Why Read the Headlines?

Really folks, what's the point of even reading the headlines on Yahoo! News anymore? Is it just so we can say "Hey look honey, Muslim radicals killed fifteen more people today?"

So maybe this murderous lot isn't the majority of Muslims. Maybe they are; the fact is, I don't really care. Until the moderate Muslims start speaking up and take the lead in finding and eliminating the radicals, I refuse to refer to Islam as the "Religion of Peace." As long as violent individuals keep blowing things up in the name of Allah, undeterred by the peaceful segment of the population I can find no reason to be nice about the whole thing.

I mean, come on... Somebody drew a blasphemous picture of Allah, and the WHOLE MUSLIM WORLD is in a state of turmoil! Like little children or wild monkeys (the more appropriate comparison), these people simply don't operate like normal human beings! There have been caricatures of Jesus and Buddha, Darwin and Freud, but never did the followers of these individuals take offense and begin to blow things up! Only when Muhammad is the subject of ridicule do the massacres start.

Christians and Muslims alike have been killed in the name of Allah. Westerners and Arabs, young and old have been tortured and decapitated at the hands of Islamic baboons, and still, there are no riots in the street. No angry mobs protest Muslim-on-Muslim violence, and certainly they do not grow outraged over Muslim-on-Westerner violence. Then, when someone makes a cartoon of Muhammad, the weeks and months following its publication lead to worldwide violence and massacres of innocent victims, many of whom have never even seen the offending cartoon. How's that for reasoning?

From the Left, I've heard about how the problem isn't really Islam... No, they say, the real issue here is fundamentalism. Fundamentalism is a stripped-down version of a religion... one that relies only on the "fundamentals," so to speak, to determine its doctrine. Of course, no person would adhere to Islamic Fundamentalism of their own volition... Usually, a fundamentalist is an otherwise reasonable person who finds himself in unfamiliar, unfriendly, and unstable conditions (such as are present across the entire Muslim World), and must rely on this stripped-down version of his faith to give him stability and purpose.

So you see? These violent people aren't really that bad... They're just victims of poverty and the despotic regimes that lord over them. And besides, they're basically the same as the fundamentalist Christians in this country, like Pat Robertson! Fundamentalism is always bad, and Christian fundamentalism is our responsibility. That's the way the argument was put to me by my Comparative Politics professor.

Nevermind the fact that Christian "fundamentalists" have nothing in common with Muslim fundies... economically, behaviorally, rhetorically, or socially! Nevermind the fact that you're free to wear your "Jesus is my Homeboy" shirt to the local mall without someone hacking your head off with a machete. Fundamentalism is bad, and some Christians have been called "Fundamentalists." Therefore, Christian "Fundamentalists" are like radical Muslims!

I love the smell of an association fallacy in the morning.

The truth is, the problem IS Islam; or rather, the problem is what seems to be the predominant type of Islam. Whether this radical sect really is more common, or simply more vocal, I do not care. Poverty or no poverty, fundamentalism or no fundamentalism, religion or no religion, INSULT or NO INSULT, no group of people has the right to riot and massacre innocents because somebody offended them by putting a bomb on the head of their favorite prophet.

Nothing can excuse the actions of these Muslims. Nothing can change the fact that they commit their atrocities in the name of Allah. All that can now justify any form of Islam is for the moderates to stand up and stop their violent brothers. If they fail to do so, they make themselves as bad as those who murder innocents, and give credence to the cartoon that sparked the Muslim World's latest outburst.

So here's an idea... Muslim violence is likely to continue for years to come, as will the War on Terror. So, by January 1st, 2007, if there is still no significant and vocal Moderate Muslim resistance, the West can make the justified generalization that Islam is NOT a religion of peace, and is free to conquer and subjugate the Muslim World as they see fit. If the moderates do not organize and speak up by the beginning of next year, then we can reasonably assume that they do not exist in any significant numbers, and can then crush the violent movement unencumbered.

Sound rough? Consider it, for the countless innocent victims of Islamic Extremism.

Today Was Long

So what do you do at 10:30 p.m. when you've had a crappy day? When you're tired, angry, hungry, and sweaty? When you can barely keep your eyes open long enough to fume about how bad today was? Why, it's obvious! You write a post, and dump the whole sad story on your poor unwitting readers, who would undoubtedly find Jack Kevorkian's memoirs to be more uplifting and entertaining than your tale of bitterness, idiocy and general bewilderment.

That's what I'm gonna do, anyway. Feel free to skip this post if you have no wish to go Gothic, dressing in all black and wearing makeup styles that even your eccentric Aunt Bertha would frown upon. This story has that effect on people, so should you at any time begin to feel the urge to write a depressing poem about blood, please stop reading this post. For your own good.

My story begins on Friday, February 10 at about 4:30 p.m... It's time for me to head to the tennis courts for a rendezvous with my current... uh, love interest (let's call her Q). I have just gotten off the phone with my Mock Trial witness, who I am convinced will perform wonderully at the competition(in contrast with the unprepared stupor I will undoubtedly stand in), and today is going about as well as can be expected.

I head downstairs, very much anticipating my trip to the tennis courts and considering the possibility of even playing tennis while there, and I get ready without a hitch. Finally, I am done getting ready... I've put in my contacts, my teeth, and against all odds, I've found some clean tennis clothes. Yes, this is a GOOD day!

Then the trouble started. It's almost 5:00, and my mom's on the phone. This shouldn't really be a problem... I do have my driver's license after all! I've had it for six months, so I could be driving my FRIENDS around, not to mention myself! But alas, this was not to be.

You see, even after I've had my license for six months, my mom still won't let me drive by myself, and though I've had half a year to think about it, I still can't understand her reasoning. It would be one thing if I were a bad driver... if I were putting my life or the lives of others in danger when I get behind the wheel, it would be perfectly understandable for her to want to ride with me. If I were really a bad driver, I would welcome her riding with me, because she could teach me safer driving habits and tell me what to do should I become confused by one of those funny intersections where the arrows don't point in the direction you'd actually be turning.

But none of this is the case. I'm a safe driver; she has been watching me drive for a year and a half now, and since I've had my license she has not ONCE screamed or held on for dear life because of a mistake I've made. Not ONCE has her life flashed before her eyes as I hit 80 in a 45 zone. Not ONCE has she had to stop me from running a redlight, or hitting that unwitting pedestrian on the sidewalk. See, I'm not a bad driver... but she still insists on riding with me.

This is where my problem arises. Despite what appears to me (as a mortal human) to be a big mistake, God designed time to be linear. Therefore, while my mom is trapped on the phone at 5:00 now, I am losing precious time that could be spent... uh, at the tennis court.

The obvious solution to our problem is to simply have dad ride with me... I'd always rather drive by myself, but hey, I'll take anything, just GET ME TO THE TENNIS COURT! But that won't work... dad's at work. And sick. Between those two things, I don't think it would be wise to ask him to take me, so instead, I wait for mom to get off the phone.

She is finally able to end her conversation... at about 5:30 or 5:40. By this time, I'm getting antsy, and even a little peeved. No, I don't blame her for the phone conversation, she couldn't really get out of that, but I could have been at the courts fifteen minutes ago if she would have just let me myself. Now, I've still got to make the 20-30 minute drive, and hope that the whole reason I was going to the tennis courts hadn't already left. I wasn't even sure if she'd be there, but she said she'd try to make it, and so had I.

So now I'm finally on my way. I'm a little miffed, but I am consoled by the fact that my grandmother is arguing with mom on the cell phone about how she won't let me drive. Thanks to my safe driving, she was comfortable enough to talk on the phone as though she were in our living room, paying no attention to the road or other drivers. She didn't have to correct me once, so I could have safely driven to tennis WITHOUT her, and done so in a timely manner as well! Of course, explaining that to her proves impossible...

It's now 6:10, and at long last, I've made it to the tennis courts! And look, there's Q! Hooray! I was afraid I'd missed her...

And had I been twenty minutes later, I would have. She had been at the courts since a little after 4:00, and at 6:30 she left with her mom. Darn. If I had been allowed to leave when I wanted to and drive myself, I would have had more than an hour to spend with her... instead, I got less than twenty minutes. Thanks mom.

So at this point, I was officially irritated, and only consoled by the fact that I was able to set up an impromptu lesson with my tennis coach because another student had canceled. The lesson went reasonably well, though it hardly made up for my lack of freedom in the transportation department, and finally, at 7:00, the lesson ended. Time to go home after what was very nearly a wasted trip. "At least once I get home," I thought, "things will get better."

That was stupid.

As I'm leaving the country club, I make sure to give my mom an ear-full about how I could have been at tennis earlier and had more time to spend with Q. This didn't sit well with her, obviously, and she made sure to give me an ear-full about how I'm not going to be driving myself anywhere for a long time to come with that attitude. She then proceeded to tell me about her trip to the grocery store. It seems that she was going to buy stuff to make chili, but couldn't buy the beef because the store's beef grinder was broken. Too bad she had already bought all the other ingredients.

Since chili was now out of the question, she decided to have me stop by Mrs. Winners for a nice take-out meal. I was fuming by this time (though still driving safely, as I drive better when I'm ticked off), and happy to stay in the car while she went in to order the food. While I was alone, I decided to listen to my iPod.

I reached back and grabbed it out of my tennis bag, only to find I had left it on during my lesson. "Oh joy, now my play-count will be messed up," I thought. I didn't really care though. I just wanted to listen to some loud punk music.

Then came a rude surprise: The click-wheel on the iPod wasn't responding. As any good iPod owner would do, I promptly reset the thing and prepared myself for a bit of MxPx... but the music never came on. I glanced down at the screen again, only to see some stupid little picture of a folder and an exclamation mark, with the URL http://www.apple.com/support/ipod underneath.

I started seeing red. This hadn't been a good day, and I really didn't need a problem with my iPod now... especially not a problem that I hadn't encountered before. With the cd player already up loud, I yelled. I yelled mean things. I yelled at the iPod. I yelled at Apple. I yelled at mom (but only because she wasn't there). It made me feel better.

But then, as sort of a physical exclamation mark for my furious wailings, I flung my iPod into the back seat. "Oh no," I thought! "I've broken it!"

Did I break it? I had no clue; I couldn't FIND the thing! I didn't throw it hard! It had to be there somewhere! As I was frantically digging around in the grocery bags and other paraphernalia lying in the back seat, I knocked over a box that apparently had a lot of styrofoam in it. Styrofoam that had been torn up into absurdly small pieces. As I was digging through the menacing white beads trying to find my iPod, my mom came up to the window:

Mom: "They don't take debit cards."

Neo: "Darn."

Mom: "I don't have any cash."

Neo: "That's not good. Would you care to join me in shouting strings of profanity?"

Mom: "(ignoring last statement) I can't believe they won't take debit cards... Listen, would you go wait inside so they'll know I'm coming back for my order, while I go get some cash?"

Needless to say, I went in. It didn't really bother me... it gave me time to sulk about having been late to tennis, and how it was mom's fault, and how I can't find my iPod, and how it's messed up anyway, and how those stupid balls of styrofoam keep mocking me from the back seat.

My mom got back and paid for the food... I sullenly carried it out and plopped myself back into the driver's seat, figuring I'd just find my iPod when I get home. The ride was for the most part silent.

After we got home and carried in the groceries and food from Mrs. Winners, I went back out to the car to look for my iPod. No luck. Even with me and both of my parents scouring this little Mazda, we couldn't find it.

"What did you do with your iPod last?" They asked.

"I threw it."

"You threw it?"

"Yeah, it was messed up and I was mad. But I just threw it into the back seat, and I didn't throw it hard!"

We began to assume the worst: In my rage, I must have thrown the iPod so that it lodged between the seat and the door, and when mom opened the door, it probably fell out in Mrs. Winners' parking lot!

Immediately, my dad grabbed the keys and off we drove, hoping to find my iPod still lying on the asphalt. On the way, I went ahead and filled him in on everything that had happened so far that evening. Had he not had a cold, he would have been amused. Had it not all happened to me, I would have been amused. As things stood, neither of us were amused.

Once we were back in the parking lot, we began searching for the iPod. It wasn't near where we had parked during our previous visit, so dad went inside to see if anyone had found it on the pavement and turned it in.

No dice.

Downtrodden, I got back in the car and we headed home. By this time, I was so disappointed in the day that I just wanted to get in bed. I still do, actually, and soon I will. But the story isn't quite over.

On the way home, dad called mom to let her know we didn't find anything, and to see if she might have opened the door at the bank where she went to get money. It was during this phone call that she made a discovery: The iPod was in one of the bags of groceries that she bought to make chili. At last, we had found my iPod!

And I was left feeling like a complete moron. How could I NOT check those bags? I CARRIED THEM IN! Jeez, I'm an idiot. An idiot with little styrofoam pellets in the back of his car.

We returned home and I quietly retrieved my iPod, hoping to fix its problems and get that little exclamation mark off the screen. It was beginning to mock me, and I couldn't take it much longer. Unfortunately though, the little icon didn't go away. In fact, even now as I look down at it, that menacing mark of iniquity still dominates the screen. How depressing.

So what do you do at 12:00 a.m., and you have a seemingly unfixable problem with your iPod and seven hours worth of frustration that have finally been released to dissipate into the cyberworld? Why, it's obvious!

You go to bed.

Faust, Opera, and Satan Worship

Sound like an odd combination? On any other day, the strange grouping of Faust, opera and Satan worship would undoubtedly be seen as some sort of free association exercise. Today though, it is a Yahoo News headline.

According to Y!News, a teacher decided to introduce about 260 first, second and third-graders to opera, and did so with a video about Gounod's Faust. This choice did not sit well with parents in the community: "I think it glorifies Satan in some way," said parent Casey Goodwin.

Isn't it touching? These parents are so committed to protecting their children! Three cheers for you, Bennett, Colorado!

Or not. Come on, these parents aren't concerned, they're just stupid! If they were really concerned about their children being exposed to violent images, mention of suicide, and the "glorification" of Satan, they wouldn't be sending their children to public schools anyway. You think that opera's bad? Wait 'til I tell you about what happens in the halls of my friends' schools every day! You wanna protect your children from that? Then pull them out of the school. Don't whine about a comparatively innocuous opera video.

Faust is a classic. It does not glorify Satan any more than Don Quixote glorifies windmills. You want to talk about glorification of Satan? Talk to me in eight years when half of your kids are listening to Slipknot. You want to protect Christian ideals? Stop buying your kids the latest Harry Potter book. Don't come cryin' to me because your kids saw some puppets talking about a classic opera.

It just makes you look stupid.