ACORN Los Angeles (Recorded on this date)

NJO: Here I've tried to make a timeline of the ACORN Los Angeles recordings. Note that although the links still work as of the last time I checked, the California Office of the Attorney General website no longer lists them anywhere I could find using a site search.

Video.
http://ag.ca.gov/cms_attachments/press/video/V0814001.wmv
Duration: 20 minutes 50 seconds. James and Hannah enter ACORN LA office. First meeting with Lavelle Stewart. Exit office and return to car. James goes back to Lavelle to deal with a phone problem. Exit office again. End of video.

Audio.
http://ag.ca.gov/cms_attachments/press/video/Levelled.wmv
9 minutes 30 seconds. James and Hannah enter ACORN LA office. First meeting with Lavelle Stewart. Audio ends as they are about to leave.

Audio.
http://ag.ca.gov/cms_attachments/press/video/LevellPartI.wmv
6 minutes 48 seconds. Exactly the same as "Levelled.wmv" but without the initial 2 minutes 42 seconds.

Audio.
http://ag.ca.gov/cms_attachments/press/video/acornla19.wmv
1 minute 23 seconds. James talks to Lavelle about the phone problem.

Audio.
http://ag.ca.gov/cms_attachments/press/video/acornla20.wmv
2 minutes 33 seconds. Lavelle deals with the phone problem.

Video.
http://ag.ca.gov/cms_attachments/press/video/V0814002.wmv
13 minutes 45 seconds. James and Hannah enter ACORN Housing LA office (a different location). Meeting with Felix Harris. Video ends before meeting concludes.*

Video.
http://ag.ca.gov/cms_attachments/press/video/V0814004.wmv
23 minutes 58 seconds. James and Hannah enter ACORN LA office again. Second, longer meeting with Lavelle Stewart. Exit office again. End of video.

Audio.
http://ag.ca.gov/cms_attachments/press/video/LevellPartII.wmv
24 minutes. As "V081404.wmv" but audio only.

* The video "Felix Harris - LA ACORN Employee of the Year" contains a brief snippet of what appears to be the conclusion of this meeting. The original piece of video from which this snippet must have been culled would, logically, have been among the files that James was ordered to hand over to the California Attorney General's Office in exchange for limited immunity, but curiously a file containing this snippet is absent from the files listed above (which used to be listed and available on the website).

Thus, it looks as if James was neglectful in his duty to hand over all recordings pertaining to the case like he was ordered to do.

If I was to try to get inside James' head regarding what could have motivated him to defy a court order like this, I would hazard a guess that the piece of video in which Felix Harris seems to put an end to the conversation represented to James' mind a net "passing of the test" or "exoneration" for Felix Harris, thus running contrary to his and Hannah Giles' stated purpose in recording the videos. I would also speculate, given James' track record of 1) distrust for the government, 2) petty vindictive behavior, and 3) general "spoiled son of privilege" attitude, that he would not have been a happy bunny to have some shady bureaucrat of a State Attorney General orderin' him to, y'know, do some stuff that he din' wanna do, and hand over somethin' that he din' wanna hand over, and that this was all it took for him to go into Defiant Martyr Mode and wilfully neglect to include the offending piece of video.

I would guess that he thought by handing over a batch of videos that was slightly incomplete (i.e. by dishonestly pretending that his camera ran out of power or memory before the meeting with Harris concluded) he could at least restore a margin of ambiguity to the recording, plus be a general dick into the deal (again). You know, like what Jesus would want him to do.

Indeed, there would seem to be a precedent for that sort of behavior in how James dealt with the ACORN Philadelphia video. Unlike the recordings of the other six ACORN locations, no long cut of the ACORN Philadelphia recording has ever been publicly released. It can be speculated that it too had what James and company viewed as an undesirable outcome that didn't fit their purpose.

Update: This post gets the "James on ethnicity" tag on account of the short discussion about Mexicans that James and Hannah have at the start of the video.

Minions / fellow culture warriors involved:

Hannah Giles

Contracts ironic bowtie

[...]

And the reformers have won largely, especially at more orthodox law schools, where races are probably represented exactly as they would be throughtout the general population, professors old fashioned socratic methods are watered down by Deans Circles and Queer Groups and reform-facilitators who can't handle a man in a suit telling them their wrong.

[...]

NJO: Originally posted on the blog Feathers of Steel at liberabit.blogspot.com. The only surviving pieces of this post that I could find were 1) the title, surely incomplete - possibly some kind of listing-off of things that Real!James was finding irksome about law school, unless a "contracts ironic bowtie" is an actual self-contained thing I just haven't heard of and 2) the above sentence, creatively spelled and grammared as it is. As for the date, yes, it's from August 2007, but the day is conjecture. Credit for saving this goes to "goodidealist" in this post on The Daily Kos.

Update: Duh. The title simply denotes in present tense the action of contracting a bowtie that is being worn ironically. Of course. Just seeing that now.

Update: Hey, how about the racism in this snippet though? That is some primo racism going on there, just real straightforward, open-and-shut, shave-my-head-and-call-me-Heinz racism. You know how racists with aspirations to respectability usually try to hide it somewhat, with code words and shit? And right here he's just letting it all hang out. Of course, we can't know the full context of that sentence. But I bet it would just turn out to be a bigger load of whiny-faced racism-tinged shit.

For *Paul*

This story will make you believe in Karma

("My freshman year I was kicked off the Paul Robeson floor by Kelly Hennessey. "

http://www.rucenturion.com/gallery.php)

This week I graduated, and thus came to an end 4 productive years. Interestingly enough, most of my friends, activities, glee club, centurion, etc began in my junior year. Thus formulated my college experience. My freshman year and the beginning of my sophomore were the dark ages looking back, a time when I was very alone, lost without purpose, constantly on the phone with a high-school girlfriend, indeed, I spent most of my time alone in isolated sadness with no friends....

My freshman year of college I was placed in a triple room on the second floor of Campbell. One of my roomates was gay. The other was just bizarre. Two months in I volunteered to leave and was put on an all-black, floor, the Paul Robeson floor, on Mettler 3 in November. I was placed with, no joke, an Indian midget named "Hashish" who smelled like shit. Then he transfered. I had a single. For the month of January, I never left my room. Then on Valentines day, the one year anniversary of James/███████, in came a greek kid named Paul. Paul was an absolute nightmare. From the get-go, he told me he wanted a single. He told me he would do whatever it took to kick me out of th room. Paul lied, planted his girlfirends underpants in my bed, poured granuals in my keyboard destroying my computer, threw my internet box on the ground. In a climax of frustration, I put an article from The New York Times criticizing Greece on my door. (He had told me he plans to go back to Greece and soon as he's done "milking" America for our education system.) He made up some lie about me physically harming him, planted evidence and called the police, as well as his "lawyers." Paul was openly racist. He had referrred to everyone on the "Paul Robeson" floor as "monkeys." Then, to my horror, he actually said to the all-black RAs that I called everyone on the floor "niggers." - a complete lie. It was my word against his. I was lead out of the room crying and screaming at him and my situation, no friends, no one one to talk to., forced to go in front of a black man, Dean Tolbert, to defend myself and help explain that I did not call anyone any names. Paul then told Kelly Hennessy, the multicultural dorm director, that I "touched" him. (We shook hands the first week). in April Paul then did the unfathomable- he actually went ahead and logically took my confession of having shook his hand as a confession that I "Touched" him. Kelly Hennessy bought the bullshit. I was Out-witted by a manipulative fuck of a Greek. And all I wanted to do was Transfer from Rutgers- the god-awful place that did all of this to me.

In short, My freshman year Paul Torinidis had me kicked off the Paul Robeson floor by lying to Kelly Hennesey. Hennessy and Tolberd heard accusations of racial bias and didn't give me a chance to defend myself. After I was kicked out, Paul then flew a huge greek flag in the window where I lived.

Three weeks later, Paul failed out of Rutgers.

I wrote this in March, 2003 in a pool of my own tears. Because words could not express what Paul had done to me, I was just confused and cheated. What do I do, who do I talk to, where do I go from here? Is this what college is about?

The subsequent poem I wrote was a national finalist.

My roomate and I haven't spoken in two weeks and now this. Some people arepurely evil. Some people are so deceitful, manipulative, hurtful and cunning, thatit makes you feel that when yourwith that person the world isn't even worth fighting for. When you encounter a situation where your dignity is being held against your will, when someone threatens your emotional well-being for their own cheap advantage, when that same person uses you and violates your mind in ways you didn't know it could be violated, it forces you to reavaluate who you are as a person. This could be in the form of aninjustice, such as a wrongful conviction, it could come in the form of abetrayal from a friend or an ex-lover, whatever it is, it leaves you helpless bracing that reasurrance deep inside yourself that comforts you. I haven't really ever experienced these people in my life. for the most for the most part people are inherently good and there are some invisible laws and trusts and principals that are always upheld. People i've always been associated with have never crossed that line into the realm of irratioanlity, and if they have, It's easy to distance yourself from them ,it's easy to isolate them in your mind, your capable of realizing that they're wrong and your right. Right?

Not with PaulPaul has fucked with my mind, broken the rules of interaction that you deem unnescary to even lay out, gone beyond irrationality to the point he is evil in a rational way, destorting reality while maintaing the truth, threatening me and making me feel like the shit on his shoe, and then celebrating another victory. Why did it come to this? Why?


Because I fought back. Because when he called me an ass hole and said that i smell, i said i didn't like that language, and his girlfiend smells. When he retalitated by saying America sucks, i said Greece sucks. When he Told me not to plug MY COMPUTER into the interent socket (Becauseit happened to be on his side of the room and he's territorial) I did it anyways, when he throws my computer part on the ground in rage i told him he was going to have to pay for it, in defiance i stood up and screamed athim and told him I'm NOT swallowing my pride for you, I respect you even though you don\'t respect me, I speakto you kindly, i treat you decently, I've made compromises, taken your accusations, AND YOU ARE WRONG. Paul called the police, told me his daddy was going to arrest me, he had his lawyers ready to file charges of assuault, threats, SEXUAL ABUSE,RACISM, GREEK BIAS, and he even threatened to have me kicked out of the university in handcuffs. He told everyone he knew lies and manipulated everythign i have ever said, sometimes even jovially; into serious accusations , and worst of all, he made up shit about my pyscholgical history and started telling everyone he knew that his safety is in danger and James needs help.

From once making me a cd and offering me a slice ofpizza, he now holds that against me saying he treated me like a king. He now says i sniff his girfirend's underwear, and he told his girlfirend's parents who are out after me, he told me his lawyers would hang me, and he's got proof, evidence angainst me in "a court of law"he has taken statements i have made, purpously embellished them into theworng context and used them against me, trying to kick me oiut of myroom. this is the person who has treated me like shit from day one. WHOCWOURLDNT EVEN LET ME PLUG MY COMPUTER IN!!! but i have no evidence, i'm not a sneeky rat, and my quick wit doesn't come in false accustaions orsadistic threats, and i certainly do not document his actions, even though he spends everyday in my room with his girfriend all day for hours, I respect them and leave them alone always-- i ran out and he told me not tocome back. So instead of punching him in the face and having him win (i seriouslywould have done it) i ran outside, crying hysterically not knowing who to call or what to do, i simply have neverfelt so terrible before, at least in the last couple years, never felt so alone inside myself or so captured by another human being, all i wanted todo was have someone anyone know the TRUTH, i didn't even want a hug,becuase i was set up, and i still feel inside captured by his evil trap, and I've never encountered anyone so manipulative, so decieveing, so pernicious, in Paul. He's very sick. If you have encountered someone like this in your life, you can relate, you know how it feels, it feels like cancer, it drains you completely, t ohave someone attack you in such a awful way, and have people beleive him and hear him tell them whacked-out sick things about me,and i guess thats what scares me, i need to get very far very very veryfar away from people like that in my life. I need to be around peoplethat love me for me, and will not attack me in such a way. This is a warnign to you that people like this exist out there,sometimes in the beginning camouflaged in jovialness or laid back-ness butbe careful what you say, be careful what you reveal, and you don't have to sacrifice yourself for these people you don't have to become evil tocompete, you just have to stay far far far far far far away and know thatyou are loved

Thanks for listening.

For Paul

There's no way to Summarize People Like You
Putting me Down and Loving it too
I wasn't born knowing the Color of your skin
Your Deep-rooted hate
The way you manipulate
Your bitter angry conscience
Or your national origin
You can abuse my innocense
But be forwarned
I don't have your quick-wit
I got more
The Wind is my only friend
Through the Air I soar
I burn like a fire
And fight for my right to roar
You want to spit and lie?
Soak me with despair??
Slander my character find solace there...
Magnify my weaknesses and fuck with my mind?
Look for an evil in my you can't find?
Behind closed doors you run and you hide
And you scream so loud it hurts inside
Because beneath your pretending and all that you sell
The man that I am
Scares you like hell

NJO: Originally posted on the blog Feathers of Steel at liberabit.blogspot.com.

Goodbye Switzerland


Arrivaderci Svizzera

Mention the names, Lugano, Ascona, Locarnoand Bellinzona located in a region called “Ticino,” and the listeners might naturally assume they’re inItaly.
Send them a postcard and it might not set them straight: palm trees, mimosas, Mediterranean red roofs, loggias, azure waters with bellagio fountains piercing through indigo skies, surely this must be either the coast of the Adriatic or that of Sicily. But behind the waving but stiff date palms and velvet lilacs are telltale signs are freshly painted crosswalks, manicured gardens, punctual trains, a 6 PM curfew and men traipsing around train stations with machine guns wearing berets. You’re not inItaly anymore, Toto.

Coziness under guarded control, anarchronism versus state-of-the-art technology, strange bedfellows in an isolated, majestically storybook fantasy land with no natural resources but rock and earth. Cautious but Resolute, Welcoming, but alien, claustrophobic and prudent; clean, rich, stingy, prudent, orderly, beautiful and sparsely populated, comfortable and as transparent as a disengaged glass cable car rising up above the clouds; as quietly paranoid as a red-bellied hummingbird, with the fervent militarily mettol of Braveheart.

These are the Swiss.

Walking paradoxes, whose principal national aesthetic pitches rustic Alpine coziness against high-tech efficiency. Proud, sober and self-reliant, the Swiss have maintained so much independence and neutrality, yet remain some type of microcosm of Europe, composed of alternative French, German and Italian types. But don’t dare call them one of those. “They’re…… Swiss!”

Painfully neat and rigorously prompt, shabby and the slipshot, the Swiss have a weakness for cuteness. They indulge in coy diminutives. A German Biertsube becomes a Stubli, a Wurst become s a Wurstli. And as they fly off mountains with sticks attached to their feet they yodel in their predominant dialect, the pseudo-German dialect of Schweizerdeutsch, crackling with “K” emphasis in a innocent yet raspy Alemannic rebellion of the Country that gave them their language. Don’t dare call them German. Fur-clad socialites raise jeweled fingers at Geneva’s quai du Mont-Blanc, as the women of Appenzell stand beside their husbands on the Landsgemeindeplatz, raising their hands in the purest form of direct democracy on the planet. (They were only given that right to vote since 1991!) But don’t dare call the French.17 year-olds party their asses off in Bellinzona at a “Discoteca” for Carnivale. But don’t dare call them Italians.

And there are perks to them not being French or Italian or German. For one there is the infrastructure. Trains are always on time and seem just too clean. Hiking trails are equipped with freshly manufactured signs every 35 feet telling you your exact coordinates. The cable car has gone through myriad inspections. Curtains are broiled, hotel rooms are spotless. Cheapness isn’t offered as an option. Your clocks are all made by Rolex, and your bed linens are tossed four times a day, with a slice of chocolate turned back at night. The smoke that accumulates in the cafes are aired out, as the soil is turned in the flowerboxes in the quiet town of Goeshnen. Men with mustaches and recessed cheekbones air out their cottages each and every day to allow mountain air to flow through.

Wealthier than Sin, the Swiss are also stingier than a Mormon at a strip club. Shots are measured with scientific precision as if it was poured in lavatory beakers. Towels in your bathroom will be straightened, spaced, toes pointed in the same direction, as orderly as little Soldiers. Glass, Steel, Concrete, and the electronic turbocharged engines in the Mercedes and Alfa Romeos are cleaner than a Virgin’s honeypot. Law Enforcement agents look more like tourists, strolling through their safe, clean, boring cities making sure pedestrians aren’t deviating from the crosswalks.

In Beogoius, Zurich, behind closed doors mysteriously sly little Swiss gnome bankers rub their hands and manipulate world currencies by sitting on top of their gold, then return to their homes transient of their wealth.


Then, take a yellow “Postbus” 2,000 meters above sea level and the country is transformed. Amidst the Alpine whiteness find rocky trails and brisk clip, cheeks glowing, eyes as icy bright as the glaciers, and the healthy faces disappearing behind mirrored goggles and war-paint sun block. A Horse-drawn plow peels back thin topsoil on an impossible steep hill above the clouds in the country where the government spends as much on subsidies to maintain their farmers harvesting cheese and chocolate as they do on manufacturing.

The German-Swiss cross through the Saint Gotthard pass and emerge in blamy Ticenese Sunshine, vacationing in the Italian portion of their country. They drink Merlot and eat gnocchi while resting assured that the hotel they are staying in is strictly regulated by the Swiss Hotel association, and they are spending the Franc, not the euro.

The Italian-Swiss only constitute a mere 8% of the population.They are geographically cut-off from their northern countrymen by a mountain chain, and have a minature geography that allows from constant sunshine amidst stunning foothills. The people are more rustic than their fashionable Milanese counterparts, old women putting on wigs and lipstick like they were 7 year old Americans playing make-up. Ticino is the most glamorous of regions. Along the water promenades of Lake Lugano or Locarnoyou’ll see pollards, rododendrons, and bobbying yaughts. You’ll even see sailboats in Janurary. The mountain villages are scattered with stone huts and castles, church towers that serve as a testament to latin Dukes of Milan, from whom they gained independence from in 1798.

NJO: Originally posted on the blog Feathers of Steel at liberabit.blogspot.com.

Y'all caught that one simile, right? About what the fucking car engines are like? I KNOW RIGHT.

The German Backpacker.


SION, SWITZERLAND.
Switzerland's supposed vastness frightens a foreigner, but its geography, mountains aside, is simple and the trains which traverse its cantons are strikingly effiecient - in a few hours you can cross the entire country. With an youth pass, approximately 250 dollars for two weeks, you can ride its trains indefinitely, exploring its towns, cities, valleys and countryside.

My program gave me the pass and a free weekend, so I decided to take a quick train to Geneva to catch the auto show. I stayed overnight in a small french town called "Sion." The story follows from my hostel there.
I waited at the counter for 15 minutes, then entered a frenchie dressed in all black, smelling of cigarettes, with an expression of a sad puppy dog, worried I would scold him for being late. He said something in french, then german, then english. Unlike Italian-switzerland, I immediately notice more reception, more friendliness, people are less matter of fact, not so much kind as gentle. I went to the bathroom to wipe all the yogurt I spilled in my backpack. Yogurt is cheap and convienent in Old Europe, but has a saran wrap cover, and as a result, is not the best to stuff in a bag amogst books.

I entered the 4 person hostel room, old orange blankets and bunkbeds. THe hostel was completely empty, save a few backpacker hangers on. Sunday night, in the dead middle of Swiss Winter, in a small town 3 hours southeast of Geneva. Thought to myself, is a sunday night and I don't have school tomorrow. In fact, Im three thousand away from everything I know. I felt free, but too free, the type of space-time feeling that made me miss having priorities and deadlines. I was grown up, and made a conscious decision to be so far away. What am I doing here. In this place. At this time. nostaliga took over. Back to reality, I scanned the room and there was a man scrunched overhimself snooring. Looking around 30 years old, couldn't tell if he was American or not. Appartenly, all the backpacking got the best of him and he fell asleep sitting in his bed, map and pack still on his shoulder.

It turns out his name is Herald, he is from East Berlin, Germany. and for the first time yet, I made a local friend. Story of Ticino, really, emersed in Lugano, and no significant deep convo, but meet a wandering German in the mountains... Harold is a 24 year old college student on "vacations," spending two weeks backpacking down throught Italy and Sardinia. I told him I wanted to see downtown and maybe grab a bite to eat. His stillness meant he wanted to go too.

The french receptionist with crazy black clown hair reccomended a place downtown, I expected ski-bums and swiss blonds and breweries, distilleries, what I got was an abandoned city block with one single french pizzaria. Herald and I acquiesced. Fate would bring us to more than just food.

Harold and I immediately started talking politics. His English was good and I tried to speak slowly so he could understand, often times i felt like i was going overboard, but he never gave indications except for facial expressions, though he did tell me he barely understands American Engligh but understood me quite well. but he often gave me a blank stare, the kind of stare that is ambigiuous between a. you look fucking ridiculous speaking so slowly - I understand what your saying or b. I am smiling because I don't know what you're saying - tis polite to smile.

Harold and I were both well educated young lads on a jouney, adept in political and sociological matters, and engaged with our surroundings, secure with our views, experienced in debate. Biggest difference was he was German and I was American.

He used the word "reunification" alot, often relating to the collapse of the BerlinWall. He struggled to produce vocabulary words, often pulling out one of a dozen pocket dictionaries. He was curious to a point, about the American political structure, but unsurprised at my confessions, again giving me that goofy ambiguous gaze. He understood archaic American concepts like the electoral college system. And he knew a hell of a lot more about America than I knew about Germany.

I have always wanted to tacklet Hitler with a German, but didn't know how to raise the subject. So Harold just went on talking about the division in America, especially related to Bush. It could be the language barrier but I do believe Europeans have an innocense to them about politics. The differences between the East Berlin and the West Berlin, however great, are nowhere as near as huge as the differences between West Kansas and East Harlem. These myopic sociocultural contrasts amaze europeans. And they haven't the slighest clue about how grand they are. Harold was fascinated by the "partisanship" in America. For in germany, ther are the christian democrats and the dems, slight difference really. Then he mentioned an incredible small minority of neo-nazis. There was my chance to bring up Hitler.

"some People in the US call Bush Hitler" I said.
Harold scoffed.
"that makes HItler's actions not as bad."
I asked him more bout the German conception of Hitler.
"We are ashamed of what happened, but we are tired of being labeled as the Hitler-generator country. We don't want to be remembered by this event."
Then it got really interesting...
"But I cannot, help being German. I was born here. I did not choose to be."
Harold began talking about how divided Germany was, how there was a subtle sense of shame about the country, their flag isn't as glorified, their history is debunked, the berlin wall collapsed, but its just a wall. Ideologies still burn in hearts and minds. families "don't fly german flags in their flowergardens." "If you see a guy with a germany flag on his shirt, you think it's wierd." Seeing all the swiss flags in switzerland, I can understand where he is coming from - but I found his observations so somber, so cynical, unfortunate. Could it be because he was from East Berlin. Or maybe his age. Is Germany really that confused, ashamed, lost.

We spoke about euthanasia, and eugenics, both words he had to look up to tell me about. Those were too of the most shameful acts of nazism, according to the Berliners. Harold was adament about a person's right to terminate his own life and I gently challenged that assertion, his moral stubborness, with the rhetorical quip, "what if that person is not able to make a decision." Harold put down his wine glass and gave me that gaze of his through those emo-german glasses, and mentioned the terry schiavo case. he helped me understand how poweful ameican politics were. Could I, could any of you, name one german moral issue today.

Up came Nietzche, and his "god is dead" assertion. Both Harold and I agreed it was missaplied by the German Socialists. Nietzche wan't a nazi, which led to another one of my realaizations. We both shared common conservative grounds. Whereas there was a form of German political correcntess, i.e. not allowed to appreciate romantic era poetry and art and music because it was a precursor to nazism, also in America we can not appreciate certain forms of literature because they are, well, a precursor to racism. To some, Naturally, anything from 1860-1930 in Germany was a cause of nazism. To others, anythign written by a white man in the 1940's does not include the necessary cultural obligation of the supressed black female. Harold was nostaligic for the culture, not the politics. He was a young leftist, simple in his decscription of foreign affairs, on common grounds with me on logic, different in our application of that logic. And he made such moros observations about the current situation in Berlin.

Such morose correlations between two travelers using the equivalent of a third grade vocabulary. Funny how that works.

NJO: Originally posted on the blog Feathers of Steel at liberabit.blogspot.com.

Clubbing in Switzerland



I went with Will, one of the only Americans I feel I am becoming close with over here. His abercrombie and fitch frat boy image went over well with the Switalian ladies, as did my northeast preppy look. But unlike will, I did not spend a hundred dollars on alcohol, my complimentary drink that comes along with the 15 dollar covercharge was fine thank you. Club "privlige" was crowded with bankers and businessmen wearing blazers, gold chains and tight jeans. Their skin was paler than the others clubs, a clearer sign of wealth and status in this darker Italian region.

The bartender was cute, and told Will "I will give you a free drink because I am interested in you." the Trick worked, and will bought 10 more drinks until the end of the night, when he said to her "You are beautiful." The bartendress went to kiss her boyfriend.

People were innocent on the dance floor, the crowd was strinkingly middle age, except for the women, most in their 20s. The Switalians are very attractive, well dressing, fit people, for the most part. But they're also very predictable and innocent in a way. Simply by us fumbling around we were recgonizable. Everybody orders a drink the same way here. Everbody dances the same way here. Everybody crosses on the crosswalk the same way here. The Ticenese are fairly homogenous with their olive-white complexions, fur coats and high heals, and turbocharged volkswagens. Will and I danced and ordered drinks like two mustang-driving American college kids, and stuck out like sore thumbs.

Will also wanted me to break out the breakdancing moves, but not that night... I want to be ready for the consquences that follow, and I aint ready yet.

NJO: Originally posted on the blog Feathers of Steel at liberabit.blogspot.com.

A Weekend at the Olympic Games - and XX skiing in the French Alps

BARDONECCHIA, Italy
In 24 hours I have traveled through 3 countries, went clubbing in Milan, Skitouring in France and Cheering for the American snowboarders at the Olympics in Italy.
I just got back this morning at like 12 AM from the Men / Final halpipe Snowboarding Competition at the 2006 Winter Olympic Games near Torino, Italy.

5 AM. Train from Milan Hostel to BARDONECCHIA.
9 AM. Arrive at the French border.
9- 11 AM. Skitouring in the French Alps.
11-12. But to the olymics back in Bardonecchia.
12-3 Snowboarding Finals.
4-6 tran to Torino.
6-12 Traveling back to Lugano, Switzerland

The beauty of this small Italian village at the foot hills of the French alp mountain range is what struck me first. It's almost desert-like, with grey rocky summits, sandstone hills, thin brown pine, and a striking perriwinkle blue sky. Not too much snow on the Italian side. The air is incredibly dry and cold, but the sun is so hot it feels like there is no o-zone. Both Will and I got severe sun burn. The ground temperature was 35 degrees Faranheit but the sun, in the stands made it feel lik 65. People were wearing t-shirts. in the stands. Only 5 miles away is the French town of Nevache, where the climate changes dramatically. Cross the border and on the other side of the Briancon to higher French elevations past the town of Nevache (I'm not even going to attempt to prounounce that,) you are left in a in a wintery fantasy land that reminds you of the front cover of the Evion Water Bottle. There are not towns between Nevache and leuzet, (again I can't spell French for my life). There are only the French mountains, in high elevations, with no civilization. A local tour group runs fairly inexpensive cross country skiing groups up to the hill and on the other side of the valley for a couple hours. A friend and I had to try it out.


A friend from Lugano and I rented some cross country skiis and spent a day exploring this wilderness with a group from Nevache, what we encountered I truly cannot express in words. Like the fool that I am, my camera ran out of batteries from all the damn pictures I took of the Italian side on the bus, that I had no room for the French side. Will took some pictures, but his camera was low on batteries as well and producing strange red beams across the bottom of the photos...

Later that day we took an hour bus back to Italy and caught the later-half of the snowboarding competition; the finals was probably one of the cooler events to attend (in my humble opinion), since seeing attempts at inverted 1260s (Yes 1260 degree) flips 50 feet off the ground of a half-pipe high in the alpine is cooler than watching people skate around in circles, or through oblong objects and watch them slide along ice. (I am referring to "Curling").

Plus, since a friend of mine here has a father that works for General Electric in Albany, New York, he set us up with front row seats for the event, which was located in a tiny Italian Village of "BARDONECCHIA," near the French border. GE is a sponsor of the games, so that's that.

If you look at the headlines this morning, you'll see coverage of the event. It was one of the more watched events, with Americans grabbing both first and second place medals. The Americans were Un-fucking-believable snowboarders, and blew away all the competition, to the dismay of the fervor in the audience, most of whom were Europeans. The first place snowboarder, "white," beat, who liked like a stoned "gnarly" californian beat out the Japanese, the Norwegians, and the Italians. White didn't make any mistakes, and was so far ahead in the finals, he didn't even need to run the last round of the finals. Towards the end of the competition, A man from Finland was competing for the top spot against the Americans, and when the judges awared the fin fewer points than he needed to compete for first place, there were Eurpean men who started sobbing, frustrated with the American Dominance (I'll get to that later). A tiny contigent of wealthy Americans traveling from the midwest would dangle their ubiquitous stars and stripes in stereotypical American patriotism, while Europeans had far more unusual methods of rooting for their respective countries. In Austrilia for example, the Aussies screamed "Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oy Oy Oy!" The fins just screamed loud scandanavian obscenities, and the French, well, they waved their itsy bitsy blue, red, and white (don't confuse that with red white and blue) lil' flags around in the air and grabbed their heads in dismay when they're french snowboarders fell down on every attempt. (The french snowboarder was awful.)

****

Saturday night I went clubbing (and subsequently didn't go to bed because of it). I've stumbled over myself quite a bit, being in an unfamiliar place, stuck out like a sore thumb (tan greasy italian guys wear furry north face coats, mullet-mohwaks, and stonewashed jeans with sun glasses), so my night was... interesting. The girls in Milan are the most beautiful I have ever seen in my life - they made the few relatively good looking american girls look horrible.
On the train back from Turino I had a humbling experience, which has since impacted me less than it did when it happened...

NJO: Originally posted on the blog Feathers of Steel at liberabit.blogspot.com.

Illiteracy Count: 45

1. halpipe
2. But to the olymics      ("But" should be "Bus")
3. tran to Torino
4. perriwinkle
5. o-zone
6. 35 degrees Faranheit
7. made it feel lik 65
8. wearing t-shirts. in the stands.
9. prounounce
10. that,) you are left in a     (Comma should go after the parenthesis)
11. left in a in a wintery
12. leuzet      (Needs a capital L)
13. leuzet, (again I can't spell French for my life).      (Needs to lose the comma)
14. some cross country skiis
15. Nevache, what we encountered      (Period after "Nevache", new sentence)
16. 1260s (Yes 1260 degree) flips      (Redundant plural "1260s" or redundant word "flips")
17. ice. (I am referring to "Curling").
18. a father that works for General Electric      ("who" not "that". Nitpicking?)
19. located in a tiny Italian Village of "BARDONECCHIA"     (Should be "the" instead of "a")
20. Italian Village     (Do these words need capital letters, really? Nitpicking?)
21. "BARDONECCHIA"    (Really?)
22. Plus, since a friend... has a father... he set us up with... Italian Village ... near the French border.   (Whole sentence is a hot mess.)
23. to the dismay of the fervor in the audience, most of whom were Europeans      (Most of the fervor were Europeans?)
24. "white,"     (Nickname needs a capital W)
    
25. "white," beat, who    (The word "beat" shouldn't be there. Unless reasons?)
26. who liked like a     (Should be "who looked like a")
27. californian
28. competition, A man
29. awared      (Should be "awarded")
30. the fin      (Should be "the Finn")
31. Eurpean
32. contigent
33. the midwest      ("Midwest" is usually capitalized)
34. while Europeans had far more unusual methods of rooting for their respective countries. In Austrilia for example ...      (This is more a case of You Fail Geography Forever than illiteracy.)
35. In Austrilia for example, the Aussies...      (The mis-spelling is probably an intentional play on the Australian accent, so it doesn't count. However, he's talking about some Aussies who were physically situated at the Winter Olympics in Bardonecchia, Italy, so to say they were "in Australia" is still a MISTAKE. Again, not actually an illiteracy thing.)
36. The fins
37. scandanavian      (Needs a capital S)
38. scandanavian      (The spelling too)
39. lil'      (Usually "li'l". But not necessarily though. Actually, this one doesn't count.)
    
40. when they're french snowboarders fell     (Ugh.)
41. french snowboarders
42. french snowboarder
43. tan greasy italian guys     (Missing comma)
44. italian guys
45. mullet-mohwaks
46. american girls
 

And again, in case you missed it... 

James: A tiny contigent of wealthy Americans traveling from the midwest would angle their ubiquitous stars and stripes in stereotypical American patriotism, while Europeans had far more unusual methods of rooting for their respective countries. In Austrilia for example, the Aussies screamed "Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oy Oy Oy!" 

Me: HA HA HA HA HAAAAAA he's stupid

Con ███████

I visited ███████ in Siena last Sunday, the girl I was dating for 3 - 4ish years, and who I am still in love with. We started going out on Valentines Day, 2002. I rented a smartcar from Lugano and drove 6 hours south from the alps all the way into the heart of Tuscany. Through winding roads, into tunnels, in the pitch black dark, with crazy Italian drivers whizzing by my at 120 kmh. My smartcar was so small that when I passed or was passed the thing LITERALLY almost blew over. It was scary as hell. I trembled at the wheel, tightended my arms and bit my lip for 400 miles. My vision was not so much blurred as my emotions. It was surreal driving through a foreign country with signs and customs I wasn't aquaitned with, with a manic obession running through my mind to find the girl I love. Love can make you to desperate and crazy things; lift cars and swim across oceans. I believe there are angels watching over me, as I didn't make one wrong turn. Statistical probablity would almost gurantee I would have, since I guessed at about a dozen major intersections. Navigate your way half way through a country in the middle of the night without any currency or knowledge of its language. It took me an hour to figure out how to pump gas. I ran to the nearest ATM, asking italians at McDonalds "Parla Inglese?!" (that's the formal conjugation of "speak."). The sight of a lost and incredibly (rare) American half way inbetween piza and Siena wearing a blue "Italia" tourist shirt in the middle of Tuscany/Nowhere at a McDonalds was enough irony to make Jonathan Swift turn in his grave. I actually ordered a cheesburger from MacDonalds (a regular cheesburger for a 'whopping' 3 us dollars) in American English as I was asking for Directions, and the whole scene made the cashier swell up with pride. (it's kinda like us working at taco bell and geting to practice our spanish by understanding the mexican when he states "Quiero la salsa con mi Taco."

The rub is ███████, although willing to talk and see me, is "not in love" with me anymore. She "Does not find me physically attractive" and "feels uncomfortable" when I call her often or tell her I love her. She "is in love" with another guy who goes to the University of Mass, and who is originally from Ohio, named Jason S████████. When ███████ first got to Umass, the boy had his eye on her, and persisted and persited and persisted ad infinitum, Iming her and emailing her, and inviting her to parties. This was September of 2004, about a year and a half ago. Christmas came, ███████ started feeling different, less strong towards me, I was taking her for granted no doubt, and I assume ███████ was begining to ask some major questions about everything. She wanted to "take a break" in March. I was so busy with my work and the Centurion I really didn't care that much back then. The more distant she became the more attractive to me she became - (And I though she would always be mine). I had once dreamed that she would tease other guys. It turned me on. Then Two weeks later when I called her she admitted she had "slept over" Jason's. From that moment in late March, the jealousy and anguish and pain I have felt in my heart has persisted, weathering me in ways I am so sick of and tired of and teaching me the value of treating a girl right and never letting her go.

But this past summer in DC was fun. Although, we "broke up", I suppose, in May (neither of us had ever done it before so we didn't know what it entailed) we did everything we used to do over the summer, because we were together always. She even visited me down there and we had wine at an Italian restaurant; one of my favorite memories of our relationship. Now I would hope what I am about to say isn't as truley as significant as she made it out to be. She left for France this summer for a month and that is truely when the fulcrom tipped; half-way through france I sent her a poscard, somewhat playfully telling her about the girls I am meeting in DC. She sent me an email I responded to late and told my mother I was ignoring her. She then came to some epiphany in France and when she got back called me immediately. From that moment on things changed indefinitely. From that phone call. I responded "Hi" and acted disinterested, because it was just a moment and I wasn't thinking. She reacted to that and acted disinterested. I told her, because of my silly and stupid attraction to a cute girl at work, that it was OK, I'm kinda interested in someone else. From her end was an all-out bombshell: "I'm Dating someone and am visiting him in Ohio next week."

We had planned to spend a week in DC together, that turned into two days, which turned into a night, well, two hours. And the sexual tension of us being together as "Friends" eventually made her kiss me, yes, while she was "dating" Jason, who... she hadn't even seen yet. I later understood that when I acted disinterested and distant it would turn ███████ on, even while she was with Jason. I'm not so sure if I can pretend that hard or if it's even possible anymore.

When ███████ left for Umass, she kissed me on the lips, told me she loved me, and said she'd see me when we're married 5 years from now. How words so lovely could be so cruel. For I would not see ███████ for another 5 months. I could write a book about the pain and agony during those 5 months, it strangled me and prevented me from doing well academically, it brought me into a miniature depression.

Before I continue the story, let me explain that ███████ needs to be in a commited relationship at all times, with someone. She cannot be alone or looking around. This is part of her mentality and physchology. She used to give a lot, but being a cute girl (and a hot girl when she gets ready to go out to party) in College now, everybody is all over her, and she has started taking; compliments, gifts, "I <3 you!"s guys and girls and 500 friends all over her, wanting her for various reasons. She never had that before. All she had was me, an old fashioned guy with an old fashioned way of doing business and romance. A 21 year old soccer player swooper her off her feet, and seeing him and hooking up with him almost every day, she gave into the temptation, and slept with him, in ya know, that way.

From what I gathered, Jason was not going out with ███████. ███████ wanted to "be in a relationship" with him, but he kept saying no. ███████ didn't like this, because it wasn't the safety and security she needed so desperately. And in early November, after ███████ got done ahving sex with him, another girl called her up and told her that she was hooking up with Jason, as well were a few other girls. BOMBSHELL

███████ cried for days, weeks, ripped up his gifts, cursed him off and joined and online "Jason-HATING" club on facebook (no joke!) Jason wouldn't attempt to contact ███████ but she, so jealous, wouldn't give in. I, looking at her facebook everyday, would monitor her hatred of Jason and her friends reassuring her. 

On that I danced around my room listening to "innocent man" by billy joel, feeling a sense of redemption since I had went out on a "date" (maybe I'm a little hopeful calling tea a date, but I said I'm old-fashioned) with a girl who I thought was cute - meanwhile ███████ was getting "fucked over" by the jock cock she dumped me over. It wouldn't be long before ███████ contacted me with an apology. She did contact me very soon, but what she said I'll never forget

November 11th: "James, it's been a while since we've talked, I just want to tell you Goodbye since I'm goign to Italy" Are you Kidding me ███████?! Goodbye?! How could you??????? You're not leaving for another two months, and I'm going to Europe also!!! And that's after Christmas vacation... and you just got cheated on!!! I never cheated on you, ever! How could you say this.

I was so angry by what she said that I responded with the following statement:

So cruel... so so cruel. You IM me tonight to make you feel better about yourself, "I'm not a cold-hearted bitch?" you ask. You remove youself from my facebook wall, you tell me you won't talk to me because "you're going to Europe." You don't even talk to me now!! Do you realize how much you've hurt me? You can't say anything nice! You expect me to make you feel better about yourself and reasure you?! I just saw on on your profile you were fucked over by Jason S████████. He played you like a piano. YOu left me for a fucking scumbag who cheats on you and fucks other girls, and your poor little heart is broken. Your broke the heart of a caring, charismatic, sensitive loyal boyfriend for a fucking scumbag. Now your dirtied up. How does it feel ███████? I think I'm worth more than that, in fact I know I am, and I'm know other girls know I am as well. So no, I don't want to be friends with you, until you look into my eyes and give me the most sincere apology of your life. Until then, leave me alone.

Well the ███████ who can't be alone was alone at that point, I'm guessing more alone that she'd ever been. ███████ waited around for my phone call that week. And now I know she missed me that week. And I knew there was a good chance she would have taken me back that day if I had just drove up there to see her or told her I missed her. But a man's pride can not allow him take a girl back after she dumped him for another girl. God did I think about her all the time. Every single day I thought that ignoring her would get her back.

███████ could not stand to be alone, and there as persistent Jason sitting outside her door for days, waiting for her to open up. So alone and so confused, ███████ poured out to Jason who just listened and listened - just after I took the LSATS on Dec 3rd ███████ was "in a realtionship with Jason" on facebook, (that evil program).

I called her on christams, unable to take it anymore. She didn't call me back. I wrote her a song. She wrote me one sentence in the email, saying "it was nice." I wrote her a final email pouring out my heart. She said we shoudl meet.

We met the day before she left, and there was a lot of sexual tension. All the anger I felt for so long subsided because I truly still felt for her. I still wanted her, I did'nt care abouit that guy. We flirted alot. I acted disinterested like they tell you do. It drove her nuts. "Why aren't you going after me James? I'm a little surprised"

███████ in her car, told me to hug her, I went in and she kissed me. It felt like heaven but violated every cardinal rule. Sometimes I think it would have helped not to, but ███████ is the type of girl who needs to know the truth and not play games. What happend after felt good for the both of us, and she said, "We still have it." She vowed to see me in Europe. She drove away in her car, just like she had done to me back in August.

I wasn't going to let history repeat itself.

Then she left, I called her my first week here, and her mood changed. What happend was just a moment and she was is in love with Jason. I acted desperate and whiny and she became far more removed. We started emailing. I called her almost every day keeping in touch telling her my feelings, she would treat me like a friend, I guess, no emotion. Finally I just broke down and with trembling desperation told her I will leave her alone but I will always love her.

She called me back an hour later!, but alas, it was only about some message a girl sent her. Why do I still feel so strongly about ███████, when she continues to piss me off, react like a child to such powerful emotion. There is no reason to love, and that is why I drove down to see her

* * * * *

We had a good time in Siena, stayed up all night talking, walked around, took photos together. It was like what we always did. Like nothing had changed. There was no intimacy in our relationship in public anyways. And for those hours, nothing did. But now, I'm still hurt, and I still think about her and Jason. She told me alot about him and her that day, and it hurt alot. 

I'm surprised she wants to go to Amsterdam with me next weekend, and couldn't be anymore excited. Everynight I go to bed I pray that I will meet someone fast and soon but still believe we will end up together in the end.

███████ wants to get married in only a few years, right out of college. She told me she will show the true woman she is to that one special guy, a woman she is gradually now becoming. ███████ is not the sex object she makes her self out to be in party pictures on facebook. She is an innocent flower, who can now truly share truths with herself. She can only share that special part of her with one other person. She was too young to give her soul to anyone while we were together. Now she is coming of age, and when she is 25, she will be the most beautiful thing on this earth.

But She is in love with someone else. And there's no getting passed that. That's the way it is. If I knew the answers in my heart; what to do, how to feel, that would be one thing, but's its forcing yourself to do the right thing as well - its not right to rent a car and drive 7 hours in the middle of the night. It's also not right for us not to date other people. I still have hopes and I still have dreams. 

I just wish ███████ loved me.

NJO: Originally posted on the blog Feathers of Steel at liberabit.blogspot.com.