Tuesday, December 13, 2016

A Brutally Honest Review of the Inevitable End to Civil War in Syria

Today, for my final blog post for class rather than review, music, movies or other entertainment medium, I thought that I would offer my thoughts about the inevitable end to the civil war in Syria. Over the past five years I, along with millions of other people have watched as the citizens of Syria took up arms against the regime of Bashar al- Assad. The Assad’s Baathist government has had power in Syria for over forty years, and has taken great pains to keep it. Any and all resistance or other challenges to Baathist power have been brutally quelled.
So, it was quite unsurprising that not long after the escalation of hostilities in the most recent and brutal conflict, that there was talk of chemical weapons being deployed against the rebels. In the weeks that followed, just about every major news agency was broadcasting images of the grotesque slaughter; the terrified faces of displaced civilians running for cover, while government helicopters dropped barrel bombs on crowded streets-all the horrors of war simulcast in stunning 1080p.
I for one am sick of watching. But as to whether or not I can in good conscience show even the slightest bit of elation, at hearing that it might soon be over remains to be seen. Unlike many of the people I know, (who like me have followed news of the war closely), I have not been able to pick a side. Although I am far from a Baathist supporter, the Free Syrian Army, and their rebel coalition haven’t exactly “blown my skirt up” either,  to be frank,  in my opinion they don’t seem to be the freedom fighters they’re purported  to be. While the Assad government was dropping bombs and launching chemical weapons, the FSA were wiping out entire villages of Christians, burning churches, and taking video  footage of its soldiers mutilating the corpses  of vanquished enemies and ingesting their organs.

All this to say, now that the Syrian Civil war is drawing to a close I feel like I should be happy that five years of war are almost at an end, but I don’t know if I can be. On one hand, the FSA might not have been the ideal winner, but I kind of want to believe that they’d certainly have to be the better choice than Assad’s Baathists. On the other hand, as a younger man in 2003 I saw first hand the destructive destabilization that occurs when Baathist regimes are toppled. The results were 10 years of Iraqi insurgency, followed by the formation and rise to power of ISIS, the alleged Islamic Caliphate. Which brings us smack dab to where we are now… In the words of Raul Duke, “What’s next? What’s the score here?”

Saturday, December 10, 2016

Me & Morrissey

Why I’m going to Therapy Next Week: A Brutally Honest review of my platonic love affair with Morrissey



Well dear readers, even though I’m desperately behind schedule with this latest post, I hope that the content hereafter will be ample restitution for my tardiness. Normally I would give you a brutally honest review of something I had little or no exposure to, but in this case I feel that is necessary to make an exception. This week, I’d like to talk about the music of Morrissey.
I’ll be the first to admit that at first I couldn’t stand him, or his music. I thought he was kind of pompous and whiny. I would even make jokes poking fun at how sad he always seemed to be. But one day in 10th grade, my first serious girlfriend broke up with me- broke my heart. I remember griping, grousing, and grimacing around the house all day long for about two weeks straight. Needless to say this wore on my parents nerves to no end-eventually they banished me to my room, in hopes that solitude would remedy my heart ache…okay well, they probably just wanted some respite from their angsty teenage son.
I made  my acquiescence known  with the slam of the door (but not before I pilfered a bottle of my Step Mom’s wine). Once the door was locked in seclusion, the wne and I headed straight for my stereo. The wine and I sat for a while leafing through my jumbo sized booklet of cds (I had around 500 albums or so at that time) and I remember thinking: Nobody could possibly understand, how sad I am right now…. That’s when it happened, I flipped to the next page of albums and there it was- the only Smiths album I had; “ The Queen is Dead” so I decided to put it on. I figured that Morrissey and I could have a session of drinking and moping.
This was hands down one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I must’ve listened to I know it’s Over dozens of times that night. His words were like a salve on my moldering heart. Love is natural and real, but not for us my love- not tonight my love. Love is natural and it’s real, but not for such as you and I…my love. Just like that I was hooked.
Those of you reading this who know me personally, may also know that for the most part, I find people who develop cult like admiration for things that are “too unhip to be cool and are therefore cool anyway,” to be caustic and irritating. But, today the startling realization came upon me that I am one of those people. It all started this morning, when  a friend of mine sent me a link to some live videos of one of Moz’s shows, and suggested that I check them out. So I clicked on it, and left the videos on for some background. I occasionally glanced up from my work to see what was happening on my TV screen. I looked up at one point, and there he was, hands flailing, and wobbling his torso all around the stage, even pausing at one point to make the sign of the cross (still not sure what that’s about). As for the other things they’re pretty common tropes in Morrissey’s performances. If anyone else in the world were doing them though, I’d surely be doubled over in hysterical laughter, but for some reason these nerdy, awkward spasms only make me love him more. It’s like he’s the only guy on the planet who could pull those “stereotypical white guy moves “off and still walk away looking suave(at least in my mind), but that’s not even the worst of my symptoms…
The thing that has me seriously considering spending sometime draped over an analyst couch is, that when I saw people being tackled by security for jumping on stage to touch his hand, and being carted away still singing along; I couldn’t help but think, totally worth it.  Here’s where it gets   Freudian strange though, at the end of the show he takes off his shirt, and throws it into the crowd. As it fluttered down toward people’s outstretched hands, I thought, God I’d punch somebody right in the face, or maybe even…No definitely, fight off a pack of wild bears in order get my hands Morrissey’s shirt…