According to the new torture and detention bill that is about to be signed into law, my mother, who is not a citizen but has lived in this country for over thirty years, could be hauled away by the feds on trumped-up terrorism charges without any judicial recourse for challenging the legality of her detention.  I’m using hyperbole to prove a point; this law is a dangerous encroachment on established principles of due process and fundamental fairness in our judicial system.  The suspension of habeas corpus may sound like some obscure topic for a law school seminar, but it’s not called the Great Writ for nothing.  Since feudal times, the right of habeas corpus has been one of the most effective safeguards against authoritarian abuses of power and unlawful detentions. 

We are teetering on the edge of a precipice.  Most of you who know me know that I’m not given to histrionics, but I genuinely fear for the future of our country.  I’m deeply disappointed in our political leaders for passing such reactionary legislation.  I’m deeply disappointed in our media for doing such a piss-poor job with explaining exactly how this law takes away so many long-cherished rights and creates two vastly unequal systems of criminal justice. 

And I can’t help but thinking that things will continue to get much worse before they get better. 

NPR is hiring a blogger.  If it wasn’t for the whole relocating-to-NYC thing, I’d probably toss my hat into the ring.  I’m pretty sure I meet the minimum qualifications.  I feel quite comfortable characterizing my prose style as “lively” and I have a passing familiarity with the “blog form”.  And I’m a veritable fountain of “general news knowledge”.  Not that I don’t love my current job, but a thirty-second commute to my workplace is deeply appealing. 

Someday, I’ll figure out how to make money at this gig.  Until then, I guess sheer love of my art will have to suffice as my motivation. 

The plot of The Ruins is B-movie simple.  A group of young people on vacation at a Mexican resort meet a German tourist whose brother has gone missing.  They, along with a Greek who has taken a liking to one of the American girls, decide to go looking for the missing German by following the directions he left his brother in a crudely drawn map; a map that leads to an abandoned archeological site deep in the jungle.  Once there, the group of young people realize they are trapped and that something inhuman is preying upon them.

I won’t give away the nature of Scott Smith’s bogeyman, but in some ways, it’s the least important aspect of the book.  Like any good horror fiction, the monster is the blunt knife used to peel away at the characters’ psychological layers.  Smith gives the reader elegantly constructed glimpses into the interior life of each character as their shared circumstances become increasingly desperate and horrific.  This is a bleak, bleak story that does not treat any of its flawed characters kindly.  No roller coaster of fright here, but rather a slow, inexorable descent into the depths. 

Next up, Frank Portman’s acclaimed debut King Dork.  I’m also reading Terry Pratchett’s Small Gods, my first Discworld book.

I’m a little surprised at how quickly I’ve beaten back this latest viral invader.  I don’t know if it has anything to do with me deciding to not screw around and getting myself put on antibiotics right away (and I know antibiotics are not going to be effective against a virus, but I figure I might as well not give the little bastards the opportunity to breed something more pernicious).  Or maybe it is all the karma you guys have been flying my way.  Either way, I’m glad my throat has stopped feeling like it’s being dragged across some neglected country road.

I do need to find a new primary physician, though, which is going to be a hassle.  This time, I want to choose a doctor based on a method that doesn’t involve throwing a dart at a list of names.  Maybe I can get some references from my genetically similar comrades. 

For your late Friday evening enjoyment, here’s a video of some crazy gimp getting all extreme with his wheelchair.  I’m starting a pool on how long it will be before this sort of thing becomes another event on ESPN’s X Games, complete with wheelchairs tricked out with the logos of corporate sponsors.  And when that day does come, I’m so gonna pimp myself as an agent to these kids and, like any good sports agent, my 10% commission will be spent mostly on cocaine and call girls.