Ode to the King . . . .

Albeit sad, his passing seemed a little less shocking than the effect you would initially expect to elicit from a tragedy of this magnitude. In retrospect, I think it had so much to do with Michael Jackson's transformations and latest media woes.

Everyone was grossly aware of how significantly his appearance changed over the years and although he may have lost many fans with his celebrity antics and later during his legal trials, (allegations from which he never fully recovered) those of us that were such fans of his former self, seemed to acknowledge these faults but still stay loyal to the King of pop.

Regardless of how you felt about Michael, he leaves behind a legacy that changed music, dancing, and in many ways, the world forever. He revolutionized the music video, popularized MTV, brought people from around the world together, spoke out against racism both publicly and through his music, supported more charities than any other pop artist, and could dance like the dickens. Man could he dance. His musical accolades are astounding and he probably remains the most recognizable person on the entire planet. People in 3rd world countries devoid of televisions even know who he is, and that's pretty remarkable.

So many of us grew up imitating Michael and his timeless moves. We dressed like him, danced like him, and played his songs and videos until we were satisfied. In recognition of his departure, I went out with a friend last night for dinner and a movie, and everywhere we went I did the moonwalk or a conspicuous MJ leg kick. The cars that let us cross the street gave appreciative nods, some people laughed, and others gave a hoot or a holler. The hostess at the restaurant didn't find my moves very amusing, so I threw in a crotch grab and a few pelvic thrusts for good measure. No, I really didn't . . . . but I should have.

As should be respectful and customary when reflecting upon the lives of those we lose, perhaps we can remember him for his greatness and not his idiosyncrasies or shortcomings. Perhaps we can remember the time how Michael thrilled us, encouraged us to look in the mirror, told us to beat it, scream, or heal the world. It seems that he spent his whole life giving, but we were never quite able to give anything back. We are a society that is pitiably infatuated with the celebrity phenomenon and we show our fickle adoration by smothering the lives of those we idolize. Stardom carries a hefty price, and it seems that being the King requires even a greater one. Michael Jackson was a brilliant entertainer, but before that, he was a person. A person like any other, with fears, dreams, passions, and thoughts. He possessed an infectious smile, a huge heart, and the uncanny ability to make you want to groove. And that, my friends, is worth a crotch grab any day of the week. Hee-hee . . . Schamone!

Super Troopers

Enough of the philosophical, self reflective, transcendentalist, rhetorical, girly-man shit . . . let's get our hands dirty people. It's time for the Dumbass of the Week Award.

Last month a 72 year old woman was pulled over for a traffic violation in Texas. The video footage from the trooper's dashcam was recently released, and it shows the majority of what went down.

I was listening to the radio last night, where I discovered this tantalizing tale, and was amused by the banter between 3 radio personalities, two men and one woman. They argued extensively about whether the police officer's actions were justified, or whether he used excessive force in subduing the woman. The female in the group thought that excessive force was used and much of her argument was, "What if that had been your grandmother?"

Brown's professional assessment? [cue drumroll] I see no problem with how the officer acted, old woman or not. He followed protocol, was provoked, and reacted accordingly. The woman, regardless of her age, was a lucid, cognizant, seemingly mature adult, who possessed the full capacity to understand the possible ramifications of her actions. She vehemently denied to sign the speeding ticket, (an action which can result in your arrest) and when the cop said that he was going to arrest her, she dared him.

The officer instructed the woman to exit the vehicle and then stood between her and inches from on-coming traffic. She continued to use profanity while insisting that she was going to get back into her car, and had to be shoved back away from the dangerous stretch of highway twice, to deny her escape and secure both of their safety. The police officer went to apply handcuffs on the woman and she blatantly resisted arrest. At that point, the non compliant citizen was warned that she was going to be tasered, and believe it or not, she dared the constable to do that as well. After 4 additional warnings about being subdued by electricity for resisting arrest, the woman attempted to flee around to the other side of her vehicle, and was ultimately administered a shock of electricity which sent her to the ground.

What followed, were the woman's hilarious bellows of dramatized agony as she ate a foot long sub of "I told you this was going to happen dumbass." Personally, I think too many hot-headed cops jump the gun in similar situations, allowing their egos to preside over logic and problem solving skills. They tend to over react to profanity and use excessive force when unnecessary.

However, in this case, the woman could have avoided the entire escalation of events by simply signing the ticket. By doing so, you are not admitting fault, but waiving immediate arrest and confirming that you will either appear in court to fight the ticket, or pay your fine. She dared the cop, used profanity, put lives in danger by acting belligerent near passing vehicles, resisted arrest, and even attempted to flee. If that's not asking for it, I don't know what is.

I've included the clip for your scrutiny and entertainment. You tell me. If you were the judge presiding over this case, in who's favor would you rule?

People should know by now, Don't mess with Texas!

The Zodiac

It's infinitely amazing to me how our souls are like prisms that filter the light of the world and project powerful tapestries of colors that do more than just describe who we are through a revelation of intricate hues. Our colors, indicative of our true identities, also harness unfathomable quantities of potential energy that can propel planets or even ignite entire galaxies into existence.

My father used to always say that every person you meet potentially carries various nuggets of knowledge and/or experience from which you can draw to dramatically improve your life. Sort of like if you were a jigsaw puzzle, and as time passed you continued to add pieces to your puzzle. You would also collect pieces that maybe wouldn't fit your current puzzle's configuration, but might be the right pieces for people whom you come across in life, (arguably by design) and who could conversely possess pieces to which would fit yours.

Personally, one of the most fascinating things I find in life are the unique experiences we share with other people. These interactions can be as short as an exchange on a train, or a manifestation of an eternal bond. In either case, these experiences imprint an indelible mark in our memories that serve a multitude of possibilities, the greatest two of which is learning and providing. Whether we learn about ourselves, other people, a song, a book, or the meaning of a word, with every encounter with another person lies the possibility of discovery, or contribution.

Being as gregarious as I am, I've always enjoyed meeting new people. However, in my youth, too much emphasis was placed on embracing these experiences and not enough was placed on cultivating existing ones. With the passing of time and the expansion of family, I have a greater appreciation for the things that truly matter in life and am trying to put more effort into developing current relationships. However, I've never quite lost the fascination with meeting new people and discovering what they might have to offer. I truly believe that the people we meet represent an important facet of our lives and although they may not always provide necessary puzzle pieces, it doesn't mean they can't influence the colors of your puzzle, or even change the very image your canvas portrays.

Painted Black

More poetic dribble . . . .


PAINTED BLACK


A glance, a tilt, no softer wish.
I watch you paint it black,
I yearn to be that mystic fish,
Swimming -in your sea of black.

No idle stares nor summer cloth,
Deserve your heart’s attack.
Like sultry flames that seduce the moth,
You stare at mine, I stare right back.

A thousand skies of wasted hue,
Where rainbows never lack.
Your beauty ignites the phoenix new,
Our worlds collide, we fade to black

Lips of velvet kiss the door,
Where once there laid a crack.
Desire melts us to midnight’s floor,
Where I watch you paint me black.

by Brown

I Lost a World Today

Thought I'd share a poem I wrote a few days ago. . . for those of you still reading this dribble anyway. . . .

I Lost A World Today


I lost a world just today,
Has anybody seen?
It shone before -but no more,
No longer bright and sheen.

Upon its lips one winter kiss,
And one from shifting sands.
Upon its heart an Atlas weight,
Too bearing for my hands.

I lost a world just today,
Or perhaps I didn’t know.
Dreams do not belong to men,
Nor warmth for falling snow.


by Brown

Untraceable

As many of you now know I have a plethora of women in my family and although they went to great lengths to teach me the ways of the samurai, they went to even greater ones to hide the fact that women poop. As a matter of fact, although privy to every other female secret, I had been brainwashed to believe that they also never ever fart. Ever. I didn't discover that women pass gas until well into my adult years.

However, when I reflect back upon all those years that I had been deceived, I cannot for the life of me figure out exactly how they managed to keep this fact so expertly hidden. That is, of course, until now. Sorry ladies. . . . .

The Punisher

So, a third movie was made about the Marvel Comic book character, the Punisher, and let me tell you . . . .testicle pulling torture more adequately describes having to watch this cinematic pile of cow dung than anything else. This movie instantly became one of the top 3 worst movies of all time. It had every action movie cliche' and made movies like DareDevil and Electra look like Academy Award Winners.

I knew this movie was going to be bad during the first action sequence (okay, well before that even). The Punisher enters a mansion where a mob family is meeting and a blood bath ensues. After killing every mobster in the room, he climbs atop a chandelier, drapes his legs over, and while hanging upside down (and spinning), draws two weapons and proceeds to terminate all the mindless bodyguards who subsequently enter the room. How he even got the thing to spin in the first place is a mystery, but not nearly as enigmatic as how accurately he shot every bad guy while upside down, whilst performing a trapeze stunt. Circ de soleil apparently has nothing on the Punisher.

The movie just got progressively worse with facially deformed mobsters giving themselves sobriquets such as Jigsaw and springing relatives from local mental institutions to assist in creating mayhem and ultimately bringing down the mob killing protagonist. Seinfeld's nemesis Norm, (ever wonder what happened to him?) played the weapons supplier to this unbelievable vigilante and seemed to be his only friend. (if you can call him that) The movie was devoid of any real characterization, and attempts to insert comic relief would have been more successful had they used mimes and banana peels. Everyone from the writer to the editor should be cryogenically frozen and sent into outer space for creating this film making masterpiece of vomit inducing excrement.

Everything in this movie was predictable, from the plot to the script. One of the most offensive things about this film was the painfully exaggerated gore. The Punisher literally punched a guy's face in and nearly everyone he shot either lost a limb or half of his face. At one point in the movie, he even resets his broken nose with a pencil. That's right, not the old fashion, "Let me wiggle this thing back into place" move; oh no, that would be too easy. I need to shove a pencil halfway to my brain and perform a violent, caveman rhinoplasty without so much as a grimace or a drop of blood.

Save yourselves the punishment and skip over this piece of shit when you're perusing the shelves of your local video store. I sure would have, had the movie I originally wanted had been in stock. Oh well, another one of life's little ironies I suppose. Where the hell is Dolph Lundgren when you need him? I'm just sayin'.