A Brief History of Time

11/26/07

As you may or may not be aware, I am taking online classes in a desperate attempt to carve out a better life for my wife and myself. I really rather like the History class that’s just wrapping up, and my final project is to do a 3-4 page paper concerning my family tree and any interesting characters several generations back. Prior to this exercise, I might as well have hatched from a giant space-egg for all I knew about my ancestry. Fortunately, several years ago my uncle took it upon himself to research the Jett family, and I had to do minimal investigation since he just emailed me all the information. It seems I have a rather…interesting family history. I suppose it should surprise no one that a man who thinks taking and sharing pictures of himself, naked, perched atop a stool is funny, would have a somewhat bizarre and really rather fucked up genealogy.

That, my dear readers, is the coat-of-arms awarded to the first known “Jett,” a Bavarian by the name of Sir Johan Van Jett, for his service in the first Crusade (1095-1099). So…great. My premier ancestor went to war because people keen on Jesus decided to kill a whole lot of folk in order to “reclaim holy land.” Also, the plundering was good back then. It seems some of the Jett line stayed in that region, evidenced by the same coat of arms above used by Baron Jett zu Munzenberg of Prussian Bavaria in 1701, and another portion went to England. I am totally going to start referring to myself as Baron Jett.

The first Jett to hop the pond, and to whom my uncle has been able to directly link us to, was Peter Jett. He came over to Virginia with his wife, kids and another family, in 1663. Where half of them were promptly killed in an Indian raid. Things are quiet for a few generations, and then it seems in the latter 1800’s our family has a rather embarrassing and loony brush with history. You may remember a feller by the name of John Wilkes Booth who shot Lincoln, spouted some gibberish, and leapt from a balcony to disappear off into the night. Booth injured his leg in that jump and, after ferrying across the Potomac, chanced across three former Confederate soldiers. One of them was Private (or perhaps Captain, the history is vague) William “Willie” Jett. He was sympathetic to Booth’s plight, and led him to a friend’s farmhouse by the name of Garrett where the assassin holed up for a few days. Jett was eventually found and questioned and, when threatened with a serious hanging, gave up Booth’s location. Fun!

I don’t have the specifics on hand, but I hear tell that the first Jetts to come to Missouri were horse thieves, which was punishable by death in those days. Then again, looking at a man sideways in the 19th century was tantamount to anally raping his mother, so…

Oh! One more fantastic journey down Jett lore: This gentleman is also not directly related to me, but there was a Curt “Bad Curt” Jett who received a life sentence for killing Attorney J. B. Marcum in Jackson, Kentucky, and shooting his cousin, Marshall Jim Cockrill from a courthouse window in 1902. Jett was apparently a “feudist,” which is a fancy way of saying his family didn’t get along with people. He was pardoned for reasons not entirely clear to me some 20 years later. It is, I suppose, kind of neat to have a relative with a nickname in quotes, but I think I could have been more creative than “Bad Curt.”

So…what have we learned? Well, I am descended from thieves, murderers and treasonous abettors. Wonderful. On the up side, my mother’s side of the family is so fucked up that she just found out after his death that the man she thought was her half brother was really her real brother, because her mom banged her ex-husband while married to another man. And my maternal grandmother spoke 3 languages, was a fantastic artist, abandoned her family for weeks at a time, and thought she talked to the Devil. Also, kind of a racist.

It’s a blue-eyed miracle I’m not either in prison or the booby hatch…the latter being not nearly as fun as it sounds.

Pray for Falling Pianos

11/15/07

If nothing else, I can at least rest assured that should a bolt of lightning strike any one person in my department, it will kill everyone else too because they’re standing elbow-to-elbow looking at a goddamn snow pattern that’s supposed to be a fucking sonic picture of something the size of a sonuvabitching pinto bean.

Yeah, that would be a pretty good day. Gods bless Acme.

On The Right (Am)Track

11/10/07

Just an update on yesterday’s post concerning the potentially poop-laden story about a Japanese tourist being carted off an Amtrak train for taking pictures out the window. I contacted Amtrak about the matter, and by “contacted” I mean I emailed their customer relations department since my level of apprehension concerning using the telephone to contact persons unknown to me approaches real phobia. I asked if they were aware of the story and if it had any validity, and information on their…photo-taking policy. Here is their response:

Dear Ryan,

Thank you for your recent email.

As
information, amateur photography that does not interfere with passengers or crew
is permitted on board trains. Regarding the recent article you referenced,
Amtrak is investigating the matter. While the results of investigations
involving our employees are confidential, please be assured that Amtrak is
committed to customer service and any appropriate action will be
taken.

We appreciate your interest in Amtrak and hope we can serve
your travel needs in the future.

Sincerely,

Amtrak
Customer Relations

As you might imagine, this interaction left me less than satisfied. It was, however, more than I had expected. I’m not sure whether they knew of the alleged incident before my contact, but I like to think not. Their rather vague response leads me to conclude one of several tantalizing possibilities:

1. Amtrak had never heard of this and even as we speak a crack-team of internal investigators is swooping down upon the matter like a falcon on a barn swallow.

2. Amtrak has heard of this and is in the process of punishing the offending conductor who possesses delusions of godhood.

3. The story is so patently ridiculous they won’t even bother to look into it and are merely pacifying me.

4. Amtrak has heard of it, is investigating it, and it will turn out to be false.

5. Amtrak has circled the wagons in a desperate attempt to cover up their dastardly plan to form their own sort of “Travel Gestapo,” loosely affiliated with the soulless demons down at the Department of Homeland Security.

For sheer, blogging mileage out of this story, I certainly hope it’s either #1 or 5. Honestly, it’s probably #4.

I love the fact that I have single-handedly created several tasty new phrases in this post alone that will hopefully worm their way into the American lexicon. Namely, “blogging mileage,” and “travel Gestapo.” You’re welcome, America.

Programmers: We Give Up

11/9/07

You know those awful little flash games where you get to slap a fat man’s belly or pump up a tire or shoot some chickens or something faster than a computer competitor? And then your prize is that you get some dumb ass ringtone featuring Ashley Simpson or a cat screaming or something equally awful? Yeah, MySpace is a good breeding place for this. Well, I have come across definitive proof that the programmers of these little games have done run out of ideas. The other day I saw this hilarious monstrosity:

That’s right, dear readers; you are looking at a game where you are Batman…and your goal is to punch out the Terminator. You know, as insane as it is to play a game where you attempt to shave more hair off a woman’s legs than your automated rival, at least it makes a sort of sense in the encapsulated universe in which it exists. I mean, this is just slapping two completely unrelated fictional characters together to punch each other so you can have In Da Club play whenever grandma calls. What I propose next? Strawberry Shortcake shooting Jem and the Holograms with a paintball gun.

Feel free to make up your own wildly ludicrous flash games, ladies and gentlemen. There’s a No-Prize in it for the best one!

Episcopal B.S.

11/8/07

Good gravy. Has it really been a month since last we spoke? Well…then let’s get to it.

Normally I’m one known for always enjoying a good, scathing tale about how loony the right-wingers are in this country. But there is on thing I despise worse than a barrel full of Bill O’Reillys, and that’s bullshit. I have no tolerance for untruths, whether they be conscious or whether the person spreading them is just too lazy or disinclined to healthy skepticism to check whether something is based in reality before spreading it around. The only downside to the internet is that it has made this practice infinitely easier in the form of endlessly forwarded “did you know” emails that are pretty much just full of outright lies. Whether these messages are fanciful creations by the left or right is immaterial; I would never want to influence anyone to my point of view through blatant dishonesty. Personally, I’m far too conceded to tolerate ever being wrong, so I check out my sources and make damn sure I know what I’m talking about before I impart any information. Snopes.com, people; it’s a winner.

There is a story that has been circulating the blogosphere that I suspect, suspect, may be complete and utter malarkey. You can read the whole thing here on the Episcopal Café site, but I’ll summarize:

The posting is a first-person anecdote by Joel L. Merchant* but the website appears to actually be run by some dude named Joel Naughton. In the story Mr. Merchant is riding on an Amtrak train in the picturesque Northeast. There is a Japanese tourist snapping pictures out the window because, you know how it’s a genetically imperative that Asians hold cameras. The conductor sees this and informs the tourist, “Sir, in the interest of national security, we do not allow pictures to be taken of or from this train.” Wait for it, the story gets better.

The tourist of course doesn’t speak English and the conductor character, who may or may not be lifted entirely out of a Spike Lee movie, becomes enraged at not being understood and threatens to confiscate the camera. At the next stop the police enter the car (this time characters lifted from an early “talkie”) and through the use of a translator, inform the man that they are detaining him and will put him on the next train if he turns out not to have sensitive photos of…cows or whatever the shit they grow in New England. The tourist complains that relatives he hasn’t seen in forever are waiting for him in Boston and there’s not way to contact them. Because, I can only guess, the Japanese family, the most tech-savvy people on the planet, have no cell phones. Oh, and land-based phone lines to the Boston train station have yet to be invented. Also, email doesn’t exist, and apparently the rider for the Pony Express is passed out down at Ye Olde Taverne.

Naturally there is some grumbling by the other passengers, overheard, we presume, by Mr. Merchant. This one is my favorite: “An older traveler reflected, “I witnessed this personally in police states during the war in Europe.”” Yeah, because people talk that way. And there’s nothing like invoking the Nazis during “the war in Europe” to make a point. Subtle, Mr. Merchant.

At any rate, this did not happen. I don’t know if anything even remotely similar happened, but this story did not. It’s simply too perfectly illustrates the author’s point of view to be real. It seems to be an emotionally-charged cautionary tale about the dangers of overzealous security, but king of comes off as…literally unbelievable. Note the use of a sympathy-inducing protagonist; the only way the sweet, photo-snapping Japanese man could be more lovable is if Mr. Merchant had put him in a bunny suit.

An author whose work I enjoy a great deal (Terry Goodkind) once wrote that people believe things either because they want to believe a thing is true, or because they are afraid what they’re told might be true. In this case Mr. Merchant’s audience falls into both camps. I’m not saying this is bald-faced fucking bullshit, but it certainly has a faint whiff of manure.

This reminds me of the countless cautionary tales both from the government and religious institutions. You know, Frankie Everyman bangs Sally Sweetcheeks out of wedlock, gets a “social disease,” and they both die in a murder/suicide. Also duct tape and plastic wrap can protect you from a chemical attack.

The most disturbing part is that people seem far too ready to just take this story on face value, according to the comment section. The ingenious thing about telling a personal anecdote like this is it’s almost impossible to disprove. Even after one commenter went so far as to contact Amtrak and was informed that, yes, of course passengers could take pictures, they only say that the conductor was way out of line and the cops were overzealous. There was even an engineer and conductor trainer who commented that Mr. Merchant should have gotten the conductor’s badge number and that they are not permitted to act like that. C’MON! What’s more likely, that the entire train’s employees are lunatics and the cops at the station have delusions of being in the S.S., or that one man is an exaggerative and creative writer? I was unable to find any outside verification of this besides other blogs re-posting it. I am in the process of contacting Amtrak to see if they have heard of this and will let you in on the results, ladies and gentlemen.

Have healthy skepticism, dear readers.



* According to the Episcopal Café, Mr. Merchant “is a teacher, business consultant, and essayist. He is currently working on "The Other Side of Time; Letters to My Daughter" at a-reminiscence.”