And Your Point is What, Exactly?
My recent rant about Brian Eno and his lament about an America gone astray after 9/11 prompted a couple thoughtful comments and one bird-poop-in-the-night link drop. I can handle anonymous comments. If someone reads my blog and doesn't agree, and they want to leave a comment without identifying themselves, fine, go ahead. This is America, so say what you want. You'll still be a giant chicken.
What irritated me about the phantom link dropper was that he/she (screw the correct grammar, I'm saying "they") dropped a link of which I was already fully aware: http://www.time.com/time/europe/gdml/peace2003.html
To appease the stealthy commenter, I'll even give you the full gist of the site. Quite simply, it's a purely unscientific poll conducted by Time Europe asking "Which country really poses the greatest danger to world peace in 2003?" You're given three choices: North Korea, Iraq, or the United States. Daintily Dirty has already offered up her own critique of the poll, and I highly recommend giving her a read for an differing view than what you'll get here. The numbers have shifted somewhat since her critique but, overwhelmingly (82.1 percent), respondents voted the United States. What a shock. Yawn.
Again, I have no idea who dropped the link, but I'm envisioning a weary Frenchman, sitting in front of his pink iMac, sipping a glass of wine, thinking, "Ah, take zis little bit of proof, you war hungry crazy American" *pause to puff thoughtfully on a cigarette* "Zose Americans are all ze same. Don't zey see how much ze rest of the ze world hates zem?"
You know what? The Time Europe poll is right. The world would be so much better off without America. So, let's disband into 50 separate countries and see how quickly the world unravels. Okay, let's not even be that radical, let's just completely disband our military, you know, everything. Bring our soldiers home from abroad, pull back from the nasty DMZ in Korea, pull up stakes all around Asia, and just let Europe and the world police itself entirely. The first thing you can expect is a pretty explosive situation in Israel, and a renewed "re-unification effort" on the part of the now nuclear-capable North Koreans. Of course, China would look the other way on that one because it would be busy re-establishing its hold on Taiwan. Unrestricted and unwatched terrorist groups would also be completely free to resume their attack on the morally collapsed Western infidels.
Actually, none of that would happen, because some European country, probably Great Britain, would have to step in to fill the void. Then, suddenly, everyone would be miffed at those no good Britons and their busy body policing efforts. I'm no fan of the Bush administration, but really, what options do they have? With the world getting smaller every day, we can't afford to sit on our hands. And really, the rest of the world can't afford the United States sitting on its hands either, no matter how much it may complain and say we're the biggest threat to world peace. The irony is, we're also the most likely entity to bring about world peace.
Perhaps Time Europe could asked an equally skewed question and put it in poll format. Namely, ask the general world population if Iraq would be better off without Saddam, or if North Korea would be better off without Kim Jong Il. Chances are, the vast majority of respondents would answer "Yes." *pause to puff thoughtfully on a cigarette* "But zey should not be forced out by military action. Let zere own people rise up and overthrow zere governments."
Newsflash people: Coups don't happen very often, and for a very simple reason. Dictators have a pretty nasty habit of decimating their own populations to retain power. Sure, Iraqis could take to the streets en mass chanting for Saddam's head, but it would be short lived in the face of tanks rolling toward them popping off rounds loaded with sarin gas. These are people who are trying to raise families and live lives. They're not about to foolishly believe they can overthrow Saddam without some sort of help (click here for pictures of help).
America isn't out to slaughter civilians. America isn't out to establish a global empire. America isn't just picking random fights. In the wake of 9/11, we've just realized that the world does need to change, and it's foolish, to say nothing of dangerous, to sit back and think problems will just take care of themselves. Because they don't. The Western world, not just America, has very real enemies, and they're not enemies who understand or play by the rules to which we in the civilized world have grown accustomed.
Conduct all the useless biased polls you want. The cold hard fact is the world needs the U.S., and it needs us to play hard occasionally. That's not arrogance, it's just a fact.
Where Are Those Damn Smoking Guns in Iraq?
Those slippery Iraqis just won't give up their goods. It's been an entertaining game, with the U.S. insisting Iraq is hiding weapons of mass destruction and Iraq insisting it does not. I know I've been laughing hysterically. Nothing prompts a good belly chuckle better than the thought of thousands of people dying with the release of chemical and biological agents.
But, really, I think the U.N. is going about their search all wrong. I mean, here they should be looking for weapons of mass destruction, but instead they're apparently searching for smoking guns. I mean, come on guys, keep your eyes on the ball.
I'm referring, of course, to this recent MSNBC.com article that reports empty warheads designed to carry chemical agents were found south of Baghdad. That, in itself, is pretty newsworthy. After all, if Iraq isn't developing chemical or biological weapons, then why do they need warheads designed to carry them?
What I found comical was this excerpt:
While the artillery rockets are evidence of an Iraqi weapons program, they may not amount to a "smoking gun" unless some sort of chemical agent is also detected, said U.S. officials, speaking on condition of anonymity. The White House has threatened to use military force against Iraq if it fails to disclose its banned weapons programs and disarm, but has said it does not necessarily need to find a "smoking gun" to justify an attack. U.S. allies are pressing for solid evidence that Iraq is developing banned weapons. One U.S. official said, however, that the discovery did constitute a "smoldering gun."
So, there you have it. While the world waits, holding its breath in anticipation of an almost certain Gulf War II, U.S. officials are debating whether inspectors are finding smoking guns or smoldering guns. Hell, as long as they're making distinctions, maybe they could start rating Iraqi finds in terms of gun models.
REPORTER: Could you tell us what the recent discovery in Iraq of warheads designed to carry chemical weapons means for the impending war in the Gulf?
ARI FLEISCHER: Well, up until now, we've been operating under the belief that Iraq has weapons of mass destruction, which pretty much amounts to an unsmoking .38 Special. Now, if the .38 Special were smoking, we'd be talking about the deployment of an additional 8,000 troops. Now, today, inspectors discovered the specially designed warheads, which shouldn't be in Iraq. Really, it's pretty much like finding an AK-47 with a flash suppresor and retractable stock. Again, it's not necessarily a smoking AK-47, but the barrel is perhaps a tad warm, and there may be powder residue, but that will take further inspecting.
REPORTER: There's a worldwide opinion that the U.S. shouldn't act unless it finds evidence amounting to the discovery of a .50 caliber Barrett sniper rifle. Would you care to comment on that?
ARI FLEISCHER: Well, it would still have to be a smoking sniper rifle, although a smoldering one may necessitate military intervention.
REPORTER: What happens if inspectors find a nuclear warhead?
ARI FLEISCHER: Again, it would depend on whether the warhead is smoking or not. . . hey, wait a minute. That was a trick question.
Here's my gripe. Maybe it's because the media or U.S. officials just don't believe the average American can wrap their mind around the concept of weapons of mass destruction, or maybe it's just because the terms smoking gun and smoldering gun just make for more dramatic narrative. Whatever the case, it does the reader a disservice by boiling the news down to unnecessary analogies.
We're on the verge of a war, a war that, arguably justifiable, stands to drastically change the world as we know it, for better or for worse. Given that, don't cheapen its importance by grasping for a meaningless analogy. I, for one, can understand the importance of finding warheads designed to carry chemical payloads. That's pretty self-explanatory.
And it doesn't have to be smoking.
College Enemies Revisited
I know it seems unbelievable, but I occasionally make enemies. This was not always the case. In high school, I was more determined to make friends with everyone than risk alienating myself from even the lowest cliques. I was the little A student, trying to keep my grades high so teachers would praise me, while also trying to hide my nerdish leanings from classmates who knew I was nerdy anyways. I didn't like the concept of enemies, and I really believed, if I tried hard enough, I could go through life without making them.
Alas, it was not to be. I made a bona fide enemy my senior year in Tokyo, without even trying really, and I was mortified to learn somebody didn't like me. As the year progressed, however, I started to enjoy the fact that somebody detested me. It was a relief to learn I could have an enemy and still pretty much live my day-to-day existence without it really affecting me in the least. I decided that maybe having enemies wasn't that big of a deal. After all, it made me more fully appreciate those who are my friends.
Well, college rolled around the next year, and it didn't take me much more than a couple of weeks to discover my first two college enemies were pretty close at hand; just across the dorm hall from me actually.
I didn't know them, but I hated them almost instantly. From what I could gather, they were a couple of ex-high school jocks who couldn't cut it in college athletics. Now, I played football, but not particularly well, and I wrestled fairly proficiently, but I never let it get to my head because, in the end, I preferred video games and nerding out. These two wonks, however, swaggered up and down the halls speaking far too loud about how great they thought they were, and playing over-animated games of catch with balled up socks. They liked to be seen and heard, and they insisted on leaving their door open at all times, whether they were blaring their God-awful music, or engaging in an irritating argument. I started referring to them as Wuss One and Wuss Two, because they addressed each other as "Wussy," "Wuss," or the degrading combination of "Wussy Wuss." Consider the following dialogue:
WUSS ONE: Hey, Wussy, what are you going to do tonight? Are we going to the casino or what?
WUSS TWO: fuck you, Wuss. I'm not going to decide. You decide, Wussy Wuss. I'm on the phone.
WUSS ONE: Well, get off the fucking phone Wussy Wuss. It takes an hour to get to the casino, so we gotta get going.
As unbelievable as it may seem, they could continue like that for up to an hour. The mindless banter I could handle, but the blaring music I could not. Many was the time during those first few weeks that I had to ask them politely to turn it down, which they would do, and then 10 minutes later turn it back up. I knew I had a breaking point, and it was about to be reached.
After my fencing class early one morning, I caught the bus back to Lourdes, showered, and fell in for a much needed nap. I figured I had, at least, two hours of deep slumber to indulge in.
Well, about halfway into my nap, and a nice little dream involving me, Cindy Crawford, a clown, and a stellar orgasm. Okay, there was no orgasm (and truthfully, no clown), because before I could attain that wondrous state, the most God-awful music ever to assail the ears came blaring from across the hallway from the room of Wuss 1 and Wuss 2.
I'm a happy person. A laid back person. A person you would like to meet and probably trust with your children should you go away for awhile and need a babysitter. There are, however, two things you should know. Number 1: do not wake me up unless you have a damned good reason. You will regret this. Number 2: if I'm having a Cindy Crawford nocturnal emission, there is no such thing as a damned good reason. If you see me sleeping and I have a smile that spreads from ear to ear, and my blankets appear to be hovering mysteriously around the groin area, you should let me sleep.
Thus, when I was awakened by a blaring stereo, the good-natured Ryan Rhodes you would be pleased to meet was nowhere to be found. Instead, I was filled with blind rage. There could have been two little old ladies listening to Big Band music and I still would have ripped into them.
As it was, I stormed across the hall into the room of Wuss 1 and Wuss 2 (their door was always, ALWAYS, fucking open), and I let loose a string of expletives that had the resident assistant running down the hall to find out what was wrong. Wuss 1 got right into my face and started screaming back at me.
"It's fucking 10:30 in the morning, you fucking wussy!" he shouted. "We can play any fucking music we want! Go back to your fucking room and shut up!"
"You'll turn that music down right now, or I swear I'll toss that stereo and all your speakers off this third floor and won't think twice about it!" I yelled, throwing in a good chest push on Wuss 1 to augment my point.
"Ooooh, big fucking words, asshole!" he said, pushing back. "You don't see anyone else upset about the music do you? Go fuck yourself!"
With that, I sprinted down the hallway, knocking on 12 dorm room doors. Eventually, 16 people emerged from nine rooms, and I asked them to join me outside of Wuss 1 and Wuss 2's room.
"Who here is really annoyed by the music coming from the dorm room of these two monumental assholes?!" I asked the bewildered throng.
As proof that I'm probably the luckiest son of a bitch ever, everyone raised their hand, although I think they were just stunned that I was mad enough to rally half the dorm wing wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts with a smiley face on them. Like I said, don't wake me up during a wet dream. Ever.
Confronted with a unanimous vote, and a resident assistant now aligning himself with my superior numbers, Wuss 1 and Wuss 2 capitulated to my demands. My demands were as follows:
"Now, turn that fucking thing down, for now and forever, and if I ever have to come out of my room again because your music is too loud, I'll wake the entire fucking dorm to make my point."
Then, drastically changing my tone of voice and volume, I turned to the crowd I had so rudely summoned.
"Thank you all, for coming out to support me. I'm going back to sleep."
Yet I stood there, locking eyes with Wuss 1 as the rest of the crowd disbanded.
"You just made a major fucking mistake today, wussy," warned Wuss 1 as if I cared.
"Yes, and I'm sure you're a real threat to me," I retorted. "Go crawl back with your little buddy there and engage in whatever ass sex you two dabble in. And keep the music down."
Obviously, our animosity toward each other only grew throughout the quarter, even though they never again blared their radio. It wasn't long, however, before they started taping pictures of naked men on my door with balloon dialogue such as "Ryan fucks me in the ass with his tiny prick," and "Call Ryan for great man sex, 555-5555" (only it was my number, the fuckers).
I responded late one evening with plastic jug of Log Cabin syrup and a three foot length of rubber lab hose (that I bought at Fleet Farm of all places), which I attached to the spigot of the syrup and ran under their dorm room door. I then squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until the bottle was crinkly and almost empty. The next morning, as they set foot on the syrupy carpet in front of their door, I bet you could have heard them swearing in Idaho. They tried steam cleaning their carpet, but it didn't do much good. They eventually opted to cut away a huge syrup soaked square and put down a rug. Just for clarification, the dorm I stayed in had concrete floors. If you wanted carpet, you had to measure and buy your own.
Not known for their originality, the Wuss boys reciprocated the stunt, apparently unaware that my own carpet stopped about three feet from the door, so I only had to mop up a puddle of syrup. They tried sliding tacks under my door, but I kind of saw the shiny objects on my concrete the next morning, so that didn't work out as they had planned.
And then, the big discovery. No, not big: HUGE. My room was adjacent to our dorm wing's bathroom, so the drone of the showers next door seemed to go on in perpetuity. One day, a friend was visiting and she asked what the two square metal panels were against my wall. It was sad because, even though they were quite large, I had never really given them much thought. Lo and behold, behind the tiles were the main valves controlling cold and hot water access to the showers. It didn't take me long to start playing with my newfound toy. It was simply a matter of time before either Wuss 1 or Wuss 2 would take a shower and announce their half-nakedness to the wing. I honestly can't remember which one was first, but I do remember giggling in anticipation, waiting for the water to turn on in one of the showers so I could exact anonimous revenge.
I started by turning off the cold water, because I thought scalding them would be too cruel. Eventually, however, I learned how to balance the hot and cold just right so they just couldn't have an enjoyable shower to save their lives. They would yell and scream and demand to know why the showers never worked for them, but they seemed to work fine for everyone else. Finally, after about a month of water fun, there was a knock at my door. It was dorm maintenance coming by to check why the Wussies were having shower trouble. It didn't take him long to see my fingerprints in the otherwise undisturbed dust of the pipes and valves. He let out a low, elongated grunt, which I suspect was a stifled laugh, and then he turned to me, smiling slightly.
"Um, don't do that any more," he said, and he walked out.
The hi-jinx subsided during the first quarter final exam period, and we never really resumed our war over the rest of the year. I think their need to focus on studying had something to do with it, because as far as I know they both flunked out and were never seen by me ever again after the first year.
Or, maybe they just didn't want to mess any more with the guy who controlled their showers.
A Flurry of Flights
I've was informed last week that I had better start preparing for two upcoming technology conventions in late February and early March. I don't mind the conventions, and it's really kind of neat that I get to travel on the company's coin, but business travel is totally different than travel for pleasure.
Come February 23, I'll be flying to Dallas for a SHARE convention, although I have no idea what a SHARE convention entails. Ideally, it would entail half naked women, perhaps the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, whipped cream, and scented oils. Chances aren't good that will be the case. Hopefully I'll find time to prowl the streets of Dallas, but if the last convention I attended in Nashville is any indication, I won't find much spare time for anything.
Then, in early March, I fly to Indianapolis for a COMMON convention. Don't ask me why both conventions have to be in all caps, they just are. What is there to do in Indianapolis? I guess we're going to take a tour of the speedway, but to someone like me who views NASCAR (look, more caps) as proof our civilization is in decline, such a tour is akin to watching clothes tumble in a dryer.
Maybe it's the weather, or maybe it's the fact I haven't gotten a raise in over a year, but I'm starting to get restless at this job. I want to continue writing for a magazine or a newspaper, but this technology stuff is starting to get incredibly dry. I want to write professionally but about stuff that interests me and makes me laugh. Writing for Maxim would be right up my alley. I could write about penis enlargement ads and actually get paid for it.
Avert Your Eyes: Ryan's About to Rant
Okay, Daintily Dirty went and got me reading a European version of Time magazine, which apparently dedicates 75 percent of its covers to pictures of Saddam Hussein and burning American flags. Save Europe from Nazis and Fascists, rebuild and finance the recovery of their battered countries, and 50 years later we've become the next big Satan. Some gratitude.
It's fascinating just how much the rest of the world distrusts U.S. policy, which is fine. They have every right under the sky to criticize us to their heart's content. I'll gladly take their crap and pretend it's ice cream. However, this guy just was screaming to be put in his place.
According to Brian Eno, "a musician who believes that regime change begins at home," America has become "trapped in a fortress of arrogance and ignorance." And here's why:
Europeans have always looked at America with a mixture of fascination and puzzlement, and now, increasingly, disbelief. How is it that a country that prides itself on its economic success could have so many very poor people? How is it that a country so insistent on the rule of law should seek to exempt itself from international agreements? And how is it that the world's beacon of democracy can have elections dominated by wealthy special interest groups? For me, the question has become: "How can a country that has produced so much cultural and economic wealth act so dumb?"
Well, for starters, just over a year ago, we had four airplanes hi-jacked, three of which were flown into buildings, costing us over 3,000 lives. Kinda left us a little irked and forced us to refocus our lenses on the world and re-assess our role in it. We thought there would be a little more sympathy from the world but, you know, finding very little, we've decided to take matters into our own hands.
I can't really argue that we have poor people in America. He's got us there. Then again, poverty has a toehold throughout Europe, or at least it did the last time I checked. I'll admit I'm a little rusty when it comes to social studies, so maybe all the countries of Europe have managed to stamp out that pesky little poverty bug. If so, I sincerely apologize Mr. Eno. Truly yours is the economic model we should embrace.
As for those international agreements we keep pulling out of, I have to admit that, musician that he is, Mr. Eno struck a chord there too. Yes, we're pulling out of international agreements, but don't worry, Mr. Eno, that does not in any way mean that we have a deep-seeded desire to occupy Germany, or France, or Spain, or Great Britain. No, it simply means we want to be on a level playing field with other countries who don't want to play fair, countries like, oh, I don't know. . . Iraq and North Korea. Hell, they use international agreements as toilet paper. If you're going up against a cheater, sometimes it helps if you cheat as well. Once the cheaters are out of the game, we'll be more than happy to engage in a group hug and go into a big hall where we'll gladly sign agreement after agreement.
I could fill this page with the names of Americans who have influenced, entertained and educated me. They represent what I admire about America: a vigorous originality of thought, and a confidence that things can be changed for the better. That was the America I lived in and enjoyed from 1978 until 1983. That America was an act of faith — the faith that "otherness" was not threatening but nourishing, the faith that there could be a country big enough in spirit to welcome and nurture all the diversity the world could throw at it.
There must be a "but" somewhere around here. Oh, wait, here it is:
But since Sept. 11, that vision has been eclipsed by a suspicious, introverted America, a country-sized version of that peculiarly American form of ghetto: the gated community. A gated community is defensive. Designed to keep the "others" out, it dissolves the rich web of society into a random clustering of disconnected individuals. It turns paranoia and isolation into a lifestyle.
Tell you what, let a few terrorists infiltrate Europe, destroy Big Ben, the Brandenburg Gate, the Eiffel Tower, and spread a little anthrax around for good measure and then talk to me about being paranoid. In actuality, America has shown remarkable resilience in bouncing back from the shock of a nationwide trauma. Still, we're not too keen about having it all happen again. I really like how he makes it sound as if our borders have suddenly become closed to everyone, as if we now don't allow immigrants or tourists into our country. The only "others" we want to keep out are the suspicious folks with three aliases who want to learn how to fly commercial airliners for no apparent reason. Otherwise, we still maintain a vibrant and diverse cultural base. You should really come and visit us sometime.
Too often, the U.S. presents the "American way" as the only way, insisting on its kind of free-market Darwinism as the only acceptable "model of human progress." But isn't civilization what happens when people stop behaving as if they're trapped in a ruthless Darwinian struggle and start thinking about communities and shared futures? America as a gated community won't work, because not even the world's sole superpower can build walls high enough to shield itself from the intertwined realities of the 21st century. There's a better form of security: reconnect with the rest of the world, don't shut it out; stop making enemies and start making friends. Perhaps it's asking a lot to expect America to act differently from all the other empires in history, but wasn't that the original idea?
Again with the big squishy peace hug idea. A nice idea that, until you start dealing with people like Saddam who believe being nice means killing only half as many people as he did last time. "Perhaps it's asking a lot to expect America to act differently from all the other empires in history, but wasn't that the original idea?" No, it's not asking a lot, and in fact that's exactly what we're doing, and we're being criticized for it. We're taking our position as the world's major superpower, and we're trying bring about change. Europeans have this fuzzy idea of all countries just chilling out and letting the bad apple regimes just run their course.
It's easy to sit on high, strumming your guitar, living the good life, and simply turn a deaf ear to the reality that other countries are truly just struggling to survive. But those countries do exist, and while your back is turned, they're actively promoting a hatred of the rest of the world, the West, that seems to have so much. We made that mistake in Afghanistan. Maybe you're content to make the same mistake with Iraq, but we're not.
Maybe regime change does actually start at home, but it sure speeds the process along if the dictator happens to be a charred corpse following an air raid. It's a sick and harsh reality, but it's reality all the same.
And a New computer is On the Way
Well, it took me awhile, but I finally took the initiative and got ahold of "the guy" who is going to purchase the components and build a new computer for me. When it comes to the world of technology, I keep a few friends on the fringe who I can turn to when I need to upgrade my investment in the world of computers and high-tech machines.
I keep these guys on hand because (A) they know what they're doing, and (B) they tend to have a loose moral fiber when it comes to acquiring hardware and software--I don't know where it comes from, and I don't ask. Sure, my eventual machine may consist of 75 percent questionably-purchased components and pirated software. But, if it saves me a few hundred bucks or more, who am I to judge? In the end, I'll have a computer that is better than most high-end systems found in major corporations. I don't necessarily need to be able to run an enterprise resource planning (ERP) solution, but it's nice to know I could if I wanted to. I just want to play Aliens Versus Predator 2. That's all.
Making large purchases does not come easy to me. I go through what amounts to a religious search for meaning any time I have to part with more than $500. I feel I have to sacrifice a chicken and write the check in chicken blood using a claw as a pen. When I write out a quick $10 check, I do so almost without thinking. But, as I wrote a check to "the guy" for $1,200, I did so very carefully, using ink strokes so fluid the check could qualify as a work of art. I handed the check to "the guy," and he smiled at me with a sly look in his eyes.
"Don't worry, my man," he said. "we'll take care of you."
We? He has a team? And they're going to take care of me? I don't know if I liked the sound of that. I felt like I was in some sort of high technology version of "The Godfather," only instead of Marlon Brando stroking a cat, he'd be nervously fingering a Palm Pilot.
"I'm glad you came to me, Mr. Rhodes. It shows you have respect, and we value respect. Respect is our username and password."
It's disturbing to what lengths I'll go to play really cool video games online.
"The Naked Truth About Nudism," c. Ryan Rhodes, Jan. 7, 2003
Warning: This column contains nudity. Due to the graphic nudity portrayed in this column, readers are advised to peruse this section by candlelight while cramped in a dark and quiet closet.
I'll admit it, from time to time, I walk around nude. When I shower, I'm nude. When I bathe, I'm nude. When I surf the Internet, I'm nu. . . wait, forget that last one.
Despite my occasional nudity, I make it a point not to expose others to my naked body whenever possible. Although it's generally agreed that I'm a smoking hot specimen of male hunkiness, I'm relatively certain people don't want to see me prancing around in the buff. NUDIST!
There are people, however, who genuinely enjoy being naked and sharing their naked bodies with the world. These people even have a neat sounding title: nudists.
Now, as I just pointed out, I'm not a nudist, but I've always held nudists in high esteem, and by high esteem I mean I like to point and giggle at them.
My, um, exposure to the world of nudism has been limited to a certain beach on the Hawaiian island of Maui. There, on a small stretch of white sand known as Little Makena Beach, nudists congregate and shed their clothes in direct violation of the island's nudity ban.
I found out about Little Makena Beach during my first visit to Maui when I was 20 years old. And, because my 20-year-old mind had been conditioned by television to believe that all naked beach-goers were somehow right out of Baywatch, I wanted nothing more than to find that little beach and feast my eyes. My brother and I were bouncing around in wide-eyed goofy anticipation of seeing an entire beach of nude people. Such as Christina Aguilera nude.
Finally, after much searching, we located Little Makena Beach and undertook the small hike required to reach the isolated stretch of sand. As my brother and I came over a small rise, we saw Little Makena Beach below us in all its glory. And, just as we expected, there were naked people milling around everywhere.
And, oh my stars, the naked people looked nothing like the people I saw on Baywatch. As I stood there, overlooking the beach of nudists, I experienced the life-altering realization that the vast majority of naked people are really, really gross to behold.
These weren't airbrushed Playboy models, these were just your run-of-the-mill people next door. And they were naked! Imagine your neighbor coming over to borrow a cup of sugar. Only they're naked! That's what Little Makena Beach is like. There are naked young people, and there are naked old people, and there are naked really old people, and they're everywhere!
And it's not just that they're naked. No. These people are extremely proud to be naked, as if by shedding their clothes and exposing themselves, they have achieved some sort of transcendental state. But, you see, they actually haven't achieved a transcendental state. They're just naked. Totally and completely naked. There's no other way to put it, really. They're just naked!
Most of the nudists I encountered walked slowly, strolling really, with a nakeder than thou look on their faces, apparently scornful of those of us who had the audacity to wear swim trunks on their hallowed naked ground. I kept wanting to shout, "You're not better than me! You're just naked!"
But other than their apparent air of superiority over us clothed mortals, and the unmistakable fact they're all naked, nudists are pretty much like everyone else. They swim in the ocean, they bodysurf, they build sandcastles, they play paddle ball, they play volleyball and they play catch.
Which brings me to another important point about nudists. In this columnist's opinion, naked men should not be allowed to play paddle ball, or volleyball, and they should definitely not be allowed to play catch. In fact, any activity that involves sudden movements of the exposed pelvic area should be taboo for all men without clothes.
The other distinctive aspect of Little Makena Beach is that it's one of the best bodyboarding and bodysurfing beaches on the entire island of Maui. Therefore, if you really want to bodyboard on some great waves, you must be willing to brave a sea of nude people.
There's a certain feeling of helplessness inherent in being pushed by a wave towards the exposed behind of an unwary wader. On more than one occasion, I was able to magically steer my bodyboard to avoid a fleshy collision.
In the end, I learned that nudists and non-nudists can exist peacefully together, sharing the same beach and soaking in the same sun.
Still, naked people, like Paz Vega, shouldn't play catch. That's just really gross. Even though Paz Vega is pretty hot. Paz Vega is really hot. I mean, Paz Vega is really hot.
North Korea's X-Rated Missile Program
Well, despite all the speculation as to why the U.S. is salivating for a war against Iraq while the North Korean threat is downplayed, I have my own suspicions why North Korea has to play second fiddle. Quite simply, North Korea has an X-rated missile program.
Yes, North Korea has nuclear capabilities, and yes North Korea is pretty flagrant when it comes to not playing nice. And yet, the Bush Jr. administration is content to try to work through diplomatic channels rather than give the upstart Asian country too much broadcast news legitimacy. And no wonder. Here the North Koreans have the audacity to refer to their missiles with such cheek-reddening names as Taepo Dong and Nodong.
It's kind of hard to quake with fear when you're told North Koreans are tinkering with a Taepo Dong. "Well, what type o' dong are they tinkering with? And can it be bought online to improve my own self-confidence?"
And Nodong? What kind of a missile name is that? Tell me Kim Jong Il himself didn't personally conjure that name just to make the U.S. military squirm during briefings.
"Well, Mr. President, as you can see, we should really be concerned about North Korea's Nodong technology. Franklin, please quit snickering back there! This is serious! Anyway, to continue: this is obviously no ordinary Taepo Dong. If we look at the map, we see that Nodong can reach this far. Okay, gentlemen, if you can't take this briefing more seriously, I'll ask you to step outside so I can give the president a close-up look at Nodong."
Obviously, the Bush administration is wary of putting the president in front of the White House press corp to discuss the North Korean missile program. With all the talk about Taepo Dongs and Nodongs, his approval ratings would plummet.
REPORTER #1: Mr. President, how big of a threat do you think the North Korean missile program poses to the rest of the world.
PRESIDENT W: A rogue nation developing Nodongs is obviously a pretty big concern. We don't want Nodongs coming out of North Korea and threatening the world.
REPORTER #1: Excuse me?
PRESIDENT W: Let's put it another way. If weapon inspectors visited North Korea and found a dangerous Taepo Dong, or even Nodongs, we'd have to ask their government why.
REPORTER #2: Soo. . . a nation with no dongs is bad? Is that what you're saying?
PRESIDENT W: Well, obviously. But, more than that, the North Korean Taepo Dongs are just as bad as Nodongs.
REPORTER #2: I see. Actually, no I don't. When did U.S. policy start viewing the North Korean type o' dong as somehow different from the rest of the world?
PRESIDENT W: Huh? What Taepo Dong does the rest of the world have? Why wasn't I informed about this?
The next day's newspaper headlines would read: NO DONGS THREATEN BUSH
So you see, until the North Koreans have the courtesy to rename their missiles, we're going to focus all our attention on Iraq.
