I went on my bike ride today and found myself at one point in the park, by the pond. As I walked my bike toward a shady spot near the pond, a gaggle of geese regarded me warily. We kept a mutually respected distance between us. I did not go to their group, and they left me alone.
On the other side of the pond, though, I saw a family walking along. The family consisted of a father, a mother, and two boys, aged around 10 and 14 I would guess. They boys had long hair and the mother wore olive drab pants with leg pockets. The geese were watching them, and as the family approached, the geese jumped into the water and began to move toward them. I am not sure how the geese knew, but they somehow sensed that there was something about this family that required their attention.
After a few moments, the family had stopped on the other shore of the pond, while the geese continued to approach them. The family pulled out bread. I think they were old hot-dog buns that had not been properly mated with hotdogs during some barbecue. They began to tear these up and throw them into the water, right where the expectant geese had congregated. The geese hungrily devoured the offering, and came closer to the family. One of the boys started throwing pieces of bread at the geese, apparently hoping to hit them. His mother told him that he knew better than to behave that way. Obviously, the boy did not respect the geese and had to learn this respect from his mother.
The geese continued to advance. They started coming up onto the land, where the family was. The family started backing away. Emboldened by the family's retreat, the geese became more aggressive, and started advancing faster. The family began to sense peril. Geese can get nasty, and they can bite pretty hard. There were about twenty geese to the family of four humans, so they were outnumbered five to one. However, to keep perspective, they were just geese, and nobody was in any real danger, thus making the entire scenario amusing to watch.
The family finally threw all that was left of the bread they had brought for the geese. They had no more, but the geese were still hungry. They charged! They put the family to flight. The family was flat-out running away as the geese continued to chase them up the bank of the pond. Eventually, the family was gone, and the geese settle back into their normal routine.
As I watched this entire series of events unfold before me, I was tempted to shout at the family: "I hope you learned a lesson from that!" But I didn't. Some lessons can only be learned from experience, and if someone can't learn from experience, they certainly can't learn from someone pointing out the obvious to them.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
Crochet
My wife is doing crochet now. She wants me to get into it. I had the following epiphany.
I am so comfortable with my masculinity that I do not feel the slightest need to prove that I am comfortable with my masculinity by taking up a feminine hobby.
I am so comfortable with my masculinity that I do not feel the slightest need to prove that I am comfortable with my masculinity by taking up a feminine hobby.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Disillusion
One might imagine that I am against collectivism, but that is not entirely true. Collectivism has its place. It is when proponents of collectivism presume the collective to be more than it is (or can be) that it becomes dangerous.
One must always remember (it is so easily forgotten that I don't think I have ever heard anyone come out and say it) that a collective is nothing more than an arrangement.
Think about this: when you are doing something "for society" who is it that benefits? Society? Society is a collective. "Society" is an agreement among individuals. It cannot benefit because it does not exist except in the minds of the individuals who believe in it.
A collective is, at best, a mutual agreement between constituents to organize their behaviors in a way such that the collective benefit to each individual outweighs the costs of belonging to the collective. In other words, there is a synergy between individuals who create the group so that everyone in the group benefits and gets more out of belonging to the group than they put in.
Every "society" that I have seen falls short of this ideal. Why? Because individuals do not understand the nature of the arrangement.
Too often, people are born into a collective. They are forced into the situation without consent or consideration. The collective takes on the illusion of being something more than what it is. A "country" or a "nation" or a "state." The last of which is the most obvious because someone can simply move out of a state if he does not like it, but the other collectives are a pall that hangs over the individual forever, unless drastic action is taken, and even if someone renounces his own country, where is there to go? The whole world is run by these countries.
Why is collectivism what it is? Because, evolutionarily speaking, collectives are good a killing people en masse. Because collectives are so effective at killing, the only people left are living in collectives. Anyone who tries to live outside a collective has no territory, nowhere to go.
People organize collectives initially for mutual benefit. However, when those people die or forget the purpose of the collective, politicians seize control and then turn the collective into a device for personal fulfillment. We forget that that the purpose of the collective is for our benefit, not the abstract benefit of an imaginary bugbear.
Whenever the "state" or the "nation" require sacrifice, but does not provide benefit, it is a tyranny, and must be thrown out. Such an organizing principle that is not a benefit to the constituents is a social disease, a monstrous mental disorder that must be cured. Our founders knew this, which is how they could write the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. We have forgotten because we have been brought up inside a belief system that has for too long been unquestioned.
Sure, many people would die for their "country," but what, exactly, is it that they are dying for? The land? The flag? A document? Ideally, people should only die for something that is real: not an illusion. The land, the flag, and the document, are symbols of a country, not the country itself. What is it, then, that requires sacrifice?
One's people. That's what. People are real. A nation is nothing but people and the agreement between those people to trade some freedom for greater personal gain. If, however, the people in your "nation" are no longer your own people, are they still worth dying for? Some abstract belief in an imaginary greatness in an imaginary construct that is no longer maintained by people who knew what it is for?
One must always remember (it is so easily forgotten that I don't think I have ever heard anyone come out and say it) that a collective is nothing more than an arrangement.
Think about this: when you are doing something "for society" who is it that benefits? Society? Society is a collective. "Society" is an agreement among individuals. It cannot benefit because it does not exist except in the minds of the individuals who believe in it.
A collective is, at best, a mutual agreement between constituents to organize their behaviors in a way such that the collective benefit to each individual outweighs the costs of belonging to the collective. In other words, there is a synergy between individuals who create the group so that everyone in the group benefits and gets more out of belonging to the group than they put in.
Every "society" that I have seen falls short of this ideal. Why? Because individuals do not understand the nature of the arrangement.
Too often, people are born into a collective. They are forced into the situation without consent or consideration. The collective takes on the illusion of being something more than what it is. A "country" or a "nation" or a "state." The last of which is the most obvious because someone can simply move out of a state if he does not like it, but the other collectives are a pall that hangs over the individual forever, unless drastic action is taken, and even if someone renounces his own country, where is there to go? The whole world is run by these countries.
Why is collectivism what it is? Because, evolutionarily speaking, collectives are good a killing people en masse. Because collectives are so effective at killing, the only people left are living in collectives. Anyone who tries to live outside a collective has no territory, nowhere to go.
People organize collectives initially for mutual benefit. However, when those people die or forget the purpose of the collective, politicians seize control and then turn the collective into a device for personal fulfillment. We forget that that the purpose of the collective is for our benefit, not the abstract benefit of an imaginary bugbear.
Whenever the "state" or the "nation" require sacrifice, but does not provide benefit, it is a tyranny, and must be thrown out. Such an organizing principle that is not a benefit to the constituents is a social disease, a monstrous mental disorder that must be cured. Our founders knew this, which is how they could write the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. We have forgotten because we have been brought up inside a belief system that has for too long been unquestioned.
Sure, many people would die for their "country," but what, exactly, is it that they are dying for? The land? The flag? A document? Ideally, people should only die for something that is real: not an illusion. The land, the flag, and the document, are symbols of a country, not the country itself. What is it, then, that requires sacrifice?
One's people. That's what. People are real. A nation is nothing but people and the agreement between those people to trade some freedom for greater personal gain. If, however, the people in your "nation" are no longer your own people, are they still worth dying for? Some abstract belief in an imaginary greatness in an imaginary construct that is no longer maintained by people who knew what it is for?
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
The Intollerant Mr. Frog
We are in the midst of a meme war.
Imagine a frog being slowly boiled in a pot. The frog doesn't notice if the heat increases slowly enough. Let's say, though, that the heat is being turned up fast enough for the frog to notice. The frog gets uncomfortable and tries to hop out, at which point, the sadistic boiler slaps the frog with the epithet "intolerant!" and guilt alone forces the frog to hop back into the pot.
Friends: when you are being boiled alive, intolerance is a survival instinct.We have to choose whether being considered "intolerant" is a worse fate than being boiled alive.
There are people who are ready to build a mosque or "prayer center" on top of Ground Zero. We are told to be tolerant, that we have a separation of church and state, and free speech. Therefore, we should shut up and let them do whatever they want.
First of all, we must remember that this is a MEME WAR. In a meme war, we must be conscious of what other people are trying to pull on us. The people who are behind the GZM are pretending to be extending a hand of friendship, yet they show remarkable insensitivity. Ask yourself: would you try to reach out to people by building something that is against their wishes?
We must realize that for them, there is no separation of church and state. That distinction is solely a Western concept and exists only in the United States. For them, religious conquest is political conquest is racial conquest. It is a meme war, and the religious and political are both aspects of the same meme.
Second, we should ask ourselves: why are we always supposed to be the tolerant ones? There is an old saying (maybe not so old) that if you have an argument between a tolerant person and an intolerant one, the latter always wins because the tolerant one will always try to find some way of appeasement in order to get along. Why is tolerance a unilateral phenomenon?
If any kind of "bridge" can be made between two peoples, it must be made on a basis of reciprocation. If one side is always giving and the other side is always taking, it is not a mutually beneficial relationship. Their objective is to invade and destroy us, like Communism, but faster. They hate us. The fact that we do not hate them does not in any way change the fact that they hate us. We pretend that our lack of hatred is reciprocated, but that is a delusion that must be overcome if we are to survive. To them, our lack of hatred is a weakness that they are exploiting.
Look at actions, not words, because words are deceptive. We cannot expect other cultures to adhere to our values of honesty, reciprocity, freedom, etc. These are Western values, and if we expect the rest of the world to value them, or even understand them, then we are sadly mistaken, which will allow them to control the discourse which means the meme war.
If we are to survive, we must adapt. We must learn. We must act. If we are accused of being intolerant, then we must accept that being intolerant is the only thing that can save Mr. Frog.
Imagine a frog being slowly boiled in a pot. The frog doesn't notice if the heat increases slowly enough. Let's say, though, that the heat is being turned up fast enough for the frog to notice. The frog gets uncomfortable and tries to hop out, at which point, the sadistic boiler slaps the frog with the epithet "intolerant!" and guilt alone forces the frog to hop back into the pot.
Friends: when you are being boiled alive, intolerance is a survival instinct.We have to choose whether being considered "intolerant" is a worse fate than being boiled alive.
There are people who are ready to build a mosque or "prayer center" on top of Ground Zero. We are told to be tolerant, that we have a separation of church and state, and free speech. Therefore, we should shut up and let them do whatever they want.
First of all, we must remember that this is a MEME WAR. In a meme war, we must be conscious of what other people are trying to pull on us. The people who are behind the GZM are pretending to be extending a hand of friendship, yet they show remarkable insensitivity. Ask yourself: would you try to reach out to people by building something that is against their wishes?
We must realize that for them, there is no separation of church and state. That distinction is solely a Western concept and exists only in the United States. For them, religious conquest is political conquest is racial conquest. It is a meme war, and the religious and political are both aspects of the same meme.
Second, we should ask ourselves: why are we always supposed to be the tolerant ones? There is an old saying (maybe not so old) that if you have an argument between a tolerant person and an intolerant one, the latter always wins because the tolerant one will always try to find some way of appeasement in order to get along. Why is tolerance a unilateral phenomenon?
If any kind of "bridge" can be made between two peoples, it must be made on a basis of reciprocation. If one side is always giving and the other side is always taking, it is not a mutually beneficial relationship. Their objective is to invade and destroy us, like Communism, but faster. They hate us. The fact that we do not hate them does not in any way change the fact that they hate us. We pretend that our lack of hatred is reciprocated, but that is a delusion that must be overcome if we are to survive. To them, our lack of hatred is a weakness that they are exploiting.
Look at actions, not words, because words are deceptive. We cannot expect other cultures to adhere to our values of honesty, reciprocity, freedom, etc. These are Western values, and if we expect the rest of the world to value them, or even understand them, then we are sadly mistaken, which will allow them to control the discourse which means the meme war.
If we are to survive, we must adapt. We must learn. We must act. If we are accused of being intolerant, then we must accept that being intolerant is the only thing that can save Mr. Frog.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Understanding the meme war
The movie, Plan 9 from Outer Space, was really ahead of its time. In it, aliens invade earth and use the walking undead to instill fear and create panic, which was part of their plan (the ninth one, apparently) to conquer our unsuspecting planet.
Ahead of its time, I say? Yes. Despite it being the worst movie ever made, the underlying symbolism is identical to that of the meme war. Whether he knew it or not, Ed Wood created a masterpiece. I think the creators of They Live were also onto something, but their message was more blatant (though the movie's execution was not much better).
Instead of Earth, let's say that the to-be-conquered planet is Western Civilization.
There are three groups of people: aliens, zombies, and humans.
Humans: there are only a few true humans left. By humans, of course I mean uninfected humans: humans who work for their own best interests, who want their children to do the same, and who want their civilization to prosper. As I said, in Western Civilization, there are only a few of us left.
The aliens are people who are the enemies of Western Civilization. The West has had enemies from the beginning: Muslims, Communists, barbarians, to name a few. Their goal is, and has always been, to bring about our collapse and to conquer us.
However, the West has always been too powerful for a frontal assault to work. The aliens have tried and tried again to vanquish us, to quash us, but to no avail. Their latest plan (plan 9?) is to use zombies.
Zombies are not the walking dead of the movies, or even the zombies of Haitian culture, though they are much more like the latter than the former.
No, today's zombie is someone who has been programmed by a foreign invader (i.e. a meme that was planted by an alien) to work against his own interests, or the interests of his own people. For a good example how zombies exist in nature, have a look at this video. Watch in horror as the snail is perfectly exploited by the Leucochloridium paradoxum parasite. The zombie snail is programmed to climb to the topmost tree in order to make itself a target for birds. When the bird eats the snail (or its eye stalk) the parasite moves on to parasitize the bird. The mind-controlling parasite then moves through the bird's digestive tract to await being eaten by another unsuspecting snail. The reason this is so effective is that the parasite controls the snail's brain.
Now, imagine that instead of a physical parasite, the victim's brain is invaded by a mind virus: a parasite without any physical existence, a parasite that exists only in thought-form: an idea, passed from person to person like a venereal disease. That's what a meme is, and when the meme is intentionally crafted to be a weapon against the victim who believes it, it is what they call an endotoxic meme: a meme that works against its host.
So, the aliens (that's THEM) control the zombies (that's many of US) into working against our own interests. How? By voting for bills that are designed to disarm us, to weaken us. By infecting the entire academic world and turning it into a virus distribution system. By infecting the media to make copies of itself to spread to everyone who watches television. These mind-viruses, these endotoxic memes, so permeate our society, through and through, that people don't even realize how bizarre they are.
Who are the aliens today? It doesn't matter. The aliens are, as they have always been, too weak to take us on directly. They can only fight us by using their zombie horde. Without their zombies in our midst, controlled from the outside, infecting our children, our institutions, our media, and the young minds of students, they present no threat.
That's why I'm writing this. My goal is not to kill the aliens. That just leads to scapegoating. I'm not going to fight the zombies:they are my countrymen who have been savagely victimized by the alien memes in this meme war. My goal is to liberate the zombies. Once the zombies wake up (the first step is for them to realize how they've been manipulated) they will naturally start to resist the memes given them by their alien masters. They must resist. It does not matter who the aliens are: if we can resist them and avoid being turned into zombies, they are absolutely powerless. It us not up to us consign their ideas to the toxic waste dump, to laugh in their faces when they try to convince us to sacrifice our own lives, our own happiness, our own wealth, and our childrens' future, our very civilization for their alien agenda.
If you are reading this, you might be human. If you understand it, there is yet hope.
Ahead of its time, I say? Yes. Despite it being the worst movie ever made, the underlying symbolism is identical to that of the meme war. Whether he knew it or not, Ed Wood created a masterpiece. I think the creators of They Live were also onto something, but their message was more blatant (though the movie's execution was not much better).
Instead of Earth, let's say that the to-be-conquered planet is Western Civilization.
There are three groups of people: aliens, zombies, and humans.
Humans: there are only a few true humans left. By humans, of course I mean uninfected humans: humans who work for their own best interests, who want their children to do the same, and who want their civilization to prosper. As I said, in Western Civilization, there are only a few of us left.
The aliens are people who are the enemies of Western Civilization. The West has had enemies from the beginning: Muslims, Communists, barbarians, to name a few. Their goal is, and has always been, to bring about our collapse and to conquer us.
However, the West has always been too powerful for a frontal assault to work. The aliens have tried and tried again to vanquish us, to quash us, but to no avail. Their latest plan (plan 9?) is to use zombies.
Zombies are not the walking dead of the movies, or even the zombies of Haitian culture, though they are much more like the latter than the former.
No, today's zombie is someone who has been programmed by a foreign invader (i.e. a meme that was planted by an alien) to work against his own interests, or the interests of his own people. For a good example how zombies exist in nature, have a look at this video. Watch in horror as the snail is perfectly exploited by the Leucochloridium paradoxum parasite. The zombie snail is programmed to climb to the topmost tree in order to make itself a target for birds. When the bird eats the snail (or its eye stalk) the parasite moves on to parasitize the bird. The mind-controlling parasite then moves through the bird's digestive tract to await being eaten by another unsuspecting snail. The reason this is so effective is that the parasite controls the snail's brain.
Now, imagine that instead of a physical parasite, the victim's brain is invaded by a mind virus: a parasite without any physical existence, a parasite that exists only in thought-form: an idea, passed from person to person like a venereal disease. That's what a meme is, and when the meme is intentionally crafted to be a weapon against the victim who believes it, it is what they call an endotoxic meme: a meme that works against its host.
So, the aliens (that's THEM) control the zombies (that's many of US) into working against our own interests. How? By voting for bills that are designed to disarm us, to weaken us. By infecting the entire academic world and turning it into a virus distribution system. By infecting the media to make copies of itself to spread to everyone who watches television. These mind-viruses, these endotoxic memes, so permeate our society, through and through, that people don't even realize how bizarre they are.
Who are the aliens today? It doesn't matter. The aliens are, as they have always been, too weak to take us on directly. They can only fight us by using their zombie horde. Without their zombies in our midst, controlled from the outside, infecting our children, our institutions, our media, and the young minds of students, they present no threat.
That's why I'm writing this. My goal is not to kill the aliens. That just leads to scapegoating. I'm not going to fight the zombies:they are my countrymen who have been savagely victimized by the alien memes in this meme war. My goal is to liberate the zombies. Once the zombies wake up (the first step is for them to realize how they've been manipulated) they will naturally start to resist the memes given them by their alien masters. They must resist. It does not matter who the aliens are: if we can resist them and avoid being turned into zombies, they are absolutely powerless. It us not up to us consign their ideas to the toxic waste dump, to laugh in their faces when they try to convince us to sacrifice our own lives, our own happiness, our own wealth, and our childrens' future, our very civilization for their alien agenda.
If you are reading this, you might be human. If you understand it, there is yet hope.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Uninvited Guest
Walter Smith was tired at the end of a long day at the office. His jaw muscles were sore from being clenched most of the day from dealing with one high-stress situation after another. When it was time to go home from the office, he had to fight traffic for an hour to get home. After an hour of sitting in the car in the hot sun, nudging his car forward, inch by inch, he finally let out a sigh of relief when he approached his front door, only to find it partly open.
“What the…” He remembered closing and locking the door when he left. Could someone be inside? Someone who is not family? Cautiously, he eased the door open and peaked in. He was somewhat relieved to find his neighbor, Dan Corona, sitting on his livingroom couch. They had been neighbors for a few years.
“Welcome home, Walt!” said Dan.
“Uh, hi, Dan. What’s going on?”
“Oh, I’m just watching the game on your TV. You’ve got a nice TV.”
“Yeah, thanks, Dan,” said Walter. He was not comfortable with Dan barging in and taking over his living room when he was away, but he didn’t want to bring it up, because the subject would be awkward.
“Where’s Michelle?” asked Walter tentatively.
“Your wife? She’s out shopping.”
“And Jill?”
“I think she’s in her room,” said Dan, motioning toward the back of the house with his thumb. Walter noticed that Dan had taken one of his beers out of the refrigerator and had set it on their oak coffee table without a coaster.
“Say, Dan…” Walter trailed off. Dan did not seem to notice, but continued watching the game. There must have been some interesting play, because he suddenly jumped off the couch with both fists raised above his head, an expression of pure, exuberant glee on his face, screaming “Score!”
“Dan!” said Walter.
“Oh, hey, Walt.”
“You…ah…mind using a coaster?”
“Oh, sure. Sorry about that. I couldn’t find any coasters when I got here.”
“They’re right there on the table.”
“Oh yeah? Oh, that’s what those are,” said Dan with raised eyebrows. “I thought that was something else.”
“Listen, Dan,” said Walter, trying not to get upset. “Why are you in my living room?”
“What?”
“Dan, you are in my living room. I didn’t invite you.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, our TV broke down, and seeing how we’re friends and all, I figured you wouldn’t mind if I watched the game on yours. It’s the playoffs, you know, and I wouldn’t want to miss it. I figured that it’s cool, you know. I mean, if you were home, you would have invited me over anyway, right?” In fact, Walter had often invited Dan over to watch football and drink beers, so it was not unusual for him to be there, except that he wasn’t invited.
“OK, Dan. I probably would have invited you over, but I wasn’t here, so I didn’t actually invite you.”
“Well, it’s cool, though, right? ‘Cause we’re neighbors and all. Hey, want a beer?” he asked. Walter realized that Dan was offering him one of his own beers.
“Yeah, Dan. I’ll go to my fridge and get one of my beer’s in a minute. Now listen, Dan. I had a long, tough day at the office, and I was kind of hoping to come home and relax. Maybe read or something. I’m not really in the mood for company, if you know what I mean.”
Dan looked crushed. “Sure, I see how you are,” he huffed with obvious resentment. “Sure thing, man. I’ll be out of your way. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Dan started to get up from the couch, then he seized the remote and clicked the television off after fumbling with the buttons for a few seconds. “So, I’ll just turn off the television so you can read…or whatever,” he said, letting the suggestion of “whatever” dangle in the air like some shared secret.
“OK, so I’ll see you around, then,” said Walter, partially relieved and partially uneasy about the vague tension.
As Dan left, Walter turned on the porch light for him as he closed the door. He waited for Dan to be out of earshot before he tried to throw the deadbolt. The deadbolt was gone.
“Son of a—“
“Has he left yet, Daddy?” asked Jill, poking her head out from her room.
“Yeah, he’s gone,” said Walt, fumbling with the door. He realized that he could not secure the house at all now. The front door would simply not lock.
“Why did you invite him to come over when you weren’t here?” asked Jill, coming out of her room. She looked both confused and angry.
“I didn’t invite him. He just decided to come over. I think he broke the lock,” he said, gesturing at the open door that was missing a bolt. “Where’s your mother?”
“Out shopping, I guess,” said Jill.
Walter dragged the phone book out and started looking for locksmiths. He would not be able to sleep tonight until the house was secured. After a long day at work, this was the last thing he wanted to do.
After several calls, he found a locksmith that was willing to come by that late at night, but he charged extra for it, and Walter was forced to pay just so he could have some peace of mind. He got to sleep after midnight that night, totally exhausted and drained.
When he woke up the next morning, there were sounds coming from the kitchen. He was looking forward to that first cup of coffee and some breakfast. It was unusual for Michelle to get up so early to cook breakfast, so he wondered what the occasion was. As he sat up in bed, though, he noticed that Michelle was still asleep in bed, snoring softly. It was seven a.m. Jill would certainly not be up this early on a Saturday, he thought. Then, a creeping dread arose within the pit of his stomach and spread through the rest of his body, bringing ice to the back of his neck as he remembered the events of the previous day.
Walter got up violently and threw a robe on before storming down the stairs to the kitchen, where he found Dan, his wife and three kids all eating at their kitchen table.
“Good morning, Walt. Hey, listen, you’re out of eggs. Do you think you could go to the store and get some more eggs?”
“What?”
“Eggs. You’re out.”
“What the f---“ Walter caught himself before completing the expletive, as there were children in the room, “What the heck are you doing in my kitchen?”
“Eating breakfast, Dan. What does it look like?”
“Let me rephrase that. What the heck are you doing in my kitchen? Why can’t you eat in your own kitchen? How did you even get in here? I just had the deadbolt replaced!” Walter could feel the blood begin to pound in his head. His knuckles were white where he gripped the back of the chair.
“Well, I came in through the back door, and then I unlocked the front door so that Mary and the kids could come in.”
“Why?!”
“So we could have breakfast. We’ve got eggs and hotcakes and breakfast burritos. We’ll make some for you too, don’t worry, except that we’re out of eggs. Oh, and bread. Could you get us some bread while you’re out?”
“I’m not going to get eggs. I’m not going to get bread. I’m going to ask you to please leave at once.”
“Is that any way to treat a neighbor?” asked Dan. Mary looked at him reproachfully. The kids began to cry. “Now look what you’ve done,” said Mary. “You’ve started the kids crying!”
“Neighbors don’t barge in to their neighbors houses without invitations,” said Walter. “I see what you’ve done here. You’re trying to make me look like the heavy because I’m being unfriendly, but I should be asking you the very same question: Is this any way to treat a neighbor? Get out!”
“Dad, what’s the…” Jill came down the stairs in her pajamas, her hair all askew and her face still lined from the wrinkles in the pillowcase. “Why are the Coronas here?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” said Walter. “Look, Dan, we’ve been neighbors for a long time. Obviously, we have different definitions of what being a good neighbor is, so I’ll tell you what it means to me. It means that we respect one another’s property. It means we don’t barge in to one another’s homes without invitation. It means we don’t eat the other person’s food without invitation, and finally, it means we don’t go into our neighbor’s house, uninvited, and then start making demands on our neighbors to get eggs and bread in order to continue to eat our neighbors’ food in our neighbor’s kitchen. Are we clear? Neighbor?”
“Crystal,” said Dan, dejected. Mary threw him a vicious look that made him wince, as though someone had poured vinegar in his eyes. The kids took their bawling up a few decibels as Michelle come down the steps. Jill tried to relate what was happening to her mother as the Coronas began to file out the front door from which they came, leaving the dirty dishes behind.
After they left, Jill asked “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to start by fixing the lock on the back door,” said Walter, rubbing his head with his fingers.
“I don’t see why you had to be so rude to them,” snapped Michelle.
“What?”
“They’re our neighbors, dear, not criminals. They just came over for some breakfast, and you yelled at them and made the children cry. What kind of beast are you?”
“What?”
“That was extremely rude, Walter! Now I want you to go over there and apologize.”
“Apologize!?” said Walter, too stunned even to offer a counterargument. It was just unbelievable that his own wife would take their side in all this. He was still trying to decide if she was joking or not when she was dialing their number on the telephone. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Ssh!” she hissed at him. Then, instantly transforming her voice into that of a polite diplomat, she talked into the phone. “Hello, Mrs. Corona? It’s Michelle. Look, I’m terribly sorry about what just happened here. Walter says he’s sorry too—“
“I did not!” growled Walter.
“He wants to make it up to you at the earliest opportunity.”
“Get off the phone,” barked Walter, getting up, suddenly mobilized by both confusion and anger.
“Six it is, then!” said Michelle. “Bye!” Then she hung up the phone.
“What did you just do?” asked Walter.
“Nothing,” she said impishly, and then traipsed back up the stairs, her head held high, conveying an incorruptible delusion of moral superiority.
“What just happened, Dad?” asked Jill.
“I don’t know, honeybunch,” sighed Walter, shaking his head in utter disbelief. “I just don’t know.”
As the day went by, Walter was dreading the hour of six o’clock more and more as it loomed. He could not get his wife to tell him what indignity awaited him, so there was no way to prepare himself. He considered leaving the house entirely, but then he would not have any way to keep an eye on things. On the other hand, he truly dreaded having another screaming contest with the neighbors, who seemed to be oblivious to his obvious discomfort. He also could not fathom his wife taking their side. It was something he simply failed to grasp in any way. It made no sense to him. He was pretty sure that Jill was on his side, but since Jill had absolutely no real power in the household, he was really the only bastion of civilization and reason in the house that was capable of action. He decided that it was best if Jill was not around. He told her to stay at a friend’s house if she could manage it, and that he would try to handle things on the home front. Jill seemed to be on the verge of tears, but then she relented and called one of her friends to try to arrange an outing.
At about a quarter to six, some strangers showed up. Walter had never seen them before in his life. They waited outside on the front lawn. A few minutes later, more of them arrived. Some of them were eating and drinking from fast food restaurants and discarding the trash on the front lawn. By the time six o’clock rolled by, Michelle came down and opened the front door wide and in one movement, they instantly swarmed inside, talking and laughing, dragging kegs, boom boxes and other party favors inside. Once inside, they began establishing the mood, which was urban Bacchanal.
“A party?” asked Walter. Michelle gave him a pert smile and walked back up the stairs.
“No, this is not going down in my house,” thought Walter.
At that moment, Dan came in with a boom box on his shoulder with the volume turned up. His head was cocking back and forth like that of a pigeon and he was biting his lower lip in obvious joy.
“Dan!” yelled Walter above the din. Dan pretended not to hear.
“Dan! Who are all these people?” he demanded, stepping directly in front of him. Dan set the radio on the coffee table, scuffing it. Out of the corner of his eye, Walter saw one of the “guests” shoving some DVDs from his movie collection into his pants. “Put those back!” he shouted. The other man looked up in mild surprise, as though he could not grasp why someone would be upset, as though the loot was simply there for the taking and whoever got to it first was completely within his rights to walk away with it. He held up his hands in a way that suggested either a supplication or a shrug. During the brief exchange, Dan had slipped away. As Walter looked around, he found more of them were coming in through the front door and establishing themselves in different areas of the house. Some were raiding the refrigerator, some were watching television, and all of them were drinking. One of them was absently playing with a switchblade. For the first time, Dan’s rage began to transform into fear.
Cautiously, he crept into a closet and called the police on his cell phone.
“Hello, San Tuario police department. Can I help you?” The woman’s voice was detached and fatigued.
“Yes, there’s a party going…” Walter hadn’t really thought of what to say. He still couldn’t believe it. Were they trespassers or home invaders? He decided that the police would be more likely to come if they were invaders. “There are…my house is being invaded by ah…about thirty people.”
“Is this a home invasion robbery?”
“Yes.”
“OK, sir, we’ll send a car out to your address. Please remain calm and comply with their instructions until we arrive. Can you do that?”
“I think so,” said Walter. He stayed in the closet for the next half hour. Outside, he heard them smashing glass, yelling, and puking in the living room. Walter cowered in the corner of the closet, behind the musty suits that nobody wore, perched atop the leather shoes that had been gathering mildew, suppressing a sneeze.
“Is there a Walter Smith here?” asked a voice. It must be the police, he thought. Walter breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out of the closet. Finally, some authorities have come to the rescue. What he saw when he stepped out was chaos. It did not resemble his home at all. It seemed as though the invaders had totally redecorated his house. None of his own furniture was there, or if it was there, it was buried under mounds of garbage and was unrecognizable. He saw the two police officers walking through the party. Walter held up a hand.
“Are you Walter Smith?” asked one of the police. He had a strong build, square jaw, and a dark moustache that reminded Walter of Joseph Stalin.
“I’m Walter Smith,” he shouted over the din.
“We got a call about a home invasion robber? It looks like you’re having a party here.”
“It’s not a party, officer,” said Walter. “They just stormed in uninvited.”
“That’s not true,” said the other officer. “Your wife invited them over.”
“My…what? Who? When?”
“Dan Corona is your neighbor, correct?”
“Um…” Walter faltered.
“Dan told us that your wife, Michelle, invited him and his friends over for a party. Is this true?”
“I don’t know.”
“She confirmed it,” said the other cop.
“I see,” said Walter.
“And then you called us about a home invasion. Do you know what the penalty is for misreporting a crime?”
“What?” asked Walter.
“We could run you into jail if we wanted,” said the moustached man. “You’re wasting our time. We could be out catching real criminals instead of coming here under false accusations.”
“But they’re trespassing!” said Walter, gesturing widely, encompassing the entire scene of chaos.
“No, they are not trespassing. Your wife invited them,” said the cop. “So, unless someone dies, this isn’t our business.” With that, the police turned and walked away. Several of the celebrants flipped Walter the middle finger after the police left, and a few others grabbed their crotches while doing hip-thrusts at him. The switchblade-wielding man calmly walked over and put an arm around Walter’s shoulder. The man was heavy-set with dark hair and covered in tattoos. Walter was too affronted and afraid to resist.
“You see?” said the man, his beer-breath visibly curling the air in front of him like a mirage. “The law isn’t going to help you. You might as well accept it.”
“Get out,” muttered Walter under his breath. “All of you.”
“The thing is,” the man continued, “You think that just because you paid for this house, signed the paperwork, and built the place up, that you actually own the house. The truth is, we own the house. We own it because there are more of us than there are of you. We own it because we are more aggressive and are willing to exert force to get our way. We own it because your laws that you think protect you from us are not enforced. So, you can either just accept us, or things will get ugly,” he said, patting his back pocket. With that, he gave him a big, drunken, smelly bear hug and pushed him into the middle of the room, where everyone laughed.
Walter decided to just write the house off as a lost cause. It wasn’t worth his life. He knew that he had been beaten and that there was nothing else he could do except get out while he could. He walked up the stairs to the bedroom in order to retrieve his watch. When he opened the door, he saw Dan’s naked body pumping up and down on top of his wife, the two of them fornicating in his own bed. Her nails were raking his back and her legs were clenched behind his so that she could use his motion to leverage herself against him, the two of them making wild animal sounds. Walter’s vision actually turned into a red tunnel, filled with blood.
Something snapped. Then there was an epiphany.
“What the…” He remembered closing and locking the door when he left. Could someone be inside? Someone who is not family? Cautiously, he eased the door open and peaked in. He was somewhat relieved to find his neighbor, Dan Corona, sitting on his livingroom couch. They had been neighbors for a few years.
“Welcome home, Walt!” said Dan.
“Uh, hi, Dan. What’s going on?”
“Oh, I’m just watching the game on your TV. You’ve got a nice TV.”
“Yeah, thanks, Dan,” said Walter. He was not comfortable with Dan barging in and taking over his living room when he was away, but he didn’t want to bring it up, because the subject would be awkward.
“Where’s Michelle?” asked Walter tentatively.
“Your wife? She’s out shopping.”
“And Jill?”
“I think she’s in her room,” said Dan, motioning toward the back of the house with his thumb. Walter noticed that Dan had taken one of his beers out of the refrigerator and had set it on their oak coffee table without a coaster.
“Say, Dan…” Walter trailed off. Dan did not seem to notice, but continued watching the game. There must have been some interesting play, because he suddenly jumped off the couch with both fists raised above his head, an expression of pure, exuberant glee on his face, screaming “Score!”
“Dan!” said Walter.
“Oh, hey, Walt.”
“You…ah…mind using a coaster?”
“Oh, sure. Sorry about that. I couldn’t find any coasters when I got here.”
“They’re right there on the table.”
“Oh yeah? Oh, that’s what those are,” said Dan with raised eyebrows. “I thought that was something else.”
“Listen, Dan,” said Walter, trying not to get upset. “Why are you in my living room?”
“What?”
“Dan, you are in my living room. I didn’t invite you.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, our TV broke down, and seeing how we’re friends and all, I figured you wouldn’t mind if I watched the game on yours. It’s the playoffs, you know, and I wouldn’t want to miss it. I figured that it’s cool, you know. I mean, if you were home, you would have invited me over anyway, right?” In fact, Walter had often invited Dan over to watch football and drink beers, so it was not unusual for him to be there, except that he wasn’t invited.
“OK, Dan. I probably would have invited you over, but I wasn’t here, so I didn’t actually invite you.”
“Well, it’s cool, though, right? ‘Cause we’re neighbors and all. Hey, want a beer?” he asked. Walter realized that Dan was offering him one of his own beers.
“Yeah, Dan. I’ll go to my fridge and get one of my beer’s in a minute. Now listen, Dan. I had a long, tough day at the office, and I was kind of hoping to come home and relax. Maybe read or something. I’m not really in the mood for company, if you know what I mean.”
Dan looked crushed. “Sure, I see how you are,” he huffed with obvious resentment. “Sure thing, man. I’ll be out of your way. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Dan started to get up from the couch, then he seized the remote and clicked the television off after fumbling with the buttons for a few seconds. “So, I’ll just turn off the television so you can read…or whatever,” he said, letting the suggestion of “whatever” dangle in the air like some shared secret.
“OK, so I’ll see you around, then,” said Walter, partially relieved and partially uneasy about the vague tension.
As Dan left, Walter turned on the porch light for him as he closed the door. He waited for Dan to be out of earshot before he tried to throw the deadbolt. The deadbolt was gone.
“Son of a—“
“Has he left yet, Daddy?” asked Jill, poking her head out from her room.
“Yeah, he’s gone,” said Walt, fumbling with the door. He realized that he could not secure the house at all now. The front door would simply not lock.
“Why did you invite him to come over when you weren’t here?” asked Jill, coming out of her room. She looked both confused and angry.
“I didn’t invite him. He just decided to come over. I think he broke the lock,” he said, gesturing at the open door that was missing a bolt. “Where’s your mother?”
“Out shopping, I guess,” said Jill.
Walter dragged the phone book out and started looking for locksmiths. He would not be able to sleep tonight until the house was secured. After a long day at work, this was the last thing he wanted to do.
After several calls, he found a locksmith that was willing to come by that late at night, but he charged extra for it, and Walter was forced to pay just so he could have some peace of mind. He got to sleep after midnight that night, totally exhausted and drained.
When he woke up the next morning, there were sounds coming from the kitchen. He was looking forward to that first cup of coffee and some breakfast. It was unusual for Michelle to get up so early to cook breakfast, so he wondered what the occasion was. As he sat up in bed, though, he noticed that Michelle was still asleep in bed, snoring softly. It was seven a.m. Jill would certainly not be up this early on a Saturday, he thought. Then, a creeping dread arose within the pit of his stomach and spread through the rest of his body, bringing ice to the back of his neck as he remembered the events of the previous day.
Walter got up violently and threw a robe on before storming down the stairs to the kitchen, where he found Dan, his wife and three kids all eating at their kitchen table.
“Good morning, Walt. Hey, listen, you’re out of eggs. Do you think you could go to the store and get some more eggs?”
“What?”
“Eggs. You’re out.”
“What the f---“ Walter caught himself before completing the expletive, as there were children in the room, “What the heck are you doing in my kitchen?”
“Eating breakfast, Dan. What does it look like?”
“Let me rephrase that. What the heck are you doing in my kitchen? Why can’t you eat in your own kitchen? How did you even get in here? I just had the deadbolt replaced!” Walter could feel the blood begin to pound in his head. His knuckles were white where he gripped the back of the chair.
“Well, I came in through the back door, and then I unlocked the front door so that Mary and the kids could come in.”
“Why?!”
“So we could have breakfast. We’ve got eggs and hotcakes and breakfast burritos. We’ll make some for you too, don’t worry, except that we’re out of eggs. Oh, and bread. Could you get us some bread while you’re out?”
“I’m not going to get eggs. I’m not going to get bread. I’m going to ask you to please leave at once.”
“Is that any way to treat a neighbor?” asked Dan. Mary looked at him reproachfully. The kids began to cry. “Now look what you’ve done,” said Mary. “You’ve started the kids crying!”
“Neighbors don’t barge in to their neighbors houses without invitations,” said Walter. “I see what you’ve done here. You’re trying to make me look like the heavy because I’m being unfriendly, but I should be asking you the very same question: Is this any way to treat a neighbor? Get out!”
“Dad, what’s the…” Jill came down the stairs in her pajamas, her hair all askew and her face still lined from the wrinkles in the pillowcase. “Why are the Coronas here?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” said Walter. “Look, Dan, we’ve been neighbors for a long time. Obviously, we have different definitions of what being a good neighbor is, so I’ll tell you what it means to me. It means that we respect one another’s property. It means we don’t barge in to one another’s homes without invitation. It means we don’t eat the other person’s food without invitation, and finally, it means we don’t go into our neighbor’s house, uninvited, and then start making demands on our neighbors to get eggs and bread in order to continue to eat our neighbors’ food in our neighbor’s kitchen. Are we clear? Neighbor?”
“Crystal,” said Dan, dejected. Mary threw him a vicious look that made him wince, as though someone had poured vinegar in his eyes. The kids took their bawling up a few decibels as Michelle come down the steps. Jill tried to relate what was happening to her mother as the Coronas began to file out the front door from which they came, leaving the dirty dishes behind.
After they left, Jill asked “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to start by fixing the lock on the back door,” said Walter, rubbing his head with his fingers.
“I don’t see why you had to be so rude to them,” snapped Michelle.
“What?”
“They’re our neighbors, dear, not criminals. They just came over for some breakfast, and you yelled at them and made the children cry. What kind of beast are you?”
“What?”
“That was extremely rude, Walter! Now I want you to go over there and apologize.”
“Apologize!?” said Walter, too stunned even to offer a counterargument. It was just unbelievable that his own wife would take their side in all this. He was still trying to decide if she was joking or not when she was dialing their number on the telephone. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Ssh!” she hissed at him. Then, instantly transforming her voice into that of a polite diplomat, she talked into the phone. “Hello, Mrs. Corona? It’s Michelle. Look, I’m terribly sorry about what just happened here. Walter says he’s sorry too—“
“I did not!” growled Walter.
“He wants to make it up to you at the earliest opportunity.”
“Get off the phone,” barked Walter, getting up, suddenly mobilized by both confusion and anger.
“Six it is, then!” said Michelle. “Bye!” Then she hung up the phone.
“What did you just do?” asked Walter.
“Nothing,” she said impishly, and then traipsed back up the stairs, her head held high, conveying an incorruptible delusion of moral superiority.
“What just happened, Dad?” asked Jill.
“I don’t know, honeybunch,” sighed Walter, shaking his head in utter disbelief. “I just don’t know.”
As the day went by, Walter was dreading the hour of six o’clock more and more as it loomed. He could not get his wife to tell him what indignity awaited him, so there was no way to prepare himself. He considered leaving the house entirely, but then he would not have any way to keep an eye on things. On the other hand, he truly dreaded having another screaming contest with the neighbors, who seemed to be oblivious to his obvious discomfort. He also could not fathom his wife taking their side. It was something he simply failed to grasp in any way. It made no sense to him. He was pretty sure that Jill was on his side, but since Jill had absolutely no real power in the household, he was really the only bastion of civilization and reason in the house that was capable of action. He decided that it was best if Jill was not around. He told her to stay at a friend’s house if she could manage it, and that he would try to handle things on the home front. Jill seemed to be on the verge of tears, but then she relented and called one of her friends to try to arrange an outing.
At about a quarter to six, some strangers showed up. Walter had never seen them before in his life. They waited outside on the front lawn. A few minutes later, more of them arrived. Some of them were eating and drinking from fast food restaurants and discarding the trash on the front lawn. By the time six o’clock rolled by, Michelle came down and opened the front door wide and in one movement, they instantly swarmed inside, talking and laughing, dragging kegs, boom boxes and other party favors inside. Once inside, they began establishing the mood, which was urban Bacchanal.
“A party?” asked Walter. Michelle gave him a pert smile and walked back up the stairs.
“No, this is not going down in my house,” thought Walter.
At that moment, Dan came in with a boom box on his shoulder with the volume turned up. His head was cocking back and forth like that of a pigeon and he was biting his lower lip in obvious joy.
“Dan!” yelled Walter above the din. Dan pretended not to hear.
“Dan! Who are all these people?” he demanded, stepping directly in front of him. Dan set the radio on the coffee table, scuffing it. Out of the corner of his eye, Walter saw one of the “guests” shoving some DVDs from his movie collection into his pants. “Put those back!” he shouted. The other man looked up in mild surprise, as though he could not grasp why someone would be upset, as though the loot was simply there for the taking and whoever got to it first was completely within his rights to walk away with it. He held up his hands in a way that suggested either a supplication or a shrug. During the brief exchange, Dan had slipped away. As Walter looked around, he found more of them were coming in through the front door and establishing themselves in different areas of the house. Some were raiding the refrigerator, some were watching television, and all of them were drinking. One of them was absently playing with a switchblade. For the first time, Dan’s rage began to transform into fear.
Cautiously, he crept into a closet and called the police on his cell phone.
“Hello, San Tuario police department. Can I help you?” The woman’s voice was detached and fatigued.
“Yes, there’s a party going…” Walter hadn’t really thought of what to say. He still couldn’t believe it. Were they trespassers or home invaders? He decided that the police would be more likely to come if they were invaders. “There are…my house is being invaded by ah…about thirty people.”
“Is this a home invasion robbery?”
“Yes.”
“OK, sir, we’ll send a car out to your address. Please remain calm and comply with their instructions until we arrive. Can you do that?”
“I think so,” said Walter. He stayed in the closet for the next half hour. Outside, he heard them smashing glass, yelling, and puking in the living room. Walter cowered in the corner of the closet, behind the musty suits that nobody wore, perched atop the leather shoes that had been gathering mildew, suppressing a sneeze.
“Is there a Walter Smith here?” asked a voice. It must be the police, he thought. Walter breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out of the closet. Finally, some authorities have come to the rescue. What he saw when he stepped out was chaos. It did not resemble his home at all. It seemed as though the invaders had totally redecorated his house. None of his own furniture was there, or if it was there, it was buried under mounds of garbage and was unrecognizable. He saw the two police officers walking through the party. Walter held up a hand.
“Are you Walter Smith?” asked one of the police. He had a strong build, square jaw, and a dark moustache that reminded Walter of Joseph Stalin.
“I’m Walter Smith,” he shouted over the din.
“We got a call about a home invasion robber? It looks like you’re having a party here.”
“It’s not a party, officer,” said Walter. “They just stormed in uninvited.”
“That’s not true,” said the other officer. “Your wife invited them over.”
“My…what? Who? When?”
“Dan Corona is your neighbor, correct?”
“Um…” Walter faltered.
“Dan told us that your wife, Michelle, invited him and his friends over for a party. Is this true?”
“I don’t know.”
“She confirmed it,” said the other cop.
“I see,” said Walter.
“And then you called us about a home invasion. Do you know what the penalty is for misreporting a crime?”
“What?” asked Walter.
“We could run you into jail if we wanted,” said the moustached man. “You’re wasting our time. We could be out catching real criminals instead of coming here under false accusations.”
“But they’re trespassing!” said Walter, gesturing widely, encompassing the entire scene of chaos.
“No, they are not trespassing. Your wife invited them,” said the cop. “So, unless someone dies, this isn’t our business.” With that, the police turned and walked away. Several of the celebrants flipped Walter the middle finger after the police left, and a few others grabbed their crotches while doing hip-thrusts at him. The switchblade-wielding man calmly walked over and put an arm around Walter’s shoulder. The man was heavy-set with dark hair and covered in tattoos. Walter was too affronted and afraid to resist.
“You see?” said the man, his beer-breath visibly curling the air in front of him like a mirage. “The law isn’t going to help you. You might as well accept it.”
“Get out,” muttered Walter under his breath. “All of you.”
“The thing is,” the man continued, “You think that just because you paid for this house, signed the paperwork, and built the place up, that you actually own the house. The truth is, we own the house. We own it because there are more of us than there are of you. We own it because we are more aggressive and are willing to exert force to get our way. We own it because your laws that you think protect you from us are not enforced. So, you can either just accept us, or things will get ugly,” he said, patting his back pocket. With that, he gave him a big, drunken, smelly bear hug and pushed him into the middle of the room, where everyone laughed.
Walter decided to just write the house off as a lost cause. It wasn’t worth his life. He knew that he had been beaten and that there was nothing else he could do except get out while he could. He walked up the stairs to the bedroom in order to retrieve his watch. When he opened the door, he saw Dan’s naked body pumping up and down on top of his wife, the two of them fornicating in his own bed. Her nails were raking his back and her legs were clenched behind his so that she could use his motion to leverage herself against him, the two of them making wild animal sounds. Walter’s vision actually turned into a red tunnel, filled with blood.
Something snapped. Then there was an epiphany.
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