Watching Helplessly

Image by Dain Sandoval via Flickr

As I quaff a pint in the relatively empty Bar X, a storm of morons stampede in. They are young, stupid, and have no future whatsoever. If only Mom had eaten more protein while pregnant, things might be different. Immediately the jukebox begins blaring hip hop laced with racial epithets

I look at their carefully skewed trucker hats, their well placed piercings, and dangerous tattoos and I see obedience disguised as rebellion. The room fills with an air of  testoserone that is about to explode on a wave of cheap draft.

The bartender asks me to keep an eye on things while she goes to the washroom. Lets just say that I have darkened this door more than once, and the bartender has never asked me to do this. In relative terms, it felt like closing the casino after the Tyson fight.

I suspected it, but she knew.

And so it was that a fight began to break out among these "friends". It ended up with the dude in the Argentina jersey out cold on the floor. At the height of it I actually got off my bar stool, it was that serious. A brief thought flashed through my mind that I should try and help the owner/bartender stop this.

Then I looked at her, she was having none of it. Then I looked at the combatants and realised that each and every one of them could kick my ass. It felt like a mini G20, I witnessed, but did not participate.

However, I was pretty happy to see Argentina breathing, even if he wasn't moving. And a little part of me was grateful that it didn't happen in the bar that I work in on my watch.

Eventually, Argentina was escorted out with assistance from his friends. He was shirtless, his blood soaked jersey abandoned in the bathroom trash. I was glad to see he wasn't dead, but I didn't feel too bad for him.

He started it.

I just feel bad for the bartender, because sometimes things can spiral out of control, and there is nothing you can do but watch helplessly, despite your best efforts.

I also get especially worried when people walk in wearing motorcycle helmets and boxing gloves or, rather, I would if it ever happened.

Are you taking notes, 180? Apparently it is all about the head butt and something called "StraightBlasting".




http://www.goyestoeverything.com

I'm Syria-ess

Image via Wikipedia

Recently, I read a lovely blog post about how travel and falling in love release the same feeling in our brains. We're scared, we're not quite sure what is ahead, but we are willing to make ourselves vulnerable to an unknown that could change our lives, despite the risk.

It is absolutely true, and I felt that feeling as I passed through customs in Ghana, when I approached Angkor Wat and as I lunched in Halong Bay, Vietnam. It was the same rush that I feel when I fall in love.

And while I may not yet be reciting vows, I am developing a serious crush on Syria.

Fly to Istanbul, catch a train to the Syrian border, and after that maybe Lebanon, Northern Iraq (Kurdistan) or Jordan.

Best of all, I won't be home for Christmas, thus avoiding the blind intersection of forced generosity with empty spirituality.

Yes, I think I'm in love.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com

Dismayed

Two events in the last few weeks have left me reeling from a sense of injustice. One event was trivial, the other monumental.

The trivial of the two, was Ghana losing to Uruguay, because a man used his hands in a desperate moment in a football game to prevent Ghana from making an historic advancement. Nonetheless, the rules were properly applied and a bitter justice prevailed.

I have duly taken note of the dignity with which this bitter justice prevailed in both media and forums from Ghana. The complaints are few and far between. Dignity in defeat is a difficult lesson and the Black Stars and the people of Ghana have taught us well.

Of a more monumental nature is the acceptance with which fat, complacent and far too comfortable Canadians conform to the powers of the state in the name of security.

What dismays, is the emerging fact that I am in the minority. You stupid motherfuckers are more concerned with your entitlement to shop at Wal Mart unfettered so that you may buy crap you don't need made by children you don't care about, than you are about the rights that your ancestors spilled their blood for.

Thats my two bits, but apparently the majority does not agree.

You do what you want, but make no mistake, your complicity will cost you in the end, and when that end comes I will still be waving the flag of civil rights from our shared cell, while you wallow in the shame of your manufactured consent.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com