Monthly Archives: March 2012

All The Meaningless Words

My Friends,
   I recently read an article in the March 23-25 edition of Metro which I found disconcerting.  The story, “Cops on hunt for armed-robbery suspects,” detailed how Toronto police have begun asking for the public’s help in identifying two bank robbers who held up a Bank of Montreal on Lakeshore Blvd. on February 23.

These fly dudes

The part of the article which troubled me was the remarks from Toronto Staff Inspector, Mike Earl.  And I quote: 
“These individuals are urban terrorists.  They need to be taken off the streets before another robbery like this occurs.”  Mike Earl .. not sure if stupid or trolling
Urban Terrorists.  Think about that for a sec.  Now I realize it must take some doing to vilify bank robbers who didn’t kill anyone and who only robbed an institution which most people, on some level, feel robs them every day…

I’ll just leave this here

… but urban terrorists??  Let us examine the various levels at which this ill-wrought comment betrays its stupidity.
   First and foremost, the inspector has confused the names fo two vastly different crimes.  Terrorism and Robbery.

terrorism |ˈterəˌrizəm|nounthe use of violence and intimidation in the pursuit of political aims.
robbery |ˈräb(ə)rē|noun ( pl. -beries)the action of robbing a person or place he was involved in drugs, violence, extortion, and robbery an armed robbery.• Law the felonious taking of personal property from someone using force or the threat of force.• informal unashamed swindling or overcharging.
This is an egregious misnomer which attempts to whip up public sentiment by hearkening back…
…to this.

To attempt to play on people’s emotions like this is a cheap and disingenuous ploy which is frankly insulting to anyone who has ever lost a loved one to bank robbers terrorists.  
Not to paint an unwarranted sheen of nobility on a bank robber, but they’re not all necessarily mass murderers, and as far as crimes go some are less severe than others.
   Second, and this is a trifling point, but to call someone an “urban” terrorist seems a tad redundant.  Would there by corollary be rural terrorists?  I don’t think so simply by virtue of the fact that there isn’t as much shit to blow up in the countryside…
except these decadent western bitches and their cows.  

Methinks this “urban” distinction was related to the “unique Rocawear hoodie” worn by one of the suspects, which was explicitly mentioned in the article.  So “urban apparel” (code-word for clothes made by black people and marketed to white people) such as Rocawear automatically bestows the appellation urban to whatever criminal activity the wearer participates in?  What if Al-Qaeda, Hamas, the PLO, the IDF or any other terrorist organization decided to rock Rocawear, Wu-Wear, FUBU, et al?
Urban Jihad, nigga!

   The third and final point I would like to make relates to the title of this post.  Certain words…we’ll call them sexy words, have gotten too sexy for their own good and have become overused to the point of inanity.  Here is a brief, inexhaustive list:
Terrorism, Freedom, Liberty, Democracy, (The Creation of) Jobs, (Suffering from) Exhaustion, 9/11, and the list goes on.
These words had a meaning, then at some point it got blurred, and in some cases these words now mean the opposite of their original definition.
Oh yeah, that “freedom” we were fighting for…

My homie, George Orwell kinda predicted this liberal use of the English language a while back, but its still sad to see how right he was.  I can’t help but tune out these words when I hear some talking head say them on television.  Furthermore, I automatically assume that the person who says these words is lying somehow about something.  
   To get back to Staff Inspector Mike Earl, I really wish he could use his powers of inspection to find better and less misleading words.  It reflects poorly on him and the police force when he uses the word terrorist in an alarmist way to drum up feeling in the hopes of solving a cold case.  To those who find this criticism harsh I would respond that if you want to wear the fancy hat and the shiny badge you gotta hold yourself to a higher standard.
Stay Thirsty,
-Andre Guantanamo

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Identity Crisis

My Friends,
   While riding the Go Train I often read the free daily transit newspaper, Metro.  In an attempt to appeal to the young professionals and aspiring professionals who are likely to be riding the train, the newspaper typically has an employment section which gives pointers on resumes, interviews and professional decorum.  Quite frequently there are articles which deal with an individual’s online persona, and the likelihood of potential employers checking sites like Facebook and Twitter to see what kind of clown they are considering hiring.  This is really nothing new and it is actually job-hunting which prompted me to adopt the surname “Guantanamo” back in 2009.
   But now it seems like potential employers are taking it a step further than simple reconnaissance; it is now not unheard of to have applicants log in to their social networking accounts during the interview so that the interviewer can have a look.  Now if you have already admitted you have Facebook and they ask to do this, they get to have a glimpse at your profile which they would not get with a simple Google search, provided you have your privacy settings set high.  And if you maintain that you don’t have Facebook, they will either think you are weird or lying; everyone has it after all.
   Still the most troubling thing I read was that a man in Baltimore was actually required to surrender all of his Facebook login information (password included) during a re-interview (he was returning from a leave of absence).  Needing the job, he obliged, but (like many things) I found this really irked me.  What job-needing applicant would/could refuse this request?  And although its an invasive and presumptuous practice I don’t know that the employer can be legally reprimanded for this.  I doubt it.
   These days I find there are many grey instances like this one where justice is hard to come by.  The legal route is often tedious, complicated and blurry.  As well, knowing what your rights are still may not net you the job.  This is therefore one of the many situations where society forces us to lie … for brevity’s sake of course.  And lie I shall.
   Now obviously I have taken the right road thus far by changing my last name on Facebook and such, but a cursory googling of my actual name (i.e. the one on resumes) leads to my Google account … which is linked to this blog … which is a forum for me to spit that harsh truth which potential employers and my girlfriend’s parents may find unpalatable.  So I must adopt fully this alias Guantanamo while also  distinctly and separately developing my real*** identity online.  Never the two shall mix.
   Now I have heard that having a fake online profile can be considered fraud.  And if fraud is indeed a crime (it is),  I owe it to myself to at least be an artful criminal.  That way if they ever make a movie profiling my criminal exploits the audience will be compelled to cheer for me instead of the cops.

   I will make a troll profile.  Rather, a most glorious troll profile.  For those not in the know, a troll profile, usually a fake Facebook account is used by Anonymous to be mean, raid funeral pages, and flame whatever threads they can.  It has no connection to the actual person whatsoever, and it therefore allows them to troll with impunity.  They put on their disguise and as far as the world internet is concerned they are an entirely different person.  It is akin to how Bruce Wayne puts on his Cape and Cowl when he conspires to combat criminals as Batman.
A little too ‘on the nose’ … but I get points for alliteration.

   But if you have ever suffered through Kill Bill Vol. 2, you might remember a speech that a pre-belt-around-the-neck David Carradine made:
   Essentially, Andre Guantanamo is Superman.  Or at least, its a real representation of my thoughts, concerns, pasions, etc…  But to fit in in this world (or to outsmart nosey employers) I have to make an online profile (Facebook, email, Twitter, blog) which is a little more Clark Kent, or at least in line with people’s expectations of a man in his late 20s.  
   ***Therefore, the profile bearing my real name will not only be a troll profile, but an attempt to pander to the world’s expectations.  It will contain pics of me in only nice clothes making Zoolander faces.  
Fuck it, I’ll just use this picture.
The “about me” section will be filled with power quotes from moguls and entrepreneurs, with a token literary quotation to show I am well-read.  Under favourite books, you will find The Art of War, The 48 Laws of Power, and of course Atlas Shrugged.  Overall, I want to look and smell like a preening douche who thinks the accumulation of wealth is the highest virtue.  This will be my great commentary about how I view the state of the world.  And should some future employer want to peruse my Facebook account come interview time, I will have a pre-approved (fuck)face to show him.
   Work on this new identity will commence soontimes.
Stay Thirsty,
-Andre Guantanamo

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Choose Your Own Adventure

My Friends,
   Did you ever read those Choose Your Own Adventure books as a child?  The ones where you start as a space pirate or an Etruscan cosmonaut, or some other equally ridiculous premise is established…

Often, “space” was involved.
…and you are given a set of choices every few pages which lead to branching paths with widely different outcomes?  Well, even if you haven’t you’re probably aware of their existence, or of the existence of this type of narrative used in other media.  
   What I find fascinating about these books is that right until the bitter end (DEATH) or conversely, if you picked the right path, the awesome end (SPACE VAGINA), you always had a choice.  And the set of choices you were given at each crossroads was very telling of how wise, foolish or just plain lucky you had been during the previous sets of choices.  For example, if your set of choices was “Hide in the murderer’s closet and hope he doesn’t find you,” or “Confront the murderer with no weapon,” you had probably fucked up somewhere earlier.  Might have been when you chose not to wait for the police but rather to investigate the murderer’s space home by yourself, but who can say for sure?
I find it interesting that “space” is not included in the title.  Perhaps they just took it for granted that the novel would be set in space by the time they got this far in the series.

   I feel that this is a really apt metaphor for life: To be sure, we always have a choice, or rather, we are given a set of choices.  But then again, your choices at any given time are the outcome of previous choices and paths taken.  It’s like how the choice between a natural birth or a C-Section can be the result of a previous decision to either have unprotected sex or use a condom, which sprang from a decision prior to that between drinking excessively at a party or remaining sober.
“You see there is only one constant.  One universal.  It is the only real truth.

   So having established the truism that each choice leads to a distinct and different set of choices than the opposite choice, it shouldn’t surprise you to learn that there is another important element which determines the set of choices you are given in life.  To illustrate what I mean, I submit the following work:
If I’m lyin, I’m dyin…

Now if you were to pick up this book, which of the following choices would you most expect to be confronted with:
A) Whether to use a sword or a spell to overpower the dragon.
B) Whether to fight the zombie hordes or seek shelter in an abandoned factory
C) Whether or not to advise the captain of the spaceship that there is discontent brewing among the crew
D) Whether to climb to the top of Mount Olympus or ride your Pegasus up there
Of course, the answer is C: In a book about space mutiny you can reasonably expect to make choices relating to mutineers on a spaceship.
   Now let’s try again; assume the book in this instance is called New Delhi Street Urchin, which of the following choices could you reasonably expect to make:
A) Whether or not to go to college or join the army
B) Whether to play football or basketball after school
C) Whether to remain defiant or resign yourself to your fate as you are sold into prostitution
D) Hot dogs or hamburgers for lunch
Again, the answer is C, but to my my knowledge this CYOA volume has never been written.  No matter though, its real-life for many and we see here how the choices we would take for granted in North America (A, B & D) aren’t even in the deck for our protagonist.  But the divide isn’t simply national or cultural, it exists within our own national/continental borders.  For example, a Choose Your Own Adventure volume entitled Adventures of a Wealthy Heir would present choices about whether to go to law school, play polo or summer in the Hamptons, while a volume entitled Adventures of a Low-Income Baltimore Youth might present choices about whether or not to sell cocaine, hide from police, or give a cellmate a buck-fifty.  To pretend that both of these protagonists have an equal chance to thrive in this world is akin to pretending that the protagonist of Space Patrol

also has a shot of defeating the Ninja Cyborg.
Patrolling space is gonna give you a vastly different set of choices than training in Cyborg Ninjitsu on Earth.  This will lead to vastly different (though perhaps equally awesome in this case) outcomes in both fiction and real life.
   I guess what I am ultimately trying to say is that there is a way in which we are given a set of choices which amount to no choice at all.  Like a rabbit being canalized toward a snare, we are often led to sets of choices in which we must determine the lesser of two evils.  But since the choice between two shitty alternatives still rests with the individual, we are wont as a society to hold them up to the fire rather than re-evaluating our system which presents so many with such an unfairly stacked deck.  They chose their own adventure after all
Stay Thirsty,
-Andre Guantanamo

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To Health…

My Friends,
   I have recently been watching a lot of the show Mad Men.  One of the things even a cursory viewing of the show will make clear is that ad men in the 1950s/60s liked them some liquor & tobacco.  I have to confess that all of the vices indulged in on the show make me want to pick up a glass of whiskey and my pipe and drink & smoke along with the characters.  The drinking is not so much of a problem (well it is for me cause I don’t have any liquor on-hand) but the smoking is; I have a pipe but if I want to smoke I must go outside.  I have to admit I am feeling nostalgic for a time before I was born when people could light up with impunity.  Now I have to worry about no-smoking regulations in public places, and the sensitive noses of my house-mates and my woman if I am at home.  Sure I could always go smoke outside, but its still winter out there and I’m not just looking to have a quick puff so I can get a nicotine fix.  Rather I am looking to puff my favourite tobacco blend (its called “Mark Twain” and its the shyyyit) and sip my new favourite rye (40 Creek) all while watch one of my new favourite shows.
   Unfortunately society has predictably gone from one retarded extreme to another.  We went from the days of excess (smoking permitted in hospitals) to the days of equal yet opposite excess (smoking banned even in bars and certain outdoor locations).  Why can’t we just collectively not be so fucking retarded and simply legislate in moderation?  The anti-tobacco lobby, which started as a health crusader, has now become an overbearing perversion of its original self, infringing on people’s freedoms to enjoy tobacco.  Everyone knows at this point that cigarettes are addictive and bad for your health, but its not like every smoker is a chain-smoking case of emphysema waiting to happen.  Some people (like me) just want to light up their pipe or cigar or every few weeks with a glass of something aged 12 years, and enjoy how the two flavours complement each other.  This is a simple, yet enriching experience which I believe few, if any in the anti-tobacco lobby have revelled in.
   As far as I’m concerned, we have gone too far and have marginalized a good portion of the population.  By demonizing their enjoyable pastime we have demonized them.  I don’t like it one bit.  Now if you’ll excuse I’m gonna go find something to smoke and drink.
Stay Thirsty,
-Andre Guantanamo


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Aging Like Wine

“I feel I owe you an apology.  We have a rule: Never free a mind once it reaches a certain age.  It’s dangerous and the mind has trouble letting go.”
-Morpheus, The Matrix

“…mothafuckas who thought their ass would age like wine.  If you mean it turns to vinegar, it does.  If you mean it gets better with age, it don’t”
-Marcellus Wallace, Pulp Fiction

My Friends,
   A few weeks ago I had a get-together which I meant to write about mainly because I was ashamed of how I conducted myself.  My alcohol tolerance is a lot lower than it used to be and I was sillier than expected off three glasses of scotch.
   But that’s not what I’m ashamed of. Rather, in my drunken state I got into a discussion with two acquaintances of mine about the sad state of the world.  This is a conversation I have undertaken with one of these two when sober and we argued about it then.  So while drunk and with no filter for my words or control of my volume it was bound to be an exciting and mutually respectful discourse.

  Without getting into specifics, I was advocating sweeping global change and a complete rejection of the monetary-market system we live in, citing the extreme poverty which not only exists but is getting worse every day.  My acquaintances (I’m not sure if they were drunk or sober) rejected what I had to say, and maintained that things work as they must.  So what I am ashamed of is how I responded to their round rejection of new ideas; I got louder, used profanity and called their intelligence into question.  Over the following two days I apologized to them both via text message for any disrespect I showed them.
   Now I wasn’t looking for any kind of return apology (and frankly I hate mutual apologies because when two grown men allow themselves to be vulnerable simultaneously it has to end in gushing, hugging or other such faggotry), but it wasn’t exactly like I flew into a rage simply because we didn’t see eye to eye.  In fact, I was provoked, and at the time I wasn’t in possession of the faculties to take it in stride.
   See these acquaintances are, like most people, very much invested in the system we live in, and to their credit they have done well enough to support families.  I’m happy for them and I wish them continued success, but their success puts them at a disadvantage when it comes to looking at things in new ways.

They perceive any new idea or dramatic overturning of the status quo as a threat the comfortable existence they have eked out for themselves.  So instead they rejected my ideas on a few different grounds.
“Look at all my money, though.”
   First and foremost I was told about how as first-generation immigrants they didn’t have the things I had as a kid (not realizing the irony of using a negative excess of the system like immigrant poverty as an argument for the system I suppose) but simply through hard work and without the benefit of an education they had made lots of money and could afford a comfortable lifestyle.
Someone said this to The Riddler once.  Batman later had to save that person.

When someone doesn’t even understand where money comes from or how its made, I find they say things like this.  The logic is, essentially, “If I have money, things must be working well enough.”  Its like finding a seat in musical chairs and thinking, “See, everyone can get a chair if they try.”  This logic reminds of a very minor line from a skit on DMX’s album, It’s Dark and Hell is Hot:
“You ain’t never rich in this world”

We would all do well to remember this.
Human Nature
  Next I was told how the change I described could never be because people are naturally greedy accumulators.  This is simple misanthropy masquerading as fact, and it is a symptom of our lifelong conditioning to believe the very worst about our fellow man.  But there is no such thing as human nature, just human behaviour which is a response to the stimuli received throughout life.  People are like dogs; treat them wretchedly and they’ll behave wretchedly.  Nurture and properly socialize them and they’ll probably be okay.  Teach them that they’re only as good as the amount of money in their wallets while bombarding them with advertisements encouraging them to consume and you end up with what we have today.
“I Used to Think Like That When I Was Your Age”
   Yet still, up to this point, I wasn’t even mad.
And I even got a picture to prove it.

But then Acquaintance A joked to Acquaintance B that he used to think like me and that one day I would grow out of it.  Now I happen to know for a fact that Acquaintance A has never thought like me in his life.  And what Acquaintance A doesn’t realize is that I am not suffering from youthful communistic fervor.  In fact, I eschew all political platforms.
Seriously, check my facebook, bro.

Instead, I was advocating a “Resource-Based Economy” (Start at 1:13), something neither of these two acquaintances had ever heard of, so I really don’t see how they could have graduated past my level of thinking.  
   But even though I knew his claim was bullshit, I was galled beyond measure to see that he really believed what he was saying: He somehow actually believed that his greater number of years living in this madhouse of a world and his blithe acceptance of the status quo had made him expert in some way that I was not  
Imagine spending your whole life here and thinking it somehow gave you some unique insight on how a ‘sane’ world should work.
I get where this comes from; the old have few advantages over the young, the only one worth mention being wisdom.  But simply existing for a bunch of years does not give you wisdom, and when someone tells me that I, an individual who has been to more places and seen more shit than they have, will grow out of something, I can’t help but feel a little indignant.  
   And this is pretty much where I lost my shit and came out guns blazing; I cited my life experiences, my travels, my military experience in places they had just read about, my actual inquiry into the matters we were discussing, and of course my post-secondary education.  I also added that I paid for that last item out of my own pocket because it seemed like that’s all they respected.  It was kinda of like ripping a huge fart in public; it felt good to let it out but it alienated the people around me.
   But really, there is just no polite way to say “I ain’t lookin at you dudes, I’m lookin past you,” (especially when drunk) so I don’t know that I could have defended my position without being adversarial.  I just feel that I really needed to disabuse them of this notion that age alone grants some special insight because its a big part of the problem with the way the world is.  
   And if these acquaintances ever did in fact think the way I do now, what happened?  I understand a certain degree of necessary conformity to get by in this world, but why lose that edge, that passion to see things get better?
“I mean, what happened?…Did your balls drop off?…Hmm?…”

   I know that I shouldn’t be so hard on others because I am by no means the living embodiment of the change I want to see.  However, I can’t stand resignation in the face of problems.  And I can’t stand the avoidance of discomforting thoughts.  But mostly, I can’t stand how age weakens your most noble convictions and strengthens you most base ones.
   Still, I meant every word of my apology.
Stay Thirsty,
-Andre Guantanamo

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Lessons From Star Trek

My Friends,
   This morning while waiting in the doctor’s office I picked up a copy of Maclean’s from this past September.  It was an issue commemorating the ten year anniversary of 9/11.  It profiled the lives of those who had been affected in some way by the incident.  Soldiers, politicians, locals and one Maher Arar.  His case is a few years old and most might be familiar with it, but I had only a cursory knowledge of the details.  I became angry while reading about how this man (a Canadian citizen) endured torture for a year in his native Syria all because he fit the profile of a terrorist (male of Middle Eastern descent who traveled a lot and had a proficiency with computers).  What really got to me was reading about the aftermath of his ordeal; I began to cry when I read how he had returned home a “broken man,” a jumpy and nervous shadow of his former self.  This I think is the real tragedy of the story, and it reminded me of a passage from W.H. Auden’s poem, “On the Shield of Achilles.”

“They were small/
And could not hope for help and no help came:
What their foes like to do was done, their shame/
Was all the worst could wish; they lost their pride/
And died as men before their bodies died.”

   Throughout all of the debates about torture we have had to endure (I find it offensive that its even debated) this point about its after-effects on the victim is noticeably absent (I have my theories why but that’s a story for another day).  When torture is debated, the focus is never about the permanent damage done to the individual, but rather the legal aspects (is torture a violation of human rights?/are terrorists subject to legal protections?) or the strategic aspects (torture does/does not work for gathering information).  All too often the effects on the person are not brought up.  Best case scenario, if you are are deemed to have been wrongully detained and tortured, the adverse effects are simply quantified and monetary compensation is made (p.s. The going rate for extraordinary rendition if you are a Canadian citizen is apparently 10 million dollars and an apology from Stephen Harper).
   I think what irks me most is that around the time that this happened (2002 to 2003), any number of people would have thought it better to be safe than sorry, and would have supported Arar’s detainment and deportation to Syria, even if reluctantly.  In the midst of crisis our better judgment apparently goes out the window and we will cosign all sorts of human rights infringements under the pretense of increasing security.  I think the following clip will explain just how serious an issue this is and how indignant we should all be about the lives that are ruined in the name of “freedom.” 
   A little backstory: in this episode of Star Trek: TNG, a Romulan spy (the Federation is at war with the Romulans) has been exposed and a military tribunal convenes and begins using “insinuation and innuendo” to cast suspicion on everyone.  One young unfortunate, Simon Tarsus has been singled out for lying on his Starfleet application and saying that he had a Vulcan grandparent when he actually had a Romulan grandparent (the two look similar).  Well Captain Picard don’t take no mess, and as he realizes that his ship has become the setting for a deplorable witch-hunt he elucidates upon the ideals that make the Federation what it is.  Enjoy.

   Upon reading over what I have just written it seems that I have talked about both paranoia and torture.  While each merit their own discussion I did not feel the need to treat this as two separate entries because I believe the former progresses naturally into the latter, and thus both are related.
   Someday in the future we or one of our allies will be attacked again by alleged terrorists.  There will be suspicion, mistrust and perhaps another futile war.  We would all do well to remember the mistakes made in the aftermath of 9/11 when we seek to vilify a particular group or silently assent to morally repugnant war measures.  I will leave you with Captain Picard’s words as I feel they succinctly encapsulate what I am trying to say:
“The first time any man’s freedom is trodden on, we’re all damaged.”
Stay Thirsty,
-Andre Guantanamo



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Adventurer’s Remorse/I Still Love Porn

My Friends,
   So I took a trip around the world and all anyone asks me about is the guy who jerked off beside me on the train.  That is the sum total of my meanderings de la monde.  Apparently the most eventful thing that can happen to you in the world is to have a quasi-homeless dude tug his crank beside you.  It bugs me but its also partly my fault; after all, I didn’t have to make it known that this event happened.  Yet somehow I knew it would make a good story.  Little did I know how right I was.
   Other experiences which may have had a more profound impact on me just don’t translate well into storytelling on the blog or around the lunch-table at work.  So as an easy out I just told the story I knew would elicit the desired response (mirth).  And to my credit I have got pretty good at telling the story and its much better than it originally was.

I always wanted the story of “The Masturbator on The Train” to have a dewback in the background.  And now, with “The Masturbator on The Train: Special Edition”, its finally there.

   As much as I hate having my adventure reduced to one (sordid) incident, this isn’t even the first time its happened.  For example, I spent a summer out in B.C. a few years back and although it was in many ways an experience whose greater effect on me cannot be encapsulated in words, when the topic of B.C. comes up, I inevitably talk about the size of the salmon I caught and “the Spirit Bear”… 
…which I saw.
Ditto for two months of backpacking in Australia.  Being in the outback was an experience which defies words, but if anyone asks I will almost certainly reference getting stung by a scorpion.  
Its a cool story, after all  
   Finally, my time in my other favourite desert, Afghanistan, is typically summed up with a story about the heat or the IED we drove over that didn’t blow up because it was water-logged.  Its unfortunate that our most important experiences must be reduced/distilled to the most communicable/relatable stories.  The more esoteric and meaningful aspects of our lives and experiences are either too difficult to communicate or not palatable to others.  Like if I’m at work shooting shit the shit with the boys about travel, am I more likely to bring up the beautiful mixture of feelings I felt while on the road; happiness to be free pursuing what was my highest aspiration yet also sadness for all that I had left behind, or will I bring up the topless beach I went to in Spain? (Protip: I’ll prolly bring up the story with boobies in it)
   Why does it have to be like this?  I think its a result of the society we live in; we tend to value the whole less than the interesting/marketable/sexy (i.e. exploitable) parts.  This is why we tell anecdotes instead of sharing feelings. This is why people visit resorts and not the rest of the country the resort is in.  This is why Hustler et al. show extreme close-ups of women spreading their vaginas.  
This is actually a brilliant cover

   Its just that, pornographic; we like to reduce things to their constituent parts for ease of consumption.  Yet something qualitative is most certainly lost in the process.  When you’re bombarded with all these images and no discernment or thought is required on your part, you will inevitably devalue what you are being bombarded with.  I don’t blame you, you get bored.  
   Everything (people, products, and our most cherished experiences) is for sale in our society, but people don’t want the cow, the woman, or the life experience.  What they want, respectively, is the filet, the vagina or the sleazy story about public masturbation.
Stay Thirsty,
-Andre Guantanamo

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