Election Anxieties Over

Recently, I have been worried about who I should vote for in America. Fortunately, the following endorsement has helped me make my decision! How lucky we all are to have celebrities tell us how to vote! What would we do without their crucial endorsements?

ENDORSEMENT: 2008

Dear Friends and Fans:

Like most of you, I've been following the campaign and I have now seen and heard enough to know where I stand. Senator Obama, in my view, is head and shoulders above the rest.
He has the depth, the reflectiveness, and the resilience to be our next President. He speaks to the America I've envisioned in my music for the past 35 years, a generous nation with a citizenry willing to tackle nuanced and complex problems, a country that's interested in its collective destiny and in the potential of its gathered spirit. A place where "...nobody crowds you, and nobody goes it alone."

At the moment, critics have tried to diminish Senator Obama through the exaggeration of certain of his comments and relationships. While these matters are worthy of some discussion, they have been ripped out of the context and fabric of the man's life and vision, so well described in his excellent book, Dreams From My Father, often in order to distract us from discussing the real issues: war and peace, the fight for economic and racial justice, reaffirming our Constitution, and the protection and enhancement of our environment.

After the terrible damage done over the past eight years, a great American reclamation project needs to be undertaken. I believe that Senator Obama is the best candidate to lead that project and to lead us into the 21st Century with a renewed sense of moral purpose and of ourselves as Americans.

Over here on E Street, we're proud to support Obama for President.

Bruce Springsteen

My Literary Offenses: Two Poems

Here are two of my poems that I have recently unearthed from the vaults. One was written during my days as an undergraduate; the other one is about them. Enjoy.

Poem #1
The Ballad of the Biker Knight,
or
The Incident at “The Hideaway” Bar

A Tribute to John Keats*

Astride his suicide machine,
The Biker Knight appeared.
He parked the bike beside the bar,
Dust billowed from his beard.

His cracked black leather jacket creaked
As he got off his bike.
An old man sat three yards from him,
Who asked, “You got a light?”

The knight, who wore his visor down,
Replied, “No, I don’t smoke.”
The old man grinned a mossy grin
And while he grinned he spoke:

“Sir Knight,” said he, “I do not ask
Thee for a light for me.
But rather, sir, I ask if thou
Dost have a light for thee.”

The Biker Knight ignored the man,
Confused by what he’d said.
“Your words, old man, ain’t making sense
Inside this Biker’s head.”

Despite the chill of this rebuke,
The old man still kept on.
He grabbed the Biker by the boot
And yelled, “Good Knight, HOLD ON!”

In rage the Biker grabbed the man
and pulled him to his feet.
He shook the old fart violently
Then knocked him to his seat.

The Biker watched the old man writhe
In pain and agony.
He turned to venture in the bar,
But stopped to hear this plea:

“Strong Knight,” the old man whispered faint,
“This warning I give thee:
“Beware the maid with wild eyes--
That Dame is sans merci!”

The Biker smirked, “What do you know
Of women—at your age!”
With that he kicked the man away
And entered in “The Hideaway”
To spend his Biker’s wage.

Inside the bar he heard the sound
Of Country music’s twang.
No one was there except himself.
The Biker snorted, “Dang!”

But just before he turned to leave
He saw a fairy’s child--
At least that’s how she seemed to him—
Her eyes were dark and Wild.

“Are you the tender of this bar?”
He asked, his visor raised.
She nodded “yes” and kissed his lips;
The Biker liked her ways.

“I’d like a shot of whiskey, doll,”
He said with knightly charm
The Fairy’s Child poured the shot—
The Biker saw no harm.

The drink complete, they left the bar
To breathed the outside air.
He placed his helmet on her head—
A garland for her hair.

“Let’s take a ride,” the Biker said.
“This ride’s one of a kind.”
Agreed, she sat in front of him;
He held her from behind.

The Fairy’s Child steered the bike—
Her lover had no clue:
His eyes were fixed on her alone.
He cried, “I love thee true.”

Those words he cried a thousand times
Until he could not peep.
His Biker’s brain turned into mush;
He fell into a sleep.

And as he slept he had a dream,
He saw a wrinkled face!
It was the old man he had met
Who’d warned about that place.

The old man’s eyes were empty holes;
His skin as pale as death!
He cried, “Dull Knight, thou foolish sap,
That dame hath poison breath!”

And then the ancient eyeless man
Displayed a savage sight:
“Behold the ruined men and boys
She used as nothing more than toys
To feed her appetite!”

The Biker Knight looked up and saw
Upon a frozen hill
Frail Biker Kings and Asphalt Dukes—
The victims of her will.

The ghostly roadside royalty
Reached out to touch the Knight.
A Biker King screamed out the words,
“Hey mister, got a light?”

‘Twas then the Biker Knight recalled
The words the old man spoke
Outside that bar called “Hideaway”—
He thought they’d been a joke.

The Biker Knight wept tears of grief,
And as he wept he heard
The old man’s voice condemning him
With fire in each word:

“Without the light that wisdom brings
You had no chance at all!”
I warned thee Knight about that Dame
Now she has thee in thrall!”

And then the Biker Knight awoke
Upon a cold hill’s height.
He was alone—his bike was gone—
The dame had taken flight.

He roams the world on two feet now
Across the Asphalt Sea.
In vain he seeks for solace from
That Dame who’s sans merci.

*And perhaps Brandon, too, now that he has purchased a suicide machine of his own.

Poem #2
Delilah

We have never met, but once I spent
the better part of an evening with the phone
pressed against my ear, my finger dialing
your number over and over again.

I had no good reason to call, no story
to tell, no particular request. My heart
had not been broken, was not bleeding.
I was just eighteen

and it was dark outside my window.
The red numbers on my radio never burned
so dimly, your voice never seemed
so far away.

The Long and Short of a Voyage Long and Strange: A Review

Few non-fiction books hold my attention like those of Tony Horwitz, a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist and amateur historian. In 1998, Horwitz published Confederates in the Attic: Dispatches from the Unfinished Civil War, an incredibly funny and thought provoking look into how the American South memorializes the Civil War. I have twice required students to read this book, and I have found it to be an excellent text for use in college writing courses. Despite my preference for fiction--and extreme dislike for most contemporary travel memoirs--I have become a fan of Horwitz and his quirky interest in forgotten America.

Horwitz's most recent book, A Voyage Long and Strange: Rediscovering the New World, hit bookshelves earlier this year. In this book, Horwitz takes readers through the back roads of America, following the paths of the early Europeans who first explored what would become the United States. His voyage begins in Newfoundland and ends in Plymouth, Massachusetts. Along the way, he visits Columbus sites in the Dominican Republic, Coronado sites in the American Southwest, and De Soto sites in the South. He also travels to Jacksonville and St. Augustine, Florida, where the Spanish and French established settlements, as well as Roanoke, North Carolina and Jamestown, Virginia, where the English got their New World start. Like Confederates in the Attic, Horwitz takes the time to talk to colorful locals (and locos for that matter) about their regional history and its effect on their daily lives. For the most part, he encounters few people who have much to say about these early explorers, which only serves to strengthen his argument that Americans memory of the past relies more on myth than fact--if it relies on anything at all.

The strength of this book, like all of Horwitz's books, is the storytelling. Horwitz has a knack for telling entertaining stories about his adventures in backwoods America and its people. During his trip to Newfoundland, for example, Horwitz strips down to his Gap briefs in order to participate it a Native American "Sweat" that nearly cooks him alive. Later, in Mississippi, he hires an aging "river rat" to take him across the dangerous Mississippi River in a homemade canoe in order to feel what it was like for Hernando De Soto to cross the river on a flimsy raft. However, his most bizarre experience is when he attends a pageant put on by an evangelical church in Jacksonville, Florida. In the pageant, children from the congregation recreate the New World massacre of a hundred or so French Protestant settlers at the hands of Spanish Catholics. Strange indeed.

Unfortunately, A Voyage Long and Strange has no Robert Lee Hodge, Horwitz's Civil War reenactor sidekick from Confederates in the Attic, to liven things up. Horwitz's only real sidekick in this book, in fact, is Caonabo, who serves as his translator and guide in the Dominican Republic. Like Hodge, Caonabo is sarcastic and more than a little socially uncouth, but he ultimately lacks Hodge's charm and homespun philosophy. One also senses a tension between Horwitz and Caonabo that interferes with the fun of their crazy roadtrip across Hispanola.

Also, A Voyage Long and Strange ultimately fails to deliver the same kind of satisfaction one gets at the end of Confederates in the Attic. One reason, perhaps, for this failure is Horwitz's over-reliance on his historical research. Throughout the book, Horwitz parallels his account of his modern-day journey with those of the explorers he is following. While the historical material is interesting--an even necessary for our understanding of the significance of his journey--it often takes center stage in his narrative. Personally, I would have like to have seen him explore how the history of these historical events is remembered today--in movies, pageants, historical and living history parks, novels, textbooks, and popular music. Horwitz, however, rarely finds time to do this. True, he does visit his fair share of national and state parks--but his accounts of these visits rarely provide the kind of analysis we saw in, say, his account of his trip to Andersonville National Memorial in Confederate in the Attic.

Horwitz also spends too little time on English settlement in the New World. Compared to his lengthy examination of Spanish conquest and exploration, his look at Roanoke, Jamestown, and Plymouth reads like a brochure. I find this this aspect of the book most disappointing. While American memory is cloudy when it comes to Coronado and De Soto, I am sure plenty of people have something to say about Pocahontas and the Pilgrims. Why he didn't look into the cultural implications of such things as Disney's Pocahontas and Roanoke's The Lost Colony outdoor drama, not to mention the living history park at Plymouth Plantation, is beyond me.

Overall, though, A Voyage Long and Strange is an entertaining read. While it lacks the depth of Confederates in the Attic, it nevertheless manages to keep the reader engaged until the last page. Would I recommend it? Yes, for the casual reader. I won't be using it in the classroom, though. Voyage says a lot about the past, but not enough about the past's effect on the present--or the present's effect on the past. In short, the book reads like a fun roadtrip across America. Be ready to see a lot of sights...just don't expect to reflect on them too much.

Fort Ancient: Eight Bucks for a Walk in the Woods

Travel north on I-71 from Cincinnati and you will eventually see a brown sign for Fort Ancient State Memorial Park, a historical site that boasts the largest enclosed Native American earthworks in the state of Ohio. It was here sometime between 100 BC and 500 AD (or 100 BCE and 500 CE for the secular among us) that those of the Hopewell persuasion built a series of earthworks and mounds along the natural contours of a hilltop overlooking the Little Miami River. Apparently, these earthworks and mounds fulfilled some ceremonial purposes--not to mention their role as ancient timekeepers. However, when Europeans discovered them centuries later--sometime in the 1700s, in fact--they assumed (O! Warmongering West!) the earthworks were ancient fortifications. Hence, "Fort Ancient."

So, Fort Ancient has been around for a really, really, really long time.

I first visited the park some twenty years ago--well after the Hopewell, Fort Ancient, and Shawnee people had vacated the premises. I remember nearly nothing about my first visit to the park, aside from some grassy Indian mounds and the adjacent signs forbidden children (and immature adults) from climbing on top of them. Admittedly, when I returned to Fort Ancient this past week, the temptation to climb on the solitary Indian mounds remained strong. Unfortunately, though, the mounds were not as tall as I remembered them. And the warning signs remained. Such is life.

In fact, much of the park was nothing like I remembered it. When my wife and kids and I arrived at the park's main gate, I was excited. Aside from the stone covered Indian mounds, which had been restored to look as they would have back in the day, we saw an official-looking building that the gate worker informed us was a museum. Inside this surprisingly spacious museum, we read about the history (or prehistory) of the Hopewell and the later Native American tribes that inhabited the region, as well as the beginnings of white settlement in the Little Miami River valley. We snapped pictures and read displays. It was a great museum. Yea, perhaps even one of the best museums I have ever seen in a state park--and I've seen quite a few. They even had an area for the kids that succeeded (despite amateurishly drawn displays and hokey historically-based activities) in entertaining--and perhaps educating--my kids for a half hour. But the museum turned out to be like a fantastic trailer for an ultimately lackluster movie. When I left the museum, I was expecting to find a perimeter of grassy earthworks enclosing a large open field. What I found instead, however, was a small meadow, a couple of hiking trails, and a lot of forest.

And what about the earthworks--those wonders of the Ancient American World? Where were they?

Well, it turns out that the wondrous Fort Ancient earthworks are now largely hidden within the dense tangle of Ohio forest that literally covers the park. In fact, the earthworks are so disguised by growth that during our one-mile hike along the "Earthworks Trail," my family and I at times had a hard time distinguishing what was an actual Hopewell earthwork and what was not. In many ways, it seemed as if Mother Nature had dominated History in a wrestling match that would rival the worst of Friday Night Smackdown.

Don't get me wrong: I had a good time hiking with my family. And I was even fascinated with the long earthwork formations--when I could distinguish them from the average hill. But I wish the park had shown more care in the preservation of the formations. Why have they not restored Fort Ancient to its original appearance? Why keep the amazing accomplishment of the Hopewell hidden behind a bunch of trees?

Some answers to these questions involve environmental concerns, of course. The trees and foliage that cover the earthworks are now a part of the natural habitat of several adorable woodland creatures--and their removal would certainly arouse controversy from certain environmental groups (picket sign: "STOP WOODLAND GENOCIDE"). Money to carry out the restoration would also be a problem since the preservation of history is always a low priority when it comes to government spending. So, Fort Ancient will likely remain the way it is.

As we left the park, my wife made the comment that the eight dollar entrance fee to the park was "a little steep." I agreed. For all we saw of ancient Indian earthworks, I could have had the same experience with a free walk in the woods and a little imagination...emphasis on a little.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull: A Review

One of my earliest movie memories is watching Raiders of the Lost Ark with my brother. Our favorite part of the movie came at the very end, when the bad guys opened the Ark and had their faces melted off (or, in the case of Belloq, blown off) by the power of God. I remember distinctly watching the exploding head over and over in slow motion (ah! the magic of the VCR) because my brother claimed you could see an eyeball fly off camera if you looked hard enough. Great movie. Yea, perhaps even one of the greatest ever made.

I also remember watching Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom as a kid. My favorite part was the frozen monkey brains. Of course, Temple of Doom is no Raiders. Critics and fans alike have given it a lot of grief for not being Raiders. This is unfortunate. Temple of Doom deserves to be recognized as a great addition to the Indiana Jones saga. It also contains the best opening of Indiana Jones movie. Indy's fight at the Club Obi Wan is iconic.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade was my favorite movie for a long time. I can still repeat most of it from heart ("I don't like fast women!" "And I hate arrogant men!"). For most of my fourth grade year, I carried around a home-made Grail Diary in my pocket. While it has occasionally been criticized (not unjustly) for trying to be Raiders of the Lost Ark, Last Crusade brings a lot emotionally to the Indiana Jones table. We learn more about Indy's past, for example, and his troubled relationship with his father. We also learn that Indy's real name is Henry.

Generic Come-backs...That Really Work!

Once upon a time, I never knew what to say to someone who had royally insulted me. Some stupid bully would shove me in the library and say, "Hey, kid, where'd'you get those shoes? The free-store?" and I would just stare dumbly at the floor as everyone laughed at me for taking it like a sucker.

Many of you probably still have this problem.

Fortunately, I found a way out of this embarrassing situation: Generic Come-backs! That's right, folks! These zinger's can really put the Biffs, Mutts, and Lunkheads of the world in their proper place. Try them out. They're like the "sure-fire passion-stoppers" you learned about in Church Standards Nights...but different.

Here they are:
1. Show's how much you know. (This is my personal favorite...works every time)
2. That has to be the most ordinary thing I've heard all day.
3. Say's you.
4. That's funny! My little brother watches that cartoon, too!
5. Did your grandma teach you that one, chump?
6. I'd say I'm rubber and you're glue...but I want to speak on your level.
7. Poor soul. Too bad you're mother never loved you.
8. If you wanted to insult me, why didn't you make fun of my nose?
9. That would have made sense if you'd used real words!
10. That would have hurt if you didn't have so many zits.
11. So...
12. Where've I heard that before?
13. Ha! That's what the garbage man used to tell my dad!
14. Excuse me, would you like a breath mint?
15. I never told you I know karate, did I?
16. You're lucky my fist still hurts from the last kid I beat up!
17. Dork.
18. Why don't you pop that zit between your shoulders and make everyone's day.
19. Have you ever considered professional help.
20. Says your face!
21. Says your grandma!
22. Says your baby sister!
23. Says your girlfriend! (or boyfriend, if the case may be)
24. Good thing you're still in school.
25. Why don't you do the world a favor and give yourself a wedgie?
26. That toilet water must be getting to you.
27. What? Are you asking for a swirly?
28. That would have been funny if someone else had said it.
29. Saucy! Saucy! Saucy!
30. Excuse me for living!
31. That was so stupid. Try again.
32. Do you want a gold star for that one, champ?
33. That was so lame! I mean L-A-M-E with a capital exclamation point!
34. Hmm. Interesting theory.
35. How quaint.
36. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
37. Thanks for that self-esteem boost. Would you like to help me write my suicide note?
38. Thanks, Dr. Phil. I needed that.
39. Thanks, dummy. I'll be sure to pass that one along.
40. I hope that was worth the effort.
41. Would you like a tip?
42. Nope. Not good enough. Try it with a little more expression next time.
43. I can't believe you thought that would work. Crap like that never works!
44. Sorry. I'll try my best to please you next time, master.
45. Next time, just use your fist.
46. That's so lame it needs crutches.
47. My toenail's sharper that that put-down!
48. Thanks for the editorial comment. You've got real talent.
49. Remarkable. Really. Fascinating observation, Holmes.
50. Ha! Ha! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! (heh heh) HAAAAAA!

I hope these have helped. Remember, no one can make you feel inferior unless you let them.

Sure Fire Way to Tell If a Novel is Worth Reading...

One of the best ways to tell whether or not a book is worth reading is to check the size of the author's name on the front cover. If the author's name is bigger than the title, the novel is not worth reading. Occasionally, I discover exceptions...but they are almost as rare as a good Disney Channel recording artist.

Here's an example. This is a current best-seller. I have never read it, but since the author's name is significantly larger than the title it has to be lame.


I apologize to any Harlan Coben fans out there. I recommend writing Mr. Coben's publishers about decreasing the size of his name on the covers of his novels. Doing so, I imagine, would likely increase the literary value of his writing.