminded of my essay and the 1980 Miracle on Ice after reading a recent blog post on the eloquent Pitchers and Poet's blog. Pitchers and Poets compared a late inning baseball victory to the death of Osama Bin Laden and described the concept of sports and national victory.

Even though I see the comparison, I don't think one man's death is anywhere near as big as what happened in Lake Placid. It is a small victory for us and a small defeat for the concept of Islamic radicalism, if it even can be called a defeat.

It is important to remember Bin Laden's place in American culture. He was an evil mad man soaked in a mysterious philosophy. He was a dangerous international unknown and the type of boogeyman parents use to get children to stay in their beds or advertisers use to get people to buy American-made used cars. He was part Freddy Kruger, part David Koresh, part chupacabera, and part Dr. Doom.

Bin Laden brought out the best of American ignorance. He was the leader of a sect in a religion few Americans knew or cared about, despite the fact that their numbers dwarfed the number of people living from sea to shining sea. Their ignorance both drove him and fed their own impressionable fears. It was a villain-generating machine of the best sort.

Similarly, the Cold War-era Soviet Union stood as a mysterious threat to our American Way. Their political and economic philosophy was all that was bad in the world, even if it was fairest way to ensure group prosperity in theory. They used their secret police to round up dissidents, used fear to keep smaller nations in line, and made Archie Bunker's life a living hell.

This past Sunday night I watched thousands upon thousands of Americans take to the streets and revel in the death of Osama Bin Laden. There is no doubt the Bin Laden killing will have political effects for American policy going forward. It is a definitive strike in the public eye in War on Terror. For the terrorists, although terrorists are replaceable, international icons aren't.

Another factor to consider is Bin Laden's role. He wasn't the chief of operations for Al Qaeda, even if you believe in "One Mighty Al Qaeda to Rule Them All". He was a figurehead, the Bobby Bowden of Radical Muslim International Terrorism. Removing him may even provide room for growth for a more ambitious Muslim leader.

What bothers me however is that whereas in 1980 we celebrated a sports victory, in 2011 we are cheering death. We didn't score a five-hole goal or hit a game-winning home run against the Al Qaeda National Team. We killed a man. In that we are no better than those who cheered when the Twin Towers fell.

Ask yourself, if former President George W Bush died in any manner and you saw Iraqis cheering, would you be upset? What if it was those who lived a prosperous life under Saddam prior to the US invasion? Not that some might have benefited from the removal of Hussein, but surely those whose lives are worse or who lost loved ones as collateral damage might loathe our former leader. Bush gave the orders that killed thousands of Iraqis and caused billions in damages. Shouldn't some Iraqis hold the same hostility towards him that we collectively held towards Bin Laden?

The idea of cheering for death creeps me out. It's like Ancient Rome and Navy Seal Team 6 is our border-crossing lions. Perhaps however that is only my liberal education talking. Maybe I need to fall back on my natural American psyche.  According to anthropologists, America may be more barbaric than our European predecessors. We are forged both from the wilderness of Lewis and Clark and the gutter instincts of a New York sewer rat.

Because we hadn't faced an immediate threat to our borders since the days of Pancho Villa, we christened Bin Laden as our number one threat. Now he can't take away our life, liberty, or pursuit of happiness, nor will he ever dress Lady Liberty in a hajib. But realists (not realist theory supporters, but real world realists) would argue that there was no way Bin Laden actually could anyway.

There are and will continue to be columns and posts and essays and articles written about what the Death of Bin Laden means. Like Weird Al and his plate of mashed potatoes in UHF, we all know "this means something". Whether or not the symbolism is closer to the 1980 Olympic hockey victory or a baseball team winning the last game of the season to avoid a 100-loss campaign has yet to be seen.

A Critique of Religious Thought as a Response to Aldous Huxley’s Doors of Perception and Heaven and Hell

I'm dipping deep into my personal unpublished archives today. This is an essay I wrote when I was 21, back in the ancient days of 1998. I was deployed to Bosnia, had a lot of time to read, and fell into an Aldous Huxley kick. My interest in his work was reinvigorated somewhat when I read and reviewed Island back in February. This essay is completely unedited and is exactly how it was written by a younger me.

A Critique of Religious Thought as a Response to Aldous Huxley’s Doors of Perception and Heaven and Hell

In Exodus 3:13, Moses asks God what He is called.  God responds with the enigmatic answer of “I am who I am.”

“I am,” when used in the second person, becomes “He is,” leading the reader to believe that God “is.”  Is what?  The Bible and the Christian faith lead us to believe God is everything.  He is all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-being, yet, at the same time, He is Himself.

This sort of all-inclusive individuality is also discussed in Aldous Huxley’s Doors of Perception.  Huxley writes of himself as being “One with all” during his experiment with the hallucinogenic drug peyote.  His “not-self,” or his being viewed as merged with the collective universe, experiences a “oneness” with the world.  He feels at peace within himself, that all the world’s objects are, simultaneously, both their total “selves” and their “non-selves,” blended in the entire universal grand scheme of things.

Could Huxley have possibly stumbled into a realm that he should not have entered?  Quite possibly.  A more probable explanation for Huxley’s feelings of all-inclusive individuality is that we have taken the Biblical Word of God too literally.

For example, in Genesis 1:27, the Bible states “God created human beings, making them to be like Himself.”  Can this be interpreted to mean God walks and talks like us?  I do not believe so.  My belief is that God gave all men the power of all-inclusive individuality, to be one with the world.  Aldous Huxley was merely seeing life as God originally intended man to.

The materialistic consequences of original sin took away our ability to view the world as Huxley had under the influence of peyote.  According to the Bible, Genesis 3:7, once Adam and Eve bit into the forbidden fruit, they became consciously aware of their material environment.  The serpent in the creation story told Eve that by eating the forbidden fruit she and Adam would be more like God.  This is in complete contrast to the truth.  Adam and Eve were more God-like prior to eating the forbidden fruit, for they were unaware of their materialistic environment.

Ideas of nonmaterialisticness are concurrent in many aspects of Christianity.  Examples of this are found on both sides of the Christian spectrum.  Satanists believe that by indulging themselves in material things and satisfying every physical desire, they will remove themselves from God.  The Christian Church, on the other hand, believes individuals should dismiss all material objects from their lives to become closer to God, hence the ideas present in the vows priests, monks, and other men of the cloth take prior to joining the holy life.

There is more to getting closer to God than the aforementioned, of course.  Unfortunately, Christian churches seldom directly preach the objective of oneness.  However, in order to achieve and maintain the level of oneness that is so elusive yet so important to our existence, one must focus one’s mind outward onto a higher level of consciousness.

Examples of individuals reaching this higher level of consciousness are witnessed during forms of spiritual worship.  Outward signs of worship- chanting, preaching, singing, etc- sometimes lead people of faith to proclaim, whether truthfully or untruthfully, that they were “possessed.”  In actuality, during these times, people of faith have completely let go of their conscious thought and reached the higher level of the mind.  Sometimes the actions of these individuals while on this higher level are construed as super-human.  These feats are not super-human; they are merely what the mind was created to do normally.  Humankind’s self-constricted intellect and need for material satisfaction have blinded it of the open-mindedness needed to classify these actions correctly, and to see them for what they truly are.

If man was created to normally perform feats classifiable as super-human, then what should we think of Jesus Christ?  According to Scripture, Christ could routinely perform super-human feats.  Could Christ have been the “perfect” human being?  A sample of what we would have been if not for original sin?  Again, maybe we have taken the Biblical Word of God too literally.  If Christ is the Son of God, then as God’s Son, He is God’s offspring, His creation.  Therefore He must be similar to the creation of man in the Genesis story.

Christ was a pure creation of God, the first since Adam and Eve.  Quite possibly, Christ’s mission during his brief tenure on earth was twofold, to show humankind how it could have been had original sin not have occurred and also to show how to become closer to God.  Similar to the actions in the story of original sin, humankind did not listen to God’s message and acted as it so desired.  The Romans crucified Christ, killing His physical being.  Yet when one lives not on the physical substantial plane but on the higher mental plane, the killing of the physical being matters not.  This is evident in the Biblical story of Christ’s resurrection.

So how can one reach this “higher plane” of being?  How can one attain peace within his or herself and, at the same time, become “one” with the universe?  In his book Heaven and Hell, Aldous Huxley suggests two methods: hypnosis or ingesting a chemical substance (i.e. mescaline, lysergic acid, etc).  There must be more ways than this.  For if someone lets go of his or her entire materialistic being then maybe, just maybe, they can break the barriers of the mind, the “doors of perception,” and attain a new level of consciousness.  A level of consciousness that would allow them to reap the benefits of all-inclusive individuality, being “one” with the universe.  Which is, as Huxley writes, the closest we can get to Heaven before our physical being ceases to exist.  He could not have been closer to the truth.