The Dog and Butterfly

 A picture of Sparky the Dog

For reasons that are both quite complicated and paradoxically simple I don't get to make my mental health trips down to the coast like I did a few years back. These trips were never longer than a weekend but the ability to spend a few hours walking on a quiet beach did a lot to make the always pleasantly hellish suburban existence I am forced to endure tolerable. I started making these trips when my kids were too young to be involved in school or social activities so whenever my lovely spouse started showing signs of demonic possession I would load them up and drive to Charleston to see the sights, or further down the road, to the beaches of Pawleys Island.

Once my son, Darth Spoilboy, and later my daughter, Darth Wiggles, got older and became involved in the usual activities associated with children of their age that was when my duties as a dad started to exert a pull on me like gravity making me forego my trips. Another force that has only grown stronger over time tying down to home is the maintenance required on both the yard and house. Nothing says suburbanites are just a new type of serfs forever bound to their small plots of land more than seeing some fool spend an entire Saturday trying make his yard look like a miniature English estate. Taking care of the exterior and interior repairs of the average American McMansion is a never ending job where once you think you have reached the end of the “Honey-do list” the clueless homeowner returns to square one just to restart the cycle yet again.

Because of these obstacles and a few others like a job schedule that throw a monkey wrench into my weekend making drives down to the coast more exhausting that relaxing I was forced to find a different way to decompress. It was the establishment of my tiny vegetable garden and the purchase of a plastic lawn chair that allowed me to create a place in my backyard to find solitude and restful contemplation.

My little spot is nothing to brag about, but due to its particular position in my backyard, I have close to absolute privacy from my neighbors. Combine that with a tree that provides shade I can comfortably read or listen to music even on the hottest of days. More importantly, on the days no one is running some damn piece of lawn equipment I can sit back and listen to birds, enjoy the breeze, and watch the insects flutter about while thinking profound thoughts about space, time, and the nature of existence.

Since I work third-shift, my usual afternoon habit once I get out of bed is to take both the dogs outside to allow them to do their business in the backyard. As the dogs wander around, I spend about twenty to thirty minutes watering the garden and then reading. All things being equal, it's not a trip to the beach but that short period of time does allow me to decompress slightly, at least enough not to want to strangle many of the people I have to deal with at work.

A couple of days ago it was a particularly nice afternoon with a steady breeze to cool things down and enough clouds overhead to take the edge off the horrendously bright sunshine. Adding to the pleasantness, at that moment none of the neighborhood serfs had any lawn equipment going allowing the sounds of nature to have free reign of the environment. The one final element that almost had me as close to a restful bliss as possible was a yellow and black butterfly that kept fluttering around my small garden.

While I feel secure enough in my manhood to openly write that I admire butterflies for their natural beauty and gentle grace it is a safe bet no other male in the area where I live would do the same. That being said, I sat there in my cheap plastic chair watching that marvel of evolution fly from one plant to the next. It wasn't just that small creature's beauty, I was also amazed at the physics that allowed such an awkward looking lifeform to take to the air. While I am agnostic, as I watched that butterfly I was almost overwhelmed by a spiritual feeling. Now this was not a coming to Jesus moment, it was more along the lines of a spiritual encounter Neil deGrasse Tyson or the late Carl Sagan might have involving a deep admiration for the complexities of life on our planet.

As I was pursuing this natural bliss, both my dogs are also still outside generally doing what canines like to do, that is sniffing everything their noses find interesting and then peeing on that item. So as I was watching the butterfly I really didn't pay attention as Sparky the Dog ambled closer to my garden. The butterfly, not really aware of his surroundings or the larger lifeforms nearby, continued to flutter from one plant to the next probably quite happy to find so many flowers on my tomato and pepper plants. That turned out to be a fatal mistake.

Sparky never gave any indication that he noticed the butterfly, but as the winged insect innocently jumped from one plant to the next my dog did a small leap and caught the creature in his mouth.

“Sparky!” I yelled upset that he had total destroyed my moment of spiritual Zen.

Sparky in turn just looked up at me like I was crazy and swallowed the butterfly. With the moment now ruined, I got up and went back inside the house.

“It would serve you right if that butterfly was poisonous.” I told Sparky as we walked up the steps of the backyard deck. I swear, the dog seemed to look up at me again and smile. It was then I decided I've got to figure out a way to start taking my trips to the coast again.

Part Two--Dispatches from the Twilight War

 (Author's note: Here is the link to part one.)

Because of the nearby and constantly busy interstate the diner was crowded despite the ungodly early morning hour so Jack didn't want to pull out his pistol. Luckily, Carol's back was facing her stalker so this Joaquin Weiss didn't immediately notice her as he scanned everyone in the dining area. This allowed Jack to tell Carol to carefully stand up without exposing her face and then maneuver her towards a rear exit.

“Lean heavily on me like you're tired or sick,” he whispered to Carol. A further piece of luck had the diner's restrooms situated down a short hall that had a ninety-degree turn with two other doors, one an emergency exit and the other leading to a store room with yet another door leading outside. That is where Jack and Carol's luck ran out. Both had door latches with automatic alarms that would sound if a key wasn't used to deactivate them first. And as expected, there was never an employee around when you desperately needed one.

Stymied for a moment not wanting to trigger either alarm, Jack tried to look casually around the corner to find out what Joaquin was doing. Sure enough, he was coming straight towards them with only a couple of waitresses and customers walking around to slow him down. For a second Jack was overwhelmed with the utter certainty that this was a very bad man and that if Carol fell into her hands a immense amount of poop would massively impact a huge fan affecting far more people than seemed believable.

“He's coming towards us, right,” Carol said leaning up again the wall trembling.

“Yeah,” Jack said ignoring the question as to how Joaquin found them in the first place,” but I don't want to go through those doors just yet. He's probably got backup covering every exit. I want to give his people something else to think about for a few seconds.”

Once clear of other people Joaquin's pace picked up and he stepped into the short, straight segment of the hallway. Jack then suddenly turned the corner and fired two rounds into their pursuer's chest then one into his right leg just above the kneecap. A head shot would have been ideal but somehow Jack knew their stalker's reflexes wouldn't have allowed him to raise his weapon up enough to cleanly fire off the round. Jack settled for possibly fatal chest wounds and if that didn't work the slug going through Joaquin's leg would prevent him from running for a good while.

Both doors offering escape for Carol and Jack were the heavily reinforced type made of steel and it was Jack's hope that whoever was working with Joaquin would dash to the front entrance to find out what had happened instead of trying to beat down a huge chunk of metal. After the shots, the diner itself dissolved into a state of chaos with patrons running for the most obvious door. Carol herself was shaking life a leaf ready to bolt with only Jack's firmly holding onto her arm preventing a premature exit.

Glancing down at Joaquin, Jack saw the man-thing writhing in pain on the floor with blood seeping around his wounds. But one thing was clear, it wasn't dying, if anything he was trying to stand up and probably would have if his right knee and upper leg was in anyway capable.

“One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi...now!” Jack yelled, pushing Carol towards the rear stockroom door.

After busting through the door the only thing that greeted them was the cold early morning air and just a hint of light coming from the eastern horizon.

Old habit had Jack park his Mustang in the rear of the diner parking lot, and it served him well allowing the two quick access to the car. Unfortunately a clean getaway wasn't possible, as Jack opened the driver's side door he heard the pounding of footsteps coming towards him. Working only on years of training and instinct he turned, raised his pistol, and fired at the person coming towards them. Jack had time to register the sight of his round going through the skull of a hulking blond, Nordic type throwing him backward. The massive creature fell to the ground and it was immediately clear that at least he would never get up again.

“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Carol asked as Jack quickly settled into the driver's seat, started the car, and drove away.

“I'm former FBI, didn't you see that mentioned on my phone book listing?” Jack said while accelerating out of the parking lot and towards the interstate.

Carol didn't answer because she had turned around in the passenger seat and was trying to see if anyone was following them. “How did they find me? Carol asked more to herself than Jack but the question was valid.

“You said your first encounter with Joaquin was on the hospital floor you worked and then at the grocery store you shopped? Jack asked back. “Any chance he tagged you with some sort of tracking device, like dropping something in your pocketbook?”

Carol turned around in the seat and looked back at Jack as if he said the most astonishing thing imaginable. “When I introduced myself I first put my food next my pocketbook.” She went silent after that staring off into the space realizing how she had exposed herself.

Jack could tell she was starting to go into shock. “Hey, stay with me now!” He said reaching over and grabbing her shoulder. “I'm assuming we've skipped the interview part and that you have decided  to hire me.”

Carol turned to look at him without saying anything, she was a totally lost soul who understood she had become involved in something she couldn't begin to comprehend. “What are we going to do? I have no money beyond what I have with me, how am I going to pay you?”

Jack just grimaced as he began to slow down the car. “First thing, and you're probably not going to like this, we have to lose the pocketbook and everything in it except you identification and pictures of your family. As for the second question, that Joaquin has seen me, I'm just as involved in whatever this is as you, so money is not an issue now.”

After slowing down, Jack stopped the car on the side of the interstate pleased that for the moment traffic was non existent. Carol willingly handed over the pocketbook except for the items he said she could keep. He quickly left the car and threw the purse off into an empty field and was back in the car and heading south again in less than a minute.

“Where are we going now?” Carol asked more than a little nervous now after realizing that while people were apparently out to capture or kill her, she now was depending on a complete stranger for her safety and to help find the answers as to why this was happening.

“I have a friend of a friend who owns a cabin high in the mountains, it's about as far off the grid it can be and still have power. We'll be safe there for at least a few days. From there we will begin to play forty questions to try and find out why this is going on. Needless to say you'll have to be patient and completely honest with everything I ask you because I will be getting very personal.”

Carol looked over at Jack and nodded, it was the first time she really examined the man who had already done so much for her. He appeared to be in his mid-forties and could best be described as your average American male. Her best guess was that he was a few inches over six-feet with sandy blond hair that was beginning to thin. And while he was obviously fit, it was clear middle-age was slowly encroaching on him. It was slightly disconcerted to Carol that her possible savior didn't readily fit the mold of the standard movie action hero.

“You said you're former FBI, tell me why you left the bureau.” Carol asked not sure she wanted him to answer honestly.

“Nothing really spectacular or scandalous,” Jack said, “my marriage went to hell and not long after that I was reassigned to a department that investigated white collar crime. The only thing more boring and depressing than listening to continuous wiretaps of Wall Street bastards bragging about the super model they're about to bang or the newest yacht they've purchased is how they get away with robbing billions from the government or small-time investors. In that line of work you quickly realize most of those expensively dressed and styled leeches don't view anyone but their own kind as human beings deserving of respect. To them the middle and working classes are at best a resource like iron, timber, or any other commodity to be used then tossed away.”

“So you became a private investigator?” Carol said more to herself than Jack, subconsciously happy that his departure wasn't for some moral failing or corruption. Seconds later Carol leans over towards the passenger side car door resting her head on the window and falls fast asleep.

Jack looked over at Carol and almost decided to wake her back up, but didn't. For the briefest moment he actually considered dropping Carol off at some bus stop leaving to her to her own devices. Whatever was going on here was totally out of his league. His usual cases involved divorces stained in bad blood, running surveillance on possible corrupt business partners, insurance fraud, child custody, and the occasional missing person. He had no idea how to deal with indestructible, human-looking monsters that for some reason wanted to capture a suburban housewife and mother.

While in the FBI, Jack had heard rumors of two agents who specialized in bizarre cases but he never believed the incredible stories. But deep down he knew it was impossible for him to abandon Carol, despite her outwardly placid suburban demeanor there was something about her that didn't make sense. More to the point, surreal and quite dangerous events were going on behind the scenes of normal life and people in power were apparently doing their best to hide it from a distracted and incurious population. If one thing constantly drove Jack, it was mysteries and one of the biggest had landed firmly in his lap.

Dispatches from the Twilight War

The phone started ringing a few minutes after two o'clock in the morning. Jack Harper immediately woke up but just stared at the landline phone silently cursing the old girlfriend whose suggestion it had been to add a 24/7 emergency contact number on both his website and yellow page listing. She had been a blond television reporter working at one of the local Denver stations. Despite being an excellent television journalist most of her colleagues at the station thought her ability to draw viewers came from her piercing green eyes and superbly athletic body. This conspiracy of small-minded and jealous people lead to her being assigned light, human interest stories that did nothing for her career. Jack never admitted to anyone, including himself, but their relationship for him had long moved beyond her obvious physical qualities and talents between the sheets.

It still hurt that they had parted ways after she received a lucrative job offer at a television station down in sunny Miami. She left Jack and cold and snowy Denver behind so fast it caused the windchill factor to drop an extra ten degrees that winter morning.

For the two years after she had driven off to pursue her career while enjoying colorful drinks and tropical breezes the only phone calls Jack got were from cranks trying to be funny and more than a few drunks who for some reason thought the number was for a taxi service. Several times Jack thought about having the line removed but only while busy doing other things, and of course during those idle moments the task completely escaped his mind.

After ten rings the answering machine picked up and played the message Jack had recorded telling the caller to leave their name and number and that he would get back to them shortly. Jack continued to look at the compact device sitting on his nightstand with a combination of indifference and slight irritation waiting for the caller to say something. Even though the line remained open allowing him to hear background noises that suggested a major highway was nearby the caller said nothing. Just before Jack was about to hit the button that would sever the connection the caller spoke.

“Hello...Mr. Harper you don't know me but my name is Carol Briggs and I found your number in the phone book and I desperately need your help.” After years of being a private investigator Jack could tell this Carol was scared and probably alone. After making the first statement she fell silent again creating an eerie state of tension with Jack unconsciously moving closer to the phone. Something inside Jack's mind loudly whispered to him that this woman was indeed in great danger.

“My family,” she began again, “went missing eight days ago and now I know someone is after me. For reasons I can't explain over the phone I don't trust the police so I ran but I need help. Please pick up, I know my life is in danger.”

Without really thinking about it Jack snatched the remote phone off the main answering machine portion of the device. “Yeah, this is Jack Harper. Where are you now?” He asked while creating a mental checklist of things to bring to meet this woman.

“Thank God,” Carol Briggs said breathlessly. “I'm at an abandoned gas station off Interstate 25 near Heritage Hills.” She then went on to tell Jack the number of the exit she took to leave the interstate.

“Please tell me you're talking from a pay phone.” Jack said accepting the woman's statement that she was being followed and that her life was in danger.

“Yes, and I've parked my car behind the station.”

“Great, I'm on the way but it will take me close to an hour to get to your location. Now this is going to sound crazy and I know it's cold but I want you to find another place to hide nearby. I'll be driving a blue Mustang and I'll blink my lights after I pull into the parking area. Don't expose yourself until I get out of the car.”

***

To Carol, the truck stop diner Jack brought her to was like something from the family vacations she and her siblings suffered through as children. Instead of her family going to such places like Disney World or other huge theme parks her father and mother took their three children on long road trips exploring every cheesy roadside attraction and state park they encountered. Likewise, they would invariably stop at seedy little diners to eat while mom and dad sat together plotting some new course towards another bizarre but boring destination. Carol could still feel the childhood resentment at being hauled around hundreds of back roads, but now as an adult she actually missed those times.

Several minutes passed before the waitress showed up to serve some much needed coffee and to take their order. For whatever reason the waitress seemed intent in engaging Carol in small talk despite the fact it should have been clear to a blind person that she clearly didn't want to be bothered with idle conversation. This allowed Jack a moment to ponder the differences between the two women. 

The waitress looked like a true long-time food service warrior. Jack figured she was in her mid-forties and given the ease she poured his coffee without spilling a drop while listening to Carol give her food order she had probably worked here for at least a decade. A wide but lackluster smile totally devoid of feeling along with tired and haunted eyes all but confirmed her life had been a long, weary struggle.

On the other hand, Carol Briggs basic appearance, if you discounted the recent turn of events, screamed mindless but ultimately an unremarkable and mundane suburban life. She was in her mid to late thirties and had the soft hands and nails of someone who used various household rubber gloves for working in a flower garden to washing dishes. While the waitress had the look of someone used to long struggles Carol's eyes couldn't contain the look of utter and unbelievable shock at the recent events that had befallen her. Carol's clothes also spoke volumes about her lifestyle. They could have come from any number of slightly upper end department stores nominally catering to white suburban dwellers who wanted to look unique but yet not exceed neighborhood standards of decorum. When you added everything up Carol was one of those decent, pleasant but not highly educated individuals whose exposure to strange and tragic events came strictly from a television drama.

“Now, tell me why I left my warm bed in the middle of the night and raced down a good portion of Colorado and why you drove all the way from Colorado Springs to call me” Jack said smiling as he grabbed the mug of coffee the waitress had just filled.

Carol took a sip of her own coffee savoring its almost Herculean strength letting its warmth invade her body. “Like I said in the car, I was scared. Eight days ago I leave the hospital where I work and return home to find my family missing.”

“You said the house was in perfect order?” Jack asked purposely interrupting her train of thought.

“Yes, at first I just thought that Michael, my husband, must have cleaned up but it was early evening and he and my son would have, should have actually, been long home. When I couldn't reach Michael on his cell, I phoned his work to see if he was on a service call and decided to take our son, Paul, with him. He's a copier technician and occasionally has to go repair some client's equipment after normal business hours. They're usually pretty routine, so once and awhile he'll take Paul for a little father and son outing.”

“And your husband's employer told you he wasn't on a service call.” Jack said repeating the rushed story she had told him as they sped south on Interstate 25.

“Yes, so I called several friends and neighbors searching for them. No one had seen them since Michael left to take Paul to school that morning. By this time I was getting scared, so I called the police but they immediately told me there was nothing they could do until the next day.”

“Now tell me again what made you think you were in danger and that the police couldn't be trusted?”

“The next morning two police detectives show up at my door asking questions about my husband. They were in plain clothes but presented badges and official looking identification so I let them in figuring someone decided to look into his and my son's disappearance early. They asked simple questions about whether my husband might have been having an affair, suffered from mental health issues, or had an enemy who might want to hurt him or our son. A few of the questions irritated me but none of them seemed out of bounds. Things became weird when the one who called himself Barnes received a phone call on his cell. The call was brief but something was said that caused Barnes to tell his partner, Wilson, they had to leave immediately. They didn't ask for my husband or son's picture nor did they leave me a business card, say when they would return, or even give me a phone number so I could call them. As I am opening the front door to let them out Wilson asks his partner if they should go ahead and take me.”

“Take you?” Jack repeats looking at Carol. “Could they have meant to the police station?”

Carol takes a deep breath staring down into her coffee. “I don't think so,” she says, “there was a strange look on this Wilson's face that scared me. More to the point, Barnes was beginning to nod his head yes and was reaching for something under his sports coat when several of my neighbors walk up on my front steps. They were there to see if I needed anything and probably to learn something about Michael and Paul. This Barnes and Wilson then run out the house covering their face with their hands and get in their car and drive away.”

As he listened to her story, Jack begins to feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “You told me in the car that you then called the cops and reported the incident with them telling you that they hadn't sent anyone to your house?”

“Yes, they said since twenty-four hours hadn't really passed yet they weren't going to send anyone till that evening. By this time I am beyond terrified, so I ask a few of my neighbors to stay with me. After that, three further events begin to suggest that I have fallen into a surreal nightmare. The first being the arrival of Mrs. Carter to my house, she's an old widow woman who lives at the end of my street. The neighborhood grapevine being what it is, she had heard what was going on and came down to tell me she saw Michael talking with a man the day before in the parking lot of the shopping mall close to our house. She then told me this unknown man showed Michael something that flashed and seemed to stun him for a moment. Michael apparently quickly recovered because about a minute of so later Mrs. Carter said my husband and son were willingly leaving with the man in his car. Just seconds after that she sees Michael's car leaving the parking lot but not the person driving it. Mrs. Carter admitted the encounter looked strange but it all happened so fast and no one seemed in distress she didn't think anything of it until she heard neither had returned home.”

“Tell me about the second thing that pushed you over the edge to call me.” Jack said finding himself actually perplexed.

“When the police finally arrive at my house to gather information on Michael and Paul they show up in force. I am interviewed for several hours and asked hundreds of questions with a team combing through my house as if they were searching for drugs. During all this one of the police technicians hooked the digital answering machine up to a laptop and started retrieving deleted messages. One of them was a person who didn't give a name but wanted to meet Michael and me in the shopping mall parking lot the next morning and that we had to bring Paul. Just as soon as the person stopped talking a high pitched noise started blaring from the answering machine speaker that sounded like cats being tortured. It was so bad it gave everyone nearby a headache.”

“And you said this message was addressed to Michael and you?”

“Yes, but there was staffing issues at the hospital and I had to go in early. The answering machine time stamp had the message being recorded thirty minutes after I left the house.”

Jack didn't know what to make of the answering machine but the third item Carol mentioned in the car was the one that worried him. “Tell me about the man who showed up at the hospital.”

“I had walked down to the cafeteria to grab some breakfast when my cell phone rings. It one of my friends on the floor I was working, she said a strange man had just left the nurse's station asking for me. She described him as this amazingly good looking but a hulking and intimidating figure. When asked his name I was told he said Joaquin Weiss. I go back up to meet him and while he is pleasant and friendly claiming to be a long lost friend of my husband's he gave me the creeps. There were a lot of people on the floor then and I could tell it bothered him. He soon left and I largely forgot about the event, a nurse is always busy at work, but I saw him again a couple of days after Michael and Paul disappeared. I was at the grocery store and I caught him staring at me. I dropped everything and ran to my car. When I pulled out into the street I had to stop momentarily because of traffic, it was then I glanced over and saw this figure come running out of one of the grocery store side doors. This person was sprinting towards my car inhumanly fast.”

Carol stops for a moment as the memory of events begin to overwhelm her. “ I didn't know what to do, the police didn't seem trustworthy and this strange man seemed like something from a bad spy movie. So I drove until I believed myself far enough away to be safe for a couple of minutes. It was then I looked for a pay phone. I began searching through the phone book when I stumbled across your listing. Something compelled me to call even though the advertisement seemed cheesy.”

Jack is quiet for several second, so much Carol begins to think she might have offended the man.

“Describe this Joaquin Weiss to me,” Jack said suddenly and looking agitated.

“He looked a little younger than me and was at least six-foot, four inches, with a muscular body, the type an Olympic athlete might have after years of training. He wore his brown hair like someone in the military, short but with style. The face was chiseled and intense, like an evil Brad Pitt.”

Jack just stared out towards the diner entrance for a moment and began slowly reaching for his pistol concealed underneath his jacket. “That man just entered the building,” he said to Carol, “get ready to run.”

End of Part One.

(Author's note: Been playing with this for several weeks after going on a Netflix sponsored X-File binge. As things slowly progressed it took on tones from the Twilight Zone with a just a hint of Star Trek Fan fiction. I bet no one will get that reference though.)  

Monkey See and Monkey Do

There are times I find myself entertaining the thought that my monthly edition of Scientific American magazine should be mailed in an old fashioned, plain brown wrapper to hide its identity, much in the way Playboy was done years ago. I especially feel this way some days after having to endure the idle but festering idiocy of some redneck or your average Bible thumper. These two stalwarts of today's society feel their country commonsense and high school education outweighs a scientist's years of training and research in their field of study or believes nothing matters since we are living in the End Times with the Rapture imminent. Given those types of people, a magazine that contains articles about human evolution and a universe that is many millions of times older than the six-thousand years evangelicals believe could be a life threatening possession if seen by the wrong person.

Even the newly civilized Southern suburbanite, one or two generations removed from redneckhood, living comfortably in their McMansions can be a problematic. Since much of their lifestyle is not only environmentally unsustainable but morally reprehensible because most of humanity, including many here in the land of the free and home of the brave, can't escape poverty. Science has a nasty habit of exposing the way the world works and the last thing suburbanites want to hear is how their lifestyle is screwing up the planet. Now don't get me wrong, all the groups I've mentioned love science when it provides things like ultra-huge televisions to watch the latest in reality shows or things like sleek jet fighters, new assault rifles, and other weapons to use against whatever boogeyman or horde God fearing Americans are battling this month.

Be that as it may when my Scientific American arrives I run the largely imaginary gauntlet to the mailbox and then back to my house and put it away to read. Yeah, despite my interest in science, finding the time and energy to read is often difficult. As an unwilling member of the suburbanite crowd required by the Nazi-like homeowners association to play the stupid game of house and lawn maintenance along with working third-shift at my job I always seem to have a pile of magazines to catch up on when times allows.

Just yesterday, after finishing up the damn lawns, I had a chance to read an article in the June issue of Scientific American that raised, for me, some intriguing questions as to the nature of human societies and their health. Entitled “The Networked Animal” it explains how many animal species spend their lives in complex social networks that both govern the behavior of the individual and the group as a whole.

Since such research has no direct payoff, it doesn't take much in the way of imagination to picture the reactions of various stunted and narrow minded libertarian folks jumping up and down and foaming at the mouth upset about how their precious tax dollars are being wasted. They would never understand how this research is important because it will ultimately allow development of improved conservation efforts for both individual species and even entire ecosystems. I would be remiss if I didn't mention the element of this research that is sure to send evangelicals into a good old-fashioned hissy is how the examination of other species social networks can tell us a lot about the ones humans belong. To them, Homo sapiens are the Big Guy's special creation and to think any other lesser species could teach us anything about ourselves smacks of atheistic blasphemy.

Despite all that what caught my attention though was the part of the article concerning the social networks of pig-tailed macaques. Like higher primates, which includes humans, these Old World monkeys have complex social groups made up of different networks. Individual macaques in the overall group can belong to different networks and have a higher or lower social status in each, just like humans who have to deal with people in a variety of settings.

Another similarity is that macaques share with humans is that our furrier cousins have a kind of police made up of the highest ranking individuals that keep the peace and stability among all the groups and its members. Being the curious primate myself, I immediately began wondering how macaque police compared to the human equivalent, a functional and competent government made up of laws. I'll admit upfront and say this all ties in with my extreme distaste that is actually borderline hate of economic libertarianism and how its followers pretty much believe that outside their family and close friends everyone else can go screw themselves.

The authors of the article themselves wondered what would happen if they removed these police-like individuals at an Emory University primate research site, which hosts a troop of 84 macaques. Needless to say, I found the results of their research quite enlightening.

As expected the removal of lower ranking macaques did little to upset the workings of the different social networks. But the removal of the individuals making up the macaque police in the troop led to an increase in aggression and decreased reconciliation after fights finally died out. After reading this I couldn't help but relate this to the widespread and semi-psychotic idea here in America that a heavily armed civilian population promotes a safe society. If you follow the twisted logic that if most everyone in a community goes around carrying at least a handgun countries like Somalia and Libya should be the most peaceful places on the planet.

Curiously enough the researchers also discovered that with the macaque police missing normal peaceful activities like grooming and play decreased. And that the number of friends— or in other words the social network connections of an individual decreased as well. In fact there was an overall breakdown in social cohesion of the group with the researchers actually using the word “balkanization” to describe the effect. The macaques kept breaking down into smaller, more homogeneous groups that rarely interacted with outsiders.

Economic libertarians absolutely start losing their self-centered minds whenever anything is mentioned that the community or society might need to supersede the omnipotent individual. Of course such people usually take this position because they already have their precious possessions safely guarded from what they regard as all the human leeches, which to them is everyone else on the planet. But when you compare the United States that at a minimum leans heavily towards the libertarian screw-everyone-else idea to the more socialistic Europeans who have more upper ward economic it appears that Americans are the losers despite of all the propaganda we spread around to ourselves. No matter what Ayn Rand and her followers want to believe about their fantasy a hard but honest look at libertarianism shows it to be just as bankrupt an idea as communism. Possibly even more so given that the totalitarian Soviet Union at least gave the United States a run for it money while the libertarian paradise of Somalia is hard pressed to protect its unfortunate but heavily armed citizens.

I'll admit rules and societal norms suck. I hate having to kowtow to the homeowners association and dream of the day I can let my lawn go absolutely wild along with being able to tell the Bible thumpers I have to associate with what I really think of their Republican Jesus. But then again I realize I am a member of something larger than myself so I'll just try and help make it a better place despite my feelings.

Building Hope and Waging Peace

The Carter Center--An actually reason to be proud.

It seems incredible, maybe even highly unlikely given their current practices, but I vaguely remember a time when the big three American television networks—ABC, CBS, and NBC—made a real effort to inform their viewers of not only significant events but of the struggles other human beings around the world have to endure to survive. Sure, ABC's David Muir, CBS's Scott Pelley, and NBC's Lester Holt will occasionally delve into a story not myopically centered around Americans or how the world and its people effect us but it is rare. In many ways it is not entirely the major anchors fault. Their corporate masters don't want the American public too informed or upset. If the former happens the status quo might become threatened and as for the latter, a disturbed population will not be inclined to go out and buy all the neat stuff we see in the commercials between the fluffy, feel good stories.

Now to be fair there is one bright spot, the Public Broadcasting Service in this country does an outstanding job of television journalism even though most Americans will not make the effort to watch in depth stories. The reasons run from the understandable, like a family making dinner to a stressed out parent trying to help their child with homework, but truthfully the short American attention span and willful ignorance are always high probabilities.

Still though, if someone is attentive and widens their perspective a little it is easy to learn about what is going on in the world and that there some reasons to be hopeful. Just today I was listening to Neil deGrasse Tyson's “Star Talk”podcast and learned that former President Jimmy Carter and his foundation have almost eliminated one of the most horrific diseases on the planet.

Called guinea worm disease or Dracunculiasis you contract this illness by drinking water containing water fleas that carry the guinea worm larvae. After the water fleas are ingested and die the guinea worm larvae penetrate the host's stomach or intestinal wall and then enter the abdominal cavity where they take up residence to grow. After a three month maturation, mating takes place and the male worm then dies and is absorbed by the host's body.

A year late with no signs of the parasitic infection showing in the host, the female worms migrate down the body to tissues along long bones or joints and move close to the surface forming a blister on the skin. The blister causes a painful burning sensation as the worm emerges and the host will often immerse the affected area into water to relieve the agony. It is during this time the adult female worm emerges from the body that it releases hundreds of thousands of her offspring in the water completing its life cycle and contaminating the water. As the adult worm leaves the host it will be difficult, if not impossible for him or her, to walk or work. It is not uncommon for the host to die in the end. Another diabolical aspect of this disease is that a person can easily be reinfected since the host develops no immunity like in the case of chicken pox.

This disease has been around for literally thousands of years with historians saying it was mentioned in the Old Testament as Moses lead the Israelites out of Egypt. The traditional method to remove the worm is to slowly wind it around a small stick, a process that in itself is very painful and can take weeks since the organism can reach the length of 60 to 100 centimeters long. (For the Metric illiterate that's about 23 to 39 inches.) 

While the Wikipedia article says this illness can infect canines as well as humans the doctor Neil deGrasse Tyson interviewed on his show to fill in the technical details of the disease clearly and repeatedly said only humans can carry this disease. He further states that since humans were the only vector, if we could prevent the transmission of the larvae through drinking water not would we stop the disease in its tracks but the end result would be the complete elimination of the worm itself.

Since the “worst president in the history of the United States” and his foundation became involved in the eradication of the disease the number of people inflicted has gone from 3.5 million in 1986 to just 126 cases in 2014! This could well be the first parasitic disease that we wipe off the face of the planet! In a better and wiser world this is a story all the major networks should be running instead of the usual celebrity-related crap and mindless human fluff pieces they can't stop running.

There is no cure or preventative vaccine for guinea worm. This disease is fought through the use of education, the establishment of local health care systems to prevent its spread, and the simple filtration of drinking water. While there are many other agencies and non-governmental organizations working to fight Guinea worm, President Carter has uses his honorable reputation to influence local leaders from national to village levels to combat this disease.

This should say a lot about Jimmy Carter who, instead of charging huge sums to speak at a homeless veteran's charity, is going out into a dangerous world in an attempt to better the lives of the forgotten and abandoned. Although, I've got to admit it takes some brass balls or major obliviousness to go out and charge a fee to charity that helps veterans who are overwhelmingly suffering from a war you sent them fight that was based on lies and propaganda. 

 This should also say something about our major news sources and their dereliction of duty along with the general ignorance and apathy of a people whose narcissistic tendencies precludes them from giving a damn about anyone but themselves. The little dirty secret is that a great many people in the world don't hate us Americans because of our supposed “freedoms,” no their major issue is often because we're just a bunch of assholes.

The Last Gasp of Disney Pictures--I Swear!

Without beating around the bush this weekend has sucked above and beyond all expectations. It has been two weeks since our return from our outstanding Disney vacation and the REAL WORLD has finally raised its ugly head forcing us to surrender to the mundane and stupid. What about last weekend? Well, my wife and I saw the Eagles in concert last Sunday night up in Greenville, South Carolina so that previous Friday and Saturday was sort an extension of the vacation. But we're back to the here and now and my lovely spouse, Dragonwife, went all happy and psychotic-obsessive homemaker having me, myself, and I go all crazy pressure washing the house. Now in fairness the house did need a cleaning but before I could get the pressure washer going it required a trip to Home Depot for supplies, changing the oil and filter in the washer, mixing up the soapy stuff I had to use to spray down the vinyl siding, and finally getting everything in place. Once that was over I had to take off the trash, clean out and organize the shed where we keep all our neat outdoor maintenance equipment. That was just my Friday chores after I got off work, Saturday I had to help Draginwife pull out all the pot and pans as we reorganized the kitchen. So long story short, I didn't get much time to work on my latest piece of semi-crappy fiction. That means you get more Disney pictures.     

Outside the Enchanted Tiki Room at Magic Kingdom.  I could be wrong but I do not believe this outdoor fixture has changed any since this attraction first opened.

For those who may not know, the Enchanted Tiki Room features a flock of robotic birds singing different tunes. As the name implies it is decorated in the tiki style complete with a fake window overlooking a beautiful green tropical island with a sparkling blue ocean. Just be aware I realize this picture isn't very good so it degrades the actual scene I have found fascinating since childhood.  

This is from the Jungle Cruise attraction at Magic Kingdom. For reasons I will not explain I find this hut quite enticing. It would beat the hell out of any suburban McMansion.

One of the scenes during the "cruise." It's a nice thought especially since poachers are hunting rhinos to extinction before our generally uncaring eyes even now.

This is from EPCOT and it is a huge outdoor toy train setup. I once knew a seriously strange dude whose whole life revolved around model trains and a bizarre belief that America needs a king. Yeah, that's not a typo, this guy had some weird fascination with the English royalty and fear of Jesuit priests. Besides that he was an archconservative long before the tea party ever existed. I'm sure if he ever saw this train setup he would loose his teabagger mind. 

As the saying goes all good things have to end and the time came that we had to send my niece, Darth Gadget, back home. This is part of the Orlando International Airport, a pretty cool place given that it is an airport after all. I was surprised to learn that it is also an upper-end hotel which would make those ubiquitous layovers far more interesting. 

The entire time we were waiting for Darth Gadget's flight to leave the airport intercom kept reminding everyone to watch for "abandoned luggage or containers" implying they could be dangerous. So I didn't know what to make of the lady who walked off suddenly leaving an unattended banana behind on her seat.  

For the traveler who absolutely has to have a new smart phone or tablet before his or her flight leaves. Funny thing, I didn't see any prices listed on the stuff inside, I guess if you had to know the cost, you couldn't afford it. 

Alas, even my troop eventually had to leave the confines of Walt's wonderful creation and sunny Florida. This might piss some redneck off but you cannot imagine the despair I felt crossing back over into the intellectually stimulating fiefdom of South Carolina. 

Finally, here is a video I filmed of an afternoon thunderstorm at Animal Kingdom Lodge. I will return to my usual crappy fiction for my next post. Even though Dragonwife is sure to have more epic adventures in home maintenance planned for me next weekend. Yes, I'm ready to go back to Disney.

As the Dust Settles at the State House

Since I possess the amazing talent of being misunderstood despite my best intentions let me go ahead and clearly state that I am totally ecstatic that the Confederate flag has been taken down and removed from the South Carolina state house grounds. No matter what Southern apologists and outright neoconfederates still angry over their side losing the Civil War might say the Confederate flag in all its versions is a symbol of slavery and hate. The purpose for me adding my “two-cents” to the already chaotic mix of people expressing opinions on the subject is to offer my observations on Southern “heritage” and general culture as someone who has always felt like an outsider living amongst all the self-described “good old boys and girls” even though I have lived most my life in the South.

First and foremost is the symbolism of the Confederate flag itself and how the white Southern population could ever ever embrace that flag given the history of slavery in America. With all the end-of-the-world sorrow expressed and tears shed yesterday by Confederate flag supporters as it was brought down some might assume that banner had been flying in some form or the other since General Lee surrendered to Grant back in 1865.

No, here in glorious South Carolina the Confederate flag was first raised on the state house dome in 1961 flying underneath the American and Palmetto flags. Officially raised to commemorate the beginning of the Civil War it was also there to protest court ordered degeneration and the growing Civil Rights movement sweeping through the South. As someone who was aware enough to register what was going on in the South during the late 1960s, not even the possibility of nuclear war with the Soviets scared white folks back then like seeing a bunch of angry African-Americans marching through town.

Now even the most vicious redneck should acknowledge the fact that for decades the Klan has used the Confederate banner to terrorize the black population. Only speaking for myself but such a soiled and tainted flag is nothing to embrace or use to symbolize one's heritage if it is as pure and innocent as the disgruntled masses still committed to the holy “Lost Cause” swear to any who will listen. In fact the designer of the flags used by the Confederacy, William T. Thompson, himself puts any debate on the matter to rest. 

While there are a good many exceptions, generally speaking the average proud Southerner is an unimaginative prole who is suspicious of education and anyone possessing anything greater than a high school diploma. Southerners love to say they would rather live using their “God given commonsense” and mostly look on with scorn at anyone with a degree higher that what you would earn at a community college. Such southerners absolutely hate the idea anyone might be smarter than them and will go to great lengths to prove that they are equal or better than a college educated person. Egos here in the South are huge demanding monsters but at the same time uniquely fragile things.

Additionally, I would have to add that from my own personal experience dealing such individuals despite all the declarations of American patriotism that proud Southerners fall all over themselves to display their actual love of country and willingness to sacrifice falls considerably short. I know this mainly through all the hassles I had at a previous job back in 2003. See I was surrounded by good old boys who got all teary eyed whenever Lee Greenwood sang about how wonderful the USA was but these dudes would grumble like whiny, wet hens whenever there was a possibility they might have to cover my weekend shift when I had National Guard duty. They were all deer hunters or fishermen and my military service during that period disturbed their true priorities.

I would also be greatly remiss if I did not mention that at no time after the 9/11 attacks and during the Iraq War was there ever a great rush of patriotic Southerners to join the military. I retired from the National Guard in 2005 and I knew several recruiters who were forced to pursue Spanish-speaking Mexican immigrants in an effort to meet their monthly enlistment numbers. For some reason good old, patriotic Southern folks simply couldn't find a single recruitment office during those really bad days during the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I'm not saying all Southerners ignored their duty, from my discussions with by recruiter buddies they did better than some others working the Northern states but unlike after the attack on Pearl Harbor back 1941 there was no stampeded to the recruiting offices. 

The last thing I have to mention is the way the Confederate flag was finally brought down her in South Carolina. It took the deaths of nine innocent people to spur both the ideologically rigid governor and the sadly pathetic but curiously comical state legislature into action. For those folks who might be graced with a state government that at least partially works here in South Carolina we can't even agree to fix our seriously crumbling infrastructure such as bridges and roads. Additionally, while there are some decent suburban schools in this state, I would not force my worst enemy to send his children to just about all the schools in the rural areas of South Carolina. I could be very wrong but somehow we never quite seem to figure out a way to bring those up with the suburban schools.

Call me a cynical bastard but given Governor Nikki Haley's previous comment about how she has never heard a single word of concern about the Confederate flag from any business CEO. I can't help but wonder if after the shootings in Charleston some suit did in fact call her up worried how his, or her corporation would look getting tangled up with a state where enraged sociopaths can't be readily singled out from the rest of the good old boy population.

Like I said at the start of this rant I am supremely happy the Confederate flag is now gone from the state house grounds. But at the same time its departure does not really solve any of the pressing societal issues here in South Carolina. This state is just not mired in the delusional past but does not really have a single figure in government with any idea how to met the demands we will face as the twenty-first century unfolds.

The republicans can't get past parroting the same old lines about giving even more tax cuts to the wealthy, dismantling the public education system for some unworkable voucher program, or jumping into yet another overseas war in the case of our federal elected officials. It will surprise none with even a few IQ points that the vast majority of whites in this state vote republican. They generally hold to the idea that they have theirs and screw the rest of the people in this state even though this is ultimately a self destructive attitude.

As far as the democrats go in this state, they are a disorganized and demoralized mess. South Carolina does not have a single elected democrat to any statewide office and those who run usually get their asses cut. The democrat delegation to the state legislature is a minority in both houses but we do have a few dynamic individuals who could make things interesting in a few years.

If it were any other state in this country I would say the situation could only get better from here, but after all this is South Carolina so I'm not optimistic.