With the finished talk of awful happenings, Bears, and the crappy job I once had at the local newspaper, I've decided to turn over a new leaf and write on more positive subjects. Starting today, my writings will be different (unless Ms. PMS has a say-so about it) and will reflect on some interesting stories. One thing I've always wanted to do in a blog was a music review and an ornery one at that. For my first review, I will explain the enigmatic meaning behind System of A Down's ornery anti-war song, "B.Y.O.B."

Before I begin, let me start with an overview of the band's back story. System of A Down began making albums in 1996, beginning their bizarre yet loveable trip through the heavy-metal kingdom. They have been deemed as one of strangest bands (besides Slipknot and Marilyn Manson) to hit the scene because of their cleverly hidden metaphorical messages and symbolisms in all of their songs. Every song from "Aerials" down to "Toxicity" has an underlying political and social message, a message which has never been made obvious unless it was under close inspection. Many of their songs have a certain Armenian flavor to them, as this is the band's heritage.

"B.Y.O.B" has been credited as the "Warpigs" of my generation. Although the presidents and wars are different, the same old tune is tried and true. The title itself, "B.Y.O.B" is an enigma for all to debate. Depending on whom you ask, the acronym is "Bring Your Own Bomb", "Bleed Your Own Blood", or "Bring Your Own Beer", but the band isn't talking. To start out, the line, "Barbara-isms by Barbaras, with pointed heels...." makes an allusion to President George W. Bush's mother, Barbara Bush, who has often been criticized with for her snobbish behavior towards the poor. "Marching forward, hypocritic and hypnotic computers-" This line says in full how the Bush administration is contradicting their stories in regard to the war in Iraq, all the while dazzling people with technological advances to benefit the war in an attempt to differ attention away from it's true meaning. The line is followed by the loud rant: "YOU depend on OUR protection, yet you feed us lies from the tablecloth." Political influences, as SOAD lead vocalist, Serj Tankian, explains, looks over the fact that it is the people, not the President or Congress, who are tasked with the job of ensuring our freedom. We fought for the idea and we die for it endlessly, yet in the song's message (talk about a thankless life we all live), we are being fed lies from "the tablecloth", insinuating that as Congress and the President are sitting in a meeting at a lavishly decorated table in the White House, they are planning a batch of new lies to tell the people why the war isn't working as hoped.

Finally, to speak of my favorite verses; they are clearly a slap in the face of authority, making them the most ornery words spoken: "Everybody's going to the party, have a real good time. Dancing in the desert, blowing up the sunshine.....Kneeling roses disappearing into Moses' dry mouth- breaking into Fort Knox, stealing our intentions. Hangars sitting dripped in oil, crying freedom!!! Handed to obseletion, still you feed us lies from the tablecloth." To summarize this passage, "everybody's going to the party, have a real good time" speaks about the young people who are being drafted into the conflict in the Middle East. "Dancing in the desert, blowing up the sunshine....." is a vivid imagery of soldiers running around in the desert as part of their tactics against the terrorists and shooting them, prompting their actions to appear as if they were "dancing". As the soldiers attack their enemies, attack choppers circle the sky and drop bombs onto their targets, sending debris skyward, causing it to appear as if they had "blown up the sunshine". In the end, the soldier's deaths are recognized in the line "kneeling roses disappearing into Moses' dry mouth". The roses symbolize faith and love, as for one's duty to their country they have so much pride for. They are also a symbolic in the fact that roses are often placed on the caskets of fallen G.I.s as they are lowered into the ground in a military funeral. The rose can also be symbolic of the soldiers themselves because of their faith and loyalty toward their country, who kneel before their country as a pledge for their services. The soldiers or "roses" seem to disappear into the Iraqi desert, which is claimed to be the Holy Land of Moses' time. As a confusing point in the song itself, the band throws in the whole "breaking into Fort Knox, stealing our intentions" bit. The government seems to be stealing the countries' intentions of living a free and peaceful life, and will stop at nothing to counter this. Upon the theft of peace, the empty hangars crying out the word "freedom" is a personified symbol of the people begging for peace. The idea of peace and freedom is nearly obsolete as the war wears on because of the diminishing faith of the people, all the while the President and Congress keeps creating reasons for why it can't be. To conclude with this thinker, which gives the songs the poignant, powerful message that it is famous for, the line “WHY DON’T PRESIDENTS FIGHT THE WAR?? WHY DO THEY ALWAYS SEND THE POOR?" This line sounds like a cue from Black Sabbath's legendary hit, "Warpigs", "Politicians hide themselves away, they only started the war. Why should they go out to fight? They leave their own to the poor..." Both lines convey a powerful message that is sadly ignored in our society. When a war breaks out, the rich and privileged never sign up to fight in the conflict, but hypocritically act like patriots when the need arises (lookin' at you, Toby Keith!). It is always the poor who signs up because the military lures them in with promises of free education, discipline, free housing, and food. Desperate for the promise of money, poor civilians will sign up for the military, not realizing that they will be sent overseas to their deaths. They will remain patriotic to whatever branch of military they pledged allegiance to, becoming the metaphorical "kneeling roses" who will disappear in the Middle Eastern sands, never to be seen again.

If you are interested in hearing this song for yourself, go to System of A Down's official website or any online music downloading store, like I Tunes. As for the lyrics, you can find them on www.azlyrics.com or www.songfacts.com. "B.Y.O.B." can be found on System of A Down's 2005 album, Mesmerize. Until thee, fair thee....oops, sorry Aunt Fairweather! I mean...see you sooner if don't see you later!

The summer of 2007 was the most eventful yet depressing one in my short life here on Earth. While most people were having fun and partying their high school days away, I was inside my own hell for 5 months, a hell that I felt I would never come out of until a group of people saved me from its further torment.

In an earlier blog that Aunt Fairweather posted called, "A Visit From Marvin the Martain", she spoke of a crop circle appearing in our little town in the knobs and the aftermath that followed it. She also said that I went there everyday, which was the truth. However, I came not because of fasination, but a reason born from fear of the unknown. When I first came into this abomination, I felt the most horrible feeling in the face of God's green earth. My arms and legs began tingling and my heart began to beat wildly inside my chest. I almost began to gasp for air until I moved further inside of it. The air was putrid with the smell of burnt wheat and the cooking of other vegetation surrounding that field from the sun's unforgiving heat. I fell under its spell, began entranced by its imposing figure, and began to behave in strange ways because of it. I had to go there everyday; if not, I'd almost go into fits. I couldn't explain what was happening to me, but somehow, I seemed to enjoy it.

A week after visiting the crop circle, I began to get strange nightly visits from a black figure. I was in the shower when I felt something stare holes into me. When I opened the shower curtain, to my amazement, nothing was there. The entire time, I felt a certain blackness crushing me alive without amnesty for its actions. Night time was scary for me during that week. I would hear footsteps coming into my room, followed by that crushing weight on my heart when I slept. The damned thing even began to affect my dreams while it slumbered in a cold radiance in that field over a mile away. Despite the entity's entrance into my life, I still came to the crop circle everyday for a week. The farmer by then knew me by name. His children began to stare at me like I was weird. The people who worked at the local newspaper knew me too and we often kept in touch with each other. My days became filled with thoughts of the crop circle, how beatiful the crop circle was, and what it meant for us. My obsession grew as well as the entity's psychological attacks on me and everyone took notice of my change. My summer vacation turned into endless days of research and conjecture when they should have been filled with laughs and mischief with friends. Instead, I shunned my own best friend because she didn't believe my claims, eventually losing her. At the time, I didn't care about the cost of this fasination to myself and others around me. I ignored people when they asked me to stop talking about it and physically, I couldn't stop myself. The thing was towing me under its spell, leading me on a downward spiral. I didn't understand what was going on and I kept my concerns to myself because I knew people would think I was crazy. Eventually, that downward spiral would become much more severe after school started again.

Every night for a week, I began to have bizarre dreams and they always lead to that field in the knobs. One such dream was of a man dressed in all black who stood in the field. I can recall him asking me if I liked the pattern I saw. Naturally, I said yes to his question. He then asked if I wanted to see more just like it. I said yes again. By that next day, one had formed right across the road from my house. I was terrified, to say the least. Something was wrong with the picture, I could feel it.

By the end of the summer, the entity became increasingly demanding to me. It was then that I also seen what it actually looked like. The thing was hideous. It took the appearance of several different people that I knew every time I seen it in my dreams. The most haunting feature was its bright red eyes that glared from its black robe that it wore. The presense it gave was one of an angry male who had a certain animosity towards the world he lived in. He hated everything he saw and made it clear to me in his demands. Eventually, I brought up enough courage to ask an old friend who was a practicing white witch to help me out. She only told me what I had already figured out myself: when I walked into the crop circle, whatever resided there had attached itself to me and decided to follow me around. It saw something in me, maybe a missing fragment of its life. She told me what many other people would eventually say to me: stay away from that field and when that spirit tries to bother me, ignore it. I didn't listen. I thought there was some other way around my situation besides ignoring it. Maybe I could help it, I thought to myself. If I did help it, it would leave me alone. So, that's when I began putting together the pieces for myself. Before I did, however, I asked this old friend if she could help me convert to Paganism so that I could have a better connection with the thing.(A decision which nearly killed me in the end). She helped out and I did. I began my studies right away, with meditations being my first lesson. I did this everyday for a week, being sure to light a stick of Dragon's Blood before I began for extra courage. On a certain day of meditations, an odd thing happened to me. The thing from my dreams began to manifest itself into my place of relaxation without a care. It began to threaten and taunt me. Again, I was scared, but that same inner voice told me, "Just a little while longer. You can solve this by yourself."

Through hours of research, I came up upon an interesting find. The field that the crop circle had appeared in was once part of the Trail of Tears. To second this, a week after the phenomenon occured, strange lights began to appear from that field, as well as Army planes. This was becoming normal for my town. Everyone suddenly realized that over time and they began to forget what happened there, except me.

However, my condition gotten worse as the summer neared its close. By then I began to hear a sudden thought that wasn't mine at all echo through my head, "Go back. Something is waiting for you there." This would happen all the time in 3rd period- my economics class. What did this mean? Why should I go back? Was the enigma meant for me to answer? My mind reeled with more questions than answers until I talked to a Native American woman in Alabama who seemed to have all the answers. She claimed herself to be a "sensitve", one who can communicate with spirits, as well as a seasoned ghost hunter. I told her my story and she began to answer in the best way she could. Like my old friend did, she said that she believed that a lost soul had attached itself to me. However, after she researched this area further, she began to lose faith in what I told her. She said that, according to her research compiled from our town's geographical history, we sat on a major fault line. Where there's fault lines, she said, there's a sure sign of methane gas which would escape from the cracks after a minor earthquake. Methane causes many symptoms, like upset stomach, rashes, and (here's what pissed me off) paranoid delusions. Paranoid delusions?! How can you call what's happening to me a paranoid delusion? I said. It's too real and things are happening to me and everyone else around. Granted, the people who lived around this area have fallen under the grasp of a mystery illness after all this had happened. However, I only lined a half a mile away, so I couldn't be affected by it. What else could it be?

After hanging up, I felt numb and my head was about to explode from rage. Was all that I was experiencing a figment of a paraniod delusion or was it the "family curse" that many of the women in my family have? Either way, I wasn't about to back down. I was tired of this bulls*** and I wanted it to stop, whether the thing liked it or not. The only thing I can do now was call my Aunt Fairweather and explain the situation. She was at a loss for words and told me to email my adopted Aunt(now Godmother) Willard, since she was keen on this stuff. Next, I told my Mamaw M(my mom's mom) about what was happening and she became rather emotional. She didn't know that the situation had gotten this bad. Last in line was my mom and dad. I told them everything the best way that I could. At first, they were skeptical to my explaination until my emotions(everything I had bottled inside for all that while) flooded out into the open. Mom took me to the side and told me something shocking: something exactly like this happened when she was a little girl. The same happened to Mamaw M. as an early adult. Evidently, this ability to recognize the presenses of the dead runs in my family. Great.

The next day, Aunt Willard emailed me and told me her belief on this. This spirit was trying its hardest to get into our world by channeling itself through me. Each time it tried to attempt this, she said, it would steal some of my energy, causing me to feel tired all the time. The only option now was to destroy all that remained of the crop circle's legacy: the photos that were left behind and burn them with sage and salt. Afterwards, she told me to begin a special meditation that would ensure my protection from this entity. I even told her that it had threatened to kill my parents as they slept. She said that it was only doing that to frighten me into helping it. Second, I said, I began to have visions of a village flooding into my mind as I looked at the pictures of the crop circle. This was my village. I would think. This was once my home. I knew every corner of it. I decided to call the woman in AL about this. She was amazed by what I said but was skeptical and like any typical paranormal investigator, she told me to collect data on my claims. (How ironic-a sensitive who doesn't believe in another sensitive. Hmmmm....Makes a person wonder...)
I was at a loss. I wanted this to be over so bad. All I ever wanted was a reasonable explaination for what I was going through, not red tape. I needed help and fast. After our conversation, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably in my room. For the first time in my life, I felt powerless and alone. Nothing was going to save me now, I felt. In the background, the thing was laughing at me and began to demand that I kill myself and be through. However, it was when a voice from deep within me said, "Miss A, you're not crazy, there's really something wrong here- you need to fight this thing; you're stronger than this!" In a haze, I tore into my dresser and began ripping each every one of the crop circle pictures to shreads. As tears fell from my eyes, I was a storm of emotions. At first, I found myself saying, "I'm so sorry that I couldn't help you...." Later, I found myself saying, "Burn in hell! You don't deserve a second life!" Once the pictures had been destroyed, I threw them into a trash bag along with some salt and tied the bag as tightly as I could. After that, a sense of peace suddenly came into me. It was all over, finally.

As of now, all's been good on my front. I've quit my studies in Paganism and I refuse to hear the word crop circle unless someone talked about burning one. I burn sage every two days and decided to invest in a peacock stone for spiritual protection. I also keep myself protected from evil spirits by special meditations and my personal favorite one, guardian meditation(what the Cherokee did), in which I imagine a certain waterfall protecting me from harm through its power and wisdom. (Look up Bald River Falls-you'll see why its what I call my guardian. Get pictures of it in the spring or fall. It looks prettier like that.)
For now, I haven't had any weird experiences, but in the future, that'll change, I feel.
Sorry to bore ya'll with my story. I decided to tell people openly about the dangers of metaphysical world as well as Paganism as well. People who practice this will do ANYTHING to get you to join their religion and will sugar coat the truth of what they can do. Although it is deemed to be good and the motto is to , "Do no harm onto others", most of these spells are aimed at causing suffering to the caster or castee. You are dealing with real spirits here and a crop circle isn't going to help matters much.(The are believed to be portals into the spirit world.) While I speak, I've come to the decision that I should study New Age healing at a local college(where I've been accepted and where I've gotten a $6000 scholarship)so that no one will suffer in the same way that I did.
Until then, fair thee well.....

After many months of attempting to ask the spirits for guidance in seeking an Ornery candidate for the upcoming presidential election, Madame Sadie has decided to return to whatever she does best, uh....predicting people's future's, for a price. (In her case, she charges $13.11, the same exact price for a 24-pack of Bud Lite, plus tax.) I've heard from my Aunt Fairweather and (adopted) Aunt Willard that Madame has been a little upset after hearing that Stephen Colbert had dropped out of the presidential race. I'm guessing she's in an awful mess. Last time I heard, she was walking around the streets of our little hometown, chucking beer cans and insults at whoever was paying attention, which landed her a 24-hour sentence in the city jail. I felt so sorry for her that I had Aunt Fairweather to go to the candy store in the neighboring city and pick up a box of rum cookies as a means of comfort for the lady. Aunt Fairweather offered to deliver my gift to Madame's house, but I refused, explaining that I hadn’t seen her in a while and that it was about time to see her again.
It was a brisk Saturday afternoon when I came to Madame's brink pink house with the box of cookies in one arm and the other reached out to knock the door. Boy, this is gonna be fun. I thought to myself. The last time I seen Madame was when I was about 13 (that is before Halloween Aunt Fairweather reminds me), I believe. I can remember seeing her hover over her crystal ball, muttering something about me meeting a kind, dark-haired young man in my late teens. Evidently, she was right about something for once- my boyfriend has dark hair and is, in fact, the nicest guy on the face of the planet. However, I only believe this prediction to be a true coincidence- there are a lot of dark haired boys in my hometown, so it could have been any one of them. I didn't understand what Madame had always claimed to have seen in that crystal ball of hers because as far as I was concerned, I seen far more different stuff floating around in there. Like my adopted Aunt Willard, I too am more psychic than Madame Sadie, but I don't want to hurt any feelings, so I always keep those abilities under wraps. Finally, after much anticipation, I knocked on the door as hard as I could, saying, "I know you're in there, you old bat, so come on out!" After a couple of minutes, I heard this God-awful commotion going on in there, followed by the door creaking its way open. It needed some WD-40, bad. Madame Sadie appeared to be in a mess, all right. Her graying hair was all frazzled and she looked really tired. She looked down at me through the screen door and demanded sheepishly, "Who are you? What do you want?" "I'm Miss A, remember? You know, Fairweather and Willard's niece? I just wanted to stop by and give my condolences...." “Fairweather and Willard, huh? Well, there ain't no funeral goin' on here, so scram." Madame interrupted me. "Wait! You didn't here what I was about to say...." She rolled her eyes and asked, "What?!" "Madame, I heard you were upset over Stephen Colbert dropping out of the Democratic presidential campaign, so I decided to cheer you up. Here..." I explained, raising the box of cookies to her level, "I bought these cookies for you. Aunt Fairweather told me these were your favorite kind." She grabbed the box from me and inspected it further, ripping the aluminum wrap from it into tiny shreds like a little girl on Christmas morning. Her eyes lit up when she read the label: Russell Stover rum cookies. She opened the tin and helped herself to one, and while she munched on her first cookie, she motioned for me to come inside and said, "Thank you, come on in, Miss A."
I walked into her house, which smelled faintly of Clorox, talcum powder, and some other cheap perfume (which I assumed was White Shoulders, judging by the cheap, strong smell) that I was having a hard time placing. She sat down in her parlor and motioned for me to come in, saying all the while, "Come in, child. This readin' is for free 'cause you got me those damn good cookies for me." 'Thanks." I answered her, not very sure about what was going on at the time. For a moment, she was beginning to complain that the crystal was dark and she couldn't see what was happening. Immediately, I grabbed some tissues from my purse and briskly dusted a layer of talcum powder from it, causing me and her to sneeze a full round before she announced that the crystal was officially clear. She waved her hands over the crystal for a moment and then stared at me, saying impressively, "I see a man, stranded in the snow with his friend...." "You do? Do you know who he is?" I asked curiously. She shook her head. I too looked into the crystal and saw the man stranded in the snow with his friend. I began to feel a little light-headed and this is what happened next:

Two men were standing out in a harsh snow field that was sprinkled with rocks here and there. After looking up, I began to realize that I was on a snowy mountain somewhere (Toto, I don't think I'm in Tennessee anymore) and it was so freaking cold. The other two guys didn't seem that bothered by the freezing climate and continued to chat on a serious subject. One of the men, as I noticed, was a pretty good looking man that sported a haughty British accent who was dressed in an orange parka. The other man was smaller than his companion, exhibiting a slight frailness to his demeanor. He had a cute, boyish face and a full head of curly brown hair. Like his friend, he also had a British accent, but his voice was that of a young man-someone about my age. The young guy spoke. He seemed worried. "Bear, I just wish that you wouldn't go on this crazy adventure. It's too dangerous! I don't want to see you get hurt again....it made me sad." Did he just say Bear? Wait- he isn't talking about Bear Grylls, is he? I continued to listen to the drama unfolding before me. "No matter how many times you ask me, Dakota, I will still say that I am going to break this world record. Not one man has ever paraglided around Mount Everest by himself before and I hope to make that change with your help." Dakota's bottom lip began to quiver pitifully and he found himself lost in a sudden surge of sniffles, trying his dangdest to speak, "B-but Bear, its n-not that. You're just setting yourself up for more danger. I beg you, I plead to you: please don't go flying around that mountain-it's too dangerous, even for you. You must know when your limitations are met, Bear! Everyone does."
Bear only flashed him that charming, trademark smile of his and said reassuringly, "Don't cry. I'm going to be okay. You'll see once I get done. It'll only be for a few minutes- then, I will be back here for you, all right, friend?" Dakota began to cry harder and managed to utter out, "You're going to die, Bear! The temperature will damage the motor and you'll fall to your death and I'll be alone in this world without you and I don't know what I'll do if that were to happen, so please, don't go!!!!" "My word is my bond. I will make it out alive. However, if this aircraft were to drop out the sky for any reason, you have every right to mourn over me when I leave this world and enter into the next. Understand?" Evidently, Dakota didn't see that as an answer and continued to blubber like an idiot. "Don't say that!" Dakota wailed like a 14-year-old girl. It was then that Bear tenderly put his arms around Dakota's waist and pulled the sniffling mess toward him sympathetically. He pushed aside a strand of Dakota's curly hair and looked him in the eye, saying softly, "I will be back, okay? You can trust me, can't you. Or is it because you don't want to lose me?" Dakota nodded his head sorrowfully and answered, "Y-yes. If I lost you, I don't know if I could live anymore in this crazy world. You're the best thing that's ever happened to my life, you know." Bear nodded his head and whispered, "Shhh...you can stop now. If not, let me take those fears away from you." Afterward, he leaned forward and kissed Dakota passionately on the lips; their bodies came together, softly at first, and then completely. I nearly hurled at the sight when I came to the realization of it all: Bear Grylls is gay. I can expect something this disturbing from Jeff Gordon and Jimmie Johnson, but not a macho military man like himself. However, there was a plus side to this odd discovery: Bear has the same taste in men as I do. Finally, when Bear pulled away, his dark eyes were filled with a gleaming promise to his companion. By then, Dakota calmed himself down enough to where he could finally speak normally and asked, "So, you'll promise me you'll come back in one piece, Bear?"
He nodded and said, 'It's a promise......."
My mouth dropped agape and I uttered the only phrase that my mind could only muster at the time: "What in the hell is this?!"
To be continued......

*With apologies to the real-life Bear Gyrlls, who in fact, hosts his own survival show on the Discovery Channel, Man vs. Wild. The allegations in this story are all are of fiction and are only meant to be of comedy, not spite. In fact, I’ve written a lot of stories which involve Jeff Gordon and Jimmie Johnson being a couple, but they weren’t meant out of ill will. Be sure to tune in next time to see my newest blog about how Boss has fallen from grace! Until next time, fair thee well…

It's All About Me, Deal With it!

As paraphrased by a certain reality show host, "You would have to be a complete moron to not realize who I am or what I've done." By now, you may have already guessed that I am a reporter from one of the "smut" papers, as they are called in my little hometown in the knobs. My job is at times so fast paced that I can't sit down and actually breathe for a second. But hey, wasn't there an old saying that went, "Pain is all part of it- the scars are just souvenirs from the ride"? Surely to God there's some way around that.....

Anyway, like my Aunt Fairweather and (adopted) Aunt Willard have explained in my Bday blog(The Devine, Ornery Miss A), I have a love for writing things that involve some sort of protest in them. I don't care what subject it is or what position the majority of the population believes- I metaphorically kick it in the teeth, not backing down for a second, and not allowing a harsh word from my critics(my family, friends, mostly) bring me down. I admit to having a big ego sometimes(lookin' at you, Simon Cowell!!!!), but lately, that ego has died down...slightly.

I would prefer to not discuss my mother's past drug addiction with anyone, simply because that's nobody's business and that what was torn apart has already been put together again. She has been through enough already and I respect her wishes to not rehash the past again.

I have always said that the things I have looked forward to in life was raising hell and journalism, followed by "church" on Sunday mornings.(By church, I mean spending time in the woods.) My greatest loves besides my family and friends has always been both the pen and the sword. Not only do I enjoy writing, but I absolutely love to release the stresses from the day through the most beautiful feeling ever: the drawing back of a bow and arrow. I have been told that I have a certain natural gift in archery, but I believe otherwise. Why? Well...let's just say that the majority of the men in my family have been sharpshooters in the Army. So much for a "natural gift". How can a natural gift be natural if your entire family had the exact same talents? Hmmm....now that's a question I could ponder on for later, but not now. Now, I have an assignment for work that needs to be completed, as well as a new blog. As my Aunt Fairweather says, until then, fair thee well....

Adventures in Journalism, Chapter 1:
Meet the F*ckers

Today, I got to go on my first major assignment without my boss, the Boss, being there to criticize my way of screwing up things. Personally, his way of screwing up things are much more difficult than mine. At least my screw-ups don't cause the Sheriff to throw a fit of Tyra Banks-size proportions.......(Sorry, Tyra, I hope you can forgive one of your fans!)
Of course, at the moment I discovered that I was covering a dedication ceremony in our neighbor city, I became terrified. My first thought was: "Oh God, what would I do if screw up and Boss wasn't there to protect me from the public outrage?" Foutunately, my dad was there to give me some words of encouragement: "Don't be nervous, kid. You'll do fine on your own, trust me." I took those words to heart and swallowed them along with a scoarching hot swig of grape soda. Nevertheless, his simple encouragement didn't really help. Heck, I was going to be at an event where the majority of the 278th were said to be attending- some of which were still suffering from both physical and psychological scars of Iraq. I wasn't prepared to interview war vetrans, Boss never explained how to correctly handle and process the situation with the utmost care. The only thing he did for me was just grab a digital camera and voice recorder, literally handing it to me without much of an explaination. He basically told me to point and shoot, record the speech being made, and take notes. He never gave me a good luck or even a fair warning for what I was about to get myself into. Boy, I sure wish he gave me much more than a digital camera...maybe a preview of what real a**wipes actual reporters can be? Well, the joke's on me, I guess....
My dad and I were the first members of the local media to arrive to this ceremony. During our wait for the ceremonies' start, we discussed our game plans for the afternoon. We came to a conclusion after a minute: He was to be the cameraman and I was to do the reporting, fair enough. You see, my dad is a photographer in his spare time, so he knows all the tricks of the trade. As for me, I can barely operate a 35mm camera, but in the case of digital cameras, I do pretty well, so well that I wonder if Ansel Adams was seething in envy somewhere up in the sky. I ordered Dad to take pictures of the soldiers who were practicing drills for their ceremonial march, dressed to a "T" in their digital camo uniforms and fancy smancy combat boots that would have Avril Lavinge drooling. Meanwhile, I stood around, admiring the scenery, hoping it could cure my nervousness. Unfourtunately, the gorgeous Tennessean mountains were darkened by the sudden arrival of the Busy Bee(editor of the rival newspaper) and his faithful lackeys, Dangerous Blaze and his(Busy Bee's equally weird and wasted) wife, the Queen Bee. I should've seen the look on my own face when I seen them all do that "bad to the bone" walk that we all see on TV. I'd bet I had a look of utter disappointment when I seen my "mortal enemies" for the first time. From the atrocious stories of betrayal, greed, despair, and lust(okay, I made that last part up....), I pictured an evil of mythological proportions, an evil that no mortal man could DARE put a face on, much less a brave eye, and an evil that took the appearance of a slime covered basilisk who scoarched every square inch of land with his wretched breath. Instead, I was given the Busy Bee, a man who looked eerily similair to Lex Luther, but with a little bit more hair. He staggered in a clumsy way, grasping Queen Bee's hand the entire time and appearing as if he had smoked 12 LSD laced doobies in a little under 60 minutes(!!). THIS is what I have to compete with? Dear God, why didn't they compare these losers with a bunch of monkeys in the zoo? I thought to myself in amusement, gaping at the uh....sight before me as they passed through. I noticed that Busy Bee was indeed sober enough to flash me an ugly scowl that almost literally said, "Go to hell, you skinny twerp." I flashed the same scowl back at him, but apparently, he didn't pay any mind. He was muttering something about the penguins stealing his sanity......Evidently, one by one as I understood.
It was then that I felt a sudden flash of an emotion that I hadn't felt in a while(actually, since that morning): I had to pee, bad. The situation, as I realized it, was dire. I was busting to pee, the ceremony was to begin at any moment, and I had absolutely no idea where the ladies' room was. Instinct immediately took in and I made a mad dash in the National Guard Armory, busting the doors open in my wake, nearly knocking down a couple of soldiers in the process. I had no idea where the bathroom was, causing me to panic. I looked around, my eyeballs floating in their sockets, and saw a couple of ladies standing in the front foyer, preparing the food trays for the later events. I hurried up and asked the most educated question ever, "Where's the bathroom?" They pointed me the way, and well...let's not get into details, folks.
Finally, the ceremony began without an interuption, except for that annoyingly painful National Guard band, who nearly ruined the atmosphere with their "dramatic" music. The ceremony was wonderful, yet emotionally charged. I could literally hear the old general swallowing back tears as he tried to read his dedication speech to the crowd. However, what was the most disappointing aspect of the ceremony was the fact that the Governor of Tennessee's absense. I was hoping to catch him for an interview.....
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the most bizarre sight occuring on the side of a gentle, rolling knob: some guy dressed in a bright yellow T-shirt(what I assume was an EMT shirt) was frantically trying his dangdest to climb that thing. After he ended up on the top of the hill, he took his EMT shirt off and flung it into the woods, revealing a clean white T-shirt with a certain newspaper's name on the front. He quickly reached into his cargo pocket, produced a khaki-colored baseball cap, and slapped it on his bald head like he had good sense(if he even had it at all). When his 'transformation' was over, he stood as an er....frightening figure, gazing over the armory as if were his own, fearing nothing(except Chuck Norris, of course!) and keeping his newly regained soberity in check. Damn, I thought as I beheld the odd sight. He changed just like Superman in a little under a minute! Wonder who he is? The man on top of the hill grabbed his digital camera and snuck around the knob with a ninja-like percision, taking pictures left and right as he moved. Man! He's a picture-taking machine if I ever saw one! My theories of who this man was were totally blown out of the water when the most graceful move in human history occured: he tripped over, nearly falling down the knob. I began to snicker at my realization. It was Busy Bee, that stupid dumba** who enjoys smoking pot and kissing rear. I paid him no mind for the rest of the time. He wasn't bothering me because he was a safe distance from me and the other reporters on deck: Bassette, the woman who loves her stupid cat more than her husband. Babyface, a young photojournalist who appeared to be at least a year or two older than me, and finally, some Chick in Blue who worked for a newspaper I couldn't identify. They respected my space and allowed me to do my work, until......
At least 15 feet away, Busy Bee had just finished his rounds and was resting himself down at the bottom of the hill. I noticed a slight feeling like someone was staring at me and I immediately turned around to see who was staring at me. It was Busy Bee. The moment my eyes locked with his, I realized something was going on-something creepy was going through his mind, I could feel it. I nervously turned back around, suddenly feeling very scared. Again, the strange feeling hit me, and once again, I turned around to see what was going on. It appeared as if Busy Bee had goten closer, this time holding his camera close to his chest. He slowly put it down, as if he had just been caught doing something wrong. What the heck is he doing? I whispered to myself. I forced myself to turn around this time, knowing that the encouragement would evaporate sooner. Instead, I heard a camera shutter go off faintly from the crowd. I quickly turned my head and saw BB hurrying himself, putting his camera down hard on his chest, looking frantic(due to the fact that I had just seen him take a picture of me). Once more, I turned my head around, but before I could I heard the shutter go off. That SOB took another
picture of me! Finally, I was at my wits' end with Busy Bee and I had enough of him taking photos(a little creepy to me...)of me. As loud as I could, I exclaimed, causing the other reporters to go silent, "That creep is takin' pictures of me!!!!!!!!" That must've frightened Busy Bee because he ran off in a hurry. Thank God.
After the experience was over, I reported the incident to Boss, who was as angry as a mad bull. He advised me that if Busy Bee was to come near me or make me feel threatened or uncomfortable in any way during an assignment, I was to yell for the nearest police officer immediately. Secondly, he gave my dad(and me!) the right to pummel BB if he got out of hand. From now on, I decided it was best to carry either pepper spray or a knife during an assignment. Thankfully, through that awful experience, one awesome thing happened: my article got the front page of the paper. I'm flying high, boys, I'll tell you what. Until then, fair thee well.....