Sandy Hook. and Clackamas Town Center.

    Like everyone else, I am absolutely shocked, saddened and outraged at the senseless violence that took place yesterday in Newtown, Connecticut.  Some sick bastard forced his way into a school and murdered several children and teachers.  In my home state of Oregon, at the time of the Newtown shooting, we were still mourning the shooting at Clackamas town Center, one of our malls. 2 people and the shooter were killed and one was injured. We were shocked enough by that, but only a few days later, Newtown happened. In Connecticut  the death toll is devastating. It is the second worst school shooting in American History, second only to the 2007 attack on Virginia Tech.  Many people have blamed guns for these tragedies. I refuse to join that bandwagon, because I know what the real issue is, just as I did nearly five months ago when the shootings in Aurora, Colorado happened.  At the time, in my previous blog "Rotten Slice Of Americana" I pointed a finger directly at the only other people responsible for these shootings, other than the murderers themselves.    The media.   At the time, I predicted we would soon see other tragedies of this type, because of how the media covered the shootings in Colorado. Sadly, I was right.

       There was a time in our history, when journalists were concerned with being the watchdogs of democracy, as was the intention behind "free journalism."  Instead they are enablers of murderers and maniacs who seem feast on the blood of dead children. "If it bleeds, it leads." has long since been the unofficial credo of many ambulance chasing reporters, and what has come of it?  A culture where the media, in it's pursuit of some kind of bullshit award in journalism, turns murderers into heroes, and turns sad loners into psychotic assholes who want to become the next monster in our nation's closet.   Columbine is considered the first "big one" as far as this current trend of shootings go. But they were inspired by the shootings like the one here in Oregon at Thurston High. Why? Because of  the mammoth size of the media coverage. It is not enough to simply announce what happened. They have to try to get in as many angles as possible for their big story. (In the Clackamas shooting, they even interviewed Santa Claus.) People who choose to take out 15- 30 people are assured to be celebrities now, and that will inspire pathetic sickos to form a fan club to honor them.  Many of these murders are committed in a quest for notoriety. Why indulge them, media?  You are fueling the fire.I hope you're happy. You've created a culture of blood-thirstiness. If you could tell the story without making the shooters anti-heroic figures, we would see tragedies like this wind down, but you refuse to report in moderation. You pulled the trigger on all of those poor children with your coverage in July. And when the next shooting happens, (which it undoubtedly will) it will be because of the trigger pulling you are doing now.  As I said before, the cycle of death rages on. 

Lets reset the clock. We are now zero days without a media inspired shooting. (A shooting in Alabama happened today by the way. No casualties, besides the shooter.  Just three wounded. Not many people died, so you may not have heard about it. They get their meal ticket when people die.)    


  Final note- this is not an indictment of all journalists. Several of my friends have gone into Journalism, and  there have been some who have chosen to take a moral high ground.  This is more directed at the general trend of journalistic sensationalism in the face of tragedy.   If any of my journalist friends read this- I have faith in you and your integrity.  I know you'll bring dignity back to media. 

Rotten Slice Of Americana- My Thoughts On The Recent Aurora Theater Shooting. More to come.

  The problem isn't so much the guns. The problem is the attention these maniacs get. They become a dark folk figure. Call them a rotten slice of Americana. To some deeply twisted individuals, they become folk heroes and role models. Some people try to emulate or imitate these "folk heroes". The Virginia Tech killer, and countless other would be mass murderers have offered the names of the Columbine killers as inspiration.
   Why are these people heroes to others/why do people continue the thread of violence? Two reasons: 1. Because these people are deeply disturbed individuals to begin with. 2. Because of the attention they get from the media. These people are generally loners. They feel disenfranchised, or abandoned and they think the only way to get attention is by doing something violent and drastic. They love leaving all of these things behind for people to talk about and analyze. They love being a puzzle for others to discuss and solve. They love having their ugly mugs plastered all over the news and internet. When some other depressed, psycho loner sees the legacy built up by somebody else's sins against humanity, they decide they want a piece of the action as well. They want to build their own legacy. The Columbine kids looked to Thurston High and Paduca for their inspiration, and in turn others have looked to them.
   It is a viscous cycle that has caught way too many lives in it's teeth. Is this about guns? Hardly. It is about twisted hero worship. And it needs to come to an end now. The media should keep coverage of the Aurora shooter to a minimum. They should cease referring to him altogether. Keep cameras out of his face, because with every click of the camera, you are feeding the beast. Do not give this sicko what he wants. Let him rot in obscurity. If you take away the notoriety, you will take away the motivation to kill from other glory seekers, and many, many lives will be saved. Please note I have not mentioned the name of any of the aformentioned murderers. That is how it should be.
   In fact, I plan to learn the names of everyone who was fatally hit at Aurora, and I may write a blog about them. They are the ones who deserve to be remembered. Not the smirking psycho who is now enjoying his day in the spotlight. All this coverage is going to bring is more death. Sensational courtroom drama is fascinating to read, but is it worth the terrible price we know some poor group of people will have to pay again in the future? Even now, the cycle of death rages on.

Duh Kuh Bee: A Taste Of The 38th Parallel

A border fence runs between the two Koreas at the 38th parallel. This politically inspired structure permanently separated families and caused a lot of pain in different communities in the two respective Koreas. We have seen images of Korean people standing at the 38th parallel tearfully looking through the fence at the other side. Perhaps they are wondering about the fate of a long lost love, or maybe they are just home sick. Sadly, their misery does not end there. In North Korea, the citizens are forced into compulsory worship of a successive bloodline of tyrannical leaders. People are slaughtered at the slightest murmur of dissent the atmosphere of governmental intimidation is so thick, you can barely manage to cut it open with a machete. If you are anything short of absolutely reverent to the "Dear Leader" you are guaranteed to be snuffed out like a flickering candle.

The South does not have it much better, largely thanks to the North. The South Koreans have obnoxious neighbors who play with missiles like they are tinker toys.

Despite all of their hardships, Koreans on both sides of the 38th parallel have one escape from their problems, no matter how temporary it is- their delicious barbecue. (Mostly on the south side, since a lot of them in the North are starving) I would not recommend going to North Korea, because it will likely take nothing less than a former President of the United States to get you out. I would not recommend going to South Korea either, because it is so close to North Korea.

Instead, why not go to Duh Kuh Bee. It is a tiny hole in the wall restaurant that is so unassuming, that you might need a map to find it if you are standing right in front of it. When you walk in for the first time, you will be astonished by the atmosphere. Aside from the color Television set at the end of the restaurant playing American television, you will think you were magically transported to Korea. The place looks just divey enough to have a cute "slumming" quality about it, but it isn't dirty, and it does not look unsanitary. When you walk in, a barrage of random aromas immediately hit you in the face. Your hunger is brought to a peak when teased by the pleasing scents. If you look directly to your left, you will see a display with photos of random customers. That already gives you a sense that they appreciate your business. When you look inside of the building, you might feel astonished by the small size of it. On the first immediate glance, you might feel like you are in a Korean themed semi truck trailer. You can rest assured, this is an illusion. When you walk in a bit further, you will see to your right, a little bar you can sit at, replete with soy sauces and other garnishments, that has a direct, full view into the kitchen.

When you are seated, you are presented with what looks like little square pieces of Honeydew, and a salad that was churned in a garbage disposal. Again, the Koreans triumph with their illusions. The "honeydew" tastes like cole slaw, and the garbage disposal salad is delicious. Unfortunately, I forget what both of these are called. You are brought a jug of water with a close-able lid, and two smallish glasses. The menu tends to have the items pictured. They have the expected items of noodles and rice. If you have a direct view of the kitchen, you can see them make the noodles right there, so you know you are getting quality food. I recommend the shrimp rice, and the medium vegetable noodle. Aso, get a side of meat. They have Korean beef ribs, and other delectables.

The service is usually perfect. The only time when it wasn't, was when a remiss young waiter actually came chasing us down the street asking for a tip. (We usually pay tips, but were running a bit short that day.) But, if you go there more than once, you can count on them recognizing you, and welcoming you back like an old friend. Maybe my friend Ben and I are easy to recognize because we seem to be the only non-Asians who ever show up. Who knows? Either way, when an Asian food restaurant is full of Asians, you can almost bet on it's authenticity.

This place is open quite late usually, so if you feel like a midnight snack, Duh Kuh Bee is your hook up.

Ultimately, I have to recommend this place to anybody who likes to eat wholesome, authentic Asian food. It is worth every penny, and you do get your money's worth. It is like being at the 38th parallel, except without the isolation from family members, or fear of getting killed. It is just a happier place to be than the 38th parallel.

Service A

Food A+

Environment A

Recommendation- Go there. NOW

Duh Kuh Bee: A Taste Of The 38th Parallel

A border fence runs between the two Koreas at the 38th parallel. This politically inspired structure permanently separated families and caused a lot of pain in different communities in the two respective Koreas. We have seen images of Korean people standing at the 38th parallel tearfully looking through the fence at the other side. Perhaps they are wondering about the fate of a long lost love, or maybe they are just home sick. Sadly, their misery does not end there. In North Korea, the citizens are forced into compulsory worship of a successive bloodline of tyrannical leaders. People are slaughtered at the slightest murmur of dissent the atmosphere of governmental intimidation is so thick, you can barely manage to cut it open with a machete. If you are anything short of absolutely reverent to the "Dear Leader" you are guaranteed to be snuffed out like a flickering candle.

The South does not have it much better, largely thanks to the North. The South Koreans have obnoxious neighbors who play with missiles like they are tinker toys.

Despite all of their hardships, Koreans on both sides of the 38th parallel have one escape from their problems, no matter how temporary it is- their delicious barbecue. (Mostly on the south side, since a lot of them in the North are starving) I would not recommend going to North Korea, because it will likely take nothing less than a former President of the United States to get you out. I would not recommend going to South Korea either, because it is so close to North Korea.

Instead, why not go to Duh Kuh Bee. It is a tiny hole in the wall restaurant that is so unassuming, that you might need a map to find it if you are standing right in front of it. When you walk in for the first time, you will be astonished by the atmosphere. Aside from the color Television set at the end of the restaurant playing American television, you will think you were magically transported to Korea. The place looks just divey enough to have a cute "slumming" quality about it, but it isn't dirty, and it does not look unsanitary. When you walk in, a barrage of random aromas immediately hit you in the face. Your hunger is brought to a peak when teased by the pleasing scents. If you look directly to your left, you will see a display with photos of random customers. That already gives you a sense that they appreciate your business. When you look inside of the building, you might feel astonished by the small size of it. On the first immediate glance, you might feel like you are in a Korean themed semi truck trailer. You can rest assured, this is an illusion. When you walk in a bit further, you will see to your right, a little bar you can sit at, replete with soy sauces and other garnishments, that has a direct, full view into the kitchen.

When you are seated, you are presented with what looks like little square pieces of Honeydew, and a salad that was churned in a garbage disposal. Again, the Koreans triumph with their illusions. The "honeydew" tastes like cole slaw, and the garbage disposal salad is delirious. Unfortunately, I forget what both of these are called. You are brought a jug of water with a close-able lid, and two smallish glasses. The menu tends to have the items pictured. They have the expected items of noodles and rice. If you have a direct view of the kitchen, you can see them make the noodles right there, so you know you are getting quality food. I recommend the shrimp rice, and the medium vegetable noodle. Aso, get a side of meat. They have Korean beef ribs, and other delectables.

The service is usually perfect. The only time when it wasn't, was when a remiss young waiter actually came chasing us down the street asking for a tip. (We usually pay tips, but were running a bit short that day.) But, if you go there more than once, you can count on them recognizing you, and welcoming you back like an old friend. Maybe my friend Ben and I are easy to recognize because we seem to be the only non-Asians who ever show up. Who knows? Either way, when an Asian food restaurant is full of Asians, you can almost bet on it's authenticity.

This place is open quite late usually, so if you feel like a midnight snack, Duh Kuh Bee is your hook up.

Ultimately, I have to recommend this place to anybody who likes to eat wholesome, authentic Asian food. It is worth every penny, and you do get your money's worth. It is like being at the 38th parallel, except without the isolation from family members, or fear of getting killed. It is just a happier place to be than the 38th parallel.

Service A

Food A+

Environment A

Recommendation- Go there. NOW

The Rule Of- To Hell With Making A Clever Pun. I Met Ann Rule!

For me, the last few days have not been what one would refer to as "active". Several days in a row of staying up until 3 to five in the morning, and not waking up until one or two in the afternoon have paved the way for many days worth of boredom and lethargy. Fun. I had planned on having another one of these relaxing evenings when my mom called me with exciting news. I only remember the main points of the phone call.

1) Hi, Geoff.

2)Ann Rule is...

3)Powell's Book Store

4) Beaverton.

Despite my plans to sloth around the house for the rest of the night, I decided that meeting Ann Rule, one of my two favorite authors (the other being Stephen King) was of more importance. After hanging up with mom, I took a shower, snagged my half- damp slacks out of the dryer, and set off down the street toward the max station.

I finally reached Powells about ten after seven- afraid I was ten minutes late, but when I arrived, I noticed a crowd of people- with mostly gray hair- sitting in the folding chairs that were arranged in front of the podium. Ann Rule was nowhere to be seen. Thank God. I would have kicked myself if I had missed this colossal opportunity.

After a few minutes of waiting- A young guy approached the podium to introduce her- The introduction went something like this:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce to you, True Crime author Ann Rule"

And then I saw her. Walking down an aisle that was close to where her podium was. The moment had finally come! My favorite author-

The guy continued his introduction speech, and she stopped in her tracks in the center of the aisle. She stood there in the aisle way for a few moments, as the guy finished the awkward second half of his introduction.

Then, she came out and began to speak.

The first thing she did, was introduce a lady named Barb Thompson. She was the mother of the victim from Ann's latest book. (Called In The Still Of The Night) She would be signing the book too. Initially, I had not planned on purchasing a book at the signing. I had brought a couple of books from home for Ann to sign. But I did not want the mother of the victim to think that I had an indifferent attitude about what had happened to her daughter. So as soon as I could- I grabbed a copy of the new book.

One of the things Ann said in her introduction was to the effect of "Some of the more interesting murderers I have written about were from Oregon" Thank god this was followed by the intended laughter rather than cheering that one would expect at a rock show when the guest of honor mentions the place they are performing. How Macabre would that have been?

She then began to talk about her new book. The victim was a female Washington State Trooper. One of a very small percentage of females to become a state trooper. She had lots of ambition. Her first marriage ended in divorce. She remarried. One evening, her husband called 9-1-1 to report that she had committed suicide. The first detective at the scene removed the firearm from the scene (which is a no-no) to avoid injuring the people who were to collect her body. The coroner, who didn't even visit the scene of death, ruled the death as a suicide. The victim's mother, Barb Thompson- (in the above photo, far left) did not believe this conclusion and decided to pursue the matters. One of her allies was a detective named Jerry Berry. He ended up leaving the force apparently because the Sheriffs Department ordered him to stop investigating the case. The coroner who ruled the death a suicide would not meet with Barbara for eight years. He refused to change his ruling on the death. He refused to even look into it. Obviously, odd circumstances were at play.

In an extraordinary departure for Ann, she has written and published this book before a trial and conviction. If I am correct, this is the first time she has ever done this. In previous books she has stressed the importance of waiting until the trial is over before publishing anything. She must have thought this was a special case. She does say a conviction is expected within six months. She will have about four extra chapters then.


When I finally met her- I shook her hand, and gave her my books. She asked what my name was. I told her. She asked if I said Jess. I told her what my name was again. I shook hands with Barbara (The victim's mother) I told her I would be thinking about her in the next few months ahead. She said she would appreciate everybody's thoughts and prayers. I asked them if I could have my picture taken with them. They said yes. I posed. The camera flashed. I took a pic of the next person. Gave her back her camera. And began the walk home.

And that is how I met Ann Rule.

Ghost Hunt- A Personal Journey Pt. Two

We had crossed through the gates of the cemetery- passing into the domain of the lost, but not gone members of society. They might have been in a different plane of existence. Perhaps the folks whose remains were within the cemetery we now roamed were safely in heaven, blissfully unaware or unconcerned with our presence near their mortal remains. Though, perhaps other members of the departed- were not so content with letting go of life. Perhaps they still clung to life- and the bodies which they had once inhabited. Those bodies, which lay in the earth, and inside the beautiful marble crypts of the mausoleum were beyond the point of recessitation, of course, but maybe the spirits of those interred people still felt a strong zest for life, long life was over.

Would they be angry at our blaze attempt to hunt them down? Was our interest in the paranormal experience, somehow offensive to them? Would they think that we were trivialising them, and the journey they made to get to the other side? Were thy spying on us- eyeing our every move through the dark shadows of the night? Were they so detached from their time here on earth, maybe having died in the 1950s, that they may have been just as curious about us and our modern customs, as we were about them? Although a far more frightening and sinister hypothesis begs the question- if we angered them, what kind of reprocussion would there be for us? As we got out of the car, was it too late to avoid the wrath of the spirits that may have roamed the grounds? Would they show us mercy? Or would they drag us screaming, into the darkest corners of the night, leaving our bodies in a catatonic state of blankness? What if, when the spirits were finished with us, we were nothing more than breathing corpses? To be honest, the thought never crossed our mind as the cars parked at the top of the hill by the dark side of the mauseleum. Perhaps we should have considered the possibilities.

Beyond the token sense of somberness and respect for the dead that one is confronted with when they enter a cemetery, I felt no change in emotion. No anxiety haunted me. I felt no sense of immediate danger as the light from the neighborhood disapeered, and the only lights availible to us came from our headlights, the distant Portland skyline, and the brightly lit part of the mauselum. Maybe I should have started worrying- maybe that would have been a good idea- before it was too late. But my mind was on the task at hand. The trivial cultual event of the ghost hunt. A hobby that children have been doing since the birth of the lantern. We were a bunch of people in their late teens, and early twenties- we were adults- but the lure of the dead has never ceased to strong arm maturity into submission. We were as giddy, as a bunch of kids in a theme park. Only we behaved with much more reservation than that.

We got out of the car. We followed the group to a grave that was situated below an American flag. It was the final resting place of one of the girl's grandfather's. We all bowed our heads in prayer. I think the prayer was in vietnamese, (It was an asain language) but I prayed along with them anyway, giving my own silent prayer in english.

After the prayers were done, and we were fairly confident that spirits would not be offended by our casual/recreational presence in thier sacred domain, we started gathering up all of our equipment- flashlights, video cameras- Anthony Nugyen held an external microphone (which was connected to the camera I was holding. He said if I let the mic cord slip out, he would kill me.) and, I believe a bow staff. Just incase we were attacked by any wayward spirits.

They did a quick meeting of what they wanted to explore first- and, to my delight- (but not Anthony's) They chose one of the chamers of the mauselum. As we approached the mouth of alcove- I observed that on either side of the corridor had the marble squares with the names of many of the departed in a brass letter outline on the crypts, along with the dates of their births and deaths. Within the alcove- massive white pillars held up the celing- and at the end of the corridor- there was a beautiful white stair case leading to the roof of the mauselum. We slowly made our way through the path between the crypt walls, and we reached the stair case. The steps we took and our chatter were the only noises that broke the still of the night. The residents there didn't seem to have anything to contribute to the conversation, and for that, I think Anthony was thankful.

When we reached the top of the stair case- a huge white columbarium greeted us. The tiny squares which held the ashes of the departed featured their names on tiny little brass plaques.

We turned left at the top of the staircase, and a somewhat haunting trickling sound greeted our ears. What was this curious audio phenomenon? Was it a haunting vision of the past, manifesting it's self in some kind of- Oh. Never mind, it was a man made waterfall. Right in the middle of the mauseleuom. This was a very strange oddity of sorts, I mean, do the dead get thirsty? Such thoughts never crossed my mind in anything other than a sarcastic manner as we made our way back down the stairs into the darkness beyond.

Our first course of action was to climb a very steep hill- we didn't know what grizzly ghouls would be up ahead to devour us, or if we would never return, but never the less we marched into the darkness. As we made our way up the steep hill we were shocked at what we found.

A neighborhood- Fenced in from the cemetery.

We made our way down the hill, the secure lights of the neighborhood disapeering behind us as darkness washed over us once more.

Ghost Hunt- A Personal Journey Pt. one.

It was August 24th, sometime in the wee morning hours. I was the only one awake in my dark house, the only source of light coming from my computer screen. I was talking to one of my friends Anthony Nugyen. He said "Hey Geoff, do you want to go ghost hunting with us tomorrow?" Of course, by "tomorrow" he meant "tonight". but our minds were still operating on August 23rd time, rather than 24th. Sleep hadn't yet offered the satisfactorary dichotomy between days to give us the feeling that any time had really passed since the previous day, so we operated under the assumption that it WAS the previous day.

Like I said, Anthony asked me "Hey Geoff, do you want to go ghost hunting with us tomorrow?" and after a very brief period of intense consideration regarding the morality of the offer and what reprocutions this could bring, I accepted. (For the record, this soul searching-quest for morality lasted about ten seconds.)

The next evening- (It was actually the evening of the conversation, I just will refer to it as the next evening for the reasons listed above) I waited in my dark culdesac. A bright street light cast down hues of yellow on the objects below. My family fraternized with the neighbor as if nothing was wrong. This, obviously was because nothing was wrong. Suddenly, the end of the dark cul-de-sac was illuminated. I knew what this meant. Anthony and the others were coming to take me away to my very first ghost hunting journey with them- when someone makes such a leap into the world of paranormal-

Ah, son of a bitch. That isn't Anthony and the guys. Those are two girls.

I wonder if they sent girls to pick me up instead?

I think I will stand awkwardly near the car and see if either of them calls for me.

I stand about ten feet from the car, looking in no particular direction.

They never call for me.

After thirty seconds I give up, and realize that this is not my ride.

I go back toward my house and wait out front a little bit longer.

I waited in the dark for a while more- and then I saw the illumination of headlights turning into my street- A car pulled steadily along- could this be Anthony and the guys coming to take me on my first ghost hunt? I had known some of my friends went ghost hunting before, but this would be an altogether new experience for me- I mean I had seen the ghost hunting and the haunted house shows on the cable T.V channels, and-

Wait a second...

DAMN IT! It isn't Anthony and the guys.

Wait- My little brother says I have a phone call-

Oh, my Step dad is talking to them. It must not be for me.

I walk out.

I walk in later

"Geoff, somebody named Anthony called for you. They are coming to pick you up.:

"Thanks John"

Wait a minute- there are headlights out in the street! But it isn't them obviously. It must be some neighbor or some neighbor's company- because after two failed attempts at thinking random cars were my ride-

Oh, damn. It's them! Good bye everybody!

Now, it is time to leap back into the narrative. Rambling might not be interesting to any readers, and if I want people to be interested in reading my blog, I really should be less erratic.

Ahem

Here goes nothing-

I climbed shotgun into the smallish sports car. I closed my door. The tinted windows somewhat obscured my view of the place I had called home for eight years. The car pulled a loop at the end of the culdesac and I looked behind me as my mother waved goodbye- possibly for the last time. I turned back toward the front of the car when my dear mother was out of view. We had some serious business to take care of. We were going to be hunting ghosts. This was my first time, and to my knowlege, it was the first time for everyone else as well. We were all green. We were youths out of our element. You could say we were fryin' fish we had no business putting in the pan. But when the evil snare of curiositiy goaded us along, we blindly followed it into the grave yard. How were we supposed to know that something so terrible, so horrible could happen that night?

We met up with two other cars at a Big Lots parking lot. We made an immediate departure form the parkinglot, and traveled town the dark suburban highways toward the Sunset/Finley Hills Cemetery. (Where I've been told I have a deceased relative. That is entirely beside the point though.)

Our little makeshift motorcade traveled onto the cemetery property- and we drove up the winding road- onto the grounds of the grave yard. The brightly lit mauseloum that can be seen from the Sun Set highway lomed ahead of us like some fiery island in a dark ocean. To me, there was almost a palpable sense of irony that a building, that held so many lifeless shells of human beings- many people who had been dead for several years- it was almost amazing to me- that such a building could be so brightly lit- as if the occupants needed the light. The cars pulled to the top of the Cemetery, and parked next to a dark section of the mauselom. We pulled our flashlights, and cameras unsure of what could lay ahead.

If we only had known, maybe we would have done things a bit differently...

Part Two Coming Soon.