Dante’s Inferno Being Remodeled

Dante’s Inferno Being Remodeled

A press release has just come to my attention that Dante’s Inferno is being dramatically remodeled. The need has apparently arisen to accommodate a new class of condemned individuals, sinners who are so onerous and evil that the traditional punishments of Hell are just too tame. The existing tortures, horrible as they are, just don’t fit the magnitude of the sins against humanity of this new breed of miscreants, particularly their war against the truth.

Names of some of those prompting the upgrade are mentioned __ Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck, Bill O’Reilly, Rupert Murdoch, Newt Gingrich, Sean Hannity, Michele Bachman, Ann Coulter, Scott Walker, Sarah Palin, David and Charles Koch, Donald Trump __ though the list is certainly not exhaustive and every day new individuals are being added (adding themselves is probably more accurate).

The Devil is quoted as saying, “I thought my good friend Adolph was about as scummy as they come but this new crop makes him look like Mother Theresa.”

As described in the first part of Dante’s epic poem the Divine Comedy, Hell currently consists of nine levels, or as Dante calls them ‘circles’. Descending in order they are: Limbo, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Wrath, Heresy, Violence, Fraud, and Treachery. Limbo is relatively benign, more of a park than a place of suffering, and is entirely reserved for the unbaptized and virtuous pagans. The next eight circles offer eternal punishment for the host of sins which individually fall into the named categories. There is no way to itemize them all here but as you would expect, the list includes everything from selfishness and hoarding to hedonism and beastiality, deception to murder and betrayal, theft to bigotry and idolatry.

 

Punishments typically fit the sin. Unfortunates are eternally hacked to pieces by sword, perpetually chased by ferocious dogs through flesh-ripping thorny undergrowth, blinded to be left sightless and alone for all eternity, mercilessly crushed by huge stones, drowned and forever left gurgling at the bottom of a sea, immersed in a river of boiling blood and fire, cruelly condemned to permanently sit in a desert of flaming sand with lava pouring down on them, savagely whipped and driven by demons, mockingly having their heads wrenched around to face backwards, sadistically submerged in a lake of boiling pitch, and even spending eternity upside down with their heads entirely submerged in human excrement.

Details are not available at this time, but apparently these time-honored tortures will be like getting a foot massage compared to what will be in store for those who end up in the 10th Circle. Good luck, mega-sinners!

One other interesting aside: Since Hell hasn’t been remodeled for quite some time, the renovation work is providing a terrific opportunity for some equipment modernization. According to the Christian Science Monitor, the Devil has ordered several hundred nuclear reactors from GE, which should give a real shot in the arm to the struggling nuclear power industry. GE was chosen because not only will the reactors provide unprecedented amounts of heat down there, they will also most probably melt down and subject the trustees to radiation poisoning, cancer, and having their flesh fall off their bones in slabs of greasy fillets.

 

The new 10th circle has not been officially named but rumor has it the top contenders are Shit Storm of Evil and Malevolent Assholes With No Redeeming Qualities.

You can vote on these. Just text *666 and hit ’1′ for Shit Storm and ’2′ for Malevolent Assholes.

Results will be announced by Ed Schultz on MSNBC during the cable station’s coverage of the next Republican National Convention.

Books

Books

My publisher just sent me the cover for my new book. I’m very pleased with the work their artist did.
11-11-11 will be published and available world-wide on June 1 through Melange Books out of Minneapolis, MN.

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My first novel is From Thailand With Love, and it will soon be out in print through World Audience Publishing (New York) as a two-book set. Until this official release, it can be previewed and purchased inexpensively as an ebook . . .

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/7605
http://ebooks.ebookmall.com/title/from-thailand-with-love-rachel-ebooks.htm

My second novel The Man Who Loved Too Much is unpublished. Highly knowledgeable literary agents and publishers have declared it too long. Maybe it should have been titled The Man Who Wrote Too Much. Ha ha! Interestingly, 18 short stories excerpted from this unpublishable tome have appeared in over 20 different magazines. One story “Guerilla Warfare” alone has been published in print three times. Here are some links to a few of the stories to give you a flavor for the irreverent tone of the book . . .

“Spider Man” – http://www.fullofcrow.com/fiction/2010/04/spider-man-by-john-rachel/

“Make Love Not War” – http://twinenterprises.com/the_fear_of_monkeys/issue_six/make_love_not_war.htm

“Baby Fever” – http://scars.tv/cgi-bin/works_e.pl?/home/users/web/b929/us.scars/perl/text-writings/g2698.txt

“Dr. Gender Bender” – http://www.hobopancakes.com/divisionofinfrastructure2.html

“The Tunnel of Love” – http://www.troubadour21.com/short-stories/johndrachel/the-tunnel-of-love/

“Apocalypso” – http://www.millionstories.net/JohnRachel.html

“Renoir Albertine Toulouse, Thumb Painter” – http://thedirtynapkin.com/issue/034/06/

“The Crush” – http://www.troubadour21.com/short-stories/johndrachel/the-crush/

In January of this year, I completed my third novel 11-11-11 and will be published June 1st through Melange Books (Minneapolis, MN). 11-11-11 is the tragicomic prequel to my next book 12-12-12. But it stands on its own as a demented but very plausible vision of contemporary America and its fear-driven preoccupations. Here is how 11-11-11 begins . . .

PROLOGUE

The world would finally end. For sure this time.
Not like all those other times.
Really.

Chapter 1 May 5 . . .

BAMBI MEETS GODZILLA

Noah was watching Bambi Meets Godzilla on YouTube.

He loved that little film. How many times had he seen it? Fifty? A hundred?

Almost the entire length of the three-minute film consisted of opening credits rolling over an idyllic animation of Bambi eating and frolicking in the forest. Gentle spring flute music playfully accompanied the chirping of birds. Finally the credits finish and to a thunderous, forest-shaking kaboom!, Godzillas giant foot comes down and squashes the innocent little fawn. All we see is Godzilla’s grizzly leg and Bambi’s four tiny twig-like limbs sticking out from under the giant reptilean foot. The music and birds have stopped, and as the kaboom! trails off in a long tail of reverberation, The End fades up on the screen and the film is over.

What a perfect metaphor! thought Noah. Especially for life in this stinking town.

As many times as he had watched it, it never failed to put him in a great mood. Of course, the first twenty or thirty times left him rolling helplessly on the floor in convulsions of laughter. Now it just left him pleasantly amused. Bouyant. Hopeful.

He knew he wasn’t alone. Like minds. Somewhere out there.

When the clip finished, he clicked on the Today’s Recommended Videos link.

The Featured Video was called “11-11-11 – The Pleiadians Warned Us!!”

What was this all about? Some fat loser with greasy hair flopping in his face offered a five minute rant based on alleged alien visitations from the Pleiades constellation. Filmed with a hand-held camera, it was replete with photos of flying saucers and very weird mathematical symbols scribbled on a white board. The presentation concluded with a wildly unhinged catalog of every imaginable catastrophe and collusion of spiritual forces, a cosmic fusillade of supernatural cataclysms all occurring exactly at 11:11 am on November 11, 2011.

Right.

What a pile of kaka!

11:11 am. What time zone?

Jokers like this annoyed him. All of these prophets of doom, conspiracists, rapturists and various peddlers of paranoid poop ___ and that included gurus, televangelists and faithhealers, even parish priests and local Bible-thumpers if they were mongering fear from their bully pulpits ___ really pissed him off. Whether they believed their own nonsense or not, these lunatics went around spewing this ridiculous crap, scaring the hell out of people and actually getting paid for doing it, while real people like himself actually had to work for a living.

Speaking of which . . . he had a job to go to.

Noah threw on his work clothes. He didn’t have to be to work for three more hours but this was a perfect day for riding. He hated it when he got sucked into the internet and wasted such beautiful weather geeking out.

With a wifebeater under his open work shirt, a pair of jeans tucked into his riding boots, and his backpack buckled on, Noah kick-started his 140 cc Kawasaki off-road bike. It fired up on the first try and he did a decent enough wheelie out of the garage under his tiny studio apartment. Without looking back, he knew his landlady was at her window cursing him and his errant youthful ways. She would go back to mumbling prayers for God’s forgiveness and His blessing for her abominable existence here on Earth.

Pulnick was one of the three main “cities” along a corridor that ran diagonally through Monroe County, Missouri. Monroe City sat in the very northeast corner of the county, Paris was dead center, and Pulnick midway between them just north of the artificial lakes that were the recreational foundation for Mark Twain State Park. Pulnick’s surrounding landscape was a mixture of farms, woodlands, and open fields, and showed both the growing and shrinking pains of development, successful and otherwise. The area bore witness to the indecision of a region of middle America which could not make up its mind whether to jump on the freight train of industrialization and modernization, or to just lean back as it had for many decades and watch the corn grow.

As the crow flies, Noah’s job was exactly 18 miles east and slightly south of Pulnick. If he went straight across town on Main Street, hammered it along 24, then took some back roads east around Mark Twain Recreation Area, he could be there in less than twenty five minutes. Frankly, this was a pretty boring way to go. He had done it way too many times.

Today he had the time and wanted a little variety and challenge. That either meant heading north on the county roads where he could open up his little screaming metal monster for some serious speed, or south of town past the Monroe County Industrial Park, out toward Swinkley Lake. The lake was surrounded by woods, and there were lots of hiking and biking trails. It was fairly hilly and if he could avoid the mud holes from the recent rains, he could do some great off-road riding.

Noah opted for speed. He banked a right on Dillinger, left on Smithers, then right on Gandolph, which turned into County Road 171 at the outskirts of town. Two more lights and a stop sign and he’d be looking at thirty miles of pedal-to-the-metal open road. He could pull around any cars and trucks without blinking.

Just as he was approaching the last four-way stop, he suddenly heard a strange sound. It was coming directly from his left and behind him. It sounded like a combination of the roar of a truck engine and the blast of air brakes.

Then nothing.

THE LONG WEEKEND

When Noah came to, he was inside of an ambulance. He heard the long shrill whine of a siren and as the fog partially cleared could see he was not alone. Next to him looking out the side window was a man wearing an anticeptic mask. He gently held a breathing apparatus over Noah’s face. He turned back and noticed that Noah was regaining consciousness.

“Darn good thing you were wearing a helmet.”

“Wha . . .?”

“Don’t try to talk. Just be calm. You were in an accident. We’ll be at the hospital in a few minutes. You’re going to be alright.”

Noah went back under, off into whatever world of dreams or metaphysical suspension is the temporary hospice for a traumatized body.

Next thing he remembered was feeling like someone was shoving something down his throat. He gagged and it felt like he tried to struggle. He couldn’t be sure. Again the blank screen and autonomous hum of nothingness descended on him. Everything dispersed in a dreamless void. Time stopped. Then . . .

Faintly he heard moaning. Who was it? When he licked his lips it stopped.

Noah felt a cool damp cloth on his face. It gently patted his forehead. Brushed over his eyelids. With some effort he opened his eyes. Everything was a blur. He heard a soft voice. A female.

“Mr. Tass.”

“Where am I?” Which came out as ‘Wuh uh ah?’

“You’re at Monroe County General. The hospital. And this is the intensive care section.

You’re going to be fine. You’ve had a bad accident but you are going to be okay. Just rest.”

He was going to be okay. That’s what the lady said.

He just had to rest . . .

BONES

They moved Noah out of the Intensive Care Unit after three days. His attending physician was a real comedian.

“Chances are you’ll live. But in case you don’t, we’re moving you into a regular room, so you don’t muck up the outstanding record of ICU this year. So far, they’re batting a thousand, if you don’t count the people they dragged out into the hall before they drew their last breath.”

Noah was in a semi-private room. The other person in the next bed was about 127 years old and if he had regained consciousness at any point during Noah’s stay there, no one seemed to notice. Noah had all of the privacy he could desire or handle.

Not that he could do very much.

Watch TV. Eat. Sleep. Watch TV. Eat. Sleep.

Even when he was awake, the pain medication floated him in the weightless cloud of a semi-conscious stupor. Considering the quality of the television programming, this was probably best.

Soap operas would segue into cooking shows into weather reports into heroics on the basketball court into crime scene investigations into talk shows. Somehow it made sense without making any sense at all.

Days went by. At first he couldn’t count them. Then he started to recognize a definite pattern to the way things were done. How often they would take his blood pressure. How long it took for him to use up the contents of his IV bottle. Which nurses were on days, which ones on afternoons, who had the night shift. There was only one on nights. Her name was Eleanor.

Sometimes he would look out the window. The windows were sealed. One day he asked a nurse if maybe they could get some fresh air but in the controlled environment of the hospital it was not allowed. Day after day, the weather continued to be beautiful. Great riding weather.

By the beginning of the second week, Noah was allowed ___ in fact he was encouraged ___ to get up and move around a bit. Slowly. Carefully. Always with a nurse at his side. And with his IV bottle and rack in tow. They told him that the more he moved around, without of course aggravating his injuries, the faster he would heal. It was important to work his muscles, flex his joints, get his blood flowing, and jack up his metabolism. All good for the body.

Moving around might have terrific things going for it. But unfortunately it hurt like hell.

He frankly could not believe how bad it hurt. What had he done to himself?

Exercise notwithstanding, most of the time that second week he still spent in bed.

Noah had seven broken bones. Three broken ribs. A broken collar bone. His left leg broken in two places. His right arm, down near the wrist. The good news was they were all clean breaks, none requiring surgery, truss rods, bolts, or screws.

He had also gotten pretty bruised up. His chest where he took the impact of his handlebars. His legs, feet and ankles which had whipped around and broadsided the grill of the 18-wheeler. His right arm and shoulder from the rear tire of his motorcycle as it landed on him.

Naturally, he had some scrapes and superficial gashes as well. His face, hands, knees and elbows had a number of abrasions and shallow cuts. But despite their gruesome appearance and blue puffy swelling, especially the first three days in ICU, none of these injuries were very serious and the doctor assured him he would have no scars. It could have been much worse.

Darn good thing he was wearing a helmet.

Noah never got clear in his mind all of the details of the accident. Partly this was because his mind still was not very clear. And partly it was because he frankly couldn’t remember anything about what had happened that day. Not a thing. When the body is severely traumatized, the mind always protectively blocks any recall of the incident. That’s what his doctor told him. That certainly seemed to be how it was. He couldn’t remember leaving his apartment to go riding that day. He couldn’t even remember breakfast. Or lunch. Nothing.

What they told him, however, was that a truck driver from out of town didn’t realize that there was a four-way stop intersection on that stretch of road, got distracted by something inside the cab of his truck, then when he glanced back up immediately saw he was going to plow into one to four vehicles waiting their turn after stopping at the intersection. He initially swerved across into the oncoming lane but a school bus full of kids had just made a right turn onto the road. He cut his wheel hard back into his own lane, making the choice of lesser evils. That was when he nailed Noah, on his way to taking out two other vehicles.

Amazingly, no one else was seriously hurt. The drivers of the other two automobiles were a little shaken up, but even though their vehicles were totaled, they and the truck driver himself came through it virtually unscratched.

Noah got it all.

Bad luck and motorcycles.

Of course when you ride a bike you know the risks. But you rationalize. It won’t happen to me. I’m a good driver. I’m a safe driver. I’m a lucky guy.

Bad luck and motorcycles.

It could have been worse. He could have been killed. He could have . . .

He was rowing a boat. The water was like oil, a thick shimmering pool of impenetrable black. The boat felt like it was being pulled, and regardless of how hard he rowed, slipped sideways away from the shore. A girl at the other end smoked a cigarette and gazed off.

She laughed and turned to him. Her lips and hair were black but she had piercing blue eyes. “Your friends told me this was how it would be.” He felt humiliated and was overwhelmed by a desperate need to defend himself. “I’m doing the best I can.” Then one of the oars slipped out of his hand and disappeared into the lake.

He reached for it and banged his head on a length of tubular metal. It turned out to be the safety rail on his bed.

Noah was awake again. Painfully awake. He felt a small lump on his forehead.

The glare of the overhead florescent lights made him wince. He threw his arm over his face and tried to roll over.

He suddenly heard the acid-washed whine of his kid sister Gretchen.

“You look terrible!”

Noah’s sister never was up for the Miss Congeniality Award and never would be, especially in her relationship with her brother. Whether prompted by envy or intimidation ___ she was three years younger and failed in every way Noah excelled ___ she always made it clear that she thought Noah was a loser and things could only get worse for him.

He didn’t feel like fighting with her. Not now.

“I asked for my bandages to be in mauve with yellow and silver embroidery. Look at these. And what’s with cosmetic surgery these days? I wanted a subtle sculpturing of my naturally beautiful chin, not this Jay Leno demolition bumper.”

“You are so gay.”

“Shhh.” Noah pointed his bandaged thumb toward his 127 year old roommate. “Let’s just keep it between the two of us. I think he’s a homophobe.”

Noah started to ask where his mom was. But then he saw her standing by the door.

“Hi mom. Gretchen here was just trying to lift my spirits. She always sees the bright side of things. That’s why she’s so popular.”

His mother had an unlit cigarette in her mouth, the filter caked with red from her lips. She removed it with her white gloved hand and waved it in the air as she spoke.

“Ha. Just like your father, young lady. Always trying to be funny.”

Gretchen chomped on her bubble gum and sneared.

“Dad was never funny.”

“Sometimes. I think so . . . I don’t exactly remember.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“Say what?”

The soft subtle electronic sounds of the medical monitoring equipment next to Noah’s bed sounded like an industrial roar compared to the uncomfortable silence which now filled the room. The Tass family was clearly out of its element. Whatever that element was.

His mother stared at Noah like he was a stranger. She always had. But it was worse today. She seemed to be looking at a spot six inches above his head and three feet behind him.

He himself had been staring at her as a stranger since his father left. Since her coronation as Queen of Trailer Park Chic. That was fourteen years ago. A long time. And these days he couldn’t remember the good old mom that raised him. There she stood in a full-length fur coat. In the middle of spring. Layers of pearls. Layers of makeup. Earrings that looked like Christmas tree ornaments. Thick amber frame rhinestoned glasses. Old lady cleavage swabbed with an orange base powder that couldn’t hide the age spots and moles. Lipstick like the Joker.

Menopause was a bitch.

She always looked both frightened and aloof. Her best days behind her but hoping no one else would notice. Not a chance.

She was 49 going on 99, a poster lady for the never-was-never-will-be. It was like she carried a sign that said: Ye who enter here abandon all hope.

In some strange way, his mother and sister were two of a kind. There was obviously a contrast in individual style. They were after all separated by a huge generation gap. His mother was Victorian pseudo-chic. His sister was Gothic ultra-geek.

But if you looked beyond the particular outrageous choices each made to mock herself and send a ‘Hazardous Substance Warning’ to the rest of the human race, essentially they were both doing the same thing. Tragically, that was putting a wide forbidding psychological moat around themselves, guaranteeing that no one could get close enough to get a good look and see how woeful and self-loathing they were, consequently barring any help from the outside.

Noah never played head games with his mother but he loved baiting his sister.

“Hey, Gretch. You look pretty stunning today yourself. How are things at the coven?”

Gretchen dismissed him with a snarling aside to her cell phone which she was pointlessly checking for non-existent text messages. “So pathetic!”

“Come on now. Don’t you two get started.”

Mommy dearest. The peacemaker. Never deterred by her complete and total failure to keep them from tearing into one another at every available opportunity.

“Aw, mom. It’s just healthy sibling curiosity. I like to know what’s going on with my little sis. I was just going to ask if they had set a date for her exorcism yet.”

“Noah! Enough. Be nice! Obviously you’re feeling much better than when they brought you in.”

“I am I am! Doctor says I can run the marathon this weekend. Besides I am being nice.”

“Well, then . . . be nicer.”

A nurse walked into the scene of smoldering family warfare.

“Time to check his vitals. I’ll just be a minute. You both can stay put, if you wish.”

After taking his blood pressure and temperature, then annotating his chart, she started to leave but Noah stopped her.

“Eleanor! You haven’t met my family.”

“No, I missed out on that.” She turned and flashed a beauty contestant grin, extending her hand to Noah’s mother. “You’re Noah’s sister?”

“Why, thank you!” Giggle giggle. “But I’m his mother.”

Noah couldn’t believe it. His mom fell for that cheap bit of flattery.

“Well, Mrs. Tass. Noah is doing quite nicely. And this here . . .” She then started to offer her hand to Gretchen but since the girl was totally preoccupied with her cell phone, she skipped it and went into her oft-repeated but always enthusiastic official visitors spiel.

“Visiting hours are over shortly. It is very important that nothing upsets Noah and that he gets lots of rest. But you are certainly welcome to visit whenever you can. The comfort of family is very crucial to his full recovery. If you have any questions, feel free to ask for me.”

The comfort of family is very crucial . . . that was a good one. He liked Nurse Eleanor.
Wickedly wry, understated sense of humor.

His mom and sister had only been there ten minutes, most of it passed in the silence of a strained detente. Noah wondered if they intentionally came this late in visiting hours to avoid spending more time with him. Whatever the reason for their brevity, he was grateful.

His mom bent over to kiss him good-bye but rather than risk smearing the artlessly applied red gunk on her lips, which he assumed was lipstick though it could have been some designer calking compound available now in all shades of the rainbow, she stopped several inches short. She puckered and floated an air kiss toward his forehead.

“Get well, my boy. The world is an oyster.”

“And I am the pearl.”

“You have been listening all these years.”

“Only because I am a sucker for metaphors. Thanks for coming, mom.”

Gretchen stood up and still staring zombie-like at the screen of her cell phone, headed toward the door. Noah’s mom poked her in the back, prompting her to say something.
“Good-bye, loser. I think you should fuck Eleanor.”

“Thanks, Gretch. Have a great evening with your vibrator.”

Did God Cause The Earthquake In Japan?

Did God Cause The Earthquake In Japan?

This is one of the most fascinating things I have seen on the internet about the devastating seismological events which just occurred in Japan. It starts slow but stay with it . . . http://www.japanquakemap.com/

I have also run across some idiotic comments to the effect that the quake was the heavy finger of God pushing our buttons down here on Earth. That he is sending us a message about our misuse of the planet, that he is fed up with all of the sinning going on down here, that he is punishing the Japanese (for what? making great automobiles? being Buddhists?).

Hey! Maybe they’re right!

Maybe His patience has run out. Maybe He has had it up to his God eyebrows, so He is putting us on notice . . . “Clean up your act down there, or you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

Humans have certainly mucked things up over the years. Wars, genocide, plunder, destruction, reality TV shows. Okay, we had done some good constructive things too. But then it seemed like we are always turning around and tearing down what we have painstakingly built, or at least what someone else has built, killing off a few million along the way.

So maybe God feels the need to teach us a lesson every now and then. Remind us of exactly Who is in charge. Just scare the bejesus out of us. That would explain the rumors hovering around all the time that the world is about to end. A little bogeyman-under-the-bed psychology from the Big Guy in the sky?

But hold on a minute.

This can’t be right.

Really stopping to think about it ^___ stepping back and getting some perspective ^___ how could anyone actually believe that God gave a flying fuck about what goes on around here?

If the Universe is as big as astronomers and astrophysicists claim, this little wet chunk of dirt in our solar system which we call Earth ^___ but which He may not even have a name for ^___ is one billionth of a trillionth of a quadrillionth of a gazillionth of the whole shebang.

It would be like us obsessing over a piece of lint at the bottom of the ocean.

Yes, if God is indeed God, the Guy thinks big. Really big! He certainly is not some sniveling micro-manager. What we mere humans do here on Earth wouldn’t even come up on his radar screen. We’re more like microbes clinging to a worthless piece of space rock ^___ regardless of how many prayers we say, how many candles we burn, how many hymns we sing, how many services we conduct, how many churches and cathedrals we erect in His honor and to His greater glory.

There is only one conclusion . . .

God probably doesn’t even know about the 9.0 that devastated Japan.

Unless, of course, He watches CNN.

Do they get cable in Heaven?

[ The above comments about God are excerpted from my full-length novel 11-11-11, coming out June 1st, published by Melange Books. ]

WWOOFing

WWOOFing

[ Posted March 15, 2011 ]

Hospitality Club and Couchsurfing

For me and for most of the long term travelers I have met, money is an issue. It’s one thing to blow several thousand dollars over two weeks, then return home and start paying down the credit card you put your vacation on. It’s an entirely different game to make that same several thousand dollars last over six months or a year.

Obviously the major non-negotiable expenses incurred in extended travel are food and lodging. Taking that trek to the summit of Kilimanjaro, bungee jumping in Ticino, Switzerland, or spending the $109 to go to the top of the Burj Dubai ^___ the world’s tallest building ^___ are optional. Eating properly and sleeping somewhere where wild dogs and muggers can’t ravage you are not. So traveling long and hard on limited funds depends on keeping the numbers down on what is spent on these two necessities.

Two very popular internet travel sites are couchsurfing.org and hospitalityclub.org because they both directly address this very issue. There are others ^___ globalfreeloaders.com, stay4free.com, belodged.com ^___ but Couchsurfing and Hospitality Club are the two big ones. They are set up similar to dating services, only your date is a bed and a place at the dinner table. Couchsurfing has hosts in 233 countries and territories, Hospitality Club hosts in 226.

When you join one or both, you fill out a personal profile. You are requested to upload a photo, then tell about yourself, your education, hobbies, philosophy of life, etc. This is used by prospective hosts to determine if they want to let you invade the sanctity and privacy of their homes. Likewise, the hosts have a profile so that you can evaluate them and see if they offer the type of place you would like to crash. It’s all a guessing game, naturally, since everyone (except maybe full-tilt psychos) will portray themselves in the most flattering light. Who is going to put down that they can’t control their bowels or they love child porn? Consequently, it is awe-inspiring how much simple trust is involved and how well it seems to work. There have been no reports of anyone staying at these guest homes and being taken hostage or vice-versa.

All of these accommodations sites provide free lodging. You are then expected at some point in the future to reciprocate, by opening up your home to travelers seeking hospitality wherever it is you live. This certainly wasn’t going to happen in the foreseeable future on my end, since once I left America, I had no permanent address. But the concept is great, predicated on the best of human dispositions, built on trust, generosity and good faith. Couchsurfer’s motto is ‘Creating a better world, one couch at a time.’

When I first decided to fly the coop, I signed up for Hospitality Club, and for reasons which escape me now, started looking for cities and homes to accommodate me in Morocco. I think someone told me that sitting on a balcony and looking at the Mediterranean Sea was a pleasant and effective way to sort out one’s life.

But then I discovered WWOOFing.

How Does WWOOF Work?

WWOOFing started in 1971 by the organization which became WWOOF Independents and has grown and spread throughout the world.

WWOOF stands for World Wide Opportunities in Organic Farming, though some WWOOFers jokingly claim it stands for “weed whackers on organic farms” or “willing weeders on organic farms”, since it seems that in many situations pulling weeds constitutes 90% of the work.

Organic farming, of course, uses no chemicals. This means it is a labor intensive methodology. Things like preventing pest infestation and crops being overwhelmed by unwanted plants are accomplished naturally. Often that means, getting out in the field and doing what needs to be done by hand. The purest organic farms use no mechanization, correctly believing that hydrocarbon-fueled farm machinery adds pollution both to the air and the soil, compromising the purity of whatever is being grown. This means tilling and preparing the soil, planting the seeds or seedlings, removing weeds and other crop predators, and finally harvesting, all by hand ^___ very labor intensive! Which is where the WWOOF volunteer comes in.

Basically the volunteer provides 20 to 30 hours of labor in exchange for room and board, a basic education in organic farming, and the culturally enriching experience of living and working in a foreign country. At least this is how it works in theory.

The WWOOF concept has been instrumental in increasing the awareness of the organic alternative to corporate farming ^___ which has an undesirable impact both on the health of human beings and the health of national economies ^___ providing first hand experience to volunteers in what is effectively age-old, time-tested techniques for growing food. Many progressive agriculturalists believe that organic farming, as the only healthful, sustainable method for growing food, will ultimately completely replace chemical-based, mass production of crops and be the salvation of the world.

As a “movement” or at least a phenomenon, it is continuous flux. When I joined in 2006, for example, there were very few countries which had their own WWOOF organization. And I seem to recall that WWOOF Independents had well over a hundred countries. Now they are down to about fifty.

Here is the current listing for WWOOF Independents England (http://www.wwoof.org) out of England, which I used to find opportunities in Spain, Uganda, Kenya and South Africa. The number beside the country name is the number of participating farms which they list . . .

Bahamas (2 hosts) Lebanon (1 host)

Barbuda (1 host) Luxembourg (1 host)

Belgium (22 hosts) Malaysia (4 hosts)

Bolivia (11 hosts) Mongolia (1 host)

British Virgin Islands (1 host) Morocco (2 hosts)

Burkina Faso (1 host) Mozambique (1 host)

Cambodia (2 hosts) Namibia (1 host)

Colombia (5 hosts) Nicaragua (5 hosts)

Commonwealth of Dominica (1 host) Nigeria (1 host)

Cook Islands (1 host) Norway (39 hosts)

Croatia (4 hosts) Palestine (1 host)

Dominican Republic (2 hosts) Panama (4 hosts)

Ethiopia (1 host) Peru (5 hosts)

Finland (18 hosts) Russia (2 hosts)

French Polynesia (1 host) Senegal (6 hosts)

Gambia (1 host) Serbia (2 hosts)

Georgia (2 hosts) Slovenia (5 hosts)

Greece (39 hosts) South Africa (33 hosts)

Guatemala (5 hosts) Sri Lanka (3 hosts)

Holland (17 hosts) Tanzania (2 hosts)

Iceland (5 hosts) Thailand (14 hosts)

Indonesia (6 hosts) Tonga (5 hosts)

Jamaica (1 host) Uruguay (3 hosts)

Jordan (3 hosts) Venezuela (2 hosts)

Kenya (41 hosts) Zambia (4 hosts)

Laos (1 host)

There is another “independents” organization out of Australia which is either called WWOOF International, WWOOF Independents (ASN) or WWOOF Association ^___ the website is not very clear about what it’s officially named ^___ at http://www.wwoofinternational.org/independents/ and has a very similar listing to the UK organization, but is organized by region . . .

AMERICAS Region (North, Central and South America):

Bahamas (2 hosts) Nicaragua (4 hosts)

Bolivia (3 hosts) Panama (3 hosts)

British Virgin Islands (1 host) Peru (3 hosts)

Commonwealth of Dominica (1 host) Venezuela (1 host)

Guatemala (4 hosts) West Indies (1 host)

Honduras (1 host)

AFRICA Region:

Algeria (1 host) Morocco (1 host)

Benin (2 hosts) Nigeria (3 hosts)

Egypt (1 host) Senegal (2 hosts)

Ethiopia (1 host) South Africa (19 hosts)

Gambia (1 host) Tanzania (2 hosts)

Guinea, West Africa (1 host) Togo (2 hosts)

Kenya (24 hosts) Zambia (2 hosts)

Liberia (1 host)

EUROPE Region:

Belgium (10 hosts) Latvia (1 host)

Croatia (2 hosts) Moldova (1 host)

Finland (11 hosts) Norway (23 hosts)

Georgia (2 hosts) Poland (6 hosts)

Greece (30 hosts) Russia (2 hosts)

Holland (14 hosts) Serbia (1 host)

Hungary (7 hosts) Slovenia (3 hosts)

Iceland (3 hosts)

ASIA PACIFIC Region:

French Polynesia (1 host) Malaysia (5 hosts)

Indonesia (1 host) Pakistan (3 hosts)

Jordan (1 host) Singapore (1 host)

Lebanon (1 host) Thailand (15 hosts)

It obviously all depends on where you want to go.

The UK site is slightly bigger. At the time of this writing, they show 341 host farms as opposed to the Australian site’s 234 host farms. Even when they list the same country ^___ the two sites have 35 countries in common ^___ in the majority of cases the UK site offers more opportunities than the Australia site. For example, both have host farms in Norway but the UK site lists 39 and the Australia site 23.

It is worth still valuable checking both sites because each lists countries the other doesn’t. WWOOF Independents (UK) has 16 nations that Australia doesn’t, and WWOOF Independents (Australia) has 14 that the UK site is lacking.

The membership for each of these WWOOF Independents organizations is 15 GBP or about $25.

§

This brings us to the second path by which one tracks down WWOOFing opportunities.

If the country you are interested in visiting does not appear on either of the independent sites, then you must join the specific individual country WWOOF organization. Each national organization likewise has a membership fee, which is usually affordable but obviously the fees add up if you join multiple listing sites.

Countries which have their own WWOOF organizations are as follows . . .

Argentina - www.wwoofargentina.com

Australia - www.wwoof.com.au

Austria - www.wwoof.at

Belize - www.wwoofbelize.com

Brazil - www.wwoofbrazil.com

Bulgaria - www.wwoofbulgaria.org

Cameroon - wwoofcameroon.org@gmail.com

Canada - www.wwoof.ca

Chile - www.wwoofchile.cl

China - www.wwoofchina.org

Costa Rica - www.wwoofcostarica.com

Czech Republic - www.wwoof.cz

Denmark - www.wwoof.dk

Ecuador - www.wwoofecuador.com

Estonia - www.wwoof.ee

France - www.wwoof.fr

Germany - www.wwoof.de

Ghana - kingzeeh@yahoo.co.uk

Hawaii - www.wwoofhawaii.org

Hungary - www.wwoof.hu

India - www.wwoofindia.org

Ireland - www.wwoof.ie

Israel - www.wwoof.org.il

Italy - www.wwoof.it

Japan - www.wwoofjapan.com

Kazakhstan - www.kazakhstanwwoof.narod.ru

Korea - www.wwoofkorea.co.kr

Lithuania - www.wwoof.lt

Mexico - www.wwoofmexico.com

Moldova - www.wwoofmoldova.org

Nepal - www.wwoofnepal.org

New Zealand - www.wwoof.co.nz

Philippines - www.wwoof.ph

Poland - www.wwoofpoland.ning.com

Portugal - www.wwoof.pt

Romania - www.wwoof.ro

Sierra Leone - www.wwoofsl.org

Slovenia - www.wwoof.org/slovenia/

South Korea - www.wwoofkorea.co.kr

Spain - www.wwoof.es

Sri Lanka - www.wwoof.org/wwoofLK/

Sweden - www.wwoof.se

Switzerland - http://zapfig.com/wwoof/

Taiwan - www.wwooftaiwan.com

Turkey - www.bugday.org/tatuta/?lang=EN

Uganda - bob_kasule@yahoo.com

United Kingdom - www.wwoof.org.uk

U. S. A. - www.wwoofusa.org

Venezuela - www.wwoofvenezuela.com

§

No matter how you dice it, the WWOOF movement has opened up a unique avenue for traveling the world inexpensively, experiencing first-hand the varied and rich cultures of other countries, and finally learning about and making a personal contribution to what is touted to be a technologically, economically, socially, and nutritionally valuable approach to food production. 113 countries on every continent except for Antarctica extend their welcoming arms to volunteers from all over the planet, in a big group hug that promoters of the WWOOF concept hope will change the world for the better.

Having said that, as I found out, all is not rainbows and butterflies out there.

WWOOFing . . . Fact and Fiction

I have for at least two decades been concerned about the quality of food in my diet. I have tried to significantly reduce the amount of processed and fast food I eat, steer clear of preservatives, particularly avoid anything laced with herbicides and insecticides, hormones and antibiotics, and more recently keep at bay any genetically modified food products. This purist approach to eating resulted from reading during the 80s Choose To Live ^___ a book which I cannot even confirm existed since Google returns nothing resembling the publication I remember ^___ then in the 90s Spontaneous Healing by Dr. Andrew Weil, and finally more recently Seeds of Deception by Jeffrey M. Smith. The widespread problems in America with cancer, high blood pressure, diabetes, and obesity pretty much tell the story, from what I can tell.

However, I am a city boy and had not ever spent any time doing anything remotely related to agriculture. I planted a few flowers in my garden, but frankly got dirt under my nails far more often working on my car and wiring my recording studio, than communing with the Earth.

With silly, naive ideas about the joys that must be inherent in working the soil and beholding the miracle of Mother Nature, as fruits and vegetables sprang up all around me in a Garden of Paradise which I had helped to create, I saw my traveling around the world with a straw in the corner of my mouth and thumbs looped in the shoulder straps of a pair of overalls, as a darn good way to break with the old routines and give myself a much needed shot of change. Farmer John! Yes. I figured I could live like that for a while.

Off I went!

Among my better qualities is that on the rare occasions I catch a cold, I heal up pretty quick. Fortunately, the same goes for stupidity. On the not so rare occasions that I am hopelessly dumb or misinformed, I usually bounce back pretty quickly. So it didn’t take long for me to take off the blinders, shuck my coat of naiveté and delusion, and see the realities of volunteerism and the WWOOF concept in operation.

§

First of all, no functioning farm upon which someone is dependent for a living is a singsong romp down a flower-lined path to Utopia. Organic or otherwise, farms are businesses which have to make money. On one hand, organic farmers save a bundle by not using insecticide, herbicides, chemical fertilizers, and certainly not designer seeds from the big agri-chemical companies, all of which cost a fortune. Many have no petrol-powered vehicles, so they have no outlays for fuel. The flip side of this is that people-power substitutes for chemical and petroleum power, which has the potential to be even more expensive. Getting volunteers to do a substantial part of the grunt work saves on these labor costs, improving the bottom line. That’s just good business sense, and is completely separate from the loudly proclaimed and real ethical commitment to save the planet or add to the world’s organic flock of the faithful, intrinsic in adopting the organic approach to agriculture.

Second, for every starry-eyed idealist who is determined to make the world a better place, there is someone more than willing to put all those positive energies, good vibrations and blissful intentions to his own selfish use. Let’s face it, anytime anything is free, there is the potential for abuse. Only one to a customer please! And sure enough there’s always some fat sugar-freak pig man who rounds up his whole family and every one in the neighbors with a free twenty minutes, and then heads down to the supermarket so he can gorge himself on 34 free Nestles Crunch Ice Cream Bars.

Free labor in the idealistic context of WWOOFing is no exception. I saw this first hand.

For example, I encountered three “farms” where no crops, organic or otherwise, were growing at all, and I worked on two farms where there were small organic gardens, which at best might feed a family of five for only a few days.

In those situations, I did other things. In a few instances, those other things turned out to be other quite beneficial and worthy activities. In a couple, I was just a cheap farm hand, making improvements in the property or the bottom line of the owner, but doing nothing to foster organics or personally learn about sustainable agricultural. One farm grew organic marijuana purely for the consumption of the very stoned occupants. Certainly meritorious from the perspective of the owners, but hardly a huge leap forward for the green movement.

The upshot of this is that while many organic farmers share the values of the utopian volunteers who come their way, and make a conscious choice to be part of the organic movement out of respect for the planet and its inhabitants, there are a significant number who are just looking for relatively free labor ^___ muscle power they do not have to lay out cash for.

Having said that, I must add that even the situations which were not organic farms provided me with very interesting experiences, both personal and “professional”. I met some fascinating people and for a short while was a member of the community, not just some tourist.

§

What do my experiences say about WWOOFing itself? What does anything I saw in almost a year of volunteering as a WWOOFer in seven countries portend for the future of organic farming in general?

Honestly, I don’t have the answers. I wish I could say it all added up to some sort of huge positive message, but for me it didn’t. Volunteering is interesting, rewarding on some level, certainly a far cry from the pressures of competing in the marketplace and all that being a fully participating member of the economic system entails. But did I, one of over 6 billion people in the world, make a difference. Of course not.

As far as the “movement” towards local, sustainable, non-toxic agriculture goes, the one thing I walked away with was a sobering appreciation of how powerful the agri-chemical companies are and how ruthlessly they will oppose anything which will compromise the bottom line. In Uganda, for example, big corporations are spending enormous sums to take the country backward. It has always grown pure healthful food, utilizing techniques perfected over centuries, which are perfectly tuned to the local growing conditions and soil. Now Monsanto and the other agricultural corporations are coming in, telling the farmers that their methodologies are antiquated, then selling them all sorts of carcinogenic chemicals and genetically modified seeds. It was very discouraging to see the traditional farmers get sucked into a system which ultimately would not improve their crops, and enslave them to the Western corporate agricultural model.

So the future of organic farming and the future of the planet is at this point anyone’s guess. Certainly, in important ways, they are integrally linked.

As for WWOOFing, it has been around for almost 40 years and steadily growing, so there is every reason to believe it will probably be around for quite some time to come.

Will it be a major agent for change? A vehicle for planetary salvation?

Probably not in the foreseeable future.

As valuable and noble as it is, right now it is a tiny blip on the giant screen which comprises the entirety of agriculture throughout the world. WWOOFing may not even be a blip. More of a pixel.

Which is not to say that it is not of value. On the contrary, what it represents in the grand scheme of things is much greater than the microcosmic slice it occupies in the global economy would imply. What it lacks in punching power, it more than makes up for as a symbol of hope, optimism and good will. It represents the best in human nature in a world too often disheartened by the darkest impulses of human behavior ^___ violence, war, racism, greed. It offers a positive and real mechanism for doing something ^___ anything! ^___ to make the world a better place.

Volunteerism itself is a highly subversive, hence potentially history altering thing. The idea that a person finds some cause so worthy and important that they are willing to jump off the consumerist treadmill and effectively give away their time and energy, as opposed to selling it to the highest bidder on the job market, is revolutionary. It completely flanks the commonly accepted notion that an individual’s worth is solely their economic worth ^___ their earning power. There are thousands of ways out there to volunteer. You could do a lot worse than WWOOFing.

For another, as the global corporate model attempts to subsume everything ^___ corporations are trying to even control and sell the entire supply of drinking water in many countries, and would probably do the same with breathable air if they could ^___ it is crucial to have community-based alternatives, for the day when the too-big-to-fail corporate Godzillas finally fail and collapse of their own weight and rapacity. Local farming, local crafts, local economies, even local barter currencies, all contribute to an independence from the monolithic corporatization of our lives. Small, local farms ^___ organic or not, staffed by WWOOFers or not ^___ are critical to creating a food supply system that is sustainable and serves the nutritional preferences and needs of people, not the bottom lines of corporations. WWOOF farms are small, local, and in theory, dedicated to sustainable food production ^___ committed to feed people and not just profit.

Finally and most importantly, many scientists now believe that the whole agri-chemical-GMO corporate food production model is on a short fuse, that ultimately all of the science will either implode, the global food supply chain itself will become unwieldy and unworkable, or the environmental damage wrought by high-tech farming will bring to a screeching halt current farming methodologies. What will we do then? That’s simple. We’ll go back to the basics, the age-old, time-tested techniques which fed people long before big science and big money got into the game. With some common-sense twists and eco-friendly improvements, much of what is done on organic farms is at core traditional farming. And since we may all eventually be forced to rely on this approach, the more people know about it and the more farms that adopt it, the better are prospects for the future.

In spite of what I said about the “abusers”, there are hundreds of WWOOF farms out there that are doing very solid and reputable work. The more the better. Frankly, until organic farming reaches some critical mass so that it can compete with the corporate behemoths in the marketplace, it is going to depend on a lot of hard work and sheer muscle power to keep it going. WWOOFing on a legitimate farm which is using certified organic methodologies like Permaculture and Biodynamics, does make an important contribution to putting and keeping in place traditional and sustainable agricultural techniques, protecting the integrity and variegation of seed lines, fostering innovations in non-chemical farming, and promoting the growth of independent local infrastructures and community-based economies.

I guess what I am saying is that WWOOFing is about hope. It is about dreaming and keeping the dream alive. It is a whispered prayer in the yelling match with corporations and globalization.

Differences That Don’t Make A Difference

If a man decides he needs to be healthier and adds a little exercise to his daily routine, there will be a difference.  Now he will do twenty sit-ups every single morning after breakfast.  Assuming he hasn’t exercised before, this will be a big difference to him.

This man weighs 375 lbs (170 kg) and still consumes over 8000 calories a day in his excessive high-fat, high-starch, high-sugar diet.  Guess what?

His twenty sit-ups aren’t going to do a damn thing.  It is really a difference that makes no difference.  In fact, he may actually be doing himself harm.  The twenty sit-ups might stress his balking, grossly overworked heart and kill him.

This is what is going on with politics in America now.  There are differences being debated and some laws in place which are “different”.  Liberals are extolling them as revolutionary new innovations which will put the country back on track towards recovering the vision of an egalitarian society with opportunities and fair share for all.  Conservatives are damning them as treasonous abdication of true America to some horrifying socialist model.

Neither is true.

Most of the legislation passed in the past two years __ an impressively long list of left and liberal leaning items __ will make no difference whatsoever to the long term prospects of America’s rapprochement with its fundamental ideals or its prospects for survival.

Differences that make no difference.

It’s a simple concept and an effective way of calling out and eliminating distractions and falsifications: Those actions and ideas that on first glance appear to have merit but don’t really solve the problems.  Laws and programs with big gloves but no punching power.

Health care reform:  The problems are skyrocketing costs and the still rising 17% of GDP it carves out of the national budget, and the lack of truly universal coverage.  The rising costs are not sustainable and will bankrupt the country.  Moreover, since America is not a very healthy country, until every single person is given comprehensive preventative services as well as treatment for acute and chronic ailments, it will just get sicker.  The solutions to this crisis are 1) offering a path to health care services which is not profit-driven, 2) truly universal coverage, and 3) establishing true competition in the marketplace to drive down costs.  The health care bill just passed does none of the above.  Health care will continue to be sub-standard and only get worse, and quality health care will soon only be a privilege of the rich.   No matter how you slice it, Obama’s great historical claim to fame is a difference that makes no difference.

Economic reform:  The United States of America has little or no control over its money.  The Federal Reserve Bank is an autonomous privately-owned corporation.  As long as the country itself does not have absolute authority and control over its currency and matters of monetary policy, it will never be able to effectively address economic issues or solve the daunting problems it currently confronts.  The nation is over 13 trillion dollars in debt and counting.  It will only get worse.  The tinkering that is being done with bank regulations will create some hollow differences in policy but make no substantive difference in the outcome.  The rich will get richer and the poor and middle class will get poorer.  The country will with increasing rapidity flail and sink into the quicksand of insolvency.

Corporate control:  As long as corporations have “personhood” under the law __ a highly questionable ruling by the Supreme Court back in 1886 __ legislation which attempts to trim the sails of corporations will be completely ineffective.  The personhood privileges of corporations actually go far beyond what we as in-the-flesh humans have.  We have rights and privileges but also culpabilities under the law.  We can be imprisoned for our illegal actions.  How do you incarcerate a corporation?  Do you put the home offices in jail?  The 17,262 stockholders?  The receptionist at the front counter?  It is laughable to see debates going on about trying to reign in corporations, keeping them from exporting jobs, from off-shoring profits, from avoiding taxes, and on and on.  It won’t happen.  Corporations have no real accountability.  And they certainly have no conscience.  Caring is not in their corporate by-laws, nor is it in their nature __ this by definition.  Anything we do with the personhood legal sanctuary corporations currently have in place, will be a difference that makes no difference.

Corporate power:  Corporations now own Congress.  Maybe the White House.  I posted a piece called “Is President Obama Under House Arrest?“  It could have been called “Who Really Owns The Highest Executive Office In America?”  We have seen President Obama rubbing up against the legs of Wall Street and corporate America like a cat who wants to be fed.  He has personally made his case before the U. S. Chamber of Commerce, as well as the movers-and-shakers on Wall Street.  What a joke!  Of course they nodded and smiled and offered him reassurances that they were on board.  What were they going to do?  Put a whooppie cushion on his seat and throw tomatoes at him?  It was all a nice show.  To his credit, President Obama as always was funny, articulate, charismatic, and charming.  It was a love fest.  But!  Words are words.  Deeds are deeds.  The President, tragically and naively thinks he can nudge these people into doing the right thing with a nicely crafted appeal.  But realistically the man has no levers to pull.  Corporations can make unlimited contributions to political campaigns (see ‘personhood’ above), have outgrown any loyalty to the country (40,000 factories closed in America over the past decade), have managed to pull levers themselves which puts the country at enormous risk ($9 trillion bailouts and guarantees), and will continue to do whatever they have to do to make money.  Tons of it.  The President can do what he will to try to tweak consumer protection laws in order to reduce some abuses __ credit cards, home loans, whatever __ but here we have a classic case of differences which will make no difference.  The Treasury has already been looted.  And it was our money, yours and mine __ the 98% of America which is not disgustingly wealthy __ that was taken.

Can anybody spare some change?

[ This posting originated at the author's novelist website jdrachel.com:
 Differences That Don’t Make A Difference ]