I don't give a rat's ass about these Coca-Cola Christians displaying their 'Pro-Life' license plates. In fact, I'm fine with it. Display it! Shove it in my face for all I care!
But this also means that I can dispolay my NARAL Pro-Choice license plates. Or my NORML license plate (considering that I live in Oregon, one of the nine states that allow medical marijuana. It sounds like a spiffy idea). If a person who's in NAMBLA (North American Man-Boy Love Association) wants to display a plate with the NAMBLA logo on it, I'm okay with that. Now, for the record, I don't like what NAMBLA does, but neither do I like what white (or black, or Latino) supremacists stand for either. But it's their right and perogative.
The reason why I bring up the subject of license plates is that yesterday in the daily newspaper, The Oregonian (named thereafter Daily Dead Fishwrapper, or DDFW) had an article on license plates. There are three diferent types- the tree with Mt Hood in the background (the standard); Crater Lake; and Cultural Trust. For a new plate to be created, one has to be eliminated. (Note to Salem: get rid of that tree/Mt. Hood one. Or make it more colorful. And while you're at it, put seven characters on the plate...). I have a few suggestions:
1. Have a picture of the late progressive Republican governor Tom McCall, with his hand up, telling people- particualrly that state just to the south of us that shall remain unnamed) not to set foot into our gorgeous state (they screwed up theirs with sky high prices and smog. Keep it down there!). On the plate: "Oregon- Don't Even Visit!"
2. Another is our own Portlandia (our answer to the Statute of Liberty, I guess) smoking a bowl of weed, or shooting up heroin and/or meth. "Oregon- Amsterdam of America"
One that would have worked had that ass backward Measure 36- the measure that basically bans same-sex marriage that passed a year ago- not passed, this plate would have worked: "Oregon- Marriage is Open to All!", with Mount Hood, and gay (two interlinked male symbols) and lesbian (two interlinked female), and opposite sex symbols flowing freely over it.
Those are a few ideas I can come up with.
Can you- particularly in the Beaver state- think of any ideas? I welcome your comments, either here, or at dwa97209@yahoo.com (also thealex03@netscape.net).
Copyright 2005, by Darren W. Alexander. All Rights Reserved.
CNN.com
ESPN: The Worldwide Leader In Sports Widget
Monday, May 16, 2005
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Empowered By Action
Ever feel more empowered by doing something that you've never done before? Ever feel empowered by something thwet you did before, only you've gotten better, or even learned something new about something you already know? Well, in the past several months, I've done things that I've never done before. I have never driven a pickup truck. That was before I did work picking up used doors from neighboorhoods. The truck was a Ford F250 (late 70s-early 80s. It had two gas tanks, which helped me a lot after stopping in the middle of I-5. I filled the back tank, but unknowingly kept running on fumes of the front...). I never been to writing seminars before the highly successful inaugural Wordstock literary festival at the Oregon Convention Center. I even had the pleasure of meeting the writers of Bull Durham, Ron Shelton and John Norville.
For years, I've always wanted to operate a motion picture camera. I've marveled at the Aaton A-Minima, a minature Super 16mm motion picture camera; the Arriflex 16 and 35mm camera (16SR3; 435; etc). But I have never operated one. That changed today when I attended the "Stop By, Shoot Film" seminar, sponsored by Eastman Kodak.
The A-Minima is easy to use. Yes, I panned the camera a bit as traffic went by on Southwest Jefferson Street. But it was fun. It was empowering, and now I'm feeling even MORE encouraged to stay the course in my goal of taking film and video production classes this- or next- year.
I cannot tell you enough how strengthened I am over this- and the other activities- I've done thus far this year. Only, I can say that having done this, I want to do more. And I will, this year, or the next- in Los Angeles as I get deeper into the production waters, taking both digital film anc video courses. By the time all of this is said and done, I'll be able to say that I'm living out a dream.
Actually, I can say this right now. And I couldn't be more proud of myself.
Copyright 2005, by Darren W. Alexander. All Rights Reserved.
For years, I've always wanted to operate a motion picture camera. I've marveled at the Aaton A-Minima, a minature Super 16mm motion picture camera; the Arriflex 16 and 35mm camera (16SR3; 435; etc). But I have never operated one. That changed today when I attended the "Stop By, Shoot Film" seminar, sponsored by Eastman Kodak.
The A-Minima is easy to use. Yes, I panned the camera a bit as traffic went by on Southwest Jefferson Street. But it was fun. It was empowering, and now I'm feeling even MORE encouraged to stay the course in my goal of taking film and video production classes this- or next- year.
I cannot tell you enough how strengthened I am over this- and the other activities- I've done thus far this year. Only, I can say that having done this, I want to do more. And I will, this year, or the next- in Los Angeles as I get deeper into the production waters, taking both digital film anc video courses. By the time all of this is said and done, I'll be able to say that I'm living out a dream.
Actually, I can say this right now. And I couldn't be more proud of myself.
Copyright 2005, by Darren W. Alexander. All Rights Reserved.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Panhandlers, Get a Fucking Job (Especially You Younger Ones)!
Panhandling. What's up with that?
Every fucking time I turn around, I see panhandlers. On the city center streets of Portland, Oregon (where I live). On the freeway ramps. If I didn;t know better, I'd say that you'd find them on the steps of the State Capitol in Salem (in fact, I wouldn't at all be surprised if this was true).
You want to know the fucked up thing about this? A lot of these panhandlers- or flaggers, if they're doing their begging on freeway ramps or on the freeway itself- are young kids. Fresh faced. Gorgeous. Bright and intelligent. I wouldn't doubt if some are college graduates, with degrees, summa cum laude...the best that money can buy. They could work for corporations, even run the companies themselves, if they like. Be President, or governor and change the world, make adifference in this country.
So, why, pray tell, are they- particularly the young kids- doing the pity party thing? Why, when I turn around do I see young people, some with dogs and other pets, with signs that read "Need change for food, or "Stranded in Portland"? Or some pregnant looking girl of, say, 18, with a sign that read 'ten months pregnant' (yes, I actually saw this! This girl was pregnant alright- with padding! Verrry interesting...). The really good ones are people holding signs in the middle of the I-84 freeway, in the middle of morning/afternoon rush hour, stating that they need money for that Greyhound or Amtrak ticket to get back home, only to find out that they're here weeks later doing the same damn thing. Likely spent that transportation money on weed, heroin, or meth, if you ask me.
A couple months ago, the alternative weekly, Willamette Week, did an expose on these scam artists. The article referred them as "Million Dollar Beggars". What these jackals do is prey on the sympathetic eyes and ears of Portland, which is known to be one of the most generous cities for the homeless in this country. After all, you get fed several times a day- 7 days a week. People who are well off will, for the most part, make sure you're well taken care of. With generosity like this, why work, even as Oregon's economuy is on the upswing?
But panhandling? It's not an old man's job anymore, is it? Admittedly, some- if not a good number- of these panhandlers and flaggers are dependent on drugs (meth and heroin being the most abused here in Portland) and/or alcohol. But if you think that all of these young kids who do this are dirt poor, think again. Some live in the West Hills and the suburb of Lake Oswego- two very upscale communities. In other words, they beg and flag, then by the end of the day ('shift', etc), they get into that Porsche or BMW, and go home to mommy and daddy. And still, they play 'poor little match kid'. What's wrong with this picture?
The way I see this, if these young flaggers and beggars can make cardboard signs and scam the rest of the city out of their hard earned money, they're able to go out, find work- even if it's day labor- and make something of their lives. There's no reason why these young, intelligent people should be begging or flagging.
To see the article from Portland's Willamette Week, click on the title
Copyright 2005, by Darren W. Alexander. All Rights Reserved.
Every fucking time I turn around, I see panhandlers. On the city center streets of Portland, Oregon (where I live). On the freeway ramps. If I didn;t know better, I'd say that you'd find them on the steps of the State Capitol in Salem (in fact, I wouldn't at all be surprised if this was true).
You want to know the fucked up thing about this? A lot of these panhandlers- or flaggers, if they're doing their begging on freeway ramps or on the freeway itself- are young kids. Fresh faced. Gorgeous. Bright and intelligent. I wouldn't doubt if some are college graduates, with degrees, summa cum laude...the best that money can buy. They could work for corporations, even run the companies themselves, if they like. Be President, or governor and change the world, make adifference in this country.
So, why, pray tell, are they- particularly the young kids- doing the pity party thing? Why, when I turn around do I see young people, some with dogs and other pets, with signs that read "Need change for food, or "Stranded in Portland"? Or some pregnant looking girl of, say, 18, with a sign that read 'ten months pregnant' (yes, I actually saw this! This girl was pregnant alright- with padding! Verrry interesting...). The really good ones are people holding signs in the middle of the I-84 freeway, in the middle of morning/afternoon rush hour, stating that they need money for that Greyhound or Amtrak ticket to get back home, only to find out that they're here weeks later doing the same damn thing. Likely spent that transportation money on weed, heroin, or meth, if you ask me.
A couple months ago, the alternative weekly, Willamette Week, did an expose on these scam artists. The article referred them as "Million Dollar Beggars". What these jackals do is prey on the sympathetic eyes and ears of Portland, which is known to be one of the most generous cities for the homeless in this country. After all, you get fed several times a day- 7 days a week. People who are well off will, for the most part, make sure you're well taken care of. With generosity like this, why work, even as Oregon's economuy is on the upswing?
But panhandling? It's not an old man's job anymore, is it? Admittedly, some- if not a good number- of these panhandlers and flaggers are dependent on drugs (meth and heroin being the most abused here in Portland) and/or alcohol. But if you think that all of these young kids who do this are dirt poor, think again. Some live in the West Hills and the suburb of Lake Oswego- two very upscale communities. In other words, they beg and flag, then by the end of the day ('shift', etc), they get into that Porsche or BMW, and go home to mommy and daddy. And still, they play 'poor little match kid'. What's wrong with this picture?
The way I see this, if these young flaggers and beggars can make cardboard signs and scam the rest of the city out of their hard earned money, they're able to go out, find work- even if it's day labor- and make something of their lives. There's no reason why these young, intelligent people should be begging or flagging.
To see the article from Portland's Willamette Week, click on the title
Copyright 2005, by Darren W. Alexander. All Rights Reserved.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
This Is Not Our Happy (8th) Anniversary
Eight years ago, I made the biggest mistake of mu life.
Leah* and I were married on the 24th floor of the Franklin County, Ohio Courthouse.
Let's go back to thee year before. She threw me out of the house after we had argued. I left behind a job, returned to Atlanta and lived a carefree life of sorts. Spent time in Maiami, with this cute guy named Marc Daniels (his real name; at the time I considered my self bisexual). Everything hunky-dory. Flash forward to April 1997. It was the week that Ellen DeGeneres came out of the closet I was on my way back to my hotel in Whitehall, a Columbus suburb, then had plans to go to the Havana Video Club on North High Street, in the Short North District, to watch "The Puppy Episode" I was making my way back to North High (after finding out that a pastor friend of mine had moved away) when Leah called me (she was visiting one of her sisters). I decided that it wouldn't hurt, but had to make clear that I was on my way to see friends. She offered to take me back to the hotel, only to find that the bitch lied. Instead, she took me back to her house on the central east end of Columbus. We did the nasty (fucked, okay?), then...she proposed. Now picture this scenario, kids. I've just finished fucking my ex-girlfriend (then watch that "Puppy Episode"). We're naked as fucking jaybirds. And she proposes to me.
Can you say 'deer caught in headlights'?
So the next day, we got married.
Those tears I cried that day should have been a harbinger of things to come. What I thought were tears of happiness were actually tears of...A WARNING! Let me keep it short and simple: the honeymoon ended quicker than it began. The demons that plagued our relationship before came back to haunt us. Accusations of me cheating and lying. Myself getting thrown out of the house. I'm tellin' ya, makes for a lovely relationship, doesn't it?
Now, I'll admit that I could have tried harder to make the marriage work But for the record , the cheating accusations were unfounded. Still, around August 15, 1997- a week or two after I had nearly became roadkill on a Columbus street (after, of course, Leah and I had gotten into yet another patented argument), Leah told me "Good-bye, Darren". I threw my hands up and said "Fine". About 36 hours after Leah and myself said our "fuck yous", I left for Cincinnati, Ohio (100 miles down Interstae 71). Three months later, I left for the west coast, and never looked back. To this day, I have never returned to Columbus, and to be honest, despite making numerous of plans to do so, I don't think that I'll ever return to Columbus. Ever. Too much pain (and it's not just with Leah, either.).
The marriage died a quick death. I had learned- the hard way that I wasn't exactly marriage material. And I still believe that- at nearly 38 years of age- I'm not marriage material (but that's another subject for another day). Yes, I'll go for a few long-term relationships, but it may be awhile before I even do that. I'm not exactly the one-woman type (for those who saw the 'bisexual' story above, for the record, I've since became 'straight', or heterosexual. A gradual process, but with no help from those 'ex-gay' ministries, which I think are nothing more than scams, to be honest with you). Seeing different women works for me. Hell, a menage a trois or two...BRING IT ON!
As for tying the knot again...Eh-eh!
*The names- unless otherwise noted- have been changed to protect the identities
Copyright (C) 2005, by Darren W. Alexander. All Rights Reserved.
Leah* and I were married on the 24th floor of the Franklin County, Ohio Courthouse.
Let's go back to thee year before. She threw me out of the house after we had argued. I left behind a job, returned to Atlanta and lived a carefree life of sorts. Spent time in Maiami, with this cute guy named Marc Daniels (his real name; at the time I considered my self bisexual). Everything hunky-dory. Flash forward to April 1997. It was the week that Ellen DeGeneres came out of the closet I was on my way back to my hotel in Whitehall, a Columbus suburb, then had plans to go to the Havana Video Club on North High Street, in the Short North District, to watch "The Puppy Episode" I was making my way back to North High (after finding out that a pastor friend of mine had moved away) when Leah called me (she was visiting one of her sisters). I decided that it wouldn't hurt, but had to make clear that I was on my way to see friends. She offered to take me back to the hotel, only to find that the bitch lied. Instead, she took me back to her house on the central east end of Columbus. We did the nasty (fucked, okay?), then...she proposed. Now picture this scenario, kids. I've just finished fucking my ex-girlfriend (then watch that "Puppy Episode"). We're naked as fucking jaybirds. And she proposes to me.
Can you say 'deer caught in headlights'?
So the next day, we got married.
Those tears I cried that day should have been a harbinger of things to come. What I thought were tears of happiness were actually tears of...A WARNING! Let me keep it short and simple: the honeymoon ended quicker than it began. The demons that plagued our relationship before came back to haunt us. Accusations of me cheating and lying. Myself getting thrown out of the house. I'm tellin' ya, makes for a lovely relationship, doesn't it?
Now, I'll admit that I could have tried harder to make the marriage work But for the record , the cheating accusations were unfounded. Still, around August 15, 1997- a week or two after I had nearly became roadkill on a Columbus street (after, of course, Leah and I had gotten into yet another patented argument), Leah told me "Good-bye, Darren". I threw my hands up and said "Fine". About 36 hours after Leah and myself said our "fuck yous", I left for Cincinnati, Ohio (100 miles down Interstae 71). Three months later, I left for the west coast, and never looked back. To this day, I have never returned to Columbus, and to be honest, despite making numerous of plans to do so, I don't think that I'll ever return to Columbus. Ever. Too much pain (and it's not just with Leah, either.).
The marriage died a quick death. I had learned- the hard way that I wasn't exactly marriage material. And I still believe that- at nearly 38 years of age- I'm not marriage material (but that's another subject for another day). Yes, I'll go for a few long-term relationships, but it may be awhile before I even do that. I'm not exactly the one-woman type (for those who saw the 'bisexual' story above, for the record, I've since became 'straight', or heterosexual. A gradual process, but with no help from those 'ex-gay' ministries, which I think are nothing more than scams, to be honest with you). Seeing different women works for me. Hell, a menage a trois or two...BRING IT ON!
As for tying the knot again...Eh-eh!
*The names- unless otherwise noted- have been changed to protect the identities
Copyright (C) 2005, by Darren W. Alexander. All Rights Reserved.
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