Subtle ways we wage war, or war is waged against us.

For a very thought provoking read, I encourage you to read this post by Smithers over at sportsBabel. I think it is very much inline with my recent attempts to initiate a dialogue about the Present State of War.

The Present State of War

This story about the Canadian government’s desire to outfit 17,000 soldiers with the Integrated Soldier System Project really got me worked up again. The simple fact that it is anticipated to take until 2018 to accomplish this “upgrade” for the 17,000 soldiers reminds me of how committed this government is to keeping our soldiers at war … for the long-haul.

So where am I going with this? What I would like to do is to use this site as a forum to assess what people’s views are on the present state of war: in (inter)national politics, in our culture (e.g., messages in film, or music, or visible through sport, etc.), and in our own personal lives.

To kick this off, I’d like to suggest a list of movies that might spark some discussion about some of the more predominant attitudes about war in the contemporary moment. If you’ve seen any of these, offer your readings on the prevailing messages. If you haven’t, try to find the time to watch one (or all) and do the same. In no particular order, some of the films I’m thinking about are:

Lions for Lambs

Redacted

Rambo

The Kingdom

Jarhead

Hotel Rwanda

Of course, feel free to suggest some other relevant films as well. But let’s definitely start this conversation …

Peace & Much Love …

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Bringin’ It “Home”: First Nation Protests @ 2010 Games

Dick Pound must be writhing in his perch atop the moral high ground he has self-proclaimed is his to speak from, but as he said himself, “this comes as no surprise” (Pound, 2008, April 10). AFN National Chief Phil Fontaine said that native leaders “will use any opportunity to highlight aboriginal poverty.”  That may well include the 2010 Vancouver Olympic Games.

All I can say is, “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” See my previous two posts (or older ones) if you’re not up to speed. If and when you are, I say let’s get it on! Let’s make sure that the global issues of Tibet and Sudan, et cetera, do not overwrite our own domestic issues. Peaceful protests can be POWERFUL protests. But more than simply points being made, or awareness raised, CHANGE and ACTION need to be the results.

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The Palimpsest

I’ve been wondering if Ray Emery’s over-writing of the Mike Tyson image with that of George Chuvalo isn’t one of the most intriguing palimpsests in contemporary times?  In other disciplines, there are technologies that have made imaging and deciphering ancient palimpsests possible in ways they never were before.  Like a palimpsest, what has the Chuvalo text left to be seen of the Tyson text?  That’s poststructuralism!  That’s discourse analysis.  You know it is. 

 If this was a poem, it would be titled:

An ode to the spectre of Smitty … wherever you might be 

Getting a flat on the “reservation” …

*This is an exercise in “free flow” writing.  As a qualifier to this post, this is fictional recollection.

So to set this up, you’ve gotta know that when I set out on my very first bike trip (I was 17 years old), my grandma made me promise that I wouldn’t take Hwy 2A through Hobbema.  She just didn’t want me going through the reservation on my own.  What her fears were based on?  One can only guess.  But nonetheless, it warranted her concern for me.  I’m at an age where what my grandma felt mattered to me.  So, I didn’t take 2A south at Wetaskiwin, I stayed headed west on Hwy 13.  It was on that road that I lost my tent.  It was the worst.  I ended up (taking the long route to avoid the rez) in Sylvan Lake at a campround, and my dad had to drive from Camrose with a replacement tent (it was a cheap, piece of shit pup-tent).  The next day, I decided to take the backroute down towards Cochrane (Hwy 22), but I ran into road construction.  So, good thing I was ridin’ a mountain bike, pulling a trailer, rather than a roadbike with panniers.  It was rough goin’ for just the short while I had to get to the detour.  Did I mention that it was 30+ degrees outside?  Because of the detour, I ended up in Sundre ’bout midday.  I was so sunburned already.  You also gotta recall that this was prior to the mandatory helmet days … I was a skinny blonde kid with nothing but the wind in my hair.  I cratered and stopped in Sundre for some sunscreen.  I think I thought about stoppin’ at the little creekside campground, but it was still so early I thought I could still get to Cochrane.  Well, it turned out that Hwy 22 was my proving ground.  I remember grittin’ it out each little rolling climb.  I also should admit that I was so green back then, that I road as much of the day as I could in high gear!?!?  My seat was too high as well.  So I hadn’t been able to feel my cock since about Ponoka.  I was completely numb down there.  That was scary!  But anyway, I had really bitten off more than I could chew on that hot day.  I had hit the wall not all that far south of Sundre.  But I just kept wheelin’ along.  At the crest of one little roll, I stopped to eat some fruit.  It was the first time I can ever say that I “really” felt the power of food.  After just one orange slice, I felt the tingling in my limbs.  I felt the increased blood flow to the brain.  It was amazing!  And it was an orange.  I know I really shoveled it in after that, but I felt the rush of it on the first bite.  From there, I had to rely on faith and imagination to get me to Cochrane.  I knew from the previous times, which were only a few, that there was a nice decline for a long stretch down into the valley.  I knew I just had to make it to the brim of that valley and I’d be okay.  And, at the crest of each and every hill until that point, I thought that it’d only be the “next one.”  But time and time again, I was wrong.  It was that orange that saved me once.  I was actually already well onto the final descent before I realized that this was the final stretch.  Ah, it felt so good.  I knew exactly where I was headed too.  It was a pizza place that we ate at after we won the Cochrane HS basketball tournament.  I ordered a large pizza and a caesar salad!  And a pitcher of water, and a pepsi.  I got up to go wash myself off before I ate.  I got the taps running to get warm.  I splashed off some of the dust and dirt.  When my hands got clean, I started splashin’ my face.  It felt so good to get the dust out of the eyes.  Some cool water down the back and neck.  Refreshing.  And then I looked in the mirror.  My eyes!  My eyes were so blue!  I had never seen that colour before.  It was incredible.  And they were mine.  I still dream about that colour.  But anyway, I got myself there.  And I felt proud.  Truth be told, that was about as far as I actually cycled southwest until the next year.  My grandma and grandpa were on holidays in Banff, so they came to meet me in Cochrane.  I was grateful.  I was pretty worn out.  I was sunburned badly.  I was dehydrated big-time.  And I’d pedaled more miles than I had ever done in my life.  I think the second day was 125 miles alone.  Not to mention the shitty pup tent to boot.  I was done.  And it was way too early considering my goals of going to Boise, ID.  Nevertheless, I was fortunate enough to be in the care of my grandparents.  I remember Wilf was carving a lot on their holidays then.  If I’m not mistaken, this is the year he carved a bear head, and that funky beaver carved out in the middle of a log.  He is talented.  But anyway, it was a good holiday home.  Then we drove to Boise the next week, which is a whole other story. 

The irony of this experience, is in how it was my grandmother that gave me safe travel home.  When, in the first place, it was her advice that actually set a series of trials in motion.  I went #13 west of Wetaskiwin to Hwy. 2 south, not Hwy 2A south through Hobbema. That’s where I lost my tent.  And it was a rough road with a narrow shoulder.  Along the way, I lost all sensation in my crotch.  I couldn’t even feel myself piss for chrissakes.  I had to wait around for my eternally gracious father for bringing me another tent.  All he could find was the pissy little pup tent.  Oh well.  Anyway, it made for a rough first day.  Day number two was also incredibly tough.  I got punished by the sun.  It was so hot that the front of my shins looked glazed, like a turkey in an oven.  And, 125 miles is Tour de France worthy, and pulling a trailer on top of that!  It was the freaky guy who just quit his job and wanted to have me over for supper at his trailer for hot dogs (I didn’t eat meat then), who ultimately wore me out.  I called my grandma somehow (nobody had cell phones then, it was payphone to payphone).  They came to get me the next day.

How this whole thing started, was recalling the time that Jim Torrance and I did an Ironman training ride.  We wanted to do the Ironman bike distance in training for the Alberta Half-Ironman at Hubbles Lake/Stony Plain.  The full ride is 180km.  We mapped it out to double our usual 90km loop, but it worked out that a loop through Ponoka would work out perfectly.  It did too.  We’d head east outta Camrose on #13 to the legacy junction corner at #56.  South from there, past where Kirk lives now, down the depression east of Dried Meat Lake, across the tracks, then the Edberg bridge … that’s where I set my land-speed record of 82km/h!  What a rush when you hit the bridge!  Then the hairpin to Edberg, and the climb!  You don’t get another one like it until the valley north of New Norway.  It’s a good one!  That’s the out-and-back for the 4okm loop from home.  Anyway, we extended the loop down through Ponoka, and back through Hobbema.  We did a quick liquid stop in Ponoka, and didn’t break again until Wetaskiwin, except for the flat tire that Jim got right when we were in Hobbema.  It was about 4 or 5 years earlier that my grandma tried to make me fearful of this place, and now we gotta stop here to fix a flat.  Jim and I laughed about that!  It wasn’t a worry at all to stop there.  First of all, the highway is nice and wide, with wide shoulders too.  There really isn’t a lot of traffic.  It’s a great track.  It actually was a good little test for the Ironman training ride.  That’s where I learned how to handle a flat, and feel confident that I could manage if it happened in a race.  Thankfully, it never did. 

Is there a moral to this story?  Does there need to be?  If you can find one, let me know.  All I know is that my battery is dying, so I’ve gotta save and go.  Let me know …

For the uninitiated … these are the days that must happen to you

I know it’s been a disgustingly long time since I have posted here at apandanhandad, so I thought it was time to share something that I heard a long time ago … but it’s something that’s been resonating quite strongly with me as of late.

Whoever you are come forth
Come forth
These are the days that must happen to you
Come forth

I am a spirit
Up above your head
Though I rest in you
As though you were a bed
In a molecular world
In an electric state
I sing the praise of angels
And I sit and wait … for youBaby, baby, baby
Succumb to me
Baby, baby, baby
Succumb to me

Give me your tears
I’ll keep them in a glass
And store them with the treasures
That I’ve amassed
Give me your ears
I have secrets to tell (right this way)
I will make you hear the delicate bell
All around you

Baby, baby, baby
Succumb to me
Baby, baby, baby
Succumb to me

Give me your anger
And I’ll soften the tone (the t-t-t-tone) 
I am the kiss that grows
Where love is shown
I am the mirror
That reflects your flickering flame
So follow me through your mirror frame

Baby, baby, baby
Succumb to me
Baby, baby, baby
Succumb to me
These are the days that must happen to you
Whoever you are come forth

I have not revealed myself to you
To be another statistic (surrender) 
I have come to you to be my mystic

Baby, baby, baby
Succumb to me
Baby, baby, baby
Succumb to me
Baby, baby, baby
Succumb to me
Baby, baby, baby
Succumb to me

Whoever you are come forth
These are the days that must happen to you
These are the days that must happen to you

~Terence Trent D’Arby (lyrics cut & paste from here)

For anyone who has ever visited any of my blogspots, you probably know by now that sometimes you’ve got to read at least a little bit in-between-the-lines.  This song by Terence Trent D’Arby says more than one listen (or read) can ever reveal.  That said, I encourage all y’all to check out the most misunderstood of all of the Pisces who will be forever misunderstood.  So, without saying another word …

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WARNING: UNDER (DE)CONSTRUCTION!!!

WARNING!  THIS SITE IS UNDER (DE)CONSTRUCTION!

IF YOU ARE READING THIS, YOU:

1.  Are looking to see what’s new here at apandanhandad.

2.  Need to be aware that I am in hardcore writing mode at the moment.  As a result, regular scheduled updates to this blog cannot be guaranteed.  

3.  Should know that I have got a lot cookin’ on the back burners, so please check back soon … I’ll be servin’ up some real good stuff as soon as possible.

Until then … thanks for surfin’ by. 

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