The Only Review You’ll Ever Need of Blade: The Series (Part 4 of 5)

Writen by Larry D. Yablow

Recap #2 for those who are keeping score. Blade is a low-budget version of Batman except that Blade uses weapons whereas Batman uses his brain. While Batman is considered by many to be the world’s greatest detective, Blade can’t find his evil-doer until he publishes his evil plans on the cover of a magazine. Batman has an elaborate mansion, yacht and underground crime fighting headquarters. Blade lives underground in some grandmother’s basement with a broken down laptop and a Radio Shack security system. Batman has the crime fighting help of his trusty butler Alfred (who was a bit of a butt kicker in his day) and Robin the Boy Wonder. Blade has hired his real estate agent to keep an eye on his basement and is following around the sole survivor of the Wonder Twins in the hopes of finding that ever-elusive Colonel Mustard card.

Batman has the Batmobile. The very name Batmobile sends shivers down the spine. Blade has the Blademobile, which elicits laughter, and a small amount of pity when it pulls up to a stoplight and sputters likes a broken lawnmower. Batman has a utility belt that is the envy of even Superman. Blade has strapped bits of junk from an Ace Hardware store to his shirt. Batman has a Batsuit that is a modern armored shell. Stylish, elegant and functional the Batsuit is the epitome of engineering and crime fighting. Blade dresses with gothic Garanimals. Batman has the Bat signal that strikes fear into the heart of all criminals and joy in the hearts of the citizens of Gotham. Blade has a broken flashlight.

Batman is the symbolic representation of a modern day Knight questing for the ideals that will bring about a justice, honor and peace. Prepared to ride to the defense of the fair damsel Gotham on a moments notice, Batman stands vigilant and ever ready to deliver swift justice. Blade has a broken flashlight.

Back to the TiVo we go.

We’re treated to a low camera angle of the bad guy’s spider lair from earlier in the show. The bad guy has strapped bums to the rafters upside down to make things easier on his still unseen giant spider. The bad guys staff is using cattle prods to shock the bums for their amusement. All in all not a bad way to pass the day if you happen to work for the bad guy. I can attest that it sounds mildly more interesting than spending your time in a 7-foot square cubicle made from a material that derives its colors from a historical retrospective of various bodily fluids. They drag one of the bums off.

Jayna goes back to the webmaster’s house. This time he is dressed properly instead of looking like Mr. Rogers retarded brother. However, he is so busy getting sloshed on Canadian Mist that he can’t really do more than tell her about his kids or something. She listens to his inane ramblings far longer than I can as I start checking what is on other channels. Flipping back, we finally see her asking how she can find Blade. I guess she has noticed that he has been following her for days. Hint: use the rear view mirror.

I was beginning to wonder but maybe she has noticed. Webmaster pulls out some newspaper clippings from a scrapbook. The part that makes me confused is that if she was able to find webmaster with a Google search, why doesn’t she just Google up Blade? Oh well, that wouldn’t be nearly as interesting and its for darn sure that the nearly illiterate Blade would not have anything on his website except a looping midi file, the graphic of a giant traffic cone and the under construction banner that pollutes half the Internet. It would probably have popups too. When does this hardcore webmaster find time to put together a Blade scrapbook?

Jayna has both gone native and carjacked someone or has a rental from the same place that Blade got his bike. She tools up in her new ride, makes sure she has bullets and starts wandering around the location mentioned in the newspaper article that webmaster had in his personal Blade scrapbook. For someone that didn’t think twice about leaping into a crack house earlier, she sure looks like she’s going to crap her pants now.

Skulking about in the place, she practices her CSI poses and starts wandering around. The place is pretty much urban decay at its finest. She gets bored with her police poses and drops her guard. That gives Blade the opening he needs and he sneaks up on her with his patented Blade sneak. He warns her to leave town again but she refuses. She really wants to find her brother’s killer and she is sure that Blade knows the answer. Of all the things that I would expect Blade to have, an answer isn’t one of them. Then out of nowhere, she asks him for a Coors Light. Look around lady, do you see a refrigerator?

Getting bored, Blade uses his T-Mobile headset to call his real estate agent. He’s highly unamused to discover that Blade is hanging out with some reject from the Super Friends.

Bad guy must be celebrating National Pizza Month but with his own evil flair. He’s making some kind of crazy garlic concentrate that is so potent it dissolves people. I hate to tell bad guy, but it’s darn hard to get repeat business if you dissolve your customers. Maybe he is planning to ship it to his competition so their pizzas are the ones to dissolve people while his pizza will be safe. Dastardly, but then again that’s why he’s the evil genius and not the guy with the broken flashlight.

Blade has taken Jayna to the Blade Cave. Not that she couldn’t have found it near the stairs, but he took her nevertheless. He’s showing off by hacking up the leftover shop dummies while Jayna watches with a mixed series of emotions ranging from ostentatious confusion to outright pity. Blade gives those plastic symbols of capitalism the sound and vigorous thrashing they deserve. Blade has also managed to cobble together his own Blade-a-rang out of what looks like a stack of Pogs and the middle of one of those spinning hubcaps. It messes up a plastic dummy real good.

Jayna starts walking around the Blade Cave inspecting the crime fighting gear. First she sees a souped up cow milker. Lord knows what kind of crime Blade fights with that - maybe osteoporosis? Then she finds a chromed up super soaker and kind of has a hard time not laughing at Blade and his real estate agent. She does a pretty good job of not chuckling. Blade gives her a second rate RFID chip to keep track of her. I kind of nodded off for a second, but the agent is talking Jayna into going to the house of the “Thong” which has to be a hot strip club. It seems that Spike TV may not disappoint after all.

Jayna wanders into a gallery. What the heck is this? Where is the brass poles and strobe lights? What a load. Now Jayna is talking with the bad guy whom we haven’t seen in about an hour. He is chatting her up so maybe he’s planning some more target practice. They exchange names and stuff. Then bad guy tells her that he knows who she is, telling her that he killed her brother and pointing out his bad guy posse in case she wants to go 10 rounds. Needless to say, she gets hostile quick and runs to her rental car where she grabs a spare rifle she lifted from Blade. Blade watches this through the RFID chip or something. She leaves him a headphone so she can talk to him while she tries to shoot him.

Blade hops his motorcycle and rides so he can catch up with her but he is too slow. She makes the classic mistake of talking to the bad guy so long that his posse climbs up the stairs of the next building and gives her a good smacking around. Blade shows up and finds his RFID chip and gets mad because he is still making payments on that rifle and its his last one.

Bad guy decides to make this interesting by taking the unconscious Jayna back to bad guy headquarters and shooting her full of the same dope that the detective tried to blame her brother for. Of course, she passes out and bad guy does the bad guy thing by tossing her doped up body off of his building. Splat goes the weasel.

Suddenly, her corpse ends up in a bag in the coroner’s inbox. Way to go! Now Blade will be back to looking for clues the old-fashioned way. Looks like Blade’s up the creek without his sword and I’m about two six-packs from being able to finish watching this show. For a Shaft meets Batman styled detective, this Blade fellow is about as dense as my mother in laws fruitcake. And trust me, after a decade of metallurgical chemistry I know density. If the US armed forces could get the mother-in-law to do to steel what she does to wheat, no tank in our arsenal would ever fall prey to even the most dastardly of explosives. You know how fast food French fries (I know I’m supposed to call the Freedom Fries) never rot? You ever find on under your car seat and you know it’s like ten years old but it still looks like the day it was made? Forget being in awe about Egyptian mummies, this stuff will out last even the vaunted toaster pastry and nuclear Armageddon. I don’t want to be embalmed when I die, I want to be battered up and deep fried - that way I’ll never rot no matter what. Screw formaldehyde - a 1$ bucket of McDonalds finest and viola - I’m good for centuries.

Anyway, Blade is apparently at the end of the detective spectrum that is occupied by Inspector Clouseau on a bad day. Actually, I take that back, Inspector Clouseau had disguises, Blade doesn’t even change clothes. Inspector Clouseau solved crimes, albeit accidentally. Blade apparently occupies the end of the spectrum by himself minus the pointy hat. With his one chance at a clue now dead, Blade is left to wander around at chit chat with his real estate agent.

On screen, we’re treated to some kind of MTV Video about Jayna’s life. In my living room I’m treated to the fast forward button and a fresh silver bullet. Whooo! Let the entertainment commence.

Looks like bad guy wasn’t such a wizard and the coroner is a bit of a dolt himself. Egads, is everyone in this town taking stupid pills? Jayna unzips her body bag and takes off before anyone can realize that she’s missing. Maybe her superpowers weren’t limited to turning into pointless inanimate objects after all. Of course, its raining outside so score one for the Spike TV crew. However, wait; just to add some suspense, bad guy picks her up at the coroner’s office. Either he’s not nearly as lame a villain as we started out with, or he covers his bases carefully. I know if I ever launch a plan to take over the world (or my zip code) I won’t toss people off the buildings without a spotter to ensure a proper landing. Point well taken Spike TV, point well taken.

Let us grab a fresh 6-pack and meet back here in a few minutes!

Making Memorable Art - The Power Of Story

Writen by Dorothy Gauvin

It was the eve of my trip to California, touring the first group of oils from my ‘Banjo Paterson’s People’ series. The pictures to be exhibited were being previewed for Australian collectors at a cocktail party hosted by the gallery which represented my work at the time.

Suddenly, a trendy local architect loomed up beside me, champagne flute in hand. Looking down the considerable length of his nose at me, he commented, ‘So, you’re really an illustrator, I see.’ I beamed up at him and gushed, ‘Oh, thank you!’ His smirk made his thought transparent: (She’s too dumb to even realise she’s just been insulted.)

Then I added: ‘You’ve elevated me into the company of Michelangelo and Leonardo, Raphael and Rembrandt.’ As his jaw hit his chest, it was clear the truth had hit him between the eyes, and I walked away, chuckling. Now, why could I dare list my work alongside the Masters? Because their ‘book’ was The Bible; mine was ‘Banjo’ Paterson (1864-1941.)

(That night, I didn’t bother to point out that of close to 300 titles in my Register of sold paintings at the time, only 33 were based on Paterson poems or stories. The current totals are 400 and 63, plus 30 illustrations of my own version of the story of Paterson’s words to ‘Waltzing Matilda.’)

But back to the Masters:When you stand gazing up at the massive marble sculpture of David by Michelangelo, you know it can be no one else but the youth who challenged and defeated Goliath. Yet, it might be anyone. He stands naked of any identifying costume. And in this portrait - of the young man destined to become the second Jewish king - he is shown not circumcised. We are given only one clue: the slingshot. But that is enough.

Still, as you know, no artist is content to simply illustrate the facts. S/he is thinking always of how to present those facts in a new way; a way that will stimulate the viewers own imaginations, start them thinking about more than the remembered story. Michelangelo pared away everything superfluous. No action is evident in the sculpture. But every gesture of the figure, the complex expression of the face, tells us that something is about to happen.

Leonardo was thinking the same way when he made The Last Supper. The great innovation here is the placement of Judas on the same side of the table as all the other disciples, a breakaway from the tradition of isolating the betrayer by seating him apart. In the hands of the Master painter, all that’s needed is the expression on the face of Judas and the gesture of his figure.

Both masters used every skill of craftsmanship at their disposal to engage our emotional response to the work and the story it tells. And even today, these images, made 500 years ago, fill our minds when we think of those ancient stories. How is that for memorable art?

Now, jump to New York post-WWII, when Abstract Expressionism was riding the crest of its wave. Abstract Art was declared the successor of all art that had come before, a new broom sweeping away the unfashionable traditions of representational art. And with it, a new dogma was proclaimed: ‘Narrative is dead!’

I believe all artists from Kandinsky (1866-1944) to the latest ‘name’ in ‘Modern Art’ circles have been genuine in their desire to revolutionise art by experimenting with (seemingly) new ways of laying paint on a surface. Left to themselves, they would have done no harm. Art is the biggest game we humans have invented, and within it there is room for all manner of playfulness. But some art dealers, and those critics who served them, soon awoke to the golden opportunity this new art presented.

There are people who have much money but little confidence in their own taste, others who feel the need to display a ’sophistication’ above that of their fellows. Then there are those who must demonstrate their superiority by possessing whatever is the latest, or most exclusive. They were the perfect targets for the purveyors of this new style of art that was presented as beyond the understanding of ‘the common people.’ They pushed the new fashion to unprecedented heights of hyperbole and obscene prices. And each novelty, regardless of its worthiness by any standard except fashion, was hailed as a masterpiece as soon as it hit the market.

But we need to be sure we’re all ‘on the same page’ when we discuss Abstract Art. The officially accepted definition specifies: art in which the portrayal of things from the visible world plays no part. No recognisable objects can be included. It follows that there can be no such thing as an ‘Abstract portrait’ or ‘Abstract landscape.’ Those paintings mis-named as such should properly be described as ‘Figurative.’

The astonishing body of work by Picasso (1881-1973), which covers 80 years of innovation and experiment, contains no works that are actually Abstract, so far as I know. If you have found one, I would like to hear about it.

A true form of Abstract painting can be found in the work of ‘Colour Field’ painters such as Mark Rothko (1903-1970) and his many imitators. On these - always vast - canvases, geometric shapes are filled with colour, sometimes solid, sometimes transparent. Sometimes they are given titles apparently freighted with mysterious meaning e.g. The Existential Sadness of Happiness. Sometimes the title is more honest: a stark Untitled #14. And when you leave the museum where they are displayed, can you recall which design told of ‘The sadness of happiness’ or which extolled The kindness of cruelty?’ Can you differentiate between Untitled #7 and Untitled #13 from memory?

Picasso never lost sight of the power of Story. Only think of his incandescent protest against the futile brutality of war in ‘Guernica.’ Or the psychological power of his series based on the ancient myths of the Minotaur. It seems to me that all forms of art are servant to the Story. Let me show you why I think that.

The Movie:This has to be the most perfect art form, I think. It combines all the classic forms, embellished by the many technological innovations now available and who knows what wonders yet to come. Yet, without a Story, there is no movie.

The Novel:Attempts have been made to produce a novel devoid of narrative. Famous examples include ‘Finnegan’s Wake’ and ‘Ulysses’ by James Joyce (1882-1941.) Complex constructions using devices of ‘interior monologue’ and the ’stream-of-consciousness,’ these books fascinate literary critics. But have you ever read them? Do you know anyone who has?

Architecture:If I mentioned the Sydney Opera House or Notre Dame cathedral, you would not need a photograph to remind you of them. You would immediately see a mind-picture of them. Two buildings set far apart in time, they reflect the very different Story of the people who raised them.Then think of a skyscraper, the icon of modernity.

Except for those topped with identifying decorations, or those endowed with emotional signifigance like the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York, you would be hard put to say which city housed any one typical box. A founding father of the skyscraper, Louis Sullivan (1856-1924), believed ‘form follows function’ and the skyscraper embodies that principle. Its function is to fit the largest number of paying tenants into the smallest piece of high-priced real estate. And its design clearly states its lack of interest in who those tenants might be.

Music:When you listen to a recording of, say, ‘Hall Of The Mountain King’ by Edvard Grieg, you have no need to know about the folk stories that inspired him. But you will see pictures in your mind as you listen. And yet, unless you are a classical musician, you are unlikely to be able to hum the entire composition in the shower. This is because there are no words to help you recall the music. Incidentally, this is why ‘Banjo’ Paterson scribbled some verses that we can sing along with, to the old marching song we now know as ‘Waltzing Matilda.’

So when the trendoids try to convince us that ‘Narrative is dead,’ my answer is a giant raspberry that says: ‘Oh, yeah?’

©Dorothy Gauvin

Official US Population to Hit 300 Million in October of 2006

Writen by Lance Winslow

Well the official US Population is going to hit 300,000,000 people sometime in October of 2006, no matter if there is an International Terrorist Attack or not. Of course this is the unofficial US population because we have illegal aliens and illegal immigrants in our nation as well, some believe in excess of 24 million, who do not plan to leave unless they are thrown out and most of whom wish to become US Citizens to soak up some rather nice living conditions and Democrat Social Pet Programs.

We are expected to top some 420,000,000 by 2040 right after social security goes bankrupt and 55% of our citizens are suppose to have Type II Diabetes due to non-exercising and poor diets, but despite that all is looking good, if we do not run out of water from droughts or Global Warming?

The distribution of our nation will of course have to change due to Blue State Densities that keep expanding. Apparently we get weird behavior from rats too as the density goes up, meaning we will need to fill in some of the areas in the center of the country to make all this work in the future. Meanwhile, you are probably thinking how can we trust our politicians to run such a large country when they cannot even run Congress?

Well one good thing with the MS-13 Gang Members in the US, the 6,000 Chinese Spies and the 2,000 International Terrorists in cells we should hit our goal of 300 million people about 10 hours early one day in October of 2006. And that’s a rap. Next caller you are on the line with Lance.

Creating a Virtual Art Gallery

Writen by Cynthia Houppert

To the online artist, it might seem a paradox, at first glance, to hear a recommendation to hold back work. The artist on the Internet often overproduces and displays their entire body of work. In essence, by placing it for casual viewing, known as “shopping” the work, devalues its worth by defying the Law of Supply and Demand.

How can the artist benefit by applying the advantages of the Internet with the successful business practices of the traditional gallery? Let’s look at the traditional gallery’s sales structure.

At the Preview, in an inner gallery, and by invitation only, previously unviewed works are presented to the gallery’s selected collectors. The works are tagged as sold, but left for viewing. An aspect of human nature, wanting what one cannot have, has been accommodated as well as a relationship to supply and demand.

To paraphrase Israel A. Kirzner, the, almost, universally accepted theory of supply and demand shapes production and consumption, and is, not only the skeleton, but the flesh and blood of the economic system which determines the artist’s survival in the marketplace.

["The Law of Supply and Demand", by Israel Kirzner At the time of publication Kirzner was an economist at New York University. http://www.libertyhaven.com and The Freeman, a publication of The Foundation for Economic Education, Inc., January 2000, Vol. 50, No. 1.]

The show opens to the general public. As the show closes, unsold works are then considered shopped, since the public has viewed them. Then, they are placed in an outer gallery for the casual onlooker. Those traditions have held true, stemming from the basic nature of human beings and how market prices are determined.

This brings us back to the question of how might the traditional practices be adapted to the Internet? The artist could, for instance, set up a number of galleries.

The Inner Gallery would contain works previously unseen. A collector might pay a one-time fee, the purpose of which is to discourage window-shoppers. The fee could then be applied to their purchase. Those who purchase are the collectors who go into your special Guest Book to receive Preview invitations, thus, eliminating the major pitfall of current Internet based galleries, the window-shopper.

How does one structure a Preview Page? Obviously, for your Preview Page you wouldn’t want just anyone dropping in. This could be accomplished through a member login given only to your private collectors. By closely monitoring their login dates, you can determine when the Preview is over and it’s time for the show to be opened to the general public.

A Middle Gallery is for works that didn’t sell in the Preview, but are only available to those who have registered in the Guest Book and agree to receive future newsletters and updates. Finally, there is an Outer Gallery, that is for browsers and only contains images that have been sold, their price, but never to whom it was sold.

Although there will be many window-shoppers, as the exclusive nature and as the reputation of the site grows, the more exclusive collector will come to the site, sign the Guest Book, and come to the Preview ready to collect.

Perhaps Museum Directors, Curators, Critics and Reviewers could be contacted as well. Given passwords, they could actually look at the work online, without the artist having to physically move the works as in a land-based gallery. Their reviews could be then added to the Preview Page and the artist’s resume for future use.

Anyone with experience on the Internet knows you can’t just create a web site and expect people to show up. The site must be properly marketed as well as have something the web surfer desires. Go to ARTNews and see how the ads are structured. Ask yourself what it is about that ad that makes you want to visit that gallery. What makes it desirable?

Look at the size of the images in the ad. Are they thumbnails or full-size images and details? Collectors want to see brush-strokes and have the monitors to do so. Remember, that the majority of the nation’s assets lie in the hands of those over fifty years of age. Many of them wear eyeglasses. Accommodate their eyesight. Bigger is better.

Of course, not all artists who put up a web site are going to be worth collecting, just as galleries will not find all artists suitable. Not all collectors will want a given artist’s work. Without demand there are no sales.

Therefore, critical analysis of the web statistics should be carefully monitored. If you get a lot of hits and no sales then the problem is not in the marketing. Conversely, no hits, or very few, would indicate poor marketing. At some point you have to figure whether or not you’re no good at marketing or the work is not collectible.

As for meeting with the artist, the web cam, if not a personal visit, makes for an enjoyable time. With the development of Japanese graphic technology, one day soon the collector and others members of the art community will view the minute details of the artist’s work in truly a virtual gallery without defying the laws of human nature which drives all mankind.

About The Author

Cynthia Houppert is an art consultant in Atlanta, Georgia and the author of “Art Gallery Safari: Bagging the Big One”

(c)2003

cyndij@cowboyenterprises.com

What About Those Pyramids?

Writen by Robert Baird

‘Mr. Rhodes aspired to be the creator of one of those vast semi-religious, quasi-political associations which, like the Jesuits have played so large a part in the history of the world. To be more strictly accurate, he wished to found an Order … and while he lived, he dreamed of being both its Caesar and its Loyola.’ - W.T. Stead”

He did it because of what he saw and learned in the King’s Chamber - we blanche because we have to listen to these nauseating and transparent fluff artists like ‘Amazing’ Randi. Hawass is a spokesperson for Cayce who was a Mason like his father. The list goes on and on. Is there any better evidence of a total disregard for honest scholarship? It certainly is a confusing array of nefarious intent, as we see it. No we can’t possibly do justice to this monument and library in stone, left as a legacy by adepts who saw what man would become? Then they left these monuments so that modern man could see he isn’t so all-fired important. Time portal and energy vortex, energy plant, and connection of the World Mind with cosmic life: there is so much to address.

Dunn and Davidovits are not simpletons and they aren’t selling any particular ideology. We have given you a lot of names and books to follow if you want some answers.

Science is only now able to comprehend how much more there is to life and creativity or intelligent design. We look forward to seeing how long the fools on the hill can maintain their lofty perch.

Author of many books and activist against mind control and soul-grabbing.

Transformation of the Great Plains

Writen by Mary Arnold

In his study of the Colorado Gold Rush, Elliott West discovered that historians have generally focused their attention on “what was rushed to rather than what was rushed over” (West xvii). His basic argument is that the influx of goldseekers changed the Great Plains as well as the Rockies, and that “the Indians were partly responsible for their own difficulties” (West, xvii). West asserts that the history of the Great Plains changed over time primarily through people’s perceptions of it:

People use their brains to create mental variations of the places they observe, variations that exist only inside their heads. They imagine changes in the world as it presently exists outside themselves; they visualize new connections and relationships that are not there yet. So besides the perceived environment in the first sense - the outer world as humans encounter it through their senses - there can be many alternate environments existing simultaneously as imagined places (West xx).

Consequently, for changes on the Great Plains to occur, people must first imagine the area differently. West describes the many changes that transpired on the Great Plains, and the factors that propelled people to change their perceptions of the Great Plains.

The first occupants of the Plains were “part of the Clovis complex” around 9500 - 10,000 B.C. (West 19). At this time, the Plains were “wetter and cooler” (West 18). But soon after their arrival, the climate changed and became warmer. This caused the tall grasses to give way to shorter, and led to the extinction of many species the Clovis hunters used for food. This extinction (partly caused by the Clovis) led them and the later Folsom peoples to develop a bison-hunting culture.

About 5000 B.C. the climate changed again; the Plains underwent a prolonged drought which caused the land to become more arid, and take on the appearance similar to the present. This caused the hunters to become even more nomadic as they searched for food. The Plains peoples developed a “cycle of movement that united the seasonal offerings of plains, hills, and high mountain terrain” (West 24). At about the time of Christ, the Plains Woodlands people had set up a network of trade “covering most of the United States and well beyond its borders” to obtain commodities they could not obtain locally.

Then around A.D. 700-800, another climactic shift led the Plains into “one of the wettest periods of its history” (West 27). This led to farming communities along the Republican, Solomon, and Smoky Hill Rivers. These farmers eventually moved eastward off the Plains during the thirteenth century as the land suffered a series of droughts. Then new peoples moved onto the Plains to create their own mode of survival. Before European contact, many different peoples had lived and survived on the Plains. They had adapted to the changing climates and exploited the resources close at hand, while establishing trade for what was not close at hand.

Contact with Europeans in the mid-sixteenth century dramatically changed the Native peoples’ perceptions of the Great Plains. The Spaniards envisioned the Plains as lacking “almost everything needed to turn neutral space into a human place” (West 35). Coronado’s reports of the Great Plains resulted in Europeans staying out of the area for two hundred years. However, the Spaniards brought with them two things that would revolutionize life on the Plains: horses and guns. Once the Native Americans understood the capabilities of horses and guns, they “looked at the country and thought it into another shape” (West 55).

For the Plains tribes, the horse turned them into more efficient hunters of the bison, and guns were extremely beneficial for raiding villages. The Indians’ changed perception of the Plains caused a population explosion. The population in the high Plains “rose steeply in the late eighteenth century, then climbed more sharply after 1800″ (West 67). Many tribes, such as Comanches, Nakotas, Lakotas, and others, began moving onto the Plains from the east as they imagined the land in different ways.

As the new tribes moved into the Great Plains, “there was a shuffling of power in its crudest form - force used by some people to control, exploit, and kill other people” (West 68). The tribal warfare for control of the area around the Black Hills resulted in the Lakotas displacing tribes such as the Kiowa, Arapahoes, Crows, and Cheyennes. But the migration to the Plains caused the Lakota to come to depend on the horse more heavily. This dependency led to problems since, because of the northern winters, the Lakota often were in short supply of horses. This shortage “helped shape their actions during the years ahead” (West 66).

Up until the mid-nineteenth century, the Great Plains had belonged to the Native Americans almost exclusively. But in 1858, the rumours of gold in the Rockies that had been circulating for decades was confirmed when Green Russell and his followers made “the true discovery of gold in the Pike’s Peak region” (West 105). This discovery, along with other events in America paved the way for a general stampede into the area. Before the settlers could move into this area, their perceptions of it had to change.

Previously they viewed the Plains as a virtual wasteland inhabited by savages ready to kill any white people. Sumner’s victory at the Solomon River in 1856 gave many the impression of “nomads beaten and pacified” (West 100). Therefore, many felt the Indian populations would not be much of a threat to them.

Also the depression of 1857 encouraged people to look at the Great Plains in a different light. It then became a place where they could escape the bad conditions at home and regain economic stability. Newspapers and travel guides immediately set to work to propagandize the Great Plains. One St. Louis editor wrote that the gold fields would be “the evangel to a new commerce” (West 131). In addition to the gold mines, propagandists gave people a view of the Great Plains as a place that would be good for cattle raising and farming. Soon after Russell made his discovery in 1858, the first townsite, Denver City, was laid out. The following spring, “more than 100,000 people headed for Colorado” (West 145).

This invasion of miners caused conflict within numerous Plains tribes when they returned to the South Platte River. As their resources, such as bison, began to diminish, many tribes such as the Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas, Lakotas, and Comanches were “torn between leaders who called for accommodation with whites and others advocating confrontation, or at least a studied disengagement” (West 194). The tribes’ dependence on the bison and trade with whites thus caused much of their difficulties when miners began filtering into the area, since many trading chiefs favored accommodation. The subsequent warfare, displacement of Indians, and the establishment of reservations further changed the face of the Great Plains. For many thousands of years, the Great Plains underwent a series of changes to reach its present appearance. The common factor in these changes is that before they were implemented, they had to be envisioned.

Bibliography

West, Elliott. The Contested Plains: Indians, Goldseekers, and the Rush to Colorado. University Press of Kansas, 2000.

Mary Arnold is an author on http://www.Writing.Com/ which is a site for Fiction Writing.

Her writing portfolio may be viewed at http://www.Writing.com/authors/ja77521

Short Story: Take a Trip To The Temple Of The Great Tomato

Writen by Jesse S. Somer

Jimmy Jenkins Jr. is not an adventurer, traveler, or pioneer. Far from it, Jimmy has had the same job, in the same office for 15 years. He’s got about 2 years of holiday time built up because he never, and I mean never, goes anywhere, not even to the Coast for a day in the sun. He works very hard, is an amicable fellow, but is single, 39 years old, and boring. Boring is this guy’s middle name. I don’t think he has any hobbies and he never has anything interesting to say, just small talk, and the obligatory work speeches. I wanted to crack this man’s shell of monotony and blandness, but how?

You see I’m the complete opposite to Jimmy, his antithesis, and yin to his yang, black to his white. I live for excitement. I live to travel. Beaches, festivals, treks, foreign food, culture, nature, historic sites, and shopping in unfamiliar lands are what make my blood run, my spirit fly, and my heart beat faster than the speed of light. I just had to wake up this man from his static, stagnant existence. I mean there could be nothing unknown about this guy; everything was right in your face, out in the open.

Well, before I began my “Crack Jimmy’s shell challenge”, I had more important things to do, like get the hell out of there. The famous La Tomatino Festival in Spain was about to happen and I had rigorously organized my trip on the Internet. It’s truly amazing the amount of information and help you can get from all the traveling web sites. I like to be organized and prepared for all eventualities that might happen. My air tickets and hotel were booked in advance, and I got all the ‘juice’ on visas, currency, and transportation (train from Valencia to Bunol-$3.00!) from the Net. I’ve printed off maps of the city and town, got lists of all the famous attractions, nightspots, and the best restaurants for that authentic paella experience.

So anyway, the weekly festivals were in full motion and I was having the time of my life. A feeling of impending excitement was pervading the air as everyone was getting ready for the culmination of the festival- the biggest food fight in the world. 125 tonnes of tomatoes to be turned into human ketchup in just two hours! No one knows exactly why the tradition began back in the 1950’s, but it has become a bit of a religious occasion for those who worship the Temple of the Great Tomato, nah, it’s actually Christian. Doesn’t matter much to me, I just wanted to be part of the chaos-I even wore a white suit. People say this is a metaphorical attempt at suicide, but I’m always up for a challenge!

Here we go! The battle began. The air turned red, people going berserk at the height of excitement. It seems the white suit wasn’t the best idea. I got hammered. Total pulverization. I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me as the tomato integrated itself into my soul. I lay on the ground, people running all around me yelling and screaming in Spanish. I looked up through the ketchup dripping thickly off of my eyelids. That’s when my mind was totally blown away into oblivion, never to be the same again. Standing in front of me smiling, throwing handfuls of squished tomatoes was none other than Jimmy Jenkins Jr. He bent over, looked me straight in the eye and said,

“Richard Woodward, fancy meeting you here.”

I stuttered in astonishment, but no comprehensible words came out. Either the shock or the tomatoes in my mouth were creating the problem. Jimmy spoke again, his smile as wide as a tomato-mad maniac,

” Let me let you in on a bit of secret Richard. I know you won’t give me away. You see buddy, I’ve got an identical brother. We make it look like we’re always working for the company, always on time, always there. But in reality we’re sharing one man’s life and when the other man is at work, the other is traveling the world having huge vacations and partying like mad. It really is hard when it’s my turn to go to the office and act so incredibly boring and predictable. Pretty cool eh?”

He then lifted a giant (what looked like a genetically altered) tomato and screaming a tribal yell, smashed it into my face. He then laughed and ran into the tomato-red sunset leaving me ‘bloody’ and bewildered.

About The Author

Jesse S. Somer

M6.Net

http://www.m6.net

Jesse S. Somer is a space-traveling human hoping to show his fellow Earth-dwellers the hidden opportunities found in the Internet.

Why Can’t We Open Our Borders

Writen by Lance Winslow

During the intense debates over illegal immigration in the media, on the streets and in our homes one has to eventually ask the question; what if we simply open our borders, then what would happen? Well essentially in a way that is what we have done. Some say any problems in Mexico causing people to flee to the United States are indeed our problems here too.

The United States has attempted to help Mexico and they have come a long way thanks to us in the last 18 years after previously having a pretty severe economic crisis. For those who would like to see the eventual long-term goal of an open border, I applaud you. But also the current reality; created reality or not is the one we must live in, the present, so until we can build the Utopia of the human race, heaven on Earth so to speak, I guess you could call it, we must lay down some ground rules in order to get it done.

Sure we have fallen down previously our immigration backlog, courts jammed and such. But also allowing a continuation of an unsustainable situation here; well the means will not justify the ends you see? And if we do everything fair and wonderful, but fail to create the Utopia, we are still back to square one and sacrificed our civilization in the process and never actually achieved your very noble dream of one-world peaceful human race you see? Perhaps we should consider this in 2006.

Lance Winslow

No Sale Like A Yardsale

Writen by Tim Knox

My wife, God love her, has a problem. Ordinarily, she is a wonderful woman, always kind to animals and small children, friendly with the neighbors, loved by one and all. But every Saturday morning, just after sun up, something happens to her, something horrible! She becomes an ugly, vicious, salivating, clawing thing! No, she’s not a werewolf, but that’s a pretty good guess. If only it were something a silver bullet could cure (or a case of Silver Bullets, for that matter).

Her problem is no mere sickness of the blood, my friends. Hers is a sickness of the mind, the spirit and the body. It’s an all-encompassing affliction, kind of the same thing you’d get the morning after downing the aforementioned case of Silver Bullets, I suppose.

This curse is called…Yardsalitis! (Please imagine an ominous musical burst here)

If you laugh it’s only because you haven’t been exposed to this disease. Be warned, Yardsalitis is everywhere and spreading fast! There are different levels of this disease and if caught early it can be cured. To help you identify a person with Yardsalitis, let me detail the various stages for you.

First, there are the SY’s (Social Yardsalers), those who only partake occasionally and usually do so with a group of their peers. These are the lightweights of the game. They do it to look cool, to fit in, not because they have an overpowering need to prowl through other people’s junk.

Then come the RY’s (Recreational Yardsalers). This group considers yardsaling a fun, harmless pastime. The first symptom of this stage is denial. “I ain’t hurting nobody!” is the slogan of the RY’s. RY’s will go yardsaling if the weather’s nice and they’ve nothing better to do on a Saturday morning. They can live without it, but they’d rather live with it.

Things begin to get ugly as the disease progresses to the next level, known as “Progressive Yardsalitis.” This is the most pathetic group because they teeter on the brink of the final stage. They feel the need to get up at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning and hit the streets, sniffing out the proverbial “good deal” like crack addicted bloodhounds. But when that high subsides and reality returns, they regret paying $200 for a Tickle-Me-Elmo that their kids aren’t allowed to touch. Most have no memory of the actual purchase. They claim to just wake up with their bargain in hand.

Devastated, they vow “never again,” but it’s a hollow oath. Sure, there are those who can go weeks without getting a fix. But relapse is imminent. They know it, their families know it, and those cruel souls having the yardsales know it.

“We got what you need,” is the mantra of the yardsale pusher.

Finally, hope is abandoned and the call of the deal must be answered. The afflicted becomes a full-fledged Yardsalaholic. This is the category my lovely wife falls into. She is the High Priestess of the Open Garage Door. She is Conan the Yardsalian!

Like a gunslinger in Dodge City, a champion yardsaler has to be quick of hand and have the peripheral vision of an iguana. And you can’t be afraid to get in there and fight for what you want, either. There’s more elbowing at a table covered with Beanie Babies than under the hoop at the NBA playoffs! These women are vicious, and in this scenario my wife would be Dennis Rodman.

I recently witnessed an actual yardsale. It wasn’t as frightening as participating in a snake handling or going to my mother-in-law’s for dinner, but it was pretty close.

This was a joint venture, make that misadventure, between my wife and sister, the Lucy and Ethel of the yardsale set. As men, I don’t think we really know our wives until we see them in the yardsale setting. What I saw was educational, indeed.

What follows is an excerpt from the research paper I am writing on this experience. I’ll submit the finished text to the South Hampton Institute of Technology’s Hammond-Eggar Anthropological Department when it’s finished. Or I may just send it to Paul Harvey, I haven’t decided yet. Anyway, here’s the excerpt:

“And just who are these pathetic souls who can not live without their weekly fix of mismatched Tupperware and decapitated Barbie Dolls? Usually, and this may be totally hormonal within the species, they are women. The only men present were the ones whose wives dragged them along to hold their purses while they (the women) clawed through boxes of Beanie Babies and tried on used shoes that were three sizes too small. These are the same men often seen loitering about the women’s underwear section at Wal-Mart, holding purses and looking appropriately dumbfounded. Not even the prettiest of women on the pink brassiere labels can pull them from this funk.

“Scientifically speaking, this is a whole ‘nother culture. People were gathering in the driveway at 6 a.m., though the signs Subjects A and B (Lucy and Ethel) plastered all over the neighborhood clearly stated that 7 a.m was the start time. It was like that movie ‘Night of the Living Dead,’ where the dead are stumbling across the field toward the farmhouse where the non-dead, that would be the living, are holed up. Staggering along they come, arms outstretched, fingers wiggling, a glazed look in their eyes. “Quaaaaarter,” they moan. “Will you take a quarterrrrr…” End of excerpt. And therein lies the true art of the deal: it’s not how much you spent on that Flowbee with the missing attachments, but how much you talked them down from the asking price. This is called “Yardsalanomics,” a theory of economics not even Donald Trump can explain. The crux of Yardsalanomics is this: it’s not how much you pay, it’s how much you don’t pay.

Only an idiot pays the asking price. Ask my wife.

To be fair, she is trying hard to break her addiction. She just joined the local chapter of Yardsalaholics Anonymous. YA is a “make a profit if you can” group that meets in members’ garages every Saturday morning for fellowship and support. Unlike most addiction programs, however, YA has only nine steps.

It used to have twelve, but my wife talked them down.

Cold New World

Writen by Luksi Humma

Looking through the glass apothecary jars at Peterson’s grocery store, was a swirling dream of every kind of candy a kid could want. A small cardboard sign read “3 cents for 5 pieces.”

It took us all day of bottle hunting to get enough money to get our fill of candy. Glass bottles gave you a 2 cent refund for bringing them back to the store. Not much litter back then, someone was always looking for a way to make money, even a pittance.

Hand-me-down clothes was the way of life for most of us. I never really knew the difference until I was bit older. I was a fat kid so I always ended up with Sears Husky’s jeans and a previously owned shirt. It only served to enhance my level of appreciation later in life. I didn’t care about showing off for girls when I was that young anyway.

Men, like my father, worked hard at their jobs. They may not have liked working in the conditions which some had to endure, but, I think they were glad to have a job.

My father and mother worked all the time to provide for us. We will never know their struggles, for in those days, parents never told their problems to their kids. They were always afraid we would blab it all over the neighborhood. How wise they were indeed.

Most of my friend’s parents worked at the same jobs for what seemed, forever. It was not uncommon for a man to work the same job for 45 or even 50 years. They were the prime definition of people in a rut. I remember listening to them talking about their lives, I could not even fathom the thought of doing the same kind of work over and over again for that long. Oh My God NO!

I have frequently watched the people who grew older with me. They had the same experiences as I. They vowed the same vows as I, yet, when they grew up they became the exact persons that they vowed not to become. They worked for many years at the same jobs, complaining in the same fashion in which we had heard our pedecessors. I have not followed that unholy path.

One day, it dawned on me, that even if I had wished to travel the path of the old ways, it was not to be. It could not be. I realized as the people before me had, that the old ways had vanished. I was trapped in the New World.

I heard a wonderful grey haired old person say “the reason that we repeat the same old stories, is because we will never have anymore new stories to talk about” I thought,”how strong and true is that statement”?

As I write this story new ideas and new stories, flow into my mind. Wishing I had the time and energy to tell all of them to you, so you could see what an exciting and wonderful life I have had. Gosh, my body is getting wrinkly, and my joints hurt, but my mind is so very young. Your mind can keep your body going even when it wants to quit. I am convinced of that.

Comfort and warmth are good words to an old person. We want that so much. Maybe it is because when we were young, we gave that up in so many instances.

Our elders made us feel wimpy when we complained. We did not want to be wimpy, but really, we were. And guess what? Our parents were wimpy compared to their parents. It goes like that from generation to generation. We put that out of our minds because who wants that tag on them? I am laughing as I write this. I know many of you know exactly what I am talking about and that is comforting to me.

You know, I am typing this on a computer. New stuff, new days, new ways and thoughts. I always promised myself that when I grew older I would not complain about the new music. Our parents did that to us. Jimmie Hendrix, the Stones, Janice, Humble Pie. Sometimes, you can not help yourself.

Man, I really can not stand this rap crap. I don’t like gangsters making kids think that it is powerful to be a gangster. I am an old time cop from Chicago, and gangsters are bad news. Our kids feel powerless so these gangsters seem like they are a source of power. They are not powerful, they are weak and pathetic.

Contributing to society is strong and powerful. Helping people rise up is strong. Teaching young people about forgiveness, love, and family care is magnificent. Sacrifice for others is being really tough just like the old people I remember.

Many people who are trying to do just that are vexed with the new ways of society. There is not loyalty in the workplace anymore. Doing a great job for the company does not earn you longjevity, people who can still do the right thing in spite of all they face today are the real powerhouses, we should all be looking up to. Real heros in a cold world.

Greed fuels many of the social climbers and watching the families of this country struggle means nothing to them. They will gladly step on the heads of families to fill their pockets with money. No matter to them, they see themselves as the real power houses and those they step on as weak.

Now I say my little prayer,”God, please don’t let me be behind one of these people on judgement day, because I have enough to worry about without You being in a bad mood because of one of those knuckle heads” Amen.

Change is good. Look at these words and see if you can identify yourself. Good guy or bad guy? Stepping on people for greed or building people up for the sake of humanity. Gangster and proud of it, or, the person putting your arm around someone who needs it, showing them real strength?

So many voices calling for help out here today, so many who can not help themselves because somehow the world has changed into the Cold New World. It won’t be long before I will be checking out. I have been fortunate to make my changes and asked for help and forgiveness. Too few will read this small body of ideas, passing this on to those who really need it.

I am always hopeful that the flames which heated this world for so many years can be rekindled where love, kindness, and giving will prevail once again. I wish you strength, love, happiness, and good health.

Just a man