A Prisoner No More

I stared at the dresser for eleven minutes. There was a thin layer of dust there, like the fog on your windshield on a cold January morning. Only a few clean spots could be seen, where my fingers had groped, searching for my watch and tattered wallet.

The storm brought with its low-hanging clouds and relentless rain something new, something alien and surreal. And although I could feel it and it was real- like fire- I was not certain of what it wanted me to do. So I consulted the plastic cup, half full of milk all spoiled and rotten. A couple of mornings ago, the day the storm started, the white goodness had entertained my lips and soothed my fiery throat. I had forgotten about it. So I picked it up and said hello to the green polka dots that littered its side. Do something.
I shook it a bit, just to check and make sure it was real and not a specter of my mind. The liquid- which, at this point, was almost a solid- sloshed around in the cup. The sharp scent of the fermented dairy attacked my nostrils and I threw up into the cup. It didn’t want to be bothered and I could tell it. Elsewhere on the dresser, a silver line spun four times and I set the cup back in its place.
“Hello,” said the little red alarm clock in its simple dialect of ticks and tocks. I picked it up to examine. The clock was painted metallic red and it was pocked with the signs of countless late mornings. Its little bells were scratched here and there and its small silver hands read two and fifty-eight minutes.
I stared into the clock’s round, glassy face. Minutes marched on. Three, four, five…and then fifteen and twenty followed soon after them. I saw my reflection there, when I changed the focus of my bloodshot eyeballs.
Tick. Tock. Tick. “You are my prisoner.”
I banged the clock back down on its usual perch on the dresser. It’s watchful post. I hate you. There was a cracking noise as the room settled as it sometimes did. It too was a prisoner to the little red alarm clock, much like the book on the ground, by my feet. The words on the ragged, faded front looked at me longingly. So I obliged to it and cradled the book in my hands.
I pulled back the paper cover to peer at its inky insides. Books, not unlike many people, are always willing to spill their guts to you. Eight more rotations of my sentence passed and were met only with a quick slice from a yellowy page and a warm flood of red down the microbial canyons of my index.
I tossed the book onto the dirty green carpet where it was swallowed up by a beast of cotton and denim. I will be out of here before you. Sixty ticks were spent on fishing the book from its captor and then using a sock to wipe away the symbol of its crime of frustration. I placed it neatly on the shelf amid its other doomed brethren.
One hundred and eighty ticks looked on as I fell onto my slab of springs and sheets and gazed up at the white expanse above me. Like wisps of clouds, the plaster took forms in my mind and beckoned me to other places.
“No,” said the clock.
Patches of plaster were missing from the ceiling and seeing its imperfections made me smile. Your sentence is ending. More sound came to my ears. The sky was crying on my window and the result was a tragic symphony for all who would stop to listen. Day after day, it watched prisoners like me filling out their sentences, for a crime they did not commit. Some days, the injustice was just too much for the sky. This was one of those days.
Another one hundred and eighty saw me getting up off my bed, walking over to and opening the window. Rain splashed in and it soaked my computer, causing sparks to fly and smoke to curl up out of the monitor. The popping sound and the acrid smell of fried circuits caused me to laugh, for the computer was done- free from its time. My face- well, the wind pushed the prisoners hanging from the sides of the window to whip my cheeks. In a swift motion, I ripped them from the hooks that held them in place against their will and sent them sailing out the window down, down to the street below.
The silver line spun eight more times as I watched them go. I closed my eyes as the rain drenched my shirt and I watched a picture show cast on the backs of my eyelids. It was my sentence- drawn out, empty, pointless. Like the apple that awakened Newton’s mind, it made me realize what feeling the storm had brought to me. It was the desire for freedom. Freedom from those two silver guards, one big, one small.
A single rotation. I climbed to the sill and stood there for a moment. The feeling was burning in my chest. I supposed it would burst from my body and consume the apartment, freeing all.
“Your sentence is not over. You are still my prisoner.” The little red clock was in my hand. Fifty ticks saw me glaring at the reflection of my person in the face of the little warden.
“You are not done, prisoner.”
I am.
Five ticks and I leaned. A saint called Gravity pulled me in its invisible grasp. Four ticks and the pavement got big, like a gray giant waving hello. A fellow prisoner screamed, but the shouting and cursing of the little red clock was louder than all else.
One tick. The fire exploded from me and it splattered onto the faces of inmates and trickled in curved lines down the sidewalk and into the gutter.
My sentence is over.

Duty Calls...and I show my soft side

Why was I born into a wealthy family?
Why am I strong and healthy?
Why do I have the opportunity to go to college?

Because I have a moral obligation to help others who do not have the same luxuries and benefits that I do. I have made more money in my short nineteen years of life than the average African or Cambodian family will make in three generations. We in America have more than what we need to survive and the people of third world countries do not. And it is all because of where we were born. This is an unfairness that I refuse to overlook and that is why I am going to dedicate my life and talents to the needs of impoverished people the world over.

We are one human race.

And, to close out this string of posts for today, I have an unfinished song that I'd like to share. I used to write piano songs and this one came out of a dark period I had a few months back. I never finished it, but it really helped me out. It's called Write Me A Letter. Happy reading and spread the word! Like always, I love to read your comments and suggestions. Drop me a line at: dallinthewriter@gmail.com

Things haven’t been the same,
Since you walked into my life,
I want to be the guy,
Who lifts you up to the sky.

Seems like just yesterday,
I saw you standing there,
Your skin looked so soft and fair,
Bright colors were everywhere.

There are a million things I wanted to say,
On that cold December day,
But I guess I’ll just have to wait,
And let the chips fall where they may.

You don’t know how hard it is,
To leave someone as beautiful as you,
But if ever you get lonely,

You know just what to do.

Write me a letter,
Show me that you care.
Write me a letter,
You know I’ll always be there.

See You on the Other Side

I wrote this on May 26th, 2007 during a trip to Lovell, Wyoming, where my family has lived for generations. I made a visit to my grandmother’s gravesite and these are the feelings I had when I was there:

“PAT”
Theresa Padilla Tippetts
Mar 13, 1942
Feb 16, 2004

I miss you so much, Grandma.

The air is calm and peaceful. I can feel the love from many souls here. I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately. A lot about when I was young and you used to hold me and tell me how proud you were of me. Even now, I know you’re still alive. Well, not in a literal sense of course, but I know you’re in the spirit world, resting from your time of mortal probation.
You must be happy. Things are just terrible down here. Although it’s not all bad, sometimes it feels like, with the way the world is, that there’s just nothing to live for. Life seems empty a lot of the time. The world is no better since you left it behind- in fact, it just keeps getting worse.
It’s a little odd to think that I am sitting over your earthly coil. This is the body you used to hug with, talk with, laugh with.
There’s a lot going through my mind right now. There is so much that I want to tell you and even more that I want to ask you.

Can you hear me?
Can you see me?
Are you proud of me?

I can’t wait to see you again, Grandma.

Sick Juice: The Risks of Energy Drinks

When I think of ingredients such as taurine, guarana, gingko biloba and others I think of a wise old man in the hills of China, crushing and mixing herbs to create the elixir of life. Unfortunately, this is not the case. Energy drinks, with appealing names such as Rockstar, Redline and Full Throttle, are becoming rapidly popular. But are they really helpful or are they nothing more than sickness in a can?
What is in them?
Energy drinks contain a wide variety of “all-natural” herbal ingredients. They have exotic names and claim to be revitalizing for all kinds of bodily functions. The makers of the hugely popular Red Bull energy drink claim that their drink “vitalizes body and mind”. But what exactly makes these drinks so amazing?
The primary ingredient in most energy drinks is caffeine. Caffeine, which is a natural stimulant, can have multiple effects on the body and, when consumed in moderate amounts, such as the occasional cup of joe or a can of Coke, is not harmful. However, when taken in large amounts and over extended periods of time, a condition called “caffeinism” can occur. Caffeinism is a caffeine dependency which leads to such disorders as nervousness, irregular heartbeat, insomnia and headaches.
Even though caffeine is found in many drinks that are normally consumed by the average, healthy person such as coffee and soda, energy drinks have much, much more than they do. A regular cup of instant coffee contains anywhere between 80-130 milligrams of caffeine per liter. A zero-carb can of Rockstar energy drink contains 500 mg/L. Another popular drink, Redline, contains over 930 mg/L. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Fuelcell contains 2000 mg/L- more than fifteen times more powerful than a strong cup of coffee!
Another very common ingredient in energy drinks, especially Red Bull, is taurine. Taurine, Greek for “bull”, was first derived from bull bile and, like caffeine, has no adverse affects on the body in moderate amounts. The startling thing about taurine is that it has never been tested when mixed with other ingredients like caffeine, guarana and ginseng. Why? The FDA doesn’t monitor the production of these drinks therefore very little research has been done concerning the combination of ingredients and their effect on the body.
Playtime fuel?
Industry leader, Red Bull, associates their drink with sports and exercise. This conveys the feeling that Red Bull would be just as adequate, if not better than Gatorade or even water when involved in physical activity. However, the company has said that this is not so. In a prepared statement, Red Bull spokeswoman Kim Peterson, said that the drink is not a “thirst quencher” or “fluid replenishment drink”. But then the company turns right around and contradicts itself with a statement on its website claiming that Red Bull “is an ideal energy drink…prior to demanding athletic activities, or in a performance drop during a game.” So which is it?
Although energy drinks and the ingredients that are in them act as stimulants, they are not the right kind of things that the body should be consuming during physical activity or exercise. Caffeine sucks the water from the places that you need it the most and most of the drinks are saturated in sugar, which is contradictory to working out. So, while a can of Monster may provide you with a short-term boost of energy, that boost is an unhealthy and inefficient one.
Mixing energy drinks with alcohol
Red Bull and vodka has become the latest craze in bars and clubs across the nation. This is because the stimulating “buzz” derived from energy drinks helps to mask the impairing effects of alcohol. This means that you drinkers get all the high and don’t feel the low. However, this doesn’t mean that those negative effects are still there. It encourages people to drink more alcohol and then feel like they are okay to get in their cars and drive home when, in reality, they are not. Another downside to this craze is that caffeine is a stimulant and alcohol is a depressant. Mixing the two confuses the body and can create some disastrous results.
Marketing to the teen masses
The energy drink industry is worth over $1 billion annually. With that kind of profit, there must be some really creative- or crafty- marketing going on. The drinks are bottled and canned in a variety of flashy and modern-looking containers. Many, including Red Bull, make use of the sleek and sexy looking bullet-can design that attracts many people to pay the almost 2-3 dollars for a drink. But the real marketing genius comes from the glamorous advertising that the 18-30 year old target market blindly buys into.
Last year, the makers of Go Fast! Energy drink sponsored an annual bridge-jumping event in Colorado. Many teens and young adults came out to watch the adrenaline fueled stunts, all the while being inundated with ads from the drink company. In response and not to be outdone, Red Bull hired a jumper to parachute off of France’s Millau Bridge- the tallest bridge in the world. It was a huge event and the crowds drank it up, so to speak.
Hip-hop is also a huge aspect of marketing for some drink makers. Incidentally (but not accidentally), hip-hop is all the rage for energy drink consumers. Such artists as Lil Jon and Nelly sponsor their very own drinks and encourage their massive fan base to keep up with the times and drink their products. And it works.

All in all, the occasional energy drink is not going to kill you. But there definitely are some risks involved. So the next time you need a boost, drop the Rockstar and head to Starbucks. Or better yet, get some sleep.

American Bully

Here is an obvious statement for you: American’s are different from many peoples and cultures of the world. Since the formation of our country, more than two hundred years ago, our people have stood apart from the rest of the world. And, since then, other countries and governments have followed our example. Some countries have been positively “Americanized” too. But just what is it that makes us so unique on the world stage? Well, not everything about us is so great and I’m sure many can agree with me on this one.
It isn’t hard to recognize that we Americans aren’t ever satisfied with what we have. If we want it, then we get it. We have bigger cars, bigger houses, bigger bank accounts and even bigger egos to go with it all. It is this attitude that seeps into our international politics and has created strong feelings of dislike within other nations. Take, for example, the Iraq War. Personally, I do not have a problem with the idea behind the War- the one that says we are delivering freedom and democracy to an oppressed people. I believe that it is an honest and just action. However, our gung-ho attitude about the whole thing was something that really set other nations off. I believe that if we wish to stay as strong as we are, we need the support of other nations which would entitle us to “tone down” our boisterous attitudes and be willing to work in close cooperation with the world neighborhood.
Another thing is that, because we are so free, we tend to have less and less respect for the government and the country as a whole. As time goes on, nationalism deteriorates and seems only to be strengthened for a short while when in the face of a national tragedy, such as 9/11 and Katrina. This, I tell you, is a tragedy in itself. The freedom of speech, great as it is, provides us with an excuse to live in a country and not have any respect for it- to have its rights and privileges and not have any gratitude for it. I feel very strongly about this topic. To me, it is like raping the country of the rights of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights.
That being said, there are many good things about our people that are good. Americans, no doubt, have a major advantage over many peoples in the respect that we are able to speak our minds. With the aide of modern technology, the thoughts and ideas of everyone- not just politicians can be transmitted and published. The internet, with its vast networks of people and organizations, has made the American nation grow into one that is confident in the abilities of every single individual. Everyone can have their say at the pulpit and has the ability to create change, however great or small to his or her country.
I am proud to be an American citizen. I know that there are countries out there that are teetering on the brink of civil war or national bankruptcy. Others still are practically in the dark ages in terms of not only political ideas but in a literal sense also. I believe that in order to keep the nation strong and unique to the world, we must take advantage of all of the opportunities that the forefathers bestowed us with. We must also never forget to pay or respects and do our civil duty as we are truly blessed to be able to live in the most special nation that the world has- or ever will see again.

The Morning Off

I felt like waking up slow that morning. Instinctively, like my ape brethren had done for ages, I yawned, stretched and scratched. I opened my mouth and closed it a few times just to see what the night had done to my breath. Should’ve brushed, I thought. The sun was shining through my window and I had to squint to look around the room. For a second, I thought I was in a Chinese sweat shop and that the figure in front of me was the old lady yelling at me to sew faster. But that was my dream and the figure was just my roommate.
He was sitting on his chair in his usual position, staring at the computer screen and typing something every now and then. He was always doing it- instant messaging the girl he couldn’t have but couldn’t seem to let go of. The typing was usually followed by him leaning forward to read her response and then muttering a string of obscenities. And then sometimes still, he would randomly turn to me. And I would flinch. You see, in the aforementioned ape analogy, he was the gorilla. I was more like the spider monkey.
“I don’t even know why I talk to her!” he declared on one particularly nasty occasion.
I sat up in my bed and scratched my bed head. “Don’t do it then,” I said in my tone of voice that meant I was looking for a certain response. My roommate just stared at me with his mouth slightly open. His eyes narrowed and he pointed at me. It seemed like he was going to say something. He looked to the side. Then he looked down at his hands.
“Well, I don’t know. I mean, she’s not that bad. She has her moments, you know?” he said and I shrugged and opened my mouth to reply. A beeping noise came from the computer which indicated that she was giving him a “nudge”. I was glad because I didn’t have to answer his question.
“Ooohhh, WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” he yelled as he whirled around and went back to the computer. He faintly reminded me of a cursed mummy monster with the way he approached the screen. But, like always, he plopped back down onto the creaky chair and began to type, muttering his curses.
I got up off my bed and traversed the hallway to the living room. As I passed the bathroom, I noticed that the light was on. The switch to the bathroom light is also connected to that little fan in the ceiling that, when on, says to everyone in the house that it would be wise to avoid using the toilet for the next few hours. The light was like a ticking time bomb. At any moment, my obsessive-compulsive roommate, Dan, would sit bolt upright in his bed and then proceed to go on a groggy rampage throughout the apartment, searching for whatever inconsiderate jerk decided it would be funny to leave the fan on. It drove him nuts. So I flicked the switch and went on my way.
I went to the living room and collapsed on the sofa. It wasn’t long before my next most dominant male instinct kicked in: hunger. I felt like making the most amazing breakfast in the world. Complete with sausage, scrambled eggs, bacon, waffles and orange juice. The mere sight of it would bring Rachel Ray to her knees before me…

And then I realized we were out of eggs so I went back to bed.

A change in the wind, says I...

I’ve been battling writer’s block for weeks. It’s been a good month or so since my last post and even that seemed to just suck the creativity out of me like a malnourished vampire (or something like that). But, despite the discouraging nature of things, I’m seeing a breakthrough and a light at the end of the tunnel. I’ll be getting more material out in the coming days.
Every now and then, I like to look around me and see what’s going on. Oftentimes, I get so caught up in what I’m going to eat for dinner or a reason as to why the sidewalks in Rexburg are so choppy and I lose my grip on world events.
So, in an effort to increase mine (and your) knowledge of the world around us, I have decided to start a new featurette called: Call ‘Em As I See ‘Em
Paris Hilton- Prison changed her. Yeah. Good one, Paris. Three weeks prior to her happy little trip to jail, the monetary monarch was seen toting a copy of the Good Book and some inspirational literature. Like flies to…well, you know…the press was on it, delivering the “shocking” photos to all of us gossip-hungry Americans. The only thing that was shocking to me was the realization that hit me after reading the news: “Wait, Paris can read?!”
The Monster of Gaza- There’s no question that the Gaza strip has become little more than a 140 square-mile battlefield. It’s a hotbed of for radical Islamist activity. Despite our best efforts (which are minimal, at best) the problem grows bigger and more ugly every day.
But why does it matter? Why should it be important to us? After all, isn’t Egypt thousands of miles from America? Well, there’s the Washington answer: elections, oil, the birth of more and more democratic nations for the betterment of society. But what about the human answer? What about individuals?
The easy thing to do would be to just leave Gaza alone; it’s an idea that many on Capitol Hill have been tossing around. But look a bit closer, think a little more rationally and you’ll see that the idea is less then logical, in our battered, post 9/11 world. “Simply walling off Gaza and more than a million Palestinians will bring the region no closer to peace,” said Michael Hirsh in his article in Newsweek.
So whose shoulders will the cleaning up of this bloody monstrosity fall on? Since we kind of helped start it, my guess is that the U.S. is at least somewhat responsible and should help to finish it. We did train the now radical, suicide bombing Hamas party, which now controls much of the Strip.
But, the way I see it, this is a global war on terrorism and its supporters. This means that all able nations have a moral obligation to help curb the problem. I wish war were not the answer but we are past the point of negotiations and peace talks. We live in a day where fire must be fought with fire. As stupid as that may sound, it’s true. In a world where things are constantly changing, only one thing is certain: we are a long way from peace.
And, finally, a head-nod has to go out to Vanity Fair and their July 2007 issue: Africa. It was edited by singer, songwriter and activist Bono. It also feature contributions from Muhammad Ali, Maya Angelou, Bill and Melinda Gates, Barrack Obama, Brad Pitt, South African Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and many other influential figures. The issue was printed with 20 different covers with photographs of aforementioned contributors, taken by Annie Leibovitz.
VF’s new issue is all about Africa: its people, its problems and the heroes who are helping to shape its future. It caught my eye on the stand at Sky Harbor International airport before my flight to Salt Lake on Sunday. And I am glad that it did because I found it very informative and inspiring.It’s a challenge to review an entire issue of a magazine but I think I can sum up the idea of the July VF: HOPE FOR AFRICA.