The Golden Age- pt. 4

The hum of the engine as the van sped down the highway was the only noise that broke the uncomfortable silence, though it wasn’t doing a very good job of making it less uncomfortable. In the back laid an unconscious Zimmerman, dried blood crusting on his neatly trimmed goatee. Though James had insisted that a good blow to the head would keep him out until they got him on the plane, Edmund disregarded his friend’s advice and administered a needle of tranquilizers. However, this disagreement was not the cause of the awkward silence in the van. Another unspoken one was.

“Would you care for some music?”

The Gladiator jumped at the harsh shattering of silence. The Captain glanced over at him, pointing to the quiet radio. James rubbed his eyes to remove the daze that had settled in them and snorted, “I don’t care. Do what you want.” Captain Incredible reached over and flicked on the radio. Static erupted through the speakers. The Captain fiddled with the dial for a few seconds and after finding only more channels with static, flicked it off again, returning the van into its uncomfortable silence once again. Trees, cars, and signs flew by the window in a blur. The Gladiator sighed heavily, furrowed his brow and turned to his friend in the driver seat.

“That could have happened to the best of them. It’s not your fault.”

The Captain shook his head slowly, closing his eyes briefly to emphasize his disappointment in himself. “Face it, James. We’re over the hill.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we…I can’t keep doing this anymore,” he replied, hesitating and stumbling over his words. “I almost fell into a trap that ten years ago…I’ve got kids, James. And Sara! How am I going to help…I just…”

“Ya? What about me, Ed? What am I gonna do without this? I’ve got no dame back at home to return to, no brats to pamper, not even a friggen dog. I have you, Ed. You’n this. That’s it.” James was glaring at the Captain, which was made that much more intimidating through the golden helmet for his costume. Ed glanced over at the fuming man beside him, which only increased his guilt. All he could muster to say was, “I can’t. Not anymore.”

Neither one said anything for a few moments. The silence was spoiled a soft moan from the back of the van, followed by a cough. James whipped his head around at the noise, in case his particular set of skills was needed to return their captive to his previous state. When the need did not arise, the Gladiator turned back around and stared out the window, watching the blurs of colour flash past.

“The age of the super hero has ended, James,” comforted Ed. James continued to stare out the window at the mesmerizing colours and lines. “Every kid I’ve known who has discovered they had powers has enlisted in the army, or police force, or become a doctor or fireman. They want to help people, but the bright spandex just isn’t that popular anymore.”

“Seriously?” retorted James. “It’s the 90’s. Bright is all you can buy.”

“We just don’t stick out anymore.”

James snickered at Ed’s joke. It was true. To dawn a costume and fight crime was passé. Heck, when they started in 1975, crime fighting was on its way out. Though they managed to recruit a few other heros in the 80’s, all of them were gone now, too. Costumed villains were replaced with organized crime rings and corrupt leaders that were difficult to secretly defeat. To fight this crime, it was better to not stand out, but rather to fight it from the inside. Everything was becoming more secretive. It was bound to effect heroes eventually.

“So this is it, huh.” James said finally.

“I believe so.”

“Last job.”

“Yeah.”

James paused. “At least we got to send someone to Serbia. I’ve been waiting a long time to use these connections.”

Ed smiled and blinked forcefully to remove the tiredness that had built up from the long drive. It was time to go home. For good.  

The Golden Age - pt. 3

Silence. That's what defined this room the best. The foyer was impressive, for sure. Marble floors, white walls, a silver chandelier hanging in the middle of the room, black, leather couches symmetrically placed against either wall, and a giant marble desk with a polished granite top, which sat the secretary whose mind was filled with these thoughts. She glanced around the room to check if anything had changed. It hadn't. It never does. Believe it or not, an electronics company office was not the place to be. And she had so much hope. She rolled her eyes after that thought. Even her own mind was starting to annoy her. The only break in the monotony of the day was when Mr. Spencer stopped by around lunch time to make sure everything was going alright and to get the mail. Even though he was the CEO, he always made time for his employees. His excuse was that he should know to whom his money is disappearing to, but she knew that he was far more caring than that. He simply liked people, which is why he got into electronics in the first place: to help people and make their lives easier. His son, David, though still a teenager, was being beginning to show similar personality traits of his father. He would make a great CEO one day.

The golden front doors burst open, causing the secretary to jump. In walked two men, both in pinstripe suits. The taller one was in a blue one, and looked very dignified in his short, slicked hair and pencil moustache. He looked completely in his element. Must be an investor or something like that. The other, however, did not look at all comfortable. He walked stiffly, his face set into a permanent frown. The suit was not tailored to his muscular body and bulged and wrinkled everywhere, making him look even more uncomfortable. They walked straight up to the desk of the secretary and the taller man leaned slightly forward.

"Good afternoon, miss. I was wondering if it would be at all possible to see Mr. Zimmerman today?"

His accent was curious. His voice was soaked in a 1950's upper class air, with just a tinge of Canadian for good measure, and made him incredibly charming. The secretary blushed slightly. 

"Uh, let me just check his schedule here..." she quickly flipped through a pile of papers off to her side. "Yes, he is free at the moment. Does that work for you gentlemen?"

"That would be perfect, miss." The man smiled and tipped his head forward. "Thank you very much for your help. You have a wonderful day."

The two men turned and walked towards the large oak doors to their left, and she smiled as they left. That should keep her entertained for at least a few hours. 


Captain Incredible pushed open the heavy wood doors and revealed the large, posh office. At the opposite end facing them was a big redwood desk with a pudgy mad crouched over some papers. As the doors opened, he looked up and was struck with a confused look. 

"Hello? Do you have an appointment? I don't remember making any today...I'll have to talk to Susan..."

Zimmerman started to stand up from his work, but the Captain was closed the doors behind him. 

"Jacob Zimmerman, we have a business proposition for you. Sorry we did not phone ahead, but we knew you would be interested."

Zimmerman's confusion was somewhat replaced with a look of interest and he slowly sat back down. Pointing to the black leather chairs in front of his desk, he nodded to the two heroes in disguise. The Captain looked over at the Gladiator, who pulled a piece of paper out of his coat and laid it on the desk. 

"We have heard that you are suffering some nasty losses in personal involved in some...extra curricular business." He gave Zimmerman a quick wink, then continued. "We have a solution to that problem. They need training to be effective and we own the best training outfit in the Easter United States. Your excursions would become much more profitable."

Pointing to the paper on Zimmerman's desk, the Captain added, "This is our basic terms and conditions. Pretty run of the mill, no real surprises, but we do need you to sign on that pretty dotted line at the bottom there."

Zimmerman grabbed the paper and skimmed over it, his frown growing deeper with every passing line. After a minute of silence, he looked up. 

"Your business doesn't exist."

Doing his best to looked shocked, the Captain exclaimed, "That is a fairly rash accusation when two of its founders are in the same room as you!"

The man behind the desk set the paper down on the many piles covering the beautiful redwood top. "Your story and paper has so many holes that I won't even bother to tell you of all of them. I have better uses of my time, like asking what brought Captain Incredible and the Gladiator to my office."

The Captain sunk slightly in his chair. He was certain that his fabrication was strong enough to last at least a few minutes. He glanced at the Gladiator to his right. His expression had not changed the entire meeting, staring coldly ahead with his face set in stone. The Captain could not get too dejected, though. This is why they came here. He straightened in his chair and stared at Zimmerman, who was matching the Gladiators cold features. 

"I think you know very well why we're here. You're cheap labour gave you up when we apprehended them. Now we have to stop you."

Instead of anger, Zimmerman instead began to smile. It wasn't a comforting smile, either, but one that made you nervous of the next words that would exit his mouth. 

"I knew you would come. I even knew my stupid minions would give me up. I have bigger plans. Did you figure that out, there, Captain?" Zimmerman sneered at the two heroes in the chairs in front of him and rose from his own. "In fact, I was hoping you'd come." 

Suddenly, the Gladiator jumped out of his chair and punched Zimmerman right in the face. He stumbled backwards into the back wall, slightly stunned and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A streak of blood remained after Zimmerman dropped his hand, and soon a streak was dripping down the right side of his mouth into his goatee and onto his tailored suit. The smile immediately disappeared and his voice became a harsh growl.

"I know theres only two of you. You're old and washed up. You can't afford to have many enemies. But I'm about to make the most powerful one you've ever seen. I'll finally be rid of you, even if I have to be patient."

 "But why get rid of us? We keep peace and justice, which usually isn't a bad thing," asked the Captain,  who was beginning to be very worried. Zimmerman was brilliant, but also unpredictable and violent. Things were not going to be pretty. 

"Because," burst Zimmerman, now holding a small pen with the clicker on his thumb, "we businessmen need to be free to make money. You're stopping us! You're cancer to the American economy and must be eradicated for everyone to be happy again!" 

As the Gladiator took another step toward Zimmerman, he clicked his pen. One more punch crossed Zimmerman's face before a dull thud was heard from above, which shook the entire office, and was soon followed by people screaming and the sound of fire extinguishers. Captain Incredible turned wide eyed to the man sitting on the ground with blood in his facial hair and now a broken nose that was pouring blood. He was chuckling between spurting coughs. 

"What have you done?" the Captain asked slowly and accusingly. 

"You just killed the great Douglas Spencer." 

The Gladiator stomped over to the pathetic mess of a man on the floor, grabbed his collar, lifted him up to his face, and screamed, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

He dropped Zimmerman back onto the floor. He groaned as he hit, but continued to chuckle. "I set off a bomb I had planted there for weeks. Along with it was an exact replica of your helmet, Gladiator, along with a chunk of the Captain's cape. I even rigged security footage to show you running from his office. When his son finds out, he's gonna want revenge. And he has powers of which I have never seen. He doesn't even know he has them!" The low chuckle now was a full out laugh. "I've killed both of you!" 

Captain Incredible was beside himself. He had walked into the most perfectly formulated trap in his life. Ten years ago he would not have made this mistake. Now his image was ruined and he would have a formidable enemy in the future. He was infuriated and worried and confused and mortified. Drastic times, as the saying goes, call for similar measures. 

"James, grab him. He cannot be allowed contact with the boy."

The Gladiator hoisted Zimmerman over his shoulder, much to Zimmerman's discomfort. 

"What are you doing to me? I'm untouchable!"

The Captain bent down to his bloodied face, now pressed against the Gladiator's back. "In this country you are."

Horror filled every pore of his face. "No." He stuttered. "You wouldn't. You're supposed to be the good guys!"

The Captain turned and walked out of the room, ignoring Zimmerman's panicked pleas. The Gladiator was going to break out of the low window in the office and meet him at the van. He walked by the secretary, who smiled at him, but he failed to notice. He was deep in thoughts consumed in emotion. In America, Zimmerman was immune to all forms of justice. He had connections everywhere and he knew he was going to get off scot free. However, there were some places outside of the continent, say, for example, Siberia, that would love to take a prisoner and not ask any questions. That's what Zimmerman deserved, and he knew it, too. 

There was one more thought on the Captain's mind. He had walked into a trap without having the slightest hint. It was shameful. If he was younger, he would have known. Therefore, there was only one logical conclusion. He was almost 50, had children and grandchildren, and after this story got out, his reputation would be toast. It was time to disappear. It was time to retire. 

The Golden Age - pt. 2

It's not that Jim and Edwin weren't close; in fact, it was entirely the opposite. Ever since the team had disbanded, Ed had made a significant effort to stay in touch with his old friend. He didn't agree with everything he did, especially when he drug him along for his "one final go" back in '95, but Ed knew he was the only one that Jim really had anymore. Maybe it was the Canadian in him, but Ed felt sorry for the guy.

No, it wasn't talking to Jim that bothered Ed. It was the fact that the law needed them again. Ed shook his head to himself and sighed as he walked back into the house. Jim had a hard enough time getting out of fighting crime. The Gladiator had carried on beating up criminals for 2 years after Captain Incredible retired for good. That resulted in one of the worst ulcer's he'd ever seen. Now, Jim had one of those 7 day pill cartridges that he hated with a passion because it made him look old. The thought of Jim ranting about his pills again made Ed chuckle, then sigh again to himself. Should he even tell Jim? Would it be good for him?

Edwin opened up the door, stepped inside, and was greeted with the wonderful smell of bacon sizzling on the stove. He turned the corner and saw his wonderful wife of 37 years. She looked up just as she cracked an egg into the pan full of bacon and smiled. "How was the morning paper, Ed?"

"Oh, it was good. Same old stuff. I got a letter from the CIA, though."

She froze. The only sound that could be heard was the sizzling and popping of bacon and egg.

"What did it say?" She asked, without a trace of emotion on her face.

"Sara," he took a deep breath before continuing, "I'm needed again."

Sara sighed. "Well, you know what you gotta do." Though she didn't say it, Ed knew right away, that she was worried. In her head, he knew she was dying to say, "You're too old for that kind of stuff." He knew that she knew that this could be a disaster and she would never see him again. Almost 40 years of marriage helps with that.

Ed looked at Sara. She was staring at the eggs, lost in a plethora of thoughts. He walked up behind her, embraced her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Everything will be fine. Trust me." Even as he said the words, though, he didn't know how true they were. Memories of their last battle still flooded through his mind. It was then he knew he was too old for crime fighting. And now, 20 years later, he was going back at it.



Why didn't he think of that before?

Of course it would be Zimmerman. Every problem they had in the last few years was connected to him. He was a genius, once escaping so stealthily from prison that no one noticed his absence for 11 months. When they finally figured out he had escaped, the man had secured himself so perfectly that he was nearly untouchable by even the President. At one time he was a particle physicist, committed to discovering the secrets of the universe, but then he discovered there was more beneficial uses for profession than theoretical discovery. By understanding the smallest parts of the world, you could control the largest and most complex. His fellow scientists scoffed at this, though. Thought he had been working too hard and too long. When he didn't quit his research in this field, though, they banished his from the academy. That just made him incredibly bitter, but free to do whatever he wanted. He just needed the manpower.

However, Zimmerman was cheap. He never hired anyone more than street gangs to do his dirty work and he did so through intimidation rather than money. His biggest weakness, along with his cheapness, was his arrogance. He could outsmart any of his minions and most of his enemies without much effort, which led to a largely inflated head. Zimmerman was dangerous, but not unbeatable.

Though, maybe that's why he didn't think of Zimmerman. He could never let anyone have power over him. Yet these jobs...and the huge connections between them all...that was far bigger than Zimmerman was known for.

A car horn bared and Ed jerked the steering wheel to the right. He looked around quickly and suddenly realized that he had been zoned out for the last 10 minutes. The Captain looked over to his passenger in the golden armor. Jim's fingers were imbedded in the dashboard and his eyes stared out onto the road. Edwin smiled. "Oh, suck it up, you big baby. We didn't hit anything."

Jim glared at his friend in the blue cape, which was much more intimidating through his roman-style helmet. "Just drive" he growled.

The white van sped along the highway towards the Spencer Electronics headquarters, owned by Douglas Spencer and controlled by his son, David, where Harold Zimmerman was a researcher. Doug Spencer had revolutionized the electronics industry, making him a very rich man, but he could not have done it without the help of Zimmerman. Zimmerman never told Spencer of his deranged ideas of control, and Spencer, in need of a good engineer, didn't ask. He knew of his time in prison, but hey, people change, right? Now they were both millionaires. Spencer protected Zimmerman, and Zimmerman secretly ran his crime organization from this factory. He was a genius.

The two heroes drove in silence until the large building was in sight on the horizon. Then, the Gladiator broke the silence.

"What's the plan? Are we just gonna march in there and beat the snot out of people? Cause I can do that."

"No, we have to be a bit smarter than that. We're going to have to go undercover."

"I hate undercover."

Captain Incredible pulled the van over onto an off road entrance and then slipped into the back to remove his bright blue costume. He emerged moments later in a dark blue pinstripe suit that seemed to accentuate his pencil mustache. The Gladiator sniffed as if to say, "You're an idiot," but still slipped back into the depths of the van to change. He emerged with a similar suit in black. Edwin smiled at him as he slipped into the passenger seat, but only received a glare in return.

"You know I hate suits."

"You hate all undercover work."

Again, the Captain's comment received a glare from the Gladiator. He popped the van into drive, pulled out onto the busy highway and proceeded to drive towards to the large, silver building growing in the distance.

The Golden Age

Superheroes have intrigued guys (and girls) for more than 50 years. What started out with Superman and Wonder Woman grew to absolutely anything you could possibly imagine. Growing up, my favourites were the X-Men because of their variety, low repetition of powers (because of there was so many of them) and, well, they were awesome. Nightcrawler? Wolverine?? How can you go wrong? Nowadays I'm a fan of Deadpool because of his contrast to the regular comic book hero. Breaking the 4th wall, sarcasm, wittiness, insensitivity, and overall hilariousness. I never read comics because I never saw them for sale and therefore thought they weren't made anymore, but I googled TONS of facts. Yes, I'm a nerd. If you haven't figured that out already...you need some help. So with the Avengers movie coming out in the next few months, superheroes have crept into my mind again and merged with my creativeness. This is the result of that, and a long summer with me and my thoughts.



"I'm getting too old for this."

Bullets whistled through the air a foot above the man laying on the ground. Staying as flat possibly could, he quickly rolled over and aimed the palms of his hands at his attackers. Soon the air started to ripple and shimmer, causing the bullets to deflect and ricochet off the walls of the buildings lining the street. The man of the ground tensed his arms, twisted his wrists, and then gave a slight push. The wall of air shot forwards, pushing all four of the gunmen off their feet and onto the hot pavement under them. Disorientated and angry, the men scrambled to their feet, only to see the man in the blue costume's cape disappear around a corner. Without a question, the men ran after the masked marauder. They approached the corner at full tilt, then skidded to a halt. In their path stood a stocky man in golden roman armor. The giant 'G' on his belt confirmed their fears: they were facing the Gladiator.

Shock consumed them. Not one of them said a word. Eyes flicked back and forth in desperation, hoping someone would have an idea. The Gladiator stood there facing them, with a small smirk playing on the corner of his mouth. The extended silence only caused their fear to increase. Any sudden movement on either side would cause an outbreak of chaos, probably resulting in four concussions and four arrests. Suddenly, the man at the back of the group panicked and turned to run, only to run into an invisible wall, taking him by surprise and knocking him to his feat. Panic then engulfed the group, as each tried to test their line of escape. An invisible bubble encompassed them, trapping them in front of their fate. One of the criminals pulled out his gun and made as if to shoot their invisible prison, only to be greeted with screams of defiance and a barrage of fists.

"Are you ready to do this, or do I have to wait all day?"

The gruff Brooklyn accent froze the four men in their place. Slowly, four heads turned in unison towards the Gladiator, who was now accompanied by the man in the blue costume and black mask, also known as Captain Incredible. His hands were out in front of him, just as they looked before when the men had been hit by the mysterious wall of air. It was this power that again jeopardized their mission. Not one of them could muster enough courage to say anything.

"Listen." This time, Captain Incredible spoke. The voice was soaked in a 1950's upper class air, with just a tinge of Canadian for good measure. "This force field is the only thing holding Gladiator back from you. I drop my concentration, he drops your sorry hides on the ground. Not a very pleasant thought, I can assure you."

One of the trapped men began to sweat nervously and shake. Another closed his eyes and whispered something under his breath, as if to ask for salvation before death. Captain Incredible gave a sideways glance at Gladiator, who returned it with a wink.

"But," he continued, "there is another option. Other than the ambulance, that is." He chuckled at his own joke. The audience, however, only swallowed a huge glob of fear. "You can always let us know who had you store all those weapons in that warehouse." The four men all looked at each other. Captain Incredible sighed. They were all the same. No matter how afraid of the pair of heroes they were, they were always more afraid of their boss. The worst thing, though, was the last several incidents were all connected to the same guy. But who?

"Very well," the Captain said, trying to conceal his disappointment. He turned his wrist slightly, then slowly lowered his arms back to his side. As soon as his arms started to move, the four men dashed behind the corner, followed closely by the Gladiator. Captain Incredible rubbed his left arm where he felt a cramp starting. He had been fighting crime for twenty years, beginning in 1975. Now 47, the joints would hurt more and more every time he made a simple force field. Behind the building, he heard the screams of the criminals and the wild, maniacal laughter of the Gladiator. Instead of intervening, he decided to give Jim some more time with them, and leaned against the wall, still massaging his arm. Ever since they had met in New Jersey, Jim had a strange love of violence. Wasn't the typical hero supposed to refrain from beating the living tar out of their victims? Weren't they supposed to only help the law, not take it into their own hands? Probably. Was that how they did things? Not once in their twenty years. The Captain was the brains, the Gladiator was the brawn. Of course, they recruited several people over the years and formed a powerful team for quite some time, but they had all gone now. In fact, this crusade wasn't even supposed to happen. They were supposed to be in retirement from crime fighting, financially supported by their respective cities. But Jim needed one last mission, and there happened to be a crime boss that was easily evading the police. 47 isn't that old, right?

As the last of the screams and whines died down, the Captain decided it was time to see the damage the Gladiator had done. He strolled around the corner to see the roman guard standing over four unconscious bodies. Two of them had bloody noses, one of them with a nasty crook in it and blood all over his face, another had an unnatural bend in the middle of his right arm, and the last had a large black eye and a split lip. Other than that, though, there was minimal blood.

"This guy's gettin' lazy," Jim growled. "These punks weren't even trained. Straight from the streets." He wiped some blood that oozed from his nose with the back of his hand and growled something unintelligible. Captain Incredible looked over the carnage and shook his head.

"Did you really have to break his arm?"

"What? Oh, yeah, him. Well...he came at me. We were fighting. Stuff happens."

Captain Incredible shook his head. Jim was getting more careless in his fights. A broken arm here, a broken leg there, soon there would be a fatality, and there was no coming back from that. But they wouldn't have to if they could finish the job quick enough.

Both heroes stared over the bodies. The Captain folded his arms, looking upon the men with pity. The Gladiator hung his arms at his side and was slightly hunched over and panting, giving more the appearance of an animal, as he recovered from his rage. Suddenly, Jim looked up at Captain Incredible.

"Ed, I just remembered. Before I broke that guys nose, he started yellin' and fussin' about some Zimmerman. Said he's who we gotta find."

Ed nodded slowly. "Then I know exactly where to look." You don't fight crime for 20 years and not pick up a few names and locations.



Edwin Rothe walked out of his front door and sat on his porch chair. It was old, but what it lacked in style it made up with in comfort and familiarity. The sun was just peeking out from the Rocky Mountains, flooding the landscape in a warm, golden glow. This was his favourite time of day. Always had been. With a cup of coffee, the moment was perfect. It was utopia for all he cared. A rumble far off let him know of the incoming mail truck. As it pulled up to the drive way, Edwin slowly stood up, shoved his hand into his jeans pocket and walked over to greet the delivery man.

"Morning Gerald," he said slowly, with a 1950's upper class air with a tinge of a Canadian accent for good measure. "How's the week been?"

"Morning Ed," Gerald replied. "It's been another long one, but I'm getting by. And I'm sorry, but I can't stay and chat much today. Just came to give you your paper...and this." Gerald reached into the passenger seat, pulled out the weeks newspaper and a large envelope with bold red writing. Edwin took it, thanked the mailman and wished him well, and slowly walked back to his porch chair. Though the paper usually took most of his attention in the mornings, Edwin was completely focussed on the envelope. Staring at the writing, he fumbled for his glasses in his shirt pocket. They were a burden, but the eyes just didn't work as well as they used to and he liked the distinguished feel they gave him. Adjusting the glasses on his nose to get the proper focus (and feeling very much like an old man), he checked when the package was sent. July 23, 2015, from Winnipeg. That was only two days ago. Nothing came to Rocky Mountain House that quickly unless it was extremely important. In bright red letters on the front was the word CLASSIFIED. Edwin popped open the envelope and removed the single piece of paper within, mouthing the words to himself as he read them. The letter was short and in a formal, governmental font, which emphasized the importance even more than giant red letters. As he read, each word brought a new intensity to his face, one of concern, intrigue, and fear. They read:

To Mr. Edwin Rothe, aka Captain Incredible,

Evil is upon us, Edwin. Our intelligence agency and its operatives cannot handle what is going to come. We have, however, kept it from the public eye. This problem is something none of us have ever dealt with, but we know you have. We need your experience, Captain Incredible. It is a great thing to ask, I know, but we are out of options. Lives will be in jeopardy. If you choose not to help, then all of ours will be as well. 

Burn this letter after opening it. 

Jack Allen, CIA

Edwin folded the letter and put it in his pocket, rested his elbows on his knees, then placed his head in his hands. For half an hour he sat there, motionless. Eventually, he got up, stretched his back and walked back into the house. No matter how much he didn't like it, there was only one course of action.


"I have to talk to Jim."

Science and High School

A little bonus for those who realized I skipped a blog in February. This was originally posted June 8, 2010, on Facebook Notes. 




Throughout my high school years, I (accidentally) discovered a theory that will change the way you see junior high kids. And, I apologize, my high school class were the test subjects. 

The theory explains the mind boggling stupidity that junior high kids seem to suddenly pick up. See, kids can be quite smart. I have heard numerous times on some of the "slower" kids in high school reflecting on their elementary days when they got honor roll in grade 5 and 6 or best marks in the class. Then, suddenly, its gone, along with almost all common sense. Why?

The problem lies within the skull. When a kid enters into grade 7, a chemical reaction occurs between the brain and the brain stem. It creates a small space between the brain and stem, blocking the transfer of larger chunks of information. Common sense gets stuck in the brain and does not come out in actions and words, and complicated school work gets stuck in the stem and does not get to the brain to be solved. Thats why grade 7 does not add up to the toughness grade 6 teachers make it out to be. Jr high teachers know what happens to kids and give a lighter workload. Some stem-brain separations are more severe than others, while some may only get partially severed. It all depends on the students genetics and environment. 

This is not a permanent condition, though. As the student grows, the space begins to re-heal. Small amounts of information can be soon transfered after the initial reaction. Again, the growth rate is different for every student. Usually, girls mature (re-heal, same thing) faster than guys, usually around grade 10-11. For guys, its around to grade 12- college/year after. Some students never completely re-heal. As I have learned recently, though, most stems do reattach. The effects are seen most noticeably a year after college, as the students have experienced a different environment (which can help or hinder growth). 

Though this is only a theory, it gives a valuable insight into the minds of high schoolers and why they are what they are. I hope I have enlightened, or at the least, entertained you.

Oh Look! A New Bandwagon!

Do you know who Joseph Kony is?

After this week, I don't think anyone on facebook can say they haven't. In case you are some of the few who still have no clue, let me fill you in on the exciting world of social media!

Recently, a video has been circulating the web. Made by the same people who did Invisible Children, they have started a new campaign to "make Kony famous." Joseph Kony, the leader of the LRA in Uganda, abducts children and brainwashes them to kill for him. He has been doing this for 20 years in Uganda, and according to the video, does it only to keep power. There is no underlying cause except power. And yet no one knows who he is. That is the main reason why Kony is still at large. The campaign is an attempt to make him known, which includes informing facebook people as well as influential people in the media or government. Actors, musicians, governors and political leaders are all fair game. If they know, then they could influence the government to change it's mind and act on behalf of Uganda.

That sounds awesome. A group of guys who were touched by the danger in Uganda several years ago are now trying their best to make life better for them. Since social media has become so popular recently, why not organize a campaign around it? The whole world can be reached in days through facebook and twitter. I even did my best at helping out, changing my status to help raise Kony awareness and liking all the "Kony 2012" status's I saw on facebook that night. I thought then, and still believe, that this is a great thing to get behind.

But how great is it? I have seen several people type their concerns on facebook status's, asking whether doing this through facebook is right, whether there is actually a problem in Uganda, whether it's possible to change anything by this. And to a point, I agree.

I am someone who can get behind something quickly and easily. Sometimes, like my Pokemon and Digimon phases, they can last quite a while. Sometimes, like my plan to get NHL player autographs, they last shorter than it took to come up with the idea. I do this in movies and books as well, relating to the characters as though they were me. A good movie will leave me feeling a little funny afterwards, almost like the main character. I definitely felt very Holmesy after the second Sherlock movie. But with movies and books, those feelings are fleeting. For an hour or two, I am the character. After that, I think about what it was about and start looking at things more rationally and figure out how good they actually were.

This, I believe, is the bandwagon mentality.

People love the bandwagon. That's how fads get started. That's how riots get started, as well. People love to join the big group and participate in something important. They want to be included and to be accepted by others. Humans have been like this for generations. It's so deeply rooted in human thinking that it's almost impossible to avoid. Even to claim you're not a bandwagon jumper and that you're an individual is a type of bandwagon. That's pretty much a hipster.

Now, the latest bandwagon is "Kony 2012." Tell your friends, family, famous people, tell everyone. We gotta know who Joseph Kony is. Make him famous, so the people in power can't ignore him anymore. And yet, I'm hesitant. After thinking about this a bit, a few similar circumstances came to mind. Apparently, Kony has ruled the LRA for 20 years, and his deplorable actions were unknown to the global community. What about another Joseph, this time in Russia, who killed thousands, maybe even millions, of his own people through the secret police and siberian labour camps? Stalin's iron fisted rule wasn't ever discovered during his rule, and if it was, it was at the end. What about Hitler, the epitome of evil in the 20th century? When he came to power, people fell in love with his powerful speeches and convincing plans to place Germany back as a power in Europe. The world, and even some of Germany, didn't know of his Jewish genocide until the end of World War II. Did people know how crazy Idi Amin was, or Saddam Hussein was, until they were well into their dictatorial regimes? Evil always has a tendency to hide under the general public's eye.

Now knowing who Kony is, I would agree that what he is doing is wrong and that he should be stopped from abducting more children. Why? Because to force anyone to serve another under threat, torture, and brainwashing is wrong, and so is senseless killing. Yet there is more than knowing who he is to stop him. The creators of the video are American, so I'll use them as an example. That, and because Canada's army is awful to use as an example. Anyways, let's say Obama has just discovered who Kony is and agrees that he must be stopped. To send in troops that he just pulled (mostly) from Iraq into the jungles of Uganda would cause an uproar among Americans who were glad they finally got out of a war. The African jungle is also unknown territory to American soldiers, and a similar situation to Vietnam could arise. Kony's rebel army probably specializes in guerrilla warfare, where as the Americans are straight up combatants. Tanks, jets and a ton of good old fashioned bullets. So though Americans would want to see Kony stopped, would they really want their sons, fathers and husbands to head out AGAIN to fight a war in an unknown terrain? And if Kony is really all about having power, how easily will he step down peacefully?

I bring this up not to simply kill everyone's fun, but to make people think about what they are getting into. It's one thing to say stop. It's a whole other thing to punch the bully in the face. By postering a town, we are saying stop, even though we donate money to the cause and it looks really proactive. None of us, I'm betting, are going to volunteer to go over to Africa to stop Kony. That's someone else's job. That's the governments job. What we have to do is let him know what his job is. Putting it that way, this can seem a little...obnoxious. Maybe the government does need informing, and he does need to see that the popular vote is behind it. It still isn't as easy as just going over and finding him. Kony will put up a fight if his power is threatened. For all we know, the government may be working on a plan as I type this (though I doubt that. I'm typing this at 2 am, mountain standard time). So I caution all of you who believe in "Kony 2012" to think about what it means to stop Kony. Don't simply jump on the bandwagon because they're hurting innocent kids and it breaks your heart. Hearts are easily broken and easily fixed. Jump on the bandwagon when you know that you're ready to support this thing no matter where it goes and no matter what other bandwagons pass by, no matter how awesome they look.

Unless the wagon is full of puppies.

Tine for Valentimes

Good evening. Unless your reading this in the afternoon...or morning, but I can't imagine anyone doing anything in the morning. Days start at noon, right?

So today was Valentines Day. For some, a joyous occasion that is filled with love and chocolate, which to some is the same thing. Others see it as a less joyous occasion filled with loneliness and chocolate. And for others, they see it as a materialistic "holiday" that people take too seriously. Those people I like to call fun wreckers. 

I have never been a big Valentines guy. I think I've only been in a relationship once during it. My family was never big into it either, but we usually got chocolate before school and were encouraged to bring Valentines to kids at school in elementary. It was always just a fun holiday where people got chocolate and gross little heart candies. 

Then came college. 

Now, it probably doesn't help that I'm going to a Bible college, but the pressure of Valentines has escalated. A lot. Instead of being a time of fun and chocolate, its a time to start dating relationships or strengthen ones your already in. It's serious business. This results in some people becoming depressed today because they don't have anyone, or frustrated because everyone suddenly becomes a romantic and somewhat stupider. Then of course there's the couples and single, desperate people who love the day because it gives them an excuse to treat their special someone. And each of these groups have a different name for the holiday. Singles Awareness Day, Communist Martyr Day (it's a real holiday apparently), Love Day (for people too afraid to utter the word 'Valentine') and everything in between. 

Of course, you're probably dying to know where I fit. Why else do you read a blog? I would like to say that I don't really fit into any of these categories, or all of them at the same time. But that's a lame answer. So regretfully, I admit that I am more in the 'single, desperate' group, though I reject the term desperate and substitute it with 'take-advantage-of-my-singleness'. That means I like to drop little gifts to people I like that may or may not result in good things. Yes, that does mean I get a little romantic today. And even though I don't enter the day with many expectations, I usually end up with how I want the day to go. Sometimes, it works just how I wanted it to, but other times, we don't get what I want and act a bit stupidly. Ok, fine, a lot stupidly.  

How often do we do this to ourselves? We enter a situation that isn't that important with a nonchalant attitude, but as we think about it more and more, we start thinking how we want it to go, which is fine. It's always good to have a goal to aim for. But when we expect things to go along with how we want them to go, we are placing ourselves in a perfect place for disappointment. Things rarely go along with our plans. Nature doesn't work like that. God doesn't work like that. So why do we?

*just a note: I realize I may be the only one who thinks like this. Putting 'we' makes me feel less alone.

So my recommendation is that we return to the fun of elementary Valentines Day. It should be a day to show someone you care about-ANYONE you care about- that you think their special and worthy of your love/friendship/acquaintance/lack of hate. Remove the pressure from Valentines, but also remove the bitterness and remorse for it. Have fun, people. Hang with your bro's, or your girlfriend, or both, or neither (like me). Why not remove the holiday altogether and treat everyday like Valentines? Because we always need another special day to consume copious amounts of chocolate. 

Secrets of a Ladies Man

The Ladies Man. A guy who has unexplainable ease around the female kind that baffles his companions. He is almost always seen with some girl, usually a large group of them, entertaining them with his perfect sense of humour and impressive knowledge of all things. He is what most guys aspire to be, and if they can't, they seek to be around that guy.

I have been called that guy. I have been called a Ladies Man.

I have dorm mates who have, on numerous occasions, asked me what my secret is to my skill with the lady folk (but in less old west terms). They want to watch me and study my actions and figure out what I'm doing that makes me able to hang out with several girls at any given time. When someone asked a girl to give one word to describe me, they couldn't choose just one and opted for "social butterfly." Facebook even said my Native American name would be "Walks with Ladies." This Ladies Man stuff is kinda...cool. Ok, the watching thing was a little creepy, but overall the comments have been cool. And not cool in the sense that I deserve this. I just never saw myself in this situation. Ever.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaait a sec...did I just say that I never saw myself as a Ladies Man?
Yup. And I still don't.

You may be shocked. You may be confused. You may be wondering who in their right mind would ever refer to me as a Ladies Man. Or maybe you're barely conscious and decided to read something to kill time before going to bed at 2 in the morning, like I'm doing right now. But the biggest question that I perceive you asking is...
Why?

1. I'm awful at the art of communication
You know that cord or nerve or whatever that connects the brain to the mouth? I think mine is severed, or at least frayed. The elegant words in my brain that say exactly what I want them to come out as a bunch of letters that I somehow by chance put together into words. Why do you think I blog? The connection to my fingers seems to be a lot less...broken. I screw up simple words on an hourly basis. I forget words that would perfectly fit into the situation until 3 days later. The perfect joke or comeback is forgotten until immediately after the conversation switches and its too late. I'm just not good at that saying words thing.

"Come on, Dayton." You may say. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You're a fine speaker and everyone does those things. How does this make you not a Ladies Man?"

I haven't finished.

2. I'm way too mental.
Not mental as in lock me in a padded room with a white jacket. Mental as in Sherlock Holmes. I play sequences in my mind a million times before actually getting around to it. I even rehearse lines and comebacks in my mind to prepare for the perfect situation. I see the world as a movie in my head with myself as the hero and the good guy that the girl eventually comes to. Though, saying I'm not the star in my own mind movie would label as padded-room mental. But I like to think things through. When I don't, and act on the fly, I think it over after I've finished and realized how much better I could have done it (though I don't do that nearly as much anymore. I practice appearing less crazy). However, this doesn't explain my love for improv. Maybe I let my mind release some of the more crazy, pent-up stuff. Who knows.
So how does this make me a bad Ladies Man? You would think a healthy thought process is what I would need.

It's beyond healthy. It's so healthy, its unhealthy. Something that doesn't bother me very much in the beginning can end up sending me into a depression after a few hours. Emotions for (and against) other people can leave deep scars that aren't so easy to repair with duct tape. And you though duct tape fixes everything. I can be sitting in bed and be so consumed with my thoughts that I can't sleep because I'm so worked up over something.

Yes, I'm crazy. Moving on.

3. I'm actually really nervous around girls.
WHAT!? It's true. It takes me several mental roller coasters to finally go up and talk to a girl I don't know (kinda like the first blog on this thing). It takes a similar amount to sit with one, or talk with one. And these are girls I'm just friends with. Imagine ones that I have a thing for. So many roller coasters that my brain is on the verge of loosing it's knowledge. Thankfully, it doesn't, because that would be awful to clean up. Q-Tips only have so much range. However, I can get over multiple loop-de-loops with more familiarity, which leads to more relaxation. I have matured over the 15 year old mind.

However, I'm still forgetting one thing. How am I still "so good" with the ladies? I do hang out with a lot of girls and get along with them really well. With these points, you may wonder what black magic I've played with to gain my incredible anti-Dayton powers. Which would be insulting, because my power actually comes from a suit I wear under my clothing at all times.

Just kidding. No really, I am. Seriously, just a joke.

My "power" comes from not seeing girls as girls, but as people. Well DUH. But think about it for a second. Girls are intimidating. They have a whole different way of looking at life that us guys and a whole different way of approaching life. Basically, they're a whole bunch different, and different is scary. Think of how people reacted to this in the past, by makes different races slaves and women as lesser people. We don't know what to do with different. So look at them the same. I tend to place my values and mental processes in other people to give myself a sense of understanding about them. For example, if they stopped in the middle of a conversation, I would assume that because I would stop if I couldn't think of anything to say, they must be doing that as well. Of course this gets me into trouble occasionally, since, as you can see, not many people have my mind. But it helps remove that barrier that sees girls as different beings. They want to hang out and just chill like guys do. They can be stupid and random and crazy like guys. Of course, there are limits to treating them like guys, because they still are different, but if you treat them as a friend, then they don't become so intimidating anymore.

Respect is also a major thing for me. Girls, at least this is what I've gathered from TV, like a chivalrous man. As Christians, we are supposed to treat others greater than ourselves, but I treat girls a bit above that. Many times I go for the gentlemanly approach over words because, well, I'm not so good at speaking them. I also figure that girls deserve our attention. Why? I dunno. They just do.

Finally, I like hanging around girls because, well...they're pretty. Not to say that the only reason I hang out with certain girls and not others is due to looks, because that would be obscenely shallow. But in all honestly, when I first see a girl that I don't know and want to talk to her, all I have to work with is her outward appearance. I do use the physical attraction initially to meet girls, but that's really all I use it for. After that, I figure out her personality and quirks and such, which is the true deciding factor in who I hang out with. People who I get along with well and don't aggravate me after 5 minutes are usually good for me.  I may see the most gorgeous girl ever, but if I discover she's a huge jerk, then there's no real point in hanging out.

There may be other things that draw me to hang out with a lot of girls. Maybe its because girls are more mature and I've always been a more mature guy. Maybe it's because girls like to talk a lot and I don't. Who knows. All I know is that I don't fit the format of the Ladies Man, but somehow, I am one.

Cool.

Resolutions and Such

Happy New Year to all that I haven't said to already.

As we enter into the final year of earths existence (according to the Myans), we are probably asked at least once what our new years resolutions are. Now, if this is really our last year on earth, then just laugh at them and walk away. If my theory (along with most sane people) is correct and the Myans simply ran out of room, then I guess just make something up, like to lose weight or eat better or something like that.

I have never been big into resolutions. My awesome memory helps me with that. But the biggest reason is that when I need to change or do something new, I don't need to wait to New Years. I'll do it now. However, this year, I kinda do have one. Though it breaks the rules somewhat because I've had it a while.

Many of you know I play guitar. If you didn't, then surprise! I play guitar. I started playing in grade 8, so this year makes it about 8 years. And for those 8 years, I have wanted some sort of future involving music. Of course, it used to be a rock star and band and such, but reality soon punched me in the throat and reminded me of how terribly hard that would be. So I was comfortable with being able to play the guitar and impress a few friends along the way.

Then I graduated and headed east to a small bible college by the name of Briercrest. And would you look at that, they have a thriving music program. Now, I knew that a career in music was not in my cards. I was never going to be the guy who gets handed sheet music and then plays it perfectly or could name every scale and mode ever created. But the dream of having some sort of band became a bit of reality again. I was surrounded by amazing musicians. Literally. I could talk to 2 people and 1 and half of them could play an instrument or sing. I started to jam more. I started writing some basic stuff. And the dream grew.

Which takes us to today. I still do not have a band. No CD's, no record deal, no booked shows. Nothing. I do have, however, some friends who are willing to jam and practice for a show at the end of the year, open to all college students, and who are actually into similar music as me. I also have been talking to people who have access to recording equipment and by the end of the year, I may have a few songs (with lyrics) in my hands.

However, I know the reality of becoming a rockstar. It's slim to none. And I have set my goal as having a CD that I played on as a band. That's what I want out of my music career. Play some shows during summers off as a teacher. Would I like to be famous, though? You bet. But not for the reasons you may think.

If I made it big with a band, that would be amazing. Tours, interviews, fans, the whole thing, would be spectacular because I would be giving people enjoyment through music. But that's not why I would want to be famous. That would be a perk. I want to change the music scene. How? By giving the music world a role model that is actually worth looking up to. Watch MTV for a few hours and you'll see how disgusting the music world is. Girls in...well, pretty much nothing, guys singing about sleeping with all the women he can, glorifying partying and drinking and a general rejection of decency.

So if I got into the music scene and made it big, and I mean influential big, I would try to give people something good to add to their music collection. And I'm not talking about simple Christian morals or "don't be bad :)" type of stuff, I'm talking intelligent arguments that make you think. Now, I realize that I couldn't do this with every song, but my other ones could be just fun songs or ones that sing about the same stuff in a different light. What I learned from a break up. How a family death changed me. That kinda stuff. So many songs today have rejected the art of intelligent writing and put words to music. Nickleback. Lady Gaga. Katy Perry. I can't listen to any of them without needing a bath of Clorox after.

I'd also want to be a role model. I'd wear clothes. I wouldn't sacrifice my morals for popularity or publicity. I'd hope to encourage others to follow suit. Music videos would be fun (or meaningful, depending on the song) instead of a cheap x-rated film. Shows would be more than music, but a show, with audience interaction, jokes, banter, maybe even rehearsed skits and whatnot. A concert should be more than a CD really really really loud. I want to bring music to people that they will like and want more of but realize it's different then everything else out there...which will make them want it even more.

So I have some pretty lofty dreams, but I hope that you can see my goals with my music. It's unlikely to happen, but if it does, that's my resolution. And if you ever see my CD, pick up one. I'll sign it for ya. Or don't. But you better believe that I'll have one, and I'll have signed it myself, too.

Here comes the end of the world as we know it
And I feel fine