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Everything changes, even cartoons	September 13, 2006, 7:54AM
by: Murderous_Breeze
Well this article is inspired by a cartoon i was watching yesterday that i decided to download, Captain Planet. Now in the last 10 years cartoons have gone a very long and twisted way, what happened to the cartoons we used to watch as a kid? They were so innocent and so fun that just the name of the show gives us old memories of sitting in the lounge on a saturday morning and switching on and enjoying our favourite old shows, like the Gummi bears, Darkwing Duck, Gargoyles, Tailspin, Ducktales, Captain Planet, and the list goes on and on. I believe it all started with anime cartoons, now i know alot of you will debate this, but anime cartoon style has totally corrupted the old style of cartoons. The shows back then had meaning and a certain amount of innocense in them, for example, Captain Planet taught us how to respect nature, and that by all of us coming together from different countries we could fight against a common enemy. Dont think i dont like anime, some of my most memorable moments was at home watching kenshin and guyver. But the all-out action scenes, the big breasted woman, the cool moves and fighting scenes, and the very complex storie lines of the japanese anime style slowly killed the off the old primative style of the 90s. It also didnt help when the japanese style promoted their drawings to games, in the end it was inevitable that the jap style would overcome the classical disney style. So this is an old school tribute to all the toons we loved.
topic: Life
[reply] [6 comments]

Customer Service	September 12, 2006, 7:20PM
by: colorofnightfall
How many of us have said "I have to finish high school so I don't end up working somewhere like McDonalds" as thought it was hilarious and possibly the easiest job on the planet. How many people who said that have never held a 'real' job? How many people know how ridiculously hard it is to work in a McDonalds (or any fast food restaurant) or what trying to live off a McDonald's salary is like? For reference, all fast food restaurants timetheir employees. Food preparation staff especially. Most meals have to be finished and put together in under 3 minutes or a 'mark' is made on an employee record. At places like McDonald's, every table in the entire restaurant has to be cleaned in under 3 minutes. And not only are you asked to clean the messes made during the day, but closing implies an employee getting a station to thoroughly clean. I work in a casual dining restaurant(Panera Bread) where it takes on average 1-2.5 hours to clean your closing station. Not only that but many employees for jobs in restaurants or small retail stores start at $6.50-$7.50 an hour. In 1998 it was calculated that in order to hold a one-room apartment and 'get by' you would have to make an average of $8.89 an hour. And the cost of living had risen significantly since 1998. This isn't to discredit the pains of retail(which I have also worked) since the same average starting wages goes for retail (often retail is less because work/health standards are more lax) and cleaning staff or any other 'undesirable' job. I have, after working retail and food service, found working food service is more abusive. People act like your life is to serve them. Like 'customer service' implies 'slavery unto customer-like-god' Well regardless of the motto or the sign, it is not my pleasure to serve you. As stated above, I work at a Panera Bread Bakery/Café. For those unfamiliar with the chain (it is US only at this point), they are casual sandwich/soup/salad (and now pizza) shops that are coupled with bakeries that sell fresh breads (everything is baked fresh at night, I'm there when it happens), bagels and pastries. They are really your 'rich man's McDonalds.' They make cappuccino's and sell you an $8 'gourmet' deli sandwich with a piece of baguette. Enjoyably, I work register and am not timed nor am I on dining room staff nor are they as strict with us as they are at McDonalds(I have been told by 4 separate people it was the worst place they ever worked; most quit after 2 weeks), but thats not to say the work is light. But working register means I have to prepare drinks and tray/slice/whatever pastries, bagels and bread. And, la piece de resistance, I get to deal face to face with all the smiling customers. Customers are quite easily one of the worst aspects of working. Wether they are bitching that there is too much foam on their latté or too little strawberries on their pastry or filing a complaint because you didn't smile when you said 'have a nice day' they are a royal pain in the ass. Oh and by the way, unless you tip 9 times out of 10 when someone says 'have a nice day' they are really saying 'I hope you choke on it.' I attend a school for the intellectually gifted and will graduate with all honors and several AP's and all that fucking jazz. Not that being intelligent matters, but people treat me like I am stupid by default. They walk into the restaurant and automatically assume I can't understand english (I can, and most of my spanish speaking coworkers pretend like they can't when people come up to them and act like they are an idiot), or that I can't do basic math or even count to three. I've actually had people accuse me of being a moron and giving them 'the wrong change.' When I tell them a computer does all the math for me and there is no margin of error the often recount their change and huff off without apologizing. People also forget that we have to ask you question; its what they're paying us to do. If I ask if you want a drink or something, shoving your credit card in my eye is not going to make me help you any faster. I don't give two shits if its platinum either. And if you cut some old lady so you can order two decaf skim café lattés with extra foam, I am going to ask you to wait in line, please. And if you have a problem with that than get the fuck away asshole. Most like that old lady comes out once a week and gets all dressed up so she can buy her bear claw and broccoli cheese soup before going back to her assisted living facility. So wait five seconds before you get your fucking polo in a bundle. Also, acting impatient or telling me if service was any slower you'd grow old inspires me pour 105 degree espresso on your fucking face. Realize that I did not wake up this morning and say 'Hmmm How can I take it in the ass from some bitch who hasn't gotten any in 5 years or some asshole with something to prove.' I probably woke up saying 'fuck. I don't want to go to work today.' Then we come to the problem of choice. Free will is a baaaad thing. I have often thought of instituting a fascist state of food service; what I pick for you is best, no questions asked. Often people say "I want a soup and a salad." By asking them 'what soup?' and 'what salad?' you are opening a can of worms. They have choices?! That giant sign above my head that is approximately 8 feet wide is there for them to read?! What's even worse is if you don't have what they want. They stroll up to the counter (or often enough inch up there after waiting in lines that often go out the door) and say "I want THIS salad and THIS sandwich with THIS SIDE." in a combined prideful and condescending tone. Because OF course I am too stupid to know the names of the soups at a place I am in 3-4 days a week. And of course pride because out SIX soups and TWELVE sandwiches and FOUR sides they were gwown-up enouf to choose sum. Awwwe thats adorwable. But to burst their bubble you have to say "We are out of ________ soup" and literally watch their world collapse. I once had to inform a girl we ran out of her soup and she stood there for 20 minutes until we closed because she couldn't think of anything else. Sometimes people stand in the aforementioned line for 20 minutes to an hour and when they finally get to come up to the counter, they don't know what they want. They haven't even looked. What the fuck were you doing in that line? Masturbating? For the love of christ! I also love when someone asks for a dozen bagels. Well there is a deal on 13 bagels, would you like to get another bagel and get $2 off the dozen? Its another earth shattering statement. This is a fucking bagel, not the fate of your first born. Fuck, you people probably spend more time deciding what kind of bagel you want than you do on who is the next president (I am ranting. I have to include some random put down on the current administration.). One of my biggest pet-peeves (because really this is a matter of common decency and politeness) is the people who come in 30 minutes before we close. I don't mind if you order food or drinks that we have at half past 8, but if you come in and fume and fuss at us because we are out of your soup, or your bagel or the pastry you wanted maybe its because if you had gotten your ass in there at a decent time, we'd still have it. Also, if out of the kindness of my heart and the patience conditioned in my soul from dealing with people like you all day, I make a suggestion of something else to soothe your cravings or somewhere else you might try and you snap at me and bitch at me, step off mother fucker. I am only trying to by nice. And to be honest, I am not a mean person. Throughout the day, I try to be very helpful and kind but so many people have this 'bad cop' attitude they have to pull so they don't get 'ripped off'(on fixed prices dumbass). I actually had this one guy ask for my manager because I spent 10 minutes trying to help his senile mother choose a soup and he wanted it to go faster. Get the stick out of your ass, I can see it poking up through your esophagus as you open you fat trap to spew out bullshit. But people come in literally at 5 till 9 and order a pizza or whatever for here. Did you grow up in a cave or did your mother just neglect to teach you manners? I mean come in and if you see us closing, get it to go or at least ask or acknowledge you are late. Its like people come in literally at 5 after 9 (we close at nine but we don't start breaking down until 5 after) and want us to put everything back out and server them because it is their sovereign right to be there. Newsflash: No its not. Now I am outlining everything that is wrong with customers, which isn't to say there aren't good ones; its just easier and much more entertaining it outline the bad ones. And next time you are in a store, think about if you can just pick the onions off, or if it will kill you to be short 2¢ or to fold that shirt back up before just leaving it on the floor.
topic: Rants
[reply] [2 comments]

New Andromeda Feature: Profile Privacy	August 30, 2006, 5:07AM
by: eon
As an additional feature for our Andromeda members, profile privacy settings are now available. Profile Privacy allows you to broadly describe who may (or may not) view your profile. For instance, you could set it so that only people who are logged into the site with a valid account may view your profile. Or if you wanted a more strict setting, you could make it so that your profile is only viewable by members who you have added as a friend. To view this new setting: Control Panel -> Experience -> Profile Privacy The default setting is 'Show to Everyone'. The other settings are: Show to Members Only, Show to Friends Only and Show to No One. Andromeda membership entitles you to many additional features and benefits on the site. Find Out More About Andromeda Membership ---- This feature is fully operational as described, but should still be considered in testing phases. I intend to add a few other small things to the way it works. Please let me know if you find any bugs in the new feature. Thank you!
topic: Site News
[reply] [18 comments]

People, Religon, God(s)... Are any of us right?	August 30, 2006, 3:13AM
by: Bob_The_Angry_Flower
There are many different religions out there. Some religions have the human race exalted to their god(s), while nature and all others are given to us, and others dictate the respect of all nature; humbleness, and enlightenment, and still others which have their god a malevolent watchman demanding worship in exchange for a peaceful living (disobeying this may lead to sickness, natural disasters, or the destruction of all mankind); but which god(s) is/are the real one(s). If you look at the religious history of each religion you'll find many similarities, such as the beginning of the world, many religions have a single god creating/representing the world (God [Christianity], Gaia [Greek], Tellus [Roman], etc..). Also many religions have a great flood (Christianity, Greek, Roman, Hinduism, Utnapishtim, etc..), the story of a devastated earlier civilization. But the most striking similarity in a religion based in the belief of a god, is the punishment for disbelief in that god. There anywhere between like 25 - 100someodd religions out there depending on whether we're gonna get specific or just look at the different basic beliefs and lifestyles; and according most of those religions everybody else is wrong. How can that be, I mean you cant just dismiss the billions of believers for different religions, you believe in you god probably just as much as they believe in theirs, you just can't go ahead and say me and my billion "brothers" are right, while you and your billion have got it all wrong; that’s the basis behind religious wars, people just need to realize what’s going on (read on I don't wanna give everything away just yet). Well with the most followed religion being Christianity at about 1.5 billion believers, and the population if the earth being approx. 6.5 billion, that leaves 5 billion people having it all wrong according to the Christians, how can 5 BILLION people be wrong? 5 billion... that how much money Bill Gates has OK, 5 billion is a lot of money and hell of a lot of people, how can they all be wrong? Well... I don’t think anybody's right, or wrong; we're all basically in between. Looking at these similarities in religion you have to wonder how they these civilizations, thousands of years, and miles apart, came up with these amazingly similar stories of creation, destruction and, death. Society changes, the human race as a whole changes... right? You can’t deny that, simple fact. Rulers of ancient cultures were often believed to be incarnations of gods, or were talked to by the gods, or were somehow imbuned with their power; and were given power over the civilization accordingly. Nowadays most societies would not wholly accept and absolute dictator (In a place where they'd have a choice) under the protection of god, and let them control their lives in that way. Societies have changed, and the religion has changed to fit that society’s values and beliefs. Now imagine the cause effect pattern extending tens, hundreds, of thousands of years, across hundreds of societies, and civilizations, all extending from the same origin, the story and the god we're seeking is the same but has been distorted in a way to better fit the society that the specific culture has created, and stuff like creation and the great flood etc… are just events too big to beyond recognition. Take Islam, Christianity, and Judaism; if you've read each religion's holy book, respectively the torah, the bible, and the quran, they are just add-ons to the last one; the same book with, MODIFICATIONS, Jehovah, God, and Allah are the same person, but their characteristics, and actions are ones that fit that society. None of us are wrong yet none of us are completely right, we will never know the complete truth, somewhere in the religions of today there are fragments of truth, and who knows, maybe one of them has got it all right, but we just have to learn to work together. We are all reaching for the same thing yet we all believe everybody else is completely wrong. Let us not stand alone and be helpless, let us build a ladder of friendship between everyone, religious, non-religious and everywhere in between. The 3 biggest causes of war are land, resources and religion. If everybody were to just live in peace in the realization that we are ALL brothers a lot of shit would stop happening. But mankind just hasn't been able to fully mature enough this level of acceptance, there will always be prejudice; religious and beyond. Hell even I'm a hypocrite, I’m actually Christian, I've laughed at religious beliefs of other people and I still can't come to terms the fact that some people just are the way they are (super religious, retardism, physical disabilities, homosexuality, etc…), but maybe someday I can live with complete tolerance; and maybe someday... just maybe, the whole world can just get along, and discover a path to truth and salvation, or whatever you believe in.
topic: Philosophy
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Something to think about	August 29, 2006, 2:06AM
by: Zildjian_drummer1623
Whenever something horrible happens in this country like school shootings and bomb threats from teenagers and even younger kids people blame violence on TV and in video games. That may be true, but only in part. I believe there may be something more that we have missed maybe because we’ve been brainwashed not to notice it, or perhaps we just didn’t want to. The military sends our soldiers over to fight and kill. Now im against war, but I also understand that at times it is necessary. Now the sad truth is, when someone enters the military that have to be taught to kill, and that not just teaching someone how to shoot a gun or use a knife; it's teaching them how to think. If you’ve ever seen the movie “Jarhead” you know what I mean. At the end of the movie they were actually disappointed they didn’t get to kill. Now I’m not here to say everyone in the military is like that. It’s also understandable that they would have to be hardened in that way, and that is not the problem im referring to it’s a bit deeper than that. When I got to work the other day, my friend ran up to me with a picture of his brother who is in Iraq. He showed me the first few, and their of him and his buddies with their shirts off showing off their muscles. Typical stuff until the last one; they had placed a bag over one of the guy's heads and tied his hands back. Standing over him holding an 8-inch knife against his throat was my friends’ brother. Perhaps joking and playing was their way of keeping what they had to do different, making themselves think it was all a game, and I can’t say blame them for that. The problem is the way my friend always talked about his brother. He looked up to him in every way and idolized him. He idolizes this man holding a knife to this bound man's throat. Could this have an impact on the way we see everyday life? I think perhaps it might. We idolize these people in the military and teach our kids that they are heros; But without realizing it I believe we are teaching them more than we mean to. Im not saying the military is bad or that these people, our soldiers, are bad, I’m not saying that at all. Im not sure what we need to do. I just want to get people thinking. A few months ago we had a lady working with us that was fresh out of the military. She just got back from Iraq. One day, sitting on my break, I overheard her and some of her friends talking about some pictures on her laptop she had brought in that day. Now I’ll admit I didn’t see these pictures, but hearing them talk about them was more than enough. Apparently these were pictures from Iraq. I heard things coming from them like “Has his head ben cut off?", “Are those his guts?” “That’s disgusting.” This went on for most of my break, as I sat there trying to relax having to listen to this. After some time one of the girls asked if the lady had witnessed all this, and she replied, “I did it,” and at that moment everyone realized what was going on. She had been the one to take these pictures and been the one to do these things to these people. Two of the girls after realizing this got up and walked away. The others left after she started telling stories about bashing peoples' doors down and running in guns blazing. This girl was proud of what she had done. That is the hard truth of what happens to people in war. It's not fun, it's not pretty, and it's sure not something we should idolize. Look back at the events of September 11, 2001. I was in high school, and I remember watching on TV people in Iraq, women and children, dancing and celebrating in the streets. I remember the response everyone had to that: “What monsters.” After 9/11 the big TV’s in the cafeteria were always turned to CNN. When the “war on terror” started, everyone would run down between classes to watch the bombings live on TV, and I remember people cheating screaming “Hell ya” and other more colorful sayings. That day I saw those people in my school as monsters just the same as the people we watched on TV. I guess what really got me thinking about this was a song. I personally am not a country fan and I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the song “Letters from home”by John Michael Montgomery. I found myself sitting in a restaurant half listening to this song, and before realizing it. I had this longing feeling for what he was singing about, receiving letters from home. The song is simply about this guy in war missing his family and friends. The verses on this song are three letters he receives from people he loves back home. Those verses are separated by a chorus, “I hold it up and show my buddies, Like we ain’t scared and our boots ain’t muddy, and they all laugh, Like there’s something funny bout’ the way I talk, When I say: 'Mama sends her best y’all.' I fold it up an' put it in my shirt, Pick up my gun an' get back to work. An' it keeps me driving me on, Waiting on letters from home.” I sat there listening to that over and over again, feeling that longing to be over there like it’s a fun camping trip and wanting that feeling of getting that letter from home. That feeling made me sick, a song like that being so sweet and so warm makes’ us all think that what they're doing over there is great. Listening to that song you gives the feeling that you want to join them and do great things over there. It blinds us from the fact that they are killing. I think it's good to be reminded of that because it keeps us realizing that they have it hard and we don’t want to be there. Songs like this glorify war and keep the truth just out of our view. We all know what is going on over there; we just don’t want to be reminded of it. I think we should be. I think we should be kept aware of the horror that is going on over there and just be careful how we view it. I don’t know what needs to change, I’m not here to tell you, I just want you to think about this, and maybe it will make sense to you. Maybe one of you can come up with something. If you do let me know; let everyone know. As I end this I want to clarify I did not write this to offend anyone; it’s mainly to get it off my chest and express what I was feeling. I’m left with a quote from “V for Vendetta” running through my head: “And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? ...How did this happen? Who’s to blame? ...but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look in the mirror.” --------------------------------- Artist: John Michael Montgomery Song: Letters From Home My Dear Son, it is almost June, I hope this letter catches up to you, and finds you well. Its been dry but they’re calling for rain, And everything's the same ol’ same in Johnsonville. Your stubborn 'ol Daddy ain’t said too much, But I’m sure you know he sends his love, And she goes on, In a letter from home. I hold it up and show my buddies, Like we ain’t scared and our boots ain’t muddy, and they all laugh, Like there’s something funny bout’ the way I talk, When I say: "Mama sends her best y’all." I fold it up an' put it in my shirt, Pick up my gun an' get back to work. An' it keeps me driving me on, Waiting on letters from home. My Dearest Love, its almost dawn. I’ve been lying here all night long wondering where you might be. I saw your Mama and I showed her the ring. Man on the television said something so I couldn’t sleep. But I’ll be all right, I’m just missing you. An' this is me kissing you: XX’s and OO’s, In a letter from home. I hold it up and show my buddies, Like we ain’t scared and our boots ain’t muddy, and they all laugh, 'Cause she calls me "Honey", but they take it hard, 'Cause I don’t read the good parts. I fold it up an' put it in my shirt, Pick up my gun an' get back to work. An' it keeps me driving me on, Waiting on letters from home. Dear Son, I know I ain’t written, But sittin' here tonight, alone in the kitchen, it occurs to me, I might not have said, so I’ll say it now: Son, you make me proud. I hold it up and show my buddies, Like we ain’t scared and our boots ain’t muddy, but no one laughs, 'Cause there ain’t nothing funny when a soldier cries. An' I just wipe me eyes. I fold it up an' put it in my shirt,Pick up my gun an' get back to work. An' it keeps me driving me on, Waiting on letters from home. These Lyrics and those in the body of the essay taken from www.anysonglyrics.com
topic: Essays
[reply] [5 comments]

September 11th	August 27, 2006, 8:48PM
by: crazy_rocker_chick
Lately I've been thinking about things quite a bit. And I realized that September 11th is right around the corner. Every day ever since that new movie based on the events of that day came out,I've realized how lucky I am.My uncle works in the army and used to go to the Pentagon all the time until it got hit by the plane. What if he had been there that day? What if he had been called to the Pentagon and had been killed? When I ask myself these questions,it makes me think of all the people who lost family and friends on September 11th.It makes realize how truely lucky all of us are.Yes,I know life can sometimes sucks.Life can be a bitch and a big one at that.I face hardships almost every day.Most people can't tell because usually I'm considered the cheerful and happy person in the group.But I have fought things in life that even some of my closest friends have no clue about. But then I think of the hundreds of children who lost their parents that day.The thousands of men and women who lost their lives and the heros who gave up their lives to try and save others.And then I realize,what if I were one of them?What if all of a sudden while at work my life came to a sudden end. The point I'm trying to make is that life is to short to waiste it on worrying and thinking about all the bad things.Some people face abuse.Some people are drug adicts.People have all sorts of problems.But instead of just being depressed,try to find something in life that makes you happy and focus on that.I used to be anti-social and depressed all the time but it made me miserable.Don't make that mistake. Take life day by day and if you have problems,try to fix them.Don't just let them progress or continue and don't bitch about it. If you're abused,go to the police or call a help line.If you do drugs,go to a psychiatrist and again,call a help line.If you're depressed,see a doctor and don't just let depression take over your life. Everyone deserves the chance for pure happiness.Every single person deserves the chance to live life to it's fullest.When you're feeling crappy,think about those people at the Twin Towers.Realize that could have just as easily been you or your family and friends.You are lucky enough to be alive and here.Take advantage of that.Do what you want to do, but remember your limits.If you don't,then be prepared to regret that decision for the rest of your life.
topic: Life
[reply] [3 comments]

A dear child goes by many names	August 23, 2006, 1:57PM
by: JudgeJudas
This article is about the injustice of the post-war trials versus the victor. My main example here will be the trials after the ever-so popular World War II versus the actions of The Allied forces. Do not misunderstand, I do not support the actions of Nazi-Germany, and the entire ideology of nazism sickens me, but the fact is that the rest of the world can be just as sickening. A dear child goes by many names. When the war ended, the nazis were, ofcourse, trialed for their actions, and the trials for the officials of Germanys(although the regim did base in originally in Germany, it was based in other countries aswell) Nazi-Regime(mostly SS and Wehrmacht) was known as The Nürnberg(Nuremberg) Trials. Ofcourse, there was also some vigilante justice in this time, not always with trials, but always with an execution(for example; Oscar Dirlewanger, leader of the SS brigade "Dirlewanger Brigade", who was roasted alive after he was imprisoned, I believe it was the french who did it, but I am not sure). But anyway, I should get to the point soon, but don't hold your breath for it. All the evil nazis were judged and every last one of them died at last(Rudolf Hess was the last of them, he killed himself in 1987 although there are reasonable conspiracy theories about that). After the war, Germany was in ruins, the German reichsmark had no value, and Berlin had the famous Berlin-wall, wich created even more misery for the germans, who allready were ashamed of their leaders acts. And then the leaders were all finally judged in 1949. This satisfied the righteous and common folks thirst for justice. Not all and everyone ofcourse, but most of the "civilized" world. And when we read about this in the history books, we learn the moral that the good always wins and the evil forces are punished. But here comes my point, the real meat and potatoes: During The Holocaust(the genocide of jews and other minoroties and enemies of The Third Reich), it is estimated that 12 millions died, although the correct numbers are unknown. It is estimated that about 37 million civilians were killed in some way because of WWII(within this is included the Holocaust-figures). And about 25 million soldiers lost their lives aswell. This adds up to 52 million casualties, although, as mentioned, this is no sure number, it's most likely alot more. What we learn is that the germans, the japanese and the italians were evil and bad and deserved it, and perhaps even the sovjets after WWII because of The Cold War. Why were the Axis forces so evil? Because they killed and opressed jews, polacs, russians, spanish and everyone who wasn't of "pure race"? Yes, but the fact is that not only the Axis regimes did this, the Allies did this aswell, it was the case before WWII, and it kept on going after aswell. Jews, blacks, gypsies, mentally challenged and so forth were all oppressed, and not unusually killed, mostly for fun, and also sterilized. In fact, here in Norway they were sterilized, either they wanted it or not, untill the 1970ies. This wasn't the case for just Norway, but for most the "civilized" world I would guess. So lets not claim that the germans deserved it more than the rest, cause that would be pure hypocrisy. The victor writes the history books indeed. We trialed The Axis, but we left The Allies alone. And this is just stupidity to say that this was right. This was Injustice, with a capitol I. It's still injustice, and I'm ashamed to be a part of a world that operates in a system like that. So, to back up what I'm saying, lets name a few attrocities done by the Allies, shall we. The Canicattì slaughter, the Biscari massacre, the Dachau massacre, Bleiburg massacre, Foibe massacres, Operation Gomorrah, bombing of Pforzheim, bombing of Dresden, the march bombing of Tokyo, the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and ofcourse, it is a known fact that during their way to Berlin that the allied forces raped and killed civilians, when possible they also tortured as much as possible. In the last case, the russians/sovjets were probaly the worst, or atleast that's what we learn. I won't go into detail about every example, but I will mention some: *During the Canicattì slaughter, about a dozen civilians were killed by U.S. troops. It was covered up. *The Biscari massacre consisted of two incidents; One wich unarmed german and italian POW(prisoners of war) were shot down by U.S. troops, the other incident consisted only of unarmed italian POW. A officer was trialed for this, but aquitted, as he was "only following orders". *During the main air-raid bombing of Pforzheim, 17600 civilians were counted dead. There were no war-crucial targets, only war-relevant targets, as it was suspected that because of all the watchmakers and jewelrymakers, they suspected the city made instruments for the military to use in war. *The bombing of Dresden had one purpose, and that was to lower the enemies morale. It is thought that about 500.000 were killed during the bombing(and firebombing) of Dresden. The city had about 200,000 refugees. And there was no military in the centre of the city, or even in the area surrounding the city to claim it had any military objectives. There were anti-aircraft and defense close enough to claim it wasn't defenseless, but since The Allies suffered no casualities during the bombing, one can't say it was defended. Some claim though that the reasons were the same as in the air-raid bombing of Pforzheim. *And ofcourse, the famous Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It is thought that 214,000 people(in both the cities, most of the casualties were civilians) died by the bombs and their after-effects. Nobody, in their right state of mind atleast, can say that these actions were "for the greater good", or justified in some way. Ofcourse, that wasn't what the world thought. In school, they don't teach us how horrible every part involved in WWII was, all we learned is what I said earlier: Evil axis, good allies. It is horrible, to put it mildly. It's actually revolting that these crimes weren't, and aren't, considered as crimes. Yes, the nazis got what was comming towards them, but you cannot say that the Allies didn't deserve the same aswell. They lived by the same rules as the nazis, although they didn't speak as highly about fascism. The biggest problem with this is that they just didn't get it. This was, no; this IS Injustice. This, unfortantly, is the reality in most, probaly every, war in history. Nazism played alot on patriotism, so did the english, sovjets and americans. As Oscar Wilde said; Patriotism is the virtue of the vicious. Also, the nazis supported fascism so did the rest, they just wouldn't admit it. I mean, what else would you call Stalin if not a dictator? And a prime minister or a president is nothing but an elected dictator. And if you didn't know, Hitler(and the nazi-party) was elected by the german people in 1933. Both sides also loved the ideas and visions of pure white races(well, the japanese didn't want the white race supremacy) and supreme world domination. There are so many similarities and common features. Ofcourse, some people will probaly disagree with me, and well that's though titters for them. The english didn't admit to be nazis, but when it talks like a duck, walks like a duck and acts like a duck, what is it? They didn't admit they were nazis, but when they oppressed blacks, jews, and everyone else I mentioned earlier, when they dream of a pure, clean world, when they have as strong patriotic feelings the evil nazi germans, then my dear readers, they are ducks. The nazis were everywhere, in the american way, in the union jack, in the red army. This was perhaps not a good ending, this article might not belong under the topic "philosophy", and it might have it flaws. I submitted it earlier, and afterwards I read through it and was ashamed. It was full of errors, and I'm glad it wasn't accepted. Hopefully, I didn't do the same mistake now.
topic: Philosophy
[reply] [3 comments]

The Story Of A Boy	August 16, 2006, 12:08AM
by: AnotherNamelessChaos
Our story begins with a boy. This boy has been raised believing that he lives in a perfect world. He was born in a small town in Oklahoma, but when his father got a job in Ohio, they picked up and moved when the boy was only four. Later he would recall those days in Oklahoma as early indications of the life he was soon to live. So now he was in Ohio. He attended an elementary school, and from the first first day he was greeted with love by the teachers, and disdain by the students. Though they all were only children, their innocence allowed their malice to be all the more pure and undiluted by morality. And so, this boy was tormented. Not because he was particularly bad looking, not because he was overweight (though in later years he would consider himself as such), but simply because he never made them stop. He never fought back. This is because his father taught him to never throw the first punch, a law which he took to heart. You see, unlike most children of his generation, he was not easily swayed by his emotions, or fell quickly into temptation. He believed his parents, had no reason not to trust them, and so when they told him the world was a perfect place, he believed them. No one lied. No one hurt. No on cried. That was the way the world was. So this boy heard his classmates telling him how worthless he was, and he had no choice but to believe them, because no one ever lied. He was a pacifist, believed that fighting was only the answer when the other party believed that it was. He didn't like seeing people in pain. This boy was stronger than he realized, and he knew he could inflict pain should the desire arise, but arise it never did. He never cried. He never screamed. He never started fights. He never did drugs. He never really did anything to relieve the anger that was slowly building inside him. Because he felt like these kids knew what they were talking about. And so, eight years passed. By this point, his perception of a perfect world was beginning to come into question. But it would not be shattered for quite some time. His mother's parents were getting old, and she was tired of living so far from them. So she took her son with her to live with his cousin in Texas. His cousin's husband was a kind soul, but angry, and on some nights the boy cried because of the man's anger towards him. He would not realize until much later that the man had been angry at him only because he saw himself in the boy. It was in his short half a year stay in Texas that his life changed desperately. He was expecting ridicule. He was expecting the same hatred he'd always been given. But lo and behold, people liked him. Even more, he was popular. Perhaps the kids back in Ohio had been lying? Perhaps there was another reason for what they had said and done to him. September Eleventh came and went, and the boy was then first introduced to the true darkness the world holds within it. The horror that lies not in the shadows of his closet or under his bed, but within the heart of man himself. The boy and his mother moved to Oklahoma, coming then full circle. It was here where he met several of the people that shaped who he was as a person. Where he gained true identity. But in later years, when he recalled the three years he'd stayed in Oklahoma, one event in particular would come to mind. He had watched, with his class, a video of a man being decapitated by terrorists in Afghanistan. A horrible thing for anyone who had retained their innocence as long as the boy had to see. But it wasn't so much the content of the video that had disturbed him, though he could not close his eyes for several weeks without seeing the man's severed head, or hearing his cries of pain echoing in the back of his mind. What had disturbed him was that the people in his class didn't care. Not only that, they were talking about it as though it was just a staged act. As though it been a movie. They were laughing about it, saying it was cool, saying they wanted to see it again. This was when the boy first began to see the world for what it truly was. The cruelty of men, whether it be from the hands of those performing these terrible deeds, or from the eyes of those who lacked the ability to care. This was when he he first realized that the world truly wasn't perfect, nor would it ever be perfect. This was also around the time he learned the word 'misanthropy', and he took it to heart. He hated mankind for his ignorance, and his lack of will to help those who needed it most. Another day, his best friend's father died. This was his first acquaintence with death. He realized then that no one was immortal, and that one day he would be where his friend stood, burying his own father. The image haunted him for many years, until one day he realized that living in fear of death was to rob one's self of life. He moved back to Texas, though into an apartment that was only himself and his mother, and slowly he began to become a man. He learned a lot about the world, living in a place more crowded than he had ever been. He met a lot of people he didn't like, but he found a group of people that would eventually become the best friends of his entire life. They called themselves the pentagon, and in the beginning they were perfect. But as one in the group knew all too well, perfection is a thing that is never meant to last in this world. He heard the story of Lance, one that inspired him to no end. Here was a man who had been in hundreds of fights. But he hadn't fought for himself, or for petty differences. He had fought for love. There was a girl he had known, whose name and memory he had nearly erased from existence, who was the purpose of his life. It wasn't a crush. It wasn't even love. It wasn't that they were a couple. What they were together was beyond words. It went beyond love in every sense. If there had ever been an example of destiny in motion, they had been it. They were truly perfect. And fate seperated them. Lance couldn't remember what had happened. After it had happened, he had devoted himself to forgetting that she had ever existed, because he felt that he had betrayed her. He had promised her that he would be her shadow, and in the end he had left her. He was left only with a slight memory of who she was. But when he met the boy, the rest of the group tried to help him. Soon, Lance told them all his story. And slowly, he remembered. This person had inspired the boy a great deal, as he had known what pain truly was. Lance had been stabbed a great many times. All in defense of the girl. The boy had been depressed quite often, but now he realized he had no reason to be. And in his mind he decided, he become a writer, and eventually a director, and devote as much time and money as he could trying to find her. Because he felt above all else, those two deserved to be together. So he focused his writing skills, and slowly became better. Soon his stories matched those of the writers he idolized. All the things that he had gone through, the phases, the perceptions, the ideas, they all poured into his stories and created a tapestry of something so personal that he was afraid to let anyone see it. But see it they did, and it wasn't long before he had an audience all his own. People lied. People hurt. People cried. But they loved as well. And despite the indifference of the majority, he suddenly felt hope that mankind could, one day, pull through. That one day, mankind could stop bickering with his brothers and realize that though they may speak different languages, believe in different gods, have different shades of skin, that they are all united as a single race of man. Fighting couldn't stop. Anger couldn't stop. But if maybe, these people could try to find another way outside of violence, people like that boy, and Lance, wouldn't need to be alive. There is beauty and balance in this chaos we call living. Where it lies is up to us to decide. -Zack
topic: Various
[reply] [1 comment]

How I survived methamphetamine.	August 14, 2006, 1:57PM
by: sonicdemonic
Lately I'm seeing a lot of news about methamphetamine. Some of it is typical over-the-top hysterical coverage: articles shrieking about "methmouth", editorials claiming the potential for "addiction after just one hit". There are the typical monologues by recovering addicts: blistering descriptions of hell on earth. Shadowpeople. Kids apprehended by social service organizations. Police raids. Inevitably, the slide into despair, and - for your viewing pleasure! - the slow, ultimately triumphant rise from the bottom to the healing, toasty-warm light of recovery. Bully for them. I'm glad their experiences are so redemptive, and that there's such a satisfying arc; that in the end, the country-music album of addiction gets played backwards, to reference a crappy old joke. My experience was not so well-tailored. Let me tell you exactly what happened to me in the last couple of years, and how to this day methamphetamine touches the fabric of my life, despite my abstinence. A few years ago, in Vancouver (my home city), one of the local papers ran a six-part series on what it called the "epidemic" of crystal meth throughout the city and its surrounding regions. At the time, I was having some pretty serious struggles with cocaine; I had a fairly public job for a local development company, yet I found myself - every payday, like clockwork - in the downtown eastside, buying and smoking crack. I'd get paid on Thursday; inevitably, I was broke by Friday. I managed to put every other cheque aside to pay the rent, but I found myself in the awkward position, every day, of working an executive-level job yet lining up in the soup kitchens on the sly, every lunch hour, and collecting cigarette butts from the company ashtray when no-one was looking. I'd roll 'em up using pages of the old Bible that decorated my flaky boss's desk, ripping out whole sections of Matthew or Genesis when she wasn't around. Those were tough, desperate times. I managed to conceal my poverty and my crack binging from everyone I worked with, though there were a few close calls, like the time I did a rail of coke in the can at a company party, only to realize to my chagrin that it was ketamine. Dammit! I explained my goofiness later as the beer reacting to some pain medication I was on - nudge nudge wink wink - and no-one was any the wiser. But the poverty was grinding at me, and slowly my will to do the big act at work was wearing down. So when I read those articles about methamphetamine - how ten dollars could keep me high for hours, and how it was infesting such-and-such a neighbourhood - I just *had* to know more. I had to see if meth could cure me of my biweekly crack binges. After all, I needed *something* to amp me up, and cocaine was prohibitive in cost, with a high that often only lasted a couple of minutes. That weekend I dressed down, had a few beers for courage, and went prowling the alleys of the West End, looking for meth. It didn't take long to find it. I've always had a good instinct for where the dope is, and it didn't fail me that grey morning. I got a point of crystal for ten dollars, crushed it up, and poured out a couple of lines in a toilet stall at Starbucks. I remember that first time clearly. I didn't really feel high at all. Shit. I bought more; still didn't feel high. Damn! Clearly I was going to need to keep trying. I kept buying more that day; the next day I bought some in bulk; and suddenly it was five days later and I was blinking in the early morning sun, saying "what happened!". There was a little paranoia that I found unpleasant - i kept thinking I heard people calling my name, as I stumbled down the hill to shower and repair my appearance. My shoes were in tatters and my feet were swollen. Over that five day period, I had walked nonstop, alone; it was another week before I realized that the street guy I'd been walking and talking with on day four was a sleep-deprivation hallucination. Somehow I made it home. It took me ten days to recover and I swore off stimulants for ever. Cut ahead to Victoria, B.C., where I moved to accept a different, higher-paying job. I'd done a stint in a treatment centre and pretty much felt 'past' using dope in any way, shape, or form, yet no sooner had I arrived in Victoria than I found myself slipping back into the old crack-binge pattern. So I did what any budget-conscious dopefiend would - I went for the meth again. This time it was smooth, easy, and regular. Ten dollars a day kept me floating comfortably at work; an ativan and a joint or two at night put me to sleep. Life was easy, shiny, and the drugs weren't killing my cash flow. True, a point didn't seem like enough now; before long it was twenty dollars a day, or even forty. But that was ok. I noticed my circle of friends was slowly morphing; I was hanging with more dealers and users. Some of them seemed a little sketchy. And I was maybe missing a day or so of work here or there. There was a strange chemical smell I noticed more and more, as well, which seemed to emanate from my pores. But it all seemed somehow acceptable, until the day I suddenly realized I was under surveillance. How long had they been watching me? I wasn't even really sure who "they" were. Local kingpins, maybe - Mafia? I suspected they were members of a crime family who thought I was a cop because of my inability to grasp the street lingo. Maybe I looked too cleancut? Or were they testing me, seeing how well I'd hold up under the pressure of continually being watched? That afternoon I realized that people in the streets were muttering threats to me as I walked by; my stride increased and I started to panic as I noticed every business I went by shutting their curtains. In fact, it seemed the traffic itself had stopped, and a strange dull half-light hung like a haze over the streets. Only motorcycles and large 4 by 4s were on the road, driving around and around me. They were encircling me. Drivers were leaning out the windows, yelling threats. Oh my god, did that guy have a gun? Jesus! Why was that old woman across the street filming me? I broke into a run. There was a restaurant - - would they let me use the phone? I needed to call someone - my sister, the police, anyone. But the waitress wouldn't let me make a call. "I can't," she said. "You've got to let me make a call!" "I'm sorry, I just can't." I stood for a moment, noticing the way her eyes flickered past me to the street outside. She had to be signalling to the muscle vehicles driving around out there. So they'd gotten to her. Holy Jesus, the whole town must be mobbed up! I turned and bolted. Who was it who'd famously said that in a new city, if you want to get to where the action is, go downhill? I ran downhill until I hit the Salvation Army headquarters. "They're going to kill me," I told the desk clerk. I was calmer now, despite the dozens of motorcycles and four-by-fours roaring in circles around the building. But the clerk didn't seem convinced. God, could he be one of them also? Maybe coming here had been a horrible, fatal mistake! Why was he calling an ambulance? I needed a baseball bat or a gun or something, not this shit! As soon as the ambulance arrived the roaring traffic stopped. I could see them up the street, idling. Just waiting for the paramedics to leave so they could swoop in and grab me. I begged the technicians to take me somewhere - anywhere! - so I could regroup, sleep, maybe get a bit more speed to amp up. I'd need energy, if I was going to outwit whoever it was who wanted me dead. I was in the hospital for almost two weeks. For the first ten days I slept; after that, I concentrated on getting my balance back. The paranoia lasted for about seven days; after that I started the agonizing climb back up into normalcy. During that time I slowly came to accept that despite how real it had all seemed, no-one was after me; it had all been in my head. It had all been in my head. I couldn't believe it. So maybe some of the reports in those articles I'd read about drug psychosis *hadn't* just been "Reefer Madness"-style hysterics. I had no history of mental illness and had never had an incident involving the police or ambulances before. After fourteen days of pacing in the hospital and practicing Schumann and Brahms on the battered old piano in the "Quiet Room", I was out. Within twelve hours I was smoking crystal with a girl I knew in the local park and travelling through the night again, making money and buying as much speed as I could. I hung out exclusively with street dealers and users and I started to smoke, eat, and rail meth around the clock, just to forget about the shock of what had happened. I still nursed the idea that someone might possibly be monitoring me or want me dead, but it was lessening. Or so I thought. It wasn't long at all before one night I noticed police were taking my "friends" off the street and driving them around the corner. Where were they going? Why did my friends seem so terrified? My god, was that someone screaming! Why did everyone pretend not to hear it? It seemed the whole night was full of cars driving around, some police, some "family", picking up people to "punish" them for offences ranging from drug debts to lack of respect. "Don't you see that?" I asked one dealer. "No, what?" he said, straightfaced. Aha. The trick was hear no evil, see no evil - that was the key to staying safe. The whole night seemed to ring out with screams. Everywhere I went people looked frightened. Cars trolled by me and I dreaded that one might stop and I might be muscled into the back seat. I passed that night huddled in a stairwell trying to hide. I couldn't go home; what was home, now, anyway! "They" knew where I lived, after all. The next day I tried to pull it together, but the routine started again; the cars pursuing me, the businesses turning away, and strangest of all, swarms of kids on BMX's moving in on me. I went back down to the Salvation Army. Tears streamed down my face as I saw a whole exodus of people, hundreds of them, grim, relentless, marching past the building. They all seemed to be carrying cameras or guns. The same clerk was working. As soon as he saw me he called the ambulance again. This time the police wanted to talk to me. One problem: they didn't look like real cops to me. Why wouldn't they show me ID? Could they be working for whoever it was that wanted to kill me? They *had* to be..! As soon as they showed inattention I made a break for it; bam, they wrestled me to the ground, strapped me to a stretcher, and slammed the doors to the ambulance shut. The police were in the back of the vehicle with me all the way to - - to where? Where were they taking me! "Why don't you quit waiting and shoot me now, get it over with, you bastards!" I shouted at them. They laughed at me. I guess they'd seen it all before. This time I was committed to the hospital under the Mental Health Act with a diagnosis of "temporary amphetamine psychosis". Let me stress again that I had *never* had any mental health issues. Sure, there'd been moments of anxiety smoking pot, one or two yucky acid trips - anxiety, but never paranoia in the true sense of the word. But with speed it was a persecution nightmare. Everything seemed conspiratorial; the walls themselves started to whisper. I had no ability to reality-test; unlike with acid, where I used to say "Right, hills and valleys, Sonic, it's all hills and valleys - this is just the trip", I had no point of reference at all with the speed. Everything seemed real: people's mouths moved, matching the threatening words they seemed to be saying: it really looked like people were filming me, or pointing guns at me, or taking notes on me. But it was all sketch. The hardest part of getting well was wrestling with separating the real from the sketchy. I spent a lot of time in the hospital researching methamphetamine, and concluded that sleep deprivation for weeks at a time, along with only sporadic sustenance, combined with probable lead or tin contamination during the lithium production method used to manufacture the shit I was buying... well, those factors were probably responsible for my experience. But I still jumped whenever I heard an engine revving. I was released from the hospital after two weeks, again. It's been about two and a half months since they brought me to the ground and dragged me kicking and screaming into that ambulance. Gradually, slowly, my bruised intellect has begun to flower again; the paranoia has faded (though I still get flashes of it); despite a small lapse a couple of weeks ago (I used about two points over the course of a single night) I'm completely clean. There is no white light. There is no majestic trumpet sound heralding clean time. Instead I am haunted by my memories and my thoughts. When I think back to everything that happened, often I'm still not sure what was sketch and what was real. Insignificant events can take on an ominous feel. Other addicts I have talked to report similar confusion in their memories - could that have been real? It sure seemed real..! Mostly I have sadness for the methpeople; the good, decent guys and gals out there that I knew who are still in the grip of this thing and might never get out. I spent weeks at a time with them, prowling around all night, learning the meth scene from them, learning how to survive being on the street for a two-week period without ever going home; they always treated me with respect and they were always good to me, although they laughed at my refusal to commit crimes and they thought I came across as too white-boy. I miss one or two of them with all my heart. But I had to leave. I had to get out of Victoria. The city was going to be the end of me. Near the end, some of my meth acquaintances pulled me aside and said a rumour was going around that i was a cop; I considered myself warned. That's probably how all the persecution mania got started, but I'll always wonder if there's a grain of truth under the maelstrom of those delusions. Meanwhile I think of speed every day but I'm rebuilding my life, piece by piece. I am alone with it, because I could never tell my family or my "normal" friends what I was doing for the last year, why I never contacted them (other than some garbled e-mails). I just let them think I was out "finding" myself. The reality is I was in a holocaust with hundreds of other people. I don't know why, but for some reason, I seem to have survived it, kicked the habit, and lived to type all of this here without any serious long-term damage. I don't have any warnings or any anti-drug messages, but this was my experience, and it was damn scary. Do meth if you want, but i did my part by telling you what happened to *me*. Thanks for listening. SonicDemonic.
topic: Life
[reply] [17 comments]

Hatred	August 9, 2006, 3:02PM
by: Punk1989
Wherever there is a large enough group to target, there is a group that is either formed or converted to hate that specific group. I am going to demonstrate how each group has an anti-group that opposes their beliefs or their ideals. For example, a religious example, christians, purely by chance, have taken it upon themselves to dictate how other people live, but this does not apply to all christians, some are fair minded, openly discussive and are not barrages of information that comes from the bible. For every gay person, there another person who says "God hates fags" or "Aids is gods way of thinning out the impure". There is even a picture of a priest holding up a sign which states "Paedophiles against gay rights"...which is highly distressing. In the same way that non-christians have opposition from christians, christians also have their own morals and ideals to contend with, which i think is partly why they try to dictate how people live, by THEIR ideals, and by THEIR morals. There is a cycle of hate that seems to rotate round in an unending circle, i will provide an example: 1. Preppies hate goths 2. Goths hate jocks 3. Jocks hate nerds 4. Nerds hate preppies and so it continues, this is only a short example. If two people existed, with different ideals, hatred would be spewed between these two, which just proves that where there is difference, wherever there is an opposition of opinion hatred will be found. For an example, there is an extreme-ist by the name of Shirley Phelps Roper, she is part of a small organisation that says that "God hates catholics, presbyterians and gays, we obey his law because he is all powerful, he kills the soldiers in iraq, God bless him, he killed the people in 9/11, God bless him, No one is innocent, and they all deserve his wrath. God is punishing this world." She also hosts a site called "God hates fags". There is no reasoning with people like this, which is why hatred is sometimes necessary to give strength. Hatred is born from opposition, which is in every breath we take, every time we move, even in the natural elements, which is why it comes so natural. Hatred is necessary, its part of life, which is why it comes so natural. Hatred not only takes place in religion and sexual orientation, but even in our high schools, in our homes, in our restaurants and in our minds. Within the first three seconds we make a judgement about someone that affects how we treat them for the rest of our lives. Maybe this is the reason conflict is so common, because we are so quick to judge... Article written by: Punk1989
topic: Life
[reply] [1 comment]

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