MONKEE ARMADA SENTINEL

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Last night Barack Obama gave the speech of his life thus far. It was not the most dramatic or grandiose, but it was perhaps the most compelling pitch he has given thus far. It was the most compelling reason to vote for him he could offer to the few million naysayer’s and doubters. It was a speech so utterly amazing that it had renowned bigot and republican asshole Pat Buchanan chocked up and falling over himself to praise Obama. On the anniversary of Dr. Kings “I Have a Dream” speech Obama delivered a one- two punch to John McCain.  I went to sleep last night amazed and astounded confident that I had just witnessed history. I woke up this morning as did the rest of you to the rug pulled completely from underneath the Obama campaign. McCain has chosen a woman as his VP. Trying not only to steal the thunder from Obama’s big night, McCain has picked someone who would also make history. They went after the weakest spot; the Hillary voters that Obama had spent all week trying to swoon. But will placing a conservative anti-abortion, anti- welfare, pro-Alaska-drilling, governor. Who-by the way-has only been governor for 18 months, and prior to that she was the mayor of a town with less than 10,000 residents.  In her coming out speech this morning she immediately went for the Hillary voters. As if to say “Hey I’m a woman-vote for me now”. All the while the McCain camp has went after Obama’s experience record and said he was not ready. What now?  This pick was clearly an attempt to steal the headlines and show that McCain’s ticket too will make history. So white people want feel so bad not voting for Obama. This gives the red carpet treatment to people who were supporting Hillary simply because of her gender. Surely anyone who was supporting her because of her issues they cannot support someone who claims to be as socially conservative as Sarah Palin.  She is pro-gun, pro-life, and not ready for day one as they say. This is what McCain has said about Obama. This is insane. She won’t be able to stand up to Biden in a debate. But it will make this race even more interesting that it already was.

 

 

Co-Pilots Log: Day 5; the Grand Canyon. It’s the 31^st of July, 2008 A.D. 11:26 P.M. Mountain time. We’ve just set up camp inside the Grand Canyon National Park. We set up the tent in the dark; it cost twelve dollars for one night on a bed of rocks. We’re surrounded by European Tourist German is being spoken to the left and the right; at the communal toilets I heard French and possibly Dutch. We are tired and we’ve logged as many fights as miles now. The trip out of New Mexico and into Arizona was long. Our morning began with a six hundred dollar drop on new brakes for Murder van. The trip through the mountains of southern Colorado cost us dearly. We missed our scheduled trip to the Aztec ruins. By the time we reached Four Corners we were hot and at each other’s throat yet again. The arguing did not detract from the awe of the land. I saw through it long enough to marvel at the fact that we were standing on the edge of four states. We passed a group of old men on big expensive Harleys and I imagined myself making the journey back in similar fashion someday. Massive dessert plains contain the odd husk of a burned out car dotted the route out. Arizona air is dry and the landscape is old I can see how a politician like John McCain could come to power here. The area we drove through was on a Native American reservation. It was one of four reservations that we passed through. The sheer poverty that most of them lived in was disheartening. Huge billboards with Native American celebrities I didn’t recognize stated oddly-“I care if you drive drunk”. Their ramshackled houses and broken down trailers where not eclipsed by their newly built community centers and food distribution centers. We rode with the feeling of being in a third world country. When other people complain of how bad they have it and how the white man is holding them down I will tell them of this shit. Yet the tribe which borders the canyon seems to have benefited most from the tourist trade. Their streets where clean and the town itself looked extremely typical. There were McyDs’ , and Taco Bell. We saw a Native American skate park and overheard a local punk band. I would have loved to stay and watch the show, but we were trying to make it to the camp ground before dark, so much for that. There’s a rock poking me in the ass and I reek of Deep Woods Off. I’ve now been hit up for change by three separate Native American tribesmen. I have seen some absolutely beautiful sites in the last five days my mind is fried. I have two shots of Moonshine left, and some warm whiskey to help get me to sleep. I’m begining to feel the cab of Murder Van is too small for the Captain and my egos. I hope we can reach Vegas in one piece. I lay back and look up at the stars next to the Capitan it’s almost too much to process.

 

Co-Pilots Log: day 7; Bakersfield, CA, we’re nearly there. Inside a Motel Six that, apparently doubles as a drugstore, (if you know what I mean). We’ve a little liquor left from the bottle of Patron we opened in Vegas. We had told our selves we were saving it for our arrival at our new home. But Vegas called for it. The Hotel we found was amazingly cheap and amazingly decked out. The pool was much needed and things seem to be looking up. I’m getting ahead of myself though. The Grand Canyon came first and it was beyond words. There is nothing like it. Movies and pictures do not do it justice. The complete vastness of it would take years to explore. We saw only a small portion of the southern Rim but snapped about eight rolls of film. We woke up from our bed of rocks at what we supposed was seven A.M. It turned out to be six but we didn’t find that out till later. It was good that we woke up early and beat much of the tourist rush. The area where the fancy hotels and cabins are located was disappointing and lame, but the throngs of foreign tourist and ignorant American brats running about was pushed aside for the majesty of the canyon. I’ve never stared so long at a hole in the ground. I wish we could have spent more time, but Vegas were calling and it was a few hundred miles away. After brunch at a Flintstones themed restaurant/gift shop/dilapidated theme park, we sped through the remainder of Arizona. I actually got to take the wheel for only the second time on the trip. I drove as fast as I could without alarming the Capitan the stretch was long, straight, and flat. That was until we reached the winding down hill road of the Hoover Dam. That was after we survived a police check point that reminded me of the old WWII films. “Where are your papers”, were the only thing they didn’t say. I angered everyone behind us as I took the turns through the Dam slowly. Had we not been hauling everything we owned I would have loved to stop and get a few pics. I relied instead on the Captain hanging out the passenger window. The ride out was equally as winding only uphill instead. Then it was onward into Vegas. After we got into some heavy traffic the Captain demanded the wheel back and we pulled into the hotel. Terrible’s Hotel and Casino, $39 bucks a night and you get a giant ass flat screen TV, a phat ass pool surrounded by Palm Trees and all the towels you can steal. The place was guarded by a Giant neon and steal Mexican Sherriff. We were so giddy. The power of the Canyon had reinvigorated us and we were prepared to take on Vegas. I of course was pre occupied with hopes of getting hitched by the King of Rock’n’Roll. This caused some friction, but not as much as the lights and gaudy shtick on the main strip. We had more fun the next morning in the Hotel casino. I recommend Terrible’s to one and all. There service was impeccable and there steak was delicious. They were the only ones who actually paid attention to our empty hands and glasses. About $60 was lost overall, not bad. After our Steak and Nachos breakfast/lunch, the Captain gave in to my desire to be married by Elvis. Only there wasn’t enough time to get the license and the wedding without staying another night. The whole deal would have run us another four hundred easy and we simply couldn’t afford it. So we’ll have to come back.  Beyond Vegas lied Death Valley and 111˚temperatures. “Out in the Dessert”, John sang, “There would be no worries.” No worries Other than the van overheating, and not making it to any camp grounds before dark, forcing us into another motel. And any motel would be a letdown after the luxury of Las Vegas. And we weren’t any where special hidden three blocks off the strip. But dreams of penny slots will have to comfort me tonight as I drift off to reruns of Ghost in the Shell and crystal meth is bought and sold outside the door. I’m not sure how Cali is going to receive either of us, but we are here now. The heat is starting to subside. I think we may do alright.

Co-Pilots Log: Day 4-Aztec, New Mexico; I’m sitting in the Encore Motel. I am amazed and astounded that A). We made it this far, B). We made it this far without killing each other, and C). The van made it this far. We are almost at the halfway point, and it has been a beautiful/magical/awe-inspiring/insane/nerve-racking hell of a ride. Me and the captain have argued, bickered and fucked like rabbits in a tent. The first day started out in good spirits. The Murder Van was loaded to the gills; the change jar we’d been saving forever was cashed in (netting $69). We were leaving St. Louis with the wind at our backs, singing Lucero and laughing all the way to Kansas City. That’s when the first flecks of shit hit the fan. We fought in the parking lot of the world famous Arthur Bryant’s BBQ Joint, over whether or not to go to see Rancid. Not that I don’t like Rancid, it’s just I had imagined a more touristy-site-seeing-off-the-beaten-path exploration of America. Selfish of me I know. Long story short-we went. Long story short we almost lost the side mirror in the process. I actually ended up having fun against my will. We got to hang out with our old pal Steve from Atlanta and party with Murphy’s Law after the show. I even rode a mechanical Bull for the first and hopefully last time in my life. It was all good, as the kids say, until we drunkenly got lost in Kansas City and almost split up. Day two we made up and drove forever across Kansas to an empty camp site in a place called Pawnee. Where a kindly fat policeman (probably nine years younger than me) informed us that tornados occasionally take people from this particular camp site. That was convienently located between a juveniles correctional institution and a mental institution. We set up our cheap $20 tent rather easily, considering neither of us had even been in a tent in years. We got it up fine and wound up the battery-less lantern and were good to go. A almost full pint of warm moonshine courtesy of Twan back in ST. Louis, and some much needed outdoor sex, just before the rains came. It poured like hell for about ten minutes before I felt the lightening that accompanied it would kill us. So we hoped back into old Murder Van, and somehow the captain managed to fall asleep, while I sat up for hours trying to capture the perfect lightning bolt on film. It was a fun game but all I really got was a dead battery in my digital and 400 pics of blackness. So I had to erase all of them and I was left with about four or five shitty pics of half-glowing clouds. In the morning we made the seemingly endless drive across the rest of Kansas to Dodge City. Home of the TV show Gunsmoke. Yeah I know most of you don’t even remember Miss Kitty and Festus, but those of us over the age of 29 might remember their dads watching it on Sunday mornings before the football games came on and we went in our rooms to play with our G.I. Joes.

You know for the most part Kansas wasn’t all bad. It wasn’t all flat (though most of it was), there were some really amazing scenes and you could imagine how it must have looked back in the 1800s when it was still pristine and wild.  There was tons of dilapidated mess. We stopped in Topeka before we reached Pawnee and saw the home of “Brown v/s the Board of Education”. We saw tons of windmills just before that too.  They were these huge alien looking structures that stretched out for miles on these rolling hills. They looked so unnatural, yet so amazing. It was hard to even conceive of man being able to construct them. It made me think about a old sci-fi story where aliens were secretly using humans as crops or cattle or something and that they were farming us and the earth with these huge windmills it seemed true. We saw some more on the endless back roads to Dodge City. We pulled over and read some visitor info about them and they were only built in like 2006 so that made them seem even more alien.  I couldn’t imagine living with them every day it would creep me out. That among other things is why I’m sure Kansas has a huge Crystal Meth problem. I mean weird alien windmills and the saddest most dilapidate farm communities that you could ever imagine. I felt like we were getting a private glimpse into the real heart of America. We were avoiding for the most part the main highways and instead sticking strictly to the two lane back roads only traveled by people who either grew up in the area or were there enough to never follow the speed limit. As we cruised along in our loaded down van soaking up the scenery, like a couple of city-slicker tourist. Cars driving by men old enough to fart dust zoomed past us. Each tiny town or town-ship was marked by huge Silos where the communities name was written on the side and the word co-op was stuffed in somewhere. It was sad to see whole groups of people placed their lives in crops that from the looks of things are kept alive by these giant trolling spiders that spray God knows what onto the food that we eat. Trees bent to the ground marking the paths of countless tornados. It was enough to end the fighting between me and the Captain for awhile. The sheer appalling nature of it all, the flat land desolation and endless space between homes. The thought of the one kid out there who wants to be a punk, or gay, or see someone who’s a different color than himself and how that would probably never happen here. These are the people we call the heart of this country. By the time we got to Dodge City though everything was closed down. It was only 1 in the afternoon, but I think we missed the big stuff by about 30 years. They had a Rodeo they were very proud of but it didn’t start until the following night and we simply couldn’t hang around until then. Though we did see a ton of “cowboys”, unloading their gear. Which, of course, made the Captains Brokeback fetish tingle. Ate some decent Mexican food, and laughed at the sad attempts of the town folk to hold onto a glory they shared by having a TV show set in their town during the 1860’s that aired during the 1960’s. It was weird thought that their Mexican population went home for siesta at 2 though.

Just outside Dodge, we found a little laundry mat to wash our filthy clothes at. The kindly old lady who owned the place along with her mildly retarded husband decided to tell us all about how the Mexicans came in and stole all the jobs after the paper plant burned down. Now everyone works for Tyson and they pay well, but the Mexicans just showed up out of nowhere and now they make all the money. There was no wonder there was a for sale sign in the window of her laundry mat. Being situated across from a huge trailer park and surrounded by a Mexican restaurant and a Asian candy store, I ‘m sure here racism didn’t net to many customers.  From there we made our way into Colorado which at first appeared no different than Kansas. The monotony drove us back into fighting mode and in a little town called Lamar we had our biggest fight of the whole trip and I almost found myself stuck alone in the town bearing my middle name. Tempers cooled and we made it to La Junta where we stayed in a cheap motel and made peace. We met a gangster ass (eastern) Indian dude who once lived in Atlanta. He tried to sell me a restaurant, which I and the Captain took as a great sign. The rest of the drive through Colorado was amazing. After a few more hundred miles of farm land that was apparently being defended against sale to the Army. Hand painted signs reading “Not for Sale to the Army”, dotted the landscape. We watched as the mountains on the horizon got right in our face and we drove through the cracks in between. This was where you want to live when you’re old and gray. This was where you wished you where. The sheer size and scope of everything was bigger than the now tiny Appalachian Mountains I had known my whole life. This was the real mountains. It reminded me of the ten thousand piece puzzles I used to put together on the floor with my mom. I snapped away frenzied and awed.  It was everything I had imagined and more. The air smelt cleaner the sky looked bluer and everything popped with life. The Captain tried to convince me the mountains looked purple but I couldn’t see it. They were to me the truest green I had ever seen. Well Forest Green anyway I know my colors. The mountains were purity and almost turned me into a fucking hippie. Only the last vestiges of my punk rockiness held on. When we finally descended the first set of mountains, and some snowboarding hippie kid tried talking to me all I could do was mock him and his “killer snow” lingo. I’m sure he only spoke because obviously I was the only non-white face for days. The beauty of what we just went through was somewhat lost on the Captain. She had to focus on the steep winding roads why I snapped picture after picture out the passenger window.  Some of the most amazing shots I have ever taken. Mostly with her camera though. We made it out of all that and found ourselves in New Mexico a little later than we’d like and now she’s passed out and I’m far too drunk to write anymore down.