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Muses on Morocco with Glenda Mason

      Glenda sipped her rum and coke as we chatted. “You know, the world is still a pretty big place-and that’s coming from someone who’s been all over. Taiwan, Hawaii, Morrocco…” Glenda listed off countries as she flipped through her romance novella. Nora Roberts titles covered her coffee table. “Even an experienced traveler with funding wouldn’t be able to explore all of what our earth has to offer. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try! Leaving your comfort zone and seeing the rest of the world is vital to understanding different people. If you can’t go yourself, talk to someone who has.”

      I agreed. “I probably won’t ever have the chance to make it over to Morocco,” I said before a sip of coffee, “Why don’t you tell me more about your time over there?”

      “My husband Don worked in the Air Force. He got stationed in the 1950’s in Rabat, Morocco. That’s on western coast of Africa, not too far from France. Morocco didn’t have telephones in 1957, so Don worked a teletype machine. Its quite similar to Morse code. Shortly after he arrived, I took my two toddlers Johanna and Terry on a fourteen hour flight to reunite with him. 

      We lived on base in military housing. I won’t lie-Morocco was strange at first. The local woman wore veils. Wife multitude was a sign of wealth in the surrounding farmlands. A man with three or four wives was a man of high status in those parts. I’m not sure if there was a legal limit, but I do know that the average dowry was not cheap.  Woman’s rights were especially lacking in those times. If a husband wanted to divorce his wife, all he did was spin around in a circle three times in front of her and a witness, and then declare their separation. That was it, and the wives had no say in such matters.

           Of course, I didn’t have to wear the veils, but some days I wish I had. I felt the Moroccans’ stares when I left base to buy food in the bazaars. The vendors sold oranges the size of grapefruit! It was unbelievable. All the fruit we have here seem like miniature versions.

           I certainly experienced culture shock in those initial few months. One of the first places I visited was Marrakech, a nearby city that a catastrophic earthquake had recently reduced to rubble. Along with thousands of dead bodies, the Moroccan government decided to flatten and bury the entire city. Seeing the wreckage left me shook.

           Eventually, I adjusted. Don took me to a Medina to pick out some furnishings for our new home. A Medina is giant marketplace where you could buy almost anything. Oh, they had the most beautiful rugs! Copper vases were a popular item, too. Artisans dug up the copper shells from World War II and smithed them into intricate flower pots.”  

           Yet, the Medina did not have everything- at least, not by American standards. For everything else, there was the Aphex, which was more or less a Wal-Mart ran by the base where Glenda and her family shopped for American food and furniture. 

            Glenda cleared her throat. “My husband Don was an entrepreneur until his death. Ironically, one of his last stints was with a casket company. In Morocco, Don flipped appliances from the Aphex to Moroccan locals off base for extra cash. The disc jockey on base made discreet broadcasts on Moroccan community radio stations whenever Don came across something worth selling.”

             Glenda chuckled. “So, in the dead of night, he and his friends would load a refrigerator into the back of his truck and cover it with tarps, then run it into town. Stereos were popular, too. And when someone got a stereo, all of their neighbors heard about the new refrigerators on the radio, so you could see imagine how fast our clientele multiplied. At one point we resold things so often that our maids came back from town with lists of orders. Its amazing the military never caught on.”

           “You had maids?” I asked.            “Two, both named Fatima,” Glenda said, “We paid them to watch the kids while Don and I were gone. Oh, but one time Don nearly had their heads! My son Terry was only two when Don and I went into the city to run errands for a day. When we returned, we found both Fatimas teary-eyed and desperate.            ‘We’ve lost Terry!’ They told us.            ‘How do you loose a two year old!’ I screamed. 

           We searched for him all day. After much screaming and swearing, we finally found Terry on the other side of our 8 foot fence. The wall came with embedded broken glass bottles in the stucco to deter robbers. To this day I don’t know how Terry managed to climb over in nothing but a diaper and a t-shirt. He made to the sand on the outside without a single cut.”            I smiled. Glenda seemed to take pride in her son’s debauchery, but the glint in her eye conveyed something melancholy as well.  

           “Tell me one more about Don to wrap things up,” I pried.            Glenda laughed. “Okay. So he and an Air Force friend were out drinking one night around Christmastime. They got to talking about how nice it would be to bring home a real evergreen Christmas tree to their families on base. And then they really got to talking, and realized that the only Christmas trees, possibly in all of Morocco, were on the King’s royal palace grounds. Later that night, Don and friends took a jeep from the motor pool and drove to the edge of the castle. They cut down two trees-I can’t imagine that they went about it quietly-and took off into the country side. A Panzer tank came over the horizon as they were leaving, and fired upon them! They made it back safe and sound, but there was a big to-do in local newspaper the next day. Honestly, I think they only got away with it because the military thought it was hilarious.”

             “I loved living in Rabat, Glenda concluded, “I was young, and being with the American military helped us get away with some things that we probably shouldn’t have. Yet, living there still taught me that people across the world aren’t so different from us. If we really want world peace-and whether the US Government really does is another discussion entirely- then we ought to encourage travel and immigration, not construct barriers. Besides, if little Terry could scale a fence made of broken glass without a scratch, what good is a wall for anyway?”

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Don’t Dip so Low! Limbo with Lawmakers concerning CBD & THC Limits

As legalization blazes its trail into state governments across the country, Congressmen are struggling to define the plant’s legal parameters. Appropriate levels of Tetrahydrocannabinol (THC) and Cannabidiol (CBD) are hot topics in the debate for what constitutes as ‘legal’ marijuana, and what can still be used to lock up hippies, blacks and anti-war protesters. Sounds harsh, but put this quote from Richard Nixon’s domestic policy chief, John Ehrlichman, in your pipe and smoke it.

          Upon the topic of beginning the War on Drugs-“We knew we couldn’t make it illegal to be either against the war or black, but by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and blacks with heroin. And then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities…Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course we did,” Ehlrichman told CNN.

          When a chief policymaker from the dawn of the War on Drugs admits something so blatantly discriminating, one wonders how anyone can still take marijuana prohibitions laws seriously. But propaganda is a hell of a drug with inter-generational effects. As the implications of research and hard science loosen their grip on the American legal and political spectrum-at least for the next four years-let us review some facts about the plant and the controversial chemicals in question.           Marijuana high in CBD is known to treat several seizure-related conditions that would otherwise leave a patient unable to carry out every day tasks. Restricting access to low level THC and CBD in medical marijuana does not provide adequate treatment for people with seizing conditions.           Georgia currently caps the THC minimum at only 5 percent. The legal THC limit in Colorado and Amsterdam ranges from 15-17 percent. Clinical trials have shown that strains of marijuana with higher levels of THC relieve symptoms of patients who suffer from chemotherapy nausea and multiple sclerosis.

          As legalization bills move through congress, politicians are uneasy about the psychoactive effects of THC and CBD oil. Lawmakers argue that marijuana high in THC and CBD will expose inexperienced smokers to the adverse effects of THC, such as paranoia and depression.

          However, strains high in CBD work to counteract the effects of high levels of THC. CBD bonds poorly with the psychoactive Cannaboid 1 (CB1) receptors in the brain. Inversely, THC bonds well with the CB1 receptors, but a strain high in both chemicals is likely provide a desired effect. A well-balanced strain would not have to compromise THC levels of effective medical use with the discomfort and paranoia common in strains with a low CBD percentage.

          Strict THC and CBD laws are an unnecessary hurdle for states like Georgia to concern itself with on the path to legalization. Any sort of bureaucratic legal change takes its sweet time and unaware policymakers do not help. All the while, the US continues to incarcerate its citizens for nonviolent marijuana-related crimes. Remind your policymakers of the benefits of THC and CBD and help end the marijuana’s negative legal stigma. Sources: CNN. Report: Aide Says Nixon’s War on Drugs Targeted Blacks, Hippies.  http://www.cnn.com/2016/03/23/politics/john-ehrlichman-richard-nixon-drug-war-blacks-hippie/  Web. Accessed 4/16/2017.

Newsweek. Holland’s New Marijuana Laws are Changing Old Amsterdam. http://www.newsweek.com/marijuana-and-old-amsterdam-308218  Web. Accessed 4/16/2017.

Leafly.com CBD vs. THC: Why Is CBD Not Psychoactive? https://www.leafly.com/news/science-tech/cbd-vs-thc-cbd-not-psychoactive  Web. Accessed 4/16/2017.

Englund A, Morrison PD, Nottage J, et al. Cannabidiol inhibits THC-elicited paranoid symptoms and hippocampal-dependent memory impairment. J Psychopharmacol (Oxford). 19-27. (PDF link below) http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0269881112460109

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On the Purpose and Duality of Political Satire

 “Four legs good, two legs better! All Animals Are Equal. But Some Animals Are More Equal Than Others.” George Orwell’s Animal Farm. 

           Absurd quotes do not always stand out to readers, for the statements lack an essential element to a memorable phrase-meaning. A political satire proposes a grand criticism with a plot that runs parallel to actual events rather than intertwining purpose and reality in direct dissent of the subject matter. If the passages sound exaggerated and ridiculous, direct your perplexity away from the plot of the story and instead toward the absurdity of the real life political concepts up for critique.

            Political Satire novels mask criticism with the guise of allegory. The author takes a stance in recent social phenomenon and attempts to expose the absurdities through an extravagant retelling. Novels by nature must have an end, so the plot of political satire sometimes deviates beyond its parallels to reality toward a projected future of the concepts criticized. The loss of man’s appetite for knowledge in Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 left a city unaware and powerless to its own demise by nuclear bomb.

           Political Satire in the modern era often blends with dystopian fiction, yet the genre is hardly restricted to futuristic themes. Political satire dates back to more than 2,000 years ago to when Aristophanes of Ancient Greece satired the Peloponnesian War.

           The stylistic elements of political satire have transcended purpose from a dire necessity to high brow enjoyment in contemporary society. A more perfect freedom of speech and press is a relatively new concept in the span of human history. In darker days or worse-off places, a well-penned political satire was the one of the only ways to mass-mediate a message against a tyrannical regime.

           The lighter aspects of the genre share common ground with the fable. Political satire seeks to educate with a hypothetical, parallel situation that is sometimes as whimsical and ridiculous as a barnyard full of talking farm animals. Rather than fool the bourgeoisie with convoluted themes, a more just and modern purpose of political satire is to simplify and discharge the often tender criticism of the machine into a format in which the masses may still be able to find meaning.

            Politicians are paid professionals in the art of stretching the truth in favor of the highest bidder at the cost of the average man. Such professionals have poured over one million ways to swindle to the average Joseph into supporting heinous wrongdoings against other people. Sometimes that average Joseph might even cry foul about such wrongdoings if he had time to read the fine print and understand their full extent. If you feel strongly for or against either side of the American political spectrum, chances are that you have fallen victim to some sort of truth-stretching yourself. If you feel that you are somehow above this deceit, you are likely wrong and simply subscribing to an alternate ideology, but at least you recognize that many people around you have indeed been “fooled”. This phenomenon makes the discussion of politics a sensitive, unruly beast that shits on the carpet and discourages polite discourse at dinner parties.

           The beauty of Political Satire is that the ambiguity of its fantastic elements allows room for interpretation on both sides of a political spectrum. A satire meant to criticize a particular movement or party landlocked in space and time may yet again enlighten another forsaken population years after the novel’s first edition.

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Under the Underworld: Diving into the 8-bit Aesthetic of Pltrgyst

        If Bowser’s castle had a dance floor beneath the dungeons, one might find Pltrgyst DJ-ing in a dark corner for a crowd of animated henchmen. Peter Turner, otherwise known as Pltrgyst, is a 21-year-old senior sound design student at the Savannah College of Art and Design. Under the Underworld is the most recent album to come out of Pltrgyst’s hometown Savannah collective Spooky Squad. The album’s looped, drifting samples are a nod to his consistent nocturnal vibe.

         The album begins with a low, heavy bass line. Pltrgyst leaves no doubt about it; something foreboding is in store. The intro slips into a chilling, upbeat sample re-purposed from Super Mario World and the album is off, blasting full steam ahead with blaring organs and snare and bass. Under the Underworld whisks the listener back to the era of the Super Nintendo game console with its slew of 90’s videogame sound bytes. The melody of track 16, Coldheart, dates back to the classic fantasy series, Secrets of Mana. Track 3, >8000, is a beat constructed from the speech of a Dragonball-Z villain looped over a particularly ominous Doom sample.        

        While the majority of the songs resemble something one might hear under two-dimensional torchlight, Pltrgyst sprinkled a fair amount of fast-paced tranquility across his album. Track 7, Crescent Tides, is an original melody that takes the listener on a repetitive wave of euphoric, rolling synth. Track 15, PurpleFeels, stands out on the album with its smoky guitar chords co-written and performed by local Savannah artist Dillon Cronan.

         The calm patterns of Under the Underworld allow the listener’s mind to wander, yet the predictable loops give the listener the freedom to multitask. The majority of the music is ambient enough to be pleasant background noise for a daunting homework assignment. This album could easily accompany a rainy day road trip. Track 9, RememberU, begins with the gentle pattern of rain, and ends with the distant chirping of bluebirds as the rhythm reaches its destination.

         Pltrgyst saved some of his most dynamic pieces for last. SummonSong, track 17 of 19, takes the listener on a symphonic flight over a foreign land, then sheds all previous sounds but its vigorous drum line as it dives into a subterranean world of echo. This track utilizes the sounds of Nintendo’s Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask. SummonSong is certainly a tune that you would insist a friend listened to all the way through before making a judgement,

         Track 18, Gyo, combines the bits and pieces of a Super Mario mini game with the quintessential Spooky Squad keyboard sound. Pltrgyst does not shy away from reminding listeners of his roots. He ends Under the Underworld with a hopping groove track titled +side. The occasional clinking kettle drum sample of the stomping Whomp monster will make the serious and casual videogame player alike chuckle as they nod their along to the beat. You can download and listen to Under the Underworld for free here: https://pltrgyst.bandcamp.com/releases

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Autobiography-Why Armstrong?

    I chose Armstrong because I did not prioritize scholarship essays during my senior year of high school. The idea of impressing billionaires with witty paragraphs and exaggerated childhood anecdotes smelled tainted with the familiar musk of America’s botched education system. I often drank on the weekend and chased a dream girl from my senior creative writing class. I wanted to be a novelist when I grew up, and college essay applications detracted from working on my fantasy novel.

          I applied to Armstrong because the application did not require anything but a few signatures. Admittedly, I felt little satisfaction upon receiving my acceptance letter. After all, I had high grades, and my money was green. My brother’s dramatic acceptance stories to pristine schools in far away lands felt like much more of an accomplishment.  

           The American collegiate system is a rip off-we all know it from the moment we buy our first textbook. I had enough wild evenings in high school to last me a lifetime, and little need for an extravagant out of town college experience. I wanted to get in and get out, and maybe learn a thing or two about writing along the way. Lodging, food, fun-everything adds up when one moves out. I had no desire to live in debt for the next decade just because some spokesperson at orientation told me that “College is about freedom.” My parents have let me do as I please since I was about fourteen. So, I threw in the social towel and decided to live at home. After all, I wanted to be a novelist, not an (insert the next hot job here). I find little point in going into debt for schooling when a degree does not guarantee a publishing contract. Sounds miserable, right? You’d think that I would have seen this coming. I did. The moment I saw those Math+Science=Success banners hanging in the hallways of my elementary school, I knew I was shit out of luck. Start ‘em early.

          While I knew that I wanted to be an author, I came to college undecided about what I wanted to major in. Parents and peers reminded me every chance they had that a degree in English does not correlate with high paying jobs. To make matters worse, I had little desire to do anything practical with an English degree. Journalism and teaching were low on my list of occupations. No, I want to write in the high fantasy genre. My father is a strong supporter of my goal, but even he said that I did not need a degree in English to write a book. But what if it helped? I thought. Everyone else gets to study something that correlates directly to their future hopes and dreams.

          My “Undecided” academic advisor told me in our first meeting that “Picking a major is easy, you just have to do it.” A few weeks later, I found myself sitting in Tony Morris’ office. He told me that Armstrong did not offer a Creative Writing major, but a good fit for my interests would be the English Communications track.

          “This is your best option,” he said, “You can focus on the Creative Writing courses, but your degree won’t say Creative Writing.”

          Good, I thought. God forbid any future employer finds out that I’m a fraud. Lord knows what would happen if the local newspaper knew that my life long aspiration is to write a fantasy trilogy, not pen their entertainment column.

           I hope the information gained from my degree improves my writing ability and reinforces what I have learned thus far. I aim to send the first book in my trilogy to publishers before I graduate next spring. I hope that writing book number two will be a breeze after improving my craft with the Armstrong English department. I taught myself how to revise while editing my first book, but grammar is meticulous and I lack certainty in some corrections. Now, my English Communication classes are filling in the gaps.

My mom and brother and I. Photo Credit: Dad