Features

Mayor of Montrose repeals Houston's city-wide bike registration ordinance

2008-11-06T11:42:00.001-08:00

by Mills-McCoin
“In a nation ruled by swine, all pigs are upwardly mobile—and the rest of us are fucked until we can put our acts together: not necessarily to win, but mainly to keep from losing completely. We owe that to ourselves and our crippled self-image as something better than a nation of panicked sheep.” - The Great Shark Hunt 1979

With our nation in the grips of economic downturn and our city recently ravaged by a hurricane, there’s one man that stands above it all and serves as a beacon in the night- Chris Hutto, the Mayor of Montrose. He’s a humble man with the wisdom and gumption to make change.
Many of you take pleasure in riding your bicycles around our lovely town; but most of you do so unaware of a rather ridiculous city ordinance mandating that you register your bicycle with the fire department. The price of such registration is one lowly dollar; and has been since 1968.
As I understand it, you bring your bike to the fire department and fill out the registration form. After that, the form and the dollar are stapled together. What happens after that... well I’m not sure. But I do know that whatever it is that happens is a complete waste of taxpayer time and money.
There are several theories behind the ordinance. In theory, registration aids in the recovery of stolen bicycles. Well, that would make sense if it weren’t so very very easy to steal a bike and then go register it with the fire department as though it were yours.
Thieving Bastard: Hi, I’d like to register this bike.
Fireman: Is it yours?
Thieving Bastard: Yes.
Fireman: Okay.
In theory, bike registration deters traffic violations. Nope. Not true at all because bike registration does not make you any smarter or better at cycling. This is, after all, a bike permit we’re discussing here; not an M-1 Abrams Tank permit.
Finally, again “in theory”, bike registration helps citizens report reckless cycling. Sure, if you’re a bitter person with 20/20 vision and capable of memorizing the license number as it “recklessly” passes you by.
Now that we’ve established the fact that 40 years ago some people had a stupid idea on a hot day, let’s get to the heroics of one Chris Hutto. He may not be as hot as Sarah Palin, but at least he knows what he’s doing.
Some local bicycle gang members approached Mayor Hutto with knowledge of this red tape and asked him if he might know how to cut it to pieces. Inspired by several beers and the opportunity to fulfill civic duty, Mayor Hutto signed up to be heard at the following City Council public hearing (always on Tuesdays).
Now, Mayor Hutto is no slouch. In preparation for his coup d'état of this crap city ordinance, Hutto notified the Police Department (HPD), Fire Department (HFD) and the Administration and Regulatory Affairs Department (ARA); and explained to them that he was going to attempt to have this law destroyed. He even went as far as to ask for their help in the matter. And they did.
On the day that Mayor Hutto was to appear before the City Council, all three departments sent a representative to stand behind him in support. Not only that, but the ARA sent Hutto a summary of the Bicycle Permit, claiming it “to be outdated, not cost efficient, impossible to enforce, and no longer necessary.” The ARA also found that the City of Houston issues about 10 bicycle permits per month. Time for A Quick Math Lesson To Remind The Public During An Economic Downturn.
If ten people per month register their bikes for the price of one dollar for forty years, how much money have you taken in? 10 x 12 x $1 x 40 = $4,800
In forty years, the City of Houston has (theoretically) generated only $4,800 of revenue through this ordinance. I’ve seen some bikes on sale for $4,800. It’s not farfetched to assume that the printing and distributing costs of the registration materials are more than $4,800 PER YEAR.
So that’s why Christopher Hutto, the Mayor of Montrose, backed by his three-headed Department dragon, yelled with a bellowing, God-like voice, “Mayor White, TEAR DOWN THAT BICYCLE ORDINANCE!”
To which, Mayor Bill White said, “What?” And that’s when he did it. Mayor Hutto presented his case and it was agreed that a vote would be cast.

My fellow Houstonians, you may rest well tonight knowing that there is a man out there (typically found at Catbirds) that is looking out for all of us. He doesn’t ask for money. He finds no need for heralding; and humbly refuses the praise he deserves. This man is a true statesman. Mayor Hutto heard the call of the oppressed and jumped at the opportunity to remedy wrong.
Are you inspired? Well damn it, I AM! Mayor Hutto, in his own actions, has outlined for us a strategy for change. Identify the problem, sign up to be heard, let the appropriate people know that you’re coming and then yell!
This is a story about a man who pisses on complacency. He didn’t wait for some questionably elected official to act on the people’s behalf. Instead, Hutto did it himself.
This is a story about a man that does not complain about the process. He makes the process his bitch. Hutto recognized that the process is there to be used. So he used it.
This is a story about George Washington, about Martin Luther King, about Stephen F. Austin.
This is a story about YOU and who you are supposed to be when it comes to civic duty: passionate, unafraid and pro-active.
If you think that bike registration is the only ordinance that costs the city more money than it makes, then you aren’t looking close enough. Silly, little impediments like this are all over the place and it’s our responsibility to purge them from our system.

The Bike Permit Law has been rescinded and you have one man (speaking for many) to thank for this. His name is Chris Hutto, the Mayor of Montrose. For God’s sake and the sake of our city, go to City Hall (again, Catbirds on Westheimer) and greet this man with a cold beer and a handshake. Cheers.

Before I go, I’d like to quote the very last paragraph of Carolyn Feibl’s article in the Houston Chronicle concerning the Bike Law. While I agree with everything that is stated in the article, I found the final paragraph to be.... socio-economically disturbing. It reads:

“Please. It’s not a car,” the Tanglewood resident said. “If people haven’t gotten a chain on it, or that bar, then they deserve to get it stolen.”

If this guy “accidentally” leaves his Mercedes Benz unlocked in the circle driveway of his huge house in Tanglewood, then by his logic his car “deserves” to be stolen. This guy is a scumbag and probably voted for McCain because he’s old... and white.

War Games!

2008-10-06T14:32:00.000-07:00

click on the image and Print!

The ‘Lesser of Two Evils’ argument revisited

2008-10-06T12:35:00.000-07:00

By Omar Afra
Illustration by Tim Dorsey

First and foremost, let’s make clear that the most important things you can do to shape the world around you do not involve elections nor any political process. Vote with your dollars, vote with your feet, spread loving kindness, and be a good steward of the planet and your community. Nonetheless, the leviathan that directs traffic within our corrupt and impotent political system thrives on our futility and lack of participation in the process. Do we ‘dirty our hands’ by engaging a system that is entirely compromised, or do we lay down on the tracks and die? Well, for the last 10 years I chose the latter. I decided that the ‘Evil of Two Lessers’ idea eclipsed that of the ‘Lesser of Two Evils’.
Let’s be clear. We manifest the ‘Lesser of Two Evils’ concept in our daily lives to no end. It is some ostensibly pure ideological motive that tells us that we can not be pragmatic in our politics. For instance, many of my friends are liars. Many are hypocrites. Many are self centered scumfucks who only seek advancement for self and would sell their souls for 20 dollars and a few Lone Stars. However, none of my friends are murderers. None of my friends are thieves. Well, maybe one, but I digress. Anyhow, my point is this: Obama is a fucking hypocrite. He has proven himself a liar. He no doubt harbors great ambition and his motives are unclear. Now McCain is indeed a murderer. "I am a war criminal," McCain said on "60 Minutes" in 1997. "I bombed innocent women and children." Not enough? How about this doozy: ""I'll call right now my interrogator that tortured me and my friends a gook," Mr. McCain said in 2000, using a particularly offensive term for Asians. "You can quote me."" McCain no doubt dropped ordinance on women and children and his planes carried napalm. There is much speculation as to whether he personally dropped napalm but he had this to say after seeing an accident with napalm involving his shipmates: "Now that I've seen what the bombs and the napalm did to the people on our ship, I'm not so sure that I want to drop any more of that stuff on North Vietnam." Why is that not an issue in the national coverage? Is this taboo to delve into? Now couple this with the fact that McCain has said that he would spend 100 years in Iraq. Would you hang out with this guy? Would you make him your friend? Again, Obama is just another politician but McCain has the military industrial complex’s balls on his chin. Have no illusions about the fact that McCain means another 8 years of imperialist wars, trickle-down economics, and growth of the police state. Ultimately, my assessment is not any endorsement of Obama but serves as a warning against sitting on your hands when facing the prospect of a militarist like John McCain running our government.

"I'll call right now my interrogator that tortured me and my friends a gook," Mr. McCain said in 2000, using a particularly offensive term for Asians. "You can quote me."

Ike on the Rocks

2008-10-06T12:32:00.000-07:00

by Mills-McCoin
Illustration by Tim Dorsey

Some friends and I skipped into The Harp on Richmond around 8:37 post meridiem, three nights after Hurricane Ike punched Houston in the face... Allowing credit cards, The Harp was packed with all manner of hipsters, neighborhood elders, etc. So we ordered tequila and some drinks, never paying any attention to the ridiculous curfew of 9 o’clock. At approximately 8:45, a pair of cops walked into the bar to inform the manager of said curfew in hopes of persuading her to close The Harp. The momentarily-brave bar manager politely declined to close, adorning the cop with a look of absolute shock. The foot-soldiers walked out pouting that they didn’t ruin everyone’s happiness in times of doubt. But seconds later, the other cop walked back in and asked for the bar manager’s driver’s license so that he could document her civil disobedience. I remember this taser-toting asshole had a shaved head. The bar manager folded her cards and closed the bar. The cop walked out with a grin from ear to ear and the stench of martial law, which smells worse than Eva Braun’s gash. Yeah, you might oughta take a breather after that one.
No electricity. No internet... No gas. No air conditioning. And now, no watering hole to take a prolonged dip in. Nevertheless, we all rolled with the punches together like one big happy AA meeting in the future.
I’ve never seen so many people take refuge in their forgotten love for alcohol induced... anything. Not only that, the clientele was a strange amalgamation of everyone who lived within a two mile radius of our once village quaint that now looked a bit like Sleepy Hollow. Sans hurricane, these people wouldn’t be caught dead drinking together. Hipsters and bourgeois Montrosians were pounding brew and discussing strange scenes of devastation with professors from Rice. I raise my glass high to those who took the opportunity to engage in a weird thwarting of the everydayness. After all, drinking is all we could do to get by.
That’s not entirely true, but to prove my point... Raking leaves drunk versus raking leaves sober? You’re mildly obligated to rake up the mess in your front yard anyway; so why not get thrown while doing it. Sitting on your front porch because it’s too hot inside your de-electrified house (aka “the olden days”): sober or drunk? You’re bound to sink into insanity just sitting there sober, staring at your neighbor across the street cleaning up the broken tree with his chainsaw and Jack Daniels. So toss a few back and... then toss a few more and talk out loud to yourself.
Libations are the cornerstone of most marriages, business deals, misadventures, intercourse and the like. The “like” being everything that makes the world go round. So; by that philosophy,- we’re just being productive in the drunken aftermath of a treacherous hurricane. At the start of the Hurricane season next year, we very well could have an entire generation of “Ike” babies. Remember the last time that happened?
Well... We’re back to “normal” now. There’s no more hysteria. You don’t hear “Oh my God, when am I ever gonna get my AC back!?” as often. Curfew’s not gone though. But, we’re back to ‘normal’... Cheers... .

Join the Army: It’s the Answer to High Gas Prices

2008-09-08T16:40:00.000-07:00

by Mills-McCoin
Illustration by Tim Dorsey
Army recruiters across the nation are under fire these days because of how they treat recruits who change their minds about surrendering their decision-making rights to the government (aka “joining the army”). There have been instances here in Houston at the Greenspoint Recruiting Station where the recruit-ers tell the recruit-ed that they’ll go to jail if they back out of their “binding contract” to a pre-enlistment program called the Delayed Entry Program.
I pondered all of this madness over whiskey and thought to myself, “Those sons of bitches.”
And then it hit me like shrapnel! I should see about joining the U.S. Army.
With only 48 hours to complete said task, I quickly climbed on to Ol’Reliable- the internet (or “internets” as our beloved Commander and Chief refers to it/them). GoArmy.com is a well-oiled burrito filled with information, search engines, online applications and melted cheese. I perused the virtual grounds for a few minutes before searching for jobs. The keyword I searched for was “journalist”, which returned one career opportunity- Public Affairs Specialist (see Joseph Goebbels, I thought).
Public Affairs Specialist, obviously the most difficult job in the Army these days, consists of “researching, preparing and distributing news releases on Army personnel and activities”, amongst other patriotic responsibilities. Perhaps this job should be outsourced to one of the high dollar Hollywood PR firms (there’s a wholesale “tax dollar” joke in there somewhere). They take movies and actors of the same ilk as the U.S. Army and make them sing. Keep in mind: Arnold Schwarzenegger is their governor. Do you know what kind of “spin” one must be capable of in order to sell that idea to a general public of crazy people (California)? Wizardry.
I wonder why there aren’t more of them working in the public sector? Oh that’s right! THEY WOULD BE POOR! If you can manage the “public affairs” of the U.S. Army then you should be paid more than $22,000 per year. I’m thinking add two or three zeros to that salary and even James Carville would be interested in the job; or whoever handles Satan’s public affairs. Well wait a minute- the U.S. Government handles Satan’s public affairs, right? Wow, our future gets bleaker with every crap joke.
In any case, I explored GoArmy.com for a bit longer and discovered the “Chat with a Recruiter” feature. And I’m sure it’s a lovely feature but “Chat with a Recruiter” doesn’t work well with Macs, which should alarm everyone because it means that the enemy is probably NOT using Windows Vista. If you’ve ever had the misfortune of using Windows Vista then you know that when it comes down to issues of National Security- we’re fucked.
After several minutes of cyber-battle, I decided to take on these salesmen face to face; so I immediately headed over to the U.S. Army Recruiting Station on West Gray between Waugh and Dunlavy.

At the door, I was greeted by two life-size, cardboard cutouts of one white soldier and one black soldier, both holding huge guns. The office itself was barren: no books on the shelves, no computers on any of the desks and only one army-man to field my questions (He was a beastly man with a look of regret on his face). It was sad and pathetic. How in the hell would you entice someone to join the Army in such squalor?
Well, they actually have an answer for that- up to $40,000 in enlistment bonuses. These bonuses are based on the recruit’s educational attainment and performance on the ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery). I was told that the average score is considerably less than 50%- and that scares the shit out of me.
I left after a half hour of the commission-driven sales-soldier trying his damnedest to convince me that joining up was a good idea.
If anyone wants to join the Army, it should be for reasons of insanity, patriotism or a love of violence. Cold-blooded cash should not be your catalyst for such a grave decision. You’re a common street thug if money is you’re motivation; and we’re already overstocked with those in Washington- which begs a question: Who am I supposed to vote for in November if I want these enlistment bonuses cut from our National Spending?

From Solid Earth to Primordial Water | Profile: Angelbert Metoyer

2008-09-04T15:13:00.000-07:00

By Evan Dunivan

Time (A) + Memory (B) + Moment (C), at New Gallery/Thom Andriola, running September 13th – October 18th.

“The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery.” While Francis Bacon’s statement may be from nearly four centuries ago, it is an undeniable truth that cannot be stained by the confines of Time. Regretfully, in the 21st century, very few artists’ primary concern is the deepening of the Mystery. In such seemingly disparaging points in history, it is refreshing when an artist or group of artists appears on the scene with the ability to simultaneously bring depth and light to the Mystery.
As I set foot into Angelbert Metoyer’s spacious studio/laboratory, I am immediately given the impression that there is never a shortage of ideas, visions, or energy for this ambitious artist to channel into an eclectic assortment of work that takes one through aeons of time and into the transformation of Man. Metoyer’s original formula and approach have garnered him attention from museums, galleries, and collectors throughout the world. Over the course of the last 13 years, his paintings, drawings, sculptures, and installations have been featured in shows throughout the U.S., as well as China, Cuba, Germany, and Peru, to name a few.
At first glance, you may find yourself dismissing the thousands of pieces lining the walls and taking up most of the floor space in his studio as the work of another Basquiat-derived artist serving up a blend of esoteric cryptography mixed with random Divine symbols and signs. However, one soon realizes any generalization of the sort would be an insufficient explanation for the visionary work that comes through Angelbert Metoyer.
Metoyer uses his art as research to delve far beyond the material plane of thinking. His ambition soars into cosmic concepts of the utmost importance that draw upon the mystical influence of William Blake or Jacob Böhme. Looking into one of Angelbert’s many pieces that are immersed in esoteric themes, you immediately recall that this is an example of what artists of all media should be living up to. To use art for anything less than a research and expression of Life is of little to no importance. With his unique concoction of symbolism, numerology, and enigmatic diagrams, all accentuated by a masterful fusing of colors, Angelbert Metoyer is reviving the long forgotten importance of Sacred Art. Throughout his works, you will find the common threads of Native American mythology, the astronomical importance of the Dogon tribe, and the frequent usage of ladders that seem to signify the axis mundi or possibly the portal of the soul. As I study one his pieces, War with God from the 2003 exhibition Dark Energy Splitting the Universe at Paul Rodgers’ 9W Gallery in New York, there is a sense of hypnotic captivation akin to Vajrayana mandalas and yantras.
Additionally, much of Metoyer’s inspiration is rooted in his family’s Créole heritage. He was born on 7-7-77 with a sixth finger on his left hand and a veil of skin over his face, auspicious signs that have become somewhat of a trademark with those who follow his work. Metoyer is the 13th Angelbert of his family, whose matriarchal lineage comes by way of Marie Thérèse Coincoin, a slave born at the Louisiana French outpost in Natchitoches. Coincoin was purchased and eventually freed by plantation owner Claude Thomas Pierre Metoyer. Due to King Louis XIV passing the decree known as Code Noir, Coincoin could not marry Metoyer, but gave birth to 10 of his children. Once freed, Coincoin is believed to have received about 68 acres of land from Metoyer, as well as a generous land grant of around 660 acres from the Spanish king. Between 1794 and 1803, the series of land grants and purchase of several slaves are said to have led to the establishment of the Melrose plantation by Coincoin, making her the first freed African woman to own and operate a plantation. Additionally, she and her descendants are responsible for establishing the Créole community of Isle Brevelle and the first Catholic Church run by free people of color, the St. Augustine Catholic Church. Metoyer’s family has since become the subject of numerous articles and books that detail the development of the Créole people.
The integration of Flesh, Spirit, and Soul seems to be a focal point of Metoyer’s continuing research. Over the last several years, it has attracted the attention of many fellow artists and musicians, most recently poet/musician Saul Williams. Angelbert supplies the artwork for Williams’ latest release, The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of Niggy Tardust!. The album gained worldwide attention last year with Trent Reznor on board to produce it, as well as much hype centered around the plan of making it available for free on the Internet. Despite somewhat mixed reviews and disappointing results from this marketing approach, the album exposed Saul Williams to millions of new fans across the world, and provided many with a first time glimpse into the art of Angelbert Metoyer.
As of late, Metoyer has been preparing to debut a portion of his newest work at his upcoming Houston show, Time (A) + Memory (B) + Moment (C), at New Gallery/Thom Andriola, running September 13th – October 18th. Those fortunate enough to make it to this exhibition will be rewarded with the showing of Metoyer’s epic 13’x 13’ piece The House of Warriors. This piece has already received attention after being featured in shows in San Diego and Dallas, amongst other cities, and will surely be a focus at his upcoming show here in Houston. Additionally, September will mark his return to New York with a series of works debuting at the Dactyl Foundation. Before the end of the year, Metoyer is sure to be busy with his soon-to-be released book of collected works, I-AOI. He will also have several more shows throughout the U.S., including an exhibition at the Gerald Peters Gallery in Dallas, and will participate in the Richard Wright at 100 exhibition at the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis, TN at the famed Lorraine Motel where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated.
At 31 years old, Metoyer has reached a crucial spot in his life and work where he is now ready to tie the last fifteen years of research together in an encyclopedic fashion. “Most of the work that I am showing is part of an ongoing experiment,” he says. My guess is that Metoyer’s ongoing experimentation will place him within a long line of prolific thinkers and doers who will be remembered for translating a vision of Mankind’s ultimate purpose for thousands of years and counting.

This Dude Thinks He’s Jesus

2008-08-07T14:53:00.000-07:00

Benny Hinn visits Houston, Free Press pays Benny Hinn a visit
by Mills-McCoin
Illustration by Timothy Tuxedo

I was practicing my short game in Omar’s front yard when he walked out to complain about the noise. Tim was drawing pictures and keeping bar from his lawn chair situated next to the record player but safely behind the tee box. He was serving Bloody Mary’s on this particular Saturday morning in July.
I chipped another ball. Omar grabbed my nine iron with anger and expletives; and asked that I no longer hit golf balls at his bay window. I grabbed his shoulder and said, “Hey, man... this dude thinks he’s Jesus.”
Omar was stunned, so Tim threw a paper airplane from behind the bar and hit him square in the belly. He unfolded the airplane and found a ticket to Benny Hinn’s Holy Spirit Miracle Service. He looked up at me with the joy of a boy trippin’ on Christmas. Tim cued up the record player to Paul Simon’s “Me and Julio Down by the School Yard” and thoughts of good old-fashioned trouble poured over Omar’s brain.
We ran around the yard like children until the song ended; then jumped in the car and headed to Rudyard’s to brief over beer and burgers. Omar was familiar with this crazy bastard, but I had done some “research” and felt the need to share. So I began to regale the mythology of Benny Hinn.
Toufik Benedictus “Benny” Hinn is a smarmy mad man that lays claim to special powers of healing given to him by God (specifically, the one from the Bible). He moved to Orlando and founded his first church in 1983, the Orlando Christian Center. That’s right, this jackass opened shop on Walt Disney’s turf. Normally, the idea of someone trying to compete against Walt Disney in a contest of “who’s got a bigger imagination” seems silly and predictable. But no. No. Nope.
But back to Benny and his jet. The alarming success of his “healing services” has allowed Benny to relocate to Southern California’s Orange County with his family and television show, which is called “This Is Your Day.” The name of the show never changes. It’s always YOUR day.
Benny Hinn lives lavishly in his ten million dollar home and flies around to his various “miracle crusades” on his jet (I wasn’t just making a pun earlier- he actually has a jet that costs nearly $200,000 a month to operate). And he doesn’t just go to the local pentecostal church downtown. No. No way. There’s no money in that. This dude fills stadiums with people- that either believe he is actually a circus freak with magical powers or skeptics, like me. And on this day, Benny’s Travelling Bullshit Show was at the Toyota Center.

We parked downtown two hours before the show started and left Tim sitting on the hood of the car- drawing, of course (he was our getaway driver if it came to that). We walked into the Toyota Center and Omar’s head began to change colors as he tried to take in all the information from his new environment at once like a child.
As expected, it was crowded; and it didn’t take long for me to get separated from Omar. I knew he would show up later though, so I wasn’t worried. I continued walking about by myself trying my best not to participate in the madness but failing beautifully. The scene was surreal. It was a circus. When was the last time you went to church and the concession stands were open? Popcorn, peanuts, hot dogs, nachos- the usual suspects, but draft beer was not available. I was heart broken. Sorta. Alcohol and miracles do seem to go hand in hand though.
There was a table near the entrance where old women with blue hair were loudly selling books (no Bibles though) and other merchandise used to brainwash all of humanity. Amongst the propaganda was a DVD which assured me that if I believed in God (again, specifically the one from the Bible) and did whatever the DVD commanded me to- then my FINANCIAL CRISIS WOULD GO AWAY. I knew then that I was dealing with liars. Familiar foes of mine. And sometimes not foes at all.
In any case, I left the table and went to look for a seat before any of the old ladies could trap me with the magic they were hiding in their hair. I found a spot halfway up, between a middle aged black woman who was already weeping and a middle aged Mexican woman sitting with her children who were eating cotton candy. I felt very alone.
The air smelled like a thousand different perfumes battling it out to see which one can remind me of church the most.
The service began with songs being sung by a patchwork choir-for-hire (Benny Hinn doesn’t have his own choir because that would require him to pay people money- so he works the sympathy gig and gets the voices for free from different churches around whatever town he’s flown to on his jet). All of a sudden, Benny Hinn appeared in front of the pulpit on the stage. I had no idea what was going on until I saw him. I didn’t understand the mechanics of his show... until I saw him. He was clad head to toe in white- like a klansman almost. He sported tannish ostrich skin dress slippers with his white cruise director suit. I won’t lie, he looked godly. On his left was the music and on his right was a bullpen of pastors and other minions dressed in dark suits. Behind Benny was the choir. Earlier, when I said it was a circus- it got circus-ier.
The first act was an eleven year old girl that Benny called out of the audience to the stage. She looked like Rudy from The Cosby Show. Rudy proceeded to sing a song like a miniature Whitney Houston strung out on electric cocaine. I will concede- it was pretty miraculous.
The next act was a heart-warming lesson from Benny on how to dodge the IRS. He actually talked about it. I was shocked. With his forked tongue, Benny said that all inquiries into his ministry had been concluded and he’s cleared to continue stealing people’s money.
The third act was a music/salvation combo. The music was wondrous and probably scored by Andrew Lloyd Webber or whoever does work for Jerry Bruckheimer. Benny climbed back to the top of his mountain and asked that everyone who had been “saved” by that point- stand up. Omar magically reappeared on the floor, five or six rows from the front!
Omar was the first to stand up then hundreds of others scattered across the Toyota Center followed suit. Benny applauded their salvation and commanded them to come to the front of the stage so that he might bless them- closer. He ran up to the stage like he was going to sit in Santa’s lap. Everyone stood silently during the blessing of “the new people”; all except Omar, who was wiggling like a puppy dog. After the blessing, I made eye contact with him and he joined me up in the cheap seats.
Then it was time for the wallets and checkbooks to come out and vomit forth revenue into the belly of Benny the Hinn. Buckets were passed around to collect all of the booty. I didn’t donate but Omar scribbled, “You are a fraud,” on the back of his business card and dropped it in the bucket with hopes of a free lunch. Benny continued to preach words that encouraged people to donate and assured them that they would get something back- someday. For crying out loud (which is what a lot of people were doing at the time), he wasn’t even being Karl Rove about it. He laid out his evil right in front of us... and people bought it. He hadn’t even performed a miracle yet!
But then he did- and that’s when the shit hit the jet engine.
After the buckets were collected, Benny’s enthusiasm took a turn for the violent. His speech got darker and more condemning. Over and over again, he repeated exact phrases as if to cast a spell upon us. Then without warning, Benny screamed at the minions like a dirty old pirate, “Fire on ya!” and they all fell back into their chairs or to the ground. He did this several times while yelling and carrying on like a professional wrestler on pay per view.
And that was it- that was the “miracle”. After six hours, he healed, what was essentially, his entourage. You can’t “heal” people that work for you and call it a miracle. That’s flagrant. And the biggest surprise of all was that nobody asked for their money back. That’s what disturbed me the most. It wasn’t Benny Hinn that bothered me; it was the fools perpetuating his fraud. Benny Hinn simply manipulates people’s vulnerabilities for profit. He’s not the only one, so I can’t throw stones. But the people that “contribute to his cause”- those are the vipers. They are the ones aiding and abetting this con artist; and getting nothing in return but more lies.
If you ever see a man dressed in white with Bibles in his hands and dollar signs in his eyes- he ain’t Jesus.

Opiates for the masses

2008-08-04T09:34:00.000-07:00

Prescription opiate addiction in Houston and the secret world that facilitates it

By Anonymouse

“Well, Doctor, I got into a car accident, hurt my back, and can’t sleep at night," I told the crooked doc as confidently as possible. We both knew that was bullshit. He mumbles under his breath and writes me a prescription, lickety-split. “That’s it?” I asked myself. So there I had it: A prescription in hand for 150 Lorcets, 100 Xanax, and 100 Soma. There are dozens of these crooked ‘Pain Management Clinics’ here in Houston and across the nation that conveniently facilitate legions of prescription opiate addictions.

I began experimenting with Vicodin pills in high school. Man, those things made me feel so good. They helped me shove everything else to the side and made me feel like what I was doing was worthwhile. However, back then, they were really hard to come by. That was until I met Brian. He was giving them to me at a cheap price, or so I thought, as I indiscriminately took what I could. It did not seem like anything bad. I mean, it was just a pill. Next thing I know, I am taking ten to twelve a day.

After growing tired of paying street value, I decided to ask Brian how he was getting them so cheap and how I could flip a few to make some money back. That’s when he introduced me to the glamorous world of Pain Management Clinics. Houston is bursting with these crooked doctors that make great livelihoods on others' misery. He took me to an innocuous building off of Beltway 8 at West Bellfort. I had no idea what I was getting into. You enter what seems like an ordinary doctor’s office yet it is teeming with armed security. You fill out your entry form as you watch junkies rushing to fill theirs out to get their precious goods. Now, the waiting room is packed full of hungry fiends exchanging information about better deals on their drugs and who they know that can help you out. People are there to get everything from Lean (Codeine cough syrup), Vicodins, Lorcets, Percocets, etc. But in the end, it’s all the same shit. Now, these places are so packed that they call patients into the doctor’s office in groups of ten. To give a veneer of legitimacy, they then scuttle patients momentarily into individual rooms. Even the nurses are shady. After a 45 second ‘discussion’ with the ‘doctor’, you are raced out of the door with the quickness in which you came in. The visit costs 90 dollars. Funny thing is that there are junkies outside the door propositioning you to buy a few from you. No way. Why would I let you in on my hard earned harvest? Then comes the doozy. The back of the prescription has a list of the shady pharmacies that will fill these out and give you the opiates. These are the kind of pharmacies with burglar bars. See, your standard Walgreens or CVS won’t touch these illicit prescriptions. So you are forced to make your way to ‘mom and pop’ pharmacies that are used to filling these orders as much as they get robbed. After handing over my 140 dollars, they doled me out my precious 300 pills. I remember sitting in my car staring at this huge, beautiful bottle thinking, “ I am set.” I made plans around these bottles. I had a few weeks of peace of mind. Opiate addicts always feel like their running out though. Nevertheless, the great thing was that I had legit bottles with my name on it. That means if I got pulled over, a cop couldn’t stick me with the felony per pill I was carrying. I returned to this place a handful of times. Unfortunately, at the time, patients were only allowed to enter this place once a month. Bummer.

For at least 18 months, I was steady taking nearly a dozen a day and feeling diminishing returns on the effects. One day, at my retail job in the mall, I ran out of pills and had one of the worst withdrawal episodes of my life. Waking up feeling like death, I got ready for work with cold sweats. I shit my pants on the way to work. Violently feeling the effects of no opiates, I lied down on the floor behind the cash register hoping no customers would enter the store. You see, opiate junkies get body pains, visceral stomach pains from their nerve endings desiring the drug. It’s like having the flu on steroids. I remember lying in bed punching the wall and being angry with God. I soon became tired of this life and found the fortitude to at least try to get off the opiates. I went through several unsuccessful attempts and worked my way back onto the drug. My life at the time was one big plane crash and Vicodin was my parachute. I struggled back and forth like this for months until I had the guts to look inward and see my desperation. I was no longer myself. I was enslaved to getting these pills. After many physical struggles, lots of soul searching and a few spiritual LSD trips, I have managed to stay away from the addiction for some time now. However, if you met the old me and you had a few ‘beans’ in your pocket right now, I would start to sweat. I would be oblivious to anything else. I just might think about breaking your neck and hiding you behind a building.

* Two million Americans use prescription opioid painkillers every year

* Abuse of prescription painkillers has overtaken that of cocaine and marijuana.

* About 9% of the U.S. population has used pain relievers illegally in their lifetime (according to the 2002 NHSDA--National Household Survey on Drug Abuse).

* An estimated 1.6 million Americans used prescription-type pain relievers non-medically for the first time in 1998.

* Among youths age 12-17, the incident rate increased from 6.3 to 32.4 per 1,000 new users from 1990 to 1998.

* Young adults age 18-25 increased in first use from 7.7 to 20.3 per 1,000 new users between 1990 and 1998.

* Prescription Opiate abuse is more prevalent than Heroin

* Source: SAMHSA U.S. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

Joe Horn Indictment Rally at Harris County Criminal Justice Building

2008-07-10T17:27:00.000-07:00

What a lovely afternoon in front of the Harris County Criminal Court Building. Scores of people rallied outside the court building to protest the Grand Jury that failed to indict Joe Horn for killing a man suspected of robbing his neighbor. The man was unarmed. Of course.
Well, to be honest, I arrived as a journalist but left an angry constituent. Oh well, a good time was had by all. Bun B made a special appearance, Quanell X delivered his predictably firey rant, and the 'opposition' made a small showing of 2 individuals.

Breaking the Beast: The Abuse of Circus Animals

2008-07-02T13:49:00.000-07:00

by Andrea Afra
Illustration by Tim Dorsey

The circus is coming to town.

"Tear that foot off! Sink it in the foot! Tear it off! Make 'em scream!"

"When I say rip his head off, rip his fucking foot off...it's very important that you do it."

In 1999, Tim Frisco, a Carson & Barnes circus elephant trainer was caught on video by an undercover PeTA cameraman during a training demonstration for new employees. As he screams, curses, and stabs at the elephant students he is 'training' with bullhooks and electrically charged prods, his goal is to evoke cries of pain and fear from the giant beasts.

"When you hear that screaming, then you know you got their attention."

Frisco learned his techniques from his father, Joe Frisco Sr., a former trainer for the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus. Owned by Feld Entertainment, Inc., the same company that puts on other family shows like Disney on Ice, the Ringling Bros. Red Tour is coming to Houston's Reliant Stadium in July and they'll do anything to hide what takes place behind the scenes...

"Right here in the barn, you can't do it on the road...I'm not gonna touch her in front of a thousand people...she's gonna fucking do what I want and that's just fucking the way it is...I am the boss, I will kick your fucking ass...I'll kick the shit out of you, you little prick."

Austin July 2006: Closer to home

Ringling Bros. is caught on video as elephants are being paraded through a neighborhood. An elephant named Tonka is being made to hold onto another elephant's tail but she lets go and the person guiding her has a bullhook behind her left ear. He yanks on it eliciting several of the most horrific panting cries, like someone trying to breath heavily through a trumpet. A close up shot of the back of her ear shows a bleeding wound where the hook has ripped into her flesh. Austin police illegally confiscated the tape from PeTA.
Animal rights groups such as PeTA have been documenting circus animal abuse for over two decades. As a result the Ringling Bros. FAQ link on their website leads to a seven page, poorly written rebuttal, every single entry a defensive response against accusations made against the circus. For example, they claim their animals get ample exercise and care and have a better, longer life than those in the wild. This could be true if in the wild they enjoyed activites such as riding in cramped box cars for up to seventy hours without a break, fifty weeks a year, being chained with shackles long enough to leave deep gashes on their ankles, and learning stupid pet tricks under the force and threat of violence.
In retaliation for whistleblowers like PeTA and other animal rights groups such as PAWS and The Elephant Alliance, Feld Entertainment, Inc., hired none other than former CIA Covert Operations Director Claire George to oversee an undercover operation to infiltrate those organizations that were most deemed to be a threat to ticket sales.
Worse than Ringling's spy games are its treatment of animals. In 1998 USDA formally charged Ringling in the death of Kenny, a baby elephant who was forced to perform while ill. They settled out of court for $20,000. In 1999, the USDA cited Ringling for the injuries of two baby elephants that had suffered severe rope burns during the separation from their mothers. After consulting with experts and in opposition to Ringling's denial that the separation process was ethical, the USDA stated "there is sufficient evidence that the handling of these animals caused unnecessary trauma, behavioral stress, physical harm, and discomfort to these two elephants."
This incident took at the Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey Center for Elephant Conservation in central Florida, which is nothing more than a pachyoderm farm for future circus animal acts. Video footage revealed the birthing process that takes place there. Shirley, the seven year old under-age mother elephant, stands shackled to a fence as her newborn baby slips from her body and falls to the concrete floor. She is frightened and as the keepers try to pull the baby away she accidentally kicks it. She is then yanked away as she tries to reach out with a searching trunk to feel and smell her baby, which they named Riccardo. He was euthanized 8 months later when he fell off a circus pedestal during a training exercise and fractured both of his hind legs. Many ex-employees of Ringling have spoken out as witnesses to the daily violence that takes place out of the ring.
Several companies and cities and countries have gotten wise to the mistreatment of circus animals and have stopped collaborating with Ringling. Yet in 2000, when Seattle tried to pass a bill against allowing circus animal acts, Feld Entertainment, Inc. threatened to pull all of their productions from the city forever. The Seattle City Council thought life without Disney on Ice would be unbearable so they nixed the bill that would have set an honorable example for the rest of us.
There are many ways that people can take action against acts that use animals. You can boycott and picket such circuses and attend shows that use live people instead. Cirque du Soleil is much more impressive than any live animal act. Also, if you find a business that offer free tickets don't be afraid to tell them to do a little research before continuing to associate with the circus. For the true guerilla, if you see free tickets left out on a display, pocket them all and throw them away. Yet the most effective way to help these animals is to tell their story to a kid. Circuses like Ringling Bros. cling to the hope that there will be several more generations that are brainwashed by tradition and lies, the old notion that since we went to the circus we should take our kids too. If kids knew how the animals are treated, they will tell their friends and so on and attendance numbers would drop significantly. Children shouldn't be made spectators of these broken wild animals and if given the choice and told the truth, their generation will be the death of this tradition.

Circus Glossary-

Ankus/Bullhook: A device used to inflict painful reinforcement on circus elephants. A long metal prod with an inconspicuously sharp steel hook and tip, nearly identical to a fireplace poker. Some of these are equipped with electric prongs.

Wonder Dust: A blood coagulant used to stop bleeding and conceal flesh wound caused by bullhooks.

Free Tickets: Sneak attack! If you see a stack of tickets being given away, take them all and then throw them away (recycle, of course)

Spanky the Clown: Thomas Allen Riccio, former Ringling clown known as "Spanky" was charged with 10 counts of child sexual exploitation

Sacha Houcke: Ringling's ringmaster was charged after witnesses saw Houcke choke his daughter, push her to the ground and punch her in the face in a park in Pennsylvania.

Photos from Westheimer Block Party- by Anthony Chapman

2007-10-17T10:35:00.000-07:00

Thanks Anthony!

Test 4

2007-07-11T12:37:00.001-07:00

by Michael Bergeron

The end of December is a dead zone for your humble scribe as far as movies are concerned. I’ve already seen everything that cinema audiences are flocking to currently. More than a couple of high profile movies won’t even open in Houston until early to mid-January – titles like Letters From Iwo Jima, Pan’s Labyrinth, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, Miss Potter, Notes On A Scandal, The Good German and Children of Men. Houston does present itself as a bit of a backwater town now and then.

Meanwhile local auds are just adjusting to The Good Shepherd and The History Boys, or if Santa left you a hunk of coal in your stocking Black Christmas.
With end of the year kudos being extended for many current films you’d think it was the best month of the year to see films. For me, that would be last March when I saw V For Vendetta and Thank You For Smoking. Those two films along with the fall release Little Children get my vote for best trio of films of the year. Other exceptional films would include the dense Brick; the tense Hard Candy; the documentary The Bridge; Happy Feet; natch Scorsese’s The Departed; Emilio Estevez’s emotional Bobby; and the dystopian tinged road movie Children of Men. Those were my best, here’s the rest.

That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the length and skullduggery of Good Shepherd or the infectious rhythms of Dreamgirls (none of the film’s songs are anywhere as good as a Motown hit), nor the minimalism of a Clint Eastwood war romp, or the animated rumbles of Cars, the grief of The Queen or the sheer intensity of United 93. And I definitely sat on the edge of my seat for most of Apocalypto, and thought The Fountain was way over the heads of the studio and moviegoers alike. Likewise I laughed like a hyena at Borat and disavowed fast food after Fast Food Nation. Perhaps the coolest single shot from any film was the swooping crane discovery sequence from The Black Dahlia, otherwise a misfire from Brian De Palma.

When you see as many films as I do it’s not so much about what you like, but about what you can’t wait to end.

Two films epitomize all that is wrong with filmmaking: Stranger Than Fiction and The Holiday. The former was a Huckabees wannabe metaphysical comedy that painted itself into its own lame corner. It has to be good because it’s absurd seems to be director Marc Forester’s mantra. Oddly his badly reviewed Stay was more interesting than anything in Stranger Than Fiction. Will Farrell seems destined to be the George Gobel (a popular comic actor from the 1950s) of this generation.

The Holiday just sets the right mood with the most impossibly beautiful people making love to each other. What’s wrong with that you may ask? After two reels of foreplay Cameron Diaz and Jude Law hop in the sack and after consummating their relationship she still wearing her bra. Welcome to PG-13 filmmaking. The Holiday has brilliant thesps like Kate Winslet overacting, and natural hams like Jack Black downshifting his usual kinetic method. Nancy Meyer’s direction oversimplifies the romance a film like The Holiday needs to sustain interest, but then again she turns out holiday pap like this on a regular basis (anyone own a DVD of What Women Want?).

War Games

2007-07-10T12:34:00.001-07:00

The film is set late in the Cold War period, opening on a U.S. Air Force base where its missile launch crew receives orders to launch nuclear missiles at the Soviet Union; when the base's Commander (played by John Spencer) fails to launch their missiles, this is revealed to be part of a larger psychological experiment by the military, testing whether U.S. missile crews would do the same in the event of a real nuclear attack. It is mentioned that twenty-two percent of crews tested failed to launch their missiles, prompting NORAD to install an automated computer system, the "War Operation Plan Response" or WOPR, to oversee launching of U.S. nuclear missiles.

The film's protagonist, David Lightman, is introduced as a hacker in high school, whose gaming addiction has resulted in low grades, which he covers up by illicitly accessing the school's computer database and manually adjusting his reported grades, as well as the low grades of a girl he has a crush on, Jennifer. While performing a computerized telephone search in an attempt to locate and play the games of the fictional "Protovision" in Sunnyvale, California (incidentally the real life location of the then-ubiquitous Atari), David discovers a connection to the WOPR, although without a password, he is unable to gain access to anything more than a list of games.

War Games

2007-07-10T12:32:00.001-07:00

Sun Ra

2007-07-05T13:31:00.002-07:00

To configure this script, first, set the variables inside the script of Step 1 per the comments. As you can see, you can specify more than one iframe on the page in which the script should dynamically resize.

Secondly, for the code of Step 2, be sure the ID (ie: "myframe") matches the ID entered into the script, so the script knows which IFRAMEs to adjust. You may also change the width attribute (ie: 100%) to a different value, as the script only changes the height of the iframe, but not the width.

Thirdly, in the script of Step 1, there is a variable that toggles whether browsers that don't support this script (non IE5+/NS6+) should still see the iframe(s) or not. Generally you should choose to hide the iframe in these non compatible browsers (Opera 7 included), as the iframe's height is hardwired in these cases, and part of the external page most likely will be clipped and unviewable to the viewer if the external page's height exceeds the iframe's default height.

Last but not least, as shown in the demo above, you can actually use links on your main page to load a page into your IFRAME (with the IFRAME automatically resized to that page's height of course). To do so, the link should look like this:

Osiris Jones

2007-07-05T13:31:00.001-07:00

Spaghetti

2007-07-05T12:48:00.003-07:00

In the middle of a commercial shoot, inspiration struck Michel Tcherevkoff. The photo of a leaf lay upside down on the table, and he heard himself say: “Hey, that looks like a shoe.” Shortly thereafter, the photographer went tripping down fantasy lane on a whimsically inventive project called “Shoe-Fleur.” Using flowers and leaves as raw materials, Tcherevkoff fashioned them into a collection of shoes that would never walk down a runway but would convey him and his feats of fancy to the Museum of Art and Design in New York.

Jokes and Jokes

2007-07-05T12:48:00.001-07:00

Chevy Freedom over Tejas

2007-07-05T12:41:00.000-07:00

“After all the ink that’s been spilled describing, previewing and hyping the Apple iPhone, does it deserve the attention? I’d have to say yes,” reports Ryan Kim (San Francisco Chronicle). “The lure of the iPhone is that it makes you want to use it. It’s actually fun. Do we say that about any phones? Hardly. It’s not really the physical design, which is a marvel of simplicity. It’s what happens when you pick it up and use it. There is nothing intimidating about it. Rather, it’s inviting.” “The cell phone, the most personal of technology devices,” Kim concludes, “has just gotten a whole lot more personal.”